#he hurts the plants too the ones that he proclaims that he’s saving

[ocdhuacheng]

Knives Stans do know u can like a villain character without excusing their actions right?

[authorautumnbanks]

How To Tame A Sorcerer (39)

Series Master list

There isn't much that pisses Satoru off. There are the higher-ups who lord over everyone from their cushiony seats, proclaiming that rules and order are the only way to live. Really, anything that challenges them has to be eliminated. The teacher in him rebels against such restraints.

And, of course, anything that involves Kagome getting hurt.

His first inclination is that Gakuganji went crawling back to the higher-ups and tipped them off about Kagome. But no one knows that she's a miko except for him and a handful of fox demons. And that Naraku guy. So, the probability of that is low.

Pissed. A simple word to describe one's anger and far too tepid to describe the seething wrath itching at his fingertips.

"Don't," the spider cries out, though its words are muffled from the pool of green acidic blood coating its words. Satoru rips a leg off. Each cry does nothing to appease the agony swirling in his gut.

What good is it being the strongest if he can't protect his girl?

"I was just," it says, folding into itself. He clucks his tongue. Squeezes one beady eye until it pops. "She's still on the grounds!" It scrambles back with what limbs it has. Satoru does not blink, his eyes sting from the strain. He refuses to blink. All he sees is her being taken away from him, so he keeps his eyes peeled open. He frowns, looking at yet another spider demon.

"What a brutal sight." The demon chuckles to himself. There are four brown spider-like legs on either side of him, fanned out to look as though they are wings. With the white matching hakama and top, perhaps a fallen angel is what the demon is going for. "So, this is the power of the six eyes."

"Where is she?" Satoru steps on the spider's head, the audible crunch reverberates along the wing. A melody that matches the pain in his chest.

"Not safe if that's—" Satoru punches the demon in his face, drawing out a groan. Specks of blood fall to the ground, but the pavement does not melt this time.

Not all of them have acidified blood. He flicks his gaze at the mangled corpse of the she-spider. The other one that he hit with his red reversal was female as well. Is it just limited to the female spiders or just those two?

"There is only one way for you to get her back." The demon spits blood onto the floor. Wipes his mouth with the back of his palm. It's the red of his eyes that sparks more outrage in Satoru's palms than the cockiness dancing along the ends of the demon's fang-filled mouth.

Calm. Stay calm. He slows his breathing to match the droplets of rain. He flexes his hands. A hole in the barrier?

"Truly," the demon says, his lips split open into a maniac expression. "I expected more bloodshed." He gestures to the knocked-out humans, all carefully laid down into a single file. "Why save them? You would be much further along in your pursuit, surely, if you had just slaughtered them all. Well, I suppose we would not be having this conversation."

The demon talks a lot and says so little.

"You won't tell me then?" Satoru tilts his head. Stalks forward. The demon rubs its legs together. A sound attack? He teleports behind the overly confident spider demon. Plants both legs on its back as he wraps his hands around all eight legs. "One, two." He rips them off. "Whoops." The blood ruins his shirt. The coppery substance spurs him on more.

His mind is drained. Tired of the games. Tired of demons, curses, and sorcerers alike, thinking that they can keep prodding at him with no repercussions. Satoru stands on top of the demon, digs the bottom of his heel in deeper. The demon curses at him but does not beg. The legs tremble in his hands. Curious. He drops them. Analyzes how the limbs stitch themselves back together rather than regenerate.

"I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill you." The demon attempts to stand, his arms shake and give out from the pressure. Tries to remove Satoru with the pointed ends of its many legs, but nothing reaches.

Tries.

Tries.

"Where." Satoru squats, grabs a fistful of the demon's inky black hair and slams his head into the pavement. "Is she?" He slams its head again. The floor around them cracks. A crater stretches across the grounds and ends right before the civilians. It would be a pain in the ass if they all fell into the crater after all the work he did to save the ones he could. Lightning strikes a tree. His heartbeat drowns out the sound of thunder. Yaga will be on his case about the damages. But he cannot muster up the energy to give a damn.

Not when Kagome is in danger.

Not when… he snaps that train of thought in half, locks it behind iron-clad mental walls.

"You're," the demon says. Stops to cough. "The strongest. Figure it out." He laughs, but it comes out choked. Satoru exhales through his mouth.

"No better than the curses," he mutters. Raises a brow at the insults that spew out of the demon's mouth. It doesn't matter. "Red reversal." Nothing matters until he finds her.

"You realize this is a mistake?" Kagome asks, keeps her tone light. She tugs at the chain attached to her leg. When all of this is done, she'll swallow down her pride and see if those sparring matches are still on the table. "Can you not speak?" She slants her gaze at the stationed guards with their impassioned expressions and dark attire. It certainly helps them to blend in the shadows.

She counts two swords and a dagger for each. They most likely have other hidden daggers on them. But these guards are bulky, too wide, too refined to be spiders. Her shoulders sag. She takes a seat on the bed. As far as kidnappings go, this is the most comfortable she's been, minus the chain attached to her.

"Satoru will come for me." She digs her hands into the covers. The covers, the carpet, the walls are all so dark. If it wasn't for the sliver of light coming through from the small window, she'd think that more time had passed. "Is it worth your lives?" They don't flinch. She wonders if they even breathe.

"You're wasting your time. They're mute. Ate their own tongues."

Kagome turns to the female voice. Her heart drops.

No.

"Not happy to see me?" Yumi frowns, her green eyes mist over in fake sadness.

"Under these circumstances? No, not really." Kagome stands. Squares her shoulders. "Does Yakeru know that you are here? No, I bet he doesn't. Since when do foxes team up with spiders?"

"When it's beneficial of course." Yumi glides across the room with an elegance more similar to a feline. Each movement is precise and calculated. "You have something that I want." She sits down at the vanity. Unravels her braid.

Kagome snorts. "Let me guess. You want the Shikon."

"Only the Shikon priestess can control the jewel." Yumi lifts the brush to her hair. "It is indeed powerful, but a fool's endeavor." She turns around, points the brush at Kagome.

"You want me then?"

"Don't be so conceited. I want what everyone will soon want."

"Speak plainly." Kagome rubs her temple.

"The child born from the Shikon priestess and the six eyes."

[rheawritessometimes]

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Childe gets an owie while sparing. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Violence, Swearing, Angry Reader, Injury, Physical Intimacy (Kissing).

{ Notes } Hurting Childe just a little because he refused to come home for me. Lost the 50/50. Reader is a sword user. Reader is suggested to be the Traveler. Self-indulgent again because all my writing is. This one is a real trainwreck but I didn't want to go too long without posting. Something better than nothing? Masterlist

{ Word Count } 2,404

Meeting Childe at the Golden House every week had been your routine for a while now. Right after you had defeated him the first time, he immediately begged you to train with him and you gave in, unable to bear those puppy-dog eyes. And the entire week he spent pestering you about it.

The whole fiasco with Osial had been put behind the both of you. It was probably true that you were too quick to forgive Childe, but he was just so charming. Not to mention he often paid for your meals, suggesting going out to eat after your sessions or if he saw you around the harbor. On a few occasions, you had been out eating with friends or on your own and found he had picked up your tab.

Since Liyue hadn't been destroyed and you got free food out of it, you really weren't all too upset about the situation. The Snezhnayan was actually pretty easy to get along with when Fatui matters weren't involved. He made you laugh too, so you supposed you could tolerate the once-weekly sparing sessions with him.

Childe called it sparing, but normal people didn't spar with actual weapons and fight like they were going to kill their partner. At first, you had tried to convince him it would be much better and safer for the both of you to use practice weapons instead of sharpened blades and arrows. He was quick to decline, saying something about both of you being competent enough not to get seriously hurt. You thought about refuting that on the basis that he had yet to beat you even once.

Even so, every week you found yourself pushing through the doors to the chamber Childe was always patiently waiting in. You'd never gotten there before him and wondered if he intentionally came early. You wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, he probably paced the room plotting his seemingly unobtainable victory.

The hydro vision paired with his combat experience and skill made him a difficult opponent, but he didn't seem terribly good at strategy. He might have been careless because it wasn't a real fight, but somehow you doubted that. He seemed the type to always give it his all. It could be that was his problem, since his loss usually came due to his exhaustion. Maybe if he didn't spend so much energy trying to show off he'd actually be a proper challenge.

"You're finally here," Childe proclaimed dramatically, voice echoing off the walls, "I thought you might have gotten lost on the way or something. Was starting to worry I'd need to go out and rescue you."

"I'm fifteen minutes early, Childe. How long have you been waiting?" you asked dryly, raising your eyebrow questioningly. You took a moment to shrug your adventuring pack off your shoulders and drop it near the door. You rolled your shoulders, relieved to be free of the weight.

"Ahah, anyways, we should get started. I have some business to attend to today," he responded, indiscreetly ignoring your question. It shouldn't have been very surprising that he didn't wait for your response before sending an arrow flying in your direction, but he'd always waited for you to signal you were ready before starting in the past.

Materializing your sword out of habit more than anything else, you raised it to block the arrow with the flat of the blade. The arrow bounced off the metal with a weak dink, clattering to the ground. If you'd reacted a moment later it would have pierced you.

You shot Childe a dirty look, irate from the cheap shot. He responded by grinning wider and taking aim again. You silently promised that he would face your wrath shortly.

Advancing towards him, you swatted the arrow flying your way with your sword. A bow would be less effective at close range, so you intended to close the distance. The redhead laughed, a hint of nervousness creeping into the sound at the pace of your advance. Or perhaps it was the building rage in your eyes.

The bow dematerialized, now Childe held dual hydro-blades in his hands in anticipation of close combat. Once in range, he immediately swiped at you with a blade. You stepped back out of the way, quickly bringing up your sword to parry the next slash coming from the opposite blade.

Childe seemed encouraged by you backing away, a smug look crossing his face. You furrowed your brows, he was so unthoughtful. He insists on using real weapons, shoots at you before you're ready, and now he has the audacity to get cocky.

You raise your blade to swing down at him and he catches your sword on crossed hydro-blades. He lets out a little huff of air, not expecting you to strike with such force, but his arms hold steady. You swiftly draw your blade back to slash at him again. Thorough training has you swiping at him with practiced ease while Childe is forced to switch to the defensive.

It gives you a sort of satisfaction to see his expression change to one of worry, it was your first time seeing such a look on him. You had no intention of actually hurting him, but it was nice to scare him a little. Maybe after this, he'd take the dangers of sparing with actual weapons a little more seriously. But probably not.

You're hardly thinking when his hydro-blades finally fail to parry your blows, the flat of your blade slamming into the side of his chest resulting in a soft crack barely loud enough to reach your ears. A look of surprise crosses your face when he lets out a pained grunt, what had happened finally being processed in your mind.

Immediately you drop your sword, ignoring it as it clatters to the ground before dematerializing. You were internally relieved to see his hydro-blades dissipate too, it would have been terribly unsportsmanly of him to stab you now. Stepping forward on instinct, you pause as you realize you're not exactly sure what to do.

Childe clutches his chest as he coughs a few times and a flood of panic washes over you. If you broke his ribs, his lungs could have been punctured. That would be bad.

"Fuck, that hurts," he huffed out before he attempted to gingerly sit down, right in the middle of the Golden House. Childe winced at the movement, but he managed to settle, leaning on his arms for support. His breathing was heavy from the strain of sparing and you felt extremely guilty, broken ribs had a tendency to hurt terribly and pain would flare up with every breath. At least he seemed to be breathing okay, so his lungs were probably intact.

"Let me get something to ease the pain," you said hastily, jogging towards the door to grab your bag. Your first thought was to numb him up before bringing him to Bubu Pharmacy to get some proper help.

"Aw, are you actually worried about me?" he cooed teasingly, maintaining that signature annoying grin despite the pain that followed him speaking. It was easy to ignore him as you rummaged through your bag for something useful.

It crossed your mind that it would be exceedingly difficult to get him all the way back to Liyue if you gave him anything strong. That limited your options rather greatly, adding that on to your lacking medical knowledge and limited variety of resources left you with fewer options than you would have liked. He probably could make it back without any anesthetic but it would be slow and you'd feel terrible for it.

Even with your lack of selection, you were thankful to have some knowledge and materials for this sort of thing, adventuring made you better at improvising and you learned a lot along the way. Taking everything into consideration, you decided it would be best to go with something topical. You could make a salve to numb up the area and then hopefully drag him to Bubu Pharmacy.

"I'm really sorry, Childe," you apologized, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Oh don't worry about it, this isn't the first time I've broken my ribs. Probably won't be the last, either," he replied with a laugh, which caused him to wince. You only frowned at him as you pulled out some plants to grind up. A rock would have worked, but you kept a mortar and pestle for this kind of thing after realizing you'd be doing it often.

You were soon mashing some leaves and a few petals into a paste, with some water Childe so graciously provided. Having a hydro user around was rather convenient when practicing field medicine.

"Whatcha makin'?" Childe asks after a short period of silence, leaning over to get a closer look. You wonder if he's actually curious or if he just can't tolerate the quiet. It seemed the two of you were always talking when you were together, save for when your sparing got too intense to spare the breath.

"A salve to numb you up so I can drag you to Bubu Pharmacy," you responded, still mostly focused on getting the paste to the right consistency.

"What? No, I can't go. I've got work to do," he argued, moving to stand up now.

You were quick to grab his wrist to prevent him from getting up, furrowing your brows. Childe paused, waiting for your explanation.

"You have at least one broken rib, whatever you need to do can wait," you told him sternly, maintaining eye contact. He turned his gaze away from you to hum in contemplation. He knew well enough that giving injuries time to heal was important, but so was his job.

"Fine, I guess what I was supposed to do today isn't that important," he relented, leaning back into a comfortable position once more. Childe had a feeling that if he had insisted on working you'd have found a way to stop him anyway.

"Can you take off your shirt?" you asked, trying to sound as casual and not awkward as possible once you were satisfied with the consistency of the paste. You would have offered to allow him to apply it himself but you figured it would be less painful this way, plus you'd need to bandage his chest afterward, so it didn't make much of a difference.

"Oh my, you're not usually this bold," he teased, reaching to begin undoing the clasps holding his jacket together. His remark made you decide against offering your assistance despite the awareness that even just wriggling out of the jacket probably hurt. It's okay to be a little petty sometimes. As a treat.

Once his torso was bare you shifted your position to be a bit closer and examined his side. There was already the beginning of bruising, but it would get much darker by tomorrow. You ignored the scars and other bruises that were present, very aware of the fact the redhead would tease you for staring if you looked any longer.

"I promise I'll be gentle," you assured, "But it'll probably hurt a little."

Childe just hummed, waving off your warning, so you gathered some of the salve on your fingers. You silently wished you'd had gloves that weren't absorbent with you so your hands wouldn't grow numb later.

It was a quick process of spreading the paste over his ribs, but his eyes remained on you the entire time. You couldn't be sure if he was just interested in what you were doing, but it surprised you that he remained entirely silent.

"It'll take a little while to numb up. I'm going to bandage your chest for support. This will hurt more," you informed him, dragging your pack towards you to dig out a roll of bandages.

"Don't worry, I'm a tough boy," he laughed in response, and you could only smile and shake your head at him. You had faith in his strength, but that didn't stop the guilt you felt over being responsible for his pain. It did make you feel better when he started reminiscing on past injuries he'd sustained in battle once you began bandaging him. How he could look back on them so fondly was a mystery to you.

At first, you were mindful to touch him as little as possible while you were wrapping the bandages. They needed to be a little tight to provide support but you tried to ensure they put as little pressure on his ribs as possible. Unfortunately, your fingers started to grow numb and you hadn't realized you'd been bandaging too tightly until Childe let out a soft grunt of pain.

"Fuck, sorry," you apologized, quickly unraveling the last section of bandaging to rewrap it more loosely.

"Don't worry about it," he said, thinking for a moment before adding, "But, if you want to make it up to me, a kiss would make me feel better."

Pausing in your ministrations, you looked up to see a cheeky grin on his face. You raised a brow, giving him an entirely unimpressed expression. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to flirt like this, trying to get a reaction out of you. But as you reached one hand up to gently grab his chin, it was his turn to become flustered.

Leaning up, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before moving away and releasing your hold on him. You patted his cheek twice, giving him an amused grin.

"You're welcome."

"Hey! That doesn't count!" Childe immediately whined, pouting at you. You could only laugh at his playful antics as you finally finished wrapping his chest.

"You're cruel, you know that?" the Snezhnayan grumbled, eyebrows still furrowed as he continued to pout. He really did seem like a spoiled kid at this moment and you laughed again, causing his frown to deepen.

You knew his demeanor was all theatrical, but as you stared at his expression you found yourself leaning towards him again. You gently pressed your lips to his, smiling into the kiss when his hands eagerly flew up to your face. You indulged in the kiss for a few moments, smirking when he followed you as you pulled away. Putting a hand on his shoulder, you halted his attempt to continue.

"You can have another kiss once you get checked out at Bubu Pharmacy."

-

If you read all that, I'm sorry lol. I wanted to spend more time on it but I don't want to take too long posting things. Anyways, if you have any better ideas for what I should write send them in. Please.

There's a part two now: Part 2

[theanoninyourinbox]

Longstar AU Three to Tango part 2

Sorry this bit took longer, had some personal issues to deal with, but we’re all good now.  I also realized I added a plot point too early, and removed it.  Alright back to cats!

While out hunting, Cinderpaw falls from a tree, injuring her hind leg.  Lionpaw carries her back to camp, and brings back a strange stick as well, saying he just thought it was neat.  Fireheart is worried that due to her being a reincarnation of a crippled warrior, that she might have similar leg problems.  Lionpaw butts in, saying that she’s not the same cat; even if her spirit resides in Cinderpaw, Cinderpelt is a far different cat.  Darkmoon is touched by this wisdom, but then looks at Lionpaw to see him staring off into space, with the AOL dialup tone playing.  Canon continues until...

Riverclan!  They proclaim their camp is unusable, and Jaypaw sneaks over to see a bunch of twoleg kits running around.  Unfortunately he’s caught, but it’s Uncle Hawkfrost, who just sends him home with a stern warning.  A few nights later, Lionpaw has a strange dream about tunnels, and an orange-and-white tomcat, and a nearly hairless elder.  Canon continues until...

The Windclan kits go missing, and the Three join Breezepaw and Heatherpaw to look for them.  They find the kits in the tunnels, but the water begins to rise.  Lionpaw, remembering his dream, tosses the kits on his back and leads everyone to safety.  Canon continues until...

The Tribe!  It goes mostly as canon, but with the Three bonding with their father, trying to get him to bond with  Breezepaw somewhat successfully, and immediately adopting Purdy as their “Gramps”.  Crowfeather, Tawnypelt, Foxflight, and Stormfur rekindle their friendship, with Tawnypelt apologizing to Foxflight about Brambleclaw, and all four reuniting with Feathertail.  While watching battle training, Lionpaw asks Feathertail what works best for her back, determined to gather new knowledge for any future injuries.  Canon continues until...

After the fight with the intruding cats ends, Hollypaw is covered in blood and little cuts, but shows her brothers a brand new scar on her belly that should have been a fatal wound, but instead healed up.  Lionpaw tells her that he can tell it doesn’t hurt because he would feel it.  Hollypaw says what?  Lionpaw says what?  Jaypaw, remembering the dream-sharing he did with Lionpaw that one time, decides Starclan is involved and didn’t tell them.  Starclan you beTTER EXPLAIN SO HELP ME I’LL GET GRAN-GRAN INVOLVED!!!!

Gran-gran Yellowfang yeets down from Starclan to kiss and holler at all her descendants, and gives them the Prophecy, explaining that their parents didn’t tell them because they were unsure who it involved, and she refuses to keep it a secret anymore, citing that the last time she kept a secret Brokenstar happened, giving a short explanation.  The Three agree to not be mad at their family, because that makes sense.

Storm and Brook decide to stay with the Tribe, and after a tearful farewell, the Clan Cats leave.  When Hollypaw gets back to camp, she has another dream about Tigerstar and Brambleclaw, now insisting they can train her to be the best warrior ever.  When she wakes up, she grabs her siblings, parents (Crowfeather and Swiftpool are having a sleepover), aunt and uncles, and her grandparents and great-uncle and the beans get spilled about the Prophecy and the Creepy Cat Dreams.  Everyone panics!  But they unpanic when Sandstorm, who was woken by the ruckus, points out that maybe the panic was the point?  Maybe if we stay calm and ignore them, they’ll either stop or make a move.  Everyone agrees, but this plants the seeds of doubt and anxiety in Hollypaw.  Did they pick her because she’s weak?  Canon continues until...

Windclan and Thunderclan both start finding each other’s prey on their land.  Mudstar and Longstar both agree someone is trying to start a fight, which happens when some younger warriors from both sides start a tussle.  Mudstar says until they figure out who’s doing this the clans should stay apart.  This leads to Swiftpool and Crowfeather being separated for a time.  A little while later, Berrynose, one of the troublemakers, says he saw a lion walking around camp, no it wasn’t Lionpaw I swear!  A little later, Fireheart, Darkmoon, and Lionpaw are gathering herbs, and discussing when Fireheart should retire, when Sol strolls up, say oop sun’s gonna go out, and yoinks out of ther before Darkmoon can grab him.  Canon continues until...

The free for all, triggered by some idiot in Windclan, starts, and the Eclipse happens.  Everyone except for Jaypaw and Longstar panics, and Sol strolls off to Shadowclan, with a ghostly Yellowfang throwing cat-cuss words at his back.  He still convinces Blackstar to forsake Starclan.

Back at Thunderclan, Hollypaw, Jaypaw, and Cinderpaw are promoted to Hollywish (for her great-grandmother and grandmother, and her hopes for the future), Jaywhisker (for his alternative senses and long whiskers), and Cinderheart.  The clan cheers them on, with Swiftpool at the front, and Lionpaw at her side, comforting her because his father can’t be there.  Flyshadow cheers from the nursery because she’s pregnant!! Canon continues until...

The Three sneak onto Shadowclan territory, and see poor Littlecloud get grounded by Blackstar.  On their way back, Tawnypelt catches up to them, with her kits Emberpaw (Flamepaw), Goldenpaw (Tigerpaw), and Dawnpaw in tow.  They want no part of a Starless Clan.  Longstar welcomes them to Thunderclan as long as they need shelter.  Canon continues until...

Millie and her daughter Briarkit become ill, and the illness begins to spread.  Lionpaw has a visit from Raggedstar and Runningnose, and grabs his siblings and the Shadowclan apprentices, hoping a plan can be hatched.  Jaywhisker and Flamepaw come up with the tree plan, and are as surprised as everyone else when actual Starclan ghosts show up to holler at the Shadowclan cats.  Blackstar is convinced, and throws Sol out with a Goofy Ya-ha-ha-hooie!  Canon continues until...

Longstar loses a life to the Greencough in camp, and Lionpaw asks Jaywhisker to dreamwalk Kestrelpaw, the Windclan Medicine apprentice, to find out where the catmint is.  After locating it, Lionpaw goes to get it, and is spotted by Breezepaw, who looks a bit happier?  Lionpaw is delighted his half-sib is doing well, and Breeze paw admits that he and Crowfeather hashed things out a bit, then tells Lionpaw to get on and go.  Lionpaw returns to camp with the medicine, and at the next half-moon, is named Lionblossom (for his “blooming spirit” and he gets petals stuck in his fur) by a proud Darkmoon.  When he goes to sleep the next night, he has a dream about tunnels and tribe cats, and a pretty molly named Half-moon.  Canon continues until...

The Fire Scene!!!  Foxflight gets stuck on the other side of a flaming wall with her niece and nephews, and makes a daring leap to grab a branch.  As she maneuvers it across the fire, a shadowy figure approaches.  In a flash, a dirty grey tabby leaps on the branch, blocking her way back!! Oh whatever will she do?!? She tackles him, knocking the tom head over tail into the fire, and saves her family.  Lionblossom has to be carried out, as he’s writhing in agony, feeling the pain of burns from the mysterious stranger.  He recovers shortly after, and no body is found in camp.  However, right before the next Gathering, a Thunderclan patrol finds a burnt corpse by the lakeside.  Flamewish, part of the patrol, thinks he looks familiar, but Graystripe is behind her, too horrified to speak.  He manages to sputter out that he recognizes the scarred pelt when Longstar approaches, and immediately identifies him as Darkstripe?!?!?  Wait what!???!!!  That night, Hollywish is visited by her Least Favorite Ghosts, but behind them is a smoky tom, both in pelt and in stench, and her doubt increases...Canon continues until...

Bluestar yells at Yellowfang for telling her descendants the prophecy.  It was supposed to be a secret, yells Bluestar.  Well so was Brokenstar and look where that got us, Yellowfang hollers back.  The two glare at each other for a while until Runningnose and Redtail break them up.

Back at Thunderclan camp, the cats are discussing how Darkstripe survived his throat being shredded, when the newly promoted Breezepelt and Heathertail enter camp.  They spotted Sol on Windclan land carrying a Thunderclan bird, and watched him plant it on Windclan territory, explaining the prey problem.  Longstar sends a patrol out to look for him, and the bring him and this other hanger-on that refused to leave him.  The Three grab their Gramps Purdy and escort him to the elder’s den, are you comfy Gramps, oh here let me introduce you to Mousefur.  Canon continues until...

Briarkit is attacked by the snake.  Honeyfern leaps in the way, getting struck in the eye, and Lionblossom makes the painful split-second decision to to an eye-ectomy on the spot.  Luckily, Fireheart heard the screaming and was rushing over to help, and finds both Honeyfern and Lionblossom on the ground writhing in pain.  Honeyfern is rushed to the Medicine Den, where she makes a miracle recovery - her eye and the hearing in that ear, and her ability to have kits are gone, and she’ll most likely be wobbly for life.  Honeyfern and Berrynose mourn their lack of future kits, but Poppyfrost insists she’ll carry kits for them, and the three can raise them together.  In the forest nearby, a seething ghostly Mapleshade confronts a shimmering Frecklewish, but both stalk off without a fight.  At some point around here, Coldlight confesses his feelings to Sandstorm, who tells him she needs to think about her feelings.  He respects her wishes because he’s sensible, and needs to emotionally recover from his love confession, because Coldlight’s drained by feelings. Canon continues until...

At next Gathering, Mudstar and Blackstar both want a piece of Sol.  Longstar counters that holding him prisoner keeps him from doing more harm, and Mudstar agrees, ending the cross-clan conflict - Crowfeather promises his kits he’ll visit shortly.  Back at Thunderclan later, Hollywish thinks she’s talking to her father and confesses her fears and anxieties.  The shadowy cat tells her of course she’s evil, and no one actually loves you.  A teary Hollywish rushes off, past her brothers, and into the tunnels, and they collapse behind her.  Crowfeather pins Sol to the ground, and he laughs evily.

Meanwhile, Whitewing’s kits and Flyshadow’s kit sleep peacefully.

Dun Dun Dun!  And that’s all for now!

[rose-blooms-red]

Significant Others/troopers under their command react to Edee's latest volley of obnoxious gifts :D

Did I start this 3 months ago? Yes. Did I also write over 2k of it Today? Also yes. Productivity is a Relative Term. 

[read on ao3]

Fox twitches as he reads the clearly handmade voucher. Says, pleasant as anything, “I’m going to fucking murder him.”

Ponds hums, looking over Fox’s shoulder, “It’s sweet. Probably.”

Fox makes a noise in the back of his throat that isn’t entirely describable by any known language. 

Does he still have that clock he found during that one shopping trip? The one with that awful fucking peach, mustard, and grey-blue combination that spat out an eeopie’s mating call every half hour? He’d been planning on saving it he remembers but—

“Telling you to take a break like that,” Ponds continues, like he can’t hear the way Fox’s higher reasoning is currently dying a slow painful death, “very considerate.”

