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rheawritessometimes · 4 years ago

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{ 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

#.rhea writes #.r let's make a deal #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #childe x reader #genshin childe #childe #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #genshin tartaglia #tartagalicious #taking my anger out on childe #but also simping for childe #fluff #is this fluff?

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theanoninyourinbox · 4 years ago

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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!

#Longtail #Longstar #longstar au #Warrior cats #warrior cats au #warriors

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rose-blooms-red · 4 years ago

Note

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.)

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soupyboysforlife · 4 years ago

Text

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

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katnissmellarkkk · 5 years ago

Text

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!"

#everlark #everlark fic #thg #the hunger games #thg fic #everlark fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #everlark fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #writing #fic #fics #au #aus

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cocos-cocoapuffsarenotforsale · 5 years ago

Text

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

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“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.

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soft-glitch · 4 years ago

Text

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.

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #rouge the bat #shadow the hedgehog #e-123 omega #fanfic #team dark

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lostandundead · 4 years ago

Text

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.”

#fmr #fantasy meets reality #dj mixter #arctyle checkers #claudia montes #cassandra davenport #beaumont roseberg

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starkeristheendgame · 5 years ago

Note

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.

415 notes · View notes

bruh-haikyuu