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shoutogepi · 5 years ago

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Heart of the Storm

Todoroki Shouto

word count : 11.0k bruh why do i do this

[ ☀︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ] a lil fluff in beginning/end

themes : igloo sex?? LMAO, shy!reader, steam/sweat kink?, dom!shouto, teasing, temperature play

bio : Shouto warms you up in the midst of the blizzard, in more ways than one.

author’s note : this stemmed from a crack fic idea but damnnnn if it isn’t hot in here now :O this is also a piece for @bnhabookclub ‘s first event— the provisional licensing exam! i’m using prompt #9: “Your lips are really warm.”

tagging: @simplybakugou thanks for beta reading lovely ♥︎ & big thanks for thirsting with me & basically directing the fic @lildreamer93 ♥︎

also available on AO3 here

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅃he dark clouds approaching the mountain paint the sky in an ominous manner, the wind scraping your raw cheeks. You place one foot in front of the other, the snow crunching with protest underneath your weight. Your nose is runny, tucked beneath a thick scarf, and your eyes are glassy from the freezing winds that only seem to be intensifying. The thick coat does its best to block the wind from your body, but the powerful gusts manage to sneak through the fastenings down your middle, allowing cold to quietly spread into your body.

A hand around your forearm rustles you from your bleary focus on the path ahead of you. Your accomplice’s heterochromatic gaze pierces into your tired eyes, the only parts of your faces that aren’t tucked away under layers of clothes. He gently pulls your arm towards him, and with his gloved fingers wrapped securely around your limb, he guides you off of the path. You enter an empty snowbank littered with skinny, ice-covered trees, almost collapsing on the slight decline of the trail.

Shouto catches you awkwardly, the thick outerwear making his movements slower than usual. But he holds you steady, refusing to let you fall into the thick carpet of white that licks up to the middle of your calves. Pulling your body close to his, his worried eyes fall on your closed ones, making his heart thump against his ribcage. With your head laying on his shoulder, he leans forward and talks in a slightly heightened voice so you can hear him over the screaming winds. “Y/N-san, let’s take a break,” he suggests, but it doesn’t sound like there is much room for disagreement.

You nod weakly, your gloved hand finally coming up out of your pocket to push yourself off of him to show him you still have some strength left. It’s just so damn cold.

Shouto frowns underneath his scarf, his hands falling from your figure as you stand on your own once more. He watches you lean against one of the thin trunks that pierces through the chalky blanket on the ground. He can tell you’re exhausted, and he won’t lie— he’s not feeling his strongest at the moment either. His left hand offered to you, you grab onto his arm for support, mustering up the strength to continue the trek to your destination.

But he steers you into the middle of the clearing, where no spindling trunks break the perfect layer of ivory on the forest floor. He shakes your hold off of his arm much to your distaste, but as soon as he’s freed the limb, he wraps it around your shoulders, collecting your body into his chest. You bend into him willingly, your hidden cheeks feeling warm for the first time in hours.

With you secured tightly against him, Shouto pushes down the scarf covering his face, his teeth gripping the fingertip of his right glove. Your eyes widen as he exposes his hand to the howling, icy winds, and a part of you wants to immediately grab his fingers and tuck them away from the offensive temperature. But you can’t help the awe that blooms in your chest as a stream of frost explodes from his outstretched palm. He flicks his wrist casually, and the ice that lands on the ground builds around you into an effortless, shiny dome. He continues the motion until the bellowing wind no longer assaults your ears, and your eyes are no longer watery.

Your gaze roams over his creation, admiring the way the ice has a perfect sheen, halfway clear enough to produce a distorted reflection that peers back at you. Your shaking hands snake out of the pockets in your jacket, hesitantly hooking the material of your scarf down to tuck under your chin. “W-Wow, Shouto-san, this is… incredible,” you murmur, eyes finally landing on the tall male who’s currently savoring the cute, dazed look on your face.

His mouth curves into a half smile, his expression softening at your pink cheeks and nose. “I’m going to step out and thicken the walls before the storm hits, so just sit tight, Y/N-san. I won’t be long.” He turns and removes his other glove, placing the pair on the glistening snow by his feet. He activates his quirk, blasting a hole half his height into the side of the dome, and leaving your field of vision.

You quickly pull the scarf back up over your face. Even if the formation Shouto had created shields you from the full force of the wind, the powerful gusts still creep into the dome and tousle your clothes. You waddle over to his gloves, collecting the cloth and tucking it under your arm so the snow doesn’t dampen the material. You shake the heavy pack down your shoulders, frowning as it lands unceremoniously into the snow. Your clumsy fingers quivering, it takes a few tries to pinch the zipper— but you finally latch on and pull it sideways triumphantly, your other hand searching for the black, waterproof material inside.

You finally find the tent at the bottom of your backpack, and you unfold it haphazardly, spreading the textile across the top of the snow. Hopefully the fabric will be thick enough to stop some of the cold from the frozen ground from seeping through. Your mind wanders as your hands run over the thick material, thinking back to just days before you were caught in this blizzard.

Your agency had been working with Shouto’s in order to take down a ring of criminals who were known for slipping into the shadows after committing their heinous acts, due to their extensive knowledge of the Japanese landscape. You and Shouto had been in the same group that was to watch over the foothills of the mountains surrounding the village that was known to be their next hit, but the villains had scattered upon seeing the group of heroes. You had each been prepared with packs, clothes, and rations, but the ensuing blizzard was quite the surprise. You weren’t sure how exactly you ended up with Shouto, just the two of you, but you could not muster up even a scrap of a complaint. He was so charming and handsome after all— if you had to be stuck in this storm with anyone, you were glad it was with him. Not to mention his quirk seemed like the perfect match for the cold storm almost upon you.

You’re torn from your thoughts as Shouto’s frame hunches through the hole he had created, his back to you as he seals the tunnel with more ice. You realize how much darker it had become, the ice not nearly as transparent as before. You wonder how much he had thickened the walls of your refuge, or if the dark was due to the icy squall that had begun to howl outside.

Shouto turns, heaving out a sigh as he drops the pile of logs he had carried, the cylindrical segments rolling on the icy snow. He takes in the tent on the ground, and lets out a breath of air as he forces the hood of his jacket off his head, his scarf once again falling down to reveal his face. “Looks like we’ll be here for awhile,” he humors, crouching down in the center of the floor and directing his left palm there. Flames lick his skin as he melts the snow, a puddle forming in the center of the ground before it evaporates, leaving a rocky, earthy terrain underneath. “Perfect,” he murmurs, positioning the logs into a triangular pile, keeping the flame on his palm lit to provide enough light.

You watch as he nods absentmindedly at the wooden stack on the ground, lowering his hand to the logs and letting the flames lap at the bark. You chuckle hastily, making his eyes dart towards your face. At his inquisitive look, your gaze drops to the flames starting to take on the kindlings. “Shouto-san, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you state bashfully, sitting down atop the tarp. You add a bit quieter, “I think I would’ve froze to death by now if I hadn’t found you.”

A miniscule shade of pink flashes across his cheeks, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from your words or from the cold. He intently watches the flames grow for a moment before his eyes jump to yours, the small smile resurfacing on his rosy lips. “I would never let that happen, Y/N-san.”

Unsure how to respond, your eyes dart away from his, landing on the fire once more. “Won’t that melt the, uh… igloo?” You ask, looking at the high ceiling of the dome directly over the growing embers. Shouto had made the structure a considerable height, so you figured he had accounted for it, but you wanted to change the subject anyway.

“I tried to make the top of the structure far away enough so it won’t… but even if it does, I can just refreeze it,” he assures, standing up and walking over to you. You scoot to the side as he sits beside you, taking advantage of the tent. You nod as if you hadn’t already come to that conclusion, taking a shy glance at him.

He’s a respectable distance away from you, but close enough to reach out and touch. He catches your glance, the gentle smile still gracing his mouth. Your eyes widen as you notice a long scratch on the side of his face, slashing over the bottom of his scar. “Shouto-san! Are you okay?” You scoot towards him, your hands reaching out to touch his face. His eyes widen at your bold gesture, and he stiffens as you take his chin into your gloved hands.

Shouto lets out a stifled chuckle, his hands folding tightly on the tops of his legs. “It’s just a scratch.” Even if it’s through the thick sheepskin mittens, he allows himself to enjoy your touch for a moment. He shakes off his own backpack, your hands sinking off his face as he holds it up in one hand and jerks his head toward it. “I’m better off than this thing, anyway.”

The backpack is torn, the majority of the bag totally missing as if it had been ripped away forcefully; completely shredded. You gape at the object, then check the back of his jacket to thankfully discover it’s totally intact.

“The guy I was chasing had a strange animalistic quirk that gave him sharp teeth,” Shouto looks at the disheveled rucksack, “and claws.” He points at the scratch along his high cheekbone, shrugging his shoulders in a relaxed manner. His stomach flips at the frown that blossoms on your lips.

You turn away from him and rummage through your bag, making an exclamation as you find the small first aid kit you had packed. His eyebrows raise as you look at him shyly, pulling off your gloves in a modest fashion. “Please let me patch you up,” you appeal, grabbing the tube of antibiotic ointment hastily and uncapping it. “I want to feel like I’ve at least helped you in some way today. My quirk isn’t very useful out here,” you chuckle sadly, eyes trailing off to the side of his face.

Shouto nods crisply, his gaze trained on the hand stretching toward him. “Thank you,” he mumbles, watching how your bare fingers shake violently. He knows you’re cold, but it shocks him when your fingertip touches his cheek— the icy feeling making his skin prickle. He allows you to spread the cream across the cut, but immediately once you’re done, he envelops the back of your hand in his own, long fingers folding around yours. “Y/N-san, you’re so cold,” he says almost to himself, his other hand following the same action.

With your hands in his, your face blooms into a heated flush, a gentle gasp escaping you at the tingles that sprout on your skin fed by his natural warmth. Your reaction spurs him on, and he transfers your hand so that both of them are tucked neatly into his left. The burst of intense heat makes your eyes go wide as he activates his quirk ever so slightly. The sheer strength of even a fraction of his power sends a chill down your spine, a fuzzy numbness rushing through your hands as they regain feeling.

“S-Shouto-san,” you gulp, attempting to pull your hands from his to no avail, “you should save your strength, I can use the fire— I’m fine!”

Shouto’s eyebrow quirks amusedly at your request. “This is nothing,” he counters, but upon inspecting your sheepish expression, he begrudgingly grants your wish, his hands placing yours on your lap before disappearing into his pockets.

Your newly-nimble fingers hastily grab a flat, rectangular paper out of the first aid kit. You peel off the strips from either side of a bandage, placing the sticky side diagonally over the scratch on his cheek. He seems satisfied with the way your fingers only barely quiver now, and he doesn’t attempt to take your hands into his again.

“Thank you for helping me, Y/N-san,” he smiles at you, making the cold in your bones feel just a bit duller. You nod, closing the kit and placing it on the ground next to your bag. The conversation dries, and you wrack your brain to think of something to talk about. You and Shouto were friendly colleagues, but you’d never really had the chance to talk to him alone like this, and you were both not really the talkative type.

Reaching into your pack, you produce a cup-ramen and offer it to him. “Are you hungry, Shouto-san? I have two, so I have more than enough to share.”

Shouto accepts the package, a grin spreading on his lips. “Now here you are, saving my life,” he jests, peeling the lid halfway before shoveling some snow into the bowl with the lip of the container, “I could get used to your care.” You laugh a little too hard at his joke, following his actions with your own cup. You hand him the cup and he melts the snow leisurely, the water turning to a boil before he closes the lid, placing the cup on the ground in front of you.

As he copies the actions on his own cup, your hands find the chunky receiver the team had given each member before the stakeout started. Turning the device on, you hiss at the static shriek that pierces your eardrums, quickly lowering the volume before checking each of the channels. “Seems like the storm is interfering with the walkie,” you comment, placing the malfunctioning device back into your bag.

Shouto nods thoughtfully, his fingers laced underneath his chin as if he is in deep thought. “The storm will probably last the majority of the night. We’ll have to camp here for a while and we can check how the weather is at first light,” he explains his plan and you agree.

The pair of you eat your ramen in a comfortable silence, your toes slowly gaining feeling as you hold the tips of your boots close to the fire. You share the filtered water you had brought with the man beside you, both of you drinking only a third of the water combined in a mindful manner.

With the blood rushing to your stomach to digest the processed noodles, your fingertips begin to grow cold again. You push up your scarf once more, covering your pink nose and sticking your palms out toward the fire.

Shouto watches you with careful regard before glancing at his watch. “Y/N-san, perhaps you should try to rest while we wait for daylight,” he suggests, eyes twinkling at how cute you look with your eyelids drooping heavily in near-slumber.

You shoot him a lazy smile, nodding at his suggestion. You find the thick, silky sleeping bag that takes up the majority of your backpack’s capacity, undoing the bands that keep it compressed together. Noticing his lingering gaze on you, you shoot him a confused look. “Are you going to lay down as well, Shouto-san? We can use the tarp here if we lay next to each other.”

He smiles at your offer. “I would rather keep watch in case the villains decide to surprise us.”

You frown at his responsible intentions. “No one is going to be out in this blizzard, though. If the villains are dumb enough to do that, then they’ll surely be popsicles by the time we find them. Please, you should rest too, Shouto-san.” You pat the space on the tarp next to your sleeping bag expectantly.

He chuckles awkwardly, palm landing on the back of his neck. “I… seem to have lost my sleeping bag, actually,” he trails off, looking at the scraps of his backpack that remain. “Most of my things fell out when I was fighting.”

As if the thought comes to you both at the same time, your eyes meet and a flush replaces his usual suave expression. “You can share mine,” you speak before the words register in your brain, and as soon as they do, sweltering heat infiltrates your own cheeks. “I mean— if that would— if you need… it wouldn’t be w-weird. Besides… we should probably stay close for,” you gulp, “b-body heat.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” He replies a little too quickly for his own liking, cringing minorly at himself. He looks sideways at you, hesitance clear on his face.

You nod at him and he stiffly moves to the other side of the sleeping bag, willing his breath to stay steady. You unlace your boots, immediately sliding your woolen-sock clad feet inside. You wiggle into the slot, heart racing. Shouto takes off his own boots and shimmies into the envelope with you. It’s a one-person sleeping bag so the fit is a bit snug, the front of his jacket brushing against the back of yours. His long arm reaches over your torso to zip the bag closed, instantly withdrawing his hand to his side afterwards.

Now that you’re pushing up against him, he can feel your coat is slightly wet from the snow. “You should take that off— it’ll only make you colder since it's damp,” he whispers in your ear, making you stiffen against him. Shuffling a bit, your bottom skims against his crotch and his breath catches in his throat. His eyes admiring the tight sweater that’s revealed as you shed the jacket, he realizes his jacket is probably the same. He removes his as well, his hips pressing into your ass but they’re gone before you can even blink, his folded jacket a makeshift pillow long enough to cushion both your heads.

With both your jackets removed, he can feel how truly cold you are; your body shivering and your breath slightly hitched. You curl into yourself as much as you can, willing the frost away by brushing your limbs against each other slightly. The sleeping bag has good insulation, but it barely does anything yet since you offer no heat for it to retain. Your hands curl into half-fists, pressing them against your lips in hope to thaw them with your shaky breath.

Shouto’s warm breath on the shell of your ear sends a shiver down your spine. “Y/N-san, you’re shivering,” he comments, eyes raking over the smooth skin at the back of your neck. You gaze into the fire for a moment, begging for some kind of confidence in this situation.

You shift onto your back, rolling onto your other side so you can look at him. The wisp of courage you had scraped up is viciously snatched from you as your eyes meet his.

The emotion in his eyes is something you’ve never seen before, the intensity intimidating you so much that your lungs still mid-breath. His gaze is half-lidded, his hair falling perfectly over his eyes. Hot breath washes over your raw cheeks enticingly, making your skin prickle with apprehension.

“Can I…,” he trails off, and you’re surprised when you feel his fingers sheathe around yours, pulling your wrists directly toward his mouth. Your stomach flips as he breathes out, the warm air caressing your chilled skin. “Can I warm you up, Y/N?”

You swallow harshly, your eyes the size of dinner plates, you’re sure. But Shouto’s expression doesn’t falter, and your silence doesn’t bother him as he places the softest kiss on your knuckle. You’re shaking again, even though the cold in your body is pushed far into the back of your mind. “S-Shouto-san,” you peep, your voice an octave higher than usual. It feels strange to say his name so intimately, but he seems to enjoy the sound.

He lets out a long exhale, closing his eyes as his thumb presses into the middle of your palm, forcing your hand to open. “Your teeth are chattering— you’re so cold,” he states, a hand letting go of your wrist to jump to your waist.

It’s true, your skin is shockingly frigid against his, and your teeth rattle slightly at the loss of your jacket. His lips press against the next knuckle, keeping your gaze captured to his magnetic stare. His eyes are so intoxicating; one a refreshing aqua and the other a swirling storm of gray. They both hold an unspeakable passion; a force that quiets all your worries as soon as they sprout.

“I said I wouldn’t let you freeze, Y/N.” His fingers on your waist tighten and he pulls your body flush against his in one swift movement. Only the thick sweaters keep your skin from touching, and his hand slides up the curve of your waist, underneath the hem of the knitted fabric. You gasp, watching his wrist disappear at the bottom of the sweater as his hand glides across your skin. Even though this is his ice side, his touch is so warm compared to your flesh. You look back up to see he’s inched closer to you, lips nearly brushing against yours. “Are you gonna let me keep my word?”

You can’t seem to find any words, your body overwhelmed by his hot fingers dragging along your side. His stare demands your attention, and no matter how desperately you want to look away, your body refuses to follow your wishes. You can feel your nipples hardening against the cup of your bra, a warm tingle emerging between your legs. Your pussy flutters underneath your panties as he continues to kiss your hands, lips wandering over each knuckle, fingertip, and line along your palms. The realization that his touch is doing things to you only makes you feel more flustered.

Shouto’s hand weaves over yours, heat radiating off of him as he places your hand on the cusp of his jaw. “You’re still shivering,” he states, finally breaking eye contact only to glance at your lips briefly before his gaze returns to yours.

You find yourself nodding slightly, unconsciously welcoming his next intentions. Your fingers, now warmed and feeling fuzzy, push into the hair behind his ears, gently guiding his face toward yours. Your lips part with a soft whimper as his hand underneath your sweater flattens, the entire palm introducing a pleasant heat to your chilled skin. Shouto gathers you closer to him, strong arm wrapping around your waist tighter and pushing your face to fall only a short distance away from his. You can feel his breath on your face, warm and soft, as his eyes search your face for any hint of reluctance. He closes the space between your mouths at a turtle’s pace, allowing you ample opportunity to push him away.

But you don’t— you grab the front of his shirt with your free hand, the hand behind his ear pushing him forward so his lips lock with yours. A shared, strangled moan resonates off the walls of the igloo, lips pushing and pulling against each other at a feverish pace. The kiss is hot, and his lips feel like heaven against yours as his hands feather down your spine.

“Your lips are really warm,” you murmur as you pull away to catch your breath, eyes still closed and lungs feeling tight from a combination of the lack of air and the excitement— lust— pumping through you. Heat floods your cheeks as you realize you’d voiced your thoughts, an entertained look crossing Shouto’s features.

“Good,” he says as his lips touch yours again, this time more delicately than last. He kisses you for a moment, just long enough for you to lose your train of thought, before he pulls back quickly. “I’m gonna get you nice and warm, Y/N— I promise,” Shouto vows, capturing your mouth and claiming it as his, his tongue separating your lips and exploring your mouth.

You moan at the new sensation, allowing the wet muscle to dominate yours, body feeling weak, and hot, and wonderful. Shouto’s hands are still wandering over your skin underneath your sweater, rounding your waist to creep up your chest. Just as he’d been to initiate the kiss, his touch rises slowly, pausing just underneath the swell of your breast. The warmth seeps into your ribs, and you surprise yourself when your own hand leaves his chest to push his elbow up, moving his hand on top of your bra.

Shouto groans into your mouth, and you swear you can feel your panties dampen at the noise. Vibrations against your lips, your hand in his hair pulls gently at his scalp in response, only to elicit a second, similar sound from his throat. His hand squeezes your chest just the right amount— not too rough, but not gentle either— making you whimper into his mouth. He thumbs over your nipple through the thin silky material, lips curving into a satisfied smirk when you moan louder this time, fingers tightening your hold on him.

Your tongues tangling in a slow, sensual embrace, you drink up the heavy breaths that leave his open lips, high on his warmth and his touch. The thumb rubbing along your bra traces the edge of the cup, toying with the soft flesh underneath.

“Is this okay?” Shouto inquires huskily against your lips, inducing shivers to shoot toward your core. He’s crawling atop your body to hover above you, the sleeping bag rustling as he stays close to you, one leg splitting between yours and the hand not on your breast moving to prop himself up.

“Y-Yes Shouto-san,” you whine, eager to feel his tongue back on yours already. Your limbs are still shaking from the cold, but the excitement that blooms from his touch mixes into your veins like warm nectar to combat the icy frost that lingers there. His knee isn’t quite high enough to touch your pussy, but your cheeks become warmer at the realization that you want it to be.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he murmurs before his lips press against yours again, eliciting a weak moan from you. His kiss is warm and intoxicating, yet firm. Tongue invading your mouth again, you sigh contentedly as his hand squeezes at your breast, thumb dipping underneath your bra to brush against your pebbled bud. He starts to move his body just enough to create some friction between the two of you, and you moan again at the novel sensation, your hand moving around his broad shoulders to dig your nails into his sweater.

Your mind is hazy, unable to focus on anything as his mouth lands on the skin of your neck, a breathy moan washing over your throat as he begins to kiss and suck there. You squirm underneath his wide frame, the feeling of his tongue rolling against you stoking the fire between your legs. Your body is beginning to feel warm, your heart beating erratically against your ribs.

Shouto’s hand wanders further up your torso, the hem of your sweater sliding up to rest on the top of his wrist. He smiles against your neck, pulling your bra down so your breasts fall out of the cups, his calloused thumb immediately caressing your nipple again and rubbing over it gently. “Do you like that?” He asks, lips trailing to kiss the underside of your jaw. “Because I really like that.” A forefinger joins his thumb and he pinches the nub, causing it to harden under his warm touch.

You cry out, head thrown to the side in pleasure. It seems that was Shouto’s plan all along, because he ravishes the newly revealed skin on your throat, altering between roving his tongue along your flesh and nipping his teeth softly. “Y-Yes, I like it, Shouto-san,” you answer breathlessly, your legs curling to draw his hips closer to yours. The feeling of his body flush against yours has an incredible heat surging through your entire being, caressing your bones and fluttering in your core.

Shouto’s purr rumbles along your skin, his head dipping down to place a path of kisses along your collar bones. Your hand flies up to grab onto his red and white locks, fingernails scraping his scalp gently and causing a moan to fall from his parted lips. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he praises, lifting your sweater over your shoulders and off your body. Before you can feel self-conscious, he swiftly delivers another kiss to your lips as he tears his own sweater above his head, revealing a pale torso rippling with firm muscles. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight hovering above you; his hair slightly messy from taking his shirt off as his gaze holds your own, a hunger blatant and all-consuming in his eyes.

You whimper as his mouth crashes to yours once more, your spine arching naturally as his arm curls around your waist, fingers moving to undo the clasp of your bra and succeeding swiftly. His kiss is slow and soft as he pulls the straps from your shoulders, tossing the item onto the tarp beside the sleeping bag.

Shouto looks at your naked form below him as if he’s a man starved, and you the most delicious feast he could possibly imagine. His hand moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes half-lidded and tongue poking out to roll over his lips. You watch as he leans down, warm lips brushing against your jaw and moving to trail down the length of your neck. But he doesn’t stop there; his mouth wanders further down, prospecting the soft flesh of your breast with kisses and long swipes of his tongue.

“S-Shouto-san,” you call his name when he finally reaches your nipple, mouth enveloping the bud and rolling his tongue around it leisurely, showering you with kitten licks that makes your pulse race. A long moan escapes you, your head thrown back onto his jacket and your eyes drifting shut as he begins to suck on your sensitive nub. “Oh, that feels—” you cut off as his teeth scrape your flesh, hips bucking up into his instinctively.

He only smiles, gently pulling your nipple between his lips and continuing to wash your skin with his hot tongue. “Does that feel good, angel?” He asks, his free hand moving to cup your other breast.

You nod even though he can only see the bottom of your chin, your mouth agape as rushed pants tumble out. Your pussy twitches in your panties when his mouth moves to your other breast, ravishing it in the same fashion. Your brows cinch, fingers woven in his hair and grabbing frantically at the roots as your body welcomes the waves of pleasure Shouto provides. A hand lands on the thick muscle atop his shoulder, gripping onto him and fingernails nearly breaking his perfect skin. Your hips buck again when his teeth graze your nipple, and heat bursts through you as your thigh rubs against something hard.

Shouto moans at the friction, the noise sending vibrations through your chest. “Fuck, Y/N,” he grumbles, popping off your breast and returning to hover his face above yours. “You know you’re absolutely gorgeous, right?” He doesn’t allow you to reply, lips conquering yours and sending a sweet chill through your body.

You make a noise of surprise when he begins to gently grind against your crotch, rubbing his erection onto you. The action has your brain short-circuiting, lust surging through your body now more than ever. God, you want him. You want him bad.

Shouto seems to feel the same way, for he presses your bodies flush against each other, and you whimper when his hot skin touches yours. Another meek noise floats out of you as he shuffles the two of you into a new position, landing on his back with you hovering above him this time. He’s kissing you again, and your brain can’t seem to catch up with him, for he now has two free hands and he uses them to grab your hips, guiding them to move along his own and continue providing the friction of the grinding from before.

Your head is spinning at the stimulation, your slick clit rubbing along the inside of your panties. And even though there’s two pairs of thick pants between the two of you, you can feel your pussy right above his clothed cock, dragging deliciously against him.

His fingers move to the front of your pants, ripping the zip downwards and digging his thumbs into the space between the material and the flesh of your hips. Shouto pushes the cloth off your body with surprising ease, your ass coming into contact with the sleek lining of the sleeping bag. Leaving the material bunched at your knees, Shouto places his hand on the back of your neck and guides your lips to land on his, his tongue tracing your bottom lip before he pulls it into his mouth gently, a growl-like moan rumbling in his throat.

You jump slightly when a hand lands on your hip, long fingers sprawled out over your panty-clad ass. His dull fingernails drag along the cloth, digits looping underneath the band at your hip and toying with it— pulling it down gently before putting it back in place, and repeating the action. You whine against his mouth, falling to your elbows on either side of his head, your hair cascading around your faces.

Shouto’s hand slips between your legs, cupping your pussy in his large palm. “Do you want more?” He teases, tone dark with desire and a hint of playfulness. He kisses the corner of your mouth as you moan quietly, trying to grind yourself against his hand. The action only makes him grin, his other hand cupping your chin and guiding you to look at him. “Answer me, beautiful.”

Your throat tight and mind foggy, you whine at his demand, eyelids falling closed as you lean into his touch. “Yes, I want m-more, Shouto-san,” you respond, humiliation spurring a heat to rise to your cheeks. You’d never begged for a man’s touch like this, and the thought has you both wanting to hide in mortification and spread your legs wide for him.

“Mmm,” he mumbles, moving your face to place your lips on his again. The very tips of his fingers begin to move along your slit through your underwear, starting with gentle circles on your entrance and trailing up to your clit.

His touch has you gripping his hair again with both hands in trembling fists, broken whimpers dislodging from your throat. His long digits toy with your pussy through the sheer, soaked material, separating your folds with his pointer and ring finger for his middle to dip into you just a tad, pushing your panties inside yourself slightly. You cry out, for even at such a shallow depth, the heat leaks from his fingertip into your pussy, melting away your inhibitions. It’s not enough to stretch you, but your walls twitch in anticipation around the digit, causing a smile to spread on Shouto’s lips.

He kisses the other side of your mouth, your eyes still shut tightly and your lip caught between your teeth. “Do you want even more?” He murmurs, stroking your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Say my name, Y/N.”

His command is absolute, tone gruff, like he can’t seem to catch his breath— it makes you look at him, only to send another shocking thrill toward your cunt at the lustful fervor in his gaze. You lick your lips, croaking out a shy, “Shouto-san.” His thumb grazes over your clit in reward, but you only push your hips down in search of that searing fingertip. When he moves his fingers in accordance with your body, you let out a distressed whine. “Pleaseee,” you whimper, placing a hesitant kiss on the column of his neck.

Shouto sighs at your appeal, deft fingers curling around the edge of your panties to gather them to the side of your throbbing pussy. Your body jolts as he brushes your slick folds with the lightest touch, another noise of desperation floating past your lips. “No, beautiful,” he murmurs, voice deep enough to drag you under like a powerful tide pulling you lost into a sea of pleasure, “My name— just my name.”

The gasp that you surrender surprises you, and you’re not sure if it’s more from his request or from his thumb beginning to circle your needy clit. A string of low moans flees your throat as he presses harder against you, the digit sliding around the bundle of nerves with ease, slick with your arousal. “But… but Shouto-s-san, I…,” you trail off, distracted as two hot fingertips begin to play with your entrance, curling just enough to hook against the edge of your walls and tease another groan out of you.

“You…,” Shouto continues for you, that taunting tone dripping from his voice again, “You don’t want it, Y/N?” He’s teasing you, but only because you’re so delectably responsive to him— he can feel your pussy twitch against his fingers, your slick drenching the digits and making it irresistible for him to go even further.

“No— I want it,” you hurry to respond, fearful that he’ll withdraw his touch before you have the chance to feel him inside of you. Anything for that. “I want more,” you take a small breath, propping yourself up with your hands on either side of his neck, your eyes finding his. “Please, I— I need you… Shouto-s—”

Two fingers slide into you with ease, stealing away the chance for you to utter the honorific, instead rendering you helpless as a loud, wanton moan erupts from your lips. Shouto’s fingers are long and thick, the pads rough and already rubbing against just the right place. His other hand rests on the front of your hip, digits curled around your side as his thumb stretches to stimulate your clit. Your eyes roll back as he pulls out, your velvet walls shuddering and another sound of pleasure filling the still air inside the igloo as he pushes back in. You’re already embarrassed enough from his teasing and him cheating away the respect the -san represents, but a new wave of mortification crashes over you as the spring inside your stomach begins to compress. You’ve never been so turned on in your life, so embarrassed, so naughty— desperate.

“You’re gonna cum already, aren’t you?” Shouto’s voice cuts through your foggy, aphrodisiacal headspace, and you can only nod, jaw hanging open and broken mewls tumbling out. Your hands fly to grab onto his shoulders in favor of the sleeping bag covering the ground, nails grappling into his skin. You can’t even find the sanity to shield your dissolute, wrecked expression from his watchful gaze underneath you, which he laps up eagerly— only fueling his plight as he begins to curl the digits toward himself. He’s rewarded with a higher-toned squeal, your cunt squeezing around him until he can only repeat the ‘come here’ motion. “Go ahead, beautiful. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum for me,” he implores.

That’s all you need to topple over the edge. Your pussy grips his fingers snug, fluttering as a numbing bliss explodes between your legs. Hips rocking shakedly against his grasp, you release a ragged groan as he continues to rub circles on your sensitive pearl. Your entire body is filled with a blistering warmth; you can feel it from the tips of your ears to your still-curled toes. Collapsing onto his chest, your lungs gasp for air as your head continues to spin, a content thrum pulsing through your bones as your pussy continues to spasm upon his hand. “S-Shouto,” you sigh, one hand slipping down to rest on the other side of his chest, fingertips biting into his skin slightly.

Shouto exhales a similar sound, fingers leaving your sloppy hole as he wraps his other arm around your waist. Bringing his fingertips to his lips, he keeps his gaze locked with yours as his tongue darts out, concealing the first knuckle from your sight.

Horror floods through you at the sight; dirty, nasty thoughts pouring into your mind. You try to get him to stop, your cheeks feeling hot once again. “Shouto-san, that’s—”

You succeed to some degree; he pulls his fingers from his mouth, but only to press them against your lips, sliding the digits deep into your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. “Bad girl, using honorifics,” he admonishes, tone suddenly dark and not at all warm nor soft as it was before— yet somehow it makes your cunt flutter in excitement, reawakening and already aching to be filled again. Your eyes widen in surprise, but you don’t gag, and Shouto only groans at such a discovery. “Don’t you think we’re past using formalities?”

He has a point, so you just flutter your lashes at him and moan onto his fingers, lips pursing around them and sending a shiver down his spine.

“Taste yourself— see, angel? You’re so sweet— god, you’re sexy, and you’ve no idea, do you?” He seems to be saying that last part to himself but you still nod, tongue wrapping around his fingers and making sure to clean him well. You want to show him you’re not bad; you’re a good girl, you can be a good girl for him.

Shouto swallows, eyes following your tongue as it wanders along his finger to poke between your lips, washing against his skin. He growls at the sight, ripping both hands away from you and ensnaring your wrists in his palms. With just one solid movement he tosses you underneath him, your back sliding against the silky lining of the sleeping bag and warming at the heat his body had left behind. You’re trying to find your bearings as Shouto fumbles with his pants, finally managing to rid one leg of the thick material and slip himself between your thighs.

Your heart begins to thump rapidly in your chest as you feel the smooth head of his cock drag against your folds, your cunt clenching in desire and your lip held prisoner between your teeth. Both of your ragged breaths tangle in the small space between you, your hands reaching to grasp the tops of his shoulders, legs spreading as much as they can in the confines of the single-person sleeping bag. Tossing your head back in agony as he teases your opening, coating himself in your slick, your cum. You’ve never felt so needy before— the urge to be filled and stretched around him dominating your every thought.

“Please— god, please Shouto,” you beg, and for a brief moment you find yourself wondering what exactly his cock looks like, the realization that you haven't actually seen it hitting you and yet here you are pleading for him to just put it in. What if he’s hung like a horse? And you’re about to be split in two— or what if he’s an average joe? Well from the foreplay he definitely knows what he’s doing so maybe—

Your entire body stills and a breathless squeal escapes your lungs as he thrusts into you in a single, swift movement. Your walls quiver in fiery pleasure as he penetrates you, his thick cock spreading you and filling you and reaching deep inside of you as his hips bump yours. You didn’t realize you were this wet; he slid into you in one go and by the feel of him, you know that’s no easy feat. But your mind doesn’t have any time to process it, for Shouto lets out the most sexy groan you’ve ever heard in your life. His head falls to rest against your throat, soft hair tickling your skin as you feel gentle pants wash over you.

“You’re so tight, Y/N— shit,” he moans again as his hips retract, pushing back inside of you slowly as if to test the waters. His cock glides inside of you, thick veins rubbing against your silky walls and making a soft whine struggle to evade your lungs. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard Shouto swear, and a twisted sense of pride fills your chest at the thought of him being so into this— into you— that he’s lost all his usual self-restraint.

A few more tentative thrusts have you crying out for him, another flash of intense heat spreading through your body and each of your limbs. Shouto cradles the back of your neck in one palm, the other hand slipping around the back of your waist in order to bend your back to his liking. The angle pops your breasts up against his chest, and he swears again as your hard nipples drag across his skin. Claiming your lips as his once again, his hips begin to push into yours at a steady pace, setting the tempo at a slow but hard pace. With each crash of his hips against yours, you feel like your lungs have lost all function— his balls slap heavy against your ass, sweat starting to trickle down your thighs that come around to draw his body closer to yours, your wrists crossed around his neck and his lips slotting against yours messily.

If your mind was foggy before, now you cannot even see your own hands in front of you; your brain is dizzy and oxygen-starved, mind spinning in circles every time his hips knock into yours. Each thrust has him burrowing far inside of you, your pussy trying desperately to keep up with his quickening pace but failing— leaving you butterflied, completely open for his assault to continue. When your ankles lock behind his waist, heels digging into his firm ass, his cock begins to hit a new spot inside of you, and you wail out in shock and ecstasy.

“Shouto!” you exclaim, brow furrowing and letting out a particularly wanton moan. Your eyes nearly cross at the powerful sensation, that embarrassed feeling returning and rekindling the heat in your cheeks. From just one particularly angled thrust, the spring in your stomach makes its presence known once again.

Shouto is quick to take advantage of the weak spot you’d just revealed; his grip on you tightens as his hips begin to crash against yours, mouth sucking in your lower lip to hold hostage. Your eyes can barely stay open, but you fight yourself to maintain the eye contact Shouto offers. His stare is searing; sparks flying between the two of you as he scrutinizes every hint of pleasure you render.

The intensity has you gasping for breath, suddenly feeling hot— so hot; the sleeping bag retaining all the heat your feverish session provides. Even though you’re so close, your hands land on his chest hesitantly, tapping his sticky skin. Instantly his hips still, and he begins to examine you, a concerned expression overtaking his handsome face.

“Are you alright, beautiful?” He asks, not skipping a beat. Examining the flush on your chest and cheeks, he seems to come to the correct conclusion, turning to tear the zipper down the track toward your joined hips. Cool air washes over your sweaty skin, and you sigh at the refreshing sensation licking over your skin. You whimper as Shouto leans down toward you, frosted breath swirling over your clavicles and offering you instant relief from the hot flash that previously took over your whole being. “Guess I warmed you up too good, huh?” Shouto chuckles, and you smack his chest with a weak fist. He shifts his hips forward in response and you keen as his cock shifts deeper inside of you.

Shouto allows you a moment to catch your breath, continuing to blow cool air along your throat and chest. You bask in the revitalizing sensation, whimpering lightly as Shouto keeps a subtle and gentle pace, cantering into you just enough to keep himself hard. He kisses your neck and jaw, lips chilly yet sending hot tingles zipping through your body. “S-Shouto-san,” you mewl, sprawling out into his caress like a cat.

He only smiles against your skin, lips wandering all over your chest. The cold air radiating off the icy walls of the igloo collides with your hot skin and sends shivers down your spine. “San?” He hums, icy lips trailing along your breast until his tongue pokes out to greet your nipple. Your pussy constricts around him, his ice-cold muscle twirling round the sensitive peak and slurping it into his mouth, only to pull away with a pop. “I thought we were past that, angel.”

You groan as his cock recedes from your folds, leaving you empty and eager for more. Large, hot hands guide your hips to roll over, steering you to your face the wall of the igloo on your hands and knees. With just a cavalier flick of the wrist, a shiny coating of fresh ice blankets the interior wall, creating a cloudy reflection that brings more heat to your cheeks. You can see Shouto behind you; firm, abundant muscles lining his wide frame and his hair tousled back atop his crown, those bicolored eyes regarding you with unwavering desire. Your forehead falls to brush against the plastic of the tarp as he traces the head of his cock along your slit, your hips jerking when he nudges your clit.

Your eyelids flutter open weakly when warm kisses dance across your shoulders, a shaky moan leaving from your lips as Shouto presses into your slippery cunt once more. He sighs beside your ear, and you watch as he closes his eyes, heated lips meandering up your jaw to take the tip of your ear between his teeth. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispers, sucking cold air along your skin when your pussy grips him tight in an automatic response. He nibbles at your cartilage, thrusting halfway inside as his hand collects your chin. Turning your face, he pushes his lips against yours, silencing your moan when his hips press flush against yours. The new position has your eyes rolling back, his cock massaging that sacred spot nestled deep within your core. His tongue starts to wrestle with yours in your mouth, his palm leaving your face to press flush against your pelvis, perfectly lining up two fingertips to greet your clit.

Your jaw falls open at the added stimulation, pussy winding tight around his length and pulling him deeper inside. That familiar coil is present again in your stomach, your pulse racing and perspiration gathering down your back and above your brow. Shouto’s tongue only drives further into your mouth, toying with yours. His hips begin to smack against your ass, balls slapping the fingertips that rub steady patterns on your pearl of nerves. You can feel your orgasm building, pressure heightening at a surprising speed, and you begin to whimper onto his lips, fingers curling into the tarp underneath your hands.

Shouto takes his tongue from your mouth, a silver string of saliva connecting your mouths. “Look up, beautiful,” he instructs, nodding to the wall in front of you.

Your elbows almost give out at the scene before you, and Shouto grabs your shoulder to pull you upright, thighs spread wide to showcase where his body connects with yours. Your eyes can’t decide whether to stay on his slick cock pumping in and out of your tight hole, fingers working diligently on your clit, or to linger on his face, his scorching eyes half-lidded and teeth clamped gently on your shoulder. He kisses your neck sloppily, free hand curling around you to cup your breast and pinch your nipple with cold fingers. Your back arches, ass pressing against his hips as he starts to pound into you, your cunt quivering and trying desperately to keep up with his insatiable pace.

“See how pretty you are, Y/N?” Shouto goads in between kissing and nipping the soft skin on the side of your neck. You take a glance at yourself, that embarrassed feeling leaking through your pores again when you see how fucked-out your expression is; pupils blown in lust and mouth hanging open, tongue resting on your lower lip. “Who’s making you make that pretty face?”

You can barely find your voice, pussy pulling snug around his thick length as you hurtle toward your climax. Throwing your arm backwards around his neck, your hips try to meet his rapid tempo, and your face turns to nuzzle against the smooth expanse of his cheek. “Y-You, Shouto,” you cry, his fingers on your breast pinching tighter and beginning to roll. The honorific dangles on the tip of your tongue, but you bite your lip in order to seal it away. “I’m so— so close,” you warn, but he does not slow. His hips keep their frenzied pace, and the fingers on your clit suddenly surge with a searing heat, leaking into your pussy and pushing you over the edge.

Shouto bites out a swear, his corded arm holding you upright against his torso as your slouch onto him. Your thighs tremble as you fist the hair at the nape of his neck, the other hand flying to hold onto the wrist glued to your abdomen. Euphoria rushes through your body and your pussy clutches onto his cock like a vise, a string of incoherent babbles and moans jumbled together slithering over the skin on his throat. You want to beg him to stop, to give you a second to catch your breath, but your voice is silent as he continues his ministrations on your overstimulated clit, hips never stalling. He carefully pushes your shoulder, allowing you to catch yourself on your shaking hands, parallel to the tent. With your cheek pressed against the plastic, both his hands fly to your waist, fingers turning white as he rams into you with renewed vigor.

Unaware that he’d been holding back from full force, you scream out in absolute ecstasy at his new tempo. His cock draws along your swollen walls, balls smacking your puffy clit, fast and rough. Blearily you look at the reflection in front of you, already feeling another orgasm approaching at an alarming rate just from the sight before you; Shouto’s eyes in thin slivers underneath a furrowed brow, focused on the bounce of your ass in front of him, jaw hanging open unabashedly and hot puffs of steam billowing out. A cord stands out along his neck as he strains to deliver you such pleasure, muscles taught and tense along his torso. Both of you are breathless and about to cum, perspiration rolling along your skins from the steam and heat trapped inside the igloo.

His eyes meet yours in the reflection and you give in, cunt spasming around him, your fingers grappling onto the tent in bliss, and his name falling from your ajar lips. Through your haze of euphoria you hear him swear, a loud groan bouncing off the icy walls of the structure before he pulls out, hot ropes landing along your spine, all the way up to the curve of your shoulder. Your pussy flutters as you ride out your orgasm, vacant and craving to be filled by him again. Shouto’s hands are gentle on your hips, one turning to trail his knuckles along your skin.

Shouto leans forward and gathers you against his chest, despite your protests about the sticky fluid dripping down your back. You can feel his hot cock against your spine, still slick and hard. He carefully pulls your hair to the side, tilting your head to place his lips on yours. You melt into his embrace, feeling peaceful and satisfied. His lips curl into a soft smile to mirror yours, and you deepen the kiss for a moment before pulling away.

“Warm enough?” Shouto asks after clearing his throat, that charming smile still turning up the corners of his mouth.

You chuckle at his question before you pause, your brain beginning to come back to reality. “Definitely, but… getting cold now, actually,” you realize aloud, head swiveling around as you take in the icy walls of the igloo still standing tall, sheltering your naked bodies from the storm.

Shouto lets out a quiet noise of agreement, one hand leaving your body in favor of searching through his disheveled backpack. He swiftly returns his hand to your body, a handful of unused napkins from your earlier meal in his palm. He also cups his other hand into the snow on the ground, melting it and heating it before he lets it glide down your skin, following the rivulets with the napkin. “If we were in any other situation, I hope you know I’d take much better care of you right now,” he comments, a hint of humor in his deep voice.

You smile at his statement, letting your hair fall in your face as you lean forward in order to aid him. “That’s alright, I think you’ve taken care of me enough,” you reply cheekily, moving toward the sleeping bag once he taps your ass gently, signalling he’s finished.

Shouto raises a thin brow, eyes trailing over your naked breasts as you slip your bottom into the sleeping bag. His hand runs over his sculpted chest, repeating the same procedure he’s just completed on his own skin. “What, now that I made you cum three times, you’re not shy anymore?”

Your cheeks flush at his remark, and you slither into the safety of the sleeping bag, shielded from his perceptive gaze. Your refuge does not last long, for Shouto shuffles inside the bag too, his warm skin pressing against yours. After he zips the compartment closed, he gathers you in his arms, shifting you so your head lays on top of his chest. You can hear the quick thump of his heart underneath your ear, blood rushing through his veins and sounding like a sweet, soothing melody. When he speaks, it rumbles in your ears, shivers swirling underneath your skin.

“You know, you’re pretty cute whether you’re shy or not,” he confesses. You make a squeak at his compliment, your cheeks feeling hotter than ever. Shouto only laughs, the addicting noise ringing off the walls of your haven. “Well, especially cute when you’re shy.”

Shouto wonders how you can be so timid after he’s fucked you senseless, but he doesn’t push his luck. He only grins as you smoosh your face onto his pec, a hand covering your inflamed cheek. You’re more than grateful when he changes the direction of the conversation.

“You should sleep, Y/N,” he suggests, fingers tracing along your hip. “You’ll need to be well-rested for the return down the mountain tomorrow. Most likely my agency already has reinforcements on the way here— it’s protocol— so we won’t have to pursue the villains any longer. Though I doubt they made it through the blizzard.”

You nod, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion. You hadn’t realized you were so drained, but after hiking up a mountain and trekking through a snowstorm, you suppose it’s only rational your body is so spent. Not to mention you’d just had the best fuck of your life, with probably the most handsome, dapper man you know.

Before you can submit to the alluring tendrils of slumber, Shouto smooths his warm palms along your spine, his voice soft and sweet like honey. “Are you sure you’re warm enough? Just tell me and I’ll heat you up, for real this time,” he murmurs, a quick wave of heat emanating from his palm as if to prove his offer holds legitimacy.

“No,” you sigh, never having felt this warm, and safe in your life, “This is perfect.”

Shouto holds you as you succumb to slumber, and he hopes you don’t notice how his heartbeat quickens, a flustered pink dusting his pale cheeks.

-—-—-—-—-—-

The trek down the mountain the next morning is light-hearted and much easier than the journey up. The sun high in the sky, the perfectly smooth snowbanks reflect the bright light of day, nearly blinding if you gaze at them too long. Shouto trudges through the knee-deep snow ahead of you, creating footholds for you to step into with more ease.

Without the heavy storm from the former night, it’s easier to see where the pair of you are going, and you make your way down to the sloping foothills of the mountain in good time. The expedition feels less cumbersome without the icy storm biting into your body, but also because Shouto talks with you the entire time. He touches your waist, holds your hand for a moment too long when he offers you his support, and grins at you without restraint. Your heart races at every interaction, giddiness trickling through your veins.

When the pair of you finally reach the base of the mountain, you’re greeted by the rest of your team. They’ve set up a makeshift camp a short distance from the mouth of the trail, just through a small spattering of trees.

Relief surges through you at the sight of your coworkers, your eyes widening and your foot automatically taking a step toward the group. But Shouto grabs your wrist, spinning you around and pulling your body close to his. The weather isn’t nearly as freezing at the bottom of the mountain, and the heat that rushes into your cheeks at the action is much more noticeable. His arm wraps around your waist, leading you to the side of the path slightly and blocking your figures with the trees.

“Y/N,” Shouto starts, eyes cast toward the side and a boyish blush on his cheeks. The sight of him so hesitant makes your stomach drop; you’re not accustomed to seeing the pro hero anything but confident and collected. Yet his voice is still just as deep and calm as he speaks, despite his flustered disposition. “Before we rejoin the team, I wanted to ask you something.”

You place your hand on his chest, fighting your bashful demeanor to comfort the man before you. “Shouto? What is it?” Head tilted to the side, your fingers spread and retract over his coat, smoothing over the stiff material there.

Hearing you call him by just his name makes him smile warmly, his stare flickering to your hand on his chest. “I know this is kind of backwards, but… I wanted to know if you’d like to have dinner with me,” he chokes out, shocked that the words come out sounding effortless and suave. “I want the chance to show you that last night was more than just sex to me.”

The rock-like feeling in your stomach dissipates, your frown melting into a timid smile. He wants to have dinner with you— a date! Last night meant something more to him; he wants to spend more time with you. Your heart swells in your chest and you nod eagerly. “Yes!” You nearly shout before you attempt to reign in your eagerness, “I mean— yes, I would— I would really like that, Shouto.”

The grin that splits across his face is more blinding than the snowbanks. It makes butterflies swarm your tummy and you can’t help but smile in return. He chuckles and the arm around your waist tightens, your body pressing against his. His lips graze your forehead and your breath catches in your lungs, a soft laugh falling from your lips.

Shouto holds you for a moment before he lets you go, dusting off his gloved hands on his pants. The faint pink drains from his cheeks, his usual indifferent expression sliding back onto his face. “Alright, let’s join the team, then,” he gestures for you to move back onto the path, and you take a step forward in front of him. A strangled noise of surprise catches in his throat when you press your lips to his in a quick, gentle kiss.

You pull away and examine his bright red cheeks, two-toned eyes wide and lips parted slightly, clearly unexpecting your sudden affection. You laugh at him, taking his wrist and tugging his stiff body back into the camp’s line of vision. Shouto seems to recover rather quickly, pinching your ass as you begin walking toward the camp. You’re about to swat at him, but your coworker notices the two of you approaching, and begins to run toward the pair of you. You shoot him a playful glare and he only smirks.

The team of fellow heroes pulls the two of you apart, fussing and showering you with a million questions— but you don’t really pay attention to any of them. Your eyes meet a blue and gray gaze through the commotion, and even without a raging storm to freeze your bones, your heart fills with warmth once again.

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

o my frickin god you guys i cannot believe this fic turned into such an absolute monster. 11k words— i am so mf extra. i hope it was worth it though, please lemme know if you wanna be trapped in an igloo with shou too LOL 🤪🥶🥵

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pixxiesdust · 4 years ago

Text

Favored by Fate • Dabi

Summary • Your boss has a business meeting at the annual fall festival, and you’re lucky that he’s given you the night off to explore on your own. Running into a masked stranger was not part of your plans for the evening, but it turns out the two of you share a common goal, and you can work together to reach it. Maybe fate is on your side.

Pairing • Dragon!Dabi (Todoroki Touya) x Water Sprite!Reader

Word Count • 8.7k

Tags and Warnings • Suggestive situations and dialogue, modern fantasy au, talk about murder, kissing, swearing, Dabi is Todoroki Touya, Todoroki Enji is not a good person in this fic.

Note • This is my part of the Attack on Academia’s Fall Festival collab! I had a lot of fun writing this, especially during sprints with wonderful friends haha. If you like this fic, please consider checking out the other Fall Festival fics written by members of AoA! If you’d like to join our server, feel free to join through the invite link on this post. New members are always welcome! Finally, I’d like to thank the wonderful @wakaoujisenhime and @prismaroyal for betaing this fic for me!

–

This annual fall festival is the largest one on the continent, so it’s no wonder that thousands of creatures congregate under the light of the full moon to celebrate the peak of the fall season.

High elves peruse the high-end stalls with ridiculously priced wares that suit their more expensive tastes. They try out weapons embedded with precious stones, made of the strongest metal alloys. Some buy the purest potion ingredients, sliding gold coins over the stall counter to the merchants, or swiping black credit cards across card readers.

A coven of witches stop by a candy stall on your right, pulling out their phones to record as the merchant—a fire wielder whose hands are glowing with red—drizzles melted caramel in elaborate swirls onto wooden skewers. As soon as the caramel leaves the metal bowl he cups his heated hands around, it starts to harden, turning from a light yellow to a darkened gold. The witches buy out the caramel swirl lollipops and continue on as they lick and crunch on the candy.

Elemental sprites try their hand at the game booths. Even though large signs are tacked to the booths that say “No Magic Allowed” in big, bold letters, you see an air sprite change the course of a ball as his friend throws it, so the ball hits the target. Then a crystal lights up red, and the centaur that runs the booth crosses his arms over his broad chest, large hooves stamping into the dirt. The air sprite sighs and lifts his palms up, before walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

The corners of your lips twitch, but you hold back the smile. You don’t want your boss to think that he’s the subject of your amusement—not when he’s Lord Todoroki Enji, the most powerful fire dragon in centuries, and you’re just you, a water sprite.

One fiery breath from him, and most water sprites will evaporate on the spot.

But you’re not like most water sprites.

“The stones,” Enji says, voice a demanding rumble. He towers over you. His human form towers over everyone, even the centaur by the game booths, and you have to crane your neck to look past the flaming red mask on his face to catch sight of his piercing blue eyes.

“Yes, sir.” You nod and open up the flask of water by your hip. With a wave of your hand, three glittering red stones are pushed to the surface of the water. You close your hand around them, a tingle running through you at the magical energy contained in these rubies.

Enji holds out a small pouch made of velvety black cloth, his large hands making the pouch seem even smaller. You drop the stones into the pouch, and he lights a flame on the tip of his finger and runs it across the wax on the inside of the opening. The wax melts, the flame dissipates, and he presses the opening of the pouch closed for the wax to harden on its own.

The pouch disappears, hidden somewhere on his red and black armor-clad body. He, like you and all the other creatures attending the festival, are dressed in the traditional attire of their own species.

“I have business to attend to. Do whatever you want, and meet me back at the entrance when the sun rises. But keep an ear open.”

He doesn’t have to finish his statement. You know he wants you to pay attention to any rumors, any unrest—anything that could disrupt his position of power.

So you nod again. “Understood, sir. I hope the deal will be made.”

The flames that burn at the edges of his mask flare, the only visible sign of his temper. “No need to hope. It will be made.”

As Enji strides away, the throng of people parting around him, a sympathetic expression slides onto your face. “Poor Yagi Toshinori,” you murmur into the air. “It’s not going to be pleasant for him when Enji is walking into this deal with some type of grudge.”

But you shrug and close the flask of water and let it hang from the belt around your waist. “At least I get the night off from being Enji’s assistant.” These types of days—or nights—are few and far between.

With the pleasant thought of getting to enjoy the festival all on your own, you smile to yourself and start walking, slipping into the crowd, your water sprite clothing a speck of bright blue among the rainbow of colors of the fall festival.

–

Your first stop is to one of the rows of food stalls. The air is filled with distinct scents; some sweet, others savory, but all make your mouth water and your stomach grumble.

You decide on something savory, first, so it’ll take the edge off your hunger so you can explore the rest of the festival. A stall that sells steamed buns catches your eye—and the scent that wafts from it entices your stomach. The two dwarves that run the stall are sisters, from the look of it, both with round cheeks and full lips, each wearing masks with vines embroidered on them. They bicker quietly among themselves until they see you approach.

“Here for the best meat buns in the festival?” asks the one on the right, dressed in soft browns.

“Or are you here for the best vegetable buns in the festival?” This comes from the one on the left, her traditional clothes in earthy greens. She shoots her sister a glare while waiting for your answer.

You look from one to the other, then purse your lips as you look at the wooden baskets that contain the steamed buns. It smells heavenly, and the buns aren’t too large, so you say, “I’ll have one of each, please. Who wouldn’t say no to trying the best meat and vegetable buns in the whole festival?”

That makes them smile, each pleased. As the sister in brown takes one of each bun out from the woven baskets, the other takes the two coins you hand her.

“Good choice, cunning fox,” the dwarf in green says.

You blink at her once, twice, until realization dawns. She means your mask. Although the designs are blue painted on white ceramic to match your traditional water sprite clothing, the opening for your eyes are distinctly fox-shaped, slanted and sharply cut at the corners. There are ears at the top of the mask, and a little snout over your nose, leaving your mouth uncovered.

“Ah,” you say lamely. Then add, “How am I able to choose when all of it smells so delectable?”

The dwarf grins, and her sister hands you your order wrapped with thin, brown paper. The heat from the buns sink into your hands immediately. It’s chilly out, and even though your traditional clothes are rather warm, your fingers still are cold.

“Thank you.” You dip your head to them before turning your back on the stall.

As you merge back into the crowd, the sisters wave at you and shout in unison, “Thank you for your patronage!”

–

The buns are long gone, devoured quickly as you wandered the food stalls. After getting a couple of other small snacks to eat, you leave this part of the festivals behind to explore the rest. Right now, you’re in a stall owned by a minotaur. One of your hands is wrapped around a cone of pixie sugar, a dessert made of thousands of spun sugar threads, wrapped like a fluffy cloud around a paper cone.

The other? It’s wrapped around the handle of a simple, streamlined dagger.

You stretch your arm out in a slow, smooth movement, testing the weight and feel of the blade. The minotaur, who is a blacksmith and made the dagger himself, watches on. A smirk graces his lips at the unexpected skill and familiarity you display.

“You like it?” he asks, his voice a deep rumble.

You nod. “The craftsmanship is wonderful; it’s very easy to handle. Sharp, too.”

“Can’t call it a dagger if it isn’t sharp.”

“How fire resistant, or, uh, heat resistant is it?”

This question makes the minotaur raise an eyebrow, but he answers it anyway. “Very. Fire sprites won’t be able to melt it with their flames. Even more powerful creatures can’t do it. The designs in the handles are runes, and they’ll keep the blade clean, sharp, and strong.”

“I see,” you say, pleased with his response.

“You plan on buying it?”

“Yes, but not right now. Will you hold on to it so I can purchase it later tonight?”

The minotaur eyes you for a moment, probably wondering if you’d stick to your word and return to buy the weapon. Then he nods, and you seem to pass his inspection. “Very well. I will keep this off the table so you can return to buy it.”

You smile at him in thanks and set the dagger back down on the table. “I’ll be back later, then.”

He waves a hand as he picks up the dagger, but you don’t see it as you’re already gone, pushing past the curtains that drape across the entrance to the stall.

The curtains fall behind you, and you step into the crowd, immediately slamming into a warm, hard body that makes you stumble back and trip over your own feet. Your arms flail out, trying to cushion your fall, but a hand reaches out to your own–

–and misses, closing around the cone of pixie sugar.

The sugar is crushed by the hand, compacted into nearly nothing. A tearing sound fills the air as the paper cone rips before your eyes, and you keep falling.

You hit the ground, hard. Your elbows smack against the packed dirt, pain shooting up to your shoulders, followed by numb tingling. At least your head didn’t make contact with the ground. Otherwise, you’ll probably spend the rest of the festival with a pulsing bump on the back of your head, and your hair would be coated with dust.

A groan escapes your lips as you sit up to shake out your arms. It doesn’t feel pleasant to have hit the nerves.

“Damn,” a rough, masculine voice says from above. “Took quite a hard spill there. Not as quick on your feet as an actual fox, huh?”

“Shut up,” you snap. “No one asked you. What the hell were you doing there, anyway?” You don’t look up, focusing on brushing the dirt off your blue sleeves.

There’s a hint of amusement in the voice as it responds. “I was walking, just like everyone else. You were the one who ran into me. I even tried to help you.”

“Yeah, and you missed, crushing my cone of pixie sugar instead!”

“I tried to help, and got thanked with a hand sticky because of sugar. Who’s worse off out of the two of us? Clearly, it’s me.”

Your mouth opens and shuts until your mind formulates the words you need to retort with. Pushing yourself to your feet indignantly, you brush off your pants too. “Clearly it’s you?” you mock, trying to imitate the way he delivered the sentence. “Listen here, you–”

You finally look at whoever you had the misfortune of running in to, and your mind stops working as you take him in.

His clothes are cut in the same way as traditional elemental sprite clothing is normally made, but the colors—black cloth that gives off a dark blue sheen under the light of hundreds of lanterns, and accented with bits of cyan—doesn’t match any of the four elements that normal sprites wear. They hang off his frame in such a way that his vest-like shirt shows off quite a bit of chest and arms. You notice scarred patches of skin, and staples that seem to hold the scars onto unblemished skin, but your eyes are more drawn to the dips and curves of his muscles.

You swallow, feeling a little warm despite the autumn chill.

Then your eyes move up his body until you see his dragon mask, and your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes.

They’re a beautiful, piercing blue, carrying the heat of the hottest flames as he stares at you. A shiver runs down your spine. Why do they somehow seem familiar? If you met someone like him before, you’d most certainly remember him, especially with the way he carries himself and the way his voice sounds when he speaks. He’s not one who can easily be forgotten.

“Listen here, what?” he asks, a smirk curling at his lips when your eyes flicker away, realizing that you’ve been caught staring. “C’mon, foxes aren’t known to be shy. What were you gonna say, doll?”

You have no response to give, so you just pout, drawing his attention to your lips—the only feature of your face that isn’t hidden by your fox mask. “Goodbye,” you say shortly. Then you cross your arms over your chest and turn your back to him, striding away to merge into the flow of the crowd.

Dabi stares after you for a moment, snickering. His eyes widen the slightest bit at the realization that you, a snarky, cross, quick-witted, pretty water sprite amuse him.

There are few things that amuse Dabi in life. If you’re one of them, he’s not letting you go that easily. So he hurries after you, quickly spotting you by the bright blue of your clothes. He has a mission tonight, a reason for being at the festival, but a bit of a detour won’t hurt.

He can always leave once you stop interesting him.

–

You thought walking away would be the end of that conversation, but a figure dressed in black falls in step beside you. You stop short, ignoring the grumbles of creatures that are disgruntled from your abrupt change in motion.

“What do you want?” you ask him.

Blue eyes gleam as he stretches out his right hand.

You look at it, then at him. “Congratulations, you have a hand. So?”

“A dirty hand,” he says, drawing out the words. “A dirty, sticky hand, thanks to your cone of sugar.”

“Ah yes, the pixie sugar that you destroyed!”

“Only to save you, doll.”

“To try and save me,” you correct. “What do you want me to do about it, hm?” You cross your arms over your chest and stand straight, staring him in the eyes. You seem to be doing that a lot around him, but something about his eyes just seems familiar–

“Clean it. What else? You’re a water sprite, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and you most definitely are not an elemental sprite.” You ignore the way his shoulders stiffen the slightest bit before he forces them to relax. “If I clean your hand, will you leave me alone so I can explore the festival?”

He only hums in response, but you open up your flask of water anyway. Even though he didn’t actually prevent you from hitting the ground, he at least tried, and it wouldn’t hurt to get the sugar off him.

You move your hand in an upward motion along the side of the flask, and water leaves the opening and gathers in a sphere in midair. Grabbing his dirty hand, you maneuver the water so it envelops the length of his hand, from the tips of his fingers to the base of his palm. He’s very warm, you notice absently. But you focus on swirling the water around his skin, picking up crystals of sugar until his hand is clean.

When that’s done, you withdraw the water, not leaving a single droplet behind. With another flick of your wrist, the water shoots through the air to an empty patch of dirt and sinks into the ground.

Dabi looks at his hand, swiveling his wrist. You must possess incredible skill to keep the water together, swirl it around him, and not leave any of it behind. His lips twitch. You only seem to get more and more interesting.

“Goodbye, then,” you say, and turn your back to him like you did the last time.

But as you take a step forward, his figure enters your peripheral vision. Another step, then two, three, and he’s still there.

You try to pretend that he doesn’t exist and look around at the stalls to see if there’s one you want to stop at, but his presence is impossible to ignore. Not when his body gives off a heat that you can feel through your clothes, not when his clothes are all black except for the cyan accents that only heighten the glow of his eyes.

Stopping at a stall that displays hundreds of beautifully packaged candies and small treats, you pick up a small, tin box of sweets that interest you. Pretending to look at the packaging, your eyes flicker to the side to catch him blatantly observing you with some sort of fascination.

“Okay,” you say, putting the tin back. “What do you want from me now? I thought you promised to leave me alone after I cleaned your hand.”

Dabi smirks at you and shakes his head. “I made no such promise. You really should pay more attention, little fox.”

You scowl at the nickname but focus on the more important topic. “You literally hummed when I asked if you’d be gone when I cleaned you up.”

“A hum, yes, but who said it was one of agreement?” He pauses, before adding, “It was one of contemplation—and then I decided to turn your offer down.”

You glare at him. With nothing more to say, you turn your back and leave again. This time, you don’t see him in your field of view.

Forcing a smile to your face, you look intently at the nearby stalls.

Somehow, it feels colder.

–

Dabi watches you go, noting the direction that you head in. He turns back around to the stall and picks up the tin of sweets you had looked at. He eyes the brightly colored label on the tin, then digs into a pocket to fish out a few coins. Sliding them across the counter to the witch that runs the stall, he steps back into the flow of people with the candy tin in his hand.

His long strides makes him easily catch up to you, staying back a bit to watch you look at a couple of stalls. When you pick one to stop at—a stall that sells spelled items, he notes—Dabi steps up and leans his weight against the counter, appearing in your field of view once again.

The figure dressed in blacks comes out of nowhere, but you’re not startled. Your eyes slide across to him, and you scoff to hide the flicker of happiness at the sight of him. “Miss me so soon?”

He snickers. “I should be the one to ask you that, doll. Hope being away from me didn’t hurt too much. I got held up by something I needed to get.” Without a warning, he tosses something at you.

You move quickly, hands flying up to your face, and you clap your palms together around the object. Glaring at him, you lower your hands, before focusing your attention on the metal tin in your palms. The label is bright and eye-catching, and you can’t stop your lips from curving up when you realize that it’s the tin of candies you were looking at before.

“See?” he says, pleased. “I’m not all bad.”

“No, you’re not,” you say softly. You look up at him, and the smile on your face combined with the softness of your eyes is nearly too much for Dabi to take.

You turn away from the stall and take a few steps forward. Then you look over your shoulder, at the not-an-elemental-sprite that leans against the stall. “Well?” you ask. “You coming or not?”

Dabi huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. You still somehow managed to surprise him. He pushes off the stall, tucking his hands into his pockets as he falls in step besides you. “Why the invite? Thought you were sick of me.”

You don’t answer his question, asking your own instead. “Why do you keep sticking around? Got nothing better to do?”

“I do have some business to do here,” he says, “but you interest me, little fox.” He reaches a hand toward you to flick at the ceramic fox ears of your mask. “And these days, very few things interest me.”

You don’t know how to respond, but finally settle with an awkward, “I see.”

The two of you walk on in silence for a bit, until he breaks it. “Are you gonna tell me why I get to accompany you? I would’ve thought that you’d walk away and never look back.”

“I just wouldn’t mind the company. It’s my first time being able to actually enjoy the fall festival. Usually my boss has a business meeting that I have to attend, but his meeting is actually at the festival this year. So I get to explore the festival, but it’s nice to do it with someone else too.” You pause, lips curling into a sly smile that tells Dabi you’re about to poke fun at him. “Even if it’s with a stranger who is dressed in elemental sprite clothing yet isn’t an elemental sprite at all.”

“Damn, you caught me,” he says, delivering the words in a flat drawl that makes you snicker. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know, scream? Run away in terror?”

He leans in toward you, lips by your ear. “Let me tell you a secret, doll. I don’t scream.” His breaths brush over your skin, making a shiver run up your spine. “But you certainly could.”

Your body suddenly feels a bit too warm, and you quickly turn to look at Dabi, putting his lips very close to your own face. “In your dreams,” you shoot back. You’re surprised that your voice comes out so steadily, when in reality, your skin buzzes and your stomach flips.

“Maybe,” he says, and straightens so there’s a bit of distance between the two of you once more. He moves on to a different topic. “What kind of a boss makes you work on the night of the fall festival? Who the hell has meetings at the fall festival?”

You snort. “Todoroki Enji, that’s who.”

If Dabi were anyone else, he might have flinched or his steps might have faltered. But he continues walking in time with you, and his voice is absent of the hate that runs through his veins when he asks, “You work for Endeavor?”

“Unfortunately.” Your voice is dry, and there’s no sign of affection for your boss.

Dabi feels a little relieved. Yet again, you’ve said something that surprises him, making his interest in you even stronger. “From all the things I know about the fucker, I’m not surprised you’re not the biggest fan of him. Why the hell do you work for him then?”

Your response is quick, even as your mind races and as pieces fall into place. “Money. He’s a dragon, so he’s had centuries to gather wealth. He pays well.”

Dabi definitely understands that. But that can’t be all. Not when it comes to you. “And?”

You look at him and hold his gaze, taking in his blue eyes as another piece falls into place. You sigh. “And there’s also a... personal reason.”

“Hm,” is all he says in response.

The conversation moves on to a different topic as you walk around this section of the festival, taking a closer look at stalls that catch your attention. You stop at a food stall and buy Dabi a skewer of juicy, fragrant grilled meat, glazed with a sweet and spicy sauce.

“For the candy tin,” you say, as you hold the skewer out to him.

His warm fingers brush against yours as he accepts it, letting out a “Not bad,” after he takes a bite.

You buy a little container of mochi for yourself to eat. Each one is made of sticky rice paste that envelopes various sweet fillings; red bean, strawberry, black sesame, and so on, the flavors a surprise until you bite through the flour-dusted outside.

Dabi finishes off his skewer of grilled meat and swipes a mochi from your container. He ignores your protest at his theft, and your following whine at the flour that falls off the mochi and dusts your sleeve. A snicker leaves him as he eats the mochi in two bites.

You look at him, glaring, and he pointedly keeps eye contact with you as he licks off the flour that dusts his lips. You quickly look away, and Dabi can’t help but feel a little pleased at the way your eyes had followed his tongue.

He pushes the feeling down, though. There’s now something that he wants from you, and he needs to get it from you.

No matter what.

–

Having finished your snacks, you lead the way to a trash bin at the edge of the festival. It’s a little dark, as the festival lanterns don’t stretch all the way out here, and the bin is nearly in the forest—nearby trees stretching up toward the moon.

Your mochi container clatters against the other pieces of trash in the bin as it hits the bottom. Dabi tosses his skewer in after.

You turn to look at him, tilting your head. He’s been a bit quiet over the past few minutes, not as much of a reaction to your teasing. There’s tension in the air that doesn’t sit quite right with you, but you keep your voice light as you push on. “Where shall we go next?”

Dabi’s arms hang loosely by his sides. He feels a finger twitch.

“Sorry, doll,” he starts off, voice equally light as yours. You think he’s going to say something along the lines of him not having a preference as to where you should go, but his next words come out dark, harsh, and angry. “You aren’t going to go anywhere. Tell me where the fuck Endeavor is.”

“W- wait, wha–”

His hands reach for you, clasping tightly around your wrists. They’re hot, but not painful, as he shoves you backward, making you stumble over your feet as he pushes you toward a tree. Two more steps, and you’ll be-

You regain your footing, and shove your shoulder into his chest, using his momentum against him.

In a mere second, you’ve reversed your positions. Though Dabi still holds onto your wrists, you’re the one moving him, pushing against him with all the force you have to slam him into the tree.

Rough bark digs into his back through the fabric of his clothes, and his head hits the trunk so hard that a steady throbbing starts up immediately. He groans and starts to move his head, but something cold pricks at his throat and he goes still.

One of your legs is pushed between his, your knee dangerously close to a vulnerable part of his anatomy. Though his hands are around your wrists, you have one arm pushing against his body to keep him against the tree. The other hand holds a lethal blade of ice—made from water that you pulled right out of the air.

“What the hell do you want with Todoroki Enji?” Your voice is flat. Cold, like the ice you hold to Dabi’s throat.

He lets go of your wrists and raises his hands slowly, showing you that he’s not moving to harm you. If it were any other person pinning him to a tree—which he’s still surprised as hell about—they’d be ashes a while ago, but Dabi is fond of you, he realizes. He enjoys your company, your quick retorts, the way he can make you flustered, and he knows that you aren’t completely enamored with Endeavor.

So his hands reach up to the dragon mask that covers his face. Before he moves any further, though, he speaks, answering your question in a confident drawl, voice deep and raspy with hate burning in his words. “I will fucking destroy Enji Todoroki.”

Your eyes grow wide, and the blade in your hand wavers, but Dabi doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity to break free. He has no reason to run from you.

Instead, he lifts off the black mask, pulling it off his head and letting his hands move back down to his sides. His eyes glow in the darkness, heated by inner flames. A smirk spreads across his lips, and he cocks his head to the side; you shift your ice blade to avoid cutting him.

“I’m the most wanted criminal, doll, the deadliest dragon. You must know me. I’m–”

“Todoroki Touya,” you breathe, at the same time that he finishes speaking.

“–Dabi.”

The words, the name that comes out of your mouth registers in Dabi’s mind. He jolts against you, and you push him back into the tree.

“You said Todoroki Touya,” Dabi growls, the words familiar but unused on his tongue. “How the fuck do you know that name?”

You scowl at him. “I’m the one with the knife here–” you pause to press the ice back against his throat, “–so I’m the one asking the questions. You just get to answer them.”

Dabi clicks his tongue, and sighs. “Should have known you wouldn’t make things easy, little fox. You’re quite cunning.”

The temperature rises around you, and the ice in your hand turns to water. You don’t have enough time to reform it into a blade before Dabi sweeps one leg at your own, knocking your feet out from under you.

For the second time at this festival, you find yourself hitting the ground, breath knocked out of your lungs—this time with a powerful fire dragon pinning you down.

Dabi has his hands around your wrists again, pushing them on the ground on either side of your head. His knees are by your hips, shins pressing down on your legs, caging you in and keeping you in place. You struggle against his grip, trying to wrench your arms free, but his hold is secure.

Realizing you’re not going to go anywhere, you finally still. “What the hell do you want?” you spit out, glaring into his eyes.

He tilts his head and a smirk spreads across his face as he uses your words from earlier against you. “I’m the one pinning you down, doll, so I get to ask the questions. You just worry about answering them, yeah?”

Dabi ignores your glare and your struggle against his grip on your wrists. “So tell me,” he says, voice turning from teasing to menacing, “what the hell do you know about Todoroki Touya?”

You hold his gaze for a long moment before huffing out a breath. If he really is who you think he is, he must only be asking this because he never expected anyone to make the connection. “I always thought it was strange, you know, that such a powerful dragon like Endeavor could have his son just disappear on him. The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t sit right with me. So I did some digging, asked questions, looked at old news articles from that time when you, Touya,” you say pointedly, “went missing.”

Dabi doesn’t confirm nor deny your accusation that he’s Touya, but his silence is confirmation enough.

You press on. “I read about the burns that Touya had. There were rumors that they’re caused by the strength of his flames—that his fire is too hot for his human body to contain. Even Endeavor’s flames never did that to him, so it isn’t a large stretch to think that Touya is more powerful than Endeavor is, even as a child.

“We all know if Endeavor feels that his power is threatened… he’ll eliminate the threat. Even if that threat is his son.”

Pausing, your eyes scan over Dabi’s face to try and read his emotions. His face just seems cold, hard, as if this is not news to him. But his eyes burn brightly under the shadows of the forest, heated from the fire he carries within.

“Go on,” he says, voice just as threatening as before. “If you know Endeavor is capable of such things, why the fuck do you work for him? No money can be enough to win you over after that realization, not unless you’re just a liar and don’t actually give a shit.”

“I did need a job at the time Endeavor was looking for a new secretary. But it’s more than that,” you add on hastily, when the hands around your wrists grow hot. “It’s not right that Endeavor gets to be this high and mighty Dragon Lord over so many of us creatures when he’s done such terrible things to his own son. But if everyone learns about it and tries to overthrow him, he’ll find a way to kill the protestors and seize their properties, only making him wealthier than before.”

You breathe deeply. “I won’t let that happen, not as long as I live. So I took the job, and have worked to gain more and more of Endeavor’s trust.”

Dabi’s lips curl into a sneer of disgust. “And do what with that trust? You’re just trying to play hero.”

Your voice is even as you reply, “Nothing is heroic about murder. And that’s exactly what I plan on doing to Endeavor.”

“You, little fox? Murder? You’re a water sprite. You do know what fire can do to water, yeah?”

You smirk at him. “You do know what water can do to fire, yeah? Besides, I’m no ordinary water sprite.”

And then Dabi no longer holds your wrists in his hands, nor do his shins press down on your legs. In a second, your arms turn to liquid under his grip, seeping out between his fingers and reforming outside of his grasp. Your legs, too, turn to water, only to become skin and flesh when you have them wrapped around his waist.

Then you grip his shirt in your fists, and heave him sideways, using your legs to force the lower half of his body to flip over.

You’re distinctly aware of the position that this leaves you in; hands gripping his shoulders, staring into his still-wide eyes, legs on either side of his waist as your weight rests on his abdomen. You feel warm, and it’s not solely because of Dabi’s higher than normal body temperature.

“You really think I can’t hold my own against Endeavor?” Your voice is smug, pleased at the shock that had flashed across his face when you liquified your limbs.

Dabi swallows, liking the way your mouth curls, completing the sly look with the fox mask over the top half of your face. He’s still reeling over the fact that you were able to do what you did—it takes immense power and control to have your skills, and you’re young, too. But his eyes move up to meet your own, and he is serious when he says, “You’re strong as hell, doll.”

Your lips part slightly at the raw honesty of his words.

He continues, and you listen attentively to him, letting the low, rough sounds of his voice wash over you. “What you can do is fucking astounding, and almost unheard of. But it’s not enough. Even in water form, if he breathes his flames as a dragon, you’ll turn to vapor. At best, you’ll be injured. At worst, you’ll be dead.

“Don’t risk your life for a boy who is long gone.”

You blink, and your vision blurs, holding unshed tears for the lost boy, Touya, and the man, Dabi, he had to become.

“But,” you say, and your words stick to your throat, so you have to swallow before trying again. “But he can’t just get away with it. I won’t let him. I’ll stop him.”

Dabi can’t extinguish the warmth that blooms behind his chest. It’s a warmth not of the flames within him, but from the care and passion you show about Todoroki Touya, a boy you’ve only heard and read about, a boy who has no connection with you. Yet you care.

“No worries, doll. He won’t get away with it.” Dabi pauses, and something settles in his chest as he makes up his mind. “We won’t let him.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit a little straighter on his stomach. “‘We?’ What are you–”

“C’mon, little fox,” he purrs, “you’re smart. We both want the same thing: to see Endeavor dead and gone. It certainly would be easier if the two of us were to work together, yeah?”

It doesn’t take much thought for you to reach your decision. You like Dabi, you’ve enjoyed his company all night. Even though he does tease and fluster the hell out of you, you can give it back just as well. And to learn that he’s the person you were doing all this for?

Your voice is confident as you agree with a simple “Yes.”

Dabi huffs out a quiet chuckle, before raising his right hand up between the two of you. “Glad to have you on board, doll.”

You take it, feeling the calluses on his fingers brush over your skin. “I’m glad, too.”

You shake your hands up and down once, then let go, but he pointedly drags his fingers over your palm before completely releasing you. A tingle runs up your arm.

“So what next?” you ask.

“First of all,” Dabi says, “I’d really like to get off the ground.”

You look down at Dabi. It takes you a second to realize that your whole conversation has happened while one of you is on top of or under one another. An embarrassed squeak leaves your mouth, then heat rushes to your head as you scramble off of Dabi and get to your feet.

Once you’re up, you offer a hand to help him up. He wraps his hand around yours and you pull, getting him to stand in one fluid movement. But you pull a little hard, and he ends up with his chest pressed against your own, with your arm sandwiched awkwardly between.

Dabi guides your arm down to your side before letting go of your hand. He doesn’t step away though. Instead, he slides his arm around you, pressing his hand gently against your back to prevent you from making some space between you.

“Second of all,” he says, the vibrations from his chest buzzing against your own skin, “I’d like to see who I’m working with. You did see me without my mask, little fox, so it’s only fair if I get to see you without yours.”

You swallow nervously. After a moment of silence, you nod. “Okay.”

His eyes light up, but he maintains a neutral expression as he reaches up for your mask with his free hand. Slowly, slowly, he lifts the painted ceramic off your face, sliding it up and over your head. He doesn’t toss it to the ground because it might break, so he presses the mask into your hand.

When your fingers curl around the mask, Dabi moves his hand back up again, snapping his fingers to create a flickering blue flame.

His breath catches in his throat as the light dances across the curves of your face. With his flame tinting your features blue, Dabi thinks you’re the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on. He’s seen a lot of horror in the past, but one look at you washes the dark images away.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the lightest breath brushing across your face. “You’re pretty as hell.”

The honesty in his voice makes you happy, yet also serves to fluster you. “You’re not too bad yourself,” you manage to respond. Your eyes travel over his face as he does the same to you. You take in his sharp nose, chiseled jawline, the scars up to his mouth and under his eyes. His eyes glow brightly, a blue as pretty as the flames he holds in his hand to cast light onto both of you.

He’s beautiful. Not despite his scars, but in light of them.

A smirk turns up his lips, making him look even more devastatingly handsome. “I think I’m going to like this partnership very, very much.”

You return the smile. Dabi thinks you look ethereal.

“Me too.”

–

You tell him that you have to meet back up with Enji at the festival entrance when the sun rises. Dabi nods while he slips your mask back over your face, fingers brushing against your cheeks as he gently pulls away.

Though he had intended to learn more about Enji and his business dealings at the festival today, Dabi doesn’t need to go after the dragon lord. Not when you are Enji’s assistant, someone who can spill his secrets. He says as much, and your voice is light and teasing as you respond. “And I thought you stuck with me because you liked my company.”

He rolls his eyes as he puts his dragon mask back on. “That means we get until sunrise to finish looking around the festival. You can’t get away from me that quickly.”

You smile at him as both of you walk past the trash can and join the crowds again. “As if I’d want to.”

Dabi’s mouth turns up in the smallest smile, and he moves a hand to rest on your lower back to keep you close. “Where to, doll?”

You hum for a moment in thought. “I need to stop by a stall and pick something up. The owner agreed to hold it for me.”

“Are you gonna tell me what you’re picking up?” When you shake your head, Dabi chuckles and gestures at the crowded path with his free hand. “Lead the way then, doll.”

–

You arrive at your destination and push through the curtains covering the stall entrance. Dabi follows suit. As soon as he steps into the stall and the curtains fall shut behind him, his eyes widen and he whistles at the variety of weapons displayed on the walls and on tables.

“Damn,” he says, eyes taking in a display of silver pistols. “What the hell are you buying?”

The minotaur approaches you with the dagger you had asked him to set aside. The blade is in its sheath, and together the weapon looks beautiful, almost decorative. But when you take it from him with a grateful smile, and unsheathe it, the blade is clearly sharp and shines brightly under the light of small lanterns in the stall.

“Thank you for holding on to this for me,” you tell the minotaur. You slide the dagger into its sheath and reach into one of the deep pockets of your flowy traditional water sprite pants. As you pull out your wallet, your hand bumps into the tin of candy from Dabi, which makes your eyes soften.

Following the minotaur to his counter, you slide your credit card through the card reader to pay for the dagger. It’s expensive, yes, but it has the exact qualities you’ve been looking for. Besides, Todoroki Enji does pay you a pretty nice salary, allowing you to have a decent amount of spending money in addition to your savings.

With a farewell to the minotaur, you nudge Dabi out the stall. You start to wander down the row of stalls as you adjust your belt, slipping the dagger on it to rest beside your flask of water.

“So?” Dabi asks as you peer into a spacious cage with a couple of brightly colored birds in it. “Why do you need a dagger for? From what I’ve seen, you’re more than capable of protecting yourself.”

“I can make my daggers out of ice, but they’re unreliable depending on the magic that my attacker can use.” You catch the smirk that starts to spread on his face, so you quickly speak again. “I thought of this way before I ran into you, got it? Don’t let it get to your head.”

Dabi brings a hand up to his heart, clutching his shirt as if your comment hurts him. He lets out a groan of mock pain.

You snicker at his theatrics and punch his arm; not too hard to seriously hurt him, but enough to sting the slightest bit. “Be quiet,” you order, then tug on his arm to look at another stall that catches your eye.

–

You spend the rest of the night this way, teasing and getting to know each other as you explore a good chunk of the festival.

Dabi buys you a new cone of pixie sugar. It’s at your insistence, but he gives in with relatively few snarky comments. You happily pull tufts of spun sugar from the fluffy cloud and place it on your tongue, the treat dissolving immediately in your mouth. When you lick at the sticky residue left behind on your fingers, Dabi can’t take his eyes off you until he runs into the corner of a table, the sting of pain bringing his attention back to the crowded paths.

You hide your snicker by pushing another mouthful of pixie sugar past your lips.

–

As the stars start to fade away, being washed out by the brightening sky, the two of you make your way toward the main entrance of the festival. You stand off the main path, more hidden in the woods than out in the open.

First you exchange numbers, smiling when you see the contact name he sets for you; the little fox emoji. You set his contact with the flame emoji in return, although Dabi complains that there isn’t a blue one.

Then you pull out your dagger, explaining to him about the runes in the handle that should make it basically fire-proof.

“Can I see it?” Dabi asks.

You wordlessly hand it over, careful not to get either of you hurt by the sharp edges.

“Huh,” he muses, feeling the weight of it. Then without any warning, he lets blue fire blaze from the palm of his free hand, and lets it envelop the length of the blade.

You cry out in surprise. “Dabi!”

A few seconds later, he extinguishes his flames and examines the blade. It’s exactly the same as it used to be, and it’s any warmer than before he let his fire loose. “You got the real deal, then,” he says, handing the dagger back to you.

You sniff and say, “Of course,” as you slide it into your sheath.

“If it withstands my fire, it can definitely withstand Endeavor’s. In our human forms, at least. But that’s good enough, because the fucker is weaker than me, and he’s old as hell.”

“Older and has more experience,” you remind Dabi.

“Yeah,” he admits. “But he doesn’t have you on his side.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you look at Dabi in surprise. He gives you an actual smile, slightly crooked and closed-mouth, but a genuine one.

Warmth wells inside you, and you smile back.

Dabi steps closer and closer to you until he can slide one arm around your waist, the other moving up to lift his mask off his face. He walks you backward until your back bumps against a tree. You look into his brilliant blue eyes, and he holds your gaze.

“Can I kiss you, doll?”

Your eyes shine happily, and you breathe out a “Yes.”

He leans in toward you, closing the distance between his face and yours, until your lips are nearly touching. Then he pauses, and asks, “Are you sure?” His voice is filled with amusement, and your eyebrows draw together in frustration.

“Stop teasing and kiss me, Dabi!”

And he does just that.

His lips meld against yours, a scorching heat that warms you from the outside in. He presses you harder against the tree as he deepens the kiss, the scars that reach up to his lower lip just a bit rough against your own. But he kisses so masterfully, stealing your breath with every brush of his mouth on yours, and though your chest starts to ache for air, you don’t want to pull away.

You finally draw back from him with one final pass of your lips over his, then take a deep inhale of the crisp autumn air.

Dabi looks at you, taking in the way your chest heaves for breath, the slightly dazed look in your eyes. He smirks, blue eyes burning with an intense heat.

Then a deep, rumbling voice can be heard over the sounds of the festival. Both you and Dabi stiffen, and he slips his mask back on his face.

“That’s my cue to exit, doll. I’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

You nod and step away from the tree. “You better,” you say, “or else you’ll have an angry water sprite hunting you down.”

“Scary.” He fakes a shudder. “I know just how terrifying water sprites can get. No worries then, I’ll text you sooner rather than later.” Dabi walks deeper into the forest and is enveloped by the shadows.

A smile lingers on your face as you stare after him. But as a towering figure steps into your field of vision, you school your expression into something more neutral. “Hello, sir. How was the meeting?”

“Good.” That means it was more than successful. “Your boyfriend?” Enji asks after a moment of silence.

Your eyebrow arches in surprise. You didn’t think he’d be interested if you ever were to get into a relationship—not with Enji’s strict rules on being professional. You don’t know how else to explain Dabi’s presence, so you settle with, “Ah, y-yes, sir.”

“You never mentioned him.” He turns his back to you and starts walking toward the main path, and you follow suit.

“It’s a bit of a, um, recent development.” Recent as in you just met the guy a couple hours ago and he isn’t actually your boyfriend.

“I see.”

That’s the extent of your conversation as you get into the car Enji has waiting for both of you at the entrance. As the driver starts the engine and pulls onto the street, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull it out and enter the passcode, opening up the messaging app. There’s a message from a contact with a flame for its name, and your lips curl upward as you open up the message.

So I’m your boyfriend now?

You guess that means Dabi didn’t go too deep into the forest, but stayed close by to make sure you were safe. Warmth settles in your chest at the thought.

You open up his contact information and edit his contact name, biting your lip to stop the smile from spreading across your face. Taking a screenshot of it, you attach the image to a message that you type out. You send it, then shut off your phone, looking out the window of the car to see the rays of the morning sun stretch across the sky.

The soft light bathes everything in a gentle glow.

You smile, content.

–

Dabi’s phone buzzes not long after he sends the message to you. His fingers move quickly as he opens up the messaging app, pulling up the conversation with you. He reads your text.

We’re partners now, aren’t we? It’s only fitting.

He opens up the image you sent, and takes in the screenshot of his contact profile on your phone. There’s nothing there except for his phone number, but then his eyes move up to the contact name.

“Boyfriend,” he muses, “with a black heart next to it.”

Shutting off his phone and slipping it into his pocket, Dabi can’t help but shake his head and let out a quiet chuckle. He hasn’t felt this way in a very, very long time.

He looks up at the sky, where the first rays of sun are casting golden streaks against paleing pinks and blues.

And Dabi smiles, content.

–

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katnissmellarkkk · 4 years ago

Note

what about ~ general ~ #48?

Gravity

Heyyyyy, so uh, remember sending this? Well, sorry this took 100,000 years. And uh, sorry, this got so long imma break it up into three separate parts. Because, ya see, the prompt you sent sparked a three chapter growing back together story. And... your prompt, which was general #48 “I won’t hurt you”, actually doesn’t appear until the final chapter 🤦🏼‍♀️... we love an overwriter, right?

Okay so anyways, hopefully part two will be out soon. And forgive this for not being my greatest writing ever.

And thanks, love, for sending me a prompt to start with!

Peeta and I grow back together.

"How long are you going to waste those paints?" I tease wryly, announcing my presence as I lean against the doorframe.

Peeta doesn't even glance back at me, but I can see from my angle his expression turn sardonic. "Until this shade of green is exactly right."

I chuckle, coming further into the room—using extra caution to not startle him as he can be easily triggered when his mind is preoccupied elsewhere—and attempting to peer over his shoulder at the canvas.

It's covered with a cloth though and this time he turns to look at me before laughing softly. "Trying to sneak a peek?"

I glance at him, a little ruffled, before my eyes find my feet. "I didn't know it was supposed to be secret," I defend, for some reason feeling embarrassed by my curiosity.

Our dynamic is still tense some days. We haven't kissed since we were in the Capitol and that was only to fight off his hijacking. We haven't genuinely kissed, kissed because we wanted to, for nothing but our own simple pleasure, since the Quell, on the beach, the last night before we were separated.

Since before Peeta was taken by the Capitol. Since before he was hijacked.

But his memory is better now and the clouded, haunted look is long gone from his eyes. In it's place is the same brightness, the same instinctive kindness, the same gaze I used to see even in the worst of circumstances.

Still though, I don't always know what to say or not say. I don't know what our boundaries are now.

I know that his house and mine are always open to the other one. I don't have to knock or announce myself when I come over, and more times than not I return from hunting to find him situated at my kitchen table, waiting for me before cutting our breakfast bread.

I don't always know where our trauma ends and our friendship begins. I don't honestly know where we even stand anymore. From allies to friends to unconscious lovers to enemies and back, I get whiplash practically trying to decipher it, and I can't even imagine how much more confusing it must be for him, still after all this time.

He is more committed to that stupid over-the-phone therapy we've both had forced upon us though. He is committed like an old dog to a rotten bone to healing himself from the wounds Snow inflicted.

I'm about to find an excuse to leave the room, to more than likely leave his house altogether and go out to the woods, like I too often do when I'm at loss for words or things grow awkward, when his fingers touch under my chin. He gently lifts it up to meet his sky blue irises. "Come help me mix colors," he implores, his eyes enthusiastic and genuine.

I nod tentatively after a moment, following behind him, like a wide-eyed child. Like my sister used to follow behind me when we walked from the Seam to town and back.

He makes room for me at the table he's turned into his painting palette. On it resides papers upon papers, each covered with dozens of green variants.

"Peeta," I gap at him, my eyes getting wide. "How have you made all these shades?"

He scratches the back of his neck, blushing a little, and managing to get a moss color on his neck from the wet paint still situated on his fingertips.

I have the most insane urge to clean his neck off myself, to touch him there, as though a spot that's always displayed in plain sight could suddenly be so intimate.

I squash that desire so fast, I feel my temples pulse.

"I've been working on getting this color right for a few days now," he admits sheepishly.

I raise my eyebrow at him, a little more coy than I was only a minute ago. "A few days?"

"Okay, so it's been a couple of weeks."

I laugh then, really laugh, from the bottom of my stomach. It only last for a few seconds but it's such a rarity still that I ever feel that kind of unadulterated joy, and I choose to bask it for all it's worth.

It doesn't escape my notice though that I only ever have these rare moments in Peeta's vicinity. Not that I plan to openly share this—with anyone, really, but especially with him—but it's something I can't help but clock, even if just to myself.

Apparently I'm not the only one who finds my laugh significant, because when I look up at him again, Peeta is staring at me with a look of awe now shining in his gaze. A look I didn't realize until he was back in Twelve, until he was back mentally, until we had started on the memory book together, that he'd lost in his hijacking. It was a gaze I had seen in thousands of moments before, on the train, in the beds we shared at night, in the arenas, in my living room.

That shining look of awe in his eyes is just another thing I didn't realize how much I missed, how much it meant to me, until it returned. Another thing I didn't even realize Snow took away from me.

He breaks the silence between us again, his mouth turning up on one side, his eyes suddenly glazing over. For a moment I brace myself for a flashback, something that I have become accustomed to witnessing on a regular basis. He never loses his mind, he never snaps or thinks I'm a mutt or anything of the sort, but he'll grow quiet for a long moment and he'll clutch the underside of the table or the back of a close by chair, and shut his eyes until it's over.

But he isn't having a flashback now. Instead, his words are wistful and full of longing. "I miss hearing you laugh like that," he quietly says, unashamed. Like he's always said everything. Confidently, even when he wasn't.

I offer him a small smile in return before turning back to the paint covered table, segueing not as subtly as I wish. "Okay, so how am I supposed to help you make your ideal green color?" I turn to him and add in a teasing tone, "I'm not quite as experienced in frosting as you."

It has the desired effect and he comes to show me how to mix the paints properly, how to add in other colors to make a lighter or darker shade of green.

"So this is why the frosting on the cakes were always so intricate?" I ask after a couple of hours of us just blending paints together.

"Because I'm a perfectionist? No. Because I needed to get the cakes to sell quick enough that I wasn't forced to have the stale, crunchy ones for dinner. Over-the-top frosted cakes sells faster."

I shoot him a sad look at that. I always forget that while I had to work hard from a young age to bring food home to my family, Peeta got stuck with the leftovers no one from the entire district claimed.

Hours pass and I get so lost in mixing colors—okay, actually, I'm playing after a while, as Peeta continues to mix paints—that I don't realize until the sky outside turns dark that we skipped lunch and dinner.

"Peeta," I say, tugging at his arm with my now paint covered palm. "We have to eat."

He shakes his head though. "I've almost got the exact right shade."

I huff. "You need to feed yourself. Or else you'll pass out and I'll have to drag you to your bedroom and it'll be rough on us both."

"So it won't be any different than Sunday at Haymitch's?"

I laugh at that again, really laugh, and my stomach aches and cramps from the unused muscles waking back up after their long hibernation. "Come on," I urge.

"Katniss, I swear, I'm almost finished," he insists again, very solemnly. "Go get food from the bakery for both of us and I'll be done by the time you get back."

I let go of his arm, feeling myself deflate as I realize he's truly not budging. "I can't be the only one who goes to town with paint covered hands," I throw out there, as a last resort.

Without even looking away from the table, he adds, "and a paint covered face."

My brow furrows, confused, when he taps my nose with his wet finger. "Peeta!" I try to exclaim but it gets eaten up by my giggle, which is quickly overpowered by his.

"You told me once green was your favorite color!" He defends, holding up his hands.

I swipe my still wet sheets of paper off the table and fling them at him, effectively covering his cheek and the shoulder of his shirt in a soup of green.

"Oh, you aren't getting away with that," he promises and grabs me around the waist when I bolt for the door. "You couldn't even beat a man with one leg," he teases as he hoists me up and propels us both towards the wet paints again.

"Don't you dare," I threaten but my smile, one I can't repress, isn't letting me give the correct authenticity to my tone and in the end, he only smirks at my words.

A half hour later, I exit Peeta's house, having scrubbed my face the best I could in his bathroom sink. I only made the green fade from my cheeks and nose, not completely evaporate, and my neck is still strewed with flicks of the forresty shade.

My stained shirt is covered though as I pull on Peeta's jacket, having for once left mine in my own doorway, three houses down. Instead of going to fetch it, I choose take him up on the offer to borrow his, pretending it's about convenience and not because I like the way his smell of vanilla and cinnamon and something entirely his own lingers on all his clothing.

I use the key he gave me to the freshly rebuilt bakery and let myself in the backdoor, more so because that's where I'm most comfortable entering. Peeta's new bakery is almost identical in structure to the old one, and his mother would have never let me come in through the front, let alone trade my game over the counter instead of in the chilly back alleyway.

So many times I peaked inside the back, peered over the old baker's shoulder while he examined my squirrels. Majority of the times it was only to see the blazing hot oven, to fantasize about how it must feel to work with that kind of heat in the winter, to have heat so easily accessible at your fingertips that you can take it for granted. But sometimes it was also to catch a glimpse of what the inside must look like, my curiosity getting the best of me.

Being from the Seam, you so rarely had reason to enter a Merchant business. Being from the Seam, there was always a part of you that wondered what the other side of the community must live like.

Well, now I know. I have, really, since I became a victor and Peeta took me with him here on a seldom occasion to chat with his dad while he mother was gone.

I can't help but admire the handiwork of Thom and of many others in the community. They rebuilt the bakery—with assistance, both creatively and manually, from Peeta himself—in only a few months time and it looks like it was never decimated. The woodwork of the wall panels, the marble tile of the floor, the cream color of the walls.

It was like the old bakery, but made newer and fresher.

However, as I grab a loaf of bread and pastries—Peeta did say to get whatever I craved—I spot something out of the ordinary.

The walls visible to the customers in the front are reserved for Peeta to paint murals on, whenever he finds himself in the right mood to create whatever idea he has sitting inside his head. But the walls in the back are typically full of notes and lists and customer orders and—Peeta's own idea—thank you notes and cards from members of the community, who adore him even more now than they did before the war.

But all those things have been cleared away from a section of the wall space. There is a noticeably large blank space, right above the oven and counter, where no one else but Peeta will be able to view it.

It's maybe a little thing to be hung up on, but it strikes me as so strange I cannot stop thinking about it.

I choose to stop at the rebuilt Hob after I finish at the butcher's, offering Greasy Sae an extra pastry for her and her granddaughter.

She takes the offer with a sly look, handing me a container of soup to go with the bread.

"What?" I ask, unsettled a little by her glance, like she knows something I don't.

"I see someone's been painting," she just simply notes, gesturing with her chin to my green stained hand and wrist.

"Oh!" I catch on now. "Yeah, I was just helping Peeta."

The excuse doesn't seem to diminish the glint in her eyes. "Helping. Yeah, I'm sure."

I roll my eyes in her direction as I walk towards the door, calling out, "goodnight," evenly over my shoulder.

When I get back to Peeta's though, he isn't in his art studio. Instead he's in the kitchen, grabbing silverware and plates for us to eat. "Grab bowls too," I call as I plop our food down on his countertop. "Traded a pastry for some."

He shoots me a sardonic look now. "You know you don't have to trade for everything, right?"

"I like it more than spending money," I retort easily, slipping off his jacket. "I'm going to go scrub my hands in the bathroom again before we eat," I say, glancing at my still green digits.

"Well, hurry," he urges teasingly. "You have gotten me so used to eating things when they're fresh, I almost can't stand waiting anymore."

His hand playfully pushes on my back, propelling me towards to the stairs, and I have a hard time denying even to myself the thrill that runs through my body when him unexpectedly touches me.

I quickly wash and scrub as much paint off my palms and wrists as I can, drying hastily on the towel Effie definitely sent from the Capitol.

But I find myself with a sudden irrepressible urge, one not even the food downstairs or Peeta waiting can quench. As I pass by the art room, I see the painting he was so meticulously working on now sitting on his drying table, leaving the canvas empty.

I know I shouldn't invade his privacy but, after everything else we've been through, there isn't much he would keep from me.

At least, that's what I tell myself to rationalize my prying away as justifiable.

I walk to the table, as quietly as I do in the woods when hunting prey, as not to tip him off in case he is listening from the kitchen. I'm unprepared to offer my excuses for snooping to his face, despite the fact I can't picture him being too put out with me.

I am also utterly unprepared for the vision that awaits me in the now finished painting.

Laying flat on it's back, the painting stares directly up at me as I approach. The canvas displays a beautiful girl, with black hair and large grey eyes and a very endearing, bashful smile. There's a variety of flowers in her hair and in her hands she's holding a small bouquet of dandelions. There's a warm, glowing sunset behind her and a willow tree in the distance. It takes me a moment to realize, but her sweater is a dark shade of green, more pleasing to the eye than any leaf or shrub I've ever come across, even on the Victory Tour, in the most lovely botanical gardens the country had to offer.

The girl in the portrait is beautiful and shy and happy and you can see, even in a painting, that she doesn't enjoy having her image captured.

I have to blink six separate times before it finally registers that the girl is me. Her skin is a multitude of colors, varying shades from where something ate a part of her flesh away. But instead of that making her less attractive, it only serves in making her all the more stunning. Her skin is a gorgeous vision and I don't know how Peeta managed the impossible. I don't know how he managed to make me beautiful, but he did.

"Katniss?" I hear him call, and I jump at the sound of his voice ripping me out of the moment. His tone is light and playful, and I have to swipe my hand across my eyes to rid myself of the moisture that's leaked out before he sees. "You coming to dinner?" He asks from the bottom of the stairs and I give the lovely work of art one last look before I follow his voice, a rare, uncontrollable smile forming on my mouth as I shut the door behind me.

After everything else that's happened, only Peeta could make me feel like this.

A few weeks later.

I admire the bright yellow primroses, now in full bloom, the lightly blowing wind only complimenting their beauty and elegance instead of disturbing it.

I stare blankly at the flowers planted in my sister's honor. My sister who should be here now, should be stitching bleeding wounds and helping with the reconstruction of the town. My sister who should be admiring Peeta's frosted cakes and convincing me to dance with her in the living room by the fire. My sister who should have never been in the Capitol that day, should have been tucked away in Thirteen with our mother, should have never grown up as quickly as she was forced to or had her life stolen in a split second.

Peeta's fingers sift through my hair, unconsciously sensing the tension building in my body as I feel a rise of anger at all Coin and Snow took from me in the name of power.

I turn my head up to glance at him, craning my neck a little. I'm about to say something, I'm not sure what yet, but something to convey that I'm fine. Something to brush off what I assume are his concerns. But I'm surprised by what I see when I peer up. His face isn't what I expected.

Instead of concerned or curious, he's having his own sort of contemplation. Instead of even looking at me, he's staring up at the clear blue sky, watching the white puffs of clouds floating microscopically slow across the the way.

But his brow is furrowed and his mouth is turned down and he seems uncharacteristically miserable.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up now. We'd been laying beside each other—maybe a little too close but neither of us seemed to mind—on the grass in my backyard, just trying to rest. We'd planned on working on new entries for the memory book today, but I hadn't slept at all last night and when he came over this morning to find me, still home and not in the woods, with my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose, it was him who'd suggested a day off, relaxing in the grass under the sun.

He barely glances at me now, not really acknowledging my inquiry. "Nothing," he states simply and his hand touches mine for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

"No, tell me what's bothering you," I insist defiantly. I don't know if it's the crankiness from lack of sleep or if I'm just fed up with having words left unsaid between us, but I'm not backing down.

"Katniss, come on," he says exasperatedly and his tone irks me further.

Instead of snapping and saying something I may regret later, I just shake my head at him, pushing myself upwards and beginning the walk back to the house, with every intention of abandoning our afternoon plans of relaxation. "Okay, wait!" He calls in retaliation and I feel him stretch to grip my hand in his again, only this time not dropping it after only a moment.

I relent and move backwards, sitting down to face him cautiously. I'm not worried that he's going to snap or harm me, not even in the slightest, but I am worried that both of us in foul moods-with our minds that are already teetering just on the edge of sanity-will lead to a painful, heated argument.

The last thing I want is to fight with Peeta. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, I've come to rely far too heavily on his presence in my daily life. Driving him away is too agonizing to consider right now.

Peeta doesn't let go of my hand for a long beat and when he does, he does so in a slip so awkward it leaves me believing he didn't even realize he was still grasping it. "I was just thinking about Gale," he blurts out, his eyes wide and a little nervous.

I just stare at him though, waiting for him to elaborate. "You were thinking of Gale?" The name burns the inside of my mouth, the face of the person I once called my friend now only bringing the gut-wrenching image of my sister's last moments of life, as the bombs he potentially built floated from the sky down towards her and hundreds of other unexpecting children. "Wh-why were you thinking of Gale?" I press, my voice caught between shocked and angry.

But Peeta seems prepared for my strangled query. "I guess, I was thinking of every which way... I guess, I was really thinking of the possibility of Gale returning," he explains, and my blood turns to ice. My vision swirls at the very thought and I have to force myself to swallow as my throat suddenly feels very dry.

"Did you hear something I haven't? Do you know if he is coming back to Twelve?" I press as evenly as I can. It's fruitless though, as he shoots me a sympathetic—but still somewhat distracted—look.

"No," he promises, shaking his head. "No, I haven't heard anything about him. I'm just assuming that he will at some point-"

"Why?" I can't help but implore, my voice more aggravated than I intend.

Peeta gives me a look like the answer to my words is blatant. "Because this is is his home, Katniss. You're his home," he emphasizes.

"No," I instantly repel. "No, I'm not his home. Don't even say that. I-I'm not..." I can't seem to make the words come out intelligibility. Instead, I find myself choking on the sounds and syllables. "What even brought this on, Peeta? Why would you be thinking about this?"

At that, he shrugs and breaks his conflicted gaze away, leaving me boring deep into the side of his skull as if the answers I craved would be visible there. "I was happy," he offers quietly, after a long stretch of silence. "I was happy here with you and it got me thinking of all the ways this could be taken away from me."

Oh, I realize as his words hit me. Of course. Of course that's where his mind went. Because not so long ago, every single good thing in his life, from his family, to his home, to his freedom, to his sanity itself, were all viciously and mercilessly stolen. Of course Peeta has such little faith that anything good will last for him anymore.

Still though. To think of Gale as the thing to ruin our days together, our growing friendship, would almost be laughable if it wasn't so insane.

"Why him though?" I press, unable to comprehend his line of thinking. "Why did you think about him coming back?"

He shoots me the same look again, like he can't understand why I even have to ask. "Because that is one sure way you'd be done with me."

"What?" I exclaim, like he was speaking in a language I'd never heard before. "Why would that mean I'd be done with you?"

Now his expression turns downright exasperated and I feel like mine must match. "Because, Katniss. He's-he's..." He struggles with finding the proper wording again. Something that is so incredibly rare for Peeta Mellark that I don't even register it. "He's the one for you," he continues softly after a moment, no malice in his voice, just what he believes to be facts. "I knew that—I've always known that. Long before I knew much else about you, I knew that Gale and you were practically-"

"Peeta, stop," I cut off, maybe not soon enough. "Gale and me... no," I insist venomously. "No, he..." And if Peeta is struggling to speak, I'm know I'm obviously doomed right now. I take a breath and just stare into the blue pools in his eyes and force myself to speak, even if it's difficult, even if I'd rather be choking on a rusty nail right now. "I will never have anything to do with Gale again," I declare gently, doing my best to remain calm and steady.

Peeta shoots me a wary look and I suddenly have to question if he knows about Gale and the bombs. The question that can never be answered, the connection I'll never be able to prove or disprove, but know in my gut what the answer likely is.

He can't know, if he thinks there's a chance that I'd ever have any sort of relationship with Gale again.

"Peeta," I struggle to get out, feeling breathless before I've even began to utter any of it. "Gale is the one—or he might be the one, I don't know, I'll probably never know—who built or created or wha-"

But he's shaking his head rapidly, comprehension flickering across his face. "Katniss, I know," he says, and reaches out to squeeze my palm again. The unexpected touch sends a shock wave through my body but I'm too overwhelmed to really notice. "Haymitch told me about Gale's part in Prim's death."

I rip my hand away so fast, acting before thinking, betrayal spreading through my entire being before I have the chance to even process his words. "If you know that, why do you think I'd ever have anything to do with him again?"

Peeta is starting to really grind on my nerves with that incredulous look he keeps giving me. It's as if he cannot follow what I'm saying or thinks that I'm not seeing his side of the argument or something else that is quite obviously wrong.

How on earth could Peeta ever think that I would be able to look Gale in the eye after what he did? After what he might have done? Does the might of even make a difference? If there's any discrepancies between if he did or didn't murder Prim, how could I ever hold a conversation with him while that hangs between us? How could I meet his eyes and always be reminded I can never meet her's again? How could I ever trust someone like that, that made callous decisions in the heat of righteous anger? Someone who had no idea what it was like to be forced to murder and have it labeled a game. Someone who actively ignored the warnings of those who had? Who actively allowed himself to be used as a puppet for a radicalist who was no better than Snow himself?

Peeta's voice yanks me from my thoughts. "Because, Katniss," he starts gently, looking rather mournful, effectively softening my anger against him just a bit. "You forgave me. How am I any better?"

I just stare at him. "You couldn't help what you did, Peeta."

"Wasn't Gale used too? Just by Coin instead of Snow?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Why not?"

"You didn't possibly kill my sister. And God knows how many other kids," I finally say, the fight in my voice still hanging on.

"I almost killed you," he reminds me, as if I have forgotten.

"It's not the same thing, Peeta," I whisper again, my eyes more compelling, more insistent, than my voice now. He sees that, as he's gazing deeply into my steel colored irises.

He takes a deep breath, mulling over his words before speaking them aloud. I realize then he must have been thinking about this for a while. The concept disturbs me for some reason. Like he's been having this debate in his head without me and I'm late to the event. Like he was actively having this argument already and didn't think to even get my side of the story first. "What if Snow had programmed me to kill Prim instead of you? Then would you have forgiven me?"

I have to look away at that moment because I outright don't know what to say. Would I have been able to ever forgive him for it, for trying to murder my little sister while not in his right mind? Would I have been able to look past it, to see that he was used and abused and destroyed to get to me? Or would I have been so stuck on the idea of anything hurting Prim that all his trauma would have become background noise? Would Gale be the one here now, having this conversation with me, while I was denouncing Peeta's name?

I can't give him an answer and we swore not to lie to each other, in light of everything we've been through, so instead I turn my eyes up to look into the forlorn blue skies I've become so accustomed to and say the only thing I know is true. "I honestly don't know, Peeta."

He nods at that, almost immediately accepting my honestly. Almost like he anticipated those words from me. And he offers me a small smile before standing himself up off the grass and walking towards the backdoor to my house. "I'm going to head home for the day," he says quietly, with no resentment in his voice.

My heart sinks at his words, as some long stifled string inside of me wishes to attach onto him and hold him here with me. To refuse to let him leave until that forlorn edge evaporates from his gaze. But something more prevalent, more powerful, is also churning inside of me, something that cannot stand being withheld even for a day, and I find myself calling out his name against my better judgment.

"Peeta!" I exclaim urgently, my voice rocky and scratched.

He turns and looks at me, his eyes curious to what I could have to say. And I don't know what else to utter, but the truth. The misunderstanding I'm irrationally unsettled by, the misconception that I can't continue to let fester inside his head.

"Gale was never the one for me."

Peeta blinks in surprise at the blatant assertion. He opens up his mouth to speak several times, confusion marring his features, but nothing comes out.

And in case he somehow wants to rationalize my statement away, in case somewhere in his head the demon Snow planted is trying to squash any assurance my statement may inspire, I repeat myself again.

"Gale was never the one."

A month later.

"Haymitch, come on," I mutter, pushing my old mentor towards the front door. "Go home. Sleep off the alcohol."

The older man murmurs something equally unintelligible and also somehow still undoubtedly rude at me, shoving my hands away from his back, where I'm trying to aim him in the direction of the exit.

"The boy is much gentler," he snaps, swaying heavily with his vigorous words.

"We have always agreed that Peeta is superior to me. You can go to his house if you want him to tuck you in tonight."

Haymitch guffaws at that, out of his skull. "Now wouldn't that make you jealous?"

"Get out!"

"Night night, Sweetheart."

After he's gone, I lock the door in case he tries to come back, tries to raid my kitchen again or use my couch as a free bed.

Nothing is more freighting than thinking I'm alone in my house and then seeing a man sleeping in my living room, first thing in the morning.

As I head upstairs though, I realize what I just did. Giving Haymitch the idea to go to Peeta's house, to torture him with his inebriation like he does me, and I wonder if Peeta's angry with me now.

Not real, long lasting anger, of course. Just simple irritation. But still, as I change into my pajamas and brush out my braid, I wonder if I've now destroyed Peeta's night.

At first the idea of our mentor giving Peeta a hard time tonight still doesn't seem like a too terrible situation to me. Peeta's definitively the one that will put up with the tiresome antics of the old drunk until he can't any longer. He's the one who will be more likely to have mercy on a sloshed Haymitch and let himself lose sleep, too kind for his own good.

But then it hits me that when Peeta loses too much sleep, when his insomnia kicks in, or when commotion keeps him awake, he surely has a flashback the following day. Resting later into the day doesn't help either, as any disruption to his sleep schedule can really mess with him good.

I feel myself rush to the window across from my bed, peering out to look three houses down, to see if I can spot the paunchy old man heading in that direction.

I see nothing and no one. It's the black of night, in the middle of winter. No one else lives in what used to be Victor's Village, aside from us three. The road between our houses is cold and wet and entirely void.

Still, I try to squint, to see if I can make anything out over at Peeta's.

His light is off. That much I can tell. The light in his bedroom is turned off, the room is too dark to see into, porchlight is turned off, and all this indicates he's fast asleep, Haymitch went home to his own house and I have nothing to worry about.

However, something else catches me attention then. Peeta's window. It's open. Just like it used to be. Just like before the Quarter Quell. Even in the middle of winter, in the darkest part of the night, he's always kept his bedroom window open.

I tell myself it's paranoia, or it's neighborly kindness. But I decide to open my window as well, in case I hear Haymitch pounding on Peeta's door and disturbing him at an ungodly hour. In case I hear Haymitch causing a ruckus outside Peeta's house and I have to go get him before he causes any massive disturbance.

I tell myself it's because I feel guilt and not because I miss Peeta, even in my sleep.

Especially in my sleep.

I doze off, desperately forcing myself to believe that lie.

When I wake up three hours later, it's not because Haymitch is making noise. No, he hasn't made a peep that I could hear since I kicked him out.

No, I wake up because of a wholly unexpected cacophonous sound.

I wake up because Peeta is screaming.

Peeta is screaming loud, on top of his lungs, like someone is holding a knife or a gun to his throat at this very moment.

It's a sound I recognize instinctively. And not because it resembles the version of him that was rescued and brought to Thirteen.

No, I recognize the sound because it sounds eerily similar to the noises I make from nightmares of the same events, because of flashbacks of the same memories.

Most victors understand each other to varying degrees. We've all lived through literal hells, we've all had our trauma projected across the country, we've all been through horrible ordeals that almost no one else could ever empathize with.

However, most victors didn't win their games together. Most victors don't know what anyone else's personal nightmares are about. Most victors can't even imagine what any of the others are seeing, in any shadow of a dark room. In a the cobwebs of our minds that not even the most proficient doctor can clear. Most victors can't see the haunting reflection in the dark smeared glass that remains unique to each individual victor.

Except me and Peeta. Except us, the once Star-Crossed Lovers, the girl on fire and the baker's boy, the two mouthpieces of opposing sides of war.

The two of us understand each other on a level deeper than anyone else on the planet can even begin to imagine, and it's this fact that draws me thoughtlessly out of my bed at the sound of his cries, and over the threshold and down the street before I even realize what I'm doing. Before I can contemplate it and think my way out of doing it.

I pound on his door, turning my palm pink with the applied force. "Peeta?" I exclaim but all I hear in response is a gut-wrenching howl in pain. I worry for a moment that he's managed to injury himself somehow. That he's lost his prosthetic in his own frenzy and now is lying helpless on the ground.

I take a chance, pleading silently for the door to be unlocked as I turn the knob.

I'm not sure if I should be grateful that Peeta doesn't lock his doors before going to sleep—he doesn't even close his windows though, so how can I be surprised?—but for the moment I bask in the one lucky instance and make a mental note to yell at him tomorrow for it.

My tired, cold legs shoot up the stairs, racing towards his bedroom blindly through the darkness. "Peeta?" I call out again, quieter now than before, not wanting to give him a heart attack.

After all, an intruder, just about any intruder-even my own mother-appearing in my house in the dead of night, would probably knock me unconscious from the adrenaline overload that would surely overtake me.

Because unlike Peeta, I do lock my door—every single door in my house—at night, the image of anyone coming to hurt me while I'm asleep and at my most vulnerable too powerful for me to rationalize away.

But Peeta doesn't hear my voice now and even without any light, I easily locate his bedroom. Despite the fact I've never been in it before. That revelation occurs to me as I'm about to open the door.

Even in our closest and most sacred moments together, I never once set foot inside his bedroom. I'd barely even walked into his house prior to coming back to Twelve after the war. And when I did come here now, we typically stayed in the kitchen or art room for some reason.

All this races through the back of my mind as I push the door open and reveal Peeta, tangled up in his bed sheets, bare-chested and sleeping in only his pajama pants. His fingers clawing at the wall ferociously, his eyes wild as the deer I hunt, when they realize I'm there at the very last second before the arrow pierces their hearts.

"Peeta," I whisper now, my concern for what must have set him off overtaking any qualms I may still have. I try to tell myself to be careful and keep a safe distance, as I don't know if he's himself right now or if he's once again the loaded weapon Snow broke him down and turned him into.

But when he looks at me, his blue eyes wide and wet and terrified and awed, like he thinks I'm nothing but a dream, I can't make myself believe he's anyone but the boy who saved my life years ago. So many years ago now, it seems.

And when he whispers my name and blindly, instinctively, desperately, reaches for me, I just can't make myself stay away. Without hesitating, I lunge forward and for the first time since the Quarter Quell, I throw myself straight into his arms, like I belong there.

My arms wrap around his neck and I feel him pull my body to his, pulling me down against him, molding our two shaky forms together as one. He pulls my legs around his waist and wraps me in a hug so tight my ribs physically hurt and I can't even breathe.

I burrow my face into the skin of his throat, inhaling his scent in an unabashed, reckless act, and turn my cold cheek to lay against his rapid beating heart.

"I thought you were dead," is the first thing he whispers, as the tears still running down his face hit my forehead.

"I'm not," I promise, trying to make my voice convincing, even as I'm reeling by this sudden turn of events.

I never, in a million years, thought I'd ever end up in his arms like this again. This embrace, this comfort, is something else I truly believed Snow had stolen away from me.

"I dreamed you died," he whimpers again, like he didn't hear me.

"I'm here, Peeta. I heard you having a nightmare and I came. As fast as I could." I don't know why I feel the need to tell him this information, but when his trembling starts to lessen I feel slightly validated.

"I lost you," he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken.

"You couldn't lose me if you tried." The words come out without warning, and I'm glad somehow. I'm so tired of words being held back or dropped between us, of neither of us knowing what to say to the other. Of shoving down what we're both really feeling.

Even if right now may be the worst time for declarations, with Peeta exhausted and upset and visibly traumatized, I still feel relief spread all over my body, for having the guts to say what I'm thinking for once.

I see the wheels beginning to turn now, in his bloodshot, puffy eyes as he slowly begins to process the last couple of minutes that's brought us back into the position we held nightly only one year ago.

Has it really only been a year?

I expect then for him to recoil away from me, or apologize even, citing that he doesn't know what possibly came over him. But, to my surprise, he does none of that. Instead Peeta hugs me tighter to him, pulling up the covers he'd kicked away, effectively sheltering us beneath their protective warmth.

"Stay," he whispers into my hair, his arms shaking as they become a soothing balm around me, leaving me feeling safe in a way I refuse to ask for. Giving me back a refuge I considered all but gone. "Please, Katniss, stay with me?"

Without thinking twice, without giving myself a chance to second-guess the words, I whisper into his chest, exactly where I can feel his beating heart, "Always."

#everlark #thg #everlark fic #the hunger games #prompt #play with me 🥰#ask #fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #gravity ♥️ 🌅 🥖#cate 🦋🧸💗💐

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zebrabaker · 5 years ago

Text

Choosing Destiny; Part 2

Here ya go!!

“Um, hi” Raven said, “My name is Raven um- Queen, it’s nice to meet you.” holding out her hand.

“My name is Epel, oh- Felmier, it’s nice to meet you too,” He shook her hand “Sorry if I’m awkward, this would normally be Vil’s job. He’s our dorm leader.”

“Ah, I understand. I’m pretty awkward myself. So, any tips on how to survive here at Night’s Raven? I’m pretty new around here”

“Well um- always avoid Azul. He’s the dorm head of Octavinelle, he loves to make these “deals” with people,” The boy spoke, leading Raven down the halls, “Oh, Also! steer clear of Riddle, he’s the dorm leader of Heartslaybul. There, the students have to follow a bunch of made up rules and if you don’t, Riddle gets mad!” and through twisting corridors, passing a cafe of sorts. They reached the dormitory, tall brick walls surrounded by thin pathways and evergreen trees.

“This is the Pomefiore dorms. You and I are going to be on the top floor, since we’re first years. We share the two bathrooms with every other first year” Raising his hand, he swiped a key card against the keypad, opening the door “The bathroom cleaning is handled by students, but magic is used, so we don’t have to scrub anything, lazy pricks.”

Raven didn’t seem to hear Epel’s afterthought; her attention was on the lavish lounge they walked into, polished chandeliers hung from the ceiling, white rugs with floral embroidery.

The chairs and tables filled to the brim with boys scattered about, studying, playing, talking, strangling each other wait what-

“There you are Epel! Today is your day to help repair the- who is this?” A boy with long icy blonde hair had come storming over, beginning to berate Epel before he noticed her.

He had flawless eyeliner.

“Hello! I’m- Raven Queen. It’s nice to meet you!” The boy stopped and stared at her for a moment. “I was placed here in Pomefiore, the mirror thingy said that it was because I was the Evil Queen’s daughter”

“Deep apologies, did you just say, ‘Evil Queen’s daughter’?” He asked.

“Er, yup.” Raven awkwardly rubbed her neck, heat crawling. “Apparently you guys call her the ‘beautiful queen’ here? Sorry, I’m new to Twisted Wonderland, I’m from Ever After” looking over her shoulder, she could see the students staring at her. The boy stood, gaping at her before being interrupted by Rook Hunt, who had bounded to them.

“Mademoiselle! It’s wonderful to see you again! How is your ankle?”

“I’m fine now, thanks for asking. I’m actually gonna be a new student, I start classes tomorrow... I think so anyway. The headmaster didn’t make it clear, he’s strange. Not as bad as Giles, but still pretty hard to understand.” Raven giggled, and the three boys couldn’t help but blush, she sounded like bells.

“Come on now, there should be an empty dorm on our floor.” Epel said, gently grabbing Raven’s hand, tugging her towards the staircase.

“Tch! Fool.” Vil scoffed. “This girl is the descendant of the Beautiful Queen; she can not just stay in a common dorm!”

“That is true, but where else should she stay, Vil? Pomefiore is quite packed.” Rook pointed out.

“There are two rooms for dorm leaders, I use the second as a staging room for my photos, Princess Raven-”

“Just Raven is fine”

“can stay there, I would never put the daughter of the Beautiful Queen in some commoners dorm!” Epel swallowed a scowl.

“If you could follow me, Princess, I can show you where you shall be staying” He turned on his heel at the other boys, he clapped getting everyone’s attention “Louis, Benard, Trachov-” they snapped off their seats and quickly came to Vil’s side.

“-Rook and Epel, you all will help move my equipment.” Raven was frozen for a moment, as the three boys from the lounge stood before her and bowed. Her greetings evaporated in her mouth.

“It is a delight to be in your presence” The first boy said.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Sorry to be blunt, but you’re beautiful.” The second smiled in a charming way.

“Oh! Uh- thank you.”

“It’s an honor to have you in our dorm.” The third boy pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

“It’s great to be here.” Raven quickly nodded back before following the group of boys up the stairs. She shied away from the curious stares of the other boys in the common room, how they had all perked when Vil had snapped at Epel, hungry for drama.

The room was much larger than expected, with a giant four-poster bed in the center left, while the far wall held a desk, a massive vanity, and a small dresser. On the right was a walk-in closet, and what looked like a private bathroom. Next to the door was a large marble fireplace, with a loveseat in front of it. It was a room that screamed ‘Vil was here!’.

Scattered around the room was photography equipment and make-up brushes, and many, many make-up palettes. Raven gasped a bit, in awe of the view through the windows. She could see over the woods for miles, all the way to the horizon.

“I apologize if it isn’t up to your standards, Princess Queen.” Vil spoke, bowing low at the waist

“Please, just, call me Raven. Where I’m from I’m not exactly considered noble.”

Raven laughed a little at the self-deprecating joke, leaving the boys stunned.

“Still, you are a direct descendant of the Beautiful Queen! You ought to be admired, revered even!” Vil was walking around, tidying up the room as he went, piling make-up palettes and brushes and styling tools into Rook’s arms who quickly shoved it to one of the other boys.

“Tell that to the kids at Ever After.” Raven scoffed, sitting on the edge of the bed, it was comfy, too much lace though. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here? Is there, like, a village square or a mall or something?”

“Could you sit up Miss Raven?” The first boy from earlier said.

“We’re trying to remove the sheets.” The second explained. Raven turned to the two students.

“Oh really, no it’s fine!”

“I asked them to,” Vil responded, noticing her dislike for lace. “continue as you were, please” he muttered something to the boy next to him.

“So anyways... if I was at home, I would be getting ready for Thronecoming, decorating my float for the parade, getting my dress tailored for the party Briar would be throwing…I really hope Maddie is okay.” she said, sitting back down on the newly changed covers.

“Pri- Raven, what’s a ‘Thronecoming’?” Epel asked, placing a light outside for someone else.

“Thronecoming is a huge parade held every year a week after Legacy Day. Each student gets to decorate a float for a parade, and that night we have a huge party. It’s the kick-off of the school year.”

“And ‘Legacy Day’?” Rook asked, still holding a teetering pile of beauty supplies, as the third boy struggled with the same task.

“That’s…complicated.” Raven sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “See, Ever After High is a school hex-clusively for the children of fairy tale beings, from prince charmings to wicked witches.” Everyone in the room was now listening, a few passer-by's stopping to investigate. “Every student, in their second year, signs what we call ‘The Storybook of Legends’. Once you sign, you’re magically fated to follow the path of your ancestors in life, be it eating a poison apple or sleeping a hundred years”

‘how dreadful’

‘eating a poisoned apple doesn’t sound bad, I’ve had quite a few’

“Louis, mind sharing your thoughts? You look distracted”

“Oh no, not at all. Deepest apologies for my offence, Princess”

“Really- it’s fine,” Raven sighed, I'm never gonna get used to this “Princess” spiel.

“My mother’s line is that of the Evil Queen from Snow White’s tale. A lot of people think that since it’s my supposed to be my destiny to poison my best friend and marry this- guy! He's so- old. But…I didn’t sign. The complicated part is, the Headmaster of Ever After High, Headmaster Grimm, told me that if I didn’t sign the book, everyone involved in the Snow White story would disappear from existence.”

She stood up, furious.

“And, well, I obviously didn’t!” Raven puffed out her cheeks, before hissing out air like a leaking tire.

“That’s…a lot to put on a sixteen-year-old.” Epel muttered.

“Fourteen.”

“What was that, Raven?” Rook asked.

“I’m fourteen. My birthday was a few days before school started. I was castle-schooled for most of my life, so I got to skip two grades. All the make-up and heels makes me look older.” Rook shot Epel a bewildered look. This girl was fourteen, and had almost been married to a man in his- what? fifties? That was…repulsive!

“Well, you’re safe here with us, Raven!” Rook chirped, everyone followed.

“You can expect nothing less from us!”

“Trachov, the boxes.” Vil snapped.

“Apologies, Vil.” So, he was Trachov, the last one is Benard then.

“Indeed. One so lovely as you are, deserves only gold! After all, beauty holds power.” Vil sniffed, checking his eye makeup in the vanity (it was flawless, as always).

“Thanks, but I’m really nothing special” Raven blustered, cheeks painted red.

“Nonsense!” Vil snapped. “You have a fair complexion, a flawless facial structure, full lips that look to be naturally red, unique coloured, large eyes, and you’re petite enough to be considered cute.” Raven looked at the other students, they seemed to agree “Add all that together and you truly look like a doll, Raven dear. Now, we need to introduce you to the rest of Pomefiore, and let them ask their questions so that they keep their hands off you tomorrow, you would not want them intruding in your studies”.

Benard- she thinks that’s right- arrived back in the room with a plate of cookies, he handed them over to Vil before leaning against the wall with Louis and Trachov.

“Remember to restrain yourself, usually I only allow confection sparingly but, I can make an exception for you”

Raven nodded and munched into them, it was simple but very tasty.

“Thank you, Benard- Oh they left”

“Vil asked them to get the Pomefiore students,” Raven jumped at the presence of Epel next to her, then she noticed him eyeing her plate of cookies.

“You can have them.”

“Really?!”

“Epel, the noise” Epel turned to Rook with a look, accepting Raven’s plate.

“And just so you know, Benard’s his last name, same with the other two”

Just when it seemed to get quiet, Raven saw the three who left sprint past the door screaming all sorts of profanity and laughing their lungs out.

“Quiet down out there!” Vil snatched up his jacket and chased after the boys.

Then, it dawned on Raven. they treated her differently, was going to be Ever After High all over again? small tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh mademoiselle,” Rook saddled to her side, cupping her cheeks, “There is no need for tears.” Epel sat down by her side.

“Pomefiore can sometimes be hectic, so don’t worry.” The shorter boy reassured her.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just-” She sniffled a little, trying to stay calm. “I just want to be normal, treated normally.”

“If that is what you want,” They gasped, Vil was already back. “then tell them. You are a part of us too” He joined Raven, Epel moving out of the way, “You have what it takes, and you will do what it takes” They stood up, Raven’s eyes glinted.

“Why else are you here?” a small hug, among the four of them.

“Rook, Epel, go down with everyone else. I need to touch up Raven’s makeup. Your mascara is smeared, dear.” Rook and Epel left, and Vil guided Raven to sit in front of the vanity. From his pockets he withdrew a small pack of makeup wipes and gently stripped off her old mascara, before having her close her eyes and applying a new coat.

“There we are. Now, if you’ll follow me, Raven. Our audience awaits!” Vil clapped with a dramatic flourish, and Raven couldn’t help but giggle. Maybe being stuck here wouldn’t be so bad after all… in fact, it was going to be great.

@sayuricorner @keiwahikari

#ever after high #ever after high salt #twisted wonderland crossover #salt #writing prompt

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cravingmarvel · 5 years ago

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When We Were Young - Part Three

Pairing: Bucky Barnes AU x Fem!Reader, Steve Rogers AU x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Reader being confused ab feelings but what’s new,

Summary: Friends since they can remember and falling in love like they’re meant to. But sometimes life just isn’t what you expected. People making decisions, mistakes and saying things they shouldn’t when they’re young. When it comes to love, someone always gets hurt. Always.

A/N: Wow ok, first of all, let me just say a huge massive thank you to Mun ( @buckisthatyou ) and Ari ( @shurisneakers ) for giving me advice, criticism and wise words I needed. Without these two, this chapter wouldn’t exist now and I appreciate their opinion so so much! 🥺 Thank you all for waiting for this one I know it’s a little overdue but I have a pretty clear plan on where I want to take this series! This is part three of @spideywhiteys 1k writing celebration STILL! lmao sorry I’m dragging this out so much, love u!

As always, please reblog and comment! Enjoy!

Masterlist // Bucky Barnes Masterlist

When We Were Young – Part Three

I swallowed the painkiller, hoping for the pounding headache to be gone faster. Although I haven’t had anything to drink at the engagement party, Steve and I drowned our heads with multiple glasses of whiskey as the hours went on and now, I pay the price for it.

Perhaps the fact that what I had said to Bucky didn’t grand me a lot of seep adds to the hammering in my head. After getting to my hotel, my night was spend tossing and turning, tangling the sheets with my limbs, hoping that a change of position would pull me to sleep faster. Now that morning has arrived, I feel the lack of sleep mangling with my hangover, mixing in my head to form the worst headache I’ve ever experienced.

I laid back in the bed, covering my body with the soft duvet, ready to take this day as an opportunity to sleep and rest my body, before I have to catch my flight first thing in the morning.

My phone started ringing on the nightstand and I groaned, unplugging my phone from the charger and looking at the caller ID: unknown. I picked up waiting for the person on the other end to start talking.

“Y/n? This is Bucky.”

I sat up immediately, shocked to hear his voice. I knew it was him the moment he said my name. “Hey.”

“I’d like to invite you for coffee and lunch if you’d like. Just wanted to talk, y’know?”

Images of last night flashed through my head and it seemed no secret to me what he wanted to talk about. I looked out of the window to my right contemplating whether it would be a good idea to sit down with him, alone. The sun peaked through the spaces between the buildings as I had laid in bed lazily. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to get out of this room and walk through the city, maybe even meet with Bucky.

“Sure, why not.” I replied.

“Great, uh, there’s a café called ‘bloom’ do you know it, or should I send you the location?”

“No, I can manage.”

“Great, great. So, see you there? In an hour?” Bucky questioned and I noticed the distraction in his voice and the noises in the back, he must be busy.

“Great, see you.” Not wanting to keep him occupied longer we said goodbye and I hung up, sitting in bed for a moment before it dawned on me. I’m going to lunch with Bucky, the man I had just yesterday confessed my love to.

Without wasting any time, I got ready quickly, putting on a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt, tugging it in. I opted for a green jacket and matching coloured sneakers, ready to leave.

Pulling up the place Bucky had told me about on google maps, I grabbed my bag and walked down the many streets the gps guided me through. I had hoped he would’ve forgotten about last night and the disaster that occurred, but I hoped wrong. My nerves were growing the closer I got, and I couldn’t ignore my hands shaking, the sweat collecting on my palms.

I saw the café in the distance, scrambling up the little confidence I have and taking a deep breath in before I opened the glass door.

The small place Bucky chose was adorable, walls painted pastel pink, flowers hanging from the ceiling with strings of lightbulb shaped fairy lights. Not a place I would’ve pictured him in back in the day. I’m sure young Bucky would have make fun of the Victorian windows or the uniforms of the waiters. He wouldn’t be able to shut his mouth about it for at least a day.

I slowly looked around the room, scanning the many faces to recognize one of them as his and as I walked in further, anxiously playing with the strap of my handbag, I finally spotted him further into the room and he jumped up from his seat by the wall, a small smile gracing his lips as soon as he locked eyes with me.

All the confidence I gathered outside evaporated into thin air immediately as I reached him, unsure of what to do now.

I smiled back at him as he leaned forward to pull me into a hug. The embrace lasted seconds. If he held me this close – too close – any longer I would have moulded into his body, became one with his fingers on my back, tight muscles on his chest melted together as one. But, seconds later as we parted, I felt the air flow steadily back into my lungs.

As I sat down the weight of the moment rested on my shoulders. I haven’t sat down with Bucky like this in a long, long time, but although all these years stood between today and the last time I had seen him did nothing to the familiarity of the moment.

“What would you like, it’s on me.” He spoke as a waiter approached us and I looked at the menu briefly, catching my attention back.

“Welcome to bloom, what can I get for you?” The waiter smiled down at us. It has been a while since I had eaten anywhere else outside of my own café, the pressure of being ungodly kind a little odd from a costumer perspective.

“I’ll take a cappuccino and a grilled cheese on toast, please.” I said to him as he wrote my order down. Bucky gave the man his order, an Americano and a salad, and the waiter walked away to another table.

“I remember you eating those at my house all the time.” Bucky laughed. “Always wondered when you would get sick of them.”

“I don’t think I ever will, and your mom always made it impossible to refuse her famous grilled cheese. Can’t imagine anyone not loving your moms cooking.”

“Well, Nat rather eats at restaurants so.” Bucky shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “Anyway.”

The awkward atmosphere carried on into an awkward silence on both parts. Bucky wiping his hands on his jeans every once in a while, looking around like he’s just as uncomfortable as me.

“So, how have you been? Steve told me you own his mom’s café now.” Bucky asked, breaking through the silence floating between us.

I nodded as our waiter came over with our order, putting our coffee and food down, smiling politely. “Thanks.” I said in an almost whisper, smiling back at him before he disappeared as quickly as he got here. “Yeah, I knew it was the right thing to do. I love that place and I have an employee, Jenna. She’s great.”

Bucky flashed me another smile. “That’s great.”

“So, how’s Hydra?” I asked as I took a bite of my toast.

“Good, good. Been… really stressful, y’know, with the wedding and all. Sorry.” A smile that didn’t reach his eyes, followed by a laugh that sounded more like a giggle. Still without feelings, but reassuring, nonetheless.

“No, it’s fine.” A heat rose to my cheeks that I tried to hide by taking a sip from my coffee hiding behind the cup. “I wanted to talk to you about what I said last night. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Y/n, it’s fine.”

“No, that- that was when we were young. Back then.”

Bucky let his head hang, looking down to his lap. “Oh, ok yeah. I wanted to apologize anyway for what happened. I didn’t know how I felt towards you. We’ve been friends for so long that I thought it was the right thing to feel, then I met Nat.” Bucky looked back up at me and I wished he would just drop it already. “I’m sorry, for everything.”

“It’s fine.” I said a little too harsh, forcing a smile.

The waiter came back to our table once again, thankfully. “Is everything alright here?”

“Sure, yeah. Tastes great.” I said to him truthfully. The food and even the coffee did taste great, but it did make me think about my café. Obviously, nothing compares to Mrs. Rogers original coffee blend.

“Y/n, I wanted to ask.” Bucky pulled something from his jacket and laid it on the table between us. “It’s an invitation to the wedding. I really want you to come.”

“Bucky, I-“

“I’ll pay for the hotel and everything else you desire. I just need my best friend there with me.”

Best friend. At this moment I didn’t feel like his best friend, sure back then I was. Back then we would have never been this awkward, but now with all this time between us I wouldn’t call this a friendship even. A part of me wanted to decline, to get up and walk out, but another part told me to accept.

Sure, we’re not the best of friends, but we were a long time ago. I took the grey envelope, staring at it. “Ok, I’ll come, but you don’t have to pay for anything.” I looked up and for the first time since I sat down, Bucky showed a genuine bright smile.

We ate our food and surprisingly, Bucky was the one reminiscing on the old days. He recalled the day we met for the first time, saving me from those bullies. “If I hadn’t been there to save you, Y/n, you would have been screwed!”

“Oh, as if!” I looked at Bucky who raised his eyebrows at me. “Alright yeah.” Rolling my eyes at him in response, I took another sip of my coffee.

We continued to laugh at the time he saw that I had gown boobs over the winter, how poor Bucky was so flustered he couldn’t even say ‘boobs’ without stuttering over every letter. We laughed so hard, we had to cover our mouths because of all the stares from the people around us.

I noticed the stares from a few people not at our loudness but at the silver reflecting the sun rays. It was no doubt that they were staring at his left arm. It’s not like we’re kids anymore, being fascinated by the metal prosthetic.

“How’s the arm?” I asked, looking at the exposed hand.

“It’s doing alright, Stark’s thinking about replacing this one though. Something a little less reflecting.” We erupted in laughter as Bucky turned his hand to cast a blinding reflection at the ceiling. “That and Nat is a little freaked out by it.”

“Why?” I knitted my eyebrows together.

“Well, she just wants something less attention grabbing.” Bucky looked into my eyes and without him having to say it, I knew how much it actually hurt him, despite brushing it off as a joke. He was always bad at playing up a façade, his eyes giving away everything that needed to be said, calling him out almost. It was his weakness. Not the arm, but his eyes. Luckily for him, only a few figured this out, the language his deep blue eyes spoke.

We steered the conversation back to something more cheerful, catching up on our very different experiences of uni. Steve has already filled him in on all the shenanigans we got up to. It was this, the past, that had awoken a lightness from a seemingly decade long sleep, to rise between us. Rivalling the sun, begging for a moment in the spotlight.

It must’ve been around noon as we finished our food and coffee. Bucky asked me if I wanted something else, but I knew that I had to leave, to end this right here. But a desire for him to ask again, to keep me in his company withheld my answer.

I needed to call Jenna, I said to him and he nodded in response. We stood outside the café saying our goodbyes before parting ways.

I walked down the street, pulling my phone out of my handbag, dialling Jenna’s number

The sun set behind the buildings of London, declaring the end of another day and another day done for Y/n. The calm pace of the city didn’t match that of the growing crowd in Captain’s Coffee Cup. Hectic customers running in ordering coffee to go and leaving just as quickly with their paper cups in hand, dispersing into the streets.

For Y/n it meant that she had to be quick on her feet, almost transporting to different places in an alarming pace. She had no explanation on hand as to why it was so busy that day, a weekday, but morning to evening busy all the same. It’s indeed worse on the weekend and every Saturday she woke with her back and knees already screaming in pain.

The constant switching between taking orders, making them and bringing the ones to the table that were enjoying their coffee in the café. Y/n could not decide if her feet hurt more than her back or vice versa. Being the only waitress and barista made for an interesting challenge and she had no idea what losing Steve as a partner would mean.

But as the day finally came to an end, she thanked the sun for going down after all. Y/n was busy cleaning tables, putting up chairs, cleaning the floors and the bar on top of all the things she needed to do at the end of another shift. After three hours of resetting the events that occurred at the café, she was glad to take her apron off.

A tiny detail Y/n almost always forgot was the paperwork, so with a huff and a groan, she took herself to the back and into the office to do the managing side of the job that she hated.

And upon almost falling asleep on the desk, an idea struck her, hiring someone would take away half the work Steve did. Someone who would help her out without doing the paperwork.

So, she got right to work and wrote down on paper an ad for the position.

Y/n hung the ad on the door of the café in hopes that someone walking down the streets would see it and apply, that even just one applicant would help her out.

But that’s not what happened. Seemingly a dozen applications were either handed to her personally or ended up in her mailbox. Y/n had a hard time believing that so many would consider working at the café, but she was indeed grateful.

After work she piled through the applications and that’s when it dawned on her; she had no idea who or what qualifications she was looking for. Y/n has never been a leader, someone to tell other people what to do. The challenge of finding people to work for her ended up being quite a difficult task, but she took in on, nonetheless.

Y/n narrowed it down to ten applicants, inviting them to an interview, day after day a new person to question and day after day another one eliminated. Y/n was sure to give up at this point, the process taking more time than expected, but that day Jenna walked in, second to last applicant to be interviewed.

Y/n saw it as she sat down with Jenna that she was send from god herself. Experience in both being a waitress and a barista, but the best part was, she knew how to manage a café and that was a quality none of the other applicants had.

Beside her qualifications, she was sunshine personified. Bright and motivating, both headstrong and polite. Y/n couldn’t have wished for anyone better than Jenna and the qualifications translated from paper better than expected.

Soon Y/n and Jenna became close friends after working four months together. It was more a partnership than Jenna ever being an employee. She brought something to the table that Y/n wanted to learn from and quickly realized that instead of bossing her around, she could open her ears and listen to what she suggests, open her eyes and watch her work to learn more.

Because after all, Jenna was the one with more experience and Y/n appreciated the bond that formed, hanging out after work sometimes a bottle of alcohol between them as they sat on the counter talking for hours on end.

It was one of those nights, a bottle of rather expensive liquor, a luxury they could afford and talking about university. Jenna telling her about the shenanigans she had done in her days, but she always knew she wanted to work at a café, despite the reputation. Jenna confessed to her, her wish of having a café of her own and Y/n’s heart bloomed.

It was getting late and Y/n offered to call a cab for Jenna, but she declined.

“My girlfriend is picking me up.” She said as she put her coat on, throwing her purse over her shoulder as the little bell over the door chimed.

A petite woman walked in, confidence in her step. Her hair free laying atop her shoulders, her skin a dark tone of ebony just like Jenna’s. She smiled as Jenna walked towards her, pulling her into a tight hug, followed by a kiss.

“Y/n, this is my girlfriend, Dina.” Jenna said turning, keeping her hand on Dina’s back.

Y/n was slightly confused but still shook her hand introducing herself. It wasn’t the shock that Jenna was gay, it was that she had never mention Dina. Y/n was never one to judge, that much she learned from life. It was the fact that Y/n worried Jenna couldn’t confine in her about her relationship, but it wasn’t that, Jenna said to her later, she needed confirmation that she could trust Y/n completely.

Y/n went home that night thinking about the trip to New York she would endure in a month time. If only she had a love like Jenna and Dina, the happiness they radiated was something Y/n has never experienced. The only thing she could compare to that kind of love was the love she had for the café.

“Hey Y/n, what’s up?” Jenna spoke on the other end and I was so glad to hear her voice again.

“Hey, sorry didn’t think about time zones.” I laughed as I remembered that it must be around eight pm in London, afraid to be intruding her night time routine.

“No problem I’m just in the bath. So, what’s going on in New York?”

“Well, I went to the engagement party and it didn’t go all too well.” I sighed into the phone, slowly strolling along the buildings beside me. The was no need to pretend I had called for another reason in the first place.

“Oh god, what happened? What did he do?”

“No, it’s more something I did.” I bit my lip, knowing full well she wouldn’t be too impressed with my confession or the reason why I called her. Jenna was silent waiting for me to go on. “Well, I kinda told him that I loved him, back then of course I’m not that big of an idiot.”

“Oh, shit.” She blurted out.

“Yeah, and now he asked me to stay here to attend the wedding as well.” My feet carried me along the sidewalk without me thinking about it. The headache forming back again in my brain made the sun shining between the concrete skyscrapers a curse.

“What are you going to do?” Her voice sounding more concerned on the other end.

“I told him I’ll attend the wedding, but if you need me at the café I’ll catch the next flight-“

“No.” Jenna said, interrupting me through my stutter of words and excuses. I stopped walking, giving her my full attention. “It’s not that, I’m just worried about you digging yourself a deeper hole.”

“What do you mean?”

Jenna exhaled. “Every time you talked about Bucky the feelings you had for him didn’t seem to be in the past. I’m worried you’re doing him a favour that will break your heart.”

I felt bad, dragging her into my life like this, having her worry about my life when she had her own to live. I picked up my pace again, dragging my feet along the sidewalk. “But maybe this is a good way for me to end this chapter. To move on with my life because frankly, Bucky is in love with Natasha and I can’t just run away pretending that she never happened.”

“Maybe, but don’t get too involved. Go to the wedding, have fun and then go back to your life. If you want I could come to New York and ask Dina to-“

It was my time to interrupt her. “No, I can’t ask that of Dina.” I shook my head.

“Ok, fine, but Dina is helping me out at the café anyway, been stressful alone, don’t know how you managed to do it so long.” Jenna chuckled and I heard the admiration in her voice, filling my chest with pride.

“Yeah, me neither, but let me pay her for her work, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” I knew Dina would refuse, but I just couldn’t let her work for nothing. That woman has more energy that Jenna and I combined, and her kindness shouldn’t be just swept under the rug.

“Alright, take care of yourself, Y/n. Enjoy New York, you deserve it.”

“Thank you, Jenna. Tell Dina ‘hi’ from me and ‘thank you’.”

“Will do, bye.”

I stuffed my phone back into my purse, seeing Steve’s apartment building to my right. I was about to ring the doorbell as a man stepped out of the building, letting me in and I walked up the few flights of stairs to his apartment. The closer I got to his door, the clearer the loud voices became.

I got to the door and the voices got louder, my brows furrowed together as I heard a woman shouting just as loud as the other, I recognized instantly as Steve. Unsure of what to do, I stood opposite the door, waiting for an idea to strike me, but I just didn’t know what to do.

The door flew open and a blonde woman I recognize from the photo Steve sent me all these years ago as Sharon walked out of the apartment, her head burning red with anger and Steve behind her in the living room. She stormed down the stairs without so much so as a glance towards me.

I walked in carefully, a little scared. “Hey, Steve.” I said quietly to catch his attention and announce my arrival, but not startle him.

Steve turned around to me. “Y/n.” His tone undefining, unfeeling.

I couldn’t help thinking that coming over unannounced wasn’t the best idea I had. Steve walked around the couch, sitting down, letting his head fall back. He looked defeated, hair messily framing his face, brows furrowed together.

“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” I started to play with the zipper of my jacket out of uncomfortableness.

“No, I don’t.” Steve said with a deep exhale, not as angry anymore, his face and body relaxing.

An awful silence filled the room, me standing in the middle of it, looking around the room I was in just last night, drinking away my problems. The sun started to slowly creep behind the buildings marking the end of another day.

Today seems to be full of awkward silence.

“God, I’m sorry, do you want something to drink?” Steve said suddenly, making me jump. He got up from the couch walking over to the kitchen.

I followed him, putting my bag on the couch on the way. “Steve, it’s ok. I can get something myself.” I smiled up at him, trying to dissolve some of the awkwardness.

He sat down on one of the chairs at the breakfast bar and I opened the fridge taking a carton of juice out. With my back turned to him I stared pouring the juice in a glass I found in one of the cupboards. “Bucky invited me to the wedding, guess I’ll be staying for a little longer.”

I put the carton back into the fridge and turned to Steve, watching as his eyebrows shot up. “Are you really going? And what about the café?”

“First of all, yes and second of all, Jenna and her girlfriend Gina are taking care of the café.” Steve tilted his head in confusion and I almost forgot that he didn’t know about them. “Jenna’s my employee and Dina’s her girlfriend, been a huge help since we’re kinda popular around London.” I explained to him with pride, my chin tilting up.

“I’m really happy to hear that. And if you need a date for that wedding, I’ll sacrifice myself.”

We both laughed and I couldn’t believe how many years were between us. The amount of time that passed without hearing from another. The things he didn’t know about me nor the café. The popularity it gained over that period of time. But what hurt me the most was the fact that I didn’t know a lot about him, what he had been through.

“Aren’t you the best man?” I questioned.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t bring a date.”

I turned my head away from Steve. It’s been swept under the rug that we had a slight romance in the past but that seemed to be where it belongs, the past. My mind wandered off to the possibilities of being his date for the wedding. It would make me appear less lonely, having someone by my side that I’ve known for years. It would hopefully distract me a little from the event at hand.

I looked back to Steve, watching me with curious eyes. My lips curled up to a smile I couldn’t hold in. “Sure, why not?”

Steve walked around the breakfast bar, wrapping his arms around me. I wanted to ask, to clarify the intention behind the question. The words laying on my tough, breath and tones, but they couldn’t find their way out.

I’ve heard of this before. A book, a poem, what they call love, but in my reality, this translates to heartache.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #buckybarnes #steve x reader #steve x you #Sebastian Stan #sebastian au #sebastian stan fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #Bucky angst #nimiwrites #when we were young

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years ago

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Love at First Fight (Sternclay)

Several people requested #15 of the meet uglies for Sternclay: “I step out of the bathroom and right into the middle of a bar fight and you punch me accidentally so I punch back on instinct” SFW.

“FUCK!” Barclay slams back against the bathroom door, left hand held to the eye that just got the worst punch he’s had in years. He hasn’t survived on his own this long by being passive, and so he throws his right out in the direction of the punch.

“Shit!” The man flicks his dark hair form his face, touches his lip, “sir, don’t do that again, and kindly get the fuck out of DUCK!” He grabs Barclay, yanking him down out of the path of a swinging pool cue.

“What the hell-”

His enemy-cum-protector is already moving again, grabbing the cue on it’s next swing and yanking it from the hand of the enraged biker swinging it. Then he shouts in pain as a thrown bottle connects with his neck and sends him to the ground.

“Fucking rat, we’re gonna skin you alive.” The man formerly holding the pool cue advances on the prone figure as he tries to stand. Barclay spots the insignia on the back of the biker’s jacket. Four numbers that mark him as a neo-nazi.

The man on the ground stands, forcing his feet into a fight stance and gripping the cue. Barclay spots something odd; on the very inside of his leather jacket are three stripes of color, so subtle most people probably miss them. Pink, blue, and white.

Well, that settles whose side he’s on.

“No more fucking chase, Lucky” the leader pulls his gun, “you’re going in the ground with the other moles.”

Barclay grabs the nearest chair and swings it, sending the man to the ground, the gun clattering across the floor. The man who punched him is quickest, grabbing the gun, then his hand.

“You’ve fucked up.”

“You’re welcomeOW.” He’s thrown sideways as one of the lackeys tackles him. As he grapples, a second one decides to start whacking on his ribs with a table leg. The whacks stop after the dark-haired man throws a punch, before promptly stabbing Barclay’s attacker in the eye with the cue.

“Ahfuck, what the hell man?” He’s pulled across the room, ducking and weaving as best he can as the remaining gang gives chase and throws bottles and chairs at them.

“I had it under control.” The man kicks the door shut and tips a motorcycle against it, “now please tell me you have a car.”

“That” he points to his pick-up, “and no you didn’t. You punched me, some dude minding his own business.” He jumps, frightened, as the man fires the gun into a row of motorcycles, puncturing as many tires as he can before the gang emerges.

“Keys. Now.” The man throws the gun away, but Barclay still doesn’t feel like arguing is an option.

The man pulls him to the car, shoving him into the passenger seat, and starts the clunker, screeching out onto the near-empty highway.

“Are you fucking kidnapping me?” Barclay’s question is shriller than he means it to be.

“No! I’m saving you, because as far as they” he points to the rumbling mass in the rearview mirror, “are concerned, you helped me, which makes you a target. Now hold on.”

Barclay yelps five profanities laced together as the man floors it down the dust-blown road.

“Don’t you have a fucking motorcycle too?”

“Not anymore. Shit” he fights with the clutch, “come on, just a little farther, we can make it.”

“You should not have that much faith in this truck, trust me.”

“Not helpful.” The man snaps between his teeth. The bikes are catching up to them, he can see the expressions on the rider’s faces and god this is how he dies, isn’t it?

The man pulls a hard left, spinning the car across the oncoming lane just as a row of four semis barrel towards them.

Oh no, wait, this is how he dies.

The truck barely clears, horns blaring in their ears as they careen onto a dirt road. The bikers, blocked by the row of semi’s, can’t follow.

“Made it.” The man grins.

“They’ll be able to follow our dust.”

“Not if we don’t leave any.” Four rapid zigzags bring them to a dried up canal bed, and as the zoom along it he shrugs off his jacket and hands it to Barclay.

“Do you have a pocket knife or something?”

“Uh huh.”

“Slice that insignia off the back please. I like that jacket, but I’ll be damned if I wear that symbol longer than needed for my cover.”

Barclay fishes his multi-tool out of the glovebox, slices the little stitches until the four numbers come loose. The culvert ends and after a moment they’re back on a tiny, badly paved road. The man navigates towards a four story, run down building whose sign reads, “Amnesty Lodge” in the hot desert sun.

“Here we are. Come on, let’s get out of the heat.”

Barclay follows him into a lobby, off to the right of which is a small bar and restaurant. A few occupants wave to his companion, who carves a straight line across the carpet to a back room.

“Glad you’re in one piece.” A woman with a pronounced southern drawl and a cowboy hat on her head nods at him as they walk in, “did you get--who the hell is this?”

“I...don’t know.”

“Names Barclay, ma’am. Your friend here decided to use my truck as a getaway car after a bar fight.”

“Looks like you were both in a fight.” The woman looks at the other man with worry.

“I, um, punched him on accident. My cover got blown and I had to start a fight to get out. Barclay tried to help me.”

“Huh, that was mighty foolish of you.”

“Would it kill anyone in this desert to say ‘thank you?” He growls. The woman raises an eyebrow, then laughs.

“Ha! I like you, big fella, and you can clearly take a punch.”

“And throw one too.” The man rubs his jaw.

“Could use more of that type around here these days. Alright, you can stay here ‘til this blows over. I’ll let you two fellas get patched up.” She waves her hand, then puts it on the desk to gather up the small, black pouch the stranger sets in front of her.

Soon Barclay is sweating his ass off in a stuffy motel room, all teal blue and adobe brown, as his host knocks the air conditioner into action. When it finally groans to life, the man turns and looks, for the first time, unsure of himself.

“Right. So. Um. You’re in the Amnesty Lodge, which is a, um, hideaway of sorts on top of a normal motel. My name is Joseph. Apologies for punching you.”

“In the bar they called you something else.”

“Lucky was my cover name.” The man pulls off his t-shirt, revealing bruises and a lean body with noticeable lines of muscle. In the amber-tinted light of the room, he looks like he stepped out of a greaser daydream; his hair still tousled from the wind and the fight, lip and nose still sporting dried blood, and regarding Barclay with a concern that should undercut how badass he looks but doesn’t.

“I’m going to shower, then we should get you in an ice bath. Your upper body took a lot of hits.”

Barclay rolls his shoulders and immediately regrets it, “ow, fuck, yeah, think the adrenaline wore off.”

Joseph grabs the phone, calls down to the lobby for a bag of ice before disappearing into bathroom. The water stops just as there’s a knock on the door.

Barclay opens it and finds a young woman with a black and red pompadour smiling at him. Behind her a stocky man sporting a “Joshua Tree National Park” t-shirt is holding a huge bag of ice.

“Hi! You must be the new guy.” The young woman waves at him.

“Uh, I guess.” Barclay takes the ice when the man holds it out.

“I’m Aubrey, and this is Duck.”

“Howdy.” Another southerner. Weird.

“Hold on you two.” Joseph appears behind him, holds the patch from his jacket out over Barclay’s shoulder, “here, Aubrey, need something to burn?”

“Not in the desert she don’t!”

“Relax, I’ll burn it in a trashcan or something. Anyway, Duck’s driving me in to town for my show. Do you need anything?”

“All good for now. Thanks, Aubrey.” Joseph waves politely and shuts the door. Barclay turns with the ice and finds the man wearing only a towel. Manages to push aside the sudden, intense desire to lick the stray droplets of water from his body and follow Joseph into the bathroom. In spite of his protests, Joseph sets the bath up for him (“it’s the least I can do for getting you into all this”). He’s down to his boxers, dusty clothes piled on the floor, as the man adds, “sorry, one more minute, then I can go so you’ll feel comfortable.”

Barclay is tired and sticky and out of patience, “Fuck it, you’ve already punched me and stolen my car, really don’t care if you see my dick.”

“I mean if that’s, oh, oh okay then.” Joseph laughs, looking quickly at the faucet as Barclay steps out of his boxers. The man tries and fails, twice, not to glance at Barclay as he gets in the tub. Any desire to flaunt what he’s got for his handsome man of mystery evaporates when he hits the water.

“FUCKSHIT, goddamit that’s cold.” He lowers himself in, “this better fucking work.”

“It will. This is not the first time I’ve had to deal with injuries.”

“What the fuck do you even do?” He grits his teeth, squeezing the edge of the bathtub.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

“What?” Barclay instinctively backs away.

A soft chuckle, “Yeah, I get that a lot. I work for the Department of Unexplained Phenomena, which leads to some interesting assignments.”

“I’m not, like, gonna get in trouble for assaulting an officer of the law, right?”

“No. Barclay.” Joseph sets his hand atop his own, “you really helped me today, punches aside. Besides I, well, let’s just say I don’t solely answer to the U.S government. I’ll tell you more later, I promise.”

Eventually his time in ice-hell ends and Joseph offers him the bed if he wants to nap. He does, passes out in his clean boxers before Joseph even finishes asking if he wants lunch.

He wakes up to an empty room. An empty, locked room.

“Shit” he pulls on his shirt, furiously yanking on the doorknob, “shitshitshit. Hey!” He bangs on the door, “hey anyone out there?”

Footsteps approach, and the door clicks open. He’s ready to run, but freezes when he sees it’s Joseph, holding a tray with two plates of food.

“Are you okay?”

“Okay?” He splutters, “you locked me in!”

“It’s a necessary precaution. We’ve only known each other half a day, and while you seem trustworthy and I know I can handle myself, if you were a risk I needed to keep the others safe.”

“And keep me fucking prisoner?”

“....Yes a little. Look, Barclay” he sets the tray down on the desk, “there are a lot of dangerous things at play right now, and I can’t risk you running off back to the normal world and accidentally giving something away. Just be patient, okay? As long as you’re here, you're under Mama’s protection. And under mine. And I promise I won’t let any harm come to you.”

Something frightened and vulnerable wells up in his chest, and he grabs one of the plates, “Okay.”

They eat in relative silence and after Joseph sets the plate outside he asks, “do you want to watch something? One of the few stations we get shows old monster movies this time of night.”

Barclay nods, joins Joseph on the bed as a giant mantis rampages across the screen.

“Eesh, they fucked up the scale on that shot.” He laughs to himself.

“No kidding, look, you can even see it knock over what’s so clearly a little cardboard human.”

“Gotta say, not sure why tanks don’t work on it. Mantises aren’t that tough, right, even accounting for radiation or whatever?”

“You know, I have no idea. I’ll ask Duck; he might know. Or he might roll his eyes so hard he strains them. Again. We all watched ‘Day of the Triffids” and he spent the whole time yelling about how that’s not how carnivorous plants work.”

They watch three movies before Barclay starts dozing off. The shorter man hops up, makes up the pull out couch, and Barclay gladly falls into it, waving off Joseph’s offer to sleep there so he can have the bed. He dreams of orange, glowing eyes, just like he does every night.

When he wakes up the next morning, Joseph is in a finely tailored black suit, combing his hair back in the mirror.

“Where y’going all fancy?” Barclay mumbles.

“Work. I should be back tonight. Take it easy, okay, you’re still pretty bruised.”

“Kay.” Barclay nods and falls back asleep. When he finally trudges downstairs in search of food, he finds Mama in the bar. She pours him coffee, asks how he slept, and brings him a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

He takes a bite, grimaces, “Uh, Mama, I don’t mean to be rude but are you sure this isn’t rancid?”

“Yep.” She tops off his coffee, “just can’t cook for shit. Jake does his best, so does Moira, but they have a hard time too.”

“Please let me help.” Barclay eyes his eggs suspiciously, “I’m not bad in the kitchen, worked a lot of restaurants over the years.”

“That so? Alright big fella, come show me what you got.” She tosses him a faded green apron and he follows her into the kitchen. He whips up pancake batter, scrambles eggs, and sticks the cast iron pans into the oven to season properly. Fifteen minutes later, he slides a plate to Mama and makes one for himself.

“Holy shit” she says through a mouthful of pancake, “fuck, you’re hired. I’ll tell Joseph he don’t gotta worry about coverin your lodgin. Assumin you can keep up with them.” She points to the heads poking around the kitchen door.

“Is it lunchtime dude? Because something smells good.”

“Well I’ll be, guess it is” she points to the clock, “let’s see how you are at lunch.”

Barclay spends the next two hours making sandwiches, salad, and staring a stock for tomorrow. He also makes two cobblers that are gone as soon as they come out of the oven. As he takes orders and serves and cooks, the other lodge residents trickle in, and suddenly he’s in the midst of a happy crowd. Dani, Aubrey’s girlfriend, and her cousin Jake sit at the counter and talk to him, while Mama wanders in and out from her office. One of the odder visitors is a tall man with a wide smile who introduces himself as Indrid before taking an entire can of whipped cream from the fridge and carrying it out to his trailer at the back of the building.

As he’s washing up, Mama comes in and leans against the counter.

“Well, they all seem to like you fine. Which makes me wonder; what are you runnin from, Barclay?”

“What makes you think I’m not just drifting?” He dries a plate, sets it in the stack.

“I been running this lodge awhile now. The folks who fit right in? They’re always on the run from somethin’. And you ain’t in a hurry to leave, and you ain’t made no mention of family or friends who you gotta let know you’re alright.”

“I, uh, I had some trouble when I was younger. It followed me around, can’t seem to shake it even now.”

Mama nods, satisfied.

“You mind telling me how having a bunch of folks on the run works with an FBI agent under your roof?”

“Joseph’s a double agent; he works for the UP, does most of what they tell ‘im, but his loyalty is here with the folks at the Lodge. Says he sleeps better at night helpin’ us instead of them. Guess at times, like when you met him, he’s kind of a triple agent.”

Now it’s Barclay’s turn to nod. Mama smiles at him, leaves him to his kitchen. It’s not until the end of the dinner rush that he hears, “I’d hoped you’d find a place here.”

Joseph leans against the doorframe, “sorry I missed dinner.”

Barclay proudly produces a plate of pie, “here, saved it for you.”

Joseph eats as they walk to the room, moaning between bites and licking his fork clean. It seems only natural for them to settle on the bed together, to turn on the T.V and heckle it, to make each other laugh. Only natural for Barclay to feel safe enough to fall asleep on his shoulder.

And when sirens wake him up, all it takes is Joseph’s arm around him and the words, “don’t worry, I’m here” to send him back to sleep.

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

“How come you decided to help Mama?” They’re as cuddled as the stuffy, hot air allows, Joseph having declared Barclay’s chest the superior kind of pillow.

“I was stationed at Area 51 for an assignment. There was an alien, he’d come through what he described as a gate to our world, and said his name was Vincent. I was the only one who called him that, the others treated him inhumanely. I helped him escape, and he connected me with Mama. She’s been helping aliens for awhile now.”

“That kinda explains Indrid.”

“Indeed. I learned that the UP was working on ways to trap or track aliens from the same homeworld. We decided I was best used as a spy, rather than defecting entirely.”

“Wow.” Barclay cuddles closer, “I always believed in aliens. Sympathized with them too. Dunno, I lost my folks when I was a baby, bounced around from system to system for years, ended up on the street at eighteen. Only thing I ever had connected to a home was this” he holds up his left wrist, on which sits a bracelet with a small orange crystal at the center, “I guess it was dad’s. Never have been able to get it off. Just...I never felt like I had a home.”

Joseph cups his cheeks, “why not make here your home?”

Barclay rests their foreheads together, “I like the way you think, agent.”

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

“What did you need to show me?” Barclay shuts the door to Mama’s office. Dani and Indrid are inside as well, watching him as Mama removes something from a secret compartment of her desk.

“Joseph just got back, and he brought somethin with him we’ve been worried about for a long time. A way of spottin aliens among us. But that ain’t why you’re here. Dani, lights.”

In the dark she switches on a small, glowing green rod. Barclay stares in awe as Indrid and Dani’s shadows change; Dani’s grows taller, bulkier, and Indrid’s sprouts wings and antennae.

Mama, shadow the same as always, points, “look behind you, big fella.”

It’s not his shadow. It’s the shadow of something much bigger, with shaggy fur and an ape-like shape.

“I’m...I’m not human? How is that possible, I, I’ve always looked like this, like a guy, I have pictures of my parents and they’re human too, this, this can’t be right.” He whirls in confusion as Dani switches the lights on and sets a hand on his shoulder.

“Our kind wear charms to disguise ourselves. That is yours.” Indrid points to the bracelet, “I suspect your parents knew you’d be on your own, and one of their last acts was to enchant it so you could not remove it by accident. No doubt they hoped to give you a safe life.”

“I, I want to see, can you get it off?”

“I need some time to prepare. In the interim, there is someone who needs to see you.” He points upwards and Barclay sprints out the door.

“Joseph, fuck, you’re never gonna believe-” He stops, immediately drops to his knees by the bed where Joseph is slowly bandaging himself.

“Shit, fuck, what happened?” He takes the gauze from shaking fingers and dresses the wound.

“A bit of a misstep; another double agent had tried to take the device I stole for Mama, so I had to fight him and he was very good with his knife. I’m okay, they’re not deep, but lord almighty do they sting.”

“Thank fuck you’re okay, fuck, Joseph, I couldn’t deal if I lost you, especially not now.” He carefully hugs his waist, rests his head on his shoulder, “I found out I’m an alien.”

“Oh.” Joseph gasps, “that’s good! I mean, in the sense you might be able to learn more about your family.”

“It doesn’t freak you out?”

“No, why would it?”

“I mean, there’s a difference between helping aliens out and, uh, uh, like” oh god why did he start that sentence?

Joseph cups his chin, moving it so they’re face to face, “and wanting to be with one?”

“Yes.” Barclay says meekly.

“Human or not, I want to be with you. I’ve spent the last week dithering on whether or not to tell you because I knew this mission was dangerous. I chickened out in the end but, well” he leans forward, presses their lips together.

Tears he can’t explain escape Barclay’s eyes as he kisses back. He’s home, he’s home, he’s home and Joseph wants him, is kissing him over and over, sweet words ghosting along his skin. Then the lips are on his cheeks, kissing the tears away as hands stroke his hair.

“I want you so bad.” Is all he manages to croak out and as he blushes, embarrassed by insufficient eloquence, Joseph kisses him again. This time is harder, tongue slipping filthy promises between Barclay’s as his fingers tease along his head and throat.

“That’s a promise for later. And this” Joseph murmurs, grinning before kissing under his eye, “is an apology for punching you.”

Barclay chuckles, “babe, if it meant I’d get to fall for you all over again, I’d take that punch in a heartbeat.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #TAZ Amnesty #meet ugly #prompt fills

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imjeralee · 5 years ago

Text

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 2 - Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Note: This is my Leon fic!!!!! Originally posted on Archive of Our Own.

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Warnings: None! But dis fic be scary sometimes

Extra Note: If this was an anime episode it would be called 立ち去った、悪霊！チャンピオンダンデと祓魔師の冒険！ε=ε=ε=ε=ε=ε=┌(;￣◇￣)┘

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

...

["It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt, It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills, It comes first and follows after, Ends life, kills laughter." - The Hobbit, J. R. R. Tolkien]

...

This would be the first time you have had someone properly accompany you during your excursions; a long time ago, Sonia was eager to come with you but unfortunately she wasn't quite able to stay awake during most of the night and you had to continue on without her, leaving her fast asleep in the tent with Yamper.

Also, you don't want to endanger her in either way, otherwise Magnolia may not forgive you. You're close to them and Magnolia wouldn't say such things to you in person but you know deep inside that you mustn't jeopardise her granddaughter.

It's nice to have a companion for a change.

"I mean, for once, I don't need to fill in the silence by talking to myself," you utter to yourself under your breath and it's completely due to force of habit but Leon overhears and throws his glance to you.

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing."

It's true though.

Leon and yourself meander down the path with Charizard lumbering behind you. Although you're not sure if it is the right thing to allow Leon to come with you, a part of you is wondering if things might end up differently if you tackled this one as a group rather than just going solo. There is still no sign of the house however.

"This can be very dangerous," you warn him again but he's looking very optimistic.

"Charizard will protect us!" he exclaims with boyish enthusiasm, a type of naïveté which you find rather bemusing because you wonder how he will react once he sees a ghost....though you do inwardly cringe about the thought of Leon running away whilst screaming his head off.

Meanwhile, Charizard emits an all-knowing snort and nods his head. They both look confident and comfortable.

"Ghosts are an entirely different thing, Leon."

"Yeah, but do you have any pokemon?"

You stop in your tracks immediately, cheeks feeling warm as Leon pauses as well, quietly observing your reaction. Without looking at him, you mutter out, "K-kind of, I have my sister's pokemon but I don't want to use them. If anything happened to them I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

"Okay, so you don't have any pokemon with you?" Leon says, crossing his arms. Although he's wearing baggy clothes, his sleeves still go taut from the motion and you can see the outlines of his rock hard biceps which you had grabbed not too long ago.

You clear your throat, trying not to think about that incident and focus on what is presently at hand at this moment. It's refreshing to see him fully-dressed in his sweats for a change. You're used to seeing pictures of him in the champion attire consisting of the red cape, tight black t-shirt, white shorts and tights. He's kept his snapback, however.

Shaking your head in response to his question, a look of surprise crosses his handsome face.

"It's incredibly dangerous to go into the Wild Area without a pokemon partner. I could send you back to the Meetup Spot right now," he says.

Your cheeks go pink as he tells you off and you hang your head low whilst kicking a stone in your path, pouting. "As long as I have my stash of pokedolls and I don't go into the tall grass, I'm fine..."

He breaks into a grin at your defeated response, "I was kidding!"

You don't get his humour as he continues to chuckle; your clueless expression must be priceless to him.

He adds, "It's fine, I can help catch a pokemon for you."

"...You don't need to catch a pokemon for me. I've always been going to the Wild Area without any pokemon."

"Miss, if you insist on wandering the Wild Area alone in the dark with no pokemon... as Champion of Galar and for the sake of your safety, I insist that I must stay by your side for the remainder of the night."

You give him an incredulous look. “Do you say that to every girl you come across or am I special?”

He starts spluttering immediately, your comment has taken him completely off guard. “W-what? N-no, I don't say to every girl-"

You watch as he continues stuttering.

"Uh, I don't talk to a lot of girls but when I do, I usually wouldn’t... I wouldn’t say-"

It seems to be growing worse.

"I mean, I had to say that because you are special-"

"Leon, relax, I was joking," you chuckle under your breath and Leon ends up offering you an awkward grin. "C'mon, let's go."

You begin to pick up pace once again with Leon on your left and Charizard moves to your right. Compared to you, he is so cheerful and enthusiastic, even at this time at night. He looks happy and so the conversation continues.

"What's this all about then?" he asks.

"A client says he came across a haunted house around these parts so I'm going to investigate," you reply, "this isn't anything new, Leon. I'll get to the bottom of this soon."

He blinks wide-eyed for a few seconds, "And uh, how long have you been researching pokemon?"

"About five years."

"I recognise your name – you live with Sonia and Professor Magnolia, right?"

"Yeah."

"They've mentioned you several times. It's a shame we never got a chance to meet until now."

"Likewise," you reply, throwing a glance to your radio which you have fished out from your bag.

"You know who I am, don't you?"

"Of course I do, and even if I didn't, you said it yourself there anyway," you utter, although the majority of your attention is focused on the radio, "I didn't expect to meet you here though."

His face grows red as he rubs the back of his neck with his large palm. "...Charizard and I are undertaking some private training. Isn't that right, big guy?"

Charizard nods happily and swings his bulky tail around in the air and you have to hop to avoid the wagging of his tail until he accidentally smacks into you and something hot slaps you on the rear and begins to grow hotter and hotter.

Sniffing the air, the atmosphere begins to become laced with the smell of burning plastic and you quickly throw a glance behind you. You are greeted with the sight of bright orange flames tickling your backside and your eyes widen.

"I'M ON FIRE!!!"

A bug-eyed look is Leon's response when he turns round and gets an eyeful. The back of your coat is indeed, covered in flames. "Charizard! Be careful!" he reprimands the flame pokemon. There is no hint of malice in his voice but he is stern.

Charizard's apology consists of a couple of snorts and loud huffing as you begin running around aimlessly in a panic.

"Um, drop to the floor and roll around!" Leon yells so you throw yourself to the ground in front of him and begin rolling but the fire doesn't go away so easily.

Fortunately for you, you spy a deep puddle up ahead that is being perused by a Lotad so you get back up and leap heftily towards it.

The Lotad hurriedly scurries away as soon as it senses your incoming arrival and your back meets the puddle. Water goes splashing everywhere but you are saved. You exhale noisily with relief as the flames are extinguished and there is a loud yet satisfying 'tssssssss' following as smoke begins to seep out from under your back, evaporating into the air in silky white wisps.

Leon heads up to you sheepishly and stands before you; you swerve your eyes up and your gazes meet as he removes his snapback, cradling it in his hands, "I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

"........Yeah."

"I'll make it up to you," he pulls something out from his bag and lifts it out.

It's a Burn Heal.

You cannot help but roll your eyes and sigh under your breath. "I'm fine. Let's just keep going."

Leon sticks his hand out for you which you take and he helps you back onto your feet once again.

"....Thanks," you say with a wince as Charizard looks at you with very wet eyes, "It's okay, dude. No big deal."

You reach a hand to pat him on the horns but then it dawns to you that maybe you should've asked Leon for permission first. The thought hadn't crossed your mind therefore you're quick to retreat and Leon notices, emitting a laugh.

"Go on, he likes to be petted. And he loves tummy rubs too."

"O-oh, right...Cool." you pat Charizard's horn and his tail slams up and down over the ground with affection. "Hey, Leon. How bad is it?"

Leon tiptoes round you to inspect your back. Your coat is waterproof so the material is more durable but you're not sure whether it is flame retardant to a certain degree or not so Leon takes note that it is charred and black all over, especially at your ass. Good news, Charizard's flames didn't burn right through to your trousers and panties. However, Leon does stare for a fraction longer than necessary which warrants you to turn and look at him curiously in response.

He clears his throat, returns to your side, fitting his snapback over his soft and fluffy purple hair. "I'll pay for the damage."

You shake your head.

After that shenanigan, the conversation and any further attempts to interact fizz out like a dying candle in the wind. You're far more invested with finding the damn house and the quicker you find it the better.

On the way, you continue fiddling with the radio and try to grab a signal as you hold it high and low in the air and Leon often throws wary glances at you and your device but says nothing of it. You wander down the path, looking up and around and Leon halts in his path all of a sudden.

"What is it?"

"There," he has spotted a distant glow ahead; it would have been difficult to see if either of you had taken a few steps further. "Do you see that?"

You follow to where he is pointing and indeed, a small trickle of light can be seen peeping out between the thick leaves of the trees and it's suspicious enough; you move towards the bushes, pulling all the thick fauna and branches and leaves away until you are greeted with the brief outline of a large and dark building.

"Leon, you found it!" you exclaim happily.

Oh thank Arceus above! Finally, some good news!! Grinning widely, you look at each other at the same time, elevated to have achieved the goal and it seems everything has returned to normal; there is no awkwardness, no more silence between you, and it occurs to you that he has a really nice smile.

"L-let's go," you stutter out as your heart decides to thud harder than usual and you speedily abort eye contact.

You feel your cheeks growing warm as Leon nods.

The house is completely off path. You have to wade through extensive, overgrown fauna and step through some slimy mud, occasionally getting your foot stuck if Leon wasn't here to help you. Charizard trails after the two of you and snorts as he gets caught in low-hanging branches and he waves his claws around as tiny insects buzz around him. It appears to be a normal path but soon it grows to a long-winded nature trail that takes you far from the main path which the gym challengers are supposed to stick to.

After a long trek that seemed to go on and on, you find yourself in front of a large and dilapidated house and you whip out your book, glancing at the diagram you drew before you spare another glance at the house once again.

"This is it," you say, as Leon peers over your shoulder to look at your drawing. "It's been abandoned for years."

Your drawing matches the house perfectly. The house is as your client described - a two storey mansion, derelict, one single door. Georgian architecture with symmetrical, long and thin, tall windows. There is only one light visible from the top floor, second window from the right.

"Must be a master bedroom, the old man's bedroom perhaps....it must be the source..." you murmur as you look at it in awe.

You proceed to take a step forwards and as though sensing your presences, all the lights flicker on with soft orange glows emitting from all windows.

Leon and Charizard stare at the spectacle, stunned.

"It knows we're here," you murmur under your breath again, "...Note to self: perhaps it is a sentient being?"

"Huh?"

"N-never mind, I'm just talking to myself again."

"Oh, uh...shall we go in?"

You nod without further ado and promptly make a move towards the house until you remember you are not alone; glancing at Leon, you say, "Leon, you don't need to go inside with me. I can take it from here."

He shakes his head. "I'm going with you. I'll protect you," he replies, and your cheeks grow pink once again.

You're aware he means it literally of course, but sometimes when a guy says such words to a girl...

Well... a girl might get the wrong idea.

"Thanks, Leon. I really appreciate this," you utter, before you pull out a small pouch from your pocket and hand it to him, "Take this; it's salt. Salt repels evil spirits. Use it if you need to, create a salt circle and sit in it, all the way until dawn. Keep this with you at all times."

He accepts the packet of salt with some uncertainty. "Thanks."

You give a packet to Charizard but he just ends up tearing it in half and the contents fall to the ground.

You don't bother telling them about anything else that repels or protects evil spirits because he already has your good luck charm and the salt and that should be enough so you proceed to go up to the front door. Leon follows you with Charizard at his heels. They are both on high alert.

They're extremely brave considering they're dabbling into the unknown and you're stunned they want to continue to stay with you because you have finally located the house and do not require further assistance. They're not as scared as you thought they would be.

Once you're at the door, you swallow down, take a deep breath and knock on the wood and wait as a low, creaky groan emits and echoes around the house. You use the time to inspect the door as no minor or detail feature should be left out although all you can see is that the door is rusted and dull. Only the handle shows use as it's smooth and shiny, indicating many hands have touched this doorknob prior.

"Why are you knocking?" Leon asks in a hushed whisper as he peers over your shoulder.

"It's polite," is your reply.

The door opens.

You and Leon exchange a brief glance as it creaks open a small fraction before you push open the door as wide as possible and you shine your torch inside, the light illuminating the dark walls and revealing an empty corridor.

It's silent.

At the very end of the corridor is a lone door.

This particular door is ajar and a thin outline of orange lines the walls indicating the light is on within. You can see shadows flitting around too, giving the false pretence that there are people here.

You are about to step inside further until Leon holds his arm out.

"I'll go in first," he says.

His demeanour has changed from goofy goofball to the serious and brave champion of Galar. You stare in surprise at the sudden change as he passes you, strolling in the house without any tremble in his step, followed by Charizard who is keen to protect his best friend.

You tell him that it's best to retrace your client's steps so your group ventures through the corridor, taking note of the staircase to the right that leads to the second floor before you head towards the door and Leon firmly grasps the awaiting handle and pushes down, opening the door.

You watch as Leon enters the room first with Charizard and you slide inside after him.

It's a room.

You do not see or hear anything out of the ordinary as you glance around; it is nothing but an empty room with peeling wallpaper. There are no furniture, no painting or portrait on the wall, no carpet. There are only two windows in the room, showing the bleary night and trees wavering in the wind outside.

However, you can’t deny that something is off about this room.

The atmosphere is suffocating and you draw in heavy breaths.

”Leon, be careful,” you say, “...there’s something evil here. I can sense it.”

Leon and Charizard continue looking up and around until the drastic drop in room temperatures causes you to grow still, having sensed an ominous presence. Numerous chills run down your spine and as your chest goes stiff and your breath begins to shorten, you slowly avert your focus to one corner.

An old man dressed in dirty rags stands with his back to you, facing the wall.

It's as your client had described.

You grab Leon by the arm and point at the apparition; he's seeing what you're seeing too whilst Charizard is ready to attack.

However, you shout, "Who are you? Reveal yourself!"

Immediately, the room flares into life at your demand.

The old man turns, revealing a disgusting, grotesque and deformed face before a scream erupts into the room and the apparition zooms towards your group.

You gasp as Leon throws himself over you and you're pulled into his thick and sturdy chest and Charizard attacks out of fear. Flames burst forth from his mouth and once the flames die away, the old man is nowhere to be seen though you do hear the little pitter patter of footsteps rushing away.

Whilst Leon clutches you firmly and Charizard pants heavily, you have pinpointed the source of the horrendous screaming, locating it to the top left corner of the room where you see the wavy silhouette of a Misdreavus who quickly disappears into thin air after being spotted as well as a Chandelure that dissolves into the atmosphere.

The screaming stops at once and the lights go off in a split second, bathing everyone in darkness; the only source of light is from Charizard's tail and your torch.

Whilst Charizard huffs, Leon is still holding you tightly.

Strange. Your heart is thudding even harder than before and not from the apparition but rather your close proximity with the Champion... and you're sure he can tell as your chests are pressed together so tightly and your nose is pushed into the soft, downy fabric of his hooded sweater. He smells of musk, fire and earth and his arms are looped around you protectively whilst your fingers curl over his broad shoulders. Your heart gradually races even harder against your ribs when you realise no-one has held you like this before, especially a man.

He swerves his glance down to you. You're not as tall as Leon so when you look up timidly and your eyes meet, you both look away and his grip loosens on you and you're quickly released. He steps away from you, clearing his throat and when you steal a look at him, you see that there is a spray of pink dusting his cheeks.

"W-well, that explains the screaming and the lights," you stutter, trying to calm your racing heart, "I-it's a Misdreavus and a Chandelure."

You do not receive a response; Leon is silent.

".....A-are you okay?" you croak.

"Y-yeah," he finally grunts out, rubbing the back of his neck, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Whoo, sweet mother of Cherrim, that was something, right?" you laugh awkwardly as you stand near each other in the room, "I gotta hand it to you, Leon, y-you must be a...a sociopath or something if that didn't scare you. And a highly-functioning sociopath to be exact."

You wonder if you should've said psychopath instead; no matter, you had meant that in the best way possible but Leon's expression forces you to stop laughing.

"You're okay too," he points out.

"I see these kinds of things often, it is so unoriginal it doesn't scare me anymore," you say as you fold your arms gently behind your back.

"...What kind of things scare you?"

What a funny question to ask, but you suppose you can humour him. "I'll tell you when all of this is over."

"Okay. So, what was that?"

"An illusion," you reply as you take a deep breath. "Allow me to elaborate."

Leon watches as you begin your analysis, stepping around the room.

"I noticed there's no dust here or outside in the corridor. Not a single speck. It's been regularly maintained which tells me this place is important to the occupants. It's their home and it's special to them."

You begin walking around Leon and Charizard, strolling in circles until you nonchalantly step over to where the old man was standing and immediately go on all fours, sniffing the ground whilst Leon and Charizard watch your display with mystified expressions.

"This smell is....Pecha berries," you finish after sniffing the air, before you reach forwards to grab a pluck of rough black fur that is sticking out from one of the gaps of the floorboards.

"Is that from a pokemon?"

"Yep. A Zorua or Zoroark, maybe. They're masters in the art of illusion."

Leon crosses his arms with a smile playing on his lips; he looks impressed with your findings.

You move to stand, dusting your palms again and placing them on your hips, nodding to yourself.

"Mm-hm. That about sums it up. This is it's home and it's not alone. I'm guessing a lot of ghost pokemon live here and maybe even some dark types. They're harmless and I highly doubt there's actually any ghosts here, just pokemon. They probably just enjoy pranking people or scaring people who stumble across here so they're working together to create the ruse of a haunted house and – "

You are interrupted in your explanation when you are violently swept off your feet by an unseen force, your body tossed into the air like a ragdoll and flung against the wall to the far left.

Leon and Charizard rush over immediately as you drop to the floor and roll to your stomach, face-down. "Are you okay?!"

You hiss in pain as Leon helps you up, "Ouch. Uh...yeah, I'm okay. No need to worry, this happens to me a lot too...." you end up croaking out, though you can't help but shiver as soon as the room becomes blanketed with an impermeable darkness that differs from before. It is a darkness which Charizard's lit tail and the light from your torch cannot even penetrate. You add, "Usually in these cases, there are lackeys and the mastermind. In this case, the mastermind is the strongest pokemon here."

Leon looks around cautiously, hoping to catch sight of who or what and Charizard moves to stand in front of the two of you but then you're picked up by the invisible assailant once more, the neck of your coat pulled and tugged and as quickly as you are lifted in the air, you're hastily flung to the other side of the room a second time. On this occasion, Leon grabs onto you by throwing his arms around your waist and you both end up crashing against the wall.

You hear a loud 'crack' and gasp as your pocket radio comes tumbling from your bag and smashes against the floor, having slipped through the opening of your bag which you hadn't zipped up properly.

The radio is broken.

"Shit!" you can't help but curse, "Not again!"

Amused by your anger, the culprit finally reveals itself: a pair of piercing red eyes and a wide, grinning mouth appears in mid-air, snickering sinisterly at your misfortune.

"Charizard, use Flamethrower!" Leon commands, and the flame pokemon obliges, hurtling a huge ball of flame at the pokemon.

The attack misses its target as the pokemon disappears into the darkness for a fraction before it reappears once more. It's murky black and large, with a round body and two stubby arms and legs and spiked head and tail: a Gengar.

For a Gengar, it's bigger than you and Leon had anticipated, compared to the pokedex entries anyway. It's at least the same height as Charizard. It fully manifests before you, rolling around the air with laughter.

"This isn’t funny!" you yell, but it merely sniggers even louder before sticking its long tongue at you and waving its arms together, conjuring a large ball of swirling dark energy which it effortlessly tosses at your group.

Whilst Charizard retaliates with another attack, Leon grabs you and you both go rolling to the side, safe from the attack.

"Thanks, Leon.”

"No problem," he replies as he helps you up. You appreciate how quickly he thinks and reacts to situations like these.

Gengar cackles wildly, holding his tummy as he spins around in the air before his red eyes begin to glow brightly. A ball of white light the size of a golf ball is conjured and with a wave of his finger, he unleashes it towards Charizard's direction, letting it bob along in the air.

It's a Confuse Ray and Charizard dodges though the Confuse Ray chases after him for a moment or so and Leon commands him to use Fire Blast.

Although Gengar is fast enough to evade, Charizard's attack has wide coverage and slams into Gengar in seconds; the ghost pokemon is repelled in mid-air, eyes clenched shut with agony before it ultimately crashes to the floor.

Remembering his promise to you, Leon pulls an empty Ultra Ball out from his pockets.

With expert flair, he twists and turns his body back and executes a perfect throw at Gengar. You can tell from how he threw the ball that he has done this many times and has mastered the technique of ball-throwing and the Ultra Ball smacks Gengar right in the face and the critter is sucked into the capsule in a ball of red light. The ball lands on the floor, rolling.

"That looked painful," you murmur, and Leon grins sheepishly at you.

The capsule wobbles once, twice, then it promptly bursts and Gengar re-emerges. Having evaded capture, the pokemon abruptly sinks into the floorboards and disappears from sight and the room returns to silence.

"Let's go after him," Leon suggests, and you nod in agreement.

Your group leave the room, heading down the corridor and though you thought there was nothing else here, there is actually a small set of stairs that lead to the second floor. It's the only way forwards so you head up where a couple of Litwicks, Lampents, Chandelure and Misdreavus sit or hover on the banister and watch curiously as you make your way up. Each step creaks under your feet loudly and your group reach the landing where another long, foreboding and dark stretch of corridor greets you, lined with numerous doors on either side and a few cupboards.

Whilst you wonder where Gengar could have gone, it's then you hear an unfamiliar voice belonging to a male:

"Gengar, you are hurt. Who did this to you?"

Various chills run down your spine once more.

"Leon, did you hear that?" you whisper.

"Hear what?"

It's close but there are so many rooms. You could try and split up but according to every horror movie you have seen in your lifetime, splitting up is a terrible idea. Thus your group pass each door one by one only to discover they are locked or boarded up which does not surprise you. The Misdreavus and other ghost pokemon begin to follow you around though they are more interested in watching than assisting.

You are almost halfway through the corridor and up ahead, it seems to split into a T shape until Leon informs you he has found something and would like some more light; returning to his side, you shine the torch to where he is gesturing to where you see a Zorua ducking away from sight, hiding under a rickety cupboard. It yelps weakly and Leon approaches it carefully.

"It's okay, we're not gonna hurt you," Leon says as he moves to kneel on one foot in front of it.

The Zorua stares at Leon with its large teal eyes for a few seconds or so until it slowly crawls out. It's been burned. No doubt, from Charizard.

"I think that's the old man," you say, remembering how you found black fur in the room downstairs.

Charizard snorts apologetically in response but Zorua is too weak to react. The Burn Heal comes in handy now as Leon rummages in his backpack to find the item and proceeds to spray it over the singed fur of the weakened pokemon.

"There you go, that should make you feel better," Leon mutters with a warm smile.

He should be surrounded by talking and singing woodland animals, you think to yourself.

You watch the display before the forceful thump of your heart beating against your ribs makes you snap out of your thoughts and you smile awkwardly at Leon as he glances up at you with a heart-wrenching grin. You swallow down the thick lump in your throat as the thrum of your pulse soars to an astronomical rate.

Leon returns to tend to the Zorua with much gentleness and care that would put a well-trained nurse to shame, pulling out some Pecha berries contained in a medium-sized ziplock bag and handing them to the Pokemon. As Leon lowers his hand with the berries in his palm, it lunges for one and gobbles it happily.

"Who's there?"

The disembodied voice draws your attention once more so you continue down the dark corridor on your own, attempting to locate the source whilst Leon tends to the Zorua. You can hear him chuckling as Zorua licks his fingers.

As you search, you eventually narrow the source of the voice to a door up ahead which is open.

It's a master bedroom; there is a king-sized bed that sits in the very middle and a couple of undistinguished furniture covered in white drapes. Resembling the room and corridor downstairs, it is in impeccable condition and you see it is devoid of any individual.

You can still hear Leon and Zorua in the corridor.

Stepping inside, you immediately catch sight of the massive portrait hanging on the wall that portrays a middle-aged man with bushy brown hair and a stout but kind face, dressed in a royal blue waistcoat with brass buttons, matching white pantaloons and riding boots. Beside him, a Ghastly hovers near his arm and a Zoroark stands to his left.

There is a rusted plaque on the bottom that says 'In Loving Memory of'. The rest is too faded; you cannot make out the name.

Although you saw a contorted, twisted-looking old man downstairs, you are certain this man featured in this portrait is the basis for the old man.

"Leon, I found something," you say aloud as you shine the torch up at the portrait though you do not receive a reply, "Leon?"

You stay still, listening.

It's...silent.

You leave the room abruptly and return to the corridor, only to realise that Leon, Charizard and the Zorua are nowhere to be seen. You shine the torch down the corridor and towards the direction of the stairs, the long reach of light touching the walls.

"Leon? Charizard??"

They're gone.

You are on your own.

You begin your search, trekking down the long hallway and returning to where you had found Zorua. There is nothing here, no traces.

They have simply vanished.

There are two doors on your left and right. You try the left door but it's locked so you head for the right, muttering a curse under your breath as you hope they're not playing a horrid prank on you. You do not believe Leon has a mean bone in his body to do such a thing, however.

"I'm too old for this shit," you murmur under your breath.

You remember why you work alone; you're used to investigating terrifying places on your lonesome but since you had arrived with two companions and suddenly having them disappear on you, literally vanishing into thin air, has made you uncomfortable even though it could be Gengar pulling the strings.

"Become a Pokemon Researcher, they said. It'll be fun, they said," you groan with frustration as you try the door only to discover it is also locked, "Gengar, show yourself. I know it's you. What did you do to them?"

A faint, scratching noise grabs your attention and you spin sharply on your heels to the locked door to the left.

"...Gengar?"

The scratching intensifies and you stand in your little spot, waiting with baited breath as the door clicks on its latch and the handle pushes down, the door slowly creaking open, revealing a long and pale hand. Bony fingers begin slinking through the small gap and pushes the door a fraction, followed by a pale white face with sunken black eyes.

You freeze, your blood turning cold.

Not Gengar. Can't be Gengar. Different. This is stronger. Darker.

Your eyes grow wide.

Evil.

You can’t help it; your first instinct is to run which you do. You turn away, heartbeat speeding up, pulse racing, palms growing sweaty. A dull ache makes its presence known in your head and your vision begins to blur, nausea hitting the pit of your gut; however, you force your legs to move and you head down the corridor as quickly as your feet can carry you, your breath shortening as the apparition behind you begins to follow.

Client was right. Not a Pokemon.

You dash into one of the rooms, flinging the door open and rushing in, slamming the door shut. You grab a black marker from your bag and pull off the lid, hastily drawing a protective symbol on the surface before you press your back against the door.

A hushed silence sweeps over which you find calming and you hold your breath, glancing at the room you have holed yourself up in.

It is empty, with no sign of anything or anyone.

Suddenly, there is a violent slam on the door which makes you squeeze your eyes shut as the door begins to shake, the handle rattling furiously. Digging your heels into the ground, you hold the door shut as much as possible, biting down on your lip as the door trembles viciously under the weight of the force outside that is trying to force its way in.

You do everything in your power to hold the door shut, not to let it in, but it's too strong and you believe you will not be able to hold it for much longer and soon the door will give in.

What next? Salt circle, good luck charm, earth crystal, iron??

Those choices seem laughable until you realise you had forgotten one important thing.

The Odd Keystone.

It's then you see a familiar stretch of shadow at your feet and you glance up.

"Gengar?"

He stands near the window, looking at you, then at the door, which thumps and quakes behind your back with tremendous strength.

The pounding on the door continues until one mighty push sends your heels scraping one inch out of your spot and you gasp as you're forced to throw your right shoulder against the wood with your hands splayed over the surface. You attempt to renew your strength, shifting and leaning your entire body weight on your right foot, pushing down and pressing your entire body against the door.

"Gengar, help me! Grab the Odd Keystone from my bag!!" you exclaim, even though it has absolutely no obligation to assist you in any way, "It's uh...it's a brown stone, smooth to touch. You'll know it when you see it!"

Gengar looks at you in mild disbelief before it floats towards you and glances at your bag, then sticks its hands inside and rummages inside before it lifts out the item you had described.

"Yessss, thank you!" you gush, "Put it on the floor in the middle of the room."

He does as he is told, funnily enough, and looks up at you for the next instruction.

"Now I'm gonna let go of this door. Stay away from the stone, okay?"

He nods.

Swallowing the thick lump in your throat, you throw yourself from the door and it slams open.

A cold rush of air bursts in and you close your eyes as you hurriedly chant under your breath, "Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium."

The keystone begins quivering so you continue, a bright light emitting from the fissure.

"Imperet illi deus, supplices deprecamur tuque, Princeps militiae coelestis, satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude.”

It's a mouthful but an ear-splitting shriek tears through the atmosphere when you finish your chant and as you open your eyes, you see a shadow convulsing and writhing furiously in the air as it is enveloped by the bright light. Unable to break free, the light proceeds to drag it towards the keystone though it resists fiercely and attempts to escape. In a matter of seconds, it is promptly sucked into the keystone and the fissure stops glowing, the stone goes limp and slumps to one side and the room returns to darkness.

Gengar stares before it looks at you, confounded.

Your legs are trembling.

It takes a while for you to calm down.

You decide to wait it out for a few seconds or so before you slowly move to stand.

"...It worked."

Gengar looks at you questioningly as you pick up the Odd Keystone off the floor and hold it up to the air and into the moonlight. You give it a little shake and muffled but horrific shrieking can be heard emitting within. Slipping it into your bag and zipping it up properly, you give it a hefty pat.

"Phew, that's another evil spirit for the collection, and all in a night's work too. If I get up to one hundred and eight, I'll have myself a Spiritomb," you add, nodding to yourself. Turning to Gengar, you say, "Thanks for your help."

Gengar's jaw drops slightly as you murmur a quick prayer to purify the room, then you begin to exit and Gengar follows you keenly.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He looks at you somewhat wistfully, clasping his hands together.

”...You...want to come with me?”

He nods furiously.

”...Really?” you cannot mask the astonishment in your voice, “...But isn’t this your home? And what about your master? Will the rest of the Pokemon be okay without you? What about Zorua?”

He nods again but slowly slides his glance to the side, then he pushes himself off the ground to float in the air, circling you wildly and throwing several dark energy balls into nothingness.

"Oh...that's...wow, I've never had any pokemon say they want to come with me, t-thanks, I'm...I'm honoured. I know you want to fight evil, but I don't do this often. This is just a one off."

He grins anyway.

"Alright then, you can come with me. Let's go find Leon and Charizard for now."

You close the door behind you with Gengar happily floating by your side and when you turn round, dark shadows pop up in front of you and you yelp and stumble backwards, almost falling onto your rear if he didn't grab your arm in time.

"Hey!! Are you alright??"

The Champion stands before you with Charizard and Zorua.

"Leon!" you exclaim.

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around him tightly for you are so relieved to see him, eyes curling with happiness as an overwhelming sensation of solace blooms in your chest. You revel in his warmth and the sound of his beating heart which pace matches yours, relieved to be able to hold onto another living and breathing human being.

Taken aback by your hug, Leon grows still whilst Charizard gawks.

You let go of him when you notice how rigid he has become. You must have made him uncomfortable so you are quick to retreat. "Um, s-sorry. So, uh...Where did you and Charizard run off to?"

"Huh? We were looking all over for you. You disappeared."

"...Sorry."

"Never mind, it's fine, I'm just glad we've found each other again so everything's good," Leon says with a grin before he spots Gengar by your side. "What happened?"

"I'll fill you in," you say with a smile, "Let's get outta here first."

...

#jeralee #comfort in despair #fanfic #fic #leon x reader #leon #dande #reader #reader insert #pokemon #pokemonshield #pokemonoc #pokemonsword #pokemonshieldsword #archiveofmyown

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taeyungie · 4 years ago

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hiiiii~ 🎨 pleaseee? 🥺

SKY YESSSS EVERYTHING FOR YOU! YOU'RE HERE! A REAL QUEEN HAS ARRIVED INTO MY ARMS AAAAAAA I CANNOT WAIT TO WRITE A WHOLE BOOK IN THIS ASK ✨👍❤️❤️❤️❤️ idk i know it's silly but i get so much joy from complimenting you in practicular sjdhsjks you're just the cutest and you deserve all the love AND I'M HERE TO GIVE IT TO YOU AT ALL TIMES!!!! 😌😌😌❤️💕💘💓❤️💕💘 you're really truly the one who carries this site on your shoulders and it makes me so incredibly proud of you because you always work so hard 🥺 YOU MAKE SO MANY PEOPLE HAPPY i couldn't imagine being here without you!! YOU'RE ESSENTIAL, ANGEL. Before i start with showering your gifs in love all i want to say is that YOUR GIFS JUST OPEN MY THIRD EYE AND I HEAR ANGELS SING. DON'T YOU TELL ME LATER AGAIN THAT I'M EXAGGERATING (I'll get to that later on 😤) BECAUSE YOU'RE SIMPLY A GENIUS ✨ your style are one in a million, there's no way i could ever get confused on whether a gif is yours because your gifs are unmistakable!! ONE OF A KIND! you're such a precious baby, always being worried if your gifs are pretty and this makes me want to give you all the love (BUT AT THE SAME TIME LIKE 😤😤🤜👊🤛✊🤛👊✊ HAVE YOU SEEN YOUR OWN GIFS???? LIKE /ONE/ EVEN??????? OH MY GOD) and write essays about your every gifset because every 👏 single 👏 one 👏 of your sets makes me want to write poems NOW MOVING ONNNNN

I'll really have to put this under the cut because oh my god i'm so sorry you might want to get a popcorn on the way because.... yeah

good god i think i need to lie down YOU DROPPED A BOMB AND NEXT SECOND YOU JUST VANISHED LIKE '💆🏻‍♀️😌💅🏻 uhuh goodnight' AKSNDKSJSKSKKSKSKSKD ARE YOU SANE THIS IS INSANE FKANDKDKDKSJSSK THE WAY THAT I SAW THIS CLIP BEFORE AND THOUGHT oh he looks gooood BUT NOW YOU DECIDED TO JUST UH??? PUT SOME OF YOUR ✨SPICE✨ INTO THIS MEAL AND PUT IT ON A PLATE LOOKING LIKE /THIS/???????????????? bro i need a doctor i'm having literal heart palpitations...... WHERE DO I EVEN START 🙏 (warning: a very stupid and corny word-play ahead) he's beauty he's grace he's mr. golden face WKDHSKSKKS BUT REALLY HIS SKINNNNNNNNNN HISSSS SKIIIIIINNNNNNNNN 😭😭😭😭😭 THE WAY HE'S GLOWING, PLEASE!!!!!!!!! only you can make them look like this, you pull out in their skin colors everything what's the best, just stunning. next, lips.. oh my goodness, lips. beautiful, amazing, just *mwah*, beautiful, kinda desaturated (which i love in your gifs) red shade. next we have CURVES GAME ON POINT, JUST STUNNING, IF I TELL YOU THAT YOU INSPIRE ME SO MUCH AKSJSJSJSJSJKS amazing blend to the background, beautiful contrast. your gifs make me fall in love with him more and more every day 💔 and i can't leave without mentioning SHARPENING SETTINGS AAAAAAA i love itttt

indeed the cutest pie 😭😭😭 i loooove how you sometimes make your gifs so tall, you know, it's so pleasing to look at and makes them so unique and pretty. I LOVE the coloring here, it's so soft and makes everything look so flawless and light?? because gif itself is a bit dark too and his skin, and light hair are just outstanding but the contrast is so soft that everything is just pulled together nicely and looks amazing! and i love how you just pulled a magenta on me and made his mic look THIS GOOD ahhhh it's THE PRETTIEST MIC EVER 😭

this set is just... yummy 🤷‍♀️ you know???? YOU KNOW i know you know 👏 I'M– so in love with the coral, mustard and soft minty shades of background probably that's why it reminds me just of a good candy 👍👍 to add to that there actually ARE candies on the screen, like 4 of them 👀👀👀👀 again, curves adjustments - *chiefs kiss* i love skin colors and lips, it's something i can't get enough of i just simply want to eat a gif 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

now, we have reached the star of the show. I'll bring back something as a friendly reminder :

you cannot just say it's not the best and then have me just staring at it for five next hours ISLSNSJWNSJSJSNKSSJSJ please PLEASE where am i supossed to start FIRST OF ALL WHICH PARALLEL UNIVERSE YOU'RE LIVING IN THAT YOU MANAGED TO MAKE MAGENTAS LOOK SO BEAUTIFUL I JUST CANNOT UNDERSTAND HOW KAJSJSKS i'm really saying this seriously right now but this gifset made me tear up because i notice every single detail and it overwhelmed me to the very ends of my nerve endings KSJSKSK BECAUSE– 😔 skin color, suit color, hair color, lip color, mic color, sharpening, background, lighting, contrast, exposure.... all of it is just so beautifully composed and i don't think anyone could ever make something this amazing, especially looking at raw footage like comparing your gif to video frame it's just.. insane. you have magic hands and big brain that's all i have to say and i think it's truly one of my favorite sets of yours

run episode koo 🥺🥺 first and foremost i wanna notice and highlight how much i love that you just got rid of...... all blue and green KSJDJS LIKE PERIOD QUEEN AS YOU SHOULD ✨✨✨ i was kinda scared to do it on my own gifs and here i have another example of how you're just a genius, not scared of ANYTHING ✊💯💘 and then we can move onto his beautiful, tanned, golden skin and gorgeous red lips. I LOOOVEEEEEE IT SO MUCH I LOVE CURVES HERE AGAIN AAAAAAA I'll literally say it every time because it's the best part of your every set and I'm A COWARD TO MAKE MY GIFS TOO DARK AND DO THE CURVES THE WAY I WANT TO SKDJJSKS so i admire yours 😌✨

this gifset just simply brings me so much joy, it's like drinking a glass of cold water in the middle of the night, it's like feeling a warm gentle touch of sunlight on your skin when the sun is rising, it's like a fresh breeze ✨ again, stunning coloring, i love how you mixed oranges with this pastel blue and beiges you have kinda going there 🙇‍♀️ on its just so so so pretty AND ALSO OF COURSE /THEM/, THEY ARE JUST SILLY AND BEAUTIFUL, NEXT QUESTION

AJSHSJJSDKABSJDKSKKSS FIRST OF ALL THE ✨BONUS✨ IS LITERALLY ME @ YOU AFTER YOU DROPPED OF THIS GIFSET like you know i like this whole situation we have going on here wink wink how old was he in 2015 lemme do a quick math yeah 18 EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD WAS HE AND HE HAD THE AUDACITY TO LOOK LIKE THIS???? yeah no if i was a stan back then we would have a problem you know 👊✊🤜👊🤛✊👊 me looking like.... just nowhere near /this/ good..... at almost 20th year of my life is crying. i love the use of reds and brown here AND OF COURSE CURVES, MOVING ON

🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯!!!!!! THIS SET LOOKS LIKE A HONEY COMB!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ i love how vibrant and bright the background is but you still managed to restore his skin into a perfect golden shade AHHHHHH it's so pretty

NEXT ONE IS DEDICATED FOR USER TAEYUNGIE IDK HER BUT SHE'S SURE DAMN LUCKY 🔊🔊🔊🔊 PLEASE i was so happy when you decided to make this set in the end 🥺🥺🥺 i belive i already screamed lots under the set in the tags but AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it's amazing beautiful just gorgeous from head to toe (a gif i mean cuz clearly we cannot see his toes SKSJSJSKSJSK) A M A Z I N G coloring, veey warm very soft he just looks like a carmel with raspberry on top (WHY DO I USE SO MANY FOOD REFERENCES SKJSJSKS I'M NOT HUNGRY I SWEAR) BUT NO, FOR REAL. he just looks so cozy here and i wanna hug him so much 😔😔😔 long story short my mind and stomach perform pirouettes because i'm head over heels for this man. AGAIN THANK YOU SM BABY FOR DEDICATING THIS ONE FOR ME ❤️❤️❤️

we're here, we survived till the 10th and at the same time last gifset of this post, TIME TO POP THE CHAMPAGNE ✨ and scream a little but more because HE'S SO BEAUTIFUL I'M LITERALLY FEELING MYSELF EVAPORATING SJSJKSKSKS the contrast here is darker than usual AND I'M LOVING IT it's bringing all his best features also he just looks like a glazed donut which kinda makes me cry (WAIT I JUST REALIZED I AGAIN DID A GOOD REFERENCE SKJSJS WTF) BUT HIS GLOW 😭 HIS GLOW 😭😭✨ just amazing, it's inappropriate how much i spent staring at this set KSJSJSKSK

when i tell you that writing this one took me like... two hours. but it was totally worth it and purely out of love for your stuff. anyway, i deserve a kiss on the forehead 😌

creators send me 🎨 & I’ll tell you my favorite of your last ten creations and why

#answered #ask game

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yadds · 5 years ago

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Tony Reappears, Pt 5 - Tony gains a new confidant in the form of one Peter Parker, Pepper tries to understand.

Part 1 - what would happen if Tony appeared out of nowhere to be found by Peter, who’s still haunted by Beck’s reality bending? Part 2 - Tony is in bad shape and Peter helps, Strange snarks, and Pepper gives him the kick in the pants he needs. Part 3 - Tony has come back with more than he bargained for. Part 4: Tony is Iron Man. Plus, Tony gets to go home.

____________________________________________________________________

It was a Wednesday night and Tony was trying desperately to find a distraction.

He’d hit a block in his control design and was spiraling, down, down into the depths of his bitterness and guilt. He couldn’t focus on anything, head jerking up periodically as he drifted in and out of consciousness while sitting at his work table. He also couldn’t stand the thought of actually trying to sleep in this mindset.

He flung his schematic holos away, growling in frustration as he dropped his head into his hands. His eyes cut to the side to check the time. 12:15 AM. Too late to call and pester reasonable people. He sighed.

But wait. Maybe not too late for a college student.

“Fri, call-“ he cut himself off. No. What if Peter has a big exam in the morning and had just gotten to sleep? Or what if he was out actually enjoying his life? It’s not like he was just sitting around his dorm waiting for Tony to call.

“Who would you like me to call, boss?” Friday asked.

“Never mind, sweetheart. I just saw the time,” he fibbed, ”I don’t think anyone is up for a call from me right now.”

“Peter is currently taking a break from patrolling,” Friday dutifully reported. Talk about an intuitive AI.

Tony arched a brow. “Is he now? And how do you know that?”

“Karen told me,” she replied. Right, they were basically connected at the metaphorical hip now.

He mulled this information over for a minute before he bit the bullet. “Okay, old girl. Call him up,” he called, leaning back in his chair and steepling his hands over his chest.

He was weirdly nervous as he listened to the phone ring.

His heart was racing by the time Peter answered with a breathless, “Hello?”

Tony’s mouth opened but nothing came out, suddenly speechless. What was he even supposed to say? I was feeling mopey so I called someone half my age to cheer me up? What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Mr. Stark?” Peter questioned as the silence drug on. “Shit, did I hang up on you? Damn it, Karen, I thought we’d fixed that! Ughhhhh why am I this way? Well we’d better call him back before-”

Tony chuckled, nerves evaporating as his chest filled with amused affection. “No need, kid, I’m here.”

“Oh, great! Except for the fact that you definitely just heard me rambling like an idiot. Am I talking fast? I feel like I’m talking really fast.”

“Definitely fast. You good? I thought you were patrolling - you’re not doing that high are you? Don’t make me lecture you about stupid choices,” he warned teasingly.

“No, of course not! I’ve just been slinging around a lot, which gets my blood pumping and gets me kinda hyped up, you know?”

Tony nodded. “Ah, to be young and enjoy life just for the hell of it,” he said sagely.

“Don’t you get that feeling too? I mean, come on, you can fly!” Peter asked, huffing as Tony heard him sit down heavily.

“I guess I used to,” Tony said thoughtfully. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done it just for kicks, though.”

“Well you should!” Peter insisted.

Tony was quiet for a moment as he thought about it, remembering the thrill of flight the first time in his Mark II. But the idea of getting back in the suit made his chest sieze. He drew in a sharp breath before gathering himself enough to respond quietly, “I don’t know if I can.”

Peter hummed. “Yeah, I get that,” he said softly. “It took me a while, too. I always had flashbacks of...well, you know. And panic attacks. But it got better,” he offered.

Tony felt that knot in his chest loosen just slightly. It didn’t make it all better, but it did help, knowing someone else understood what he was going through and could validate it. He appreciated how Peter was so casual about it - he obviously took it seriously but it was also something totally normal and okay. But he’d known for years that Peter is much stronger than he is, and not just physically.

“Maybe,” Tony replied hesitantly, not quite as optimistic about his own mental health improvement capability. He’d been in some pretty tough spots before and come back, but this was the first time he’d died. But so had Peter and half the rest of the world, so apparently that wasn’t even particularly noteworthy.

“So, anything exciting tonight, Spiderling?” Tony asked.

Peter graciously allowed the subject change, rambling happily about stopping a mugger, walking a girl to her car who was leaving work late, playing catch with a couple kids in the park. It was amazingly relaxing, listening to Peter recounting his night, voice animated in a way that indicated wild gesticulation on the other end of the line.

It made his throat a little thick, remembering how fucking wholesome this kid was. This was the first time he’d gotten to hear this again since...before Titan, almost ten years ago. He was suddenly grateful to himself for making it possible to reverse the snap, in a way he hadn’t been able to truly appreciate until this very moment.

He realized Peter had paused, the quiet stretching before he questioned softly, “Mr. Stark? You okay?”

Tony cleared his throat. “Yeah, ‘course. Keep telling me about the- the, uh, search for the best slice of pizza in Manhattan; I’m dying to know, here.”

After another hesitation, Peter continued, detailing all the places he’d visited in the past few weeks.

Tony leaned back, closed his eyes, and smiled.

A week later found Tony standing in front of one of his suits that had made it back to the lab, kept all this time, he assumed, for sentimental reasons.

He reached out but recoiled before he could make contact, breath catching.

Shaking his head to clear it, he turned quickly and went back to his work table.

They had a schedule now. Tony spent the weekends at the cabin with the girls and occasionally picked up Morgan in the evenings after school for a few hours.

He’d finished his control protocols (now named FEMA because he was his own natural disaster), which used subdermal chips to monitor his vitals and would deploy nanites from the wristbands he now wore to restrain him in the instance of nighttime adrenaline spikes - an unfortunately common occurrence, as he was plagued by nightmares. The restraints didn’t particularly help with the nightmare situation, but they were a necessity.

He’d start out in bed with Pepper, but when she fell asleep, he felt the panic settle gradually over him until his chest felt concave with the pressure of it, breath coming shorter and shorter. So he’d roll out of bed and go down to the crude lab he had out there, usually tinkering with cars and blasting music loud enough that he’d hopefully drown out that inner voice whispering soft, hateful self-incriminations.

He’d quickly discovered that alcohol no longer had any effect on him. He also discovered, in a fit of desperation, that neither did drugs. So his faithful old friends had deserted him when he needed them the most.

So he was trying so-called “healthy coping mechanisms” now, like hard work and spending time with loved ones. Which was great, but Tony’s issues were gargantuan and he was an addict at heart; he craved any release like a starving man craved food (which he was actually quite familiar with, so he knew it was apt). He knew this, knew he came on way too strong, too needy, and was just...too much. In his attempts to not smother his people, he found himself becoming withdrawn and distant, tormented by the certainty that he’d drive them away with his clingy dependence.

Tony was terrified Pepper would remember just how inadequate he’d always been, how much his love for her, his money, his intelligence never overcame his inability to give her what she needed. He knew she still talked to Tom, and he’d never ask her to completely cut him out of her life, but it didn’t help his insecurities. He would see Pepper’s jaw clench or her eyes dart away and he’d find a way to quickly shut up and make himself scarce.

Happy would check his watch and Tony would suddenly recall an important task running in the lab he needed to check on.

Morgan, his sweet angel, would gladly hang off him until the end of time, but he knew she needed to get back to having a normal life. Well, as normal as life gets when you have a family of billionaires and superheroes.

And he also didn’t want her to see behind the curtain, to see what a weak man her father really was.

Rhodey came by when he could, but he was kept busy with his duties in DC and a new wife. Tony had done enough to damage Rhodey’s career and relationships in the past. He didn’t need to add his newest level of instability onto his friend like that.

And Peter. He never seemed annoyed by Tony’s random check-ins but also didn’t have a problem telling him when he was busy, which actually did more to allay Tony’s worries about being a nuisance than anything. Tony never found any indications from Peter that he should pull back. But he did anyway. Because, well, Peter was a goddamn blessing to the world. And if Tony could, he’d bottle him up and keep him all for himself.

So, anyway, “healthy” was...probably still not an accurate term for his coping mechanisms, shoddy as they were. But at least he wasn’t poisoning his body into an early grave. Again. Ha-fucking-ha.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter questioned one night.

“Yeah, kid?” Tony replied easily, distracted by the circuit board he was soldering while they talked.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

Tony’s brows snapped down and he automatically looked up at the screen in front of him despite the fact that this was an audio call, which was frustrating since he’d really like to see Peter’s face to see if he could tell what had brought on this madness.

“What?” He wracked his brain, trying to figure out what the hell he’d done now that made Peter feel like he’d done something wrong. He hissed as the soldering iron pressed heavily into his finger. He finally set the tool down and looked down to see the circuit board he’d been working on was ruined now. Not surprising.

“What?” he said again. “Of course not. I mean not as far as I know. What the hell are you talking about?”

Peter’s heavy sigh echoed through the lab. “I dunno, just thought maybe I’d pissed you off or done something to annoy you,” he said, too casually. Tony could perfectly imagine the shrug and eye aversion that would go with that statement.

“What?” Tony intoned again. He knew he sounded like a broken record but seriously, what? “Not at all, kid. I mean, not more than normal. Which was a joke, sorry, I can’t help myself. In all seriousness though, I’m not upset at you. Why would you even think that?”

“Okay, sorry, it’s nothing. Anyway-” Peter said quickly, trying to change the subject.

“No, no, no,” Tony interrupted. “Nuh uh. Circle back around here. I’m not letting this one go. I need to know what I’m doing that’s making you feel like that so that I can fix it.”

“No! You’re not doing anything wrong, Mr. Stark,” Peter insisted.

“Well, obviously I am. Just tell me what’s going on, kid,” Tony coaxed.

After a brief hesitation, Peter took a deep breath before responding. “You’ve just been kind of...distant, I guess. I felt like we’d been getting along so well when I was visiting and we were talking on the phone more and it was like we were...friends, you know? And it just seemed like lately you haven’t been as engaged and you’ve been calling less. But I know you’re super busy and you’ve got a lot going on and more important people to hang out with, so I’m sorry, I’m just being overly sensitive.”

Tony’s elbows fell down onto the table in front of him, hands cradling his head. Of fucking course. His idea to help spare the kid had just ended up hurting him. And how was he supposed to explain this without sounding as fucked up as he actually was?

“Mr. Stark?” Peter pressed softly.

“Yeah kid, still here. Just...give me just a minute, okay?” he replied wearily.

Tony listened to Peter’s soft breaths, the rustling of the wind, the NYC traffic far in the background over the line.

“Pete, I - fuck, I don’t know really know what to say,” he said, unable to come up with one of his usual lines. “Just know that it is definitely not your fault. I’m not tired of you or upset at you or any other bullshit you’re coming up with in that head of yours. And I don’t know what ‘more important’ people you think I’m hanging out with, but that’s definitely not the case either. I mean, hell, I think only maybe ten people are even aware I’m alive. But regardless, even if I had every single person on the planet at my disposal, you would still be one of the most important people to me. So don’t sell yourself so short.”

He heard Peter’s breath hitch slightly before he cleared his throat. “Oh. Well, okay. And, uh, same. Just so you know.”

Tony’s lips twitched in a tired smile. Despite the awkwardness of it, he knew Peter was ridiculous sincere about it. “And hey, you can always call me, too - stop making me do all the work.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “I just don’t want to bother you. Between trying to get your family back together and figure out your new body, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, so I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“Never,” Tony replied immediately. “Nah, kid, you’re not a nuisance. I like hearing from you. And honestly, you’re probably my best source for figuring out the physical craziness and I’m not utilizing you near enough for that.”

Peter hummed. “Okay, well just promise to let me know if you’re busy or if I’m getting to be too much.”

“Same,” Tony responded, echoing Peter’s earlier statement.

As Peter huffed a laugh, Tony felt confident enough that had been handled as much as it needed to be and launched into an explanation of his current project.

Thank God, because the moment of touchy-feely honesty was surely going to start making his skin crawl.

It became a thing: Tony calling when he was stressed and couldn’t sleep, Peter calling frustrated about classes, and everything in between. Peter realized that Tony was basically under house arrest so he’d send him pictures of random things he saw on the street - a cute dog, a weird sign, his lunch for the day, a crazy outfit someone was wearing.

More and more often, Pepper would come downstairs looking for Tony when he left their bed on the weekends to find him lounging in the lab, laughing as he talked to Peter in the middle of the night.

At first, he’d see her come in and nod and she’d smile back, relieved to see him happy and connecting with someone else.

Tonight, she was not smiling. Tony noticed her jaw clenched and eyes shuttered when he glanced at her and he frowned.

“Hey, Pete, I’m gonna have to cut this short, okay? We’ll talk later,” Tony cut in.

“Oh,” Peter said dumbly. “Uh, yeah, sure, no problem. Good night Mr. Stark!”

“Night, kid,” Tony replied before promptly hanging up.

“What’s wrong, Pep?” Tony asked, turning and giving her his full attention.

She stood in front of him, arms crossed and fingers tapping agitatedly on her opposite elbow as she battled with whether to say what she really wanted. Tony was quiet as he waited for her to decide.

“I’m trying to be understanding, Tony,” Pepper finally said. “I am. But are you ever going to be able to sleep in the same bed as me or is this going to be how it is for the rest of our lives?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. As long as I feel like you or Morgan are in danger then the answer is no.”

“Isn’t that what the FEMA protocol is for?” she asked.

“Yes, but it’s one thing to have it work in a test situation and another thing completely to trust it with your life. And I don’t. Do you think I don’t want to be able to sleep next to you?” Tony said, frustrated.

“Some days I feel like I really don’t know. You seem perfectly content to come down here and talk to Peter every night,” she said.

“Is that a problem?” Tony asked, brows furrowed. “Me talking to Peter?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Pepper said, sighing, hand coming up to cover her face. “I just feel like you’re able to talk to him in a way we haven’t been able to manage and I’m...jealous,” she admitted. “And yes, I know how incredibly childish and stupid this sounds.”

“Hey,” Tony said softly, standing up and coming to grab her by the elbows and pull her close. “No, it’s not stupid at all. I get it. Mine and Peter’s relationship is easier than ours, and it’s not fair. But it’s because we have a simpler relationship - we’re not trying to juggle a romantic relationship, a parenting relationship, and a potential working relationship in addition to our friendship.”

“But it’s not just that,” Pepper said, looking up at him. “You talk to him in a way you don’t talk to me. And I never see you laugh like that with me - it’s like you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Tony dropped his gaze, pulling back slightly. “I guess I also don’t feel like I have as much to lose with Peter.”

“Because he doesn’t mean as much to you or because you think he’s a sure thing and I’m not?” Pepper asked bluntly.

He pulled back another step, sighing as he ran his hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t say Peter necessarily means less to me. Of course he doesn’t mean more than you, he’s just important to me in a different way - like how you and Morgan and Happy are all important to me in different ways.”

“And?”

Tony didn’t want to answer the second part of that question. But Pepper was staring expectently at him, no out in sight. “What do you want me to say, Pepper?” he asked wearily.

“I want you to tell me why you always act like you’ve got one foot out the door.”

Tony grit his teeth before replying. “Because I know I’m gonna fuck this up and I still don’t really know where I stand with you. So instead of bumbling my way through it, it just seems...I don’t know, safer, I guess, to just be ready for it all to explode in my face so I’m prepared for the inevitable end.”

“You’re being a coward,” Pepper said harshly, eyes filmy and lower lip trembling.

Tony recoiled, eyes hurt and wary, but didn’t deny it. “You’re right,” he admitted softly. “But can you honestly tell me that you’re not waiting for the same thing, Pep?”

She immediately started shaking her head. “No, of course I’m not! I…” but she trailed off.

“I see it,” Tony cut in before she could gather herself. “I see how you’re always waiting for me to disappoint, bracing yourself for how to deal with it and make this work. I’ve always admired your problem-solving abilities, honey, but this shouldn’t have to be something that you grit your teeth and push through just to get it done. I don’t want to be another chore.”

Pepper shut her eyes tight, brow scrunched in pain briefly before she opened them again. She sniffled quietly, a tear tracking slowly down her left cheek as the rest of her face remained stoic.

As the silence drew out, she sighed, shoulders slumping. “Maybe that’s true. And I’m sorry for making you feel that way.”

Tony shrugged in response, scuffing his foot across the floor.

“But I still want to work on this, on us,” she said.

“Me too, honey,” Tony murmured, stepping back into her space.

Pepper smiled tremulously, reaching out and twining her fingers behind his neck. “So come to bed,” she coaxed.

Tony stiffened, shaking his head. But as he opened his mouth, she put her finger to his lips, smile turning coy. “Beds aren’t just for sleeping, Tony.”

Eyes widening, Tony blinked helplessly for several seconds before gathering her in his arms and bolting for the main house, Pepper screeching in laughter on the way.

It was wonderful.

The closeness, the intimacy, was everything he’d craved, miles of warm, smooth skin against his own. He trembled violently, overwhelmed, skin soaking up the contact it had been deprived of for so, so long.

It was beautiful.

His hands glided over every inch of her, worshiping her body until she’d pulled him back up impatiently. He sank into her, warmth that permeated through him, down to his bones.

It was earth-shattering.

As she came apart beneath him and he reached his peak, he felt his blood surge, hands flying to the headboard to brace himself. Groaning deeply, his hips jolted forward and the headboard exploded in his grip.

It was terrible.

Chest heaving, he looked down and froze, seeing her wide eyes staring up at him, splintered shards of wood in her hair. He scrambled backwards, all that glorious warmth turned to ice in his veins. Despite her rushed assurances, he stumbled out of the room.

It was never happening again.

____________________________________________________________________

So I ended up having to split up this update. Because I seem to have a major problem with not having an ending that’s depressing.

I’ve got a pretty good chunk of the next part written (look forward to Peter visiting Tony but everything still being frustratingly sweet and platonic, and a brief return mention of badass/scary!Peter) so hopefully the delay between updates will be shorter buuuuut no guarantees. Kids, y’all, they are a major time and energy suck - but they’re worth it because I love them :)

taglist: @marvelobsessedrat, @dim-ships-johnlock, @starkerstories @t1of3 @consciencecoward @peachbabytarte

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