Fox grits his teeth. Needs must, and Fox needs to crush the little fucker’s spirit thoroughly under heel. He’ll have to take it out of storage tomorrow.

“No.”

Ponds giggles, “I’m sure it’ll be entertaining at least.”

“Hondo,” Fox reiterates, digging his elbow back into Ponds’ stomach. 

Ponds drapes himself over Fox’s back, knocks the side of his head against Fox’s, “As I said,” he simpers, “entertaining.”

Fox makes a disgusted sound, sneers down at the offending…. Gift.

‘All expense-paid cruise on the Hondo Ohkana ‘Sights of The Galaxy’ tour!!!!!!’ It proclaims in neon colours and excessive exclamation marks, ‘Very Romantic and Exciting!’

“When’s it say it’s good for?” Ponds asks, like he’s actually contemplating it.

“No.”

Ponds snatches the voucher out of his hands anyway, “Oh good! We aren’t busy that ten-day.”

Fox’s hand twitches, “I am not getting on a fucking ship with fucking Hondo Ohkana, Ponds.”

“Mhm, ‘course not Fox.” Ponds responds absentmindedly, pats his arm lightly in the way that means they are definitely getting on the fucking ship with fucking Hondo Ohkana, “We’ve got a ten-day to pack and get everything in order, that should be enough.” He nods to himself, breezes out of the room with a vague sense of purpose as he flits around the house, presumably for things to take on a ‘very romantic and exciting’ trip.

Fox is going to murder somebody, preferably Hondo, or Neyo. 

He hears the sound of Ponds grabbing the DC-15A’s and he grimaces, ugh, time to find the fucking holdout blasters, those things haven’t been serviced in at least a ten-day, and he needs to check on the blaster packs for the DC-17’s. He can’t remember if he restocked the things after the last time he used them. 

If they’re going on the fucking trip, they’re gonna be well fucking stocked.

(Fox manages not to murder Hondo, but it’s a very near fucking thing.

He does come back from the trip in a much better mood though, other than the twitch he’s developed from listening to Hondo all day. Ponds is annoyingly amused and smug about it. Fox ignores it, like he does every other fucking annoyance in his life. 

He shuts down the talk of another trip like it happening any time in this fucking century before Ponds even opens his mouth to respond. Once was fucking enough thank you.)

__________

Colt closes his eyes, casts a net about his mind for a sliver of patience and finds his supply has dwindled something awful.

When he opens his eyes again both nuisance and potted plant are still there. Gree smiles winningly and Colt smells danger. 

Or maybe he just smells the plant, because that is the thing overwhelming everything else right now. He glares down at it, it looks harmless, mostly, in it’s large pot but already Colt can hear the sounds of flies swarming around.

“That is not a houseplant,” Colt says, relatively tamely in his opinion, given that the overwhelming smell it emits is decay, “that is the type of plant one shoots and hopes doesn't survive the encounter.”

“It’s a very rare and endangered plant,” Gree lies, grin earnest and eyes bright with humour.

“It’s a pile of banthashit dressed up in vegitive form.”

“It’s an Amorphophallus titanum,” Gree corrects, “and it’s very rare, it’s one of the largest unbranched inflorescence in the galaxy that isn’t also carnivorous in any shape or form.”

Colt gives the plant a dubious look, “I’ll believe that when it doesn’t smell like it just ate and digested something.”

Gree shrugs, “It’s possible it’s a type of carrion flower…. but in the name of protecting it from extinction there’s no one I’d trust more than you.”

Colt twitches, he has no clue what a carrion flower is or how that accounts for the way it smells like Colt has a pile of corpses rotting away on his front step, but he does not like it at all.

The worst part is that he can’t actually tell whether this is Gree being serious or him pulling a shithead move. Because this is exactly the type of thing Gree would genuinely do and also the type of thing Gree would do just to fuck with him.

Behind him someone gags and Colt twitches.

“Fine,” he grits out, and Gree’s smile tries for sunshine and comes up partly cloudy and fully shiteating.

“Wonderful, thanks Colt.”

“Please leave.” 

Gree laughs as he leaves and Colt closes the door with a sigh.

“It smells like someone died over there,” Blitz calls out and Colt groans.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Havoc sniggers, “It really does sir, we might have to keep the Little’s away for a few days, wouldn’t want one of ‘em puking.”

Colt winces, that image does enough to convince him of the necessity, the only thing that could be worse right now is over a dozen Little’s sicking up from the smell. “Might be for the best.”

Blitz hums, looking at the now closed door in interest, “How likely is it that he was pulling your leg?”

Colt slumps into his chair, “50/50” he admits and Blitz raises his eyebrows.

“That is almost more concerning. What the kriff did they put in your batch.”

“Mistakes,” Colt grumbles back. This is why he’s the oldest, he’s the only one in the entire batch who managed to wrangle any sense out of his tube and keep it all the way through.

Havoc laughs and Blitz snorts, then looks like he immediately regrets it, “Ugh, Colt your batch is full of sadists I’m not gonna get the smell out of my nose for weeks.”

“It’s probably seeped into the clothes at this point,” Havoc agrees and Colt groans.

(When Shaak comes home she takes one look at the plant and can’t seem to decide whether to grimace or smile.

“Apparently,” he drawls, “it’s a very endangered plant that’s been entrusted to my care.”

A burst of laughter ripples out into the room and Shaak smiles, hand covering her lips as her shoulders shake minutely, Colt forgets about the death plant for a second as he looks up at her, heart stopping for a moment in the split second it takes her to swallow her laughter back down and he wants nothing more than to pull that sound out from her again.

It takes him a minute to realize that at some point he’d started smiling. He can’t seem to stop it, but there are worse things to find himself unable to stop doing.

“It’s commonly known as a type of carrion flower,” she tells him finally, laughter lacing her tone, “otherwise known as a corpse flower for the smells they produce. It is not endangered, though there are those who agree that it might not be too much of a loss if it was.”

Colt groans. Shaak giggles and Colt finds himself forgetting for a second to plot his revenge.

Maybe Gree will get off a bit lighter this time, if only because Colt got to hear that bright laughter. 

He hums, “Plant it far, far, far away from the house?” Shaak smiles, presses a kiss to his forehead.

“That, my dear Colt, sounds like a brilliant plan.”)

__________

Gree gives the box a look of suspicious distrust that makes Barriss giggle and Decker snicker. 

It’s a big box, about the size of his torso and Gree has seen that bland, even smile too many times before to trust the contents of the box.

“Fox,” he warns and Fox’s grin goes sickeningly sweet.

“Gree, Baby Brother Dearest,” he drawls and Gree can hear the capital letters what the fuck, “I put my heart and soul into this you know, I’m hurt, really I am.”

That, Gree thinks sourly, is the worst load of banthashit he’s ever heard, and he’s had to listen to ‘scientific lectures’ given by people who read maybe one Edupad and then promptly forgot all of the information in the Edupad and decided whatever half-remembered thing left was Fact and Truth and refused to listen to Reason…. or sources and cited works.

Gree was very annoyed about that one, he’d put Effort into that paper thank you very much and he’d taken the class to learn things, not whatever that had been.

Fox wiggles the box in his hands around, expression pleasant and smile sharp.

Gree sighs. At least, he assures himself as he takes the box, it won’t be as bad as whatever happened after Fox and Ponds had come back from Neyo’s…… Gift.

Maybe.

The box is squishy. Boxes are not supposed to be squishy.

Gree has a Bad Feeling about this. He raises an eyebrow, Fox doesn’t even twitch.

Behind him Barriss is watching the exchange with wide, mirth filled eyes and a hand covering her mouth. Decker has long since lost the battle of keeping his snickering quiet and the rest of Gree’s so called loyal troopers of Green company watch with rapt attention.

He sighs again, loud and long-suffering, Fox’s smile never shrinks a shade less than serial killer pleased.

Gree unwraps the wrapping flimsi with ease, and then stares with distant horror at the plasti-cling underneath it. Not a box, no, plasti-cling.

It’s layered.

Gree twitches and reaches for one of his vibroblades.

“It’s very delicate,” Fox informs him, just as he gets the vibroblade out of it’s holder.

“Oh?” Gree asks, really quite pleasantly given the plasti-cling is so layered he can’t see a damn thing through it.

“Extremely,” Fox confirms, deadpan. Behind him Barriss giggles uncontrollably and Decker is flushed with laughter and gasping for air and the others aren’t much better. 

“Do they always do this?” one of them whispers incredibly poorly, Gree twitches, Fox eyes him with that malicious amusement that cements his place as youngest forever in Gree’s head.

“Always,” Barriss whispers back, giggling still and Gree’s heart warms for a second before his impending humiliation via gift settles in again.

“I knew the Commander wasn’t only, you know, learny, but I always thought he was sane.”

“Oh he’s sane,” Cooker reassures, “far as we can tell their entire batch is just, Like That.”

“But this is Torrent lev—” Fox’s face gives an unpleasant twitch that Gree sympathizes with.

Torrent, ugh.

“Shhhh,” the rest of Green hisses and Barriss hides her head in her hands as she laughs.

“We don’t compare them to Torrent, makes them touchy,” Draa mutters, as if he isn't half the reason Gree goes into interactions with Torrent prepared to have engineering go on another crazed building spree. He has a hunch that they feed on each other, the engineers, and it's their own special kind of crazy that Gree is half fascinated by and half resigned to.

“My point stands.” 

Gree grits his teeth, narrows his eyes at Green Company as a whole to no avail, turns a raised eyebrow to Barriss in a last attempt at gaining control of a situation he’d lost all hold over the moment Fox had walked up to him with a ‘gift from the bottom of my heart, Gree’.

His cold dead heart maybe. Gree is plotting his revenge already.

He puts the blade back with mechanical motions, feels around for the beginning of the despised plasti-cling, seriously who made it Gree has complaints for them, and begins the arduous task of unwrapping it all.

Who let Fox have this much plasti-cling.

(Over 10 hours of nonstop focus later the last of the plasti-cling has finally been ripped away and Gree stares at the new puzzle cube. Ugly and about the size of his palm. Much, much smaller than the wrapping he’d been given, nearly the size of his torso.

Gree makes a strangled sound that he will forever deny, Draa. 

The plasti-cling sits around him tauntingly, viciously victorious in all it’s piled glory.

It takes 3 days for Green Company to stop laughing about it. It does not take 3 days for them to stop sharing the holopics and vids they took, that takes much longer.

Barriss is Gree’s favourite now, everyone else is awful and everything they say is lies, and Fox has been demoted to all the way to being the baby.)

__________

Neyo tilts his head, grin bordering manic, “That, is the ugliest piece of garbage I’ve ever seen.”

Colt smiles, “It’s high class art.”

“It looks like someone took cans of paint and dumped them on the nearest patch of dirt they found.” 

“The texture adds value.”

“It’s chunks of dirt and grass.” Neyo hisses in delighted outrage. 

Colt waves a hand, voice disinterested and all ‘above all this nonsense’ like, “Very classy. Made with only the best of intentions.”

Neyo giggles, “It looks like actual manure, I hate it.”

“I got it just for you,” Colt simpers, like the little shit no one ever believes he is, “I saw it and just knew you’d connect to it.”

Neyo cackles, “This is awful, you’re awful, I’m hanging it on the wall and telling everyone you painted it.”

Colt raises an eyebrow, “No one will believe you.”

He’s right, it’s awful. Neyo pouts, “I could convince them.”

No he can’t, but that’s besides the point.

Colt hums, “mhm, I’m sure you could kih’vod.”

Neyo flicks at Colt’s wrist and wilts, “This is harassment.”

“Whatever you say Ney’ika.”

“You’re a bully.”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t believe anyone thinks you’re responsible.”

“That is because I am.” Colt says, putting Neyo in a headlock, they both ignore the way Neyo tenses up for a fraction of a second before he relaxes, sulks, digging his elbow into Colt’s side.

It’s the first time Colt has given him such a blatantly awful gift. Neyo cackles and something shakes loose in his chest. His throat feels grossly tight and the stupid shitty canvas covered in dirt and paint sits leaning against the wall innocently.

Colt makes the same even face he uses on the Little’s when they’re being hilarious and he can’t afford to tell them or when he’s about to say something completely karking stupid because no matter how much he likes to tell everyone he’s the oldest he totally isn’t. 

Neyo slips out of the headlock, giggles through the knot in his throat and rolls his eyes.

“You’re deluding yourself and everyone around you.” he tells Colt. Colt has only ever been responsible by necessity, and never once in all of Neyo’s memories of him, has he been anything less than an absolute shithead just like the rest of them when there was no necessity.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I’m not arguing with you like a first-cycle.”

“Are too.”

“Neyo.”

“You’re the one who gave me the shitty painting.”

“It’s high class art you bastard.”

Neyo preens, “Thank you, still the worst thing I’ve ever seen though. Might hang it up in the front room, just to really bring it all together.”

Colt sighs, aggrieved. Neyo has no sympathy for him, really if you’re gonna play the game you gotta be in it to win it. It’s not Neyo’s fault that the trashy, awful, horrible dirt, grass, paint mixture splattered onto canvas happens to be horrifyingly tasteless. Neyo loves it. It’s gonna make Fox so mad.

(“Neyo,” Vaughn asks, staring at the wall, “why is there a, what even is that, dirt? On canvas?”

Neyo straightens up, grins wide, “Colt painted it. Out of the love in his heart and the limited talents he was decanted with.”

Vaughn raises an eyebrow, “That’s lovely and everything, why is it hanging in our front room.”

“It is horrifically awful and I love it and Fox and Ponds are coming over tomorrow.”

Vaughn laughs.

The next day, Ponds takes one look at it and giggles, “Fox, Fox come here, you’re gonna hate it.”

Fox takes one look at it and walks right back out of the house, Neyo cackles the entire time.)

[notchesandbullets]

Saving Her (Ojiro Mashirao x Wolf!Reader)

Art credit: @ mudubu00 on Twitter

Part 13: After Aizawa gets hurt, you and Shinsou speed over to the hospital to make sure he’s okay and yell at him for worrying you like that. Ojiro tags along to give his support as well as check in on the four of his classmates that were hurt in the yakuza fight. A week later, Aizawa brings you in, hoping that you can connect with the little girl that they rescued and encourage her to eat something. He didn’t expect it to go so well but now he has one more little joy to look after.

Word Count: 6.7k

“Dad, are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” You asked worriedly as you two came to a halt in front of the hospital. The two of you were officially skipping school for the day. 

But this white building sure was a familiar sight.

You hadn’t been with him when he and a bunch of other pros, along with Kirishima, Asui, Uraraka and Midoriya had infiltrated the yakuza and rescued the little girl called Eri.

You had watched it on the news in the dorms, on the edge of your seat, hands clasped over your mouth fearfully with the rest of your classmates as the events unfolded right there on the screen. 

How the press was able to capture a battle of that size in person and not be shaken with fear their core was beyond you. 

But after seeing how much they went through, you couldn’t help but sprint out of the dorm along with Shinsou as the media caught a glimpse of Aizawa being dragged out by Rock Lock. 

It was far away, but he was slumped over as if he was unconscious. 

You needed to be there. He needed you.

Ojiro chased after you just in time to see you crash into two teachers just outside of the dorms who were also beside themselves with worry. 

They were already on their way to where Aizawa was getting treated, and you didn’t waste any time begging Mic to let you see him while Shinsou won over Midnight. 

It didn’t take too long to receive their permission and Ojiro tagged along with the two of you because he was equally worried about his friends who were injured in the battle as well as how you were taking it.

Upon arrival, the hospital was so busy that both boys beside you made sure not to take their eyes off of you as they steered you through the crowd, following Yamada and Kayama as they weaved in and out.

Since you were legally Aizawa’s daughter and Shinsou held a special bond with him as well, it wasn’t too hard to let you both see him first when the nurses asked who wanted to see him first as soon as he woke up from the anesthetic.

Ojiro held you the entire way there as your body racked with sobs, wrapping his tail around you in the waiting area despite the numerous odd glances that passed through even though Shinsou did a good job of fending off the nosy civilians with a sharp glare. 

You sniffled, fingers tightening on the lapels of his school-issued jacket as you fought the urge to cry. “Why won’t they let me see him?”

Brushing the hair back from your eyes, he petted you gently. Your ears were pinned flat against your head in distress and your nose was blotchy, watery eyes staring up at him with such pain that he couldn’t help but feel it too. 

“They need to check up on Aizawa-sensei first before we can see him, Y/N.” Ojiro told you, sensitive to the conflicted emotions you must be going through.

You sobbed quietly, beyond worried since the doctors haven’t let you see him yet. They wouldn’t tell you anything except that he was alive and stable. Shinsou sat quietly, apart from the two of you, unable to bring himself to make small talk with Ojiro who was holding you gently.

Things were still a little awkward between them. They hadn’t talked to each other since their encounter at the UA Sports Festival. 

Now, it would seem that they couldn’t avoid each other since they both held an important place in your life.

This would need to get resolved. And quickly. 

It felt like hours, but when the doctors finally gave you permission for the three of you to step in and see him, asking for immediate family only, you nearly sprinted into his room.

Ojiro, who already suspected that was going to be the case, reassured you prior that it was okay for you and Shinsou to visit your dad. He was going to pay a visit to Uraraka, Midoriya, Asui and Kirishima, who were also in the same hospital, and meet up with you once you were done.

“Dad!!” You cried out as you flung the door open, racing over to where he was laying on the cot. “Dad!!!”

His head was wrapped in bandages and his shoulder was in a sling. There was a single window and no other patients in the room. That was lucky for you because you were bawling your eyes out.

Aizawa groaned tiredly, turning towards you and smiled softly as you hit his rail and yelled at him for being so reckless and not telling you where he went. “You’re so noisy, kid.”

Your body racked with sobs as you cried, not even registering when Shinsou caught up to you, Yamada and Kayama stepping inside quietly before shutting the door.

“You look terrible.” Shinsou drawled nonchalantly, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he tried to appear as if he wasn’t worried.

Aizawa rolled his eyes, peering past him to find his two best friends waiting for him to notice them.

He groaned more out of feigned annoyance than pain as Mic squished him in a hug. “Not you again.”

Yamada’s cry of outrage almost caused the windows to crack as he accidentally used his quirk. “Shouta, you’re so mean!!!”

 You and Shinsou shushed him so harshly that it evoked a giggle from Kayama.

“You better listen to them.” She teased a now guilty looking Yamada. “They’re his kids after all.”

“Nemuri~” He whined.

“Mic, quit being a baby.” She snapped, before marching over to Aizawa and scolding him for being so reckless just like you had done a minute prior.

After dramatically proclaiming how his pride was wounded, Yamada calmed down. Kind of. 

Nobody in the room said it, but you could see how his fingers shook as he latched onto Aizawa’s bedside rail and the click of Kayama’s heels as she paced back and forth, giving away her anxiety.

You and Shinsou exchanged a look, then left to go outside without a word. Aizawa didn’t stop you, already suspecting what the two of you were doing.

All three adults froze as the door clicked close and Aizawa sighed heavily. 

“I didn’t mean to worry you.” He told them quietly, his voice scratchy and Kamaya was immediately fetching some water for him from the sink, ordering him to drink before he said anything else.

Yamada crossed his legs as he sank to the ground, his eyes flitting up to meet his best friend’s. His insanely stupid best friend who had landed himself in the hospital yet again. 

“You’re an idiot, worrying us like that.” He mumbled and Aizawa cracked a smile.

“Yeah, I suppose I am.”

Outside, you sank down to the ground that was honestly probably not very clean while Shinsou leaned against the opposite wall.

He exhaled forcefully, rubbing the back of his neck in subtle relief. “Close call, huh?”

Your fluffy ears twitched and you nodded, causing them to flop back and forth. “Yeah.”

Thank goodness his injuries weren’t extensive. Other than a shallow knife wound to the shoulder and back, he was okay. He would be fatigued for awhile thanks to Recovery Girl’s quirk but that was all.

You hoped.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” You asked quietly.

Battles weren’t just about physical exertion, they were also draining mentally. You didn’t know how much of a toll this one would take on him or the repercussions that would follow.

Shinsou stayed quiet for a moment, thinking it over. If it was anyone else, he would’ve brushed them off or replied in his blunt, instinctual way but this was you he was talking about. He cared more than most others. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” He said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Da— Aizawa-sensei’s strong.”

A broad, toothy grin split across your features.

“You almost said ‘dad’~” You sang merrily, a teasing light in your eye and he rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.” Shinsou muttered, ignoring you now that you had switched on your annoying side. 

“It’ll happen one day.” You stated firmly, hands balling into fists determinedly as you declared your stance. “And when it does, you can’t take it back. And I get all rights to boast about it in the future.”

Shinsou waved you off and an easier silence encompassed the two of you.

Kayama came back out to get you both after an hour approximately passed, a rare apologetic expression on her face as she apologized for taking so long. Shinsou brushed it off and you reassured her that it was okay.

You were all worried about him. Apparently, he had been dipping in and out of consciousness ever since he arrived due to the pain meds but he was going to be okay.

Yamada was slouched over Aizawa’s bedside and when Kayama came in after you and Shinsou, she planted herself down next to the unusually quiet loudmouth. 

You and Shinsou took up the other side, eyes growing heavy with how taxing today had been and it wasn’t long before you two drifted off, the adults following suit soon after.

When Aizawa came to and saw the four of you near him, he couldn’t help but smile tiredly. The sight was rare and no one was squabbling incessantly over something that wasn’t important. Instead, only the sound of silence filled his hospital room. 

Aside from the brush with death, he could get used to this.

Once he had fallen asleep again, you were being shaken away. 

Ojiro sent you a soft smile, kneeling down on the floor and rubbing comforting circles on your back. 

You bolted upright, your tail knocking into Shinsou and startling him awake as it thumped against his back.

“Mashirao?!”

He held a finger up to his mouth to shush you quickly, motioning to where Aizawa, Kayama and Yamada were all asleep. 

You followed him outside so that you didn’t disturb the three of them, Shinsou grumbling about how abruptly he had been woken up but trailed behind you begrudgingly. 

Once he closed the door behind him, you immediately burst out with endless questions on how your classmates were doing. Ojiro was quick to reassure you that aside from Kirishima, everyone else seemed to be doing okay, only sustaining minor injuries.

Seeing as how Midoriya was lumped in with that group, you were shocked that he hadn’t managed to get hurt too badly.

Grateful, but shocked.

Ojiro asked if you would like to see them and you eagerly nodded, inviting Shinsou to come along with you but he awkwardly declined.

It felt too weird still, he wasn’t used to people talking to him so easily, since his quirk was the main reason why so many people avoided him in middle school. 

Your ears drooped a little bit, having a feeling of where his head was at but gave in. You weren’t going to pressure him when he was so obviously uncomfortable. You could only hope that it faded with time because once he joined the hero course, he was going to have to deal with everyone in Class 1-A, regardless of whether or not he actually chose A over B. 

Ashido, Midoriya and Kaminari had been especially keen on getting to know him better. 

You extended your hand out to Ojiro without thinking about it, only to blush when you realized how easy that simple action was. You had gotten so used to it that you hadn’t realized how intimate the gesture actually was. 

But before you could retract your hand, his fingers wove with yours and he tucked you under his arm, making sure to keep you close while you walked down the hall filled with heavy traffic on the way to Kirishima’s room. 

Another hour and a half had passed. You had visited all four of your classmates, even meeting the Big Three for the first time since you were absent during the day that Togata laid pain on your class. 

Asui and Ururaka smiled when you entered with Ojiro by your side and you hugged them both tight, relaying how glad you were that they were okay. 

Kirishima was unconscious when you visited his room and you decided to let him rest, writing him a little note that wished him a swift recovery, leaving it on his pillow.

Midoriya was happy to see you, automatically asking if you were hurt. You had to rush to explain that you were visiting your dad and thought it would be good to check on them while you were at it. He gave you a brief rundown on what they were doing, what the news failed to cover, and your brow furrowed as he told you about the little girl that was the focus of their rescue operation.

That must have been so hard to go through.

“Are you okay?” Ojiro asked you quietly as you worked your way through the maze of the hospital, on your way back to the waiting room where Shinsou was undoubtedly waiting for you.

Ducking your head, you nodded but it was more out of instinct that actual acknowledgement. “Yeah, I just wish I could’ve been there. Maybe I could’ve done something.”

His eyes grew conflicted at the emotion in your voice and he inclined his head. He understood where you were coming from but you shouldn’t fault yourself for not being there. The four of them who were involved with work-studies were ready for this. They managed to save her.

“I know.” Ojiro finally whispered quietly, patting your head softly in reassurance. “But they’ll be okay.”

You heaved a sigh. “I hope so.”

As soon as you made it back to the waiting room, the sun was setting outside and your stomach rumbled with the need for food.  

Your hand slipped out of Ojiro’s as you left him with Shinsou, racing to the cafeteria with hopes that they would have some kind of meat for you to chow down on before it was time to leave. 

Kayama and Yamada were already waiting in the car for you three, knowing that you took a little extra time to visit your friends.

Shinsou rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and Ojiro’s tail drooped as he realized that they still weren’t able to hold a conversation.

“Erm, how’s Aizawa-sensei doing?” Ojiro asked tentatively.

Shinsou exhaled sharply. “He’s fine.”

The guarded tone he took with him made the tailed teen drop the subject, his heart twisting painfully as he realized that this wasn’t going to be as easy as he had hoped. Then again, he couldn’t necessarily say that he blamed him. 

Shinsou’s indigo hues cleared a tad when Ojiro’s tail fell limp and he closed his eyes briefly before they snapped back open.

“If you have something to say then say it before she gets back.” He grumbled.

Ojiro’s eyes widened at the opportunity handed to him before recovering quickly. Shoulders straightening, his eyes squinted a fraction, determined to follow through with what he wanted to say.

Shinsou raised an eyebrow when the other gestured for him to sit but did so without arguing. 

And without saying anything else, Ojiro began. 

When you approached them, smoothie and empty wrapper in hand from where you had inhaled the food you had bought with Uncle Hizashi’s credit card, you tilted your head curiously at the sight of the two of them engaged in a deep conversation. 

And as the day ended, the five of you headed back to UA, leaving you forever in the dark about what they were talking about.

Now, a week later, you were back at the very same hospital but for very different reasons. Nighteye had made a full recovery, thanks to some of your blood which had an advanced healing property no one was aware of before. 

After you quietly admitted to keeping it a secret due to it being one of the reasons the Quirk Traffickers took you, Aizawa told you that you didn’t need to apologize and had All Might keep the doctors who transferred the blood off the record so that it couldn’t be traced back to you. 

Even though Aizawa had been cleared and released within a day or so, thanks to Recovery Girl’s quirk, there was still something else he had to do.

He thought it would be a good idea to take you along when he visited the girl they saved. She got scared at everything that moved and was jittery all the time, which was taxing on her already exhausted little body.

He hoped that by seeing you, someone who had also been through something traumatic, you could help her by understanding what a lot of others failed to see.

Look, doctors were great, up until the point where they just couldn’t stand on the same ground as the little one. 

No one knew what Eri had gone through. Sure, they had the papers and the evidence, enough to lock Chisaki away for life, but that didn’t mean they really knew.

They didn’t know what it was like to live a day in her life. How traumatizing it must have been for her to get taken apart and put back together again, all for a drug that would only spread chaos in society.

She didn’t deserve any of that. And while they all knew that, no one could tell her that without it sounding hollow. Because they didn’t know what it was like to live in the same fear that she had felt for every single day of her life. 

Which is where you came in.

