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bloodycassian · 3 years ago

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Tender - Azriel x reader - Pregnancy fic. Fem! reader. LONG!!!

Prompt - Hi! I just read most of your imagines, and i loved them! You have me as your faithful follower, I don't comment much because English is not my first language. Could you write one where az manages to perceive that reader is pregnant right in the middle of the war?

You woke to yelling. Not screaming. Not fear or pain, but battle cries that you'd grown to love. They made your blood sing in harmony with the Illyrian voices. It made your heart hammer in your chest, and your muscles tense - ready to fight. Azriel groaned beside you, curling around your waist like a vise. You managed to break free from his muscled arms. Pale light shining through the tent tinted his shadows a light gray. They wrapped around you, drawing a chill down your spine. The war cries grew louder. "Get up. It's time." You shook him, pulling on your light armor. He covered his face with his hands, and did not leave the cot. He groaned again when you pulled the blanket off his mostly naked body. He was never a morning person. Cassian rushed in when you were putting the last of your gear on, and Az froze. His grip on his pants went white knuckled. Cassian's face was pale, and before he could say anything Azriel was hurriedly pulling on the rest of his clothes. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the Warlord. "It's a diversion." You said, voice hollow. Cassian's slight nod was enough to make the breath leave you. "It's going to be fine." Azriel grunted, pulling his tunic over his head. "We just need to move the troops. Get Rhys here." He waved a hand at his brother dismissively. Cassian grabbed Az's wrist. He forced the male to look at him, to see his worried eyes. You tensed, ready to defend your mate even against Cassian's might. "Rhys is on the battlefield already. We're on our own." His voice was low, and the warning in his eyes was enough to make the hair on your arms raise. Azriel pulled away from him, slowly. He began strapping his weapons belts on, pushed his hair back and sighed. "Where do you need us?" The air was cold, and the howls of battle echoed across the hills. Azriel's shadows curled around your legs, comforting. Then they slithered their way across the valley where the battle was beginning. + You could barely raise your sword by the end of it. The mud had been the most challenging part of the entire fight. The enemy horses had done a good job of making obstacles when they fell in the mud, lame with broken ankles and necks. You wished to put them out of their misery, but there was no time. The forces seemed to come in waves. Like a test against your small unit. Few were lost from your side. The dewey grass steamed in the morning light, carrying up the reek of enemy blood with it. You wiped your face, trying to get the taste of dirt and blood out of your mouth. Sharp stinging pain seared your ribs under your arm. You hissed. Then, you felt the warmth of your own blood. You swore, and looked for a medic that wasn't tending to wounded on the ground. Some Illyrian bodies were being lifted away, high into the air for burial at their homes. You dared not take a healer away from more critically injured soldiers. You nodded grimly to the ones that you passed. They were covered in blood, and yet still gave you fierce grins when you went by. They respected you. More than any other Illyrian Female before you. It was sad, but you hoped to forge a new path for other females of Illyria. You held an arm under your side and limped your way out of the mud. The packed mess inside your boots made moving your feet hard. You couldn't wait to shower. You spotted Cassian far down the field, and watched as he raised his sword high over his head. Your stomach twisted in pity for the suffering animal under him. You looked away before you could see the lifeblood drain from the horse's neck. He sent a blessing to the Mother for the animal, and continued on to the next suffering soul that would meet its end via his blade. + You hadn't seen her in a long while. Too long for a friend, but she gave you that same look she always did when she saw you hobbling up to her for help. Jeva was your favorite healer, and one you knew could keep a secret. She was round, and her voice was light and comforting. She smelled of nutmeg and berries. Something you had appreciated about her since you had met. "What is it this time?" She waved you inside, holding the tent flap open for you while you dumped your battle stained gear on the wood hutch beside the entrance. The tent was light and airy, filled with small plants of different varieties and cluttered with boxes and books everywhere. Her desk and bed were shoved to the corner, and a long wood table took up the majority of her area. As if she had known you were coming, she already had potions of different types laid out on the end of the table. "Probably nothing." You said, pulling off your armor as gingerly as you could manage. The soft light flickered and changed to a harsh beam when she laid you down on her exam table. "I'm not supposed to be healing anymore you know. I'm retired." She clicked her tongue at you, earning a pained grin. It was hard for you to bother a healer for any amount of time for something that you were sure was so small. But something about it stung too much for it to be just a scrape. And you knew Cassian would lecture you about it being infected if he saw through your mask to the pain. Az would force you to see one anyway as soon as he learned of it. "You know I wouldnt be here unless I had to be, Jeva." You said through your teeth as she cut away your muddied undershirt. "Oh, I know. That's why I have my best potions ready." She laughed, then paused. Your shirt lay limp on the table. Her eyebrows knitted together at the sight of your open wound. "Is it bad?" You asked, craning to try to look for yourself. She held you down. "Metal. Fragments are still in here, likely why it hasn't healed yet." You relaxed at that, grateful that it wasn't worse. "Thank the Mother. Az would have yelled all night." You rolled your eyes, and sighed as she started working on you. The first part was always the worst. The stinging hot potion that made the nerves around the wound numb. "One-" She began her countdown, then poured. You growled at her, gripping the end of the stained table hard enough to crack. "Easy..." She warned, and smoothed down your hair. She knew how to take care of her patients, that was certain. You relaxed as the stinging eased. The dull ache that it left behind turned into a bad memory. "I'm going to extract the blade then we can close you up. Simple and easy." She picked up her tools and began tugging away at your side. You could have fallen asleep with the relief the numbing potion brought. And with her humming in the air around you, it was a struggle not to. The time seemed to pass quickly, but when the clank of the metal tools jolted you from your dozing, the tent was lit in orange from the sunset outside. "Relax, we're going to close it up now. Once the potion wears off you will still be sensitive." She placed her hands over you, and the familiar warm vibrations of her healing magic set in. Then it stopped abruptly. You cracked open an eye, then narrowed your brows at her. "What is it?" You said gently, then again when she didnt reply. She stared at you, mouth agape. Her eyes locked to yours, even when you sat up to demand she tell you what the problem was. "Am I dying?!" you took her hand gently, in case she was going to push you away. Then she started laughing, her hand gripping yours back. The warmth glowed in your palm, the light radiating out from it was starkly contrasting the tent walls bedecked in orange. The light she emitted shot through you, and you felt the wound tingle, and seal. You stared at her in shock. That amount of healing power was incredible. Especially for field medics. "Youre not dying, no..." She waved a hand, fanning herself. Her eyes were glassy with tears. She sniffed and clutched your hand tighter. "Quite the opposite, darling." She pulled you in for a warm hug. + You spent the rest of the evening with Jeva. Until she got a hurried message about student healers needing help on the battlefield. You stayed in her tent as long as you could manage with the ringing in your ears. You stared and stared at the mirror across from you, showing you the bloodied warrior that you wanted to be. That you wanted to stay. The warrior that carried the Shadowsinger's child. The thought made tears sting your eyes. You refused to let them fall. You had been ignoring his tugs down the bond for well over an hour. You knew he was concerned, but you couldn't bring yourself to shout back down. The only thing that echoed in your mind were Jeva's words "You're pregnant..." Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. You nearly punched her when she told you she wasn't joking. The only reason you even believed her was because of that powerful zap of healing she sent to you. That she sent to scan your body and make sure the fetus was okay before you even knew about it. You could barely hear half the words she said as she told you your options. You roiled with the thought now. The Mugwart she left on the table was daunting. You desperately wanted her back. Jeva would be able to deliberate with you. You knew she would tell you to do whatever makes you happy. You knew that. But you wondered how ethical the choice that made you happy was. Bringing a child into a world of war seemed cruel. Even if it made you happy. You distantly noticed Azriel as you passed him, walking to the forest edge just passed your tent. Worry laced the bond between you. You tried not to show anything back. But you knew he felt the tension, the void there. "Where the hell have you been?!" Azriel's eyes were furious when you passed him, his wings flared out slightly. You couldnt even look at him with anger back. Your emotions ran wild. You were frozen, and as numb as the potion Jeva had given you when she began removing the blade. "Do you know how worried I have been?! I sent Cassian to-" He tried to grab for your hand to stop you, but you flicked him away. He stopped for a moment, stunned. Then returned with more energy than before. That yawning abyss in your bond was growing darker with shame, worry and anxiety. His shadows roiled around him as he caught up. "You dont get to-" "Azriel..." You stopped in the edge of the clearing. The small meadow was silent in the darkness, not even the monsters of Prythian dared roar tonight. Your mind did all the roaring you could handle, anyway. You tried to focus on the swaying grass, on the soft smell of wet bark and pine hanging in the air. "Dont try to excuse this I need to know you're okay and-" He stormed in front of you, ready to burst with rage. His fear always made him angry. And for good reason after losing so many close to him. A tear ran down your cheek, your face burned hot with hundreds of feelings at once. Fear, pain, shock, joy, hope.... elation. You wanted his children. You wanted to help raise his child. You wanted to see Azriel be a father. You knew he would be the best damn Illyrian father there had ever been. The thought hit you like a well placed punch. He saw your paleness, your tears and stopped his yelling. You fell to your knees, the mud splattering all around you. You wanted to lay down. Lay down and think about the implications of carrying his child. Would it be good for the baby to be born at all? Just because you wanted it didnt mean it needed to happen. You knew that Jeva would give you a potion to extract it without hesitation if it was what you wished. "I'm-" You choked out, fighting the panic that flooded you. Your mind roiled with the conflict of your mind and heart. It turned you into a muddied, dark ocean on the bond. A turmoil that he couldn't see past. If you were an ocean, he was your lighthouse on the cliffside. Signaling you home. His eyes darted to your body, to your hands and how they wrung together in front of you. "I'm sorry. I just-" He sighed and took one of your hands. "I'm sorry." He kissed the back of it and brought his forehead to yours. He normally needed a lot longer to cool down after a fight, but seeing you in tears shocked him out of his pride. "I shouldn't have said that... I know you can take care of yourself." his voice was low, and he ran a hand comfortingly down your back. A hysteric laugh bubbled from your throat. It sounded like a sob. You didn't know exactly which it was. He sat back and pulled you into his lap, despite the grass being dewey and damp. He rocked you there for a few seconds before you had to tell him. Before he could be too close if he didnt want you anymore. The doubt crept into your head, and the nerves ate at you. Your heart raced, you could feel it in your neck. "Azriel..stop." You pushed away from him, to catch his beautiful dark eyes. They were painted in a silver hue by the moon above. You took in his face, the curve of his cheeks and lips for possibly the last time. You had to consider the worst possible outcome. You braced yourself for the rejection, for the pain of his reaction. You knew it had to come out. You knew you had to say it now or you never would. Your stomach flipped over and over. You opened your mouth, a soft sob wracking out of you before you began. He froze. Went utterly still, his shadows even stopping for a second before whirling faster than before. Your eyes went wide. His nose flared, eyes narrowed. He held you closer, sniffing at your neck. He pulled back and his eyes were even wider than before. His mouth fell open when you nodded. "I'm-" "Youre-" his face went through a whirlwind of different emotion. Then, he broke out into a small laugh. He couldn't stop. You felt the tears running down your cheeks and didnt bother to wipe them away. "Honey... I'm sorry." He stopped laughing suddenly. "What do you want to do?" His eyes were masked, his expression the most serious you'd ever seen him. His aura on your bond seemed to go completely gray and still, as if he didn't want you to see him. He masked everything. In preparation for whatever you decide. The gesture made your heart squeeze in appreciation. You stammered, resting your forehead on his. "I dont know." You muttered, voice cracking. Then, he was wrapping his arms around you in a smothering hug. When he pulled away, he cradled your face in his hands. The hands that had seen so much cruelty in his life. The possibilities of the same thing happening to your child made your heart race. "I'm here for whatever decision you make." He brushed your cheek with a thumb. You nodded and let him hold you like that for a while. Quietly rocking back and forth with you in his lap. + You were near falling asleep when the war cries rang out again. Illyrians howling for their leaders to join them. Another onslaught of death coming their way. The calls were distant, but Azriel tensed the second he heard them. Your blood went cold. He buried his face to your chest, as if he wished he could hide there. "I'm not going." He said when you tried pushing him away. "I wont leave you." He promised, locking his muscled forearms around you. The echoes of battle cries faded. He stroked your hair, and traced his fingers along your back. Then he swore. "Let me take care of this." He said, voice edged with anger. Nerves pricked at your stomach, but you stood, wobbling on your feet slightly. He took off into the night sky painted in silvers and blues by the full moon. Then came racing back down right behind Rhys. the high lord took one breath and then he was hugging his brother. Azriel shoved him off, and they shot into the night sky. Well, Azriel did. He dragged Rhys with him. Grunts of pain and fleshy sounds of punching rang out. You followed them high into the air where they had their conversation. Your wings led you around them with ease. "Stop fighting and use your words, boys." You warned. You recognized Azriels growl and smiled to yourself as they broke apart. Rhys adjusted his tunic and cleared his throat. "I need you there. Cassian is handling the Western front, the others need a leader." Azriel began protesting against the high lord. "I cant with my mate-" "I know it feels impossible right now but-" "I will not, Rhys-" You set your jaw. If they wanted to fight over if you needed protection or not, you would take the option off the table all together. "I'll go." you said, voice strong since hearing Jeva announce what grew inside you. Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant. You shoved the thoughts away as far as you could. They both turned to you, horror striking Azriels features. "Absolutely not. No." Heat and rage flared down the bond. It made you want to defy everything he said. You locked eyes with him and glared. Rhys glanced between you with tense shoulders. He cleared his throat. "It would be a good compromise, Azriel. You can go together to the Eastern front. Think about it." He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and gave him a grim smile. "I wont say a word." He said, summoning the darkness around him then winnowing away. Azriel's cold eyes made him look like a statue. "Let's go." He said, and started circling lower. Back to the meadow. "I'm going, you cant stop me from following you." You said, expecting a fight. He said nothing. You were met with that silence that drove others crazy tryin to find out what he wanted from them. The bond seemed to snap taut, then go into a relaxed state. He was hiding. You knew it, but would rather have silence and peace than him trying to fight you again. He walked you back to the tent, and exhaustion took you under before you could remember him laying down with you. You hoped it it was exhaustion, and not whatever the baby was doing to you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't resist the urge to cradle your belly while you slept. There was no bump, but it felt like the most natural thing to do now that you were aware of the being inside you. You slept hard, and awoke to the breakfast bell chiming. The sounds of slow footsteps marching through the mud kept you awake. Azriel was gone, but the candle on the table was lit. A note lay there waiting for you. His messy scrawl made you smile, the familiarity of his writing reminded you of the notes he would leave you when he had to leave early for meetings with Rhys. "Back by nightfall, lover. A guard is at the tent, ask her to bring you anything you need. -A" You peeked outside the tent to see Jeva there, her long fur coat shimmering in the morning light. Her breath clouded in front of her when she gave you a soft smile. "Good morning." She pulled a muffin from her coat. "Your favorite." She winked, and you pulled her inside. She had a fire roaring by the time you finished your food. "How are you not freezing?" She complained, blowing into her hands to keep them warm. You brushed the crumbs from your shirt and really took into account the changes you'd noticed lately. How hungry you'd been, how tired after the easiest days. "Do you know... How um..." You gestured to your stomach. She gave a small smile and nodded. "Only a month or so." She said quietly. You stared at your stomach, as if waiting for something to answer you. To give some sort of affirmation that Jeva was right. She continued warming herself by the fire, and soon the tent was filled with her warm chestnut smell. Cassian entered the tent when you were starting to doze off again. The wool blanket on your lap reminded you of a time when you first met Az. Your heart squeezed at the memory of those long nights shared together by a fire. Taking your turns on watch duty. You shook yourself from the memory. Cassian froze. His face scrunched up at the sight of you. The scent, you realised. You swore to yourself, and Jeva only nodded when he looked to her. "Youre pregnant?" He asked breathlessly, and you could smell the fear and excitement coming from him. In fact, you could smell the smoked meat on his breath. And the cold air that clung to him from outside. It was refreshing, like a cool drink on a hot day amid the dry heat inside the tent. "I'm sorry, I shouldnt have.." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to remain focused. "Its okay, Cass. What's going on? Az left me this note." You handed it to him. His lips moved as he read it. He went white as bone. Your stomach dropped. + Azriel had gone in the night to take out the entire eastern flank with a small group of Illyrians. You felt your world skittering away as Cassian told you. Your vision went blurry, and tears fell, dripping on your hands that clenched the wool blanket. "He's on his way here now. He had to answer to Rhys first." Cassian waited for you to say anything. But your lips just couldnt form the words. The hurt, anger... the betrayal you felt for him going to battle without you. And defying a direct order from his high lord like a fool. "I suggest you leave before Azriel comes back. It may get messy." Jeva spoke for you, and you were grateful. You gave Cassian a nod of thanks before he turned and left. The cold wind that blew in from the door gave you goosebumps. "Take it easy, you dont want to be too stressed." Jeva handed you a mug of tea and gave you a small squeeze. You could smell Azriel before he entered. Jeva shot him a glare, but said nothing. "I'll be in my tent if you need me." She promised, gave you a look that said 'find me after' and left. Azriel took off his armor plates one by one. A bit too slowly to be considered normal. Stalling. You said nothing. You let the tension roil out of you, let it hit him down the bond. Like a wave getting ready to break. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his wings. The mask he wore cracked when he saw your fists balled in the blanket. "I couldnt risk you... or the babe." He tried to hide the fear that shone through. The fear of his mate or child being hurt in battle. He wouldnt be able to stand it. The fight was needed, anyway. He needed to get out his instincts to protect protect protect. You said nothing. You let that looming wave grow larger. He sighed, and sat at the end of the cot beside you. "I'm sorry. I needed....I needed to get my head straight. I should have told you. I'm sorry." That wave crashed, not on him though. Internally, guilt and fear melting in on yourself. "I cant lose you, we... We cant." You said through your teeth, trying to hold back the tears that begged to spill over. He tried his best to hold back his surprise. "We?" He asked, a small smile playing on his full lips. You gave him a grim smile. "If you're...ready to be a father. I like imagining you, with my child." "Our child." He said with a bubbling laugh. You laughed with him, and it turned to hysterics. He wiped tears from the corner of your eyes. "We're going to have a baby?" He cradled your face, looking into your eyes. You took one of his hands, and placed it on your flat belly. "Yes. We are." You said, voice quivering. He wrapped you into a hug, and you cried together in the cot.

#acotar #acotar fic #reader x azriel #azriel x reader #azriel

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renaerys · 3 years ago

Note

The Greens: “I’m gonna be your first and your last” and, because the Blues need some love, “We just went over the rules.”

48. “We just went over the rules.”

A Blues ask!! My crops are watered and my skin is cleared. I have other Greens prompts, so there will be more of them coming. I hope it's okay that I chose the Blues one!

Send me a prompt and some characters! Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we're getting creative here.

List of prompts

xxx

“Wait, okay, so is eye contact allowed?”

Bubbles popped a chewing gum bubble. “That’s allowed.”

“And is it one foot or two on the floor?”

“One. Look, are you really ready? We just went over the rules, but you seem nervous.”

Boomer shook his head. “No, I’m good! For real, let’s do this. I’m good to go.”

Todd slammed a bill on the table in between them. “Super, because I got money on the line here. Let’s gooooooo!”

“Wow, five whole dollars? I’m flattered,” Boomer said.

“Why? My money’s on Bubbles.”

“Mine too,” Buttercup said.

“Y’all are about to take a collective shit and eat it when Boomer wins this,” Butch said.

Blossom winced. “Jesus, Butch.”

“No, no, he’s right.” Brick put his hands on Boomer’s shoulders and leaned his weight on them. “Boomer, flatten her ass.”

Buttercup leaned close to Blossom’s ear. “Did you hear that, Blossom? Did you hear what that uncultured fool just said about our sister’s ass?”

Blossom clenched her fists. “Oh, I heard it.”

“Okay, enough! Can we just start please?” Bubbles had not signed up for a pissing contest between their siblings. She hadn’t even invited them. This was supposed to be a friendly match for fun, until Todd found out and turned it into some betting pool among their classmates and friends, who had all gathered in Todd’s basement to watch the competition.

“All bets are in! Last call!” Mike rattled a tin full of coins and a few bills from the high rollers.

Bubbles chewed her now flavorless gum. “Ready?”

“He was born ready,” Brick said, dead-ass serious.

Butch made a man noise somewhere in between a squawk and a roar.

“I’m ready when you are,” Boomer said.

Robin, who had agreed to act as referee, leaned over the table. “Okay, take your positions, brave combatants!”

Bubbles wrapped her hand around Boomer’s and rested her elbow on the table. On Robin’s countdown, she put all her Super strength behind her arm and pushed against Boomer’s, who pushed right back.

They were evenly matched in strength, but Bubbles had expected this. She smiled and turned on the charm. “Hey, Boomer.”

Boomer blinked. Sweat had begun to form on his forehead from the exertion. “Yeah?”

Bubbles gritted her teeth against his force. Her arm shook, but her eyes smiled. “You look really hot in that jacket.”

He flushed, and Brick slammed a hand on the table. “Hey, no flirting! Ref, do something about this.”

“Back off, Mother Theresa. It was just a compliment,” Buttercup said.

“The hell it was. I see you, Bubbles.”

“Don’t you dare address her directly! You’re interfering with her concentration,” Blossom said.

“All right, all right! No one talks anymore,” Robin said.

“I’m increasing my bet,” Todd said, dropping another dollar into Mike’s tin. “Bubbles is gonna murder him.”

It was harder without talking. Boomer couldn’t use his electricity, but his stamina was a little better than Bubbles’ on a good day. She could feel herself beginning to slip. Her palm was clammy where it clasped Boomer’s, and her elbow dug into the table hard enough to dent the steel.

Boomer held her gaze. He knew she was losing steam, and it only made him stronger. Around them, their siblings and friends loomed with death and destruction in their eyes, but Bubbles couldn’t worry about them when she had to worry about Boomer. She wasn’t as punch-hungry as Buttercup or as viper-tongued as Blossom, but she had her pride, and Boomer of all people was definitely not going to beat her.

He’d been her arch nemesis, her equal and opposite counter born to destroy her, and he’d failed rather embarrassingly when one kiss blew him up. A lot had changed since then—they were dating now, and their fights had transitioned more to the verbal spat variety over kicks and punches—but the competition between them still simmered under the surface. Boomer had never grown past his ultimate weakness, either.

And yeah, it was a teensy bit underhanded, but Bubbles had come here to conquer and Boomer was in her fucking way.

She looked Boomer directly in the eye, puckered her lips, and blew the slowest, sexiest chewing gum bubble she’d ever blown in her life. Like the sweet but predictable boy he was, Boomer shuddered and squeaked an impotent oh! and Bubbles went in for the kill.

She slammed his hand down on the table. The room exploded around them.

“She cheated,” Brick insisted.

“She didn’t speak, so she didn’t break the rule,” Blossom said.

“That was the most fuck me harder, daddy bubble I have ever seen. It’s a hundred percent cheating!”

“You can’t ascribe sexual intention to gum! That’s simply absurd.”

“Yeah, Brick, wow. Get some ice for that sore ass, loser,” Buttercup said.

Butch made another man-roar-growl and fell to his knees.

While Blossom and Brick continued to scream at each other over the sexual agency or lack thereof of chewing gum, Bubbles collected her winnings from Mike, high-fived Todd for being a true ally from the get-go, and dragged Boomer out of there. “Are you okay?”

Boomer sighed. “Yeah, just a little emasculated. But it’s no big deal, I’ll get over it.”

“That’s the spirit.” She kissed his cheek, and he caught her with an arm around her waist when she tried to pull back.

“I don’t mind losing if it’s to you, you know.”

“That’s cute. But you definitely did lose.”

He groaned. “Yeah, okay, you won. I’m toast. You’ve ruined gum for me forever. What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. Just stop talking and kiss me.”

He shut up immediately.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

#powerpuff girls #powerpuff girls fanfic #Boomubbles #ppg blues #ppg bubbles #ppg #september fic prompts

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hrina · 4 years ago

Text

In The Ring, Pt. I - Jab

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 4k REQUESTED: not exactly lol

hey everyone! this is PART 1 of the boxer!harry AU i’ve been working on. i was so inspired by this concept that i wrote it all in one day lol. if u enjoy reading it, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated! it really helps in terms of motivation and just knowing how my readers feel about this story in general. so yeah, that would really make my month!

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, go stupid go dumb! my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio, for anyone who would like to check out my other fics or who feels like chatting. can’t wait to hear your thoughts 💘💘💘

~*~

January 7, 2021

All of Harry’s teeth are still intact.

For now, at least.

He knows that mouthguards exist—there’s one tucked between his lips every single time he enters the ring. But even then…sometimes punches go awry. Sometimes your opponent dodges at the last second. Sometimes people end up with a mouthful of leather and a few loose incisors. He always keeps one fist near his chin, shielding the lower half of his face from any blows that come his way.