Yamada was covering his classes for the time being and you hoped no one questioned why you were also absent. 

“Yes, it’s fine.” Aizawa reassured you emotionlessly as he held open the front door for you to let you go in first. 

You stepped inside and blended in with those that milled about the hospital, following Aizawa until you came to a stop in front of a quarantined area. Inside a room, sat a little girl on the hospital bed. 

Your jaw dropped. “Is that—”

“Yes.” Aizawa answered without looking as he signed off on the agreement given to him by the police officers stationed by the door. 

After hearing from Holly when you had your playdate together and seeing how you interacted with any kids you came across, he was hoping that your energetic presence would help bring this traumatized little girl out of her shell. 

“She’s been through a lot, hasn’t she?” You asked quietly as you watched Eri fumble with the bandages on her arms and legs, your eyes shining with tears at how clearly it was stressing her out. 

Aizawa sighed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“That would be an understatement.” He mumbled.

And that was with only having a fraction of an idea of what had happened to her.

Aiawa motioned for the nurse in the room trying to feed the reluctant girl to step out and she did so with zero hesitation.

“How is she today?” He asked her once she closed the door and you looked around both of them so that you could observe Eri. 

The nurse’s gaze was sympathetic but it was clear she was at her wit’s end. “She’s stable and her quirk has not activated once, but she still refuses to eat anything. I’m not sure how much longer we should hold out, I think we should tube feed her unless her vitals are going to drop.”

“Let me try.” You piped up, an usually serious expression stark on your normally friendly features.

You glanced to your dad for approval but Aizawa merely nodded and after the nurse confirmed that it was alright for you to go inside so long as he was with you, she ushered the two of you in while she monitored things from outside.

Careful not to startle Eri, you knocked lightly before announcing yourself and coming in. She looked terrified at an unknown face but you didn’t blame her one bit, remembering what it was like when Ojiro first rescued you. 

Your heart had been filled with fear but the hand that he stretched out was warm and inviting. And you never once regretted taking it.

“Hello.” You greeted, setting down a tray of food that had one characteristic in common all around. All the food was sealed to ensure that nothing was tampered with. “Are you hungry, Eri-chan?”

She blinked up at you, staring at the food skeptically but you weren’t offended in the slightest. While you didn’t know what it was like to be exactly in her shoes, you certainly could empathize.

However, her eyes lit up with curiosity at the sight of your fluffy ears and tail. You were different from the others that came to visit and while she wondered if perhaps that was a bad sign, she couldn’t help but be in awe.

Aizawa was leaning against the door frame, watching you both. He had been in the room quite a few times during routine check-ups from the doctor and such but he never really interacted with the little girl. He wasn’t the greatest with kids, they tended to cry whenever they saw him.

Another reason why he was an underground pro where the contact with children was limited to professional interactions only. 

You tried to offer up her portion of the meal but she scurried back, her knees tucked up frightfully and you immediately let it go, drawing back to give her some space, murmuring soft reassurances.

Now Aizawa could see how you two really were similar. Abandoned by family and forced to do things you had no awareness of or couldn’t understand, it was sickening. 

“I know it’s scary.” You said quietly as you set down the spoon when she shied away from the foreign object. “I was scared too.”

Eri looked up at you with her big eyes, not daring to hope that you could understand what she had been through. Her knees trembled as she drew them up tighter to her chest for comfort.

You smiled reassuringly and kept your distance as you explained your own story, your history with dangerous people just like Chisaki and how you were healing from your own experience.

“It’s hard to trust people when you’re scared that they’re just going to do the same things that those scary people put you through, but trusting that guy,” You pointed over your shoulder to where Aizawa was standing. “Was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

Eri blinked owlishly. “R-Really?”

Her small voice came out so fragile and shaky that you had to physically stop yourself from tackling her in a hug, knowing that it would only frighten her and not comfort her like you were intending. 

“Yes,” You nodded vigorously, your tail fluffing up the barest bit to emphasize your point. “And I know you don’t know me, Eri-chan, but I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe too.”

Bit by bit, you could see something changing inside her and hesitantly, she reached for the metal utensil, halting in place before she touched it and looked up at you for permission.

“You’re safe here.” You whispered softly, motioning that it was okay. “You can eat as much as you want.”

This time, Eri tentatively took the spoon and balancing the bowl carefully in her hands, she gazed at it curiously.

You were ecstatic at her progress. You didn’t think she would drop her walls around you so fast. While she looked at it, you picked up your own bowl. Showing her how to blow on the foot first so that it didn’t burn her tongue, you took a small bite, demonstrating that the food caused no harm.

Eri was timid at first, but she gradually grew more confident until she was eating with a gusto that not only surprised you, but also Aizawa.

You motioned him to come over after asking Eri if it was alright so that your dad didn’t spend the majority of his visit standing awkwardly by the wall. The little girl was hesitant but she nodded that it was okay and after a beat, Aizawa came closer. 

Once he was within arm’s reach, you scooted over to offer him a spot next to you on the bed. 

“Does it taste okay?” You asked her as your dad sat down beside you.

Eri halted, her cheeks bulging with food and she nodded slowly. Cupping her small hands around the bowl, she took in the heat.

“It’s… warm.” She said softly and your heart broke in two.

Sniffling, you managed a wobbly smile for her. “I’m glad.”

You were going to rip Chisaki a new one if he ever got within a ten mile radius of her again. 

Eri polished off her food in a little under an hour, her swollen stomach not quite used to taking in food so rich with nutrients and you fought to keep your tail from lashing back and forth angrily at all she had been through. 

Aizawa collected the empty bowls, placing them back on the tray and giving it back to the nurse outside monitoring Eri’s progress while you played with the little one.

Lowering your head, you let the tips of your ears brush across her cheeks, evoking a small giggle from the little girl as she latched onto them with her fingers, being gentle not to pull on them. 

Eri kicked her feet up and even though she didn’t smile, you could see it in her eyes; a light that wasn’t present before.

“They’re fuzzy...” She trailed off quietly before hastily retracting her hands, her gaze dropping down to her lap.

Your eyes softened understandingly at her reaction and you were careful not to move any closer. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Eri still flinched as you drew back slightly to give her some breathing room and you bit your lip to contain the snarl threatening to spill onto your face from where her hands trembled fearfully.

“I’m not going to hit you.” You told her gently, careful to be as soothing as you could to put her at ease. 

Aizawa was watching attentively from the doorway to give you both some space while you calmed her down, ready to erase her quirk if need be but so far so good.

“People hurt me too.” You whispered softly, rolling up your sleeves to show her the multitude of scars on your arms. “And I don’t know why or what I did wrong. But things get easier.”

You smiled encouragingly when she looked up at you, as though she was asking for permission to touch them and outstretching it slowly so you didn’t startle her, you let out a shaky breath as her fingertips barely skimmed over the marred skin.

Reminders of where you came from.

“Eri-chan.”

The little girl looked up at you as you gazed at her imploringly.

“I can’t promise that you’ll feel okay all the time, but when you’re ready, I’d like to show you what the world outside looks like.” You offered, standing up and curling your tail around your hip to beckon to her. 

Eri’s ruby-red orbs glistened and she swallowed hard. “Will... Will you be there?”

You nodded reassuringly. “For as long as you want me there.”

“I-I—” Eri looked down, struggling with what she wanted to say and you gave her a moment to collect her thoughts. 

The hospital gardens were nothing extraordinary but it would beat this room with white-washed walls everywhere you looked. A pop of color would be good for her soul and you hoped the fresh air would steady her heart.

You held out your hand, letting it be known that she didn’t have to go if she didn’t want to, the unspoken sentiment hanging in the air from where you regarded her empathetically. “What do you say, Eri-chan?”

She hesitated and for a beat, you weren’t sure what she was going to decide. But then she raised her head, her eyes shining with something that vaguely resembled determination and you smiled as her small hand slipped into yours.

“... Okay.”

Two months had passed by since then.

Eri had been moved out of the hospital and since Aizawa was the only one who could keep that quirk of hers under control until she learned how to do it herself, he was granted temporary guardianship of her. 

The authorities had entrusted her to UA but on paper, she was his foster child for the time being. 

Just like you had been, once upon a time.

Togata and Midoriya made the transition back into civilization easier for Eri, though the first week she wouldn’t leave their sides unless it was with you. You three were the ones she trusted the most. 

Though, Aizawa came really close.

You suspected it had something to do with the small cream-colored teddy bear he bought for her while walking past the hospital gift shop on your way out that first day he brought you to see her.

They always sold things to help comfort patients during their stay and while he hesitated buying it, he ended up getting it anyway and giving it to her during her last week at the hospital so that she would have something to hold at night. 

Eri had looked confused and it was almost funny how Aizawa tripped over his words trying to explain to her that he had bought this girl, who he didn’t know and wasn’t related to, a stuffed animal to bring her comfort because he was worried about her. 

You, and even Shinsou, teased that he was such a softie, earning both of you a towel to the face after training at his house. 

It was hours after school had let out and the sun was just starting to set. 

Most students had already gone back to the dormitories. You had promised Ojiro to stop by his room before you went to bed when you got back and with that, you two parted ways.

Aizawa had taken you and Shinsou to his flat for training once you sprinted into the teachers’ lounge where both of them were waiting for you, along with Eri. Even though all the teachers had their own dorm, courtesy of the principal, he had already paid off the mortgage on the flat and he was not keen on selling it for a number of reasons. 

Besides, Vlad King was allergic to cats so it wasn’t like he could just take Coffee with him.

So, while he lived in the teachers’ dorm, he went to his flat on the weekends and on their days off. 

Aizawa dodged his student’s punch with a slight smirk. “Too slow.”

You were in the corner of the training arena inside of his house, playing tea party with Eri in the corner. 

Aizawa had bought her a truckload of toys to entertain herself with so that she could bring things to keep herself busy when he was teaching at school. Luckily, she wasn’t fussy at all so it had taken barely any time to pick out what to buy.

Though you suggested it might have been a bit unnecessary to purchase nearly half the store.

It didn’t matter. Eri had been ecstatic once she had been told that these new toys were all hers to play with. Aizawa had to reassure her over and over again that yes, they really were hers and no, he didn’t particularly care if she broke something or decided that she didn’t want it.

She was honestly so careful in handling the neat little gadgets and play sets that he couldn’t even envision her breaking something.

You ignored the grunts and taunts coming from the middle of the room as the Shinsou and your dad sparred, flicking your tail to tickle the tip of Eri’s nose and she giggled, beaming widely at you when you exaggerated an eye roll when a thump reverberated through the ground as Shinsou was knocked onto his feet.

Eri had smiled for the first time at the school festival and you roped Midoriya into teaching you how to make candied apples so you’d always be prepared if she ever got up the courage to ask you for one directly. 

For now, you were just content to have some on hand whenever she came to Heights Alliance when Aizawa needed to put out yet another fire that Bakugou set off with his explosion.

While you and Eri were playing, Shinsou was practicing his hand-to-hand combat with his mentor but every time he struck, Aizawa was always one step ahead of him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he wiped it off with a grimace before doubling back to strike again. 

Aizawa maneuvered out of range easily, shoving him flat onto his back.

“Concentrate, Toshi.” He urged strictly and the teen slammed a fist on the ground in frustration before popping back up to his feet and coming at him again. 

It had taken a while for Eri to get comfortable watching them spar, always worried that someone would get hurt but you had explained that Aizawa was helping her unofficial brother get stronger.  

Shinsou hadn’t necessarily been taken to the idea of being someone she looked up too, it was too much pressure. He never had to be an older brother to anyone and you didn’t count since you were the same age as him. 

Eventually, he warmed up to the idea, though he never told Eri that and he always denied it whenever Aizawa asked him straight out with a knowing smirk on his face. 

Eri could be very persuasive when she wanted to, with her doe eyes and bright, blinding smiles that could disarm All Might himself.

Cute.

Shinsou huffed at his mentor’s impromptu rebuttal, redoubling his efforts to be able to land one hit on him before this round was over. Moving faster and faster until they both became a blur, he measured each strike and kick until his burning limbs were shrieking for him to stop.

“C’mon, Toshi, hit Dad where it hurts!!” You egged on from the sidelines and Eri threw her hands up excitedly. 

“You can do it, Papa!!” She cheered. 

She had gradually grown more and more comfortable calling him that, it took almost no time at all after hearing you call him that. But you all figured she deserved to have a loving father figure after all she had been through so no one teased her about it. 

Even Monoma was surprisingly docile when it came to the little girl whenever you guys ran into him in the hallways.

Aizawa smiled slightly at the little girl’s encouragement but never took his eyes off of his student. Blocking his fist, he stepped closer, sweeping his leg at his feet, which Shinsou was able to dodge just in time. 

“That won’t work on me twice!!” Shinsou shouted.

Hooking his foot around the elder’s ankle the second he landed firmly on his feet, Shinsou yanked him down to the floor and he landed hard.

His breath knocked clear out of his lungs, Aizawa coughed a couple of times before flashing his student a proud grin.

“Good job.”

The rare praise was curt but it transformed the expression on Shinsou’s face into one of unbridled happiness that was rare and far in between to see. He didn’t say anything but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading from ear to ear as his mentor acknowledged his victory. 

“Alright, way to go, Toshi!!” You cheered alongside Eri.

“Toshi-nii, Toshi-nii, Toshi-nii!!” Eri exclaimed repeatedly in that soft voice of hers as she scrambled forward onto the training mat, raising her hands up as an indicator that she wanted to be picked up. “You won!!”

Shinsou bent down to pick her up, bouncing her on his hip a few times in the way that he knew made her laugh, poking her on the nose and grinning when she scrunched it up cutely.

“I did.” He boasted, puffing out his chest ever so slightly to make him appear manlier and you sputtered out laughing at how ridiculous he looked, to which he shot you a glare.

Eri’s eyes were shining. “You were so cool!!”

“Hey,” Aizawa frowned, feigning disappointment as he patted the back of his sweaty neck with a clean towel. “What about me?”

“Dad’s acting like a child again.” You commented as you handed him a glass of water you had previously gotten from the kitchen when you heard their fight going on. 

On the way to the training area, you had run into Eri on the way there and invited her to come along so that she wouldn’t be alone. And also so that you could play with her.

Shinsou flashed you a grin. “It’s cause I kicked his butt.”

Aizawa flicked both of your foreheads to chastise you two for such an informal tone but it was light and even though you cried out dramatically and Shinsou rolled his eyes, you knew he didn’t actually care.

Much like Asui, who you found out what happened during the USJ incident had made her have a unique understanding with her teacher, you knew when to be serious and when to push the limits of your playfulness and cause no harm to your relationship in the process. 

Eri reached out for you and you took her from Shinsou, sticking out your tongue in the process. 

“Hah!! She likes me better!!” You gloated in his face.

He rolled his eyes, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with a rag as he echoed your words from before. “You’re such a child.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am—”

“Okay, and that is the last of that.” Aizawa interrupted before you could carry on into a screaming match and then he would have to be the one to somehow get you two to stop fighting all the while calming Eri down, who would be crying cause her siblings were arguing.

Much like you, she was sensitive to loud noises and raised volumes and he couldn’t always use pats on the head with her since her interactions with Chisaki mostly consisted of—

Aizawa shook his head. He couldn’t even bring himself to say it. The things that man did to this child was horrifying. It almost made him wish he was a villain just so that he could have the satisfaction of killing him. 

But what mattered most was that Eri was out of there and that she was never going back. 

Gazing fondly as Eri petted one of your ears that you offered to her, a soft smile slipped onto his face. The two of you were damn cute. And he was so proud that he got to call you his own kids.

Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, he quickly sidestepped Shinsou’s surprise attack, the shocked look that crossed his student’s face at his reaction time was priceless.

“C’mon kid, you can do better than that.” He smirked, balancing on his feet and drawing up his fists for another bout. “One more round before dinner.”

Shinsou nodded determinedly. “Bring it on, sensei.”

Needless to say, that one was a draw. But only because Shinsou couldn’t get out of his mentor’s headlock. 

Aizawa was too smart to fall for the brainwashing trick.

As they started to argue over who won, Aizawa clearly going to win the battle of words, you ushered Eri out of the room.

You jabbed a thumb over your shoulder as she grabbed her tea party set on the way out. “Want to help me start dinner until those two get over their ego?” 

Eri nodded eagerly even though she didn’t really understand what an ego was. All she heard was dinnertime and that meant food. 

“Yes!!” She cheered excitedly and you picked her up as she lifted her arms. 

A growl of annoyance sounded from the other room. 

“Y/N, I heard that.”

You could practically envision your dad’s glower and quickened your pace, holding in your giggles along with Eri.

It was rocky, but somehow in the midst of all the bad, you had come out with the perfect family.

[soupyboysforlife]

Suits/Rainbows

Day 2/3 of Ink/Suptober

Dean pulled at the itchy fabric, mumbling under his breath about hating the feeling. His face gave him away. A smile pulled at his mouth and his eyes shone with excitement. “Dean, it’s not even for one day. Cut the crap,” Sammy said, adjusting his tie, “It’s your wedding day.”

“You’re right, no more whining. Today is going to be great,” he said, taking a nervous breath.

“It will be,” Sam reassured him, patting him on the shoulder. He brought his wrist up, checking the time on his watch, “Cas should be here soon. Are you gonna see each other before it starts?”

“Isn’t that bad luck or something?” Dean asked, “Or is that just for a bride?”

“Huh, I didn’t think about it like that.”

Just then, the door opened. Charlie peeked her head in, “He’s here,” she said, her face lighting up when she saw Dean and Sam, “Awe, you two look amazing!” Dean flushed at the praise. He looked at himself in the mirror. Despite how uncomfortable the suit was, it fit him perfectly. “Oh, I have something for you,” Charlie said, stepping into the room. She shut the door behind her, Something was clutched in her hand. Once she was in the room she held it up. Dean laughed when he saw the tiny bisexual pride flag in her hands. The silky material shone in the light. “It’s a pocket square, for your suit. I gave one to Cas too,” She smiled, handing it to Dean.

Dean accepted it gratefully. Something on the corner of the cloth caught his eye. His breath hitched when he saw the letters embroidered into it. ‘CW’ and ‘DW’ intertwined in swirly gold lettering. He traced his fingers over them as tears started to well up in his eyes. This was happening. Really happening.

“Dean? You okay?” Sam asked, looking at him worried.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, hoping his voice sounded steady. He reached up, whipping away some of the tears that had spilled over. “Yeah,” he said again more confidently, “Thanks, Charlie. I love it.” He pulled her into a tight hug.

“Anything for you guys, you helped me so much, it's the least I could do,” she said into his shoulder. “I’d better change,” she pulled out of the hug. “Your groom awaits you,” she said with a bow before heading out the door.

Dean watched her go, turning back to the mirror once the door shut. He folded the napkin up and put it in his pocket, making sure every color was visible. It added a nice contrast to the black suit and tie. He smiled at the reflection. “I’m ready,” he said, adjusting the tie one more time before looking over towards Sam.

Sam smiled at him, “Let’s go.”

Dean followed him out into the hall. Cas was at the end of it, talking to Charlie. She looked over at them when they walked out. She tapped Cas’s shoulder, cuing him to turn. His smile softened when he met Dean’s eyes. He was wearing a white suit and tie with a black shirt, the inverse of Dean. A rainbow-striped pocket square poked out of his pocket. Charlie probably gave it to him.

“Hi,” he murmured once Dean made his way down the hall.

“Hi,” Dean said back.

“You look,” Cas started, gesturing with his hands when he couldn’t think of a word.

“You too,” Dean smiled, not bothering to finish the sentence. He pulled Cas into a gentle kiss, not able to wait any longer.

“Wait,” Cas said, pulling back, “Isn’t this bad luck?”

“We decided that only applies to brides. Neither of us are brides so I’m pretty sure we’ll be okay,” Dean reasoned. Cas shrugged, leaning back into the kiss.

Sam cleared his throat. Dean pulled out of the kiss, shooting him an annoyed look. He tapped his watch in response. Dean rolled his eyes, pecking Cas on the lips once more. “You look amazing, by the way,” he said, turning to Charlie.

“Yes,” Cas agreed.

“Thank you,” she smiled, smoothing down the jacket of her suit.

Bobby greeted them when they went outside. The courtyard was decked out. A large arch stood at one end. White flowers hung off of it in intervals. Rows of white, fold-up chairs surrounded the aisle leading up to it, connected by a rainbow lace rope. String lights were hung from poles staggered around the yard.

“It’s beautiful, Bobby,” Charlie breathed, admiring the scene.

“It is,” Dean agreed, smiling at him, “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Bobby smiled back.

“And thank you for agreeing to officiate, too,” Cas cut in.

“Someone needed to do it,” Bobby said.

“We should go back inside,” Dean said, “everyone will be here soon.”

“Yes, we should,” Cas agreed, his arm wrapped around Dean’s waist.

They watched as guests started filling in the seats. Time seemed to be moving too fast and yet all too slow as the seconds ticked closer to the wedding. Jack had shown up a few minutes after they had headed inside again. Dean paced the room.

“It’ll be okay,” Cas comforted, walking over to where Dean had stopped to peek out the window again. He hugged Dean from the back, his chin resting on his shoulder. Dean leaned back a little into Cas at the touch. Their cheeks pressed together.

“I know,” he hummed. He watched Sam lead Ellen, Jo, and Ash to their seats.

“Dean, look at me,” Cas said, pulling his head off Dean’s shoulder. Dean turned in his arms, “I love you. No matter what. If you don’t want this-”

“I do,” Dean interrupted.

“Okay, but if you don’t. We’ll call it off,” Cas said.

Dean knew he was trying to comfort him but his stomach sank, “Do you?” he asked, hurt creeping into his voice.

“Of course,” Cas said. Dean searched his eyes for any sign of doubt. He sighed, feeling better when he found none. “Let’s save the ‘I Do’s’ for the altar though,” he said, making Dean chuckle. He leaned up, planting a kiss on Cas’s forehead.

“It’s almost time,” Sam said, leading Charlie in through the door. Dean pulled out of Cas’s arms, meeting Sam at the door. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” he muttered back nervously.

“Let’s do this thing, bitches,” Charlie exclaimed.

Jack stood in front of the door, holding a small pillow with two rings on it. Sam and Dean took their place behind him, followed by Charlie and Cas. They listened closely as the muffled noise outside the door grew quiet. It was soon replaced by the sound of an orchestra playing an instrumental version of Turning Page by Sleeping At Last.

Jack opened the door at the cue, starting the procession out. Sam offered his arm. Dean took it, taking one final deep breath before stepping forward. “You’re gonna do great,” Sam reassured him, “You got your vows?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyes flicked over the familiar faces smiling at him, fixing on the arch in front of him. Bobby stood there, dressed in a black suit. A bowtie was strung around his neck. If Dean wasn’t so nervous, he would have laughed.

Sam pulled him into a tight hug when they reached the front. “Good luck, Jerk,” He whispered to Dean.

“Bitch,” Dean chuckled back. They separated, going to their places. Dean situated himself to the right of where Bobby was standing, turning towards the door he’d just come out of. On cue, Cas and Charlie stepped out of the doorway. Heads turned and green eyes met blue as the pair strolled slowly down the aisle. They mirrored Sam and Dean when they reached the front. Cas came to stand to the left of Bobby in front of Dean.

“Hi again,” Dean whispered.

“Hi again,” Cas copied.

The music came to a stop and Bobby started talking. Dean barely registered what he was saying, focused on the man in front of him. His soon-to-be husband.

“You all know me, and if you don’t the name’s Bobby, and I have the privilege of performing the ceremony today. First off I’d like to welcome and thank you on behalf of Dean and Castiel for sharing this special day with them. By attending you celebrate with them the love they have discovered in each other and you support their decision to commit themselves to one another for the rest of their lives. Today we celebrate love. We come together to witness and proclaim the joining together of these two persons in marriage. This is the union of two individuals in heart, body, mind, and spirit, Therefore, marriage is not to be entered into lightly, but reverently, honestly, and deliberately. And it is into this union that Dean and Castiel come now to be joined.

Dean, you were more of a Son to me than anything I could have hoped for. I’m glad that you trust me enough to do this for you. Seeing you happy and in love is everything I could have wished for and more. I’m proud of you, son. Now I will admit I am a sentimental old fool so let’s get this started before I start crying,” the crowd chuckled.

“Dean, you have chosen Castiel to be your life partner. Will you love and respect him? Will you be honest with him always? Will you stand by him through whatever may come?” Bobby asked.

“I will,” Dean answered, smiling softly at Cas.

“And you Castiel, you have chosen Dean to be your life partner. Will you love and respect him? Will you be honest with him always? Will you stand by him through whatever may come?” Bobby asked again.

“I will,” Cas answered, smiling back at Dean.

“And do you both promise to make the necessary adjustments in your personal lives so that you may live in a harmonious relationship together?”

“We do,” they answered in unison.

“Now in the spirit of joy and affirmation, I want to ask your families and friends a question. Do you, the families and friends of Dean and Cas, give them your blessing and support this day, wishing them a wonderful life together?” Bobby addressed the crowd.

“We do,” they murmured in response.

“Dean and Cas, now we come to your vows. May I remind you that saying your vows are one thing but nothing is more challenging than living them day by day. What you promise today must be renewed tomorrow and each day that stretches out before you. You wrote your own so I’ll hand this off to you, Dean,” Bobby said, gesturing to him.

He took a deep breath, pulling out the piece of paper he’d scribbled his vows on, “Cas,” he started, glancing up at him nervously, “Before we met, I didn’t think I could love someone like this. I spent almost my whole life on the road, it was my past, present, and future. You changed all of that. You brought something into my life that I never thought I could have. You threw my life off course in the best, most unexpected way. We’ve been through so much, we were torn apart more times than I can count, but we always found our way back to each other. No matter what. I would be honored to spend my life with you. I love you, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Bobby said, turning to Cas, “Your turn.”

Cas smiled at him, wiping away the tears that had gathered in the corner of his eyes. He fished in his pocket, pulling out a paper that matched Dean’s, “Dean, ever since we met, knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about the whole world because of you. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You have taught me so much. You showed me what true happiness and love feel like. You mean the world to me and more. There’s no one in the world I’d rather share this and every moment for the rest of my life with. I love you so much, Dean.”

At this point, sniffs were ringing from everywhere. Bobby cleared his throat, “Thank you, Cas. May I have the rings now?” Jack stepped forward, holding the pillow in his hands. Cas took one and Dean took the other. “Dean,” Bobby prompted him.

Dean cleared his throat, “Cas, I give you this ring, that you may wear it, as a symbol of the vows we have made this day. I pledge you my love and respect, my laughter and my tears. With all that I am, I honor you,” he said, taking Cas’s hand and slipping the gold ring on. He gave it a little squeeze before letting go.

“Dean, I give you this ring, that you may wear it, as a symbol of the vows we have made this day. I pledge you my love and respect, my laughter and my tears. With all that I am, I honor you,” Cas repeated, his voice thick. Dean held out his hand and Cas slipped on the ring.

“Now may those who wear these rings live in love all their days. Now may the love, which has brought you together, continue to grow and enrich your lives. May you continue to meet with courage any problems, which may arise to challenge you. May your relationship always be one of love and trust. May the happiness you share today be with you always. And may everything you have said and done here today become a living truth in your lives.

“Dean and Castiel, we have heard your promise to share your lives in marriage. We recognize and respect the covenant you have made here this day before each one of us as witnesses. Therefore in the honesty and sincerity of what you have said and done here today and by the power vested in me by the internet, it is my honor and delight to declare you married and partners in life...for life.

“You may seal your vows with a kiss,” Bobby finished, smiling. Dean lunged forward, meeting Cas halfway. He heard people cheering and clapping in the background but couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was married. To Cas. And it was the best feeling in the world.

Bangs rang from either side of them, startling them out of the kiss. Rainbow confetti was falling around them. Charlie winked at him from over Cas’s shoulder, she had a confetti gun in her hand. Dean let out a full-body laugh which was promptly cut short when Cas pulled him in for another kiss.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34298860

[katnissmellarkkk]

Summary: At the Seventy-Fourth Reaping for The Hunger Games, volunteering is outlawed, thanks to a tribute four years prior. Because of this, when Katniss’ sister Prim’s name is chosen from the bowl, there’s nothing she can do but hope that Peeta Mellark, past victor and now Prim’s mentor, can somehow bring her sister home alive. (Obviously heavy on Everlark.) 

AN: Hi! I don’t really have a big author’s note or anything--at least, I don’t think I do? We’ll see how long this trails on--but this is one of the fics I’ve been working on for a while. It’s multi-chaptered so there’s gonna be a lot more coming in the future, but this first chapter is honestly a little similar to the original book, with some (significant) deviations here and there, but after this first chapter, this story becomes extremely different from canon. I gotta thank, obviously, @rosegardeninwinter​ for a). making me my pretty lil banner and for b). reading the million, unpolished, unedited screenshots of my drafts that I’m sure ya’ll got tired of really quick. And also for encouraging me to write this in the first place. And also, I gotta thank everyone who liked and reblogged the lil story edit I posted months ago for this concept. It really encouraged me to write this concept out. (I’m talking about this edit right here if you forgot or never saw x). Okay, anyways, I’m talking too much but thank you! Also link to this story on AO3 [x].

Chapter One :

I stare out into the sky, introspective, as I wait for familiar footsteps to approach. The footfalls of my hunting partner, my friend even, Gale, still remain absent, despite our longstanding agreement to hunt on Reaping Day, no matter how hot it is, or how scarce the game, or how worried we may be deep inside.

Of course, how could a couple kids from the Seam not worry about Reaping Day? At least a slight bit, deep down?

Reaping Day. The day that decides the almost absolute fate of a lucky—as our assigned escort, straight from the Capitol itself, so proudly proclaims—boy and girl.

We're District Twelve. The smallest and one of the poorest districts in the country of Panem. There's an almost guarantee that whoever gets their name picked from the reaping bowl, even the strongest eighteen-year-old boy in the district, will have an almost sure fate of death. Likely before the number of tributes drops below twenty.

Tributes from our district almost never fare well inside the arena.

Almost never.

We have had a few winners in history, two of which are still around, but a few out of seventy-three games isn't inspiring much hope in anyone today.

The wind breezes against my arms, prickling the hair at the back of my neck, and I'm struck by the memory of being out here, in the forbidden territory of the woods, outside our district limits, when I was just a kid. When my dad was the one hunting and I was just along for the ride. Just along because I wanted to be with him. When I used to blindly trust him and my mother, when I thought he'd live forever, when I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the Hunger Games. When I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the world in which we live.

When I was eleven my every illusion was shattered violently. Almost as violently as the death in which my father must have endured, underground in those mines, as they exploded.

I remember hearing the alarm at school, blaring so cacophonously over the speakers that it shook the schoolrooms themselves. I remember blindly grappling through the scurrying bodies of my classmates, until I found my way to my little sister, Primrose. Her room was completely empty, but she still remained, sitting behind her desk with small folded hands, waiting for my arrival with excessive patience.

I'd always coached her on what we'd do, if there ever should be a mine accident. I made sure she knew the drill, just as I knew it. Like the back of my hand. Like a prayer or a lullaby. I could recite it in my sleep. Because my father had just as sternly instilled it into me.

I wove my way through the chaos of bodies and white-hot panic, towing Prim only inches behind me by the hand, as the kids from town lingered in the hallways, their classic, bright blue eyes large and their voices all quivering, and as the kids from the Seam dutifully made their way to the nearest exits, hoping and praying and begging silently that it wasn't their parent who had been hurt. Hoping the accident hadn't taken what was typically the sole provider in most households, here in the poorest section, in the most impoverished district.

Prim and I must have not hoped hard enough, because we learned almost immediately upon finding our mother, who was now immobilized with grief, her characteristic gentle smile eviscerated and in it's place, a blank stare, void of any life at all, that our every fear from hearing that alarm were coming true.

My mom was supposed to get a job. She was supposed to find a way to provide for us, to take care of her two daughters, who were grieving her husband just as much as she was.

But instead she lay in bed day after day. On the good mornings, maybe if Prim begged and pleaded, she'd move to a chair, in front of the fireplace and stare at the flames with the same vacant expression that had replaced the loving, kind woman who'd raised us.

The money from the government, the minuscule amount of money given to keep us afloat until our mother found work, ran out. The meat our father had hunted, the plants he'd saved, ran out. The food we had the small luxury of sometimes buying—or more times than not, trading for—quickly ran out.

And our mother still did absolutely nothing.

I take a deep breath now and try to force myself to forgive her. Forgive her for not being strong enough to keep going, forgive her for not caring enough about her own children to keep them alive in the face of her grief, forgive her for being so in love that losing my father had almost killed her too.

I know it's what my father would want. And I know it's something I can't let myself do. Because if I let her off the hook, it's like saying it's okay that she almost let Prim wither away to nothing. Forget me. I will never forgive her for almost taking my little sister away from me.

Our mother did absolutely nothing until Prim's ribs were prominent, until my stomach was nearly hallow, until our cheekbones were so blatantly obvious you could count them from down the road.

And all my fears, all my resolve, to keep the three of us together as a family, went out the window. There was nothing left to do, but wait for me and Prim to be taken to the Community Home, with the other orphans or kids from unsafe families. Kids who still remained too thin, who's eyes told stories no ear wanted to hear, who still wore bruises upon their skin like freckles from the sun, who looked nearly worse than the corpses I encountered every winter, while walking from the Seam to town. Those corpses were the unlucky ones who'd actually starved to death, who had sat down to merely rest, because they had no substance to carry them any further, and somehow never got back up.

On that day, at eleven years old, living in the Community Home sounded no worse than living with the immobilized shell that had once been my mother. My resolve to hold out until my birthday, until I could get the tesserae that would feed my family for an entire year, was shattered by the harsh raindrops pelting me from the grey, unforgiving sky.

I vaguely heard the baker's wife, the mean-spirited woman, with her deeply embittered, hostile blue eyes that somehow seemed black, scream at me, calling me names, shooing me from her property.

I'd simply wanted to rummage her trashcan, so desperate for any small morsel to take back to Prim, any motivation to take even another step forward, when I felt her rough and calloused hands shove me away.

I toppled over, my legs already weak and shaky from lack of nutrition and substance. My depleted form laid on the ground, my eyes bleary from exhaustion and the shivering wind and rain.

The witch went back inside the bakery as I scarcely conjured up the will to sit upright. I was beyond done. The fighting to even gain a fraction of my mother's awareness, to get something, anything, to feed myself and my starving sister, to even stand up, became overwhelming and I felt the last bit of my resolve crumble from deep inside.

Let them come and take me and Prim to the Community Home. I don't care any longer. Let them come.

Out of the corner of my eye, a boy exited out the same backdoor the witch had gone through. He was carrying a bag of trash in his hands and my famished mind focused on that first, focused on what could be inside the contents of that bag, on what a baker could potentially be throwing away, before I realized the boy was in my year at school. I knew him, or at least, I knew his face. But he stuck with the other blonde-haired, fair-skinned town kids and I didn't even remember his name in that moment.

In hindsight, that's absolutely hysterical now.

But he evaporated as soon as he'd appeared and I closed my eyes and let the rain drown me, hoping perhaps I could be swallowed up within the downpour itself. Hoping that perhaps I'd never have to face the reality that I was out of options and I had nothing of subsidence to take home.

But then I heard a clatter and a clang and the sound of a scream. It was her, the witch. She was screaming and calling someone names my own mother had never even uttered in my lifetime.

I mentally prepared myself for her to come back outside, to drive me away with a stick or a knife. Or possibly even a hot, scorching prong.

But it wasn't the witch. It was the boy, the one from my year. The one I thought went back inside after taking out the trash, that I believed didn't even notice me before.

He was carrying bread. Two loaves, in fact. The crusts were black and burned and the welt across his face told me, without a doubt, that he was the target of the witch's insults. That he was the victim of whatever clanging noise I heard.

And though I was the one starving to death, I didn't envy him having her for a mother.

I remember vividly, the most crystal clear image I have of this day, the boy checking and making sure the witch's attention had been claimed elsewhere. And then, without even glancing in my direction, he tossed one loaf of bread to my feet. Seconds later, the other followed.

He didn't hesitate to head back inside after that, and I've spent more time in these last four years than I'd more than likely care to admit, wondering what possessed him to commit such an act of kindness. No one was kind for free, I'd learned by that point.

And yet, as I shook myself forcefully out of my stupor, and carried the loaves back to my house at the edge of the Seam, I had no explanation for his simple act. I had no basis to explain why he would help me, when no one else ever had.

The next day, I saw him at school. I passed by him in the hallway, and saw his eye had now blackened, his cheek welted, but somehow he still managed a joyous smile. He didn't notice me then. He was surrounded by his friends. Like always, he was surrounded by a constant crowd.

He is, after all, one of the most charming and sweet people Panem's ever known.

Later that day, when I was about to walk home with Prim, who was excitedly chattering about the leftover bread awaiting us on the kitchen table, the bread I'd brought home the night prior that had filled our stomachs for the first time in months, I caught the boy looking in our direction. My grey Seam eyes met his baby blues for a microsecond, before he looked away. I snapped my gaze downwards too, embarrassed, when I caught sight of a dandelion.

It was that moment that a bell went off in my head. That I saw how I could survive, how Prim could survive. How, through the things my dad had taught me, I could keep me and my sister alive.

After that day, I could never stop associating the boy with the bread, the one who gave me hope, with the dandelion that reminded me I wasn't doomed.

I never stopped associating him with his simple act of kindness, even when he became famous for some much less appreciable acts.

And I never stopped kicking myself for failing to thank him, for saving my life and my family's life, before he was whisked away, to a land far from Twelve, called the Capitol. When he later returned, now a part of a much more elite social class, thanking him for his kindness became even less of a possibility.

A girl from the Seam had no business seeking out a boy from Victor's Village. Even if I did have the guts.

Though he isn't exactly in good company here in Twelve, seeing as the only other person who holds the same title is a drunken, middle-aged man who can barely form a coherent sentence most days and lives like a hermit by his own volition.

My thoughts are interrupted by the quiet—almost as quiet as mine, but not quite—steps of Gale.

"You're late," I state without turning around, pulling the cheese from my pocket. "You're lucky Prim's cheese held up under the sun."

But Gale pulls something even more impressive from behind his back. "This will probably go nice with it," he says and I almost gasp.

Fresh bread is so rare in our district, generally reserved for the Peacekeepers and perhaps a merchant who is having a good day. Here in the Seam, fresh bread from the bakery is as common as new school shoes.

Gale updates me on his day as we split the bread and cheese and have our own version of a small feast. He'd gotten to the woods early, while I had been still at home, and shot a squirrel to which he traded for the bread.

"The baker really went for that?" I ask in disbelief. The baker was a subdued, large man, who resembled all three of his sons quietly strongly, and was one of my dad's best customers. Sometimes I think he still trades with me and Gale out of respect to my dad's memory, but a simple squirrel for a loaf of fresh bread isn't common.

"I think he was feeling generous this morning," Gale suggests a little snidely, his bitterness leaking through. "Besides. It's not like the Mellark's need the money they ask for bread. They could easily skim off their precious son and he'd probably never notice."

Gale has a special affinity for hating anyone and anything associated even minimally with the Capitol. He was lost his father in the same mine explosion I lost mine in. But whereas I don't let myself get too worked up over the inequities between the town and the Seam, and especially between us all and the victors, Gale takes a special pride in fuming over the things he cannot change.

I don't mind listening usually, since neither of us can speak our minds in public or even within our own homes, out of fear small ears will pick up on our words and repeat them elsewhere. But today, I just don't have the energy to be a sounding board.

Instead I take a segue towards a slightly different topic, but one, without a doubt, weighing on both our minds. "Prim has been having nightmares of the reaping," I murmur solemnly. "She's convinced they're going to call her name."

Gale shook his head, his demeanor becoming more subdued now. "Least Prim's name is only in there once, Catnip. Rory had to take tesserae this year."

I nod silently at that admission, knowing what it must have cost him to even allow his little brother to take additional risks of being called. Knowing it meant his family of five must be even more hungry than he leads on.

We don't say much more after that, only lingering in the woods long enough to catch some additional game from what I've already collected, and hurry back to town to trade.

As we walk back to the Seam, having divided up our goods evenly, Gale murmurs suddenly, "I might be able to stomach the idea of Rory's name being in that bowl six times if we were still allowed to volunteer."

I bypass his words the best I can. I don't want to think about what Gale must be going through, making himself sick with worry, not for himself but for a sibling in which he considers himself responsible for. And, as it happens once in a lucky moon, I feel grateful that my tesserae is still sufficient for a family of three, and I don't have to worry about Prim the same way. Her one entry pales in comparison to the thousands that are piled in that bowl.

Still, the silence between us as we walk is deafening and I can't take it any longer as we come closer to my house. "At least then, you'd get to see the Capitol," I say lightly, as a means to brighten his mood, even just a little.

At that, Gale rewards me with a humorless smirk. "Generous of the president, isn't it? To allow us district people to experience the great Capitol firsthand while they slaughter our family."

And it's true. Just a few years ago, it was allowed to volunteer as tribute in the place of whoever's name got chosen, as long as you were the same gender and between twelve and eighteen on Reaping Day.

But four years ago, when a twelve-year-old boy volunteered for his seventeen-year-old brother, an outrage sparked across the entire country. People are never happy, in any district, to see a twelve-year-old be chosen for the games. They're the youngest, the smallest, the most innocent, and never in history had a single one made it past the Final Fifteen in the games.

So when one volunteered, the country wasn't pleased in the slightest. However, like always, the anger was contained by Peacekeepers in a matter of weeks, and promises came pouring out from the Capitol that a change would be made after the games that year to ensure never again would this situation occur.

And it never again could. Because three days after the Seventieth Hunger Games, President Snow announced that all volunteering, from that point forward, was officially banned.

This new law is even more ironic when you realize that the twelve-year-old volunteer from that year became the youngest victor in the entire history of the games.

Still, I suppose the president was feeling generous that day, and he threw in a bonus treat for us in the districts. Now when someone is chosen from the reaping bowl, though their fate is sealed definitively when their name is uttered, they get to choose one family member to take on the train ride to the Capitol with them, to get a special viewing of the games with the mentors and the sponsors and the past victors, to get to experience the wonder that is the mysterious Candy Capitol firsthand.

However, when all is said and done, twenty-three family members must ride the train home alone to their districts, with their loved one in a casket beside them. The thought chills me to the bone and I shiver as me and Gale wish each other good luck. We probably won't see each other again until it's time for the customary dinner we all try to put on with our neighbors to celebrate, even minimally, that we've survived another year unchosen.

Prim is already wearing my first reaping outfit when I enter the house, though it is a bit large on her. She's slimmer than even I was at Twelve, despite her having months on me when I attended my first reaping.

I get ready quickly, if only because I want to spend time with her before we have to go. I protect Prim in every way I can but I'm powerless against the reaping.

Still, she's only entered once and that's as safe as anyone can get from being chosen. It's almost unheard in the Seam to be that safe from the games.

But my sister never did appear like she fit in here anyway. Her golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes resemble the merchants, not the Seam, and her and our mother stick out like sore thumbs next to our neighbors.

Our mom is restless now, busying herself with preparing the food for our small feast tonight and braiding Prim's hair and then mine.

I still haven't fully forgiven her for leaving us when we needed her most, but I also can't imagine how difficult it must be to have to send both your children off to be potentially chosen for an absolute death. And I let her hug me as I guide Prim out the door.

Attendance is mandatory for all in the district, but the ones viable for being chosen and those just watching don't typically enter together.

I guide Prim by hand into town, the walk feeling longer than it did with Gale. Perhaps it's the trembling twelve-year-old I'm towing, or perhaps I'm more afraid than I'm even admitting to myself.

After all, unlike my sister, I have twenty slips with my name splayed across this year. It's not as a bad as someone like Gale, who has forty-four chances of being called. But it's not as safe as the kids from town, who likely only have to worry about a handful of slips with their names.

Its not that they're rich by any standard, but they get by better than those in the Seam. Even if they're hungry, they're not at risk of starving, and no one is going to sign up for tesserae unless there is no alternative.

A year ago, my mother let it slip once over dinner, just out of the blue really, that my father had always sworn no child of his would be in need of tesserae.

I shake my head, as if to physically rid myself of the reminder. I don't want to dwell on what my father would feel if he were here. I don't want to be reminded how different things would be if he hadn't died.

I help Prim sign in and then drop her off, as gently as I can, with the other girls her age. At the last minute, she pulls on my hand, yanking me back to her with surprising force.

"Prim, I have to go stand with the sixteens," I say as she leans up and kisses my cheek.

"I just wanted to say I love you," she whispers softly, her big blue eyes so terrified, and then she steps back into the crowd of twelves surrounding her.

I sigh softly and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She truly is the best of our parents. Kind, smart, level-headed. She's funny and resourceful too, even if she can't take hunting animals herself.

She is the only person I'm certain that I love. And just about the only thing that keeps me going most days.

As I make my way to the sixteens, straightening my mother's dress on my hips, I check the clock. Only five minutes before we start. Before our lovely Capitol escort, Effie Trinket, reads off two names in her distinctive, afflicted accent. Before two kids know they're never coming home again.

This place isn't much. But it is all we've ever known, and no one wishes to leave it.

As more people crowd in, I begin to pick up an excited buzz in the girls surrounding me. Already knowing what I'll see, I crane my neck just the same, to peer up at the stage ahead.

Sure enough, I see exactly what I knew I would.

There's four chairs set up on the stage. One for Effie Trinket, because no one from the Capitol could ever bear to stand for more than three minutes at a time and she must have a seat to relax in before she calls out the names and sends two of us—a lucky boy and girl, as she says it—to the slaughter.

One of the other chairs is occupied by Mayor Undersee. A man who looks like he's been beaten down by life too many times as it is and would rather be anywhere but here. His daughter is my age. She sits with me at lunch, since Gale is two grades ahead of me and we rarely see each other at school. We make polite small talk but other than that, I barely know anything about her, and by association, her father.

However, it's neither of them that's stirring up the buzz within the crowd—admittedly, more so with the female portion of the crowd—and it's definitely not Haymitch Abernathy, who's stumbling on stage right at this moment. He managed to win the Fiftieth Hunger Games and I still can't imagine how. He's a paunchy man my mother's age and he's never sober, on the rare time he's even seen in public. Today is no exception, as he flops onto a chair gruffly, and murmurs something unintelligible with his eyes closed.

No, the murmuring, the now batting eyes and coy smiles, the soft vibrato still traveling within the crowd, are all because of the last guest of honor, walking upon the stage right behind his old mentor.

Peeta Mellark.

Winner of the Seventieth Hunger Games. Youngest ever. District Twelve's first and last volunteer. The twelve-year-old that changed the rules for the entire country.

The youngest mass murderer in history of Panem.

And now one of it's most beloved celebrities.

Peeta is smart—brilliantly smart—and he's always been charismatic. Even at twelve, he had the Capitol audience, as well as every single soul watching on television at home, eating out of the palm of his hand.

It doesn't hurt that at sixteen, he's become quite a looker. His blonde curls, his blue eyes, those long lashes and bubblegum pink lips. His fair, perfect skin that has not a blemish in sight. His toned, muscular body and devastatingly genuine smile that no one can help but fall in love with.

He's also the boy who saved my life. The one who committed the simple act of kindness, knowing it would cost him, to help me.

I never thanked him. And now I never can, as I'm sure he has zero memory of me. After everything else that's happened to him since, after the last four years of living as a Capitol darling, as one of the country's most cherished victors, he'd never remember the starving eleven-year-old he threw some burned bread to in a rainstorm.

But I remember him. I don't know if it's what he did for me that day or what he did for his brother only a matter of weeks later, but something about Peeta Mellark crawled under my skin four years ago and ever since, I've never been able to completely shake the feeling I get inside upon seeing him.

I break my gaze away, refusing to stare at the boy, who I will always accredit as the one who saved my life. I venomously refuse to gawk at him, like every other girl in the district.

He rarely comes out of his house when he's home here in Twelve, and I know the overzealous amount of attention he receives just by going to his parents' bakery has to be at least a part of the reason. Unlike Haymitch, who has lost his clout and his appeal with age and with deterioration, Peeta has only gained more and more notoriety as the years pass by.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in Twelve, outside of a few outliers like Gale perhaps, who'd say a negative word about Peeta Mellark.

Of course, rumors about his random and long stretches spent in the Capitol itself are always floating around, no matter what time of year it is, but they don't affect his public persona or anyone's opinion of him. He is, after all, the most valuable figure Twelve has and perhaps the only thing we can take any pride in.

Effie Trinket steps up to the microphone just as I turn my head away from the stage. "Welcome!" She greets, so vivaciously, so brightly, I can't imagine it even resonates in her head that she's just moments away from announcing two of our impending funerals. "Welcome, everyone! To the reaping for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

I can't even bear to listen as she prattles on, with too much confidence and dignity for someone dressed in every neon color known to man, speaking in such a peculiar accent, with a thickly painted face that is so blatantly visible to the every eye here today, even in the back row. Doesn't she realize how ridiculous she is to us? Doesn't she realize how wrong it is to preach about the morals and disciplines of the Capitol, in such a prideful voice, when they're the ones about to murder us for entertainment, and in repentance for a long over war that only a few elders can still remember?

As I advert my eyes, my gaze travels once again to the back of the stage, and I'm more than a little surprised to see Peeta Mellark with a similar expression as mine. He, too, is shifting his eyes elsewhere, away from his own escort, looking sick to his stomach.

Of course, it still can't be easy for him, even with his own games four years in the past. He was a literal child when he volunteered and it's fact that he didn't understand what he was getting himself into when he took his brother's place that fateful day. His innocence was stolen as soon as the countdown ended and talk still circulates, even in the Hob, that he wakes up screaming most nights, calling out the names of fallen tributes. Though those words are not given much weight in the Seam, as we all know, people get bored in this tiny district and bored people begin to spew lies whenever encouraged.

Effie continues, in a long overdone mantra, one I could recite in my sleep, the same one she spews every year, that two kids from every district must be chosen to battle to the death in a new and invigorating—one of her favorite words—arena, in order to pay for the blood shed during the rebellion and war, in order to ensure we'll never again even think to rebel.

It would almost be easier to swallow, this whole charade, if the people sent from the strange land of the Capitol would just be honest and blunt with us. If they'd just admit that they see us as lesser than, as animals or beasts of some sort, as less than human beings. It'd be easier if the Capitol spokespeople would just outright say, "we'll take your children, we'll starve your district, we'll ruin your homes, we'll broadcast the deaths of those you love most, all to keep you too powerless to fight. In order to make sure you never are able to stand strong, we have to kick your legs out from under you first."

Instead of being honest though, Effie Trinket is reiterating the Treaty Of Treason, in a tone so serious that it takes all the self-control possible to stop several boys standing in the fourteens from bursting out laughing. Her accent and a serious tone do not mesh well together.

Once she's done though, my heart automatically skips a beat. Because, after four years of standing in this square, I know exactly what's coming. "Ladies first!" Effie announces and I feel a bead of sweat glide down my forehead, both from anxiety and from the overload of heat. Reapings always take place in the start of the hottest month of the year.

Standing in my mother's well-crafted dress, one of the most luxurious pieces of clothing we own, only makes my perspiration worsen, as the dress was clearly made to keep the wearer as warm as possible.

Our district escort makes her way over the bowl containing the names of every girl eligible to be picked in the entire district and I feel myself take in a breath involuntarily.

There's twenty chances she's going to call out my name. Twenty chances I'll be sent to an almost imminent death. Twenty chances Prim will grow into her teen years, and later adulthood, without a sister.

The gut-churning fear I'd repressed all morning, in that moment, overtakes my entire being, curling up like a ball in the pit of my stomach, as I do my best to listen on baited breath, somehow expecting to hear my own name spoken through the raucous microphone for all to hear.

Don't be me, I whisper inside my head, more fearful than I'd ever admit out loud. Don't be me. Please, don't be me.

And, as it turns out, it's not me.

Instead it's the name I never in a million years thought I'd hear. The name I believed to be so safe I didn't even allow myself to worry about her.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

[atths--twice]

Missing Home

A couple of days ago I posted a story and had a comment on Twitter that included song lyrics and once I listened to it... I HAD to write a story and include it. So here it is, I hope you enjoy it. The song is North by Sleeping At Last. I suggest listening to it as you read, it is perfect for MSR. 

On a night she hears a song that causes emotions to rise, she feels a deep desire to drive out to the Unremarkable House and remember the past and the happier times they had shared. 

November 2017

Scully sat in her car, the engine and lights shut off as she stared at the glowing lights of the house she had not lived in for over three years. She took a deep shaky breath and let it out, the pain and sadness she had felt earlier pushing its way once more to the surface.

Shaking her head, she picked up her phone and unlocked it. Finding the song she had heard earlier and then purchased, which had led to her driving over to the house at 9:00 at night, she pressed play and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headrest.

The beginning piano chords began, the sounds of it filling the car and bringing tears to her eyes. Swallowing, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

We will call this place our home The dirt in which our roots may grow Though the storms will push and pull We will call this place our home

We'll tell our stories on these walls. Every year, measure how tall And just like a work of art We'll tell our stories on these walls

Tears fell down her cheeks and she made no effort to wipe them away, needing to once again feel that pain.

Let the years we're here be kind, be kind Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide Settle our bones like wood over time, over time Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine

A little broken, a little new. We are the impact and the glue Capable more than we know To call this fixer upper home

With each year, our color fades Slowly, our paint chips away But we will find the strength And the nerve it takes To repaint and repaint and repaint every day

Weeping, she shook her head, covering her face with her hands.

Let the years we're here be kind, be kind Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide Settle our bones like wood over time, over time Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine

Let the years we're here be kind, be kind Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide Settle our bones like wood over time, over time Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine

Smaller than dust on this map Lies the greatest thing we have The dirt in which our roots may grow And the right to call it home

As the song began to play on repeat, she opened her eyes, unable to see through her tears. Lifting the middle console, she took out the box of tissues she kept there, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. Shaking her head, she began to cry again as she stared at the house.

God, she missed being there. Being home.

But… that little house in the field had begun to feel suffocating, and she had needed to leave. To get out before she could no longer breathe. It had hurt, but she knew it was the right decision, then as well as now. But, Jesus… she missed it so much. Sometimes it caused such a painful ache, it stopped her in her tracks.

She knew it was not just the house, but the man living within it, and the life they had lived, the happiness they had shared.

When they had first moved in, it was slow going getting everything they needed. Some days it was hard to believe they were actually safe, no longer needing to pack up and leave after a couple of days.

We'll tell our stories on these walls. Every year, measure how tall And just like a work of art We'll tell our stories on these walls

She laughed and then sobbed as she remembered painting the walls, picking out the right colors and bringing them home to him. The smell of it as they had painted with only a few lamps shining, the shades off to make the room brighter. They could have waited for morning, but nighttime seemed to be their time. When it was dark and quiet outside, it had felt different.

The living room had been first, the painting process time consuming and tiring, but worth it when they were done, the windows open and letting in the cold fall air. He had set his roller brush down, taken hers from her and set it beside his own. Pulling her close, they had danced around the room, mindful of the trays of paint.

“It’s just the start, Scully and it’s already beginning to feel like home,” he had whispered and she had sighed, a peaceful feeling in her heart.

Let the years we're here be kind, be kind Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide Settle our bones like wood over time, over time Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine

Without a table, there had been many meals on a blanket on the floor, laughing as they ate. Half a bottle of wine had spilled one night, his kiss intoxicating her far more than the alcohol had. Their clothes had been stained, something he had found hilarious as he had continued to wear the shirt, regardless of the splotches of reddish purple that refused to be washed away.

The hardwood floor had also been stained, the wine left sitting unchecked for too long as they clung to one another, their cries and gasps the only sounds in the room. Any attempt to remove the stain completely was futile, for which Mulder had been downright gleeful.

“This rug may cover it,” he had said as they had laid it down. “But we know it’s there. A little dinner and some sex… that’s always the best way to end a meal.” He had kissed her as she laughed against his mouth.

Happy. They had been so happy. And then…

“God,” she sobbed, shaking her head and letting out a breath.

A little broken, a little new. We are the impact and the glue Capable more than we know To call this fixer upper home

With each year, our color fades Slowly, our paint chips away But we will find the strength And the nerve it takes To repaint and repaint and repaint every day

Why was she doing this to herself? Reliving the pain and remembering that past? They were different these days, but God… the days of hurt, sadness, and loneliness were always right there below the surface, as though waiting to be called upon and do its worst.

The impact and the glue…

That was the line that had caused her to gasp and fall to her knees onto the  living room floor. The music continued to play though her ears had rung as she drew in deep breaths, trying to calm her aching heart.

The impact- the past which they kept pushed away; William and the gaping hole he had left behind being the main one. They had never discussed the possibility of finding him, or trying for another child, as slim as the chance may have been. They were never careful or worried over the “what if’s,” but nothing had ever happened and every year that passed, any discussion became harder to broach.

The glue- their need for one another, the pull to be together no matter the cost, began to lose its ability to hold tightly. It faded and was picked away. His drive became only his obsession to find the answers he needed, and hers was to save him, to stop him from falling headfirst into the abyss.

She had failed him. Failed them both.

Let the years we're here be kind, be kind Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide Settle our bones like wood over time, over time Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine

She rubbed at her chest, directly over her heart, as the chorus played and she closed her eyes. Pushing down the pain, she thought instead of Mulder’s smile, his laugh at some corny pun he had made, and the way he made her laugh as he danced across the room. Listening to the song in its entirety once more, she took a deep breath.

With each year, our color fades Slowly, our paint chips away But we will find the strength And the nerve it takes To repaint and repaint and repaint every day

She could feel it… they were beginning to find their strength and their nerve to repaint… rebuild who they were with who they had grown into. Time changes, pain causes breaks, but if they were strong, the roots that had been planted could once more flourish and grow.

She had needed to come there tonight. To see, to remember who they were, to know that it was not all in vain. The song had awakened something inside of her, its haunting beauty hurting and healing all at once. They were not there yet, but that little house in the field was standing strong and resolute, not giving up, even when it felt as though they had.

She wiped at her eyes again and then closed them, the memories of their lives within those sturdy walls calling to her, reminding her it was not only sadness and grief.

Her mother’s laughter had been loud after a raucous game of cards, Mulder smiling as he was proclaimed victor and Scully had pouted, crossing her arms in defeat, unwilling to shake his hand and offer her congratulations.

A rainy night had led to a movie on the couch, her head on his lap as he stroked her hair, quoting all the lines, and causing her to smile.

The day the sink had broken and water was spraying everywhere. They had tried to stop it, bringing to mind a case long ago and Mulder crashing through the floor. She had doubled over in laughter, even as she had stood dripping wet and he had yelled to her to help him.  

Waking up on the couch with a start, the book in her hand being taken gently from her hands. Staring sleepily into his eyes, she had stretched and yawned. A blanket was lying across her and she had smiled at his thoughtfulness. The nights had begun to become chilly, the house never holding heat properly. He had helped her up and they walked upstairs together, not staying chilly for long as his touch had created a fire within her.

A silly fight over something stupid had led to not speaking for a couple of days. She had stayed longer at the hospital, avoiding coming home. Finally knowing she needed to stop being childish, she had left, determined to speak to him and move past it.

Upon her arrival, she had found him in the kitchen, cooking something that had made her mouth water. Dropping her bag and her keys, he had turned around and looked at her. They had said nothing, but she took off her coat and walked over to him. She wordlessly washed her hands and picked up the knife to cut the vegetables on the cutting board. Still no words were spoken, but the brush of their arms as they worked together had been enough.

Days and nights of loving one another, fighting, either verbally or emotionally, laughing, crying, simply being had kept them together. Making that little house a home, the relationship that had been built on friendship, trust, and love had bloomed even further.

Sighing, her tears now spent, she nodded. It had been a good choice to come here, to simply gaze upon the home she loved and hoped to be back in one day. Blowing her nose once more, she reached forward to turn on the car.

Knock knock knock.

“Jesus Christ!” she yelled, jumping and dropping the keys. Her heart racing, she turned and found Mulder standing outside her window. He was breathing hard, his breath billowing out around him in great white puffs. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” he replied, his words muffled through the glass. He tilted his head, still taking deep breaths. She reached around on the floorboard and found her keys, turning the ignition on far enough to roll the window down as she turned off the song still playing on her phone.

“What the hell?” she asked, her heart slowly returning to normal.

“I think that should be my question.” He smiled, nodding toward her. “You’re sitting at the end of the drive, your car silent and the headlights off. Are you spying on me?” He chuckled softly and her heart ached at the sound.

God, she missed him. Missed him so much.

“Did we get called out? I was out for a run and didn't bring my phone. You could have waited inside.” He licked his lips, his breathing steadier now.

“No. No, it’s not that,” she said, not sure how she could explain this one to him. He stared with a shrug, searching her face. She stayed silent, not knowing how to get the words out to tell him how she was feeling.

With a small nod, he took a step back and looked toward the house. Turning his head to look back at her, he smiled softly.

“You want to come in? Have a drink? Alcoholic or otherwise?”

There it was, her out, if she wanted to take it. She could easily say no, give no other explanation as to why she was sitting in the drive… in their drive, and he would not ask further. He understood, as he nearly always did. She could simply turn the ignition on, drive back to that overly smart house, and be alone.

Alone.

“I… I could come in for a bit,” she said quietly, her decision made, and his smile grew. Stepping back further, he nodded and began to jog up the drive. She turned on the headlights and he waved a hand in thanks.

Starting the car, she stared after him, turning the radio on low, her phone connecting to the Bluetooth, the song starting once more. She followed him slowly up the drive as the chorus played and she took some calming breaths.

Let the years we're here be kind, be kind Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide Settle our bones like wood over time, over time Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine

She stopped the car as she reached the porch, watching him walk up the stairs and through the door, listening to the last few lines of the song for a bit of courage.

Smaller than dust on this map Lies the greatest thing we have The dirt in which our roots may grow And the right to call it home

With a slight nod, she turned off the car and got out, walking up the stairs and pausing at the doors threshold.

“Wine? Or something else?” he called and she took a deep breath.

“Anything is fine,” she said quietly, as she walked inside. Closing the door behind her, she took another deep breath, the familiar scent of home washing over her as tears pricked her eyes. Blinking them away quickly, she turned to him with a small smile and walked further inside.

The past was left outside. Tonight, she was home, and this moment of happiness and comfort would be added to the stories within the walls and would settle into the roots that had begun to grow long ago.

[cocos-cocoapuffsarenotforsale]

Finally

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: Sirius has been fighting his feelings for you from day one. When you are injured during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, it forces him to confront his feelings.

Tags: Swearing, Fluff, Arguing, Canon-Typical Violence, Older!Sirius Black, Age Gap (Reader older than Harry and legal, no exact age given), Non-Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Slight AU, Takes place during Order of the Phoenix, Sirius Black Lives, Happy Ending

Taglist: @chewymoustachio

————————————————————————

“Sirius, c’mon, can’t we at least talk?” You plead as he storms out of the library at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

“No. We’ve already discussed it.” He says firmly.

“No, we didn’t. You just ranted about how horrible a boyfriend you would be and didn’t let me speak!” You shout you were so annoyed you almost stomped your foot.

“Because it’s true! I’m no good! Not for anyone! Especially you!” He yells back before stomping into his room and slamming the door behind him. You feel the tears well up in your eyes and before you can stop them they spill down your cheeks.

For the past few months, you and Sirius have been working closely with each other, doing research in the Black family library. You had initially moved in with him to help with research, or so you thought, over time it seemed you and Remus were there more as babysitters. To keep Sirius safe from himself and his own restlessness. You fell for Sirius within the first week. And you knew he fell for you too. He had told you so. But he also said that he was an old, no good fugitive. When you had tried to argue he was innocent and that he wasn’t even forty yet he shut you down.

“What’s going on?” You hear a sleepy voice ask, your turn to find Harry standing outside of his room looking confused. It was Christmas break so Harry was staying with you and Sirius at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The Weasleys were spending their Christmas at the Burrow while helping Arthur heal.

“Sorry Harry, we didn’t mean to wake you.” You murmur an apology. You try to turn away so he doesn’t see your tears but you’re too late.

“What’s wrong Y/n?” He asks.

“Sirius and I just had a row, it’s fine.” You feel bad lying to Harry (everyone had been lately, much to your dismay), but you didn’t want him to hate you or Sirius.

“So now you’re gonna lie to me too?” He asks trying to sound like he’s teasing but you can hear the edge to his voice.

“Why don’t we go down to the kitchen and have some tea? We can talk there, Mr. Grumpy-Pants needs his beauty sleep.” You say motioning to Sirius’s door. Harry nods and the two of you walk down to the kitchen together. Harry takes a seat at the table while you make some tea.

“So what was that all about?” Harry asks when you bring the tea over and sit down across from him.

“Well when I tell you you’re probably going to think I’m gross and hate me,” you warn and Harry just shakes his head at you.

“A. I would never think that and B. I know about you and Sirius. I know you love him and he loves you.” Harry replies.

“Well, he thinks I deserve better. He thinks he’s, and I quote, ‘an old, dried up, fugitive’. And when I tried to argue he shut me down. Anytime I try to talk to him about it he shuts down and storms off.” You explain before taking a deep, shaky breath.

“I know how he gets but don’t give up on him. You’re the only person, other than maybe me or Lupin, who can get him to smile. He told me he loves you Y/n. I know he’s stubborn but don’t quit on him.” Harry pleads as he takes your hand in his.

“I’m not ever giving up on him. I’m going to out stubborn that sorry jerk if it’s the last thing I do.” You vow.

———————————————————————-

Time Skip to the Battle of the Department of Mysteries 

“What?!” You shout thinking you heard wrong.

“Harry’s gone off to the Ministry to try and save me. He had another vision but this time it was planted. He thinks I’m in danger.” Sirius explains, you and Remus immediately jump into action and follow him out. 

“How could he do this?!” You yell in frustration as the three of you enter the Ministry.

“Because he’s Harry,” Remus sighs. 

The three of you meet up with the other members of the Order and rush off to the Department of Mysteries. When you arrive Harry and the others are battling admirably against a bunch of Death Eaters.

“Hermione watch out!” You shout as you see Dolohov sneak up on her. You fire off a Stupefy at him and he falls over, stunned.

“Get away from my godson!” You hear a familiar voice shout. Turning around you spot Sirius battling Lucius, defending Harry. You feel your heart swell at the sight of the man your love protecting the boy, you both viewed as your own. 

You feel your chests seize with fear when you see Bellatrix creep up behind Sirius, ready to attack. It’s then that you notice how close Sirius and Harry are to the veil.

“Petrificus Totalus!” You shout, pointing your wand at Bellatrix successfully body binding her.

“Sectumsempra!” You hear a voice shout before you feel the sharp cut on your abdomen and another one to your leg. You let out a heart-stopping scream before you pass out from blood loss.

———————————————————————-

Time Skip to Hospital Wing

“Sirius, you have to tell her when she wakes up.” You hear Harry urging.

“Harry, Y/n deserves better than an old, worn down, convicted murderer on the run,” Sirius argues back, you mentally shake your head at that statement. Sirius was so much more than that. 

“Well you may be old and worn down but you aren’t a convicted murderer anymore,” Harry replies and you can practically hear the smirk on his face.

“What?”

“They overturned your conviction after the battle. With everyone giving testimony that you were fighting with us against the Death Eaters it was the nail in the coffin. Sirius, you’re a free man.” Harry proclaims and you feel your heart soar with joy. Sirius is free! Sirius is finally free!

“She still deserves better. I couldn’t even protect her,” Sirius whispers, his voice filled with sorrow. You finally find the strength to open your eyes after hearing the pain the love of your life is in.

“Sirius,” you mutter weakly. Your voice cracks and your mouth feels like it’s as dry as a desert.

“Y/n/n,” Sirius shouts as a smile overtakes his face.

“Water,” you ask and Sirius rushes to comply. He hurriedly conjured a pitcher of water and a glass. His hands are shaking so badly that he ends up spilling half the water before finally lifting the glass to help you drink.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile. Sirius returns your smile though you can see the pain behind it and know that it’s a forced smile.

“What’s wrong?” You inquire, worried. Did someone from the Order die? How many others were hurt? And how bad?

“What’s wrong?!” He exclaims with a manic laugh, abruptly standing from his chair and proceeding to pace next to your bed. “What’s wrong? Let’s see, you nearly died from blood loss because you were too busy trying to protect me instead of defending yourself. You’ve been unconscious for nearly a week. Madame Pomfrey couldn’t figure out how to heal you until Snape, bloody Snape, showed her how and I just sat there like a damn fool unable to help you. Does that answer your question?!”

“I think I’ll give you two some time,” Harry mutters as he carefully sprints out of the Hospital Wing.

“Did anyone else get hurt? Is anyone-” you take a deep breath before finishing, “Is anyone dead?”

“No, no one is dead. Hermione was pretty roughed up, as was Neville. Everyone else had some minor injuries but they’re all fine now. You were the most severely injured.” He replies easing your fears.

“Good, that’s good.”

“Good?” He hisses incredulously, “good? Y/n, you almost died! If we hadn’t gotten you out of there when we did- you-you would-you would be-“ but he can’t bring himself to finish the thought out loud.

“Sirius, I’m ok, I’m alive. I’m here.”

“I should’ve protected you. It should’ve been me.” He says in a quiet voice.

“No, it shouldn’t have been you. You don’t deserve it any more than I do. And you were busy protecting Harry. We’re a team, we all protect each other. It’s not solely your responsibility to keep everyone safe.”

“I can’t lose anyone else. Especially you or Harry or Remus. I wish I could take every curse for you guys.” He runs his hands through his flowy hair, something you’ve noticed he does when he gets anxious.

“Hey, I know. I feel that way too. I’m pretty sure we all do. But you can’t blame yourself every time someone gets hurt. What matters is that we all made it out alive. Wounds heal.” You try to stand up but your injured leg gives out and you almost crash to the floor but Sirius catches you before you can hit it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growled.

“Trying to get your arms around me,” you reply with a wink. He rolls his eyes and forces you back into bed before pulling his chair up next to you again and sitting down beside you.

“So you’re a free man now, eh?” You ask.

“It appears so. Harry just informed me that I have been entirely exonerated.” 

“Well, that’s one less thing you can use against me.” You chuckle half-heartedly, Sirius shoots you a confused look.

“What do you mean?”

“Every time we talked about us, you used the fact that you were on the run as a reason we couldn’t be together. Now that you’re free you can’t use that argument anymore.” You explain, there is a long silence before Sirius finally decides to break it.

“Are you sure you want this? Me? Us?” He asks in a hushed voice.

“Yes, Sirius. I’ve wanted you since that first week we met. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He replies in a soft voice.

“FINALLY!” You hear two voices shout and Sirius and you look over at the doors to see three faces peeking in. Ron and Harry are smiling until Hermione starts smacking them and berating them for interrupting.

“You guys can come in, we know you’re out there.” You chuckle and the trio enters the Hospital Wing, Hermione looking slightly guilty, while Harry and Ron both are goofily grinning.

“Sorry, we interrupted you,” Hermione apologizes, her cheeks slightly pink.

“It’s ok ‘Mione,” you assure her.

“Of course it is! They’re finally together! We’ve only been waiting for nearly a year!” Ron exclaims.

“Harry, are you ok with this?” You ask, ignoring Ron’s gleeful smile.

“Y/n, I already told you I was. I love you two and I want you both to be happy. You guys make each other happy and love each other. No one should stand in the way of that.” Harry replies with a big goofy smile on his face.

“So Harry umm-now that I’m free, well,” Sirius begins, running his hands through his hair before continuing. “Doyouwanttomoveinwithme?” The words were so quiet and smushed together you weren’t 100% sure you had heard right.

“What?” Harry asked looking dumbfounded.

“Do you want to move in with me?” Sirius asks again, his voice was still quiet but he had slowed down enough that you could understand him.

“Are you serious?” Harry asks, his jaw had dropped at Sirius’s words.

“Well I mean only if you want to…” Sirius trails off, fidgeting nervously with his hands.

“Of course I want to! When can I move in?!” Harry exclaims, an enormous smile overtaking his face.

“Well school’s out in two days and you can just come home with me and Y/n. We can collect the remainder of your things from your aunt and uncle’s later.” Sirius suggests and Harry nods quickly in agreement.

“Sweet, but umm I don’t have anything at my aunt and uncle’s place. All my stuff is here.” Harry explains, a look of mild embarrassment crossing his face. Sirius looks slightly confused, then angry (at the Durselys) and finally understanding.

“No problem, we can go on a little spree and get stuff for Grimmauld Place and whatever else you’ll need. We need to update and clean Grimmauld Place more. You can pick out whatever you want for your room, we have to make changes anyway.” Sirius explains, a gleeful expression covering his features.

“For real?” Harry asked.

“For real,” Sirius confirms with a nod.

“And Y/n and Remus will be there too?” Harry asks looking over to you.

“I hope so. Will you continue to live with me now that I no longer need a babysitter?” Sirius questions with a cocky smirk.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say you no longer need a babysitter, but yes if you’ll have me I would love to remain living with you at Grimmauld Place.” You agree Sirius lets out a loud whoop before leaning down and smashing his lips against yours.

“We’re gonna be a family?” Harry asks Sirius once the two of you break apart.

“We already are lad,” Sirius replies tossing an arm around Harry’s shoulder and giving your hand a small squeeze.

[soft-glitch]

Through Thick And Thin

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog

Type: hurt/comfort, platonic fluff

Word count: about 2700 words

Author’s notes: this year was a mess. But I’m grateful for a few things that happened to me in 2020. One of these things is getting into the Sonic fandom, which helped me find joy in being creative again. Another is a budding friendship with someone really cool, that I can only hope will last for a long time.

This fic is kind of a gift to that person for New Year’s Day. To everyone, but especially to you O, I wish a happy new year and many good things to come.

- - - - -

It was not an easy morning.

Shadow had always been an early bird. He never needed much sleep compared to other mobians, thanks to his bio-engineered origins. This was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the days.

Being able to stay up most of the night during missions proved useful more than once. On the other hand, when ugly thoughts would assail him and sleeping them away was not an option, well… It was suddenly much less interesting.

On this last day of December, the hedgehog could not shake uneasy feelings. Between Eggman’s plotting and his own personal issues Shadow always had rough times, but this year had been… a lot.

Walking silently in the empty corridor, careful not to wake up anyone in the household, the dark mobian reached the kitchen and started preparing hot chocolate. Since most of his friends knew about his sweet tooth he didn’t bother hiding it anymore, and Rouge always made sure they were stocked up on cocoa.

While waiting for the milk to warm, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The eerie calm of early hours often made Shadow slightly uncomfortable. Despite his introvert side enjoying the peaceful solitude, it was also a moment where his thoughts would simmer in his mind, either awoken by confuse dreams or simply emerging as the day started. He would often put some music or read a book to avoid thinking too hard about it.

Didn’t always work, though.

Taking a deep breath the hedgehog felt some relief at the sweet scent of chocolate. He took a small sip before moving to roll himself in blankets on the large couch. With a long and noisy yawn he reached for the remote and pointed it at the large TV screen in front of him. Maybe there was something nice to watch while waiting for his roommates to get up.

- - - - -

When Shadow opened his eyes again, sunlight was gently glowing through the translucent curtains of the living room. Which meant it was probably kind of late already. It seemed he fell back asleep at some point.

With a frown, he rubbed his dishevelled quills and took a look at his phone. Almost 11am, and no sign of Rouge or Omega... This was odd, especially since they planned on spending the New Year’s Eve together.

That’s when he noticed an envelope lying on the small coffee table, next to his now empty mug. It was plain kraft, with a small card inside that only offered an address and the words “At noon, don’t be late hun”.

Obviously from Rouge. She loved putting mystery and drama in everything she did. Shadow huffed and shook his head.

Irredeemable.

Did that mean his friends got up without waking him and prepared some kind of surprise? However silly it was, this simple envelope brought some warmth to the hedgehog’s heart. He got up to take a quick shower and prepare for the day, a small smile peeking at the corner of his lips.

- - - - -

The location was one Shadow didn’t particularly recognise, a small intersection in a popular part of the town. Since Team Dark lived in a suburban area and their job at G.U.N was usually all over the world, his knowledge of the city was lacklustre. Right as his phone displayed 12pm a text popped up on the screen.

Rouge Right behind the shoes store, a cafe.

The striped mobian rolled his eyes with a hint of amusement. Even for something as simple as a New Year between friends, the bat couldn’t help making some kind of fun game to play. Shadow would gladly proclaim it futile and childish, but he actually enjoyed these quirky adventures his best friend always peppered in his life.

What he saw next filled him with pure joy. Of course Rouge wouldn’t choose a random cafe to meet. She had to make it extra one way or another, and she just knew how to please him.

The Gentle Garden Chao Café & Flower Shop

Almost giddy at the idea of having some sweets surrounded by chao, the ultimate lifeform stepped into the small establishment. A quick glance around made him happy beyond words: soft muted lights and warm colours complemented vintage furniture, large potted plants adorned all sides of the place, and —most importantly— chao of every kind were all over the place, either walking, being cuddled by clients or sleeping on small pillows.

In the back of the room was a large counter, behind which a massive chalkboard displayed both the cafe menu and prices of various flower arrangements.

Before Shadow could go and talk to the barista, a familiar face caught his attention. Rouge was there, sitting nonchalantly and sipping some drink in the most ostentatious way possible.

The hedgehog smirked and sat in front of her.

“So...?” he started with a raised brow. “So what? Did you think I’d let you stay home for this special day?” Rouge huffed between two exaggerated sips. “It’s just New Year’s Eve, not an anniversary or something...” Shadow said, glancing at the table.

He realised an order of white chocolate cappuccino —his very favourite drink— and forêt noire —one of his favourite sweets— were set in front of him. For a second he felt something rise in his chest. A mix of gratitude and that odd yet pleasing vulnerability he could only feel with his closest friends.

“I know it’s just the new year.” the bat leaned on the table, her eyes both tender and serious. “I also know you haven’t been doing great lately. It’s been a difficult time, and of course it won’t magically be over as midnight comes, but...”

She looked in the distance, her eyes piercing through the windows and their cold winter lighting. Shadow could very clearly feel the bittersweet essence of her expression. This year had also been hard on her.

“We’re in this together, y’know.” she resumed, turning a gentle smile towards him. “And while I can’t resolve every problem we have, I can at least invite my emo bestie to enjoy some chao and indulge in sugary treats!”

The hedgehog chuckled at this, then raised his cappuccino mug. “Let’s have a good time, then. To us bitches.” he said with a knowing grin. “To us bitches!” she exclaimed happily. ”Now drink that ‘ccino, we have chao to cuddle.”

Some laughs and friendly banter later, two chao had found their way on Shadow. One was sleepily nested on his legs while the other was playing on his head, brushing his quills curiously.

“You really have your way with them, just like Omega...” Rouge remarked. She loved the little creatures very much, but she never seemed to attract them as easily as her two partners. No one really knew why and she honestly didn’t mind. It was fun enough to observe them from a distance: no risks of ruined haircut or having one mess with her wings.

“This is the best.” the hedgehog whispered, his voice full of emotion. His friend chuckled. Shadow was endearing in many ways, but his love for plants and creatures was unparalleled in an extremely wholesome way.

“Did you ever consider adopting one?” she asked before biting into her remaining pastry. Shadow’s expression became slightly somber as he looked at her. “I…” he sighed and scratched the sleeping one’s head. “I always wanted to, I guess. Even on the Ark, once we learned about them with Maria, we used to pretend having one. There was a plush, I don’t remember its name. We would play parents, bring it along for walks across the Ark, this kind of things.”

Rouge nodded sympathetically. Maria was less and less a sensitive subject as years went by, but Shadow was still defensive about these memories. Sharing them was one of the most intimate things he would do, and she felt honoured every time it happened.

“Maybe one day.” the hedgehog shrugged with a tired smile. ”Right now our lives are too dangerous. I can’t raise one properly as long as we keep fighting and going on missions Chaos knows where. – Let’s hope we get Eggman and his clique once and for all, then!” Rouge said with a grin. “Can’t wait to have you pester us with photos of your ugly little baby.”

The genuine laugh that followed made the bat beam with happiness.

- - - - -

The very specific atmosphere of New Year’s Eve was not lost to the two mobians as they strolled in the city. Streets were bustling with activity, but in a way that felt distinct from other winter holidays. The ambient anticipation was less frantic, almost… solemn. Instead of rushing for gifts and food, people seemed determined to enjoy the final hours of this year.

Shadow found it interesting, not without its charm. He was more used to strolls in mountains, lonely forests and small paths undulating through fields. The buzzing activity of the city was something else —very nice, though. Plus Rouge knew every neighbourhood surprisingly well, and offered him little fun facts and stories about all sorts of buildings and places.

“It’s a real shame we don’t get more free time between G.U.N and Eggman.” the bat lamented. “There are so many nice spots I’d love to visit with Omega and you. – We do have vacations once in a while.” Shadow replied. “Yeah, but they’re either ruined by some apocalyptic event or by an intense need for rest.” she sighed. “We can’t enjoy the Museum of Arts if we’re falling asleep every two paintings.”

The dark mobian nodded. Technically Omega and him didn’t need a lot of sleep, but being world-saving heroes brought its own kind of mental fatigue. Moments of calm and respite were too few and far between.

“Well. Next time we have some days off we’ll organise a Team Dark afternoon.” Shadow offered. “An exhibit or two, some games at the arcade. Maybe a small concert at a cafe. – Oh my. Hun, I’m impressed to see you take this kind of initiatives.” the bat replied.

The hedgehog gave her a friendly nudge. “Shut up, can’t let you make all the decisions. – I don’t see why not.” Rouge shrugged with a knowing smile.

They suddenly stopped. Without really realising it, the duo had reached the large avenue leading back to their house. As they exchanged a glance, Rouge winked. “Omega must be waiting for us. Let’s move!” she said cheerfully.

- - - - -

An immediate wave of relief filled Shadow as soon as they passed the front door. “Finally some warmth.” he sighed, removing his large coat and thick scarf. “I was expecting your lowered body temperatures.” Omega’s robotic voice answered from the kitchen. “Hot tea and biscuits are ready for immediate consumption. Made with love.”

Rouge snickered and Shadow repressed a chuckle.  Both knew Omega was absolutely unable to cook anything without setting fire to it, so the biscuits were probably store-bought. They still appreciated the gesture greatly.

Everyone gathered around the table, remembering stories about the now-ending year and its numerous developments. Adrenaline-filled fights, obscure investigations and exhausting assignments went alongside hilarious mistakes, glorious teamwork… and even celebratory moments with all the other heroes of Mobius.

“Okay, but the award for the best party of the year still goes to Knuckles’ surprise birthday.” Rouge said confidently while helping Omega put on a colourful crochet beanie. “Ughh please. Let’s not talk about it.” Shadow groaned, knowing exactly where this was going. “It was extremely fun. The fireworks accident made it over 200% better than any other celebration.” the robot insisted. “Oh right, I almost forgot about that!” the bat laughed. “Poor Knuckie, having to deal with a fire hazard on his cherished island…”

Memories of the furious echidna shouting frantically brought a grin to Shadow’s face. “But!” Rouge added, ”I mostly remember someone having a few drinks too much and— – NOPE!” the hedgehog exclaimed as he brandished his hands. “No talk of this specific event shall happen in this house. Ever.”

Omega tapped his fingers on the table as he eyed his smaller friend. “It is a shame I did not record it for ulterior viewing.” Shadow’s glare was so intense the former badnik recoiled slightly.

“Oh well, it’s all in the past now.” Rouge mused teasingly. ”Good times, good times...”

- - - - -

The closet was absurdly full of useless trinkets and Shadow was very, very close to “fix” it with a Chaos blast.

Of course he wouldn’t, knowing how preciously Rouge kept all those odd items from her past. Jewels, foreign souvenirs, postcards, old plushies, photographs… All her memorabilia was kept there, in a mismatched mess mixed up with cleaning supplies, spare beddings and various tools.

“They should be somewhere near the bottom!” the bat shouted from across the flat. The hedgehog growled, his eyes desperately scanning the clutter in front of him. Finally he found what he came for.

Fairy lights. The essential accessory to any LRCS —Living Room Camping Session.

Shadow walked back to the main room, where a drying rack and several chairs formed a structure covered by sheets and blankets. Omega was evaluating whether the improvised tent was big enough for him. “It is perfect, Rouge. We will be able to fit within the designated comfy area.” he said before crawling underneath the colourful construction.

The hedgehog carefully hung the string of lights around and inside the tent before plugging it. Rouge grabbed some snacks and scuttled against the large robot, who fiddled with the remote until a title screen showed on the TV.

“Are we really watching this?” Shadow asked hesitantly. “Shadow. We all know your inclination for romance between organic beings. Please come cuddle so we can start the movie.” Omega said. “Don’t tell me you suddenly decided to hate cheesy fiction, sweetie.” Rouge added. “I would rather perish than lose your snarky remarks and teary-eyed spee— – Alright, I get it, I’m coming.” the hedgehog replied with a frown. “This better be good, though.”

It was everything but good. Outbursts of laughter and incredulous stares followed one another as the movie —a romantic parody of the famous blockbuster Attack On Mobius— kept getting more and more absurd. Omega threatened to turn himself off as he struggled to find any reasoning behind what was happening, and Rouge almost choked on her pop-corn near the end of the second part.

When the credits started rolling, the three buddies snuggled together. The winter night cold was no match for a group hug and thick quilts. Shadow eyed his phone and hummed.

“It’s almost midnight. – Does that mean we have to prepare a wish?” Rouge asked in a sleepy voice. “We don’t have to.” the hedgehog replied, glancing at his two friends.

Has to be an odd sight, he thought. A haphazard team with so many differences, united by pure luck in a challenging world. Chilling together in a makeshift tent in the middle of a flat like nothing else mattered. He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the warm feelings. Being surrounded by such amazing souls for whom he really mattered. Knowing all the affection and dedication hidden behind that seemingly cold name, “Team Dark”.

“I wished for a pony.” Both Omega and Shadow looked at their bat friend with tilted heads. “What? They’re cute, I dunno.” she shrugged with a shit-eating grin. “What would you guys wish for? – Dual plasma swords.” the robot replied. “Maybe I should ask Miles when we cross paths again.”

Rouge rolled her eyes, then shouted curse words as she realised midnight was mere seconds away. Omega startled, making the whole tent fall on the team. The striped hedgehog quickly covered his muzzle with his hands, trying to suppress an irresistible laugh. No matter how hard life was, no matter the obstacles in his way, one thing was certain as the year came to an end.

Friendship was all he could wish for.

[lostandundead]

Chapter 21: Beautiful Lies And Ugly Truths

After several minutes had passed for DJ to process it, Fungirius flipped the switch back on. Instantly, a loading screen popped up into their screen, with the bar slowly filling up. Once full, DJ’s pixelated face appeared on the screen back again as they jolted upwards. Looking around, they took in their surroundings, obviously getting more and more confused by the minute. They eventually landed their eyes on Arctyle, and with a low voice, they whispered:

“Arctyle? Is that you?”

Tears flowing from his eyes, Arctyle quickly tackled DJ in a hug, holding them tightly as if he were to let them go, they would be gone forever.

“I missed you too!” DJ chuckled, “but seriously, where are we and who are all these people. I obviously know Fungirius but who are the other two?”

“….We are in the real world and the one with the ponytail is Claudia and the other one is Cass.”

DJ took a minute to process this before screaming, “OH MY STARS, WE HAVE JUST BROKEN ONE OF THE BIGGEST RULES OF THE FANTASY REALM!”

“You… don’t remember how you got here?” Cass asked calmly.

“NO? I DON’T REMEMBER ANYTHING ABOUT COMING HERE!”

So they don’t remember the invasion of Earth, Arctyle thought. And they most likely don’t remember the battle we had over the chain. I can just be honest with them and tell them what happened, but if I do, they would most likely never forgive themselves. If I lie about it, there is a possibility that they would find out and they would be devastated. What should I do?

Meanwhile, DJ is getting more confused and scared as the seconds ticked by. Cass and Fungirius were attempting to calm them down while Claudia was making sure they didn’t fall off the bed. Eventually, he had to intervene, and he did.

“Jester caused all of this.” Arctyle spoke in fantastical, turning heads towards him, “She wanted to fuse the real world with the fantasy realm, but she didn’t have the power to do it, so she decided to eliminate me as a factor by throwing me into the real world.”

“She did WHAT?!” DJ yelled, shocked at this revelation.

“In order to continue on with her plan, she opened seven portals, each connected by a chain. Each of these chains had a person assigned to protect them. I am guessing you must’ve gotten near one of these portals in the fantasy realm and you fell into it. With the height you fell from, it would explain all the dents and scrapes on your body.”

“So, I am guessing that you found me near one of those chains, right?”

“Yes. Me, Cass, and Claudia were destroying the second chain when we found you lying on the ground. We then decided to bring you here to Fungirius’ place so you can rest up, though it will take a while.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense. I really should have saved during the invasion.”

“Don’t worry about it. Everything will be okay.”

“Okay?! There are still chains in the sky and we have to get rid of them if we want to stop Jester!”

“But you are badly hurt! You would fall apart by the time we get to the chain! You need to rest!”

“I’ll be fine! You go on ahead and I will rest. Once I am all repaired, I will join you, okay?”

“Okay. I am guessing this is goodbye.”

“How about see you later?”

“That sounds better. I will see you soon.”

“Me too.”

Waving goodbye to DJ, he gestured to Cass and Claudia to follow him. However, before they left the room, he quickly whispered to Fungirius, telling him to “spare them from the truth” before saying goodbye to him. Once the trio were outside in the lawn, Claudia broke the silence.

“What did you say to DJ?” She asked him.

“I told them a beautiful lie rather than a very ugly truth.” He replied.

“What?! Why would you lie to them?! Wouldn’t they find out eventually?”

“If I just told them to their face that they were partially responsible for an invasion, flipping upside down a monument, and hurting us, they would never forgive themselves and I can’t bear to see them like that!”

“But it’s better to be honest to them right now than face the consequences of them finding out down the road.”

Cass, who was watching this argument go, snapped her fingers before saying, “How about we focus on destroying the next chain right now and then consider our next move with DJ?”

Sighing, Arctyle pulled out the bag containing the dust and began to make a quick circle around them, chanting the same words he did last time. Instantly, all three of them fell into the portal and traveled through a yellow tunnel this time. It only took a few minutes until the color changed from a golden yellow to a vibrant red. Seeing the opening of the tunnel once, they braced themselves for impact.

Falling from the sky once more, they noticed that the ground seemed to be dry and sandy like the desert but instead had plants and wildlife scattered around it. Looking up Claudia saw a bright and lively city full of color. Nearby was a sign boldly proclaiming: WELCOME TO LAS VEGAS.

However, the brightest thing in the sky at that moment in time was a deep red chain.

—————————————————

A scout quickly rushed into the office, clutching on several photos and reports to give to the man himself. Mr. Beaumont Roseberg was signing several forms and making sure that everything was in check. Once the scout arrived in his office, however, he stopped immediately.

“What brings you here at this time?” He asked.

The scout quickly pulled out several photos and handed them to him, “As you know, the yellow chain was recently destroyed. However, DJ managed to take photos of the attackers and sent them to every general that remained. There are also reports that these same people have been seen outside of the city.”

Beaumont looked at the photos before stating, “Put up an announcement. Put a bounty on their heads. Make sure everyone in this city is aware of their presence. Neither the chain nor I are going down easily.”

[wonderwomanfantasy]

I’m not your princess

I got like four requests for Jealous Sero so while this is smutty, not as jealous as It could have been. 

Sero x Reader 

Word count: 3,100 (about)

Warnings: Drinking, cursing, Smut

Summary: Sero Hanta has done It again! and by it, I mean accidentally fallen ass-backward into love and by again I mean this first time something like this has ever happened to him and he has no clue what he is doing please help. 

Sero wasn’t sure how he found himself here, mouthing at your neck and fumbling wit the top of your dress with one hand. Yesterday, he had just been your best friend now you were moaning his name and bucking your hips against his thigh. 

“Sero, Don’t stop please,” you breathed shakily, Sero obliged, digging his teeth into your soft skin earning him a shaky moan as your hips increased speed, dragging your wet panties along his muscular leg. 

“Who knew you had such a biting kink?” He chuckled lightly kissing the dark hickey he had just left. Normally you would snark back but you just jerked his head up planting his mouth on yours.  He slipped his tongue past your lips and pushed your dress down revealing more of your body to him. 

Sero had known something was wrong when you came to him in a blind panic only explaining that you had “fucked up and needed him to help fix it,”

“can you calm the fuck down?” He asked grabbing your shoulders to keep you from pacing. you took a deep breath and spoke

“So I lied to my coworkers and told them I had a boyfriend and I told them I would bring him to the next work party we have but I don’t have a boyfriend and-”  Sero cut you off before you could ramble. 

“So I’ll go with you,” He decided, realizing where this conversation was going. 

“Really? I didn’t expect you to cave so quickly,”

“So what? I would be your fake boyfriend for the night? That’s not so bad,” he shrugged, considering the idea

“or like for a week before we have a big dramatic brake up,” you amended. He thought about it and sighed. 

“Sounds like fun,” he agreed. It would be just like any other Gala the two of you would spend the night complaining about the fancy clothes and plotting your escape at the first opportunity to grab Taco Bell. 

except, everyone would assume the two of you were together, But Sero could deal with that. At least he thought he could. 

You were stunning in your slinky red satin dress. He had never seen a dress show so much of your back, legs, and chest all at the same time, while the ruffling fabric didn’t exactly cling to your curves, it did nothing to hide them. 

“quit staring you perve,” you snapped hitting his shoulder snapping him out of his own head.  he smiled and flicked your forehead in retaliation.

“As your fake boyfriend, I think I’m entitled to stare a little,” he teased slinging his arm around your waist and lead you to the waiting car and sliding in the back seat with you. you gave him a soft look, one that sent butterflies threw his stomach.

“Really Sero, thank you for doing this,” you said, Sero hated when you went soft on him like this, you were already stunning how was he supposed you handle you being so cute?

“It’s not a big deal- but you are definitely paying for dinner tonight, I mean look at you I’ll spend half the damn party keeping guys off of you,” he joked. you rolled your eyes and shoved him away from you. 

“who do you think I am? I don’t need my boyfriend, fake or otherwise, to save me from anyone!” you protested

“yeah but you like getting saved cus you’re a spoiled little princess-”

“Princess? oh I’ll show you whose a princess!”  

Of all the fights the two of you had gotten into, this one was by far the most complicated. The back seat of a town car didn’t provide for much mobility, and neither did the fancy clothes you were wearing, 

Sero had to be careful not to smudge your makeup and not undo the bowtie he had spent a good hour learning how to tie, while you worked hard not to let anything fall out of the skimpy dress you decided on wearing. In the end, Sero gave up letting you win. 

“Just wait until we get home Hanta and I’ll kick your ass for real,” you threatened, before getting distracted by a notification on your phone. Sero couldn’t help but smile a little. He was so completely whipped for you it wasn’t even funny. He loved how cute you looked when you were mad, He loved how you only got angrier when he let you win, he loved that you didn’t need to separate the idea of his home and yours. Sero knew that it was a bad idea to fall for your friends but he couldn’t help himself. 

He almost forgot that he was pretending to be your boyfriend by the time the car pulled to the stop outside of the venue. but then you slid over to him, taking his hand in yours. 

“remember you’re in love with me,” you mumbled as he opened the car door and helped you out, the dizzying flash of cameras all around you. 

“I’m In love with you,” he confirmed, hoping you would read into the words and see just how much he meant it. His hand fell to your waist pulling you close and you teasingly waved to the cameras as he walked you down the red carpet. Posing for pictures had always been his least favorite part of going pro, there wasn’t a part of him that could be described as graceful, but you seemed to be taking it in stride, he put his gaze on your lovely form and let a love stuck kind of smile appear on his face, charmingly goofy was his schtick and he would stick to it. hopefully the cameras would follow his lead and focus on you.

Once you were inside, things weren’t much better once you were inside the ballroom however. This was a work party for your agency, meaning he knew no one there but you. He felt a nervous pit of awkwardness form in his stoumach. He would have to prepare himself for a tense night of introductions and lame work stories. He dropped his arm but didn’t move from your side, you were his lone lifeline in this sea of strangers.

“you amaze me, I mean you can chase killers no problems but a room full of strangers turns you into a coward?” you teased elbowing him in the side, he just rolled his eyes

“at least I’m not afraid of spiders,” he teased back, snagging a flute of champagne off of a nearby tray. 

“well my coworkers don’t bite, I cannot say the same for the eight-legged bastards,” you pointed out grabbing your own glass. you held your drink aloft and he mimicked you

“Heres to getting out of here as soon as possible,” you proclaimed 

“To getting out of here!” the two of your clicked glasses and took a small drink, sealing the toast. 

“Right, Heres the plan: we say hi to everyone, listen to the award announcements then leave before they open up the dancefloor,” you decided, already dragging him to the first group of heroes. True to your word, none of your colleges bit him, but several of them recognized him. Sero had to admit, that stroked his ego quite a bit. overall, the conversations were quick but pleasant. He almost had a good time joking with and drinking champagne with strangers. It didn’t hurt that you spent the night clinging to his arm and bragging about what a great boyfriend he was, everyone seemed to buy it. Sero liked pretending like this, even if it would only be for tonight. 

So as the two approached the last group you had to greet, Sero was in high spirits. His first mistake. the group consisted of two women and one man, you seemed reluctant to great them, but you must have been getting tired, he didn’t blame you. 

The man, Naoki Jin, was bubbly, and a little too eggar to drag both of you into a needlessly long conversation. Jin also kept taking every opportunity to touch you, brushing his hand against your wrist to draw your attention, letting his fingers linger when he handed you a new champagne flute. Sero was pissed, to say the least, both as your best friend who secretly loved you and as your fake boyfriend. Who did he think he was, flirting with you while he was right there. 

Sero watched as your face grew redder as the flirting became more obvious. Sero had never liked it when other guys hit on you, but this was worse somehow. This slimeball was a part of your day to day life, saw more often then Sero ever would. 

Sero pushed you subtly behind him, letting you cling to his arm shyly. while you were normally loud and rambunctious, you always got quiet and nervous when you were a little buzzed.  

“can you stop hitting on my girlfriend?” Sero sighed, His word lacked all bite, the word girlfriend fumbling awkwardly off his lips. Jin smirked and tried to hook a finger under your chin, but missed snagging nothing but air. 

“Awe she doesn’t mind, do you Cutie?” he slurred, clearly a little drunk himself. you recoiled, hiding behind Sero. 

“besides I could show you a way better time than this jackass,” Jin laughed before turning his attention to Sero.

“I mean, no offense my man but if I had such a hot piece of ass on my arm all night I would have taken her home by now, you haven’t even kissed her, what kind of man are you?” he joked poking Sero in the shoulder roughly. 

“Just because I’m not making out with her 24/7 doesn-” Sero tried but Jin clearly wasn’t buying it  

“well if you’re really with her just kiss her,”  Jin pushed. Sero could feel his face flush and opened his mouth to keep protesting but he was muffled by a pair of ruby lips melding against his. He almost choked, If he was being honest, he had sort of forgotten that you were hiding behind him.  

your lips were so soft and warm, Sero had imagined them countless times, but the real thing was infinitely better. You tasted like mint and alcohol and you were kissing him so passionately he almost forgot that you weren’t really his girlfriend. Still, he couldn’t help but melt into your embrace slightly. He enjoyed the kiss for the short time it lasted. When you did pull away he had to stop himself from diving back into kiss you again.

“geese now I have wash my face,” Sero scoffed trying to sound casual. He shot jin a death glare and carefully maneuvered you away. you quietly handed him wipe from your purse letting him scrub away the red mark you had left on his mouth. 

“I’m sorry Sero I don’t know what I was thinking-” he turned to look at you and saw you were close to tears. He quickly moved to comfort you, cupping your cheek and shushing you quietly. 

“oh come on don’t cry, it’s okay,” he whispered to no avail, thick beads of water gathered in the corners of your eyes before spilling over onto your cheeks. the tears quickly turned black as they caught your mascara. 

“You know this is a real emergency,” he sighed, switching into a playful tone of voice “and as the 15th highest ranked hero It is my job to rescue you,” he teased. you sniffled looking up at him, almost like you were waiting for him to save you. He started pulling you towards the exit not caring that you were leaving embarrassingly early. 

“let's get the hell out of here and get some tacos,” he joked sneakily pulling you out of the back door. 

The two of you did your best to sneak out, avoiding photographers to the best of your abilities but the combination of alcohol and your heels made it difficult to walk in a straight line, let alone walk stealthily, but somehow the two of you managed to slink into the waiting car. 

Sero rubbed his palms over your arms smoothing over the goosebumps that had formed. 

“Better?” he asked, you nodded and wiped away the last of your tears. 

“You really aren’t mad?” you asked again, 

“Nah why would I be mad? I got to kiss a beautiful girl,” he teased elbowing you in the side. The car was dark, and he couldn’t make out all your features, but he could clearly see the blush that spread across your face. 

“Then, would you mind it if I kissed you again?” you mumbled fumbling with your fingers. Sero wasn’t sure what emotion he was supposed to feel when the love of his life asked to kiss him. But he was overcome by a sense of calm as he leaned in, cupping your face and guiding your crimson lips back to his.

Now here he was, crashing threw his apartment, kissing you, and cupping your tits. You gripped his shoulders tightly,  moaning as he sucked your collarbone. 

“imma make you feel so good baby,” he groaned pulling on your nipple before kissing the globes of your breasts. you wiggled beneath him, trying and failing to unzip the red dress that only seemed to hinder your movements. you were impatient to be naked, all too eager for Sero to have his way with you.   

“H-Hanta dress,” you whimpered

“you want it off sweetheart?” He asked flicking his dark eyes up at yours. you bit your lip and nodded. In a flash the garment was discarded. 

“no bra? that's a bold move,” He laughed examining your bare chest. 

“S-Shut Up the dress wasn’t made for a bra,” you defended weakly, crossing your arms over your chest, hiding your breasts from view. 

“Come on baby Don’t hide,”  Sero groaned lowly running his hands down from your ribcage to your hips feeling your warm skin under his hands.

“I’m sorry for teasing, let me make it up to you, yeah?” he asked and hooked his hands under your knees spreading your legs. He could see the damp patch forming on your underwear as he stared at your thinly valid crotch. 

“Can I eat you out?” he asked, biting the inside of your thighs making you jerk, your legs clamping around his head. 

“yes, p-please,” you whimpered shamelessly. Sero pushed your panties to the side, running his tongue over your lips before nuzzling deeper into your folds pushing his tongue inside of you. His strong hands pushed your thighs apart keeping you from locking your legs around his head. instead, you settled for raking your fingers through his thick black hair pulling him into place. 

You moaned his name as you rolled your hips against his face. Sero took it stride, matching your pace. Sero dug further into your pussy with his tongue, eggar to devour you. You looked so beautiful dissolving in pleasure beneath him, He had imagined you like this countless times but none of his perverted fantasies held a candle to the real thing. 

Sero sat back on his knees, whipping your cum off oh his mouth with the back of his hand. you jerked up and started working off his suit jacket before tugging on his tie. He snorted and moved to help you take off his shirt. 

“awe is someone feeling needy, Princess?” he teased, you playfully socked him in the shoulder 

“I’m going to kick your ass Sero,”  you scowled

“fine, but can we at least fuck first?” asked pulling you close. you straddled his lap and undid his belt slowly, a drastic change from need wich you had ripped off all his other clothes. 

“I’ll consider it,” you teased running your hands over his lap feeling his har cock strain against his silky trousers. Sero bit his lower lip his thighs shuddering as you stroked him.  

“you trying to make cum in my pants princess?”  he asked gripping both of your wrists harshly stopping your motion. you smirked 

“Dunno I think that would be kinda funny don’t you?” you asked. Sero rolled his eyes and tossed you off of his lap on to the bed. You stripped off your remaining article of clothing as he jerked his own pants off. 

“you really need to shut up,” he muttered spreading your legs again, you kissed his neck smearing your red lipstick across his skin. there was something beautiful about the streak of color, you smiled against his skin already deciding to mark his entire skin like that. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” Sero asked nervously.  

“Yes, I want you Sero,”  you confirmed pulling him closer and kissing him gently. he teased your folds with the head of his cock before pushing into you.

“f-fuck,” he hissed feeling your tight walls fluttering around him. He focused on his breathing you focused on his jaw, leaving red kiss marks on his skin. “I’m going to move now,” he purred, slowly regaining his confidence, as his hips drew back. 

“You’ve got such a good cunt Princess, you’re squeezing my cock so nicely,” he praised, instantly your face flushed and you couldn’t help but tighten around him as he bucked his length in and out of you, a fact Sero didn’t miss. 

“you like that huh? Princess has a praise kink?” he teased. 

“S-Shut up,” you yelped, but you were too cute to not tease. a river of dirty talk flowed from Sero’s lips as he fucked into you. how good you felt, how beautiful you were how hard he was going to make you cum. 

“Hanta I’m going to cum-” you whimpered sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. he reached down and rubbed your clit making you jerk. 

“I’m right there with you baby,” he grunted, his thrusts became more erratic and stilted. your nails raked down his back leaving angry red lines along his back. you called his name a final time as your orgasm crashed through your body, you were still shaking when Sero pulled out his cock, twitching with need. He trailed his hand over his own length, paying close attention to the tip of his length. He was ready to burst and spill his seed over your stoumach when you moved faster than lightning tackling him and almost knocking him off the bed. 

“My turn to treat you, Princess,” you purred licking your own wetness off his shaft before swallowing his cock fully. It only took a few bobs of your head for him to come undone in your mouth. You greedily sucked his cock drinking down his seed as it filled your mouth. 

“You really are dirty girl huh?” he laughed tugging your hair to get you off. you snickered and shoved his shoulder falling back onto the bed, Sero staid hovering above you for a moment more, enjoying the afterglow that seemed to incase you at that very moment. He wondered if the two of you would just go back to just being friends, now way right? Sero laid beside you and pulled you into his arms, and obviously and purposefully romantic gesture. 

Like everything, you took it in stride, pulling his arms tighter around your middle and melting against his chest. It was a comfortable, if not a little messy, embrace. 

“We should probably wash up,” you sighed craning your neck to look at him,

“you’re probably right,” He sighed 

“Okay here's the plan: we shower, I’ll steal some of your clothes, we get food, watch a movie and maybe go for round two depending and I spend the night,” you proclaimed. Sero couldn’t help but beam, 

“Sounds like a plan, Princess,”

[starkeristheendgame]

hey!! im really sorry to bother but i really love your writing & saw that you were taking prompts!! i was wondering if you could do one where tony has a sort of kink for calling peter ‘kid’ in a way, if your comfortable of course! sorry if my English isn’t the best!

I’m so sorry that this got buried to the bottom of my inbox! I hope you’re still around and that you get to see this, and I’m so sorry again that it drowned! I hope you enjoy it and I can only apologise if you hate it 😂

Also; please, please don’t ever apologise for your verbal or lingual ability. Learning another language is hard, and English is noted as one of (if not the most) hardest languages to learn. Being bi/multi-lingual is something to be insanely proud of!

I hope you don’t mind, but all of my prompts recently have been in canon universe, so this is a neighbours AU with no powers. In which Tony is a rich ex-businessman who just wants to tinker on old cars in his (not) retirement and Peter is the high school kid that won’t leave him alone.

TW: ‘Kid’ kink (the term) | Underage character | Underage (SS&C) sex | Daddy kink

Someone had bought the house next to his over the half-term. Peter knew this because the sale sign went down and the garden was immediately de-turfed and a notice was posted through everyone’s door on Wayforest Road that ‘minor construction’ would begun within the next two weeks, from 8am to 5pm daily, save for Saturdays and Sundays.

Peter wanted to laugh in - and then punch - the face of whoever decided to term it minor. Abruptly on the following Monday, almost a full half-hour before his alarm was due to go off, Peter was awoken by deep, loud voices and the clanging of scaffolding poles as the workmen arrived.

Groaning did nothing. Neither did flopping about pathetically on his bed like a beached fish. Burrowing under his duvet and his pillow was also a lost cause; he’d left his window open to keep his room cool in the night.

Seething, Peter flung himself from bed, turned off his alarm, and hopped in the shower. The workmen were gone when he came back, but the house was now a big, ugly grey thing besides his own, and he paused on the sidewalk to eye it mulishly. “If you’re another crabby old man; I’m not helping you walk your groceries up to your porch” he announced loudly to the empty house, and scuttled away to the safety of his own home after being eyed balefully and judgmentally by Mrs. Witkin’s cat.

At the dinner table, the new house and its new occupants were all Aunt May seemed to want to talk about, despite the way Peter’s face resembled less of his usual ‘ :) ‘ and more of a ‘ -.- ‘ as she went on, guessing the features of their new neighbour animatedly around mouthfuls of mashed potato.

Tuesday morning found him jolting awake to a shout of “Jim! Jim! For fuck’s sake, Jim, get tha’ fuckin’ plank!” In a thick, overly loud Irish accent.

By Friday, Peter was ready to forgo just a punch to the face, and was willing to commit all out, planned murder. At somewhere around seven-am every morning that week, the workmen had woken him up with their clanging and their shouting and their existing. Friday evening he stomped around the corner with a glower, fingers tight around his backpack straps. Not even Mrs. Witkin’s mean old cat could deter him from scowling at the house the entire way to his door.

Town rumours be damned; that cat was just old and judgemental, like half the residents there. It was no trapped old lady or cursed young Prince.

Hopefully.

Peter crossed himself on his porch quickly just in case. It could never hurt to be a little superstitious. Especially not after the day that Mr. Herald proclaimed himself immortal and was then promptly wiped out by the tree in his yard collapsing.

By the following Monday, Peter caved and stayed at Ned’s for the night, for the first time in his entire life thankful to hear the music of his alarm and not a series of clangs or yells. It was even good enough that Ned’s snoring didn’t disturb him as much as it usually did. He felt chipper, refreshed. Right up until he turned the corner and found his street lined with vans, the workmen a little late finishing.

The next two months were cesspit of noise and strange men and sleepless days off. Apparently the person who had bought the house must’ve only liked the area and nothing about the house at all, because by week three, all that remained of it was the bare skeleton, gutted and stripped and ugly. But Peter was willing to concede that his new neighbour had good taste.

By the end of the second month the house had been entirely re-built, and Peter was convinced that his new neighbour was some very famous or important person looking for a secret hideaway, or a mob boss. There was no other logical explanation. What had once been a decent but generic detached property with a neglected garden was now a mini-mansion of sorts, all soft creams and light earth tones, with a stonewall front and staggered steps that led onto a half-gravel and half-grass front yard.

Large paned windows were already lined with thick curtains and plants and a sweeping gravel-scape led to a large garage, that seemed to be the most work of the renovation. It was huge, probably taking up over half of what used to be side garden and dead grass. No fence bordered the property, but the difference between Peter’s space and the new person’s space was immaculate and definitive.

“Huh” he mused aloud, blinking. Suddenly, he was less irritated at all those lost half-hours and more curious about who was going to be living there. They had money, for sure. Inheritance? Insurance claim payout? Illegal happenings? Aunt May’s two joking theories were suddenly looking less of a joke and more genuine possibilities.

As it would happen, Peter wouldn’t actually find out for another three or so months. The man moved in on a Saturday, quietly and with a small fleet of sleek SUV vehicles and fancy moving vans. Peter enjoyed a lazy morning, napping until the start of the afternoon and basking in the summer warmth, stretching in front of his bedroom window and looking down in time to see the last of the delivery and moving people packing down their vehicles.

Peter eyed all the bodies curiously, but it soon became clear none of them were his new neighbour, because they all stood around, flipping through paperwork, and then promptly left. Peter lingered under the pretence of dusting at his window ledge, but the street was quiet and empty.

Aunt May was anything but quiet when he finally dragged himself downstairs in search of food. “Peter! Morning, honey. Did you see the vans outside? Very fancy. Big enough for bodies, too, though” May hummed, flipping through the book she was currently reading.

Thirty Ways To Revive Your Youth.

Peter grimaced, and begun to rummage through the cupboards. “Not to question your intelligence, but. Why would a mob boss carry around his victims? Like a few teeth or knuckles ought to serve as good souvenirs. I don’t think carting around whole bodies is practical” Peter pointed out, settling on fruity oatmeal. Aunt May paused in her reading, nose twitching to adjust her glasses as she considered it.

“Hm. Point. Unless they bought the house because they run out of burial room, and these are fairly recent bodies they need the new soil for” she pointed out, and Peter pointed his spoon at her as he passed.

“Point” he agreed.

And so the weeks passed, but the mystery remained. No matter what time Peter tired to linger, or how early he awoke, his neighbour never seemed to be around. Here and there he would catch a figure roaming past the windows, kinda like a ghost, but never a clear view or a face. It was vastly disappointing, but his interest didn’t wane over the months that spanned between his rueful lack of sleep and now.

Now being a hazy Saturday morning, warm but not overly stuffy. Peter was coming back from a morning at Ned’s wherein they’d been steadily chewing away at the LEGO Galactic Supership. He was halfway down the street when a large trailer vehicle begun to drift down the street steadily, heading straight in Peter’s direction.

He paused on the sidewalk, watching it with interest. It was a transportation vehicle, and as it drew closer Peter could see there was a car on the back of it, heavily clamped down and chained to make sure it wouldn’t roll off. The vehicle passed him by some, and he got a clear view of the other car. It looked old, a little broken, rusted. Huge, though. Bigger than all the cars he’d seen before.

It pulled up right outside his neighbours house. Sensing an opportunity, and genuinely curious, Peter lingered, taking a few steps across the sidewalk to eye the car. It was a glossy red, though it had sun fade and was patchy. The chrome was glossy in places and dull, rusted in others. One headlight was missing.

The door of the cab opened, and Peter turned on his heel to see the driver getting out. The friendly greeting died on his lips as toned, thick thighs slid from the cab, followed by trim hips and a long, solid torso only half-hidden under a tank-shirt and overshirt. Broad shoulders prefaced the hottest man that Peter had ever laid eyes on.

He had a shaped jaw that was cut by stubble in a unique style that Peter had never seen anyone wearing before. He had sharp cheeks and dark, deep eyes with long lashes, tanned but not exactly browned and dark, dark hair with the barest flecks of grey at the roots, at his temples.

The man seemed surprised to find him there, pausing mid-way through pushing the door shut and peering around the street before looking back at him. One shaped brow lifted, and Peter stumbled to remember his manners, thrusting out a hand.

“Hi, Mister. Sorry - I was looking at the car. Is it for the new house?” He asked, forcing himself not to blush under the intense gaze. After a brief pause, the man took his hand, palm large and slightly rough, grip firm. He was even more attractive up close, slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes, dark lips and the strong scent of motor oil and grease.

“Would seem that way”.

And Ho-ly voice. Deep and with the softest of rumbles, soothing like a thunderstorm in the far distance. Peter clutched at his jacket when their hands dropped, coughing politely to hide whatever facial expression he’d pulled. The man strode past him and to the car, beginning to work on the many safety straps and chains.

“Did they…Is this theirs?” Peter asked after watching him quietly for several moments with a gesture towards the house besides them. Peter had discovered the house had a second parking bay on the other side, where a glossy black muscle car from the 60′s never seemed to move.

“Theirs’?” The man echoed, pausing in his movements to look up at Peter with curious amusement. It occurred to him then that it was likely some random car recovery guy had seen his new neighbour(s) before he had.

“Uh…Well. I’ve never actually seen them. So I don’t know if its one person, or a whole family, or…” Peter trailed off meekly, looking over his shoulder at the building. It looked as empty as it always did, no lights on and no figures moving behind the windows.

“Townsfolk say its some celebrity having a breakdown. Others say its some old widow using her husband’s life insurance. Even heard from someone that its a mafia lord, settling down in the middle of some quiet ass nowhere town” the recovery man grunted, hauling on a thick, heavy chain. Peter flushed.

Yeah. He was…Guilty of some pretty crazy guesses. But come on. Someone buys a house, spends upwards of hundreds of thousands doing it over, and then…Nothing. No new faces at the grocery store. Never seen, or even heard. Like a ghost.

“They’re not big fans of being…Seen. I guess? I mean, I know a guy with groceries comes around every Monday. Sometimes multiple times a week, but he always puts them in the garage and leaves. And this town is full of judgemental old people - Half of whom probably have mercury poisoning or something. There’s gonna be some pretty wild speculations going around” he pointed out, moving closer to look at what appeared to be a scratch in the paintwork.

The car gave a faint creak as the man released all of the holds on this side, snorting as he rounded the back of the vehicle and went to the other side with a loud, amused snort. Peter followed, and stifled a gasp at the sight of the other car. The man turned, eyeing him for a moment, before nodding.

“Got T-boned by an estate car. But she’s a tough old thing. Heavy metals and good steel; not like today’s cars. She came out better off” he mumbled as he worked on a thick strap, carefully taking apart the various clasps and buckles. Peter approached the car carefully, stretching up on his toes to brush his fingertips over the warped metal. He felt almost….Sad for the car.

He traced the flaking paint and the twisted, dented metal tenderly, and when he pulled away, the man was watching him again, movements slowed as he pulled the material through the metal. “Is this their car? What good is it now if its all broken up?” He asked curiously.

The man ducked his head, moving onto another thick chain. “Its just the one guy. I guess its a…Hobby. Of his. Bought her yesterday at a scrap lot”. He seemed uncomfortable saying it, but to Peter it was like gold trust. One guy. Huh. A big old house like that? That seemed rather lonely. Maybe it really was some rich old person retiring, enjoying a quiet place and a mechanics hobby.

Peter was going to ask more, but the car was freed with a grinding sound, and the man gestured him carefully back with his hand, holding it out in front of Peter to walk him back like a horse, to a safe distance. The man used two remotes to bring the car to the ground, Peter watching in fascination as rotors and rolling mechanisms moved it backwards and onto the tarmac of the road.

“How do you plan on moving it now?” Peter asked, and immediately regretted it as the man shed his over-shirt. Biceps. Shoulders. Forearms. His throat went dry and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

As it turns out, the plan was simply ‘push’. Peter scoffed, but was soon at a loss to anything but stare as the man leaned heavily against the trunk of the car, muscles bulging in the afternoon sun. Heavy or not, the car soon begun to roll, and after a moment Peter dropped his backpack and came up besides the straining man, leaning all his might against the metal.

It probably did fuck all, but the man gave him a wry grin all the same, chest heaving with deep, controlled breaths as they moved the car across the flat ground and onto the side-drive space. Peter’s shoulder ached and his arms and thighs suddenly felt like jelly, but the man slapped him across the back.

“Good effort, kid” and then moved away, heading towards the front door. Peter gaped as the man simply grasped the doorhandle and pushed the door open, and floundered on the drive. “Wait! You’re just gonna walk into his house?” He called, and the man paused mid-step, looking back at him.

“Well. I ought to just ‘walk in’. Its my house”. And with a lewd, perfect wink he was gone. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself, flailing on the driveway with error logs flashing behind his eyes. That was his neighbour. His neighbour was some rich, late-thirty something hot-hot-hot guy who fixed broken classic cars.

“Oh my god” Peter muttered, stomping down the driveway to get his bags. Four months. He’d lived next to this Playgirl model for four months.

He decided against telling Aunt May. It felt selfish, but it also felt good to know he was the only person to have seen him. Even though he realised not long after reaching his room that he hadn’t even gotten his name. Peter waited by his window for hours, but saw neither hair nor hide of the man again. By morning, the transport truck was gone and the cherry red car was presumably inside the garage.

The damned guy was magic. There was no other explanation. Fuelled, Peter spent the Sunday morning in the kitchen, furiously baking with narrowed eyes and a plan. The muffins were done by mid-day, and Peter iced them carefully before boxing them, and stomping across the sidewalk to his neighbour’s house.

Peter knocked, and waited. Knocked again. Waited. “If you don’t answer the door then I’m just going to sit here” he announced loudly, knocking again before plopping down onto the porch just to prove a point. Several long minutes passed before his neighbour appeared around the corner, from the garage judging by the grease steaks up his arms, scowling.

“Kid. Here’s a life tip; if someone doesn’t answer the door, its because they don’t want company” the man huffed, but his eyes zeroed in on the box with intense curiosity, and Peter shrugged, smug.

“You came out, though” he pointed out, pushing himself to his feet. The man scoffed, but allowed him to follow, leading the way around the building where a small side-door was open.

“I came out about thirty years ago, kiddo. If that’s a congratulations cake, you’re a little late”. Peter tripped over the gravel, fighting his legs to remain upright and his stomach did a weird knot inside him. Oh. Not only was his neighbour hot, but he was at the least male inclined, too.

Very interesting.

“Actually, these are just welcome muffins. Chocolate and orange” Peter murmured, stepping inside the garage. It was bigger than it seemed, and the cherry red car stood in the centre, sanded down and clearly being worked on already.

“Peter, by the way. Peter Parker” he added after a pause, and almost offered his hand for a second time, but settled instead on thrusting the muffin box at the man. He raised a brow, but delved inside to pull one out, clearly eager at the prospect.

“Tony” he offered simply, and Peter tested it on his tongue, enjoying the shape. For now; he’d let the lack of a last name go. Good things in time, after-all. Choosing to invite himself to stay, Peter perched primly on top of the edge of the workbench, electing another raised brow, but Tony’s mouth was too full of muffin to object.

Tony begun to work as he ate, and Peter sat in content silence, watching as Tony and his bulging arm muscles took each wheel off the car and begun to strip it of all its chrome features. Peter checked his phone after a while and was surprised to find that around four hours had passed. May would be home from her sewing group about now. He ought to head home.

“I’ll be back tomorrow” he announced, and jumped at the same time Tony did, the man smacking his arm off warped metal with a shout. Tony whirled on him, eyes wide, gaze flicking between him and the door, before he looked…Confused.

“You’re still here?” He asked, and Peter snorted as he dusted off his pants, heading for the door with a shake of his head. May came home shortly after he did, and Peter supposed he ought to let her know that he’d be visiting Tony again tomorrow.

“So he’s not a mafia boss? Or a celebrity?” She asked around a mouthful of roasted chicken, looking rather disappointed as Peter shrugged and shook his head.

“He just seems…Aloof? I don’t know. Maybe he’s some business tycoon or something. But he seems nice. I’m just going over to help him with this car he’s got. It’s real nice, too” Peter hummed, and Aunt May narrowed her eyes at him.

“Are you sure? I mean, you don’t know him. He’s a stranger. Albeit a hot one, apparently. And you have school tomorrow, too. You shouldn’t be hanging around strangers. Unless…If he happens to be single…I’d be open to his number” May shrugged after a pause, and Peter blinked.

May was surprisingly easy to placate, and he assured her that if she wanted to, she could march right over to Tony and give him a Mother Hen Talk after dinner, but she decided against that, and in favour of a hot bath. School on Monday rolled around quicker than Peter could say ‘garage’ and he decided against telling Ned about Tony.

He wanted Tony all to himself. At least…For as long as he could. It was strange, but he found his heart thumping as he marched down Tony’s driveway and up to the garage door this time, knocking on it loudly. He’d brought lemonade and sandwiches this time.

The garage door opened, and Tony looked equally as startled to see Peter there as he had the day prior, gaze raking his body before frowning, and stepping aside with a sigh. “You’re like a mosquito, kid. I came here to get away from people” Tony announced pointedly, and Peter founded on him with an unimpressed gaze and an arched brow of his own.

“If you truly wanted to get away from people, you’d have moved out in the mountains or something. Now, get back to work. In an hour you can stop for supper. I brought chicken sandwiches” he ordered, taking his seat from the day before and pulling his calculus homework from his bag.

He kept his gaze down as Toy stared at him, mouth opening and closing several times, before he went for his wrench, muttering to himself as he lay down on a wheeled bench and rolled under the car. Peter smiled quietly into his papers. A little over two hours later - he lost count, sue him - Peter pushed himself to his feet and strode over to the car, kicking Tony lightly in the ankle that stuck out.

“We can eat now” he announced, walking back over to his pack and taking out the tupperware he’d packed this morning. He could hear the sound of the wheels moving, and he turned, holding out the box. Tony looked perplexed, but approached and took it, still looking puzzled even as he bit into his own portion.

“Not that the pattern of snacks isn’t appreciated, kid, but…Why are you here?” he asked after he’d swallowed, and Peter actually had to think about it, flushing as his mind conjured up inappropriate responses like ‘I want to lick your arms’ and ‘You look like the hot mechanics in my pornos’.

He settled on a shrug, chewing slowly for more time. “You’re interesting. You’re my neighbour. You’re not a mafia boss or a broken down celebrity” he pointed out. Tony twitched on the last one, but gave a hum and moved away, scarfing down the last of his sandwich and returning to the car. This time, when Peter informed him he was leaving and would be back tomorrow again, Tony neither jumped nor looked surprised.

It became a pattern. Three out of seven days a week, Peter would sit in the garage with his homework or revision and Tony would work on the red car, which Peter came to learn was a 1958 Plymouth Fury. “Just like in Christine” Tony had huffed proudly, and had then been quickly appalled when Peter had simply stared blankly.

That night, Peter had watched the movie, and his next visit was spent talking animatedly about it with Tony, discussing their favourite parts and what it might be like if it was ever re-made. After a month, Aunt May picked her way across the gravel to finally meet the man her adopted son kept disappearing off to be with, and Peter had the unfortunate experience of watching them flirt together, Tony in a cheeky, smooth, outrageous manner and Aunt May like a school-girl. When he begun to gag in the corner, Tony threw an oil rag at him.

One day, a week before the summer holidays, Peter rounded the corner to find Tony stood on the porch, looking angry and tense and talking to a tall woman with red hair, tied up in a ponytail. Peter stopped and lingered, unsure of what to do. Besides him and May, he’d never seen anyone else talking to Tony. Even the grocery delivery guy simply put the bags in the garage and left.

After a while, the woman turned away, looking sullen and displeased, and slipped into a sleek black SUV, pulling off with a screech of her tires and the rev of her engine. By the time Peter reached the house, Tony was back inside, and he knocked quietly, leaning closer to the door.

Tony didn’t answer.

“Mr. Tony? I’m not sure what happened, but…If you’re not up for hanging out today, its cool. I brought soup, but I’ll leave yours on the porch. It might be hot, so…Be careful”. Peter stooped and left the thermos close to the door, before leaving. He felt uncomfortable for the rest of the day, longed to go see Tony, but everything in his gut told him to let him be for a time.

Whoever that man had been, he was clearly someone Tony didn’t like or want around.

Almost a whole week passed in which Tony didn’t answer the door, and by the Saturday, the first official day of the summer holidays, Peter was moping. Not to anyone that asked, but it was clear to even Ned that he’d been a little down lately, declining a celebratory LEGO fest in exchange for slinking up to his room.

No sooner had he toed off his shoes, the doorbell rung. Peter groaned, turning on his heel and abandoning his sweater on the staircase. It was probably another of Aunt May’s Amazon orders. Since she’d discovered the wonders of online shopping, Peter had learned their regular post-man was named Greg, he had two kids and a poodle, and was allergic to shrimp.

“What has she bought this ti- Tony?” Peter paused mid-sentence, eyes widening at the sight on his doorstep. Tony looked rough, dark circles under his eyes, his face looking more lined than before, but he gave a weak smile up at Peter, still stiff and unsure.

“Hey, kiddo. Figured you might…I made spaghetti. And I still have your thermos. Was gonna work on the car a bit”.

Peter recognised it for the attempted invitation that it was, and didn’t bother to fight off his broad grin. “Lucky for you, I love spaghetti. I just gotta grab a sweater on” he beamed, practically flinging himself up the stairs. Tony’s spaghetti was amazing, with some kind of pink-ish sauce, little chunks of shrimp and prawns, all tangy and sweet.

He even let Peter help with the car. Or…Well. He let Peter hold the torch. And the wrench. But still.

He was still grinning when he skipped home that evening, and when he crawled into bed his dreams were filled with oil-stained arms and a low, rumbling voice. He gasped awake in the early hours, cock hard and leaning against his hip, Tony’s voice echoing in his skull.

He shouldn’t.

He bit his lip and reached down, whimpering as he wrapped a hand around himself. He was too hard to last more than a few minutes, stifling his yell of “Tony!” Into his pillow as he came. When he arrived at Tony’s house later in the day, he could barely look the man in the eyes, flustered and shy.

The holidays continued in a similar fashion. They hung out almost every day in the garage, often for an entire day. Peter felt guilty about abandoning Ned, but looking at Tony’s broad smile, listening to his quips, watching his abs flex under his shirts as he lifted things...It was worth it.

By the fourth week of his holidays, after numerous days of lounging together with takeout and Tony helping him with his homework, Peter piped up.

“Peter”.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Peter” he repeated, nudging Tony gently where they lay together on the floor of the garage, staring up at the underside of the car. It was almost complete. Something to do with the clutch, and then all it needed was new paint. “You keep calling me ‘kid’. So. Y’know. In case you’d forgotten” he hummed.

Besides him Tony stilled, only briefly, before relaxing and swatting at him. “You are a kid, though”.

“I’m sixteen. I’m not a kid” Peter huffed, rolling onto his side and kneeing Tony in the thigh. Tony let his head loll, looking across at him with dark, dark eyes, and Peter’s breath hitched. Tony was close enough to kiss. And god, Peter wanted to kiss him. Had spent the past few weeks staring at his body, his mouth when he talked, waking up at night hard and aching.

Peter let his gaze drop, to plush lips outlined by dark stubble, and then he pushed himself up, momentarily hovering over Tony as he got his legs beneath him. “And you’re an old man” he tried, teasing, tugging at a lock of hair at Tony’s temple.

For the briefest, briefest of moments, Tony’s gaze went even darker. Hungrier. Peter thought about it in the shower that night, two fingers stuffed inside himself with too-little prep, mewling against the shower tiles. Almost as if…

He begun to get bolder. Touched Tony more. Stood closer. Any excuse to be in his space. If Tony noticed he said nothing, only giving lingering, unreadable looks and only ever turning away with a poorly hidden smirk whenever Peter said anything just a little too obvious.

On the last week of his holidays, Peter was kneeling half over Tony, dabbing gingerly at a slice on his bicep while the man clutched an ice-pack to his knee. The cherry red car was out, and an old, 1957 Chrysler Saratoga was in. And apparently, angry.

“Kid, seriously. I’m fine” Tony huffed, swatting at him as he dabbed away another crust of blood, peering at the wound. It wasn’t that deep, but it had bled something fierce. Peter lifted his gaze, scowling at him.

“I’m not a kid!” He snarked, pressed a little too hard on the wound just because he could. Watched Tony flinch under his touch and instantly felt guilty. He pulled away the cloth and ducked down, pressed a kiss to the wound before he could ever think about it. Aunt May had always done it for him, kissing his ouchies better. He froze, lips against jagged skin.

“Kid” Tony rasped, looking down at him with wide, dark eyes. Peter jerked backwards, and huffed.

“Keep calling me kid, I’m gonna start calling you ‘old man’“ he scowled. He was about to say ‘Or worse, Dad’, but…That was a bumpy road and he wasn’t ready to loose whatever he had built with Tony. Not yet. The older man snorted back at him, eyes rolling, and reached out, fingers closing around his jaw gently to shake his head a little.

“Look at you. You are. That little baby face. And you’re so small, like a cat. All slender. Couldn’t even lift up the gearbox. All big eyes and too must trust. I could’ve been an old pervert or sex criminal and you just walked right up to me and wouldn’t leave” Tony murmured, voice half-gone and gaze fixed on where he held Peter’s jaw.

“Wouldn’t - Did not” Peter managed, though he was already getting hard, his breathing was already a little shorter. Sharper. Tony gave a deep breath, fingers flexing against his jaw.

“You’re just a kid. A little baby. All soft-cheeked and gentle. You’re a kid now and you’ll be a kid for a long time. Nothing like me”.

And. Huh.

Peter blinked, jaw still clasped in Tony’s grip, and he relaxed his body, inching a little closer. “What is it about that, then? Why is that such a bad thing?”

“Its not. Its not bad. I’m just…I’m the bad one. Christ. Kid. You’re - You sit here doing homework. You don’t even have facial hair yet. I bet you haven’t even popped a stiffy before”. The words startled Tony as much as Peter, both visibly jolting, and Tony immediately looked like he wanted to die.

“Hey! Not true! Every night this holiday I’ve done more than ‘pop a stiffy’ over y-”. Peter bit down on his tongue, hard, watched the way Tony’s eyes widened. Fuck. They both jerked backwards, equally as taken aback by the revelation. There was no doubt as to what Peter had been about to say. Now way he could laugh it off or change it; though the subject was bad enough.

“I…”

“Kid…”

Peter huffed, leaning back on his haunches and dropping the cloth. “What, you got a kink for the word or something, Mister Tony?” Peter grumbled, but he could see Tony physically tense up opposite him, and he looked up, watched the almost shameful way that Tony turned his gaze away.

It hit him.

“You…Do” he huffed numbly.

“Its not…Christ. Peter. I’m not a…I’m not attracted to kids. I don’t know what it is. I just…Fuck. Maybe you should be calling me an old pervert. Fuck. I…Peter. You have to believe I don’t..I’ve never touched a kid. Never. My youngest partner was twenty when I was thirty. She was a hooker in Dubai and…Wait. You’re a fucking kid. I shouldn’t be talking about hookers and swearing and-”

Peter clamped a hand over Tony’s mouth, shaking his head. Jesus. He knew it was true, though. Tony was a recluse and laughably inept at anything social, but he wasn’t some scorned kiddie-toucher banished to a quaint little town.

“I know, Tony. I know. And I believe you. But if its not that, then…What is it?���. Tony only blinked at him slowly, for several beats, and it was then that Peter realised that his hand was on Tony’s mouth, and the man couldn’t speak. Though he could well have moved it himself. He let it drop, flushing.

“I don’t know” Tony croaked helplessly, and he looked so small, so lost. It was instinct that had Peter leaning forwards, gathering Tony in a tight embrace. The older man stiffened, but then relaxed, hand hesitantly falling to Peter’s side, featherlight like he was scared to touch him.

“Its…You’re so delicate. So…Untouched. Like a painting. Pretty. You shouldn’t be touched. Not yet. Not by me. But I want to”. It made Peter’s spine tingle and arch, letting out a surprised breath against the curve of Tony’s jaw. Tony made him sound like the Mona Lisa or something.

“I’m not a good person, Peter. I’m…All these months, you don’t even know my last name. Half the town thinks I’m a murderer or some kind of lunatic. But I’m worse than that”. Tony practically breathed it into his shoulder, head falling. Peter clutched at him, suddenly scared. Worse than those things?

“Tony Stark”.

Peter paused. Was silent for such a long time that Tony tensed against him again, before he begun to pet gently at Tony’s shoulders. “…Who? I mean, the name is vaguely familiar. But…Who?”

Tony pulled away, leaned back, looking up at him with glossy eyes and a ludicrous expression. “Stark. Tony Stark”.

Peter raised a brow. “Bond, James Bond?”

“What? No. The weapons company? Stark Industries?” Tony asked after a pause, like it was information Peter ought to know. After another pause of his mind being ridiculously blank, Peter sat upright, head tilting.

“Oh! Yeah. Stark Industries. But…What about it?”

Tony blinked at him, slowly, like there was a punchline he’d missed, and then he was reaching out, crushing Peter to his chest to the boy fell half over him with a yelp, squeezing him gently.

“You’re - Unbelievable. Never change, kid. I’m…I did bad things. I killed people. Carried on the family name despite spending my life trying to outrun it. I…I was betrayed. So I fixed it, and I left. And I was supposed to keep my hands off anything good. Anyone good. And here you are”.

“Okay. Firstly? You gotta stop calling me ‘kid’ now I know its a kink and you don’t intend to do anything about it. Secondly…I don’t know what you did. Or what happened. But I know what you’ve been since you got here. Who you’ve become. And I think you’re a good man” he breathed, adjusting so he was no longer straining, half-straddling Tony.

“You shouldn’t…” Tony didn’t finish the sentence, and there were a million things he could’ve said. But Peter chose to ignore them all, squirming his way closer until he really was sat in Tony’s lap. And this was more than they’d ever done.

More than the one-armed hugs and lingering touches, more than leaning shoulder-to-shoulder eating noodles. More than Peter listing against Tony’s side in the early morning hours, maths homework forgotten on the bench and Tony sitting still, so still, so as not to wake him.

“I’m old enough to know ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’, Mr. Stark. Besides. This is just…Hugging. Right? Innocent” he hummed, even as he deliberately shifted on Tony’s lap, a little heavier than he ought to, spread his legs wider around Tony’s hips.

“Ki- Peter” Tony huffed against him, fingers tightening around the hem of his sweater. It wasn’t until Peter shifted again that he realised; Tony was hard. Well. Getting there, but hard enough for Peter to recognise it. To feel it, digging into the round meat of his asscheek.

“I don’t touch kids” Tony repeated, and Peter snorted softly, shaking his head as he gripped at Tony’s broad shoulders, muscle honed by years of hard work. Muscle that led up to rough stubble, a sharp jaw that Peter nosed at.

“Good thing I’m not actually a kid then, Mr. Stark. That means you can touch”.

Tony surged forwards on a growl, lay Peter out like a feast on the garage floor; but still hovered over him. Reluctant. Uncertain. Peter lifted his legs, wrapped them around Tony’s waist, tight and steady. “Kiddo…”

“Mm. Your kiddo. Or I could be. If you kissed me” Peter grinned, breathless and bold with the sweet taste of Tony so close. Mere inches. “Kiss me” Peter repeated, and Tony growled as he surged downwards.

When Tony came, it was with ‘kid’ sharp and electric on his tongue. And…Well. Peter felt a little mollified, so naturally, it led to round two, pressing Tony down against the concrete, milking him for all he was worth as a broken ‘Peter!’ cracked on his tongue like a prayer.

The rounds after that were just…Well.

Purely selfish.

[toomuchponytail]

Poisoned Hero #5

Here, as promised like a week ago (Sorry, I’m a bad goblin) part five of poisoned hero!

Continued from part one here (hero drugged at the club), part two here (The antagonist beats up some guys in an alley), part three here (The antagonist takes some risks to save hero’s life), and part four here (Where the hero wakes up and the antagonist is kidnapped). 

It really means the world to me that you guys are getting enjoyment out of my little labors of self-indulgent fantasy, and I’m feeling one more in this series(?!) if someone wants it? 

Whoo! 

I’ll admit I’m mad at this, I tried to make the words come out, but, ya’know...the words do what they want sometimes. Also, so long, I’m sorry! I’ve got a lot of words, they’re just not good ones...

Anyhoo, enjoy! I love you all so much. :,) 

Hero drummed his fingers anxiously on the van’s steering wheel, eyes trained to the entrance of the large abandon looking warehouse that the crime boss had told them to come to. Sidekick was seated in the back of the van, fiddling with the crime boss’s ring, out of sight so that no one would get suspicious. 

“They’re late,” hero grumbled, “I think we need to go in.” 

Sidekick hissed when they pinched their finger in the pliers for the fourth time, they looked up at hero sharply, “It’s only been twenty minutes, he’s making us stew on purpose.” 

Hero nodded but didn’t look convinced, stopping their incessant drumming to take a sip out of their water bottle, “I don’t like it though,” they muttered softly, “What do you think he’s doing to the antagonist in there huh?” 

Sidekick set the ring aside and took a deep breath, momentarily defeated by the odd locking mechanism, “We can’t know that, we only have what they sent you, don’t get bent out of shape before we know how bad it is okay?” 

Hero sighed, “You’re right,” they relented, “I’m just worried because if it’s some poison or something that was affecting them like that….Like pulsing with electricity or something, I won’t know what to do to help them,” hero threw up their hand helplessly, “I’m not a fucking chemist or whatever like them, I barely passed my chem labs.” 

Sidekick snorted, “If I hadn’t helped you you wouldn't have passed them at all,” then their expression sobered, they picked the ring back up, “We’ll figure out some way of helping them hero, okay? We can’t worry about things before they happen.” 

Hero nodded and went back to drumming and watching, a sick feeling growing in their stomach as the minutes ticked by with no appearance or message from the crime boss. 

No news is good news right? Hero uselessly tried to rationalize to themselves. 

“Got it.” Sidekick proclaimed, jolting hero out of their thoughts, they looked back to see Sidekick with the ring open in the palm of their gloved hand, a fine off-white powder spilling onto their palm. 

“What is it?--Damn it sidekick don’t breathe it in!” Hero exclaimed as sidekick took an exploratory sniff, “What if it’s poison?! Or cocaine?!” 

Sidekick shook their head, carefully taking an empty pill bottle and dumping the powder inside, “When you were out of it, The antagonist was doing all these tests to try and determine what you were dosed with, they told me it was very likely a new form of chemical weapon someone was interested in buying.” 

Realization washed over hero, “And the crime boss was here in town on business, he was supposed to meet with that CEO guy, the one who might be the Villain.” 

Sidekick didn’t say anything, their wide terrified eyes said all that they needed. 

“And..” Hero started again, his voice taking on a slightly haunted tone, “What are the odds that that is all he’s got of it?” Hero’s voice had dropped to a fearful whisper.

“I mean,” sidekick rationalized, “If you were selling something to a criminal you wouldn’t want to travel with your whole supply right? It would just get stolen, that’s why doing business with criminals is a hopeless venture,” they smiled in an almost self-satisfied kind of way, leaning back in the seat. 

“Yeah, well,” hero replied tersely, “Tell that to all of the hundreds of thousands of arms dealers and drug pushers huh? The criminal kingpins and gang leaders? Maybe they’ll buy your do-good-cause-crime-doesn’t-pay bullshit, because I won’t.” 

“Is it ‘cause you don’t have the money?” Sidekick smirked, winking at hero when he gaped for a moment at his partner. 

Hero huffed, they were on edge, it made them fidgety and irritable, they didn’t dignify sidekick’s comment with an answer, “We can’t afford to be wrong sidekick,” their voice approaching a whine, “what if the deal is going down right now? What if that’s why the crime boss isn’t here to make good on our deal?” 

Sidekick sat up, their eyes widening in worry, “That wouldn't be a bad idea hero, or, actually,  it would be a bad idea, a very bad idea.” 

Hero went back to watching the warehouse, resuming his tapping on the steering wheel in his I’m-working-out-a-problem pattern, sidekick recognized it from the nights of patrol when they’d gone over the chem lab homework. 

“We’ve got to do a sweep of the city hero,” Sidekick stated, their voice taking on a frantic edge, “If we’re right…” 

“If we’re  right we go in and free the antagonist before we do anything else,” hero said flatly, his fingers still working out his problem as well as the plastic-leather covering on the steering wheel, “They’ll get lost in the chaos, die before we can get back here, plus, we might need their help.” 

“But if we miss the trade off...you know how impulsive Villain is!” Sidekick squeaked, “If we’re right and the CEO is Villain, or even if he works for him, that means that he’s going to do whatever he’s planning to do in a matter of hours, remember the weaponized hornets?!” 

Hero shuddered at the memory, hand going unbidden to his left shoulder as if covering the ghost of a hurt there. 

The drumming stopped abruptly, hero turned to them and smiled brightly, a determination gleaming in their eyes, “We may already be too late,” hero was already pulling on his mask, readying himself to enter the warehouse, “Ready?” 

Sidekick sighed, “Sometimes I really regret signing my name next to yours on that blood pact we made as kids.” 

“Pretty sure that’s not a legally binding contract sidekick,” hero quipped, throwing open the door of the van and climbing out. 

“Whatever,” sidekick replied, following them, “My word is my bond.” 

“You sound like your dad,” hero responded knowingly, as they made their way to the rust colored door. 

Sidekick shrugged, “He had his moments…”

Hero scanned the building for cameras, finding none he put an ear to the door, “I don’t hear anything inside…” he muttered. 

Sidekick made quick work of the padlock, picking it effortlessly, hero shouldered the door open, glanced around quickly and nodded to sidekick, the duo entered the warehouse and let the door close behind them. 

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. The main room was huge, like a hanger for a plane, completely empty, there was a staircase leading to an upstairs area and a rusty looking catwalk, a few doors lead off to what looked to be offices. 

“You take the left and I’ll start on the right,” hero offered, sidekick nodded and was off, flashlight already in hand. 

Hero didn’t risk the catwalk, the thick layer of dust over the rusted metal told them that the crime boss and his guys hadn’t either. 

Smart man. 

Hero opened the first door easily, but didn’t find anything except a folding card table and a single computer monitor and keyboard, if they thought they’d have the time hero would have liked to have broken into it, he was pretty handy with computers, but that was the rub wasn’t it? Being a hero seemed to mean always running out of time. They pulled the door shut behind them, shaking their head. 

“Hero?” Sidekick’s voice cut across the hallway, “I think you should see this.” 

Hero followed their partner’s voice to the first room on the left, another office, except this one’s contents were much more revealing, it was full of tables covered in a fine layer of an off-white powder, a mound of silvery bags of raw chemicals in the corner, hero didn’t need to know what they were, he recognized the skull and crossbones as a universal bad sign. 

“Shit,” he breathed, looking wide-eyed at the chemicals, covering his mouth and nose uselessly with his sleeve. 

Sidekick who was mirroring his reaction almost exactly did the same, “you see the blue prints?” 

Hero hadn’t, their own flashlight zeroing in on what sidekick was talking about, tacked up on a tattered cork board were the blueprints to the city’s water system. 

Hero sucked in a breath, “shit,” they said again, staggered by what this meant for the city his mouth suddenly dry as sand. 

“Remember the report we got last week?” Sidekick prompted, “About the odd activity at the water treatment plant? We ignored it because testing came back normal and that guy is always a little...off.” 

Hero nodded absently, studying the blueprints, there were a few black marks in a few alarmingly key spots, “He’s going to dose the whole city….Maybe he already has,” Hero murmured, horrified. 

“This was never about the ring was it?” Sidekick’s voice rang with desperation, “It was something to keep us busy so that the deal could go down without an issue.” 

Hero turned, “we’ve got to find the antagonist now.” 

“You think he’d help us?” 

Hero shook their head dismissively, “Even if he won’t, he’ll be able to tell us what we’re up against, if we can find him that is,” hero felt like he couldn’t look away from the blue prints, the city, his city, his chest felt tight, for a long moment he wanted to just close his eyes and unsee it, just climb into the back of the van and have sidekick push it into the river, he’d already failed, what if people got hurt? The police would never listen to him in time, they thought he was just a manic who ran around the city in a mask making trouble for them, maybe I am, he thought to himself. Is this my fault? Did I invite more crime into town by busting up smaller operations? Hero felt sick. 

“Three more doors to go hero,” Sidekick put his hand on hero’s shoulder comfortingly, “We’ll find him, even if we don’t, I’m here with you.” 

Hero let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, now was not the time for spiraling, he managed a wan smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his partner always knew what was going on inside of his head, “Let’s go.” 

Hero and sidekick split up again, hero’s heart filled with hope when he saw that the door he went to was locked, “Hey sidekick! Come help me with this!” 

Sidekick was at the door in record time, this lock was dealt with even easier than the padlock on the front door, and it swung open into a pitch black room. 

Hero shone his flashlight into the darkness, it looked bare, just an empty concrete room...then. 

“Pl-please...” A raspy voice begged from the darkness, “...T-turn the light off.” 

A chill prickled down hero’s arms, “Antagonist? Is that you?” Hero couldn’t be sure, the voice was more of a weak croak than anything...

“H-hero?” The voice wavered filling with desperate hope. 

 Hero turned off his light and stepped into the gloom, sidekick followed, shutting the door behind them, the dark was all encompassing, and in stepping from relative light to complete darkness hero and sidekick were immediately lost in it. 

“I’m here,”Hero answered,”where are you?  he found himself whispering, it felt more natural in the darkness. 

“The...vial,” The antagonist started in bitter desperation, “There’s a vial,” he groaned, “On the desk, it’s the...It’s the antidote,” there was a sound like metal scraping concrete, chains? Hero thought it was chains, sounding like the worst sort of bells he’d had ever heard. 

Hero swallowed, no time to panic, feeling his way across the room he stumbled once, loosing his balance in the dark, but sidekick was right by his side, grabbing him and keeping him from falling. 

After a few moments of blind groping hero found the desk, another moment after that his hand closed over a syringe. 

“Got it,” hero affirmed, somewhere the antagonist made a soft choked sound in the dark. 

Hero crouched to the floor and felt along the concrete until he found the chain, using his fingers to ‘see’ he followed the chain to the person at the other end, he realized as he got closer to the antagonist that he could have skipped feeling along the chain and just followed the sound of the antagonist’s labored breathing. 

The antagonist gasped when hero’s fingers brushed the back of his hand, “s-sorry, jumpy.” 

The antagonist seemed to be on the concrete, curled in on himself, hero could feel the heat radiating off of him from where he was crouched next to him. 

“I-inject me…” the antagonist commanded weakly, “Please, I-I can’t last much longer li-like this…” 

Hero frowned in the dark, “What if this is some poison instead of the antidote? What if it kills you?” 

Hero felt the antagonist’s hand close in a vice-like grip on his wrist, “Then we hope it’s faster than this,” their voice was hollow, full of bitterness, “Quick hero, I can’t stand it.” 

“What if I kill you?” hero insisted, already readying the syringe. 

“I’ll get over it,” the antagonist promised. 

Hero took a deep breath and injected the solution into the antagonist’s arm, sight unseen, the antagonist let out a tremulous breath when it was over. 

“What now?” Hero asked. 

“Just..just wait a minute,” The antagonist didn’t explain anymore, he sounded exhausted and in pain, hero wanted to be able to get a better look at him, in the dark like this it was impossible. 

A few long minutes passed, hero realized he was still holding the antagonist’s hand, he thought about pulling away, but the antagonist hadn’t pulled their hand away either, so they figured that it was alright. The antagonist's breathing slowed and evened out eventually, hero could almost feel him relax, all the pain fueled tension dissolving.  

“Hero? Still alive over there?” Sidekick’s worried voice cut across the gloom, hero thought that they had a right to be worried. 

“Yep,” hero replied, “if this is what passes for life nowadays.” 

“You two are adorable,” The antagonist noted, his voice was still weak and raspy, “Although I can’t help but wonder if I would have been rescued ages ago if the daring duo were a little more focused on heroism and less on poorly timed comedy.” 

“And he’s back,” hero noted dryly, then he sobered, “Can we turn our lights on now do you think?” 

“I think I can handle it,” The antagonist answered, abeight, a little hesitantly. 

Hero flicked on his flashlight, turning to the antagonist to see his reaction, while he squinted sensitivised eyes against the light he didn’t look like it was affecting him too badly, hero nodded at sidekick who turned his light back on as well and made his way over to join hero on the floor. 

Hero glanced the antagonist over in the light of sidekick’s flashlight beam, he was leaned up against the wall, chained to the floor by his left wrist, it was bloody and bruised, like he’d tried to yank it out of the shackle, but, other than that he didn’t look physically injured, he just looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His normally sharp bright eyes dull and bloodshot, dark circles that looked more like bruises underneath them, he was shivering, even in the heat of the room, hero wondered if it was a result of whatever he’d been poisoned with. 

The unlikely trio looked at each other for a long moment. 

“So…” Antagonist started, his teeth chattering, “He’s got access to something that interferes with a body's electrical impulses, it makes all stimuli extremely painful, pretty sure it’s mixed with a lot of stimulants, I don’t know if that’s necessary to the mix or was to keep me awake.” 

“But you’re alright?” Hero asked concernedly searching the antagonist's face, “The antidote worked?” 

“I think so, the pain is gone, but, who cares about that? In high enough doses I think it would overload pain receptors, maybe even kill someone,” they sighed shakily, “I would have thought it was pretty cool except--” 

Sidekick interrupted them with a hug, the antagonist stiffened, their brain seemingly fried by the ambush, “we’re glad you’re okay, we were worried,” sidekick’s voice was too close to their ear, the antagonist knew he should have pushed sidekick away, said something sarcastic, but their eyes found hero instead, they were suddenly aware that hero was still holding their hand, it was warm and solid, real, hero’s was smiling, they were relieved, it was as plain on their face as the streaks of dust. 

The antagonist didn’t understand, but their available arm slowly wrapped around sidekick, hugging them back, when sidekick let go, the antagonist noticed that their chest burned, but they dismissed it as a possible side effect. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” Sidekick went to work on picking the lock that was keeping the antagonist chained to the floor, gentle where the antagonist’s wrist had met the unforgiving metal. 

“What happened?” Hero asked quietly. 

The antagonist looked away, “I was jumped, common criminal move, they got my watch off of me too fast for me to use it.” 

“The crime boss?” 

“His “people” sure,” the antagonist rolled his neck, spell seemingly broken, he pushed himself off of the wall and sat up, the trembling was easing, but it was leaving behind an unnerving weakness, “they got me here, laughed at me when I told them you and I were enemies, and then he injected me with something….It wasn’t fun.” 

“Were you in that white room?” Hero asked, unable to help himself, “everything just sort of melt around you?” 

The antagonist shook his head, “No,  it was like I was on fire. All of my nerves sizzling under my skin,” The antagonist shrugged, “Later he gave me something else, paired with an electrical current to exacerbate it, but no white rooms.” 

Sidekick gently pulled the shackle open, the antagonist cradled his injured wrist against his chest. 

“Can you stand?” Hero asked. 

The antagonist looked at him sheepishly “I can try,” hero helped him to his feet, he managed to stand for a moment before his knees buckled, the muscles in his legs trembling and aching like he’d been running for days. Hero caught him easily, looping the antagonist’s arm around his shoulders, “Whoa! Got you,” he smiled without even a hint of mockery, “Sidekick, can you get his other side?” 

Sidekick obliged, taking the antagonist’s other arm, together the three of them walked out of the dark room where the antagonist had been kept prisoner. 

They started for the stairs, “Wait,” the antagonist interjected, “Aren’t you going to show me the room with the pounds of drugs?” 

Hero and sidekick exchanged a look. 

“What?” The antagonist was getting tired of not being in the loop.

“The room’s empty, all we found were the packaging materials,” hero admitted, shifting to get a better hold on the antagonist, impatient to get going. 

“We have a sample, but otherwise it’s just the bags like the ones in your lab,” sidekick added. 

“Wait,” the antagonist started, “The drugs are gone? Like ‘in the wind’ gone” Their voice had risen in panic, “Like the crime boss has taken them to sell gone?” 

“Yeah,” sidekick swallowed, “about that.” 

“I hate to ask this considering your state but we think that the Villain is planning on dosing the city by dropping the drugs in the water, and if you feel up to it we’d like your help...again,” hero added uneasily. 

The antagonist looked from hero to sidekick and back again, he took a measured breath, hero couldn’t help feeling concern wash over him, the antagonist looked worse out here in the light, his skin had taken on a grayish tone, and he seemed to be fading by the minute now that the stimulant’s properties were wearing off, “Alright,” he agreed, “But if we’re going to make a difference at all, we’ve got to hurry, I’m crashing, after I pass out I’ll be no use to anyone for hours.” 

“By then it’ll be too late,” hero whispered, already starting to move again. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the antagonist agreed.

[bruh-haikyuu]

Yohoo~! Can i request a scenario where s/o is akaashi’s long time crush and v popular in their school, always smiling to people left and right but she’s suicidal and depressed when no one’s around and akaashi discover it one day? I hope you understand what im saying haha, thank you~!

A/N: I hope you enjoy anon! For anyone who feels this way, it’s always better to talk it out rather than bottle it in, I learned this the hard way :’) // I’ve made the reader female, if that’s alright with you!

P.S: next request is a sequel everyone’s been waiting for ;)) can you guess?

tacenda. | akāshi keiji

word count: 1804

warnings: depressive and suicidal themes!

(n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence

16 years old and Akaashi had never seen you cry. Not even once.

He recalled it from the moment he’d known you. From the lengthy days in grade school up until the wee hours in high school. Not a single tear had left the premises of your face.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

When the both of you were in first grade, he had watched you stumble and roll onto the coarse surface of a gravel road. Your knee had gotten helplessly scratched, the injury pulsing with deep, crimson liquid. At the sight of the open wound, your friends had cried and cried, whining about how the indomitable L/N Y/N had been overpowered by a simple road.

Akaashi had watched you from afar that day, the cacophonous cries of your volatile friends pulling his attention away from the family of stag beetles nesting in a tree.

Girls will cry at just about everything, he had thought, the shrillness of your friends’ lament boring into his head. I think Y/N’s going to cry too. I should probably go look for Kaneko-sensei—

“Hey, hey. I’m fine, see? You guys are such crybabies, Rui, Akarin.”

Akaashi’s face had whitened like a blank sheet, unable to correctly register the tone of your voice. Even your friends had stopped crying at your lukewarm reaction.

Your knee had been oozing out blood like a spilled bottle of ketchup, yet there you were, completely impervious to the obvious pain that your wound displayed, laughing and smiling like you always did.

It was from that day that Akaashi realized you were much harder to crack than you seemed to be.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Ten years into the present, Akaashi Keiji still hasn’t had you solved.

Ten years into the present, you were still the well-liked, striking L/N Y/N he had known since he was six. In fact, you were even somewhat more dazzling each day. It didn’t dismiss the thought that you were an indomitable puzzle he was raring to decipher.

“If you ask me, L/N-senpai’s way cooler than any of the boys. Yesterday, she saved me from a speeding car on the way to school!”

“That’s so lucky, Mayumi-chan! Oh man, I would do anything to trade places with you.”

“When she spoke to me, I felt my insides tingle and everything… is that what it’s like to be in the presence of a deity?”

Lunch time was the only tolerating hour for Akaashi to eavesdrop on any of the school’s ongoing sensations without having to be called out for it. Like any other day, one of today’s hot topics was you.

Ears growing bigger by the second, he caught bits and pieces of the astonished first-year girls’ conversation. As they walked off into a corner, he managed to hear something along the lines of ‘beautiful’, ‘goddess’ and ‘confess’—but even that wasn’t new to his ears.

Yes, you were charming, kind-hearted and an absolute delight to be around but that didn’t even bring him closer to the truth behind your impossible perfection. His acquaintance with you from childhood didn’t do him any favors either, which was a downright pain-in-the-ass.

After all, Akaashi figured, if he was finally going to officially proclaim his feelings to you, he’d have to have at least a tiny grain of yours.

“Hey, Akaashi. You’re awfully quiet today. You good, man?” the captain of the volleyball club poked at him, stuffing his face with his second loaf of yakisoba-pan.

Sighing, Akaashi recollected his composure. “I’m alright, Bokuto-san… and please don’t eat while talking, you’ll choke yourself if you do.”

Bokuto said something, mouth full of yakisoba, bread and variants of sauce, but it all fell deaf on Akaashi’s ears because he had already picked up another conversation about you…

“Man, L/N’s trying out for a student council position again this year, right? That girl’s got a mad stamina when it comes to volunteer work.”

“Yeah…”

The conversation seemed to stray into the usual topics, but there was a malicious undertone that kept Akaashi’s ears on guard.

“…But don’t you think she’s just a desperate try-hard? Sometimes, she seems kind of shallow to me…”

‘Shallow’. That was definitely new. It was new, but it was irrefutably wrong.

Akaashi felt acid rising to his head. His teeth bit into his bottom lip, hard enough to possibly draw blood. He wanted to get up. He wanted to get up and beat the crap out of that guy.

But sitting in the spectator’s seat like always, Akaashi could only frown and watch. You were the star of the show and he was your closet fanatic—his abilities limited to throwing you congratulatory roses at every occasion. He would kill to share that spotlight with you.

The cafeteria began to clear up and Akaashi recollected his thoughts before returning to class. Class 2-6 had Modern Literature for last period—Akaashi wondered if his day could get any worse.

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Practice ran late again with Bokuto’s persistent pleas for him to set for his ‘new’ variant of a cross spike.

Bokuto-san just wanted to do a cross spike while shouting ‘Hadouken’. Akaashi thought. What’s the difference from his usual spikes? I don’t get it…

Akaashi felt a wrinkle settling on his forehead as he double locked the clubroom for good measure. The captain’s insistence had prevented him from submitting the form for a school bus reservation—in fact, it had been Bokuto’s job in the first place. Akaashi couldn’t blame him though; Bokuto’s image didn’t exactly line up very well with paperwork and the Student Council (unless, of course, if it involved trumpeting about himself in front of its female members).

To his relief, the Student Council office was always open until 8:30 pm. It was now 8:15 pm. It would take him only a couple of minutes to drop off their form in the inbox bin. Then, Akaashi could finally sink himself in the warm clutches of his bathtub, surrounded by steam and the maybe that aromatic bath oil his aunt gifted him from Okinawa…

However, upon noticing the light streaming out of the rectangular, translucent window of the office accompanied with a faint sniffle from within, Akaashi felt his blood run cold.

It’s only 8 pm. It’s impossible. Ghosts don’t roam around student council offices, right…? I hardly think they’d come to this high school either… Oh no. How did that prayer Grandmother taught me go again?

Swallowing sharply, Akaashi’s fingers took the shape of the door handle and he pushed, eye screwed tight against whatever was going to greet him. “S-sorry for the i-intrusion.”

“Akaashi-kun?”

Akaashi let out a guttural noise inside his throat, teeth pinned to a grimace. Pupils adjusting to your slouched figure, he sighed, relieved that you weren’t any form of a Yuki Onna. However, your eyes were bloodshot, hair sticking up in various places. Any traces of your “perfect” appearance had been washed away with the tears that scarred your cheeks.

Looking at you in this state shattered Akaashi.

“I’m sorry.”

Meeting your darkened gaze, Akaashi murmured, “What?”

“I’m a selfish person for saying this, but I don’t want any of it anymore.”

Akaashi didn’t know how he didn’t notice the glint of a silver blade encircled by your fist until you pointed its tip at the upside of your wrist. He didn’t even think by then. He didn’t even think about the reservation form he dropped on the floor. He didn’t even count the steps he took to bound over the meeting table. He didn’t even think about how roughly he yanked your wrist away, knocking the cutter into a dark corner of the room.

He didn’t even think when he shouted, “Don’t!”

You furrowed your brows, palms clenching in resistance to his iron grip. “Are you stupid?!”

Akaashi’s hold on your arms slackened at your words, but he knew better than to let you go.

“I can’t take it anymore. It’s all too much!” more tears clump at your eyes, threatening to spill on Akaashi’s uniform slacks. “I tried! I tried to make everyone happy, but all they did was hurt me. It’s all my fault I’m like this. Please let me go, Akaashi-san…”

Your voice grew soft as your cries receded into gentle hiccups swaying in the windless room.

“Please let me end this…”

Akaashi felt the same acid from this afternoon bubble in his throat again, but this time he made sure it spewed. “Are you stupid, L/N-san? You can’t make others’ happy unless you’re happy yourself. Everyone knows that, you idiot!”

Akaashi felt his insides crumble as soon as his head registered the fact that he had called you, the most popular second-year at Fukuroudani, an idiot. But at least his words had stunned you so deeply you fell silent.

“Do things that make you happy, L/N-san,” he spilled, filter for words dissolved into nothingness. “It’s okay to take breaks and say no. Talk it out with someone you’re comfortable with. I’m even more positive that your friends will be happier if you were honest with them about your feelings. But doing things like…”

Akaashi’s attention caught the teasing shine of the cutter next to a potted plant.

“…this, would just make them miserable, won’t it? You may not see it, but everyone admires you. I admire you too. I would give anything to be like you. Kind, patient and all the more charming… You may not see it, but a lot of people are already happy just with your existence. That was you, L/N-san. You made them happy.”

Your gaze turned to that of a defeated puppy. A stray tear rolling down your cheek, you slid your arms down to take Akaashi’s hands in yours. In the midst of all the tension, his hands really felt like a warm bowl of miso soup. You really wanted to drink it all up to a finish.

“I’m really sorry for all the trouble I caused you, Akaashi-san.”

“It’s alright. Sorry for calling you an ‘idiot’,” saying more things than necessary really tired him out, but his energy really knew no bounds when it came to you.

“I-I’m really sorry, ‘Kaashi-san…’M really s-sorry…”

The hiccups returned and the dam to the waterworks burst at the linger of your voice. Despite all your trembling, Akaashi made it a point to hold you like he was never going to let go. If he had known from long ago, he’d tell you every day that he loved you, regardless if the feeling was mutual or not.

But he didn’t say a word for the length of the evening that he held you. His embrace seemed loud as it already was.

Akaashi Keji was 16 years old when he first saw you cry. And he was only 16 years old when he promised he was never going to let you feel that way ever again.