Speaking of blows coming his way…

He ducks away from the straight jab that the man throws—The Wall, they call him. Harry had rolled his eyes when the nickname boomed across the room, soon lost in the roar of the crowd.

He’s never been one for flashy introductions. He prefers to let his technique speak for itself. His brand is his name. Harry Styles. Simple, concise, and so utterly deceiving. He loves watching the smile melt from his opponent’s face, basks in the moment when they realise that he’s tougher than his name suggests.

The Wall jabs again, and Harry successfully dodges the punch. He doesn’t register the other fist hooking around, however, until the blunt front of the man’s glove makes contact with the side of his head. Usually, a blow like that wouldn’t even faze him. But the sheer force behind the hit knocks him off-balance, stumbling to the side as he loses his footing and inhaling sharply when his shoulder collides with the ground.

The yells from the crowd are deafening. Harry coughs, trying to guide air back into his lungs. When he blinks, black spots dance across his vision. Subconsciously, his eyes trace a path upward, past the floor, past his opponent’s feet, past the ropes encompassing the ring. Higher and higher, still, past jeering faces and sloshing beer bottles and grungy eye makeup. All the way to the top of the bleachers, to the exit—to you.

That’s been your unofficial spot for the past two years. Once you turned twenty, your father finally gave in, allowing you to attend Harry’s matches in exchange for the cessation of your endless badgering. You always stand near the door, observing the commotion with thoughtful eyes and puckered lips. Despite himself, Harry has started to think of you as his lucky charm. It’s dangerous—he always swore that he wouldn’t be one of those overly-superstitious athletes—but he can’t help it. He just seems to perform better when you’re around.

Through the rocky field of his vision, he can see just how wide your eyes have grown. There’s an unmistakable look of concern on your face as you watch the fight unfold. Your hand finds its way to the base of your throat, playing nervously with the rose-gold pendant resting there. You crane your neck to get a better view of the ring, your pupils flitting back and forth between Harry and the frighteningly large man looming over him.

A warm rush of adrenaline floods Harry’s veins. The saliva that has gathered in his mouth tastes stale on his tongue. He spits it out as he staggers to his feet. The crowd grows louder, somehow.

The Wall’s smile shrinks as Harry assumes his previous position; his hands orient themselves in front of his face. His opponent gnashes his teeth, seemingly annoyed with the fact that the match has not ended. Harry shakes off the dizziness clouding his brain, and then he’s lunging forward with a newfound sense of determination. He throws punch after punch, sidestepping The Wall’s returning attempts. All he can think about is the fact that you’re up there, watching, waiting, worrying. He never wants to see you like that again.

You’re his goddamn lucky charm.

His victory comes in the form of an uppercut followed immediately by a nasty right hook. The Wall—this big, towering man with bulging biceps and rippling pectorals—crumples to the ground. Harry waits, his chest heaving with exertion as the countdown begins. He’s prepared to watch his opponent rise again, to shift back into a fighting stance and start over. But as the seconds trickle by and The Wall remains motionless on the ground, he soon finds the tension in his body seeping out into the hot, sticky air.

His shoulders sag in relief as a single promising word echoes through the grimy arena.

“Knockout!”

~*~

The crowd thins out considerably in the ten minutes following the termination of the match. Harry stumbles out of the ring, sliding through the ropes and pulling his mouthguard from between his lips. Your father is waiting for him with a smile on his face, holding out an arm and helping him jump down from the raised platform.

“Well done, H,” he says, patting his back proudly.

Harry pants and nods. Your father holds out a reusable water bottle for him to take—he accepts it graciously and gulps down the cold liquid with fat, greedy slurps. Once he pulls the nozzle away from his mouth, he runs the back of his hand over his face to catch any stray droplets that have collected on his chin.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You took a pretty hard fall, there,” your father says, guiding him to sit down on a bench propped up against the wall. “Medic’s in the back. He’s checking out Aaron right now, but you’re next.” He taps his index finger against Harry’s temple. “We’ve got to make sure everything’s alright up there.”

Harry sucks in a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Who the fuck is Aaron?”

“Oh.” Your father laughs. “Aaron. The Wall. Whatever you want to call him.”

Harry frowns. “Don’t like that. Makes him sound like a dick.”

A new voice enters the conversation.

“That’s because he is.”

Harry’s head snaps to the side, and there you are.

You look nice, as usual. There’s something about you that he can never seem to properly describe. You always look so…clean. If he tried to vocalize his thoughts, he’s sure that you would look at him like he was crazy.

But in his head, it makes sense. You take care of yourself. Your nails are spotless, your hair smells good, and he knows that you must dab spritzes of perfume onto your pulse points before you leave the house, because a fresh scent follows you wherever you go. Even now, as you stand a few feet away with your hands on your hips, he catches it on a deep inhale. Not flowery, not fruity, just…clean. Refreshing. Light. Breezy.

Your father snaps him out of his reverie, and he realises that he should probably stop listing every word in the thesaurus.

“How do you know?” Your father’s inquiry is curious. He shoots you a puzzled look, his mouth curling down into a soft scowl.

You roll your eyes. “Called me ‘sweet thing’ before the match started and asked me if I was the prize,” you say, sticking your tongue out in disdain. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Harry’s lips twitch.

Your father chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “What time are we leaving?” you ask. The question is directed at your father, who is fiddling with the drawstrings hanging from his sweater. “I was hoping to study a bit more before bed.”

“Soon, gioia,” your father says. “As soon as Harry gets checked out, we’ll be on our way.”

You nod, and—for what feels like the first time since you cut into the interaction—you glance down at Harry. “Hi,” you say softly, shooting him a small, friendly smile.

He meets your gaze for only a moment. Everything about you is so gentle. Your irises are like melted pots of honey, regarding him with such warmth he feels like he’ll never be cold again. “Hi.”

“Congratulations on your win,” you murmur. Harry wants to bottle your voice and save it as a keepsake. “You made a great comeback.”

Because of you, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. “Thank you,” he offers up instead, the words scraping against the roof of his mouth and tumbling unceremoniously into the air between you.

A moment of silence ensues as you wait for him to say something—anything—else. But he’s done. You nod once before turning back to your father, who is tweaking the settings of the watch wrapped around his wrist.

“Do you know where the washrooms are?” you ask. You toy absentmindedly with the necklace hanging from your throat. “I need to pee.”

“You can use the one in the women’s locker room,” your father tells you, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “Around the corner, first door on the left.”

“Thanks,” you say, slipping by and pressing a quick peck to his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

He just nods in agreement, still too preoccupied with his watch.

Harry, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off of you as you walk away. He takes note of the way that you tuck your hair behind your ear, how you shoulder the strap of your purse to keep it from slipping down your arm, how you walk with a purpose despite being so moderate and kind. His gaze falls momentarily to the sway of your hips, the enticing nature of your waist. He stares for a long moment before tearing away, clearing his throat and blinking a few times in quick succession.

“Proud of you, H,” your father pipes up, tapping the face of his watch twice before dropping his arm with a sigh. “You did well out there.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters. A spark of guilt flares up in his chest when he realises that he had been blatantly ogling you with your father standing only a few feet off to the side. He silently berates himself, shaking his head free of any alluring thoughts.

Your father’s phone chirps with the arrival of a new notification. He fishes the device out of his pocket and glances down at the screen.

“Let’s go,” he tells Harry, jerking his head to the right. “Medic’s ready for you, now.”

January 13, 2021

“C’mon, H, be smart with it! Watch how he angles himself!”

And Harry’s trying, really, but Arthur—or Artie, as your father likes to call him—is a hunkering titan of a man. He used to be your father’s star athlete before retiring, and now…now he’s working in finance, or something akin to that. Harry isn’t one hundred percent sure; he usually zones out when people begin to discuss the stock market.

Artie throws a right hook, but Harry sees it coming and blocks it with ease. They move in a circle, focussed only on each other while other individuals outside of the ring totter around.

Harry prefers to train on weekdays during the afternoon, because that’s when the gym isn’t as packed. Right now, only a handful of other people are working out, lifting weights or doing cardio exercises. Harry and Artie are here so often that nobody even blinks an eye anymore. And your father…well, he runs the place. Of course he would be here.

The sparring continues. When Harry refuses to make the first move, Artie sticks one glove out, beckoning him forward. “Come here, pretty boy.”

“Don’t make me pull your hair,” Harry grits, because Artie’s ponytail is swinging temptingly from beneath his headgear.

The other man laughs good-naturedly before lunging. Harry blocks his uppercut and delivers a strong, pointed jab right to the middle of his chest. Artie stumbles backward, inhaling sharply as the breath is knocked from his lungs. Harry bites back a smile.

“Nice, H!” your father calls.

“Thanks, Coach,” he mutters.

The front door of the gym opens, accompanied by the soft tinkling of a bell to announce the new arrival. Harry’s attention is reflexively drawn toward the direction of the sound, and his heartbeat stutters beneath his ribs.

You’re there, with your hair tied back in a low bun and silver hoops hanging from your ears. You’re holding a tray of coffee in your left hand, and there’s a warm smile on your face. You wave excitedly as you greet Portia, the middle-aged woman sitting behind the front desk. The two of you chat as you shrug off your jacket and tug the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your mouth moves languidly. Though Harry is too far to hear your voice, he has a pretty good idea of what you’re saying. Your eyes widen and you shiver dramatically, shaking your head.

It’s cold!

A heavy fist makes contact with the side of his jaw, and he falls to the ground.

Your father’s loud exclamation pulls your attention away from Portia and toward the ring on the opposite end of the room. Harry groans lowly as he pushes himself to his knees, tilting his head from side to side and cracking his neck. When he turns to face your father, he finds him frowning through the gaps between the ropes.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, shooting Harry a disappointed look.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, climbing to his feet with a grunt. “Got distracted.”

He chances a glance back at you, and his shoulders grow tense when he realises that you’re making your way over to the ring, the tray of coffee held between your hands like a peace offering.

“Hello, boys,” you singsong. “I brought drinks.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” your father says as you hand him his designated cup. He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your hair. You hum happily in response.

“Jason!” you call out as Artie approaches the side of the ring. “I got your lemonade.”

“Thanks, little girl,” Artie hums, accepting his drink graciously and taking a long sip from the straw. “And for the hundredth time, stop calling me ‘Jason’.”

“Stop calling me ‘little girl’,” you shoot back, laughing deviously. “I can’t help it if you look like him, okay? You’re even the same age, too.” You cock one eyebrow. “Should I start calling you ‘Aquaman’ instead?”

“God, no.” Artie shakes his head vehemently. “Let’s stick to Jason. ’Least that’s a real name.”

You giggle as he ambles away. Your eyes shift over to Harry—who has kept silent the entire time—and your lips curl up into a kind smile. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” His voice is guttural.

“Last, but not least,” you murmur, plucking his drink from the tray and holding it up for him to take. “One black coffee, right?”

“Right,” he confirms with a curt nod. He tugs his bulky gloves off, dropping them to the floor and reaching out to accept the cup. A strong spark pricks at his hand when his fingers brush against yours. Your responding gasp is soft, barely-noticeable—if he weren’t so painfully aware of everything you do, he would have missed it completely.

“Thank you,” he says, guiding the coffee to his mouth and taking a small sip.

“No problem.” You smile up at him again, and God, that fucking smile. He wants it tattooed onto the backs of his eyelids. A wave of heat blooms in his chest and creeps up his neck, but thankfully, the pink flush blends in with his sweat-slicked, already-rosy skin.

“How was class, sweetheart?” your father asks, tilting his head to the side.

“It was good.” You shrug, tossing a thumb over your shoulder. “I’m going to head home now, though—I have a proposal due in a few days and I really need to get started.”

“Go, go,” your father concedes. You bid him goodbye before standing on your tiptoes and craning your neck to catch sight of Artie, who is quite evidently enjoying his lemonade.

“Bye, Jason!”

“Bye, little girl!”

You laugh. Your gaze lands on Harry again, eyes sparkling and features resolutely tender. “Bye, Harry.”

He swallows down the hard lump in his throat. “Bye.”

January 16, 2021

Harry’s workout playlist features a lot of Ariana Grande.

He just thinks that she’s good, okay?

But he knows that Artie and your father would never let him hear the end of it, so he keeps that information private. During practice, he’ll endure whatever shitty tunes Artie picks from his own library, and he won’t say a word. He’s not in the ring to dance, anyway. He’s there to make money—albeit illegally—because quite frankly, he hasn’t discovered an aptitude for anything else.

It’s late—the gym is technically closed. But the great thing about having the owner for a coach is the fact that Harry was given another key to add to his collection. Your father doesn’t care, as long as he locks up after he’s done. Harry has spent more time here than at his own home, he imagines. It’s nice when it’s quiet—it gives him plenty of time to think.

The back of his t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. He’s gazing at the ceiling as he lifts the heavy weights up and down over his torso. A bubbly song is playing on his phone, keeping his energy high.

So what if he listens to Ariana Grande? She makes great music.

The distinctive sound of footsteps reaches his ears. He pauses, setting the weightlifting bar back onto its rack and sitting up quickly. The noise is coming from the stairs that lead down to the swimming pool in the basement. Harry stands, and though his muscles are already screaming from previous exertion, he readies himself for the worst.

You appear at the top of the flight, your slippers smacking against each step loudly. You’re ruffling a towel against your wet hair, your head angled to the side as you squeeze out any excess water. Upon catching sight of Harry, you freeze in your tracks.

“Oh. Harry. Hi.”

“Hi,” he says slowly. “I…didn’t know you were here.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you reply wryly, a small smirk making its way onto your lips.

Harry scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Er…I was just working out.”

You nod, your expression coy. “I can see that.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air. Harry clears his throat, rubbing his jaw with his fingers because what else is he supposed to do? “Were you—did you go for a swim?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your shoulders deflate, like you’re almost grateful that he’s contributed more to the conversation. “Spent half the time doing laps, and the other half on my phone.” Your lips quirk up with the feeble joke.

Harry chuckles weakly. “That’s just how it is, sometimes.”

Your eyes flutter shut for only a moment. “Yeah.”

More silence. Harry chews nervously on his bottom lip. Why the fuck can’t he speak?

The song playing from his phone changes. Your eyes narrow ever-so-slightly when a few upbeat notes trickle into the air, followed immediately by the smooth crooning of a woman’s voice. “Is this…,” you hesitate, and he can see how you’re fighting a smile, “…Carly Rae Jepsen?”

“Uh,” he says dumbly, uncertain of how to proceed. Sure enough, I Really Like You by Carly Rae Jepsen is filtering through the taut atmosphere, painfully loud now that the two of you are truly paying attention to it.

A high-pitched laugh falls from your mouth, and your shoulders shake with the force of your amusement. Harry, unable to help himself, begins to chuckle along with you. Heat blooms across his cheeks, but he’s not as embarrassed as he thought he’d be. Your giggles aren’t derisive, he realises.

He’s nearly overcome with the urge to take you in his arms, then, but he resists.

“Late night, watching the television…,” you sing quietly, and then you’re dissolving into merriment all over again.

Once your joint laughter subsides, you shoot him a bright grin. Harry tries his best to return it, though he doesn’t think that he mirrors your smile to its full extent. You sigh in delight, shouldering the strap of your bag and tossing your towel over your forearm.

“That honestly made my night,” you tell him, utterly sincere.

His heart somersaults in his chest. “’M glad.”

“Well,” you say, shrugging gently, “I should probably go.”

“Yeah.” His response is hollow. He lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He lies back down with a grunt as you make your way toward the exit. His fingers wrap around the weightlifting bar, about to pull it off of its resting place, when your voice suddenly rings out again.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He sits up too quickly, nearly catching his forehead against the metal of the bar. When he turns around to face you, he finds you doubling back, approaching him and nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“I actually—,” you pause, like you’re unsure of how to continue, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing his hands over the black shorts covering his thighs. “Go ahead.”

“It might be kind of weird,” you warn. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He shakes his head, blinking solemnly. “I won’t.”

“Would you—,” you begin, and your fingers come up to play with the pendant resting at the base of your throat, “—teach me how to box?”

“I—,” Harry recoils slightly, taken aback by your question. “What?”

“Would you teach me how to box?” you repeat, though your voice is significantly smaller. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”

“Against what?” he asks, his brows knitting together in concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine.” You wave away his worries with an inattentive flick of your hand. Harry’s eyes narrow as he studies your face. You refuse to meet his gaze.

You’re lying, he realises, straight through your pretty teeth. But it would be impolite of him to pry, wouldn’t it? And this is the first time that the two of you have ever been really, truly alone; he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

“Okay,” he says slowly, even though he doesn’t believe your guarantee.

He pulls at the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and wiping his face with the fabric. When he fixes his gaze on you once more, he thinks he catches your eyes drifting across his torso. Cocking one eyebrow curiously, he climbs to his feet.

“What do you want to learn?” he asks, reaching for his phone and pausing the music streaming from the device.

“Anything,” you say breathlessly. “Everything.”

His lips twitch.

“I—,” he scratches at his nose with two fingers, “—I don’t really have a set schedule, you know, between practice and actual matches.”

“I know.” You nod understandingly.

“And I know you have school,” he continues, tilting his head to the side. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Positive,” you tell him. There’s something strong burning in your eyes; he can’t quite figure out what it is. “I want to train. Just…don’t tell my dad, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats. He swallows heavily, offering his phone to you. “Put your number in, yeah? I’ll text you on the nights I’m free, and if you’re not too busy, we can meet up here.”

“Alright,” you concede softly. You take the device from him, and he pretends not to notice just how badly your hands are shaking. Your nails tap quietly against the screen, and before you know it, you’re passing the phone back to him with your information saved under a new contact.

“Alright,” Harry echoes.

The two of you stare at each other for a long, silent moment. The spell is broken, however, when you finally take a step back, clearing your throat and tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“I should go,” you say. “For real, this time.”

“For real.” Harry nods.

“You’ll lock up, right?” you ask, retreating toward the exit.

“Yup,” he says, popping the last letter instinctively. At that, you smile, your mouth curling up into a soft, inviting crescent.

“Okay,” you murmur, placing one hand on the door. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He watches you go with forlorn eyes and empty lungs. “Goodnight.”

~*~

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

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hotshotsxyz · 3 years ago

Text

would you love me for the hell of it?

buddie (2.4k) (read it on AO3)

As stupid as it seems now, Eddie always thought they’d have more time.

He should know better. If the bullet wounds that riddle his body weren’t evidence enough, the scarring that he knows twists across Buck’s leg should have been. It wasn’t, though. Despite everything they’d been through, Eddie always thought they’d have enough time.

Now, though, as he opens the door to find Buck already standing in front of it, he knows they’ve finally run out. Eddie draws him into a hug without a second thought. There’s no space left for pretenses.

“I didn’t even knock,” Buck says into his shoulder. Eddie can hear the unsteadiness in his voice and it breaks his heart all over again. None of it was supposed to happen like this.

“I was coming to find you,” Eddie says thickly. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

“I couldn’t stop checking the time, so I turned it off,” Buck admits. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie let’s go of Buck, but only long enough to grab his hand and pull him inside. “It’s okay,” Eddie says softly. “I get it.” And he does, god he does. He’d unplugged the microwave hours ago, just so he didn’t have to see its mocking green numbers staring back at him.

“Buck!” Christopher exclaims from the living room floor.

“Hey, buddy!” Buck says, crouching next to him. It amazes Eddie that, even now, Buck manages to exude the bright, beautiful energy he always has in front of Christopher. He kind of loves him for it.

It’s not the first time Eddie’s had the thought, but it might be the first time that he has no urge to run from it or to push it down until he can put Buck neatly back into the best friend slot he’d occupied in Eddie’s mind for so long. What’s the point in all that now? Whatever he’d been afraid of losing, there’s a countdown on all of it now.

Christopher’s explaining his drawing in detail to Buck, and it makes Eddie’s heart ache. Sure, Chris has been growing like a weed lately, but Eddie’d figured he had a year or two left of this at least.

Maybe time has always been the enemy, and he’s just the last one to work it out.

Thank god for Buck. As much as it hurts, knowing with certainty now just how good Buck is at pretending to be okay, Eddie can’t help but be grateful for Chris’s sake. He sits down on the couch next to them and puts his hand on Buck’s shoulder, just because he can. Buck looks up at him questioningly, and Eddie offers him a small smile. Buck nods and smiles back, but Eddie can read the sadness there.

“Can we watch a movie?” Chris asks eventually.

“Yeah, mijo, pick one out,” Eddie says, opening the Netflix app on the TV and handing Christopher the remote. “Me and Buck will make snacks.”

He stands, knowing Buck will follow.

In the kitchen, Eddie allows his facade to crack, just a little. He rests his head tiredly against Buck’s shoulder, smiling a little when Buck’s arms automatically encircle him.

“I thought you’d be with Maddie,” he says softly.

Eddie feels Buck shake his head and swallow. “I saw her, Chim, and Jee this morning. But I needed -- god, Eddie, you have to know.”

Eddie pulls back and looks Buck in the eye. He sees love reflected there, just like he always has. “I do,” he says softly. “Me too.”

Buck lets out a wounded noise and pulls Eddie back into the embrace.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Eddie whispers, eyes burning with unshed tears.

“No place I’d rather be for the end of the world,” Buck jokes weakly. His hands tremble against Eddie’s back.

None of it was supposed to happen like this. The comet was supposed to pass close enough to Earth to be a spectacular show for anyone in the Eastern hemisphere, then continue its way around the sun and back out into the Kuiper belt. Hell, Chris has been excited about it, Buck too. They’d been talking about it for months, Buck helping Christopher learn everything he could about where comets came from and what they were made of.

And then something happened. Eddie doesn’t really understand it, but he keeps hearing words like dark matter and quantum mechanical black hole and gravity wells. The gist of it, though, Eddie gets. Something changed the path of the comet, and instead of passing them by harmlessly, it’s now on a collision course. The entire world got less than two week’s warning.

The comet is something like eleven miles wide, he’d heard on the radio. Large enough for an extinction-level event, Buck had told him quietly.

He knows that there are people around the world frantically working to prevent that. He also knows that the odds are bleak. It all came down to time, all over again. There wasn’t enough. There never is.

“Am I doing the right thing?” Eddie asks Buck softly. “Not telling Christopher?”

The fierceness with which Buck answers surprises him, though perhaps it shouldn’t. “He doesn’t need to know. You’re doing the right thing, Eds, he shouldn’t have to face this. Either the world doesn’t end, and we scared him for no reason, or…” Buck trails off, but Eddie gets his meaning.

Eddie swallows and nods. “You’re right,” he says. “He doesn’t-“ he cuts himself off and shuts his eyes tight.

Buck squeezes him again. I’m here, the gesture says. Eddie squeezes back.

The movie Christopher picks is one they’ve seen before, and Eddie’s grateful. It’s easier to tune it out, to keep his eyes on Christopher and Buck instead.

When they’d returned with snacks, Christopher had immediately asked if he could sit with Buck. Buck had turned to him, expression stricken. The sentiment was obvious.

“Only if Buck sits with me,” Eddie’d replied. They’d ended up pressed together from their shoulders to their ankles with Chris sprawled out across both of them.

It’s the kind of domesticity Eddie’s caught himself daydreaming about more than once.

When the movie ends, Chris asks to stay up and wait for the comet. Of course he’d remembered it’s tonight. Eddie doesn’t know why he expected otherwise.

“No, buddy, we’ll watch the video tomorrow,” Eddie says. The lie tastes like ash on his tongue.

Chris begins to pout, but Buck steps in.

“Trust me,” he says. “If we wait until tomorrow, we’ll get to watch the best video, instead of some shakey news camera. You wouldn’t want to spoil that, would you?” Buck asks, pasting on his most infectious grin. Knowing it’s fake makes Eddie’s chest ache.

“Tell you what, though,” Eddie says, “how about we all have a sleepover in my room tonight?”

Christopher cheers at that.

Eddie smiles. It’s small and it’s watery, but it’s real. Buck presses his shoulder further into Eddie’s, a comforting pressure.

“Go get ready for bed and pick out a book, okay?”

Christopher grins and slides off the couch. The tears that have been threatening at the corners of Eddie’s eyes all night long return with a vengeance, and as soon as Christopher disappears around the corner, they finally fall.

His shoulders shake silently, and Buck pulls him to his chest. Buck’s warm fingers card through his hair, and he could swear he feels the ghost of a kiss pressed against the top of his head. Under any other circumstance, the thought would be electrifying. Now, though, it just makes the ache inside him grow.

In another lifetime, they could have had this. Decades, maybe, of unrestrained affection. Love. God, what had they been waiting for?

He feels the unsteadiness of Buck’s breath and knows without looking that he’s crying too. Mourning the same thing, Eddie suspects.

He hears Christopher making his way back towards them, and reluctantly pulls out of Buck’s embrace. He does his best to wipe the tears away and school his expression, but if the way Christopher frowns at him is any indication, he isn’t successful.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks, looking between them.

Eddie pulls him close and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Everything’s okay,” he says softly.

“Your Dad and I were just talking about something sad,” Buck says, “but you don’t need to worry about it, okay?”

“What was it?” Chris asks.

Buck looks panicked and desperately sad, all at once.

“There were some people we couldn’t save,” Eddie says. This, at least, feels something like the truth. “And that made us feel sad, buddy.”

“It’ll be okay,” Christopher says seriously, looking at both of them in turn.

“You’re right,” Buck says, sounding a little choked up. “As long as we’re all together, it will be.”

They settle in Eddie’s bed and read a chapter from Chris’s book, the fifth in the Percy Jackson series. They’re barely halfway through it, but part of Eddie wants to push through the rest. He wants to know how it ends. Wants Christopher to know. Christopher should get to —

Eddie screws his eyes shut. Christopher should get to graduate, to fall in love, and to have kids of his own. He should get to grow old and gray and he should get to finish his damn book.

It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

All of the things Chris has been through - losing his mom, the tsunami, nearly losing Eddie - what’s the point of it all if he doesn’t get to grow from it, to heal past it?

Eddie wants to scream and cry and punch something. Instead, he keeps reading, steadily as he can, until Christopher is fast asleep between him and Buck.

After a few minutes of silence, both of them watching the steady rise and fall of Christopher’s chest, Buck taps Eddie’s wrist and nods towards the hall. He slips out of bed, and Eddie follows, careful not to jar Chris.

He finds Buck leaning against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed. Eddie stands next to him, mindless of personal space. It had always been an afterthought between them, anyway.

“I’m in love with you,” Buck says casually, after several moments of silence. He opens his eyes and tips his head forward, gaze landing on Eddie. “I can’t even remember why I was so afraid to say it.”

“Me too,” Eddie says. He laces his fingers with Buck’s. “I’m in love with you too. I have been, I don’t even know how long.”

Buck chuckles softly, sadly. “We have the worst timing,” he says, turning his entire body towards Eddie.

Eddie turns to meet him, and Buck’s hand comes up to graze Eddie’s jaw.

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie asks, surprising himself. It shouldn’t feel like such a leap, but it does. It’d be terrifying, but Eddie’s always trusted Buck to catch him when he falls.

Instead of answering, Buck leans in and brushes his lips against Eddie’s, soft and gentle and everything and altogether not enough. Eddie chases him as he pulls back, capturing him in a deeper kiss. It’s hard and desperate, yet somehow achingly tender as if their bodies know that their first kisses will almost certainly be their last.

Buck lets out a half-choked sob and buries his fingers in Eddie’s hair. He doesn’t let go, even as they break the kiss, just leans their foreheads together. Somewhere along the line, Eddie’s fingers have fisted in Buck’s shirt. He doesn’t let go either.

“Eddie,” Buck says, raw and grief-stricken.

“Evan,” Eddie whispers. It’s only the second time he’s used Buck’s given name. If the way Buck’s breath hitches is any indication, he notices too.

Buck kisses him again then, filthy at first, then slowing into something sweet. In another lifetime, Eddie could spend hours like this, trading kisses with Buck. In this lifetime though…

Eddie cups Buck’s jaw and pulls back. “I love you,” he says because if this is his only chance, he’s not going to let Buck doubt it for a minute.

“I love you, too.”

Eddie takes Buck by the wrist and pulls him back into the bedroom, turning off lights as they go. They break apart just long enough to settle on either side of Chris, facing one another. Buck throws an arm across both of them, and Eddie brushes an errant lock of hair from Buck’s forehead.

The minutes tick by slowly as they lay in the dark, until Eddie finally speaks.

“If there’s something after all this…” Eddie whispers, “Promise you’ll find me?”

Buck lifts his arm and holds out his pinky finger. Eddie wraps his own around it.

“I promise,” Buck says.

It means something. It has too.

Eddie doubts he’ll sleep, but somehow, in between listening to Christopher’s breathing and watching Buck watch him, he slips into a dark, dreamless slumber.

The sunlight that wakes Buck is warm on his face, just like the sheets that pool around his waist. He wants to luxuriate in it, to let the sweetness of sleep pull him back under, but this time of year, if the sun’s already out, he’s late for work.

Buck’s eyes fly open. The sun’s out. He’s in Eddie’s bed. He’s late for work. Holy shit. He doesn’t even try to contain the grin that spreads across his face. He rolls over and shakes Eddie’s shoulder.

“Eddie, Eddie, wake up,” he whispers excitedly.

Eddie lifts his head, looking rumpled and adorable. He grumbles something completely unintelligible, and the smile on Buck’s face gets even wider.

“We’re late for work,” Buck says, practically bouncing.

“Shit,” Eddie says, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“Eds, you don’t understand. We’re late for work.”

The sleep clears from Eddie’s face almost as quickly as it had from Buck’s. “Oh my god,” he says, taking in the decidedly intact world around them. “It missed. Buck, it missed!”

Eddie surges forward, mindful of the still-sleeping Christopher between them, and kisses him square on the lips. They’re both smiling too hard for it to go anywhere, but it’s still the best kiss of Buck’s life.

Eventually, they’ll get up. They’ll distract Christopher with pancakes and turn on the news to learn that the global joint effort to divert the comet (“They nuked a comet, Eddie! That’s insane!”) was a success. They’ll find Christopher the video they promised, in a press release from NASA. They’ll let him see the comet’s bright blazing path across the sky, but they won’t tell him just how close it came. They’ll text Bobby to let him know they’re running late. They’ll receive a reply to let them know that, just this once, it’s okay. They’ll do all of these things in time, but for now, they bask in the simple joy of being alive and together.

Another lifetime, Eddie had thought the night before. No, he’s going to make this one count.

#sorry for the repost i don't think this showed up in the tags the first time lol #911 #buddie #9-1-1 #abbie writes #fic

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tamagochiie · 4 years ago

Note

Hi!! Could I request a hc for my man Levi Ackerman where he has been crushing on the reader for a while now but thinks he doesn’t really have a chance because she’s just so beautiful, kind and a little on the younger side. And he doesn’t really think that someone like her could ever be interested in someone like him. Then those toughts only get bigger as he sees how much time she spends with Jean or Eren or someone. And then some sort of drama is happening which eventually leads to this dramatic confession from both Levi and the reader. Hope that’s not too long? Have a great day!

First of all, I am SO sorry this request took so long to reply to. I was in a really bad headspace when I first got this, and I couldn’t write it properly at the time. But here I am now! Also, I got waaaay too into this, so I apologize that it’s a little long...

Move My Mountain ; Levi Ackerman

Levi Ackerman is nothing short of confidence and pride; insecurity scurries back into the shadows at the sight of him.

But you are sunshine and hope—all the good things in life wrapped in a lilting laugh, tucked in the corners of your lips when you smile, and the twinkling in your eyes;

Just the sight of you makes his title as “Humanity’s Strongest” fray at the edges and wither away, and it irritates him to no end.

Of all the ugly his eyes have seen and horror his ears have heard, its you that has him weak in the knees, you are a sharp contrast to the stoic man.

You’re young, youthful, and promising—all the things Levi is not.

Levi is many things, but worthy to feel the warmth you radiate as you walk into any room, a room that he might find himself lingering around in, is not one of them.

Levi may be sharp, attentive, and quick on his feet (quite literally). But it takes him an embarrassingly substantial amount of time to realize his feelings for you—that no, he does not hate you, but rather he finds himself completely smitten over you.

He realizes he always has been since the first time he saw you as a cadet. You weren’t entirely talented, and your skills were questionably underdeveloped, but you had heart and you were just as determined and fiery as your counterparts.

Levi looks forward to seeing you persevere during trainings; but he likes it better whenever you waltz into his office and assist him in paperwork he can clearly take care of on his own.

And you find yourself feeling comfortable around the Captain, entertaining him through small talk or sharing a few fun facts with him that always leave him dumbfounded.

Not that he’ll show it.

He’s quite kind to you, and though you found it off-putting at first, you had eventually grown comfortable to it. You even found yourself growing selfish, wanting more and more after each visit.

However, unbeknownst to everyone save for Erwin and Hange, Levi Ackerman is petty as he is incredibly violent.

There’s a twinge of jealousy in his chest and a twitch in his eye whenever he sees Jean joined to you by the hip. He’s aware of the history you two share, being childhood friends and choosing to join the Survey Corp together after the attack on Wall Rose.

But it doesn’t stop jealous seeping out of Levi like a waterfall.

He hates it when he catches Jean ghosting around you, dipping down to you a little too close for comfort whenever he talks to you, so Levi’s patience snaps like a twig and he crinkles his nose in disgust, steam rising from him when he watches Jean throwing his arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to his chest while you laugh at his jokes.

A line has been crossed.

Unfortunately for Jean, though his actions meant no harm, he’s drowned in piles and piles of work within the following week. Levi has him carrying extra weight, makes him run more laps to his knees shake, and riddles him with questionable work from dusk til dawn.

And just when things die down and the tide of Levi’s jealousy pulls back, it’ll come rushing back in when he catches Jean do another thing like leaning his head on your shoulder after a day’s worth of training. And it begins to bother you, picking at your skin until you can longer keep quiet and watch your friends suffer.

You’re in the middle of handing Jean your bottle of water (because Sasha chugged all of his in one breath) when Levi cuts in. Maybe it’s the heat of the sun that casts over the training ground, or maybe its the fact that once again, Levi’s jealous has once again gotten the best of him and he’s playing it off as frustration for the whole squad.

Whatever it is, there’s steam rising off as he glares at you and Jean.

Levi clears his throat, arms folded across his chest as he taps his foot, “If you have time to drinking other people’s water, Kristien,” Jean chokes on his water when he realizes Levi’s presence, quickly saluting him, “then you’ve got time to do laundry.”

Jean’s eyes widen, jaw slacking. “B-But I already did that yesterday, S-Sir.” You watch as Levi pulls his brows down, narrowing his gaze intensely as he strides up to Jean. He shifts uncomfortable under Levi’s inspecting eyes and clears his throat to try and gain some composure.

“That’s the great thing about laundry,” Levi grits, “it always piles up, so why don’t you hurry the fuck up and fuck off.”

However, Levi’s plan to wedge you to apart because you offer yourself to help.

You may be bubbly and full of life, and some may mistake your soft nature as someone naive and gullible, but you read the room easier than anyone. For the first time, Levi finds himself silenced; throat dried as if sawdust had been shoved into his throat, and he watches you saluting to him before excusing yourself along with Jean.

Unluckily for you, you become the target of his boiling rage. He’s ticking like a clock, the countdown to another outburst lingering in the air. It’s your turn to be buried in the extra weight of chores and responsibilities, doing more laps and push ups than you can manage. But you never complain, not even once.

Not until Levi strips you and Jean from the opportunity to go out on an expedition and traded off for laundry.

“I’ve had it!” You boom as you uncharacteristically lose composure, shoving the basket of dirty laundry to the side and causing Jean and Armin to flinch. “I’m gonna do laundry—laundry instead of joining the expedition? You’re kidding!”

Levi had overworked you painfully til your knees shook and your head felt dizzy, and at some point you wondered if was still training you or if it had any ulterior motive.

“I’m only the barer of the news!” Armin defends, visibly shrinking as you slowly grow unhinged.

“Then I’ll talk to him!” Jean steps in front of you, looking at you warningly as his chest heaves. “Jean, go away.”

“No,” He’s firm, headset in stopping you. “Make no mistake, the man is short, but he’s scary as hell. You saw him when he beat the shit outta Eren.”

“I can take a punch,” You state dryly, “now move.”

You place your arm on Jean’s shoulder, gripping it tightly before swiftly shoving him to the side, causing him to skid on the floor.

Determination drips from every step you take out the room and down the corridor. Your eyes directed towards one door and one door only. You wind past other captains and cadets, not bothering to even take a glance at them as you finally close in on Levi’s office.

You storm in, not even thinking to knock. You’re met with wide eyes and looks of disbelief from Erwin, Hange, and Levi; they were in the middle of a meeting when you barged in. Erwin’s jaw slacks, his brows pull down as he looks at you quizzically, “Cadet—What are you—”

“You.” You seethes, breathing heavily as you glare at Levi. “Why am I assigned to do laundry instead of joining the expedition?”

Hange and Erwin turn back to Levi with an alarmed expression painted on their face, as if they were only hearing this for the first time. “Surely, that’s not true,” Erwin chuckles lightly as he grips his hands on the armrest of the chair, shifting uncomfortably underneath the thick tension between you and Levi, “Levi, is this true?”

“It might be.” He answers dryly, a bored expression in his dark eyes as he glares back at you, “But I’m sorry, am I supposed to be answering to you? Who the fuck do you think you are interrupting a meeting?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Your new found confidence not only shocks them, but most importantly you.

You always kept yourself in your place, never needing to be reminded who you are and what you’re meant to do, always biting your tongue and cheek when you’re angry. You never caused any trouble, but always slyly getting your friends out of it.

That is, until now.

“Excuse me?” Levi looks at you in bewilderment.

“What the fuck does doing laundry have anything to do with saving humanity?” You repeated, balling your fists till your knuckles color white. “I’m one of the best and you know it, yet I’m wasting my time cleaning Reiner’s DIRTY UNDERWEAR EVERY DAY.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re one of the best.” Levi is cold as the first winter of the year, looking completely unfazed by flow of your emotions. But you are, indeed, one of the best, nearly surpassing Mikasa.

Not that he’d ever admit to it.

“Why am I staying behind?” You press, raising your voice as you take a few steps closer to the desk.

Unfortunately, Hange and Erwin stay in the crossfire of your argument. They’re unsure when to take the beat to get up and leave.

They worry they missed that opportunity a while ago.

“It’s dangerous and you’re not ready,” Levi clips.

“I’m ready and you’re just taking your anger out on me!” You counter, “You don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been taking your anger out on Jean and now on me?”

“You made us work to the bone, but we persevered. We pulled through. So, if I can handle Reiner’s sweaty laundry, then I can handle saving humanity. Grow a pair and let me back in on the expedition.”

“No.” Levi is stern, the grip in his pen is tight and his knees locked in as his ability to stabilize his emotions withers.

“Why not?” You groan, throwing your head back. “Because it’s dangerous.” He states matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“WHY DO YOU CARE IF ITS SO DANGEROUS?” You’re yelling, breaths labored and chest constricting as your frustration grows. You’re completely unhinged and with little to no care in the world how you look like to everyone in the room. Levi bangs his fists against the surface of his desk, swiftly standing from his chair. Erwin and Hange flinch at his sudden aggression, exchanging looks of surprise.

“BECAUSE IF SOMETHING WERE TO HAPPEN TO YOU, I WOULDN’T KNOW WHAT I WOUDL DO.”

Silence falls on the room and after a moment, everyone stands on their toes as they reflect the confession that slips Levi’s lips just moments ago.

You, Hange, and Erwin look at Levi wish a slack jaw and a puzzled expression.

“I don’t—“ You swallow thickly and take a deep breath, “I don’t understand what you mean… Why would you—”

“Hange,” Erwin calls out to his friend softly as he clasps his hands together, “I think this is the part where we leave.”

Hange pouts her lip begrudgingly, “But—“

“Now.” Against her will and her wishes for juicy gossip, Hange mirrors Erwin’s actions as he rises from the chair and a hunched position and swiftly scurries out the room.

You and Levi stand in a thick blanket of silence. Levi is a man of many words, though most are painted in aggressive and backs up his violent tendencies, so he admits his worries about someone and that someone being you, it means everything.

It comes as a shock—a shock that feels electric and runs down your spine, you feel like you’ll lose your breath. “Why…why would you care?” You come down from your anger and the thumping of your heart calms down. “I don’t—I really don’t understand….”

Levi licks his lips as he loosens his grip; for the first time you can see him clearly without having to second guess it. He shudders a breath as takes a step back from his desk, the chair scrapping against the floor as he abandons the paperwork and slowly yet surely walks to you.

You grow tense and the budding anticipation in your stomach spreads through your body and up your throat. It’s only until Levi is a few steps away that you finally tear your eyes from him, dancing around the room desperately looking anywhere but him.

Levi halts his movement, only within an arm’s reach away from you. “I’m not good with words,” He admits in a mutter, more to himself than to you, “but I—I would like to be honest because you make me want to be honest.”

Levi’s gaze wavers along with the rest of him; his arms fall limp , his hands clammy as he twiddles his fingers to ease the fear hammering in his chest. “I have…” Levi speaks softly, a sharp contrast to how he usually his. His voice comes out dry and gravelly as if he had just woken up.

“I can easily read others as if I was looking at the back of my hand, and I know when people feel things…But it took me forever to understand what I felt for you and when I finally caught up with it, I didn’t—I don’t know.”

Hesitantly, as if you were scared to see something contradicting his words, you meet his eyes and you gasp. He’s looking right at you, eyes full of certainty yet wavering in his doubt that he’ll ever get a chance with you.

“What do you mean?” Your words come out so quiet, Levi almost misses it. “What don’t you understand?”

“Out of all the things I’ve seen and heard, and all the blood my hands have been stained in, you move me.”

He steps a little closer and you find yourself holding your breath, “You move me.”

You don’t know what to say. You scan through your memories, all the ones that you had with him and try to remember what you felt. And maybe you did feel something for him, something more than just cadet and captain, but you never let yourself think too far from it.

You were scared to let yourself fall, but for some odd reason, Humanity’s Strongest was letting him fall on his knees for you.

You can’t help but smile and your eyes glistening as you take the final step to close the proximity between the two of you. “

If you’re saying what I think you’re saying then,” You sigh as you close your eyes, your breath fanning against Levi’s cheeks, “don’t be shy to move a little more and show me what you mean.”

Levi’s takes a moment, studying the look in your eyes as he calculates his movements. He feels excited, but fear pulls the rug beneath his feet and all of a sudden he finds himself more scared of you than any mission he’s even been in.

You hold his face in your hands, smiling at him. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now.”

And just like that, your words egg him on and have him pushing all his doubt behind him.

Levi’s lips are soft against yours, the kiss is gentle yet eager to go deeper. He’s reluctant to cage you in his arms, but when he feels you smile against his lips and how your arms wind around his neck, he realizes he’s eases in.

Levi Ackerman has seen all the uglies in the word, and had his heartbroken one too many times to count, but you are the only one that moves him.

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phantomwarrior12 · 3 years ago

Text

Dire Need (Ch. 2)

Chapter 1 (Desperation)

When she opens her eyes, the sun is just beginning to creep through the shattered window. For a moment, she forgets where she is, but the firm chest against her cheek swiftly reminds her who she's with.

He's so much more comfortable than sleeping on the ground.

His arms are wound around her, cradling her close as his head is propped against hers. She doesn't dare move for fear of waking him, but some part of her longs to look up. He still has his helmet on, but it's...a comfort, of sorts, to see it above her. He's sleeping so soundly and she rues the moment she'll have to wake him - or perhaps her Ghost will do that for her.

He rams against her shoulder, pointed edge jabbing between her pauldron and chest plate.

"Rise and shine, Guardian! We need to go!"

"What's going on?" Lord Shaxx mumbles softly, slowly lifting his head from hers and she tries to hide her disappointment as she sits a little more upright, cuddling up against his chest, head tucked under his chin as his arms tighten around her and hold her close.

"We need to get going before the Cabal figure out we're hiding out here." Ghost advises.

She wishes he were wrong and she could stay curled up in her Titan's arms. He's so warm and for a moment, she forgets they're on the ground in an abandoned building without their Light - wait. He's still injured, isn't he?

He's still injured!

She jerks back quickly, startling Lord Shaxx as her eyes search his torso for any blood.

"Guardian, what's wrong?"

She gestures to his ribs in a panic, remembering his Ghost had mentioned there being something about cracked ribs. Why hadn't she remembered that last night? Surely that would be the first thing she'd recall before she slept on him. Oh Traveler, no. She might have made things worse.

"Settle down, my little Hunter." His hands firmly rest on either one of her shoulders to hold her in place, forcing her gaze to his features. "I'm alright. You didn't hurt me, Guardian. I promise."

She nods shakily, gaze darting back to his torso before leaning forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him as tightly as she dares. He locks a firm arm around her lower back, his other hand rubbing back and forth between her shoulder blades to soothe her.

She can't lose him.

It's as of he can hear what she's thinking because he gives her a squeeze, adjusting his head so his chin rests atop her shoulder, leaning his head against hers, "It will take more than a building to extinguish my Light, my little Hunter. I'm not going anywhere."

Her fingers ball into fists around the fur along the back of his neck, pressing just a bit closer to his frame as if to affirm that he better not.

"Well...we should probably go somewhere that isn't here." Ghost interjects awkwardly and his Guardian can't help her smile.

"He is right. Do you think you'll let me stand this time?" Shaxx teases the Young Wolf gently as she sits back on her heels.

If she weren't wearing her helmet, she'd give him a chiding look. But she settles for the lightest of punches - more so just pressing her fist against his shoulder with a fraction of a push - in response. She gets to her feet, picking her cloak up off of his lap and securing it in place before she offers him her hand.

"I am not made of glass. Next time, punch like you mean it." He chuckles, taking her hand and allows her to try and help him to his feet - the attempt is in vain. It is no small task to get a Titan up off the ground when they've been severely injured. She grips his hand tightly, trying to pull him up but when it has no effect and it's clear that Lord Shaxx lacks the physical capacity to get to his feet on his own. She moves to his side and kneels down, slinging his arm over her shoulders and grips his wrist tightly as her other arm locks around his waist.

"Perhaps you should just go get some help?" Shaxx suggests, concern building in his voice.

"There isn't any time," her Ghost argues. "Are you ready, Guardian?"

She nods solemnly as she glares straight ahead and braces herself.

"On three," Ghost supplies, more than aware that his Guardian would never leave Shaxx behind, even with the intent of returning. "One...two..three!"

The Young Wolf strains, her quads and calves burning and screaming in protest beneath the weight. She recalls a similar struggle to lift his unconscious frame inside this building the night before. Though, it's not as though she's doing it without any assistance this time. Shaxx is pushing up with his other arm, trying to engage any of his stiffened muscles until, at last, he's upright, leaning on her as he clutches at his ribcage with a soft cry of pain.

Her legs are trembling but she sets her jaw as she looks up at him.

"I'm alright. Just--"

"Take a moment," his Ghost orders firmly.

"We need to leave," Shaxx protests until the Young Wolf leans her head against his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

She nods, catching her breath from the exertion, fingers flexing and easing their hold on his frame for a fraction of a second. In truth, she's ready to collapse. She's so tired, everything feels wrong, so very wrong without her Light.

But she won't tell him that. He has enough to concern himself with - primarily staying alive and not succumbing to any injuries they've missed. Instead, she straightens up, tucking closer to his side to offer more support and guides him toward the door.

He falls silent, only the occasional grunt and huff coming from the towering Titan - the very same sounds she'd been begging for the night before. It's comforting, in a way. He's alive. He's right here. She listened to his heartbeat all night, clung to him as though he were life itself.

They'll be alright, so long as he stays alive.

The trek through the city ruins is long and feels as though it lasts an eternity. Lord Shaxx is in no condition to travel, but they don't have a choice. With the Young Wolf bracing his every step, the two Guardians' Ghosts are relegated to scouting duty. There are still Cabal patrols in the region and there is nothing stealthy about the way they're moving through the streets.

He needs to take a break, she knows that. He hasn't complained but his breathing has become increasingly labored. In all honesty, she could use a break herself, her own injuries aggravated from supporting the Titan. But they can't rest - not until they're outside the city, they'll be safe there...at least, it's what she tells herself.

So when they cross that final border, stepping through the gate of the crumbling walls, she almost smiles. They're in the clear, at least for a little while. Now, now they find somewhere to rest and she'll search for something for them to eat. She's a Hunter, after all. Scavenging for food comes with the territory.

She's jolted from her thoughts when Shaxx stumbles, lurching forward with enough force that he takes both of them down to their knees. He barely braces himself with a hand pressed firmly into earth as the other curls tightly around her pauldron.

Her knees scream in protest from the abrupt collision but she ignores it as she readjusts, looking over to him immediately. He'd tripped over a rock in his exhaustion, she doesn't blame him in the slightest but what does concern her is the fact he hasn't spoken since they fell. She readjusts her footing, one leg poised in a tucked position against her chest to give her some semblance of stability as she gingerly removes his hand from around her shoulders.

She shifts to sit in front of him, hands cupping the sides of his helmet as she carefully tilts his head up. His chest is heaving, his arms trembling as they struggle to keep him upright.

"I'm alright, Guardian," he manages after a moment, pulling away from her touch to sit back on his heels.

He's not alright. She can see the fabric along his side slowly staining a deep shade of crimson. She needs to get him to cover so she can dress his wounds or he won't last out here. Forcing down the unsettled burn in her chest, her gaze scans the area, finally settling on a cave further into the forest and she gestures toward it.

His eyes follow the movement and clearly, he catches on. "Just a bit further?" He sounds like he's trying to make a joke, though the strain in his voice eliminates any semblance of comedy. He sounds exhausted and in agony all at once. She's never heard his voice waver and crack like it does on that last word.

Oh, Shaxx...

She offers what she can for reassurance: a solitary nod and a subtle tilt to her head. He takes a deep, wavering breath before lifting his arm and she settles at his side once more.

There's an unspoken countdown before they're struggling to their feet. She can't keep doing this. She'll let him rest in the cave for tonight.

Night.

Her eyes lift to the sky and sure enough, the sun is setting. Moving through the city must have taken longer than she thought. They made good time once they were beyond the walls but it's still later than she'd like. More miles between them and the city would be ideal but there's no chance they'll make it much further than this cave in their current state.

Shaxx needs to rest. She needs to tend to his injuries. Hell, she needs to rest, but something tells her she'll be up most the night again. Either keeping watch or ensuring her Warlord doesn't stop breathing in the middle of the night.

It's better than the alternative.

Ghaul's words still echo through her mind, taunting and shattering her dreams. She can't linger on them and yet, it's all she can do. She should have been able to stop him. Zavala's champion. Cayde's favorite Guardian. Shaxx's...well, she won't get into what she is to him. For all the good it's done her, she couldn't protect the Traveler and she couldn't protect her Titan.

As she helps him settle against the wall of the cave, she can't quite help the pang of guilt that tears through her when he growls in pain. He has an uncanny capacity for sensing her emotions as she's cone to find out. Yet, it still startles her when his hand snaps upward, bunching up the material of her cloak along her shoulder within his fist as he lifts his head.

There are no words that slip off his tongue, just a steady, even gaze through visors. She almost feels as though she's being reprimanded before she gathers her wits and gently shifts from her crouched position to kneeling beside him.

She pats his hand on her shoulder and his grip eases, frame going slack against the wall behind him. She begins to remove his chest plate, laying it aside before detaching his pauldrons. If she's going to get to his injuries, she'll have to remove the entire upper portion of his armor and he's in no condition to assist her.

"I always imagined this would occur in a far different scenario," Shaxx mumbles, "You, removing my armor." A soft, raspy laugh slips past his lips and she smiles.

She nods her agreement, gently lifting his right hand, bracing the back of the appendage against her chest plate as she works at the straps holding the gauntlet in place. It all feels...intimate, almost. The way her fingers deftly work over the leather straps, the slow removal of the gauntlet with one hand as the other brushes tenderly along his sleeve, fingertips ghosting over fabric. She can feel his eyes on her as she sets it aside, her fingers entwine with his. Her eyes fixate on the point of contact, hands locked tightly around one another and she squeezes.

"It's alright," he reassures her, squeezing her hand back. It's not nearly as tightly as he usually does, his strength waning in the late hour. It's almost enough to make her forget about the reality of this situation, but the moment is fleeting and vanishing as she realizes she needs to dress his wound sooner than later.

She releases his hand, removing the other gauntlet before helping him work his shirt up over of his head. It's slow going, gingerly working fabric over aching muscles and lacerations - the horn on his helmet is the most difficult to maneuver. It'd be easier if he just took the damned thing off. She should check to see if he has a concussion at the very least but something tells her she won't be prying that metal bucket off his head anytime soon - not out here. He used to remove it, in the Tower. When the sun had set and she's curled up in his bed, he'd press in behind her. His forehead pressed against her shoulder as he held her close against him.

It occurs to her that she hasn't seen his face beyond moonlight. The most she'd make out were the ridges of scars along his torso.

She used to spend hours tracing along the scars. It was the quickest way to fall asleep in his embrace. Sometimes she'd wonder who was more tired - at the speed Shaxx fell asleep, she often assumed it was him.

Her eyes flit along the scars littering his chest and abdomen briefly - the stories he tells her flaring in the back of her mind. Battles alongside Iron Lords, Twilight’s Gap and victories that span lifetimes. He's told her some of them, enthralled her for hours as she'd sit and stare up at him with an awestruck grin behind her helmet in the Tower. He's a good storyteller - animated and loud...she wishes she could hear that same energy now. Instead, he's struggling to remain awake.

She can't think about that right now.

Her eyes dart to the injury along his side, taking in the extent of the damage. It doesn’t appear to be infected, thankfully. She leans back on her heels before tearing off a portion of her cloak, wadding it up and pressing it against the deep laceration. Lord Shaxx jerks with a violent inhalation and she flinches. His hand grips her wrist, harsher than before as he regains his ability to breathe.

She leans her helmet against his, waiting patiently for him to settle so she can continue. His grip on her wrist is desperate and pleading all at once. Some part of her longs to kiss him, if only to distract the Warlord from the agony singing along his nerves, through his veins. Instead, she pulls her free hand away from the makeshift bandage, resting it firmly on top of Shaxx’s curled around her wrist. His head lifts, shifting from her hand atop his to her visor. He understands all at once and his fingers ease their vice grip, allowing her to adjust the cloth against his side. She gingerly lifts his hand from her wrist and presses it against the bandage encouragingly.

He needs to hold it in place for this to work.

“I wonder, Guardian, when you’ll just tell me what you want me to do,” he snorts softly, holding the cloth in place.

She tilts her head in an almost playful manner before tearing off another few strips of her cloak.

“I’ll be sure to get you a new one when we regain the Tower,” Shaxx manages, staring at the material in her lap.

She waves him off in an almost dismissive manner before lifting herself up onto his lap. She presses one end of the makeshift bandages to his hand and he grips it, holding it in place so she can begin to wind it around his torso. The Young Wolf has never been one to shy away from close proximity, especially not when it comes to him, but this all feels odd. It’s never this unbalanced - him, half-dressed and her, fully armored. She supposes she can add this to the list of things that feel incredibly wrong after losing her Light.

That’s the other piece she misses in this dynamic. With the Light, she can sense him, feel him through it. Without it, there’s a void that’s disquieting, gnawing and aching all at once in her chest. She can feel him - physically, but not in the same way.

Ghaul will pay for this.

By the time she’s finished patching him up, Lord Shaxx has drifted off. She watches as his chest rises and falls, a welcome sight after last night’s...well, nightmare. She can see the physical rise and fall of his chest and that, more than anything, soothes her nerves.

He’s alive.

They’ll be alright.

As she moves to get to her feet, his hand snaps upward, catching hold of her forearm - he was asleep, wasn’t he?

“I need you, not to fight, Guardian - I need you to stay.”

She looks from his grip on her arm to his helmet. He sounds half-coherent, barely conscious. She needs to find supplies...but she cannot refuse him - not now, not ever. So, she sinks back down onto his lap, removing her cloak and draping it over his chest, tucking the frayed edge under his chin. And then she lays her head on his shoulder, cool metal resting cautiously against marred skin. It’s only then that his grip falters and his arms wrap around her feebly.

“Get some sleep,” he coaxes softly, gloved fingers digging into the fabric around her back plates and she presses closer. He must be cold or delirious by this point, but she’ll stay, ensure he rests easily and there are no complications. Ghost will keep watch, he always keeps watch.

So as Lord Shaxx's breathing evens out and his heartbeat thrums beneath her head, the Young Wolf closes her eyes. They’ve always slept the most in one another’s embrace, she only wishes he didn’t always insist on being her bed. It’s not good for his injuries, he should - his grip tightens, his helmet lulling to lean against hers and any reprimanding fades from her mind.

I suppose it’s alright...

She’ll find what they need in the morning, he can rest. It’ll be fine. So long as he’s alive, they’ll be fine.

Sleep well, my Titan.

—————————————

Chapter 3 (Evade)

Taglists are open! Send an ask/leave a comment to be added!

Forevers: @halo-2 @reaped-winnower @genken64 @sugarcoated44 @cayde-6 Shaxx's Guardians: @ataraxia101 @squirrel-stars @rain-wolf

#lord shaxx #shaxx x guardian #destiny shaxx #shaxx #the young wolf #destiny 2 #destiny #destiny hunter #destiny 2 hunter #destiny fanfiction #destiny fic #phantom writes

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kats-random-writing · 4 years ago

Text

Happy New Year

Happy New Year Everyone!! we made it! its been one hell of a year, but we did it, I gotta say I’m so proud of everyone! ❤️

also! looks who’s back writing agin? ME, i hope you like this fic, its a little longer then a drabble cuz I’m a wordy bitch apparently, but i like it and hope you guys do to, all art in this fic was by me too.

Happy New Year

Shigaraki X Reader

1475 words

16+ please, theres swearing and stuff, also mention of unwanted touching.

_______________________________________________________________________

The league was your home, you were surprised how easily you fit in, but I guess when you put a bunch of “misfits” together they all know how it feels to be an outcast.

You joined shortly after Toga and Dabi, but not for the same reasons, see they followed stain, you not so much, you believed in Shigaraki. You’d been following his exploits as best you could, and had seen his growth from inexperienced leader to now, a terrifying force to be reckoned with. You believed in him. And it had nothing to do with the fact that you kind of thought he was attractive. Nope! Definitely not! He was a good leader for a cause you believed in, that’s it, totally!

Moving in the league, was…..not what you expected, it was chaotic, loud, and perfect. Everyone took care of each other, they also loved to annoy one another. Like you said, it’s your home, and the rest of the “villains”, your family.

You had all been ordered to lay low over the holidays, expecting more hero movement on the surface, it was the safest thing to do. So all of you were piled in the common space before the bar, it had shitty decorations courtesy of Toga and Yourself. Nobody really argued so they stayed up, even though Christmas was over and it was New Year’s Eve.

“So then I punched him, and his nose started to bleed!” Togas excited tone pulled you from your thoughts, “IT WAS SO CUTE! ALL THAT BLOOD, ALL OVER HIS FACE!.....he ran away though” she puzzled.

“Yeah cuz you punched him, crazy!” Dabi threw back his head laughing. Toga pouted and reached out to smack him

“HEY! Don’t be rude! He looked better with the blood, besides at least he wanted to kiss me!” She said triumphantly, “it’s not like you have people lining up to kiss you!” She threw back at him.

He rolled his eyes, and smirked, pulling his stapes in a way you thought must hurt

“You’d be surprised”

“NO WAY”

Laughter erupted around the room, as you watched Dabi just sip his drink, the smirk never leaving his face.

“Why are you all so fucking loud?” A new voice joins the conversation as your leader Shigaraki trudges into the room, “it’s almost midnight, I’m trying to sleep”

He makes his way across the room to his empty armchair.

“I’m sorry! ~BUT ITS NEW YEARS~” twice manages to interrupt himself to answer Shigaraki.

“We’re staying in tonight like you ordered” Dabi glares “Since it’s “too dangerous”” the patchwork villain air quoted around dangerous.

“Yeah! New Years should be out! Having fun, meeting cute people to kiss!” Toga chimed in!

“Whatever” is the only response you get.

“Your turn y/n!” Twice near shouts, reviving the conversation, “best~OR WORST~ New Years ~ KISS~”

Your cheeks redden at the thought of going into detail of some of your New Years of the past,

“Um, well…...OH OKAY! Got one, so this one time a few years ago I was at the bar, right. And I’m talking with this guy all night and we’re hitting it off~” you realize you now have ALL eyes on you, and your cheeks fade back to that deep crimson. “~ and um, yeah so we do the count down and at midnight we kiss and, ok he was shit at kissing anyways so my plans for the evening are shot already, THEN! IN. THE. BAR. this motherfucker tries to feel me up! So I’m like “no let’s just kiss, Kay?” Rolling your eyes you continue

“He’s like sure thing babe” you here a few chuckles your deepened “dude bro” voice.

“Then this asshole immediately starts groping me again”

“Fucker”

“No way”

“Ew~WHAT A HORRIBLE MAN”

As you could’ve predicted all your friends exclaimed in disgust. But there’s voice you didn’t expect

“What did you do?”

His red eyes seem to stare into your very soul, as his left hand reaches up to start scratching his neck. Your cheeks darken again, you swear you're probably as red as his eyes, not that you’ve taken much time thinking about his eyes, or him, totally.

“Um well….I..I...I” you stutter under his gaze, “I uh, hehe, I pulled his hand off me, and broke his wrist, Then left” you shrug and try to sound nonchalant, a hard thing to do when Shigaraki is staring you down, like he can’t decide whether to hug you or kill you. You don’t even hear the rest of your friends' responses to your story, not until Shigaraki nods and turns his stunning eyes from yours.

“TWO MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT!! Kurogiri! Turn on the tv!”

The shadowy man behind the bar simply nods before picking up the remote and turning on the New Years count down

“Oh great leader” Dabi begins sarcastically “what about you? Best, worst…..or any, New Year’s Eve kisses to date.”

The hush that fell over the small room was deafening....and if you thought your blush was bad going into your own kissing stories - you must look like a lobster thinking about hearing Shigaraki’s.

All eyes shift between the two men, until finally

“fuck off you burnt chicken nugget”

“I guess that answers that question” Dabi laughs as he rises from his seat, reaching for his jacket. “ I’m gonna go to the roof for a smoke”

“But you're gonna miss the countdown!” Toga wines.

“And? Not like I’m gonna kiss any of you.” He states as he walks down the hall and out of sight.

While toga drags on about Dabi abandoning the group, a realization dawns on you, as though someone striped away all the clouds and the sun was shining on you for the first time, Shigaraki, you long time -totally not crush- has never had a New Years kiss. This revelation also gives you an idea. And whether it’s a good or bad idea you're still not sure but for now? You’ve made up your mind. It’s the perfect time to make your move. You look at the tv one last time, less than a minute. Your heart feels like it’s gonna beat out of your chest.

You rise from your seat and go stand next to Toga, and try to turn your attention back to the screen.

Ten

Nine

Eight

~holy shit~

Seven

~you’re actually about to do it~

Six

Five

Four

~shitshitshitshitshit~

Three

Two

~here goes nothing~

One

HAPPY NEW YEAR

As Twice and Toga cheer you reach and grab Togas face to quickly press a kiss to her cheek, she quickly grabs your face to kiss your cheek as well. She also lightly bites your cheek before releasing you, both giggling.

You quickly cross the room to Twice, holding your hands out, letting him close the distance he places his masked face into your waiting hands. You lean down to kiss his forehead. “happy new year~I LOVE YOU!”

You swear you float across the room, your pounding heart is all you can hear, the heat in your cheeks, all you can feel and as you look up again you are standing before Shigaraki Tomura.

He’s of course looking down at his phone.

You take a breath, then another. Then reach down placing one hand on the chair behind his head, bringing his attention to you, your right hand you reach under to hold his chin, and guide his head up so your eyes meet.

Looking deeply for any sign he might be truly uncomfortable, but you only see shock, confusion and maybe even a hint of excitement. You gaze down to his lips, while licking your own whisper “happy new year Tomura” and bringing your head down, to finally touch your lips to his.

He’s stiff, frozen and for a moment your terrified you’ve made a mistake, you hold steady and continue the kiss, and after a few seconds he melts into your touch, tilting his head to match you and opening himself up to you, quickly you step closer to him, making him arch his back to continue the contact, you move your hands sending one to cup his face and the other to run through his hair, his hands alternate between the chair arms and space between your bodies.

Your both breathing heavy, when you hear “Y/N…..Holy shit”

Snapping back to reality to realize all eyes are locked onto the two of you, Twices head snapping between you and Tomura, and Toga. It was Toga who spoke, she’s still standing wide eyed and mouth hanging open.

“Happy new year??” You shrug as you sit down on Shigaraki’s lap, his arms protectively wrap around you, careful not to actually touch you with his gloved fingers. You smile and think to yourself, it’s gonna be a good year!

#happynewyear #bnhharem #shigaraki x reader #newyearskiss #bnha #fanfic

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kurama-is-love · 4 years ago

Text

An unusual proposal (Oneshot)

It's been a while since I wrote in english, so please bear with me if this is not perfect. English is not my first language ;-;

Oh and this time it's a female Half!Demon/Human Reader x Kurama. Just to let you know! Again as warning, much much fluff between you and Kurama.

The Dark Tournament was looking forward to its grand finale.

Team Toguro faced Team Urameshi, consisting of Yusuke, Kuwabara, Hiei and Kurama. Their fifth member, Mask, or rather Genkai, was 'killed' in battle by the younger Toguro brother the night before. Although you and your friends mourned about your deceased comrade, the others were not allowed to give in to their feelings now. One single mistake could result in the next death, everyone knew that.

You hadn't left your friend's side since the beginning of the Tournament and you were even allowed to stay at their side near the battle field. Though now you were concerned about the last battle. You had asked to stand in for Mask as the fifth participant, but before you were able to speak to the competition officials, you were prevented from doing so by your friends, mostly Yusuke and especially Kurama. It was a lengthy and exhausting discussion that followed with the two of them. Yusuke was anything but calm and tried to dissuade you from your idea with irrelevant threats for "beating the shit out of you if you continue to try to participate". Of course he would never lay a finger on a friend, especially not if he were to draw the wrath of a certain fox on him ..

Speaking of the fox. It was Kurama's empathetic and factually convincing words that finally led you to abandon your idea and not take part in the fight. As much as you hated not being able to stand by your friends, it was clear to you aswell that you would not survive 2 minutes in the ring against a member of this diabolical team from Toguro .. It was just maddening ..

Before the fight started, you cleared your throat to attract the attention of your friends.

"Before you fight, I want to get rid of something .." you began and looked at the ground slightly.

"Spit it out, [Y/n]-chan." Kuwabara tried with a calm and understanding tone of voice to reassure you that none of them were mad at you for your earlier discussions. He thought that, because you were trembling all over and he could also tell that you were fighting back tears.

"I want you .. to be extra careful this time .. Your opponents are of a completely different caliber than all your opponents before .. And if ..Uh.. when you notice that you .. can't do it .. that you. . " you stopped, the thought of what should follow your sentence stung your heart. "... you will die if you keep going .. I beg you to give up .. just give up and end the fight .. Fuck this stupid tournament, your lives are way too precious ..!" you spoke a little louder and more determined as you looked at your four friends.

Hiei's expression was disinterested as always. Kuwabara looked away, slightly embarrassed, while Kurama had put on an illegible expression. Yusuke crossed his arms before briefly closing his eyes.

"Sorry, but we can't promise that." he said then.

"W-What ..?"

When you looked up, startled, you felt a hand on your shoulder. It was Yusuke's.

"If we give up, everything was in vain. Our training, the preliminary fights. And ... also the death of that old witch ... The least we owe her is to try to defeat her killer." He continued serious, but his face showed no sign of annoyance or anger towards you. He showed you .. friendliness and a small smile. "Anyway, thank you for taking care of us all. With that knowledge, we can do our best," he added.

"B-But .." your quiet objections were stopped again when Kurama took Yusuke's place and put both hands on your shoulders. A slightly worried smile graced his pale lips.

"Yusuke is right. If we give up here, everything we have been through so far will be wasted. Besides .." he continued and his expression darkened slightly as he looked at his opponents, especially at Karasu. "..we can't allow these .. monsters to continue their mischief to continue their murders in the world of spirits, demons and humans. If we don't stop them, who should do it?" he asked you.

You didn't know the answer and looked to the side. Kurama smiled sadly and put his hand on your cheek to turn your face back to him.

"Just trust us, okay?" He said softly and lovingly before placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"Kurama .. I trust you. But I'm still scared okay ..?"

"That's perfectly okay." The redhead whispered and you sighed softly.

"I'm serious. I don't want to go through the same fear that I did during your fight against Bakken ..."

"Mhm .."

[Flashback]

The battle against the members of Team Masho had reached worrying proportions after Kurama lost consciousness while standing shortly after he was named as the victor in the battle against the ice demon Touya by Koto. The rules of this match were like an endless battle. As long as a member could fight, he fought against any opponent. This is exactly how he had defeated Gama at first and was able to win against Touya with the last of his strength. But now the luck of the kitsune seemed to have run out when he stood bleeding and unconscious on the battlefield and Koto checked whether he was still alive.

"That's enough now! I'll take over for Kurama!" Yusuke called to the judge when the third opponent, a tall, dark-skinned man with short black hair, stepped out.

"Not so fast. That guy is still there, so I'm his opponent now." The shinobi grinned maliciously and was already flexing his fists.

"You can't be serious! You can see that he is not able to fight!" You said and looked angry at Bakken.

"You stay out of it, you brat. I say: He can fight." With these words he turned to Koto, who looked back and forth between the two parties, perplexed.

"Well .. Well .. I also think that Kurama is incapacitated. We have to wait for the decision of the competition committee before an exchange takes place .." the cat demon spoke uncertainly.

All attention was then turned to the speakers when the committee announced its decision. They disagreed with the exchange and declared Kurama's ability to fight.

Yusuke and you had to watch in shock when Bakken started hit the unconscious Kurama again and again and injured him so badly that it was a miracle if he could survive this ordeal for long. When Bakken pulled Kurama up by his top and beat him again, the fabric on the top tore and Kurama fell to the ground. Blood ran down his forehead.

While you could only watch in shock, the stadium echoed under the calls of the demonic audience, who very unanimously demanded only one thing.

"Kill him!"

"Kill him, Bakken!"

"Yes, kill this traitor !!!"

You clenched your fists in anger before turning to the bleachers.

"SHUT UP YOUR DAMN MOUTHS ALREADY!" you shouted so loudly that the stadium fell silent and Yusuke and the others looked at you too. "I CAN'T STAND YOUR HATE TIRADS ANYMORE! The next one who says anything about 'kill this bastard' will get a free ticket to hell from me. WAS THAT CLEAR?"

Your friends had seldom seen you so loud and serious. The girls, Botan, Shizuru, Keiko and Yukino were very shocked by your exclamation.

Suddenly one of the demons jumped down from the stands and stood next to you.

"Pretty loose mouth for such a shitty, weak half-breed, darling."the green-colored beast grinned and licked its lips with its iguana-like tongue. "You are nothing but a shabby one demon, who has human blood in them. It doesn't surprise me that you are on the traitors side. But don't open your mouth like that if you know what's good for you. " He threatened you.

Your eyebrow twitched menacingly as the demon extended its claws and tried to slit your stomach. You reached for your weapons, chakrams, and a reddish-orange aura flooded the metal, your Reiki, mixed with Yoki. The audience held their breath when they could only hear lightning-fast cuts and white clouds of energy sliced the demon that was attacking you until the attacker fell dead to the ground.

"Anyone else has something to say to a " failed half-breed "? you asked the ranks, but the audience fell silent before you could finally devote yourself to the fighting again.

"T-That's enough! Kurama is on the ground and can no longer fight! I think a countdown is also unnecessary .." Koto interrupted the scene now when she saw the battered Kurama.

Bakken seemed to disagree and lifted Kurama up in the air again by his top.

"Now he's standing again. That means the fight goes on."the black-haired man smirked and wanted to make the final punch that should blow out Kurama's life light forever.

"Stop. That's enough, Bakken." a masked figure behind Bakken, another member of Team Mascho, spoke up.

"Why are you stopping me, Risho? I was just about to finish it." Bakken grumbled while Risho pointed to the opposite side of the arena.

"If you had landed this punch, that would have been your death." Risho spoke only dryly, while Bakken blinked and looked in the direction in which Risho was pointing.

Yusuke and you stood there, both of you in your strongest attacking postures. Yusuke was ready to use his "Rei-Gun" while your chakrams had turned into icy-tessen (Metal fans), the tips of their spikes were reinforced with your Reiki and turned into razor-sharp blades that could be shot individually. You were both ready to kill Bakken if he made any move.

"Tch. Fine. Well, you can have him back." Bakken sighed and threw Kurama carelessly out of the ring. Yusuke and you immediately rushed to the passed out Kitsune and Yusuke carried him to the edge of the ring. You were right behind him. After Yusuke dropped him off, you kneeled down at Kurama's side and looked up your human best friend.

"Yusuke." You spoke in a serious tone. Yusuke turned to you. questioningly. "... Beat the shit out of him. Hit that asshole really hard with a greeting from me." You muttered with bared teeth. Yusuke grinned and gave you a thumbs-up.

"Rely on me, [Y/n]. I will make sure that he gets a proper rubdown. And greetings from you. Just take care of our Kurama." Yusuke answered with a wink.

You nodded gently and put your hands on Kurama's damaged chest to let your Reiki flow into his body. That should give him enough energy to activate his own self-healing powers. At least that was how it prevented him from having too little energy.

He almost died ..

When Kurama woke up a little later, he promised you to never again risk his life so lightly.

[End of flashback]

"Remember your promise." you said softly and took Kurama's hand in yours to give it an affectionate squeeze. The fox just looked at you apologetically, but he was weighing whether he could really tell you that he couldn't keep this promise.

"I'm sorry. This may be my first promise, which I can't keep, as much as I would like to. But ..." he began before you could sigh in frustration. Kurama smiled and put a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'll give you a new promise for that." He said and made you blink in curiousity.

"One that you will keep?" you asked.

Kurama smiled and pulled you close for a moment.

"Yes. I promise you, if I survive my fight against Karasu .." he almost sounded as if he didn't believe in it himself, which only unsettled you even more. "... I will take you as my wife as soon as my human body is 18 years old."

Your eyes widened, speechless, at these words. Kurama, who had sworn off love and certainly did not want to settle down in the human world, had just given you the promise of marriage if he should emerge victorious from the battle ..

"K-Kurama .." you started, touched, when the Kitsune put his index and middle fingers on your lips and gently shook his head.

"I have to go into the ring now." He said, because the referee Juri had to call his name again.

Kurama broke away from you and went to the battlefield, where Karasu was already waiting for him. You held your breath as the fight began. It was going to be the hardest fight of all time for him, you were sure of it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The fight was clearly dominated by Karasu for a long time, who seemed to foresee every one of Kurama's steps. His rosewhip basically crumbled to dust before it could hit Karasu due to a miniature bomb that the black-haired man had already placed. Knowing that Kurama would resort to his signature attack.

Even the transformation into his Youko form only briefly gave Kurama the upper hand in this fight.

Karasu was strong, incredibly strong. Kurama was already bleeding profusely on his legs and arms from the bombs that hit his flesh. The transformation into his demon form had already reached its limits. Now everything seemed to be over for the redhead when he went down and his robe was already completely bathed in red blood.

It was a horrible sight, almost worse than Bakken's back then. Kurama stopped moving when Karasu tried to put an end to it.

With the very last of his strength, Kurama was able to mobilize his last reserves and thus also make his Reiki to zero when he conjured up a large, gray plant. Shortly afterwards he sagged dead and his friends, as well as you, cried out in agony.

"KURAMA!"

Karasu stopped. Not because he thought his opponent was dead, but because something had pierced his chest. Everyone stared in disbelief at the three vines of the plant that Kurama had conjured up with his last strength. They seemed to suck out Karasus blood.

"What is happening?" Kuwabara asked in disbelief.

"The plant sucks out its blood. Like a vampire." You explained and looked a little more composed again. Apparently you knew this technique. Since dated Kurama, the others weren't surprised.

Before the crowd could properly process what had happened, Karasu fell to the ground. His skin was pale from massive blood loss and his eyes were blank and torn. He was dead.

But what about Kurama?

Kurama opened his eyes. The bleeding wounds had closed again as if by a miracle and he straightened up slightly wobbly. Did the vampire plant fed him with the blood of his victim to save his life? It was the only logical explanation.

Tears now ran down your cheeks. No tears of sadness, tears of infinite joy. He was alive. Kurama had kept his promise and survived this fight.

Without hesitation for a second, after Juri made him the winner, you ran onto the battlefield and threw Kurama to the ground in a stormy embrace. The Redhead was unprepared for the impact and lost balance when you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"Idiot. Idiot idiot idiot." You repeated several times, still sobbing slightly. This kitsune almost seemed to enjoy causing you so much grief by letting himself be beaten up in every fight.

Kurama smiled gently and caressed your back soothingly.

"Ssh. Everything is fine.", He whispered and heard only briefly loud sobs before you pulled away from him and stared at him.

"DO. THAT. NEVER. AGAIN." You warned and if Kurama wasn't grinning at you so sweetly, your anger would also come across convincingly. Instead, you just sighed softly and patted him gently on the shoulder. "But you also have to keep your promise," you added.

"Don't worry, I will." Kurama chuckled and turned to Yusuke with a hand sign. You blinked perplexed when Yusuke grinned and threw a small velvet box to him. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that it was a box with a beautifully decorated rose on the lid.

"Kurama .."

Kurama got on one knee and took your hand in his.

"I should do this formally and properly, don't you think?" He laughed and you suddenly realized something.

"... You already planned everything in advance, right ...?" You wanted to know.

Kurama gave a small laugh and kissed your palm lovingly before looking intensely into your eyes.

"Quite possible. No, but .. I've never met a woman like you in my life - and that applies to my human and demonic life - and I never expected to lose my heart to someone who makes me as happy as you. "

"Kurama .."

Kurama smirked when you didn't let him finish and cleared his throat to continue.

"Originally I wanted to stay in the human world because my mother and my friends were so close to my heart. But now there is another reason why I don't want to leave this world anymore. I want you by my side until the end of my days and ... start a family with you. In the human world. That is why I ask you, here and now, [First Name] [Last Name], do you want to be my wife and eternal mate? ", He asked and opened the box. Inside it was the most beautiful diamond ring you ever saw. Its sides were adorned with two beautiful jewels, a shiny [gem with your eye color] and a shimmering emerald. It was more than obvious that these jewels symbolized the eye colors of the both of you.

"Yes .. Yes, I want Kurama. Of course I want that!" You said overjoyed and let a smiling Kurama put the ring on your finger before he pulled you to him and kissed you passionately.

"U-Unbelievable! A marriage proposal during the final of the Dark Tournament! I've never seen anything like it!"Koto announced, she sat in the crowd as the second announcer and looked dreamily at the engaged couple.

You smiled and looked at the ring.

"So beautiful. But something's missing," you mumbled.

"Huh?", Kurama asked and you turned to him and grinned slightly.

"A topaz." You answered with a smile.

Now Kurama was the one whose eyes widened and he even blushed a little.

A topaz as golden as Youko Kurama's eyes. His demon form.

Now he was more certain than ever. He would never let you go again. He swore to himself.

#kurama x reader #kurama #youko kurama #youko kurama x reader #shuichi minamino #shuichi minamino x reader #yyh #Yu Yu Hakusho

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olivinesea · 3 years ago

Text

Play it Right

a/n: I’m back! We’re in the single digit countdown to the end of this godforsaken school year aghhhh. So excited I can’t even tell you. Here’s some Hotch being sad but trying to be a good dad. ~3.3k

Hotch & Sean take Jack out for his birthday.

Memories of childhood were hard to come by, often only wisps of faded colors that he couldn’t completely resolve into images. There were light drenched afternoons with disembodied fingers pulling up blades of grass. Other partial scenes where dirt stained knees crawled into dark spaces where the world was cool and damp, following a trail of ants as they slowly dismantled some lifeless form. There was the sickened twist of fascination that accompanied the discovery, watching the way it was transformed from something into nothing with only the help of a few thousand tiny insects. Individually inconsequential in size, collectively a force of nature unstoppable as they reduced the abandoned shell into a small drift of feathers. The pale structure stirred and blown away easily by the air displaced when he reached down to take a single one. He dreamed about the ants coming to him, taking him away piece by piece until there was nothing left but traces of bone dust, dispersed by a midnight breeze. For any other child this would have been a nightmare but to him it was a promise. A promise of order and structure, an indication that time did in fact move forward and wasn’t trapped within stagnated pools hiding in the dim recesses of closets. That it wasn’t a continuous loop of threats and tears, of lies worn so smooth they slipped out of mouths unaware. It won’t happen again. He loves you. I love you.

It was far better to let his memories of childhood be lost. Easy enough to do with no one else who had been present at the time around to reinforce them with retelling. No one else to share with over a drink, bouncing stories back and forth, refreshing the dilapidated structures with a new coat of detail. As he let them dissolve they became defanged, passive enough to believe they were not even about him but possibly a story he’d once read and allowed to mingle with his reality. He had always been told he had a vivid imagination, maybe he could allow that to be true retroactively. It didn’t matter anymore anyway. He was still here and none of them were.

Except Sean.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose impatiently. They’d been waiting for Sean for at least half an hour. His brother, never punctual, was cutting it close once again. They were supposed to be taking Jack to the Mets game. Originally conceived by Sean, the idea was floated as a birthday gift for Jack’s tenth birthday—double digits, a big deal for any kid. Somehow this “gift” had become something Hotch had organized entirely, buying the tickets, getting Jack and himself to New York, filling in the rest of the weekend with kid-friendly activities. He’d made it so easy for Sean, all he had to do was show up and he wasn’t even getting that part right. He glanced at his watch again, resisting the urge to double check the time printed on the tickets. It was a baseball game, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they missed the beginning.

He looked at Jack, sitting on the bench, fiddling with the laces of his glove. The glove was a hand-me-down of sorts. He had found it while helping clean out their parents’ house after their mother passed away. Sean swore it wasn’t his but it couldn’t be Hotch’s either, it was for someone right-handed. Plus, he couldn’t pull up any memories connected to it. He’d never been a team sport kind of kid. Too silent, too reserved to fit in with the loud boys who jostled each other playfully and banded together with unnecessary vitriol for the opposing teams. Hotch never understood team rivalries. Of all the many sources of hatred he’d learned, going to a different school didn’t make the list. It didn’t make any sense to create tension, to whip up emotions that had no basis. He knew enough of hate not to go looking for it where it didn’t need to exist.

Rather than argue with Sean about it, he’d taken the glove home and held on to it until Jack was big enough to use it. He wasn’t exactly sure why but he made up a story for it, weaving a collection of happy moments to accompany the time-softened leather. He told Jack the stories he felt he should have had, the kinds of stories fathers should tell their sons. He hadn’t bothered to do this when Jack was younger, hadn’t worried about his son’s perception of the past. But as Jack got older, as life took more and more away from him before he’d even had a chance to be aware of what he had, Hotch felt the need to give him pieces of a family history. He felt they should be stories that would make him feel normal, if that were at all possible with a life like this. Like he was any other kid with parents who were once kids themselves, chasing the same simple joys. He thought it might be comforting, I’ve known happiness and so can you.

Hotch would do anything to make Jack happy and even though it often made him crazy, this meant including Sean in their lives. His relationship with Sean had always been tense. There were several years after Haley’s death, after his absence in the aftermath, when things were beyond strained. Hotch, once he had surfaced enough to feel things, had burned with a white hot anger, tempting him to sever their tie permanently. It was an anger he didn’t trust himself with, strong enough to break through his control without a second’s notice. So he didn’t call, didn’t make the effort he knew was required to pull his brother back into his orbit. He never spoke of it of course but Jessica noticed. She heard Jack asking about his uncle, saw the muscle in Hotch’s jaw jump as he ground his teeth together to keep from saying something he shouldn’t. When she felt enough time had passed, she started to push him in little ways to reach out, to reconnect.

So he’d ended up here, once again, waiting for Sean, unsure if he’d even manage to remember his nephew’s birthday. Hotch was internally cursing his younger brother and considering leaving on the next train with or without him when the younger man appeared. He looked a little disheveled, hair sticking up in odd places, the shirt under his leather jacket not altogether clean. But he was smiling and calling their names, sweeping first Jack and then Hotch into a hug, almost certainly intending to irritate his brother with the uninvited contact. Hotch could smell the beer on his breath and gave him a sharp look. Sean shrugged it off and turned his attention to Jack.

“Alright kid, are you ready for this?” he ruffled the boy’s sandy blond hair as he asked. Jack grinned up at him, nodding his head a little too vigorously. Sean never failed to charm.

Hotch frowned at them. “Come on, let’s get going. We’re cutting it a little close.”

Sean scoffed and made a face at Jack, mimicking Hotch’s serious features, only to stick his tongue out and make Jack giggle. “Relax, it’ll be fine.” He punched Hotch’s shoulder, earning another glare, but they all started walking toward the platform. Hotch followed just half a step behind, keeping a close eye on Jack in the thickening crowd. He watched Sean weave confidently through people, happily becoming the lead adventurer. Hotch, who had regretted this from the moment he’d agreed, felt his stomach twisting on itself, anticipating what kind of unnecessary chaos Sean would lead them into today.

They made it to the ballpark without too much difficulty. With some shuffling, they arranged themselves in the hard stadium seats, Jack between the two men. This checked two boxes for Hotch—in the middle Jack was both protected and protecting him from being too close to his brother. If Sean had been a little tipsy when he’d shown up he could now be considered fully inebriated. He hadn’t stopped drinking beer since they got there. Hotch, already on edge, was exasperated by this behavior. However, his pointed glares got him nothing but a grin and a lifted glass waved in his direction.

Jack didn’t notice, just happy to see his Uncle Sean who was always so fun and wild. He was the only family of his dad’s that he had ever met so there was something extra special about this man, so different from his dad but somehow his nearest relative. Jack was chattering to him about kid things, filling Sean in on all the art projects and field trips and other critical moments of his life. He proudly showed off the glove, talking about how his dad told him of Sean’s skill as a baseball player and how he said he used to go watch his games and cheer him on.

Sean almost spit out beer he laughed so hard at this information. “You’re kidding. Is that the kind of BS your dad is feeding you?” He looked over at Hotch, who might have been trying to literally kill him with the look he was directing his way. “That damn glove was never mine and you know it Aaron.”

Unrelenting in his disapproval, Hotch shrugged slightly, “Maybe I have some of the details mixed up.”

“Details?” He looked back at Jack, “That glove was your dad’s and for some stupid reason he tried to throw it away one day and your grandpa kicked the shit out of him for it.”

“Sean!”

“What?” Sean was an expert at faking innocence. Jack was wide eyed, looking between the two adults, not understanding what was happening.

“Can I speak with you?” Hotch’s words were clipped, gritting them out between clenched teeth.

“Oooh Agent Hotchner, yessir,” Sean sat up straight, faking a snap to attention but the effect was lost as he swayed slightly. Hotch pressed lips together and grabbed Sean by the jacket shoulder, pulling him to his feet and pushing him out into the aisle.

“What are you thinking? Why would you say something like that?” Hotch tried not to raise his voice but he was barely succeeding.

“You think it’s better for him to believe in some bullshit you made up?” Sean spat back at him.

“Why not? I’m protecting him. He’s lived through enough, he deserves to have some happy stories.”

“So you lie to him,” Sean said, voice flat.

“It’s not lying.”

Sean wasn’t playing anymore, he was angry, every bit as angry as Hotch. His face was flushed from alcohol and emotion. He looked directly at Hotch, making sure his words sank in. “It is lying, just like you lied to me.”

“I never lied to you,” Hotch protested but the words barely made it out of his mouth.

Sean laughed meanly. “You lied to me every fucking day in that house Aaron. I saw everything, heard everything only for you to turn around and tell me it was all fine, that our dad was a good man.” He paused for a moment, looking down at his clenched fists. “I thought I was fucking crazy.”

“I just wanted to protect you.”

“Bullshit. You were being selfish, just like you are now. You think you can just change the facts and no one will know, that it won’t affect anyone else. I have bad news for you: we don’t all just exist in this world you made up in your head. Jack is a real person, I am a real person. Refusing to admit what was happening didn’t make it any less real, it just meant that I was alone with it. Just a little kid alone trying to understand why someone who was supposed to take care of me would hurt my brother and why, why my brother would lie about it. Did you think I was stupid?”

Hotch didn’t know how to respond, stunned by the bitterness of Sean’s words.

“I’m not going to sit around while you lie to someone else about our shitty father. What’s even the point of protecting him anymore?”

Hotch frowned, “I wanted you to have a normal life, a normal relationship with him. He liked you. I thought if I could keep that side of him away, you could have the kind of father I saw other kids have. I thought I could give you that.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard. Always have been.”

“Please, Sean,” he tried to find more words, some way to make Sean understand. He’d only ever wanted to keep him safe.

“I won’t lie about this Aaron and you shouldn’t either, Jack’s going to learn everything someday, whether you like it or not. Do you want him to be able to come to you? Or do you want him to be afraid, afraid he can’t trust you to tell him the truth?”

Hotch hung his head. “I’m sorry Sean. I didn’t realize—”

Sean cut him off, “I’m done with this.” Clumsily he pulled something out of his pocket. “Here, give this to Jack, tell him I said happy birthday.”

Hotch wanted to ask him to stay but he’d already turned, walking up the stairs, grabbing the railing every once in a while to correct his balance. Hotch looked at the coin in his hand, a Kennedy half-dollar, remembered giving it to Sean on his tenth birthday. It was the same coin his father had given him when he turned 10, just before Sean was born. He remembered the time of his mother’s pregnancy as being particularly bad. His father had been careful with her, solicitous even, trying to ensure that this baby, this wanted baby, would make it safely into the world. But his temper hadn’t gone anywhere, he simply focused it all on Aaron. He'd had to miss a lot of school that fall.

But then, for no reason discernible to him, his father’s mood had shifted a couple months before the baby was due. He started coming home early, bringing gifts for both of them. Some were even wrapped (by the shop clerk no doubt, but wrapped). The glove had been one of these gifts. It hadn’t fit him right but he had said thank you and hoped he could keep this version of his dad around as long as possible. It lasted until Sean was about six months old. The first night his dad came home drunk and angry, yelling at his mom who just stood there holding Sean, too petrified to move away. Seeing that, the frailty and futility in his mother’s stance, he knew that he had to get in between them. He knew then he would do anything he could to protect his baby brother. Sean was the most perfect thing he had ever seen and he intended to keep it that way. He’d done what he could but all he really knew how to do was lie. It was all he’d ever been taught.

The glove became a nightmare that repeatedly came back to haunt him. His dad would go through fits of wanting to be a “normal family.” He would drag them out to the lake for picnics, would insist Aaron play catch with him in the yard. But he was never coordinated enough and it would always end with his dad frustrated and cursing him. When he was thirteen he started to experience overwhelming fits of anger. They came on suddenly, could be set off by anything. His vision would blur and he would feel a desperate need to lash out against the brutally indifferent world around him. During one of these fits, he threw the glove in the garbage, sick of being humiliated by it. Then, the emotion gone as quickly as it appeared, he promptly forgot about it.

Unfortunately, being an angry adolescent did not lead to the smartest decisions. His father found it in the trash and immediately went looking for his ungrateful son. He’d found him with Sean building tiny forts out of sticks in the back yard. Aaron hadn’t even had a chance to remember that he’d thrown the thing away before it was being used to leave marks on his exposed skin. Hotch wondered that Sean could even remember it, he had been so young. He wondered, too, how he could have forgotten, the sting of his failure to protect his brother from that knowledge making itself clearly felt now.

The coin, however, had been a treasured gift, inspiring him to begin a collection that he hid carefully in the back of a drawer. Something he could pull out and remind himself that there had been good moments. That he hadn’t just imagined them. Looking at his coins offered rare moments of peace in the continuous turbulence of the Hotchner household. When he was twenty and Sean only ten, Aaron had felt guilty for not being around as much. The kid had recently lost his father and was living with a quickly deteriorating mother. So he gave Sean the original half-dollar, hoping that his little brother would be able to find the same comfort in it, maybe even develop his own interest in the hobby. Unsurprisingly, coin collecting never caught on with Sean. He was too loud, too rough to spend hours inside, inspecting tiny characters and noticing slight variations in markings. Hotch had assumed Sean had lost the coin years ago, had even felt a little sad thinking about it being lost. Sean was many things but he never failed to surprise Hotch. He shook his head, clearing the lingering thoughts, needing to focus on what he was going to say to Jack. He turned to walk back to their seats.

Jack watched his approach over his shoulder, “Where’s Uncle Sean?”

“He wasn’t feeling well, he said to wish you happy birthday.”

“You made him leave,” Jack’s small face was contorted into an accusing scowl.

Hotch shook his head, ready to commit to this stretching of the truth but he stopped himself. “He was upset,” he started then paused. He really didn’t want to explain this story.

“Why?”

Hotch rubbed the coin with his thumb, “Well, he didn’t like the story I told you about the glove.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t the truth and he thought that it was wrong of me to lie.”

Jack was quiet, thinking about this. Hotch waited patiently for him to process. “What’s the true story?”

He hesitated, “It’s not a very nice story Jack.”

“But it’s the truth?”

Hotch nodded, the muscles around his lungs constricting too tightly to speak. Jack looked too serious for a ten year old. “Then that’s the story I want to hear.”

A mix of emotion spread through him, partly anger at Sean for forcing his hand, but also pride in his son’s strength. He sighed, “And I’ll tell you, but not today ok buddy? Today is about you and about good memories.”

“Ok Dad but you have to promise.”

Hotch smiled, “I promise. Here, Uncle Sean wanted me to give you this, it’s your birthday gift.”

Jack took the offered object and looked closely, trying to figure out what it was. The metal was aged making the words hard to read through the patina. “It’s…old?”

Hotch laughed. “It is very old, you’re right.”

“What is it?”

“Well, do you want to hear the story of where it came from?”

“Only if it’s true,” Jack replied, a little smile revealing that he was teasing his dad. When had he gotten so mature?

“Of course, nothing but from now on,” Hotch held up his hand in mock solemnity. Without warning, Jack leaned over and wrapped his small arms as far as they would go around Hotch, pressing his face into his chest. Hotch hugged him back, thankful that despite everything, every stupid mistake and unforgivable failure, he had managed to get this one thing right.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #sean hotchner #jack hotchner

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maximumwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Pt 4 <3

finally the story is starting to get good. hope you enjoy!

summary; you go on a journey through the nether for the purpose of reaching a fortress, but in the end earn something more valuable then anything that may have been found.

Needless to say, you two got little rest that night, staying up and spending the hours teaching him emotions, and how to interact with other humans.

He learned romance from your favorite book, The Princess Bride as you read it to him till he drifted to sleep. Maybe this will become more frequent. Wait, how long does he plan on staying?? You just meant to glance over at his sleeping figure, but instead your eyes lingered. He really was handsome, with a delicate face and a strong body. He was well built, with broad shoulders and a small waist, the epitome of beauty.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to tear your eyes away. He had said something earlier that stuck with you, even now.

“You...woman? Man?” he asked, head tilting to the side.

You nodded. “I am (gender).” you responded with a soft smile.

“You I have...romance?” he pronounced romance strongly, with emphasis on the n, causing it to sound harsh compared to the idea of romance itself.

“Uh…” you blushed, looking back down to your hands, not wanting to look at him directly out of embarrassment.

“Not really, no…” you fiddled with the pages, trying to find the words caught in your throat. “Romance is... friendship,” you had explained the concept to him previously, “but with passion.” you gestured by clenching your fists, and punching the air. He slowly nodded for you to continue. “Romance is love. It is shown with touch,” you gestured a hug, “and gifts, like the chain I gave you.``He looked down at it, and smiled, fangs on display. “Romance is represented through jewelry like what I'm wearing, or flowers, or even a hug.”

Techno nodded. “I get now. T-thank.” he smiled broadly, eyes closing.

You blushed. “No problem, Techno.”

Waking up, you were greeted by the smell of smoke & roasting. You hummed with delight, rolling over to see what was cooking. You saw Technoblade standing there, poking the fire with a branch as he gazed into the fire, face strong like stone. “Techno…” you groaned, sitting up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. He turned to you, and his face melted to one of content.

“Goot Morning.” he said, making you smile softly.

“What are you cooking?” you questioned, standing up and stretching the soreness from your bones, allowing the sunlight to seep into your soul, recharging your body.

“Animal. Dont know. Not home.” he spoke, continuing to poke the meat.

You walked over to his side, crouching next to the flame to assess the roast.

“Mhm..Looks like a deer.” you sighed.

“Deer.” he repeated, content with the new word.

“Thank you, Techno.” you spoke softly, glancing at his face as he stared at you intensely, before looking away to turn back to your bedroll, cleaning up.

Once you finished sorting your inventory & double checking your belongings, you sat alongside Techno, eating the meat. You both sat in a comfortable silence until you had finished.

“That was amazing, thank you Techno.”

“No worry. For love.” he insisted, staring intently at you. You couldn’t help but glance right back at him.

“For...Love? What do you mean?”

“I do, for romance. For you.” he smiled again, turning away to begin cleaning up the leftovers, leaving you with your thoughts until he was finished.

Once you had both cleaned up and ensured you were in possession of all your belongings, you began the journey back to the portal.

“You….fly?” he asked, pointing delicately at your wings.

“Mhm! I just don't because you're here.” you explained, checking the map to ensure you were walking the right direction.

“No.” Techno sternly said, stopping to turn to you.

“No what, Tech?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Fly. I see.”

“You want to watch me fly?” he nodded. You shrugged, and spread out your wings, shaking off anything clinging to them. You spread them out all the way, fluffing them out in the process for the sake of your own pride. You muttered a countdown under your breath, and on 3, took off.

Techno shielded himself with his arms, and looked up at you as you held yourself in the air, wings flapping slowly to hold your weight. He had a wonderstruck expression, mouth open in a sense of shock. “Woah…” he breathed. You chuckled, doing a quick flip to show off before descending back to the ground, where you shook off any stray feathers, and twitched your furry ears to adjust.

“So, what did you think?” you joked, wiggling your eyebrows, tail wagging slightly. Techno was still amazed, and didn't even respond. You chuckled, and continued walking, wings tucked to your back. Technoblade quickly caught up trailing behind. You both walked in silence for a minute or so, Techno out of sight, however you could hear the soft crunch of the ground behind you, reassuring he was still behind you.

Suddenly, something tickled your wings, and assuming it was a leaf, you merely shook the feathers; but the feeling continued.

Now, the thing with Avian Hybrids is the sensitivity surrounding their wings. In order to touch someone's wings, it's highly regarded to need permission at the very least. If your good friends with an avian, then you may be allowed to touch their wings when hugging or having physical contact. The underside of wings is a completely different story. It's the equivalent of “second base”, and if touched without permission can be assaulted in some cases. Petting another's wings is like stroking one's head, and is done between close friends, or partners.

So when Technoblade began petting your wings, it was a shock to say the least, causing you to let out an exasperated purr-like moan. At this you quickly snapped around, covering your face with your hand to hide your blush. “Techno!” you exclaimed, as he stood there, face blank beside the slight pink dusting his cheeks.

“I do that?” he asked, oblivious of what effect he had just caused.

“Yes! Yes you did!” you lectured him, watching as his expression fell, causing you to drag your hands down your face. “I'm sorry for yelling at you. Its just, doing that is something that only lovers do.” you explained, watching his face as he process what you had said.

“Lovers? Romance?” you nodded. “I get flowers and jewels for you, then t-touch?” he gestured, holding out the chain that he had held onto. You couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt, and put a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Maybe, yes.” At this his face turned up, a wide grin adoring his delicate features.

“I romance you now.” he exclaimed, obviously excited by the revelation, which you could only smile at, continuing to walk.

please, the ending of this chapters has gotta be one of my favourite scenes thus far. Cya tomorrow!

~max

#techno x reader #dream smp techno #mcyt #mcyt x reader #x reader #fanfic

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stardustskz · 4 years ago

Text

Smile, For it Suits You

Title: Smile, for it suits you

Word count: 3.1k

Genre: best friends au, fluff, holiday au

Warnings: alcohol, drinking, sickness, typo errors (lmk of there are more)

Member: jeongin

Description: the four times Yang Jeongin ruined your new year’s and the one time you ruined his’

Notes: dedicated to @jeonginks for @districtninewriters ‘s winter exchange fic. first of all, i’m so sorry for it’s late. i was wondering on whether posting it on new year’s eve or on the morning of january 1st but thought of doing the latter. happy holidays eiko! i hope you had a blast holiday and i hope that you’ll like this one, i tried putting as much into it!

ps. i forgot if there are any word count limit, i’m so sorry if there are

pps. i’m so b=nervous posting this idk why

There’s this superstitious belief that has been going on every January 1st and you neither disagree or agree with it. Okay, scratch that… you are sensitive about it. Ever since your grandmother told your eight year old mind about it, you always made sure to make your first days of every year perfect.

The following year, you were cautious of your entire January 1st as your parents took you out to the local theme park to celebrate the new year. The day went well with the self reminders that your young mind whispers every time you were about to lose your composure due to the small things that irk you. You went to every extreme ride that you like– perks of having the height to fool the staff for your age. You even won plushies multiple times from the crane machine and the huge human-sized bear that your father got you as a prize in that one fishing game.

Night time was fast approaching when you decided to have an ice cream without your parents' assistance. Because you were in the age of bragging about how independent you've become seeing to it that you’ll be adding a number to your age in the following months. It was successful! You bought your chocolate coated vanilla ice cream after telling the vendor to have a happy new year. You’re on your way back to where your parents sat on a bench when you saw a boy running fast towards your direction. Your first instinct was to move away from his pathway but it seems that your mind and body forgot how to process your intentions as you fell on your butt, causing your ice cream to fall on the ground as well as stain the lower part of your favorite jacket.

"Hey!" you called out to the boy who was now about a meter away from you. Your calm and optimism for that day gone. Because he didn’t even apologize or bother to stop from his tracks.

The boy came to a halt from his frantic running, turned around, and yelled back,

"I'm sorry! But I'm really in a hurry!" he then looked at you apologetically then continued running to god knows where. And oh boy, you were so annoyed as he turned out to be Yang Jeongin from your class. Your everyone-loves-and-adores-him classmate. Everyone falls for his stupid cheeky smile and almost everyone in your class has a huge crush on him. Which is you think, stupid, you were all in fourth grade, how does one know who to like? After that incident your day went sliding downwards, from getting scolded by your parents for ruining your white shirt to losing your favorite hanky from riding the Vikings and you only have one person to blame and it was and still is, Yang Jeongin.

ii.

Quite opposite from your dislike towards Yang Jeongin, you gained the ‘honor’ to be his best friend during 7th grade. It just… happened. When Han Jisung decided to be a dear who made you audition, forcefully, for your school’s theatre club, it so happened that Jeongin was a part of it too.

Now, during your junior year in high school, you were currently in one of your senior Minho’s parties before the new year. You were in the middle of talking to Jisung and Jeongin when you felt your surroundings started to spin,

"Hey, I'll just use the bathroom for a bit" you said, excusing yourself from all the talking. You don’t have a clue why you’re feeling nauseous when you only had a cup or two of what seems to be a soda, well, it tastes like it.

"You okay?" Jeongin asked, his tone laced with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine" you replied, starting your way to where the comfort room was. It was when you started throwing out all the contents of your stomach when you felt a hand on your back, patting it in a calming manner while their other hand puts away the stray strands of your hair from your face.

"Is this what you call fine? I thought you won’t drink tonight?" he jokingly said, chuckling a bit by your earlier tough act.

"Well, yeah I also thought I wouldn’t." you rolled your eyes at him through the mirror by the sink after you gargled with water. Maybe it wasn’t just a soda after all. You glanced at the door, furrowing your brows when you noticed that it was closed.

"You closed the door?" you asked him.

"Yeah? I did?" he said innocently.

"There's a reason I left it open dumbass" you said, trying to call out for help but of course people wouldn't hear you due to the loud, obnoxious music blasting by the speakers in the living room, you even heard people shouting.

"Oh… I didn't see the sign?" Jeongin said, a bit unsure of himself. Truthfully, he doesn't remember seeing it but he may have forgotten that Jisung told him something about not closing a door because the lock was not working well. Maybe this is the door he was talking about. Jeongin pondered.

It was dreadfully silent, but it was a comfortable one, with you frustrated of how the fuck are you both gonna get out before the countdown. You left your purse with Jisung containing both your phones. There’s no way you’ll be able to get out unless Jisung remembers the absence of your presence and he probably won’t do that until after the countdown. Because Jisung tends to get overly excited about fireworks that he’ll forget that you and Jeongin aren’t back yet.

"5 minutes until the countdown, are we really spending our new year here?" you asked, a bit sad to miss the fireworks display and spend your first minutes of the new year inside a bathroom. What a way to start the year.

"I’m sorry, we’re stuck here" Jeongin said, cautious of whether you’re mad or not. You went closer to where Jeongin sat inside the bathtub, planning to sit beside him.

“I’m not mad, just… annoyed?” You said, sitting beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, maybe it was the alcohol or how comfortable you were around your best friend but you soon drifted to a deep slumber after hearing the fireworks explode outside, remembering to greet Jeongin a “Happy New Year, Jeongin” before completely shutting down.

And if Jisung said something about you getting locked last year in Minho's bathroom and only managing to get out the following year, as if it’s a good joke, you definitely punched him for it.

iii.

The news of Jeongin and his family moving to your neighborhood the following year surprised you. Of course you were ecstatic about it, even more when you saw their moving truck beside your house. You were about to be neighbors! Ever since then, you’ve been spending most of your time with Jeongin, more than what you both used to, your moms also got a lot closer. Which is why they decided to celebrate New Year’s Eve with both families.

A few hours before the countdown, you decided to hide away in your room, deciding to sleep before the clock strikes 12 because you sure are exhausted by all the preparations. You were lying in your bed with your feet dangling at the bottom, the happenings from earlier that day flashing in your mind. You heard the door to your room opened but you didn’t even bother to look at who it is.

“Everyone’s looking for you” Jeongin’s familiar voice said. He went closer to your figure only to see that you have your eyes closed, he thought that you’re already asleep,

“I’m tired, let me sleep for a while.” you said, eyes still closed. You tapped the space beside you signaling for him to sit there if he wants. However, Jeongin chose to lie down beside you. And you never opposed it.

“Wake me up before the countdown.” you said, tiredness completely settling in your system, the hazy figures in your mind beginning to be more vivid as your dream completely took over your consciousness.

Jeongin rolled his eyes at your command, but he will anyway. Turning on his side, his sharp looking gaze softened as his eyes landed on you. He carefully watched how your eyes are now closed, with your lashes curled adorably. You look like an angel whenever you’re sleeping. You were never this peaceful looking when you’re awake because you're the type to furrow your brows more than smile on a daily basis. But right now, your brows are not furrowed even in the slightest bit and the corners of your lips are lightly pointing upwards, a sign that maybe, you’re having a good dream. It continued like this when Jeongin realized that he’s also falling asleep, and even falling harder, as he kissed the night with a goodbye as well.

You both completely missed the countdown but it wasn’t like you were mad about it. When you woke up the next morning, with your best friend still beside you, you figured it was a shame to not witness the fireworks display for two years in a row but you had a great time with finally sleeping for more than eight hours.

Despite that, yes, you still blame Jeongin.

iv.

It was the first time that you’ll be spending your new year in a different place than your own home. You were already in your third year in college and your group of friends decided to spend your new year at a vacation house near the provinces of your country. Of course, your parents only allowed you to go if Jeongin would be there and thank god you both are in the same circle of friends.

The original plan was to go together as a group and ride Chan’s van all throughout your three day escapade. However, you have to attend a family gathering in the morning of December 31st, which was the reason why you were left with Jeongin and his truck. You had everything prepared, from the music for the road trip to the snacks that you two bought from your shopping two days prior. And the only thing left is the long journey. Your friends already arrived at the destination by the time you and Jeongin left your place. You were both jamming to different genres of songs, with you feeding Jeongin a chip or two from time to time,

“You can sleep, you know, we still have a long way.” Jeongin said, glancing at you as you yawn from the passenger’s seat.

“No, no. I can’t leave you for yourself. You can also get sleepy anytime soon.” You said, cautious of possible incidents that may occur.

“Suit yourself y/n” He said, as you blasted an even livelier song on his radio.

You were both listening to ‘Wannabe’ with Jeongin doing the shoulder dance and his eyes almost disappearing due to all the smiling and singing when the car slowed down in a not so good manner, as you think.

“What’s happening?” you asked him, maybe panicking for a bit because you were both currently in the middle of nowhere and the sun was already setting.

“I don’t exactly know,” Jeongin said, his bright smile no longer visible as he stared down on the steering wheel, wondering what the fuck is wrong with his truck.

“It won’t start.” he said, after a few attempts of once again turning on the car’s engine.

“I should go find help somewhere nearby.” you said, because clearly, your phone’s signal isn’t working as well.

“No, we should go together, it’s dangerous,” he said preparing to get off the car as well

“Help me push the car to the side of the road first.” he added, then you both worked on it.

After grabbing all your important belongings, you both started walking forward, continuing the path of the road in hopes of seeing a gas station or an apparel or something.

“I feel like I brought upon misfortune with you whenever we celebrate the new year together.” Jeongin said, probably blaming himself for what just happened.

“It’s not like we can control everything that’s happening around us.” you replied, looking at Jeongin’s sullen expression.

“Hey! Don’t frown, you look like someone who’ll eat me up alive” you told him. Well, he’s not particularly frowning but Jeongin’s scary whenever he’s not smiling. You noticed the sky slowly get dark and you managed to get sight of something bright at the road ahead.

“Still, I’m sorry this happened, y/n.” he said, coming to a stop only to lock his gaze on yours to sincerely apologize.

“Stop apologizing dumbass, look I can see something ahead.” you said, mirroring his gaze and smiling as brightly as you can. Jeongin has been your support ever since you two have been attached to the hip. His bright personality is so much of a contrast to your snarly, hostile and strong attitude. And he brightens up your day almost everyday even though he can also annoy the hell out of you. But still, you can’t bring yourself to hate or get mad at him. Because a single smile from Jeongin, all your irritations and annoyance will surely melt away. It just does. The moment Jeongin smiled at you, with his cheeky grin that managed to show his dimples, as a reply, and nodded in agreement and determination, to walk towards where you were pointing out, all your worries for that night went away. Together with your belief that all new years are supposed to be spent in a perfect manner. Because this time, although you spent your new year by the parking lot of the gas station that you both found, you don’t blame Jeongin for all the things that went wrong in that specific year. And at the very least, you get to spend it with the person you cherish the most.

“Why did you decide to spend your January 1st with me dumbass” you asked him, as you opened the door to your dorm, thanking your roommate who went home for the holidays.

“Well, my also, ‘dumbass’ best friend stayed at the dorms for the holidays and worked themselves up because of finals and now they can’t go home due to a very high fever.” he rambled. You finally let him in because you can already feel your limbs giving up on you.

“Look! You can’t even stand up on your own!” Jeongin scolded, wrapping his arm around you while he escorted you back to your bedroom. He managed to tuck you in your bed and placed a cooling pad on your forehead before he quickly left for the kitchen, without saying a word. Minutes later, he came back with a bowl of porridge in between his hands.

“You can cook?” you teased.

“Eat.” he said, his expression was serious so you had no choice than to immediately oblige on his command, yes, he was mad and you are kinda scared of this type of Jeongin. You quickly finished it and took the medicine that he gave.

“Do you not have any other plans today?” you asked him, your voice almost a whisper.

“Someone ruined my original plans for me.” he said with his tone a bit more harsh than usual.

“If that someone was me then I don’t need you here.” you said, irritated by his tone, you turned around to face the other side of your bed in order to avoid seeing him. Jeongin must have figured out that you’re mad at him, due to the change of your tone. He took a deep sigh,

“It’s not like that,” he started.

“I already warned you a week ago about overworking yourself and look where it brought you!” he said, his voice now more calm than before,

“And check your phone please.” he added. Your phone? You haven’t checked your phone since last night due to this stupid fever and apparently- Oh. There are multiple calls and texts from him.

“I asked auntie regarding your whereabouts and I knew from her that you’re down with fever because I thought you went home yesterday morning, to make it in time for new year’s eve.” Jeongin said, you turned around again with your guilt forming because you forgot to tell him.

“I was worried, y/n. I prepared something for you last night, we were supposed to-” you cut him off,

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you,” you said, trying to find his gaze,

“Are you mad?” you asked, taking his hand that was resting on his sides.

“N-no, I’m not. I just-” he took another sigh, “I was just so worried, we can continue whatever road trip I prepared for us anytime this year just please don’t disappear on me again.” he said, more like, begged as he held your hand between his’.

“Okay,” you said, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

“I won’t do it again, now please smile?” you asked, hoping for him to please just smile again.

Because did he just see you act cute in front of him? Apparently, yes.

“Oh my god okay!” he said and laughed out loud.

“Don’t do that again, this is why I’m the cute one between us!” he said, holding his abdomen for his dear life from laughing too much. You frowned. But this is better.

“I’m sorry for ruining your first day of the year.” you said, because he wouldn’t be able to go out as he chose to take care of you.

“It’s fine, I intended to spend it with you in the first place” he said, still recovering from the good laugh that he just experienced.

“Wait, so you’re supposed to take me to star gazing?!” you asked, your eyes widening in surprise.

“Yeah? I’m sure my truck won’t fail me this time but you did.” he said, you’ve been bothering him about this request of yours since last year due to his car ruining new year for the both of you.

“Hey! You already forgave me for that!” Jeongin only laughed and told you to go rest and sleep already. At first, you refused to, but you remembered that you’re still down with a fever and your body gave up on you already. But that day, you fell asleep with a smile on your face. All these time, from the previous years that you had until now, you were searching for perfection for all your first days of the year. However what or rather, who you really need is someone that would stay with you no matter how much misfortune you get. And gladly, you have a dumbass of a best friend for that.

#districtninewriters #skzwritersclub #yang jeongin #stray kids imagines #stray kids au #stray kids fluff #fluff #jeongin #i.n. stray kids #bang chan #lee know #han jisung #hwang hyunjin #lee felix #kim seungmin #seo changbin #stray kids drabbles #winter exchange fic

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randomshipperhere · 3 years ago

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🖤I love Darkiplier🖤

Welcome people who came from the Top 5 egos post. So as I mentioned, this gets pretty personal.

The king of kings in this fandom. A lot of fans’ personal number one. Solid choice. You can’t go wrong. Dark and Anti are the reasons why I even made a tumblr. How my blog came to be and how I found my niche fan community on this website. I owe a lot to this character on why I’m even online.

So let’s start from the beginning but a shortened version of the story. I became a fan of Mark through watching Pewds prop hunt collab videos. Went to check out his channel and I came after Wilford Interviews Markiplier Bloopers was released. Watched his videos, loved the content, and finally went to take a look at the fanworks. And one of the most popular things was Darkiplier.

Darkiplier, a character who wasn’t even a character. Darkiplier, a character which the fans created on their own after watching spooky Mark videos. Darkiplier, the fandom myth. An evil version of Mark that was spawned from him just doing vaguely creepy videos. One that overactive imaginers created in their heads that was released to the world. Stories spoke about him like he was the boogeyman, the shadow that crawls and manifests itself as the worst of Mark.

Now I wasn’t a fan from the get go. I was more of a Googs fan at the time but I really liked the creative ways people interpreted Dark. Even if some of them were just basic Mark with his merch shirt, give him gray skin and dark eyes. I slowly began to become accustomed to this small community and just enjoyed the fan content. I started watching videos which supposedly have Dark in them. And the thing is he plays so many horror games that it just made sense to have an evil version of him. It just clicked! It wasn’t an out of place idea. Considering how he has dabbled in villain roles in other skits and sketches, how his main gameplay was horror. If let’s say, Rosanna Pansino’s fans made an evil version of her, it would be so out of place since her content revolves around baking. But because of the kind of content Mark makes, it was a concept that felt natural.

One of the reasons I liked his pre-canon version is how he sounded. Mark’s voice is naturally pleasing to listen to but when it was paired with a lower, much slower, more menacing sound? One that makes your skin crawl because it’s from a very familiar face but it doesn’t sound like him. Turning someone you think you know into a stranger. Chills, goosebumps! I can actually have a horror experience without the stupid jumpscares.

Fan art, fanfics, fan theories, there was a lot of content for a non canon character and I’m slowly realizing oh shit, maybe I do like Dark. But we liked the idea of him, we didn’t know if he’d ever be a confirmed character Mark would play in a serious video so we kept to our small little circle.

This is why “relax” is such a sucker punch of a video for people who liked Dark. It was a fun video when it was released and up until now, especially now. But at the time it made me feel ashamed for liking Dark that I even went bye bye. I never had accounts so I just lurked but that made me stop interacting with that niche for a while. That is until the announcement of ADWM.

How many of you remember the countdown clock? How many of you remember the excitement of a special project that was going to be released on Valentines. How the website made everyone collectively think Dark was going to appear. The pictures, the cryptic and vagueness of it all just opened the floor for conversation and suddenly I’m back in full blast, ready for Dark to show up.

And show up he did. That first appearance is so special and he took my fucking breath away. I was grinning so widely, from ear to ear. Not just with his appearance but the whole project itself. It was a fan service feast. The whole concept of a CYOA video in Mark’s channel done in a 1st person’s POV was so exciting. Add the fact that it was on valentines day for the lonely and maybe even delusional fans out there. Add Dark first proper appearance and Wilford coming back as the cherry on top and we had the perfect Valentines. No experience to this day in this fandom can quite capture what ADWM meant to me. It was a day of many firsts in this fandom. Fan reception was insane and started a new wave of Markiplier fans. Lowkey kinda smug about being a Dark fan when I saw how people reacted. That day was seriously unforgettable.

There’s also the Feb. 2017 charity stream where Mark explained he wanted to do the character right. That he wanted to take control and finally make this fan character into his own. And you know what? He fucking did it because right after, any previous fan iterations were thrown out the window. Gone buh bye. It’s all ancient history now and the Dark we to this day know and love came from that decision. As much as I loved the small community that was created, I felt relieved that there’s this official version. Man, did Mark throw so much shade on us for liking Dark. He still does actually and... fair.

Living in a post-ADWM world is a treat. Markiplier TV, WKM, AHWM. Each and every official appearance he has makes me feel so happy because he’s not just a fan character anymore, he’s not just a joke character as well. We have proper, easily pin-pointable videos of his appearance along with the vague posting. Dark is a fully-fleshed, multi-faceted, layered ego. Not just another ego but one of the two pillars and heads among them. The journey to how Dark became Dark is just amazing and it makes me feel like a proud fan. Look at how far he’s come!

Speaking of journeys, Mark himself has had one with this character. There’s this incredible meta analysis post and I highly suggest you read it. Mark started his journey with just cool creepy videos. Saw the fanbase had grown and hated how out of his control it was so in response made fun of the character. Then took time, sat down, and thought that he wanted to make his own, an indisputable and canon version. Projected all of the things he didn’t want to be in Dark. An antithesis to Mark. Then he made an incredibly sad origin story and realized to himself that maybe he doesn’t hate Dark as much. Now comes the AHWM part of the journey where he’s more accepting of Dark and is back to clowning on us Dark fans.

It’s really nice to see it all happen. Mark’s views about Dark are ever changing.

There’s Dark’s backstory. It’s just so sad that you can’t help but feel bad for him. A fallen hero or a tragic villain, whatever you want to categorize Dark as, the angst that surrounds his story is incredibly wonderful. I like the pain. This heart that feels hurt for what happened to him and it makes me want to root for Dark even more. Like you go you fucking menace! Go get your revenge on Actor!

People may also have conflicting opinions about this but I like how charismatic and manipulative he is. It’s like a siren’s call to tempt the viewer to the other side. And the way Mark’s charismatic behavior is shown in a villainous manner. Look I just really want Mark to play full on antagonists again. Okay?

I love the contrast of this gentlemanly demeanor and the anger that seems to slip through the cracks every now and then. And shit when he degrades the viewer I’m still left helpless because yes you fucking idiot I do miss you and your face. Look, characters that always make you feel like you want to learn more about them AND the world they live in are always high on my interest list. The way he also words things, a balancing act of threatening and charming, things that can be interpreted and misinterpreted.

His voice is so nice to listen to, even if there is a constant ringing sound. The visual glitches he also has are beautiful! The variety and effects. My overall favorite is the one he does in “over and over and over again”.

Can we also give a round of applause for Dark changing his look every time he shows up. Gray suit? Classic. The loose fit in dark vs anti? Sexy. WKM? Hot. AHWM? Absolute perfection. Suits are just great. Want to look good? Wear a suit! Gosh, the grip you have on me never loosened.

As I mentioned earlier, I love the idea of taking something familiar and turning it into something unfamiliar. It’s as plain as day how Dark wants to use you for the plans he has in store, whatever they may be. Yet we still love him because of how charming he is and because we understand his motivations better after WKM & ADWM.

There’s also the fact that he doesn’t harm you or even force you to follow him. Like he has so many opportunities to murder us, he could even force us into a loop or taking whatever little control we have (which is choosing the next video) and force us to get his ending but he doesn’t. If you bring up [Horror->Freedom] how it only has one option, no it doesn’t. There are 4 options and 3 of them are an out to the CYOA. Only one continues in the ADWM CYOA but this option doesn’t force you into an ending. Dark also comforts you when you get his ending while Mark is all oh you killed someone, let’s move on. In AHWM he’s relating to you (whilst degrading, thanks Dark) and even gave you an answer, sort of.

Aren’t you supposed to be our enemy? I guess we’re allies and thanks? Thanks, yeah. Dark has also never lied to us. I can definitely trust this man more than I trust Actor.

Dark is so many things I adore all in one. I love the macabre, the gothic, the monsters that hide under your bed. A charming villain, posing as a gentleman. The things that creep in the shadow of the night. His entire look, demeanor, and aesthetic hits every single note for me.

Like those mood boards or even pinterest boards of knives, and castles, and smokes, and mirrors. A king of a fallen kingdom. Crows, and gargoyles, sweet seductive words that mask the poison. That kind of thing! I may like a lot of dapper villains, incredibly seductive villains, dressed to the nines with the money and power to crumble the world. But shit Dark’s charm hits differently.

I am having an incredibly weird parasocial relationship with a fictional character played by a real person in a simulated event and there’s an incredibly meta thing going on here but I don’t know what it is or what that means nor do I know how to add this in a somewhat natural manner and we’re ending this.

Other than loving him as a character, loving his story and personality, and how he interacts with us the viewers, I also love him because I managed to make a friend for being such a fan. One of my current friends, I managed to get close to them partially because we’re Markiplier fans. They were more of a casual fan but having someone to talk about this really nerdy sounding side of me that’s just so in love with this character and them starting to get into the lore was fun. I actually have a friend I can gush over with these things.

With all of that said, Dark to me is more than just a character Mark gave life to. Dark is an experience, one I’m glad I got a chance to have. He made me connect to a community, made me actually actively participate in said community. I don’t just love him, but I can’t say something like I stay in this fandom because of Dark because that is false. I love him a fucking lot. More than most fictional characters I like. He lives rent free in my head but it doesn’t bleed out into my day to day life or thinking. It’s a very complicated love relationship but as fellow fans I think you get what I mean. Maybe not with Dark specifically but you must have a character you feel similar things for.

Closing statement. There will be no one who can dethrone him for me. When he shows up in ISWM you bet that I’m already typing down shit because I can never get enough of him.

Extra stuff: Damien deserved better | Drunk Wilford and Dark | I will never forgive him for this blooper

and maybe the way mark feels for lady D is how I feel about dark lmao. It’s about the power okay. I like dark’s aesthetic too much aaaaa

P.S liking Dark is almost like being in a different fandom. Kind of like a game where you’re speculating about it before beta or official release and when it comes out you’re just waiting for new updates. Heh

#text post #if you’re reading this before I posted the thing please go away #come back later

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ilguna · 4 years ago

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Redamancy - Chapter Four (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, MURDER, GORE.

wc; 8.8k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Even though the Hunger Games doesn’t start until ten, you’re in the betting room at nine. You’re not the first and only mentor to come down bright and early, there’s plenty of others who are already making their way around the room. Shaking hands, exchanging compliments and holding friendly conversation.

You’re not exactly the same way, as you stand off to the side, gnawing on your thumb’s nail. You’ve watched Annie and Marsh’s odds bob up and down plenty of times already, as the gamemakers try to decide where they belong last minute. So far, Annie and Marsh are back to back in numbers, with Marsh being on top.

“You’re stressed.”

Gloss is staring up at the betting board when you look over at him. He’s got his arms crossed, serious and straight-faced. In the past, he would be some type of excited because of their undeniably fantastic tributes. This year is different, as you’ve already discovered many times. His male tribute scored lower than usual, and the girl is higher by one single point.

It’s normal for the careers to score from anywhere between eight and ten, but that doesn’t mean they want an eight. They want nines and tens, because it shows proficiency and dangerousness. Plus, it’s normally District Four who’s scoring eights and whatnot. A good example of that is when Finnick scored the number when he was fourteen.

Today’s seriousness doesn’t reflect the attitude that was being presented last night. Last night was much livelier, a laughing group of mentors on the streets of the Capitol. Of course, as Finnick requested, you all stayed inside and in private rooms for most of the time, but eventually he decided that he wanted to experience the festival the way you guys normally do.

Which is practically chaos, as Gloss and Enobaria feed into each other’s bad thoughts and drag you around the city doing whatever they want. Trying on regular Capitol wear, buying replica crowns that Snow places on the brows of victors. They try different drinks and foods, all a hundred different flavors, some sweet, others sour, sometimes spicy.

The Capitol is a playground to them, and it’s fun to watch them break rules and create their own. Playing games on the sidewalk to see who will chug the next cherry vodka, who will lose a shirt or a sock or a piece of expensive jewelry down a storm drain. The night of the interviews is the only night where you all get to be your true selves.

Even Finnick felt comfortable enough to join in on your antics. It’s always a night to remember, you’re sure that he’ll be using it to tell stories in the future. The year where you cornered Finnick to helping you, and how he saw that you weren’t always who you pretended to be. It’s easy to be professional when you don’t like someone, but it’s harder to contain yourself when you’re surrounded by people who understand what you’re going through.

Of course, it’s only one night. If your tributes die, you get sent home, so you never have the chance to congratulate and celebrate with your friends after they bring home another tribute. You can always say your peace the next year, but by then they’re over it, and they’re ready for another victor.

“So are you.” you playfully punch his bicep, “Look at you, you never cross your arms.”

He gives you a smile, “Whatever, it’s not that much of a giveaway.”

“You’re right, it was definitely your face. You never scowl.” You look at the board again to see that all the numbers seem to be locked, “Careful, you’ll end up with wrinkles. After that, people will really begin to realize that you’re older than Cashmere.”

The board is a little confusing at first to get used to, but after years of looking at it, you’ve grown accustomed to it. At the top reads ‘MORNING LINE ODDS’, and below is a row readied for how many days, hours, minutes and seconds the tributes have been inside of the arena. Which is none at the moment, so instead they have a countdown going on. Fifty-four minutes. Less than an hour.

Below it are more rows and information about the tributes. The left states their district, and then it splits into two. The Capitol doesn’t care about names anymore, just the important parts. Their heights, weights, ages, betting odds and faces are displayed for everyone to see.

For Gloss and Cashmeres tributes, they’re both doing fairly good on odds. The girl has a predicted 5-1 chance of winning, and the boy has a 7-1. In the past, the roles have been reversed, the boys always show a brute strength during their private training so it’s hard not to score like that. Enobaria and Wades tributes are better, even with the repeating numbers. The girl has a 5-1 too, but the boy holds a 3-1 because of his score.

The gamemakers are used to your tributes’ scores teetering on the edge of very good and mediocre, which normally earns them a 9-1 or lower. However, since your tributes have shown promise through personality and matching high numbers, you’re staring at a 7-1 for Marsh and a 8-1 for Annie. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than the past scores.

You think that the lowest you’ve seen for District Four is a 20-1. That was a particularly horrible year, and since then you’ve learned to stop the problem before it gets too bad to be fixed. Maybe it’s attitude, maybe it’s not caring for training, you’re there with dead eyes and mean words to put them back in their place. They like to self-sabotage, not a good thing to do when you’re going into the Hunger Games.

On one hand, you’re thankful for the morning line odds, because it gets the betters a sense of direction of which tributes they should sponsor and keep an eye on. But sometimes it seems futile when the sponsors will do whatever they want, or go for the more obvious and favorable tributes--cough cough, Districts One and Two. You can never go wrong betting on the districts that practically get a winner every year.

“Haha.” Gloss says in regards to your age comment, “Where’s Finnick?”

You shrug, “Couldn’t find him at all this morning.”

It’s true, you searched the entire apartment three times before leaving. The living room, the kitchen, the balcony, your bedroom, his bedroom, even in the hallway and stairwell. There wasn’t a single trace of Finnick anywhere, it didn’t even look like he spent the night in his room, but you definitely remember him going in there last night.

Whatever, you’re not all that upset. It’s the first day, and even if there’s a lot that happens on the first day, sponsorships aren’t one of them. The first day relies on the tributes to get used to their surroundings and figure things out for themselves. The second day is when mentors and sponsors begin to collaborate.

Doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be down here anyway. It’s nice to make friends while you can. You’ll just have to talk to Finnick later about him helping you down here. The whole reason why you’ve called on him for help this year is because of the betting room. An extra pair of eyes, ears and hands helps out, it goes a long ass way. Two people mingling is better than one. You can pull more sponsors together.

You glance at Gloss, “Where’s Cashmere and the others?”

“Wade’s here,” Gloss turns, thumb jabbing in the direction. He’s got the spot perfectly right, you’re able to see that Wade is surrounded by Capitol people, all laughing and joking around, “Cashmere and Enobaria will be down here later. They’re sleeping in, I think.”

“Well, after last night…” you trail off with a small smile, and Gloss snorts.

It’s quiet between you two as you watch the time tick down. Thirty minutes left, the tributes are close or in the catacombs at this point. Judging by the small glimpse the gamemakers gave this year, you think that the arena’s going to be sunny. They’re probably dressed in regular clothing, stuff that won’t make the tributes too hot but won’t allow them to get cold easily.

Honestly, at this point, you’re tired of the build up.

“At least your tributes’ odds are doing well this year.”

“Tell me about it. But it came at a price, since yours fucked up during training.” you run a hand through your hair, getting annoyed when it falls back in your face.

“There’s always room for redemption.”

Redemption, what a pointless thing to bank on, “Right.”

You’d tell him it’s good to have hope, but when has hope ever helped you? It’s always a letdown. And out of all tributes that are about to enter the arena, the careers aren’t the ones that need hope. It’s everyone else.

More silence, you mindlessly watch the time tick down. Thirty minutes, twenty, fifteen, ten. Everyone starts getting antsy around five, you and Gloss stand behind the rows of chairs that begin to fill with citizens. Wade comes around and joins the two of you, talking about what he discovered during conversation.

He was going after their opinions on the tributes. And while they have sung good praise of their tributes, as usual, they also couldn’t stop bringing up Marsh in particular. There were constant comments on how they had wished that he would’ve gotten more time on stage. It was new to them, and they liked the new approach.

You figure that other mentors will start telling their tributes to follow in Marsh’s footsteps, and after that the comedy skit will be ruined and you’ll have to find something else that’ll catch attention. At this point, everything possible has been found and exploited until it got old.

Twenty seconds until it hits a minute, which is when they’ll raise the tributes. The games don’t officially start until that minute is over. The clock will flip, and then it’ll start from the bottom up. You clench your teeth, spinning your ring around your finger over and over. Annie and Marsh are in the tubes, submerged in darkness, you can feel it yourself, the stomach lurching and the dread and regret. It’s too late now, they have to fall through on what they’ve built so far.

They’ve got this. They’ve got this. They’ve got this.

The clock hits a minute and five seconds, you can begin to see the tops of tributes heads. You lean forward slightly, eyes searching for Annie and Marsh, and find them easily. They’re close together, maybe two tributes between them, which is good news. They can see each other and decide what they want to do. You hope they discussed some sort of plan at some point regarding how they want to start their games off.

The cornucopia this year is silver and placed in the middle of a field of flowers. The grass is tall too, but thin enough to see where the gamemakers have placed the goodies outside of the cornucopia this year. As the camera pans around the tributes, you’re able to catch glimpses of the arena.

A field of flowers, hills that seem to stretch forever and offer little to no protection. In the distance is… a village? Others must see it too, because whispers break out, predictions on which tributes will immediately run for it. It’s an obvious place to go, Annie and Marsh won’t head there first. They’ll go for a better place.

However, it’s not inevitable, it’ll probably be the first place where the careers will go to get as many people out as possible. For a quick and scary moment, you think that this will be a fast Hunger Games. Whatever happens, just let one of your tributes last until the end.

One last shot before the sixty seconds is over, and it feels like you’ve been stabbed in the heart.

The dam that they showed--the preview--they must’ve edited it or something with how they made it look so small and not at all threatening. You thought it was holding back a small river, especially with the stream of water that was coming from it. But this--this is not for a river. This is for a fucking lake.

“Oh my fucking god.” you lace your fingers, placing your hands on the back of your head.

“Wow.” Gloss utters, “Yeah that isn’t at all what they showed us.”

From what you can tell, the tributes are supposed to be far away from the dam, a couple miles at least. But it’s still big enough to see through the trees, and tall enough to block some of the sky. Actually, it reminds you of the cliffs in your games. The cliffs were a two day walk from the cornucopia, and yet you could see them over the tops of the trees.

No one in their right mind would head towards the dam, especially with the chance that it would break. It’s just not common sense, and Annie and Marsh have shown promise when it comes to thinking logically. Which means that they would have to head the other way… towards the village.

They’re fucked. Everyone in that arena is set up for failure. You give it a couple of days, maybe a week and a half at most. No one in their right mind is going to want to stay next to the dam, but on the other hand they won’t want to get killed. And you can hide near the dam at the beginning of the games, but eventually if you want to head towards the village and clear hills, people will see you coming from a mile away.

You clench your fists, gritting your teeth more as your nails dig into the skin on your palms.

Out of all the arena’s that you’ve seen, this is by far the worst. It’s a trap, there’s no choice but to fall victim to it.

“Well, there goes literally everything.” Wade lets out a laugh.

“The others should be down here.” Gloss says.

He’s referring to Enobaria, Cashmere and Finnick, and he’s completely right. They won’t know what’s happening or the situation until later. By then, it’ll be too late. The bloodbath always costs around seven to ten lives, and if they all scatter towards the village, you think at the end of the day, half the competition will be gone.

The countdown has reached five, you watch as Annie and Marsh prepare to run into the cornucopia. It isn’t a bad choice, they’re good fighters. As long as they don’t go too far in, maybe grab the supplies that are only a few feet away from the mouth, they’ll be golden. You hope they realize this.

The gong sounds.

It’s only been a couple of seconds, and a handful of tributes are already heading towards the village. Others dare to run towards the dam, but they’re all apprehensive and continue to steal longing looks at the cornucopia and beyond that. They’re not the focus of the cameras, though.

The bloodbath is horrible as usual. Annie and Marsh are next to each other, stealing things out of the grass, shoving them into an empty backpack. Sheets of plastic, bread, firestarters, rope, water jugs. You watch with furrowed eyebrows, trying to keep track of the careers and the deaths.

On the side of the screen is a list, one at a time names and districts appear. The girl from Six, the boy from Eight, the girl from Eleven, the boy from Twelve. Two minutes in and four are already dead. Annie and Marsh head towards the cornucopia quickly, a plan already in mind.

Marsh slips inside of the cornucopia, making your heartbeat in your ears, body filling with adrenaline. Stupid move, going inside traps you there. Not even in your games did you go inside all the way. He’s gone for ten seconds, twenty. Annie doesn’t appear to be worried at first, but it changes when a career sets their eyes on her.

The boy from One.

“Oh, here we go.” you cross one arm over your chest, the other covering your mouth.

Annie ditches the backpack, throwing it against the cornucopia to keep it clear of her path. Out of nowhere, she pulls out a knife, spinning it between her fingers to make sure that the boy knows she has it. Her body curls in forward, chin dropping downwards.

She would look threatening, as if she has a chance at winning this fight if it weren’t for the short blade that the boy has. He comes towards her, a smile hinting at the corners of his lips. He swings, she dodges easily and advances forward. Annie isn’t a runner, especially not when she has a plan.

This is life or death, Annie. This isn’t practice anymore. This is for real.

He swings again, she moves out of the way and comes closer, a little out of range. The boy is becoming frustrated, and his swings begin to cut close. Annie side steps, you can see the blade cut through her shirt, when the boy holds his blade up, you can see a glint of blood. Annie doesn’t even look phased.

Where the hell is Marsh? You look at the corner of the screen, reading over the new list of deaths. The boy from Eleven, the girl from Twelve, the girl from Ten. Seven dead, the bloodbath is practically over, Annie and Marsh need to get out of there now.

He swings again, cutting Annie’s upper left arm. She barely acknowledges it, when the gamemakers change camera angles, you can finally see her face. All those times you’ve watched her fight the other kids at the boarding school, she’d be able to sweep most of the kids with her eyes closed. On the days you and Anchor permitted actual harm, she became more serious about fighting.

Annie shifted in those moments. Her eyes dead, locking on the target in front of her. She always has a plan, always ready to move and bait the person in. She’ll tense in sticky situations, but always find her way out of it. She became unlikable when fighting others because of this. Always said that it was an unfair fight.

And she’s about to bring the boy from One down.

The boy swings one more time, Annie moves out of the way in time for him to miss. Not a second later, she’s launching towards him, the knife perfectly aimed for his stomach. He’s quick to try and slash at her, so she has to drop the knife in the grass and grab his wrist instead, falling on top of him.

Annie slams her knee into the boy's left wrist, and uses both of her hands to force the sword in the other hand, down towards his throat. His face turns an angry shade of red, eyebrows forced so close that there’s a deep crease between them. Annie’s face is determined, the kind and polite girl that you saw yesterday evening is nowhere to be seen.

It’s a struggle between them, Annie’s got a tight grip around his wrist, knuckles turning white. She grits her teeth, lip curling, lets up for a moment on the arm, only to go crashing back down. The boys’ locked arm breaks, and the sword slides through his throat. Red, thick blood comes out of his throat, painting his tan skin and the silver blade.

Annie lets out a sound, pulls out the sword, and slams it into his forehead. On the side of the screen, the boy from One appears. You let out a breath, watching as Annie gathers her things. It’s right on time for Marsh to come fighting out, the girl from One trying to stop him. His face is twisted like he’s in pain, but it’s just how he focuses too.

If they knock out District One, Gloss and Cashmere go home. It’s over, and all you have to worry about is the District Two tributes. For the first time in a very long time, District One won’t survive past the first day.

It doesn’t work out like that, Marsh sends a harsh kick to her leg and she crumples. He and Annie regroup, and the two of them take off running towards the dam, the backpack bouncing on Annie’s back, Marsh tightly holding onto his favorite weapon. Annie now has the short blade to use.

“Okay.” you breathe, because it could be worse.

The village is going to be a slaughter, so you don’t blame them for running towards the dam. They just need to find another place to stay soon, and hope that the careers don’t come towards them for revenge.

“Congrats.” Gloss has got a smile on his face, clapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks, I guess. One more tribute and you get sent home.” you raise your eyebrows at him.

He rolls his eyes, “They’ll have to try really hard to get that to happen.”

“Anything is possible!” you cheer.

The bloodbath lasted about twenty minutes, even if it didn’t feel like it. The main career group has three left; two girls and one boy. Annie and Marsh are still very much alive, taking camp by the dam. The total bloodbath deaths is eight. Districts Eleven and Twelve are gone; Parry, Seeder and Haymitch are going home.

They’re nowhere to be seen, which you can’t really blame them for. Haymitch is the only victor in his district, and Parry won ten years ago so he replaced Chaff when it comes to mentoring. After a long streak of losing, you’re sure that you’d find yourself holed up in the apartment too. Why bother showing up in the betting room if you know your tributes won’t make it past the first day?

Although, District Eleven typically has their tributes last a while longer. But you guess it’s different this year since both of their tributes ran into the cornucopia on the assumption that they’d make it out alive. At this point, no tributes make it out alive unless they’re very good at fighting or they can slip between fingers.

You take a look at the betting board to see that the dead tributes are greyed out since they’re impossible to bet on. Everyone else who’s still alive have had their odds increase slightly. Now that the gamemakers have seen survival and fighting skills come alive, they can determine how the rest of the games are going to go much better.

The girl from One has increased to a 4-1, the other two careers stay the same. Annie has gone from an 8-1 to a 6-1, Marsh stays the same. Killing the career boy has done her good. Your two tributes will have sponsors around the corner in no time. You think that Finnick will be excited to hear this.

On screen, the careers gather what they need and air out of the cornucopia, heading towards the village, as predicted. For a second, there’s a disagreement, as the girl from One wants to head after Annie and Marsh to take care of them before they become a serious problem, but the other two vote against her, so she’s stuck going towards the village.

Annie and Marsh aren’t the only two who went towards the dam, there’s about three to four others who are there too. Still, the majority went straight for the village, which could very well be because it’ll give them cover from any of the elements, but you can’t imagine that there’s any sort of water source. The gamemakers like to keep the sources to a minimum and in one spot to make sure that the tributes come across each other on refills.

With the bloodbath being over, you can breathe. You, Gloss and Wade take a seat on a couch nearby, with you and Gloss being pressed against the arms, and Wade being sat in the middle. You’d say that it’s crowded, Gloss and Wade aren’t the smallest guys to exist, but there’s still enough breathing room between all of you.

You tap your fingers against the arm of the chair, watching as the cameras all split into groups. Annie and Marsh being one, still running into the woods to put as much distance between them and the cornucopia as possible. The second team of tributes being District Seven, as they’re working together this year, heading towards the left, away from the stream of water that Annie and Marsh are unintentionally going to come across.

The other two tributes by the dam are the girl from Eight and the boy from Five, scattered in their own special way, but not shown individually on screen. They’re not as important, it looks like the gamemakers are focusing on alliances at the moment. Next up are the careers, taking their time with making their way down and over the grassy hills. They’re digging through their backpacks and laughing about something.

There’s no alliance in the village at all. After a few more seconds of glimpses of the alliance tributes, it’s switched to individual. From what you’re able to see, the village is pretty big. At least six tributes are scattered inside of houses or making their way as deep inside as possible. As far as the forest goes, two people are wandering around. There’s only one tribute that you can’t decide where they are because of the way she’s cleverly placed herself.

The bloodbath canons begin to go off now, there’s a series of different reactions. Eight deaths in the bloodbath isn’t even that uncommon, the most you’ve probably seen before is twelve. Hell, in your games you think that there were nine total. Typically, the tributes have enough common sense to save themselves right off the bat.

“What do you think the dam’s about?” Gloss suddenly asks.

Your eyes slowly land on him to see that he’s waiting on you and Wade. Wade shrugs his shoulders, not knowing what to say. They don’t know? How can they not know? You thought that the dam was pretty straight forward. Maybe they weren’t standing in front of the tv close enough to see the cracks.

A part of you wants to tell them what your predictions are, but you bite your tongue and shrug too. In the past, mentors have been able to send secret messages to tributes. It happened in your games, it’s happened in others, and you’ve even sent a couple when it was direly needed. So telling them could backfire in your face.

Even if you’re friends with them, sometimes you can’t trust to give others certain information. It’s so risky, knowing that the other mentor can easily pass off the information. Especially during the initial week inside of the Capitol. The tributes are at your fingertips.

It’s why you resort to being mysterious most of the time. While your mentor friends have nothing to hide because they put their plans out in the open from the start—because you all know that it’s no secret that the careers are powerhouses. You rely on the element of surprise to get you through literally everything.

The mentors can’t tell their tributes what your opinion is if you don’t give one. They can’t tell them that you’re sure your tributes are absolutely deadly and pose one of the biggest threats in the arena this year. They have to rely on past experiences to make predictions, but even then, sometimes districts manage to pull surprises out of nowhere.

The clock hits the first hour mark, by then the careers have made it to the village. Already beginning to weave their way in and out of houses. They’re not exactly quiet, so if a tribute hears them coming, they’ll easily be able to hide before the career gets to them.

Well, that’s what you think. However, every time a tribute is shown individually, you see that there’s nothing to hide behind. There’s no doors, and if there are, they’re broken or falling apart from years with no use. It’s like a terrifying game of hide and seek, but there’s hardly hiding. It’s a game of skill and luck now.

Luck that you won’t get found or your house won’t get chosen. That the career will come just close enough but turn their back at the last second when they decide that a place is clear. But it’s skill, testing the careers senses. Seeing if they properly know how to clear an area completely of tributes.

Just like how luck wasn’t on the side of these tributes when their names got chosen, it’s not on their side when it comes to hiding in plain sight, either. One by one, they’re all found.

The first one is the girl from Five, pressed tightly against the wall, holding her breath with tears slowly coming to her eyes. You can practically hear her chanting in her head, “Please don’t find me, please don’t fine me—“

The girl from One rounds the corner, without a single hesitation, she shoves the sword through the other girls’ stomach before the girl can defend herself. The sword pins the girl to the wall, blood spilling out of her stomach. Five has her mouth open in shock, eyes locked on the weapon, fingers fumbling to touch it.

One looks pleased, a smile creeping onto her face. For a moment, you can see Cashmere in her. The blonde hair, the green eyes, they all look the same in District One. All the same form of deadly, and they pull sponsors without even having to try because of their good looks. But everything comes at a price, and Cashmere was no exception.

Five doesn’t have a chance to plead, One pulls out her knife and finishes the job. A canon goes off, another teenager greyed out on the betting board. Nine dead. A sick feeling in your stomach tells you that this is going to be another bloodbath.

The boys work together, taking out the bigger houses since the girl wanted to go it alone. They’ll clear one, making sure to make it known, but stick inside of the house for a second to wait to see if they can hear movement. When they’re absolutely sure there’s none, they move on.

This plan doesn’t work initially, they get passed at least three houses before they hear a noise. Had the boy just waited a couple of seconds more, they wouldn’t have been able to hear his footsteps as he creeped down the loud stairs, giving away his position.

With the Ten boy dead, the District Ten mentors are going home. Which you’re sure is a bummer for them, knowing that they’ve been doing pretty good lately when it comes to victors. They’ve had two in the past ten years, which is a good improvement from the gap that they had before.

In the next house that the boys come across is a girl, the gamemakers give no indication on district. And you’re not sure that it matters because she’s dead within the first minute they search the house. The hiding spot wasn’t that bad, but when there’s two searching, more spots are bound to be discovered.

District Three girl gets greyed out on the board. There’s three people still hiding inside of the village, the boys from Nine, Three and Six. All in different places, and the only one that seems to be the furthest is Six, and you can take a pretty big guess as to why.

His district is power. They’re the main producer for it for everyone, and it wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for the gigantic dam that they have. It’s hydroelectricity, the water passes through the dam, turns some gears and it fuels the Capitol and a portion of the other districts. It makes sense that he would be the one that would try and get away as far as possible.

It means that he knows something that the rest of them don’t. However, you have that much figured out. The dam is the danger here, but he must know the mechanics behind it. Why it’s going to fall apart, what event can set it off, how far it’s going to reach when it does. He’s so far away from the dam at this point, miles away from the cornucopia, and he still keeps moving.

It just means that the blast radius of the dam is going to wipe out a large berth of things. Trees, potentially the cornucopia, definitely the houses in the village. And that’s to name a few. There’s no telling what can be uprooted with the force of the water. You’re just curious how anyone will survive it.

Another tribute gets found, it’s the boy from Nine. The careers have regrouped now, all in different forms of bloody. You grit your teeth and try not to gag, remembering the smell of blood, and the feeling of the thickness on your skin. It’s not a pretty feeling, and you can’t shake it, not even all these years later.

The careers agree to stop looking for tributes and start for water instead. Which is a good sign for the two tributes left in the village--potentially three. But as for everyone else in the trees, it’s not as good. You’re sure that Annie and Marsh are far away enough from the stream of water that’s coming out of the dam at the moment, but there’s no way to tell.

Actually, it probably doesn’t even matter that they’re far away from the stream of water, considering that no one knows that it actually exists, except for the mentors. Unless someone went and opened their mouth and gave it away, which you wouldn’t be surprised about. You’re all a bunch of cheats and liars, at this point. There’s no use denying it.

The careers don’t even start to head towards the dam anyway, so that eliminates most of the worry. With the interest in them gone, it’s back to the remaining tributes inside of the arena. It’s been nearly three hours and already half of the competition is gone. When you said that it wouldn’t last more than a week and a half, you weren’t thinking that it would be because of this. You thought it would be the dam.

Everyone loves a good plot twist though, right? Right?

You get up from the couch to stretch your legs, figuring that the worst of the first day is over. It’s one in the afternoon, Annie and Marsh can clearly take care of themselves when it comes to fighting off other tributes. Their main worry at the moment is probably finding water and setting up camp somewhere.

If they were to just head right, towards the stream, they should come upon that shack uphill. It’s risky, staying that close to the dam but they don’t really have much of a choice unless they want to stay the night out in the open. At least with a shack they have shelter and they’re hidden. If someone comes upon it, they’ll have the upper hand.

“Alright, I think I might go back to the Four apartment to eat lunch. Don’t know if I’ll be down here later.” you say, looking at Wade and Gloss.

“And narrowly miss your two best friends?” Gloss asks.

“I have days to see them, I’m not really that worried. Plus, last night was enough to fuel me for the next decade. You’re lucky if I don’t start pretending I don’t know your four altogether.”

“Haha.” Gloss rolls his eyes, but gets to his feet.

He gives you a one-armed hug, you pat his back slightly. Wade isn’t much for physical contact in the first place, so he holds out his hand as a supplement. You slap it, looking at Gloss, “Sorry about your tribute.”

“He was a moron anyway.”

“I’ll see you later then--” you go to turn towards the door but find that you’re face to face with a Capitol woman, dressed in bright blue with accents of black. You have to take a step back so that you’re not breathing the same air as her, giving her a polite smile, “Hello.”

“Are you Annie’s mentor?” she asks.

Three hours in, and Annie’s already going to get a sponsor. It’s probably healing cream for the cuts she endured when fighting the One boy. You have to admit, if she’s completely healed, she’ll be able to move quicker and won’t have to worry about using medical stuff. The blades on the knives and swords are so sharp, especially when they haven’t been used before. Pick your toughest material and it could move through it like cloth.

Your eyes find Annie and Marsh on screen to see that they’re taking a break, going through the stuff in their backpack. Now would be a good time to do it before they get ahead of themselves. You give the Capitol woman a bigger smile, “Yes, are you interested in sponsoring?”

The whole process only takes a few minutes. You and her discuss what exactly she’s looking for, and what the ranges of the healing cream will have. It’s so extremely dirt cheap because it’s the beginning of the games, only three hours in. The longer the games go on, the more prices will be amped up. What could buy you an entire feast on the first day will only get you a loaf of bread later on, maybe not even that.

The woman lets you know that the main reason for deciding to go through with this is because of Annie’s manners on stage. That she can’t believe that Annie is only eighteen and acts like she’s been on this earth for much longer. You have to agree, Annie has her moments where she’s wiser than the rest of you. But it’s mainly because she’s been forced to grow up quicker, thanks to the boarding school.

When it comes to the note, you type in, “Right with you.”

It’s not the best when it comes to hinting at where to go, but you send it and watch it get approved. The first sponsor gift of the Seventieth Hunger Games, and it’s going to your tributes. One last time, you thank the woman and assure her that Annie is very grateful for her compassion.

Now you can’t leave just yet, and have to wait as it slowly comes down to them. You stand by Gloss and Wade, listening to the chiming of the gift. When it comes into earshot of Annie and Marsh, they immediately perk up, searching the trees.

“Found it!” Annie calls, pointing it out while getting to her feet. The cuts don’t even seem to phase her all that much, so it’s partially a waste of money but at least they’ll be able to use it later on if the need arises.

Annie catches the silver gift in her hands, rejoining Marsh as she pops it open. You didn’t really give them any instructions on how to apply it, they’ll have common sense not to use the whole tube, you think. They read over the words to themselves in their head first, before Annie is smiling fondly.

“That’s very sweet.” Annie says, “(Y/n)’s encouraging us as always.”

No, that’s not it. You’re not worried about the misinterpretation, especially not after the knowing look they give each other. Annie folds the paper and places it in her breast pocket, not even reading it out loud for everyone to know. It’s their own choice, and it’s probably a good one at any rate.

Annie has Marsh apply the cream while she tries not to look like she’s in too much pain. You know that it’s not easy having people dig their fingers in your wounds. Fuck, you might have initially blacked out after that bear mutt attack, but you were still half awake. Every single time they went a little too deep or were a little too harsh, you were jolted awake. You’re fairly surprised that you still remember it. It was almost like a fever dream.

Annie and Marsh take a couple more minutes relaxing, but the audio cuts on their part to give the District Seven tributes a chance at the spotlight. It doesn’t mean that you’re not able to see your tributes, though. You’re able to watch them motion and flesh out a plan. It’s good to see that they get along so well, makes for a strong alliance.

Annie motions about heading towards the wall, Marsh’s face begins to harden up. Annie changes to pointing, jabs her thumb in the direction of the cornucopia. Marsh says something, you think you make out the word ‘water’. Annie then holds her arm out to the right, taps the pocket on her chest, and then it seems like they have a plan. They pack up, and head towards the right.

And with that, you go to leave because it’s finally your window. But Cashmere and Enobaria come through the door, bearing a basket and big smiles, “Good afternoon! How’s our tributes doing?”

“Is that food?” you ask, Cashmere hands over the basket, and when you look inside, there’s cold cut sandwiches and flavored bubble water. It really looks like you won’t be leaving here anytime soon.

You all pick your regular back table, that’s perfectly out of earshot of other mentors and Capitol citizens, but you’re still able to see the line odds and the screen with the tributes. They lay out the food, you nibble on your sandwich while Cashmere and Enobaria ask questions and Gloss and Wade give up information.

“Bloodbath knocked out eight tributes.” Wade says, playing with the bubbly water cap, “Which includes Eleven and Twelve.”

“Figures, they’re not very good fighters anyway.” Enobaria says, “Didn’t Eleven have the seventeen year-old girl?”

“She only scored a six so it’s not like she was anything special.” Cashmere has her eyes on Gloss, slowly squinting at him, “What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” Gloss makes a face and shrugs. There goes whatever cover he was trying to grasp at.

Cashmere stares at him for a second longer before turning around and looking at the line odds. It doesn’t take long to find, the boy is the first tribute on the left row. She doesn’t even have to look for it. The name is greyed out, of course, Cashmere turns back to Gloss.

“When did Colt die?” she asks.

“The bloodbath.” Gloss says, leaning his head against his hand now, “He went after Annie--(Y/n)’s tribute. He didn’t even stand a chance.”

Cashmere raises her eyebrows, and then looks at you, “Seriously? What happened?”

Conversation launches, you, Gloss and Wade do your best to tell them all the details. Starting from the bloodbath, who’s where in the arena, to the village. They’re not all that surprised to hear that their career pack got an additional four kills, the careers go hunting after the bloodbath to try and get as many as possible. But it’s a shock to know that half the tributes are gone.

After bloodbaths, careers get one--maybe two--kills. And it normally doesn’t happen immediately after the bloodbath, either. It’s sometime during the night because it’s easiest to spot the fires. Hardly ever is there a second slaughter immediately after the first. Because of this, you don’t think that they’re going to have a feast at the cornucopia this year. There won’t be enough tributes to make it worth it.

Annie and Marsh come across water, fill the jugs and put iodine to clean the water. They wander up a little further and find the shack. Just like that, they can call it a day since they’ve already got enough food to last them two days. All they have to do now is set up a plan to keep the food coming.

The careers come across basically a small clear pond. The last time you drank from a pond, you came down with Typhoid fever, really fun times. The Capitol was a bitch for making that dirty water clear to drink from, but the normally ideal water a fucking trick. You are so lucky that the Capitol had the medicine to make sure that the effects weren’t long-term. Otherwise, who knows what you’d be living with right now?

The betting room starts to clear out in the evening because it’s supper time for all of them. You stick around with the pack for a little while longer, remarking that you’re all surprised that Finnick didn’t show up at all, even with all the time he had. Once you’re sure that your tributes can survive the night, you’re bidding goodbyes.

It feels good to walk back to the apartment and to stretch your legs after going between sitting and standing. Sitting at the table already is Elysia, she looks happy to see you, “Welcome back.”

“Feels good to be back up here.” you laugh, tying your hair up, “Have you seen Finnick at all? He didn’t come by at all.”

Elysia shakes her head, “I went to get him for dinner and the rooms empty.”

“Huh,” you let out, sitting at the table.

It's odd, being here with only Elysia again. Makes your stomach churn slightly, actually. No tributes, no Finnick, only you in the betting room… Why do you have a feeling that this isn’t a coincidence?

You said that you’d give Finnick today. The first day isn’t the busiest, it’s the days that follow, when the heat starts to get turned up and the stakes rise. Then the tributes start getting hurt, requiring more to sustain whatever lifestyle they’ve built for themselves. It’s going to be impossible to go to the cornucopia to refill on goods when the entire thing is in a field. What are you going to do? Hide in the grass?

You and Elysia eat dinner, quietly chatting about what you think’s going to happen. In the end, it’s late and you should call it a night. But when you reach your room, hand on the doorknob, something tells you that you shouldn’t go to bed just yet. It’s a gut reaction, you look over towards Finnick’s room. It’s an invasion of privacy.

But there have been plenty of times before where Finnick has come into your space without permission, right? You sigh, kick off your shoes by your door, and then go into Finnick’s room. It’s dark and quiet and smells like perfumed fabric softener. You don’t bother with turning on the lights, Elysia already said that he wasn’t in here.

You make yourself at home, tossing a pillow onto the hammock and using it to support your head and not get your hair stuck in the rope. You stare and watch and wait for a while, playing today over in your head. You don’t think that there’s a single thing you would have done differently. Annie and Marsh were smart to run towards the dam, and Annie knocked out a whole career while she was at it.

However, they also proved that they were a couple to keep an eye on. The girl from One is smart enough to see it like that, to want to go ahead and go after them. On one hand, it’s a good thing that the boys didn’t listen to her. Your tributes are still alive, in a house for the night. But on the other hand, four other tributes died because of it.

But then again, it was only a matter of time. You saw all of their deaths coming, and so did every other mentor in that room. None of you could have known that on the other side of the dam would be a village. What use is it to warn your tributes if they’re just going to be fucked either way?

Oh hey, there’s going to be a cracked dam inside of the arena this year. If you can, I’d probably steer clear of it. The most it seems to provide is a steady stream of water, so at least you have that! Also, I wouldn’t worry much because the dam looked pretty damn small when I got to see it.

What use would that have done? It would have been a fucking culture shock, to think that you’d be ahead of the games for once. Like, “Okay, don’t head toward the dam, use it as a last resort. Worse comes to worse and you can maybe outrun the water.” until you’re face to face with a concrete wall that’s literally a mile taller than you, and the only place to go is a field out in the open and a village that provides the only shelter.

If there was any time to facepalm, it would be now. Hell, even your warning at agility training is going to do fucking nothing. You originally thought that it would come in hand to hop from rock to hill or tree root or something, but that’s going to be hard to do in the grassy field. Yes, let’s hop from grass blade to grass blade.

So fucking stupid, all of this.

You sit there fuming for a little while longer, shaking your head, rolling your eyes and gritting your teeth. You wonder if any of the other mentors have seens something like this before. Wait, that’s stupid. Of course there’s been an arena before this that has been the biggest April fool’s prank of all. Haymitch Abernathy had to live in a hell disguised as a paradise. Yes, you think that might be the worst arena you’ve ever seen. And he had forty-seven other tributes to worry about on top of the killer squirrels.

You snort, but it’s really not all that funny.

The room door opens, you squint just before the lights are flickered on. Finnick stands in the doorway, wearing a white button down shirt and nice black slacks. A part of you wonders where he’s been all night to need to dress as nicely as this. His… job… for the lack of a better word, doesn’t start until after dinner, usually.

And supposedly, he’s been gone all day!

Finnick doesn’t seem to see you at first. You grin to yourself like a child, “Boo.”

He jumps, a startled sound escaping him, it sounds like a yelp. He turns with wide eyes, staring at you. You laugh to yourself, “What the fuck? How long have you been here for?” he presses his hand against his chest, “Gonna give me fucking war flashbacks.”

“Been here since dinner, which was…” you trail off, looking at the time, “About four hours ago, apparently.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like watch the arena?” Finnick slips off his shoes and socks, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“I did that all day, I actually waited here to tell you that it’s your turn.”

His eyes land on you, “To what?”

“Watch the tributes, sit in the betting room until I relieve you.”

His face twists, “Nice choice of words.”

You roll your eyes, “You owe me this much. I’ll give you a quick rundown about what happened--”

“I already know.”

You throw the pillow at him, “Perfect! You can put your shirt back on and go downstairs!”

He looks at you, “(Y/n), I’m tired.”

“I’ve been up since eight this morning.” you give him a smile, “It’s now nearly midnight. I think you can sit in the betting room for a couple of hours.”

“A couple is two.” Finnick says, “You’re asking me to sit in there for ten.”

“Which is almost half of what I did today! It’s only fair!”

He stares at you. He doesn’t look tired on the outside. In fact, it looks like he just woke up a couple of hours ago. If he were tired, he’d be more sluggish, and you’d know because you’ve been around him for years now. And the last week has shown you what it’s like to actually interact with him when he’s had tough days and nights.

Today is neither of them for him.

“Okay.” Finnick agrees.

“Okay?” you raise your eyebrows, “Sweet. I’ll be up at seven and down there at eight to switch places, then.”

Finnick starts buttoning his shirt back, you give him a cheeky smile, getting off the hammock and heading towards the door. You’re about to leave, but then you stop and turn towards him.

“If I get down there tomorrow morning and you’re nowhere to be seen, you’re not going to like what happens.” there’s no smile, the words are dead cold. Finnick stares at you, fingers frozen in place, “I can promise you that. Goodnight.”

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

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chibi-tsukiko · 4 years ago

Text

COUNTDOWN TO TLBotW

Day 7 : Fluff

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

A Moment Captured

Alec’s phone lights up from where it sits on the counter.

He taps the screen, using his knuckle to put in the passcode.

Magnus ♥️ 5:47pm: Finished collecting the ingredients. I’m dropping them with Tessa and then I’ll be home. 😘😘😘

Alec smiles, wiping his hands on the dish towel before slinging it over his shoulder. He grabs his phone to type out a reply.

Can’t wait to see you. Tell Tessa and her family hi for me. ♥️

He waits for Magnus to reply, smiling when he receives a short video of Magnus blowing a kiss, the bright lights of the market place flickering behind him.

Alec replies, “🥰😘” before locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. He finishes adding the last of the dino shaped nuggets to the plates in front of him and sets them on the kitchen table.

“Boys,” he calls out, “dinner!”

He turns back to grab the juice boxes from the fridge, surprised when he doesn’t hear the pitter patter of feet behind him.

He turns back to the table, Chairman Meow sits on one chair eyeing the plates.

“You’re not my boys,” Alec says

Chairman gives him a soft meow before leaping down off the chair and over towards his food bowl. He pushes it with his paw, mewing.

“Alright, alright, hang on,” Alec says opening cabinets in search of Chairmans food. Finally, he finds a can of wet food in the back behind a set of teacups.

Alec shakes his head and grabs the can opener from the drawer.

He scoops the food into Chairman Meows bowl.

“We gotta remind Magnus to be better about leaving a stock of food here for you when he goes away,” Alec says.

Chairman rubs his head against Alecs knee. He sniffs the food and whines.

“I know it’s not as good as what Magnus summons for you, but it’s all we’ve got,” Alec shrugs, giving Chairman a scratch behind the ears before walking back over to the kitchen table.

“Boys!” He calls out again. What are they doing?

Alec tosses the dishtowel on the counter and heads towards the boys’ rooms to investigate.

Half way down the hallway, Alec stops listening to the noises coming from Max’s room.

“Behind you!” He hears Max shout, “Dis way!”

“Estar atento!” Rafe calls

There’s a chorus of scuffling and giggles that follow, and Alec quiets his footsteps.

He lightly pushes the door to Max’s room and peaks his head in, his breath catching as he takes in the scene before him.

Max stands on his bed, toy bow and arrow in his hand, black shapes drawn with marker on his arms.

Rafe stands on the floor near the closet, he’s adorned with beaded necklaces, and Alec can see faint smudges of glitter on his eyelids.

Rafe ducks down from the invisible attacker, punching out his arms to mimic blasting.

“Hay demasiados!,” he cries, spinning in circles, punching the surrounding air.

Max slings the toy bow over his shoulder, bending down to grab the marker on the nightstand.

“Hang on! I use speed and strong rune!” He takes the marker, keeping the cap on, and retraces the shapes on his wrist and bicep. He jumps down off the bed and rushes to Rafe’s side. He helps him up and takes the bow off his shoulder. The two boys stand back to back as they fight the imaginary threat.

Alec takes out his phone, holding it between the crack of the door and the doorframe, taking as many photos as he can. As he slips the phone back into his pocket, his elbow hits the wall, causing a loud thud sound.

Both boys turn towards the door, arms and bow pointed at Alec.

“Rafe look!” Max gasps, “Its Daddy monster!”

Alec grins pushing the door open, his arms outstretched like Frankenstein, “Grrrrrr you’ll never defeat me” he says stomping into the room.

Max squeals, “Quick Rafe! Quick!” he yells, moving to the side.

Alec growls, leaning to scoop Rafe up in his arms. Rafe ducks out of the way, rolling on the ground in between Alec’s legs, just as Alec had taught them to do. He smiles with pride, forgetting the “monster” persona he’s supposed to be putting on.

He turns around, just as Max stands back up on the bed, his bow stretched, aimed at Alec.

“Gotcha Daddy!”, grins before releasing the string of the bow.

Rafe throws up his hand, making a “psshhh” noise to mimic a blast.

Alec grabs his chest taking a few steps backwards before dramatically falling to the ground “Arggghhh curse you,” he groans before flopping his arms out signifying his “death.”

He squints his eyes open, watching the boys’ reactions.

Max beams. He hops off the bed, running over to Rafe, “We did it! We did it!”, he giggles.

Rafe smiles, giving Max a high five.

They both glance at Alec and then back at one another, grinning. Rafe nods at Max and Alec recognizes the gleam in their eyes, he’s seen it in Magnus many times. He braces himself for what’s coming.

“Get him!!” Max shrieks!

In an instant, both boys are on top of Alec, tickling at his stomach and under his arms.

Alec squirms underneath, “oh no, no please, have mercy!” he pleads in between laughs.

Rafe moves to pin Alec’s arms down while Max continues the assault.

“Ah no fair! Two against one!,” Alec complains, although he recalls when this normally happens, Magnus will pin his arms and legs down with magic. His husband never was one for playing fair. But Magnus isn’t here this time. After letting the boys have their way with him, Alec shifts and wiggles his arms free from Rafes grip. In a swift movement, he scoops the boys up, one in each arm, and drops them on the bed.

“Now you’re in for it!” he says.

The boys grab onto one another as Alec begins his tickle revenge. Soon Alecs ears are ringing with the sound of joyful shrieking.

After the tickle fight ends, Alec reheats the boys’ dinners, and helps them get ready for bed.

He uses one of Magnus’ make up wipes to remove the glitter from Rafael’s eyes, chuckling to himself as he notices the shimmering pieces that are caked into his eyebrows and bangs.

After Alec finishes with Rafe, he instructs him to brush his teeth and get into bed. He then grabs a washcloth and soap and wipes off the “runes” Max had drawn down his arms.

“All right Max, you’re all clean. Brush your teeth and then get into bed and I’ll be over to tuck you in, in a moment.”

“Can’t.” Max says.

“Why not?” Alec asks, prepping for the argument. Max has always been difficult at bedtime.

“Not clean”, Max says

Alec blinks at him, “What do you mean you aren’t clean?” He scans Max’s arms and legs for any trace of left over marker, but he can’t see any.

“Forgot one!” Max smiles

And Alec just stares at him.

Max giggles, lifting his shirt to reveal what Alec realizes is the Wedding Rune, drawn over Max’s heart. Alec's eyes drift from the rune up to Max’s face, all dimples as he smile shines as bright as the sun.

Alec ruffles Max’s hair, mindful of his horns, and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

Alec reads the boys a bedtime story and tucks them both in, telling them that the faster they go to sleep, the faster Bapa will be home.

* * *

Alec lies on the couch, flipping through the images he took earlier on his phone, smiling to himself. He’s just about to text Magnus to ask for his ETA, when he hears the familiar sound of a portal opening and closing.

He locks his phone and sits up, just as Magnus walks over to the couch. Alec moves his leg so that Magnus can plop down next to him.

“Hello Darling,” Magnus smiles laying his hand against Alecs cheek.

“Welcome back,” Alec replies, leaning forward to kiss Magnus softly. “How’s Tessa and her family?”

“They’re doing very well. Mina is getting bigger every day, and Kit is… he could give your Parabatai a run for his money.”

Alec snorts.

“Blondie jr.,” Magnus shivers, “I had hoped that Jem would have more of an influence on him.”

“Herondale’s are hard to tame.”

“Impossible’s more like it,” Magnus says, closing his eyes, and moving to lay his head in Alecs lap.

Alec presses a kiss to Magnus’ forehead, laying a hand on his chest, “Everything else went ok though?”

Magnus smiles, keeping his eyes closed, “Yes, yes. I am sorry it took so long, Tessa insisted I stay for tea since I ‘am terrible at visiting’, I hope the boys weren’t too disappointed, I know I had told them I would be back today.”

Alec chuckles, running his fingers lightly through Magnus’s hair, watching as Magnus sinks into the touch. “They were alright, I told them the faster they went to sleep, the faster you’d be home.”

Magnus grins, grabbing Alecs hand “My genius husband” he kisses the inside of Alec’s palm, “I missed you.”

Alec leans down to kiss him, “I missed you too,” he smiles. “Do you want to see something that happened today?”

Magnus blinks one eye open, “Oh?”

“Here,” Alec shifts to help Magnus sit up beside him, Magnus complies, groaning as he does. He leans into Alec so they are siting shoulder to shoulder.

Alec pulls out his phone and opens the photo folder, flicking through until he finds the ones he took today. He clicks the first one open and holds the phone towards Magnus.

Magnus’ eyes go wide. “Is that…?” he starts unable to process.

Alec grins, flicking through more photos, “It was right before dinner, it was a whole thing”, he looks to his phone continuities to flip back and forth between the pictures. “When I was cleaning them up, Max showed me he had a rune under his shirt. Right over his heart,” he smiles, remembering how Max was beaming about it. “They’re really something, aren’t they?” He looks to Magnus, whose eyes remain transfixed on the photo. Alec can see tears beginning to form on his water line.

“Magnus?”

Magnus blinks the tears away, reaching to lace his fingers with Alecs. “I love you Alexander “he says after a moment.

Alec smiles, resting his forehead against Magnus’ temple. “I love you too.”

Magnus cups his other hand behind Alecs neck to pull him into a kiss.

“Now, if you’re not too tired,” Alec whispers when they break apart, “I’d like to show you exactly how much I missed you.”

Magnus smirks, “Oh my love, I am never too tired for that”

Alec gives Magnus a quick peck, “good, shall we?” he stands, holding out his hand to Magnus who takes it.

“Lead the way, Alexander.”

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#this may be the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written #i hope you like it #lbotwcoutdown #lbotwcoutdownevent #my writing #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #max lightwood bane #rafael lightwood bane #the lightwood banes #tsc #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #emsfic #emsfics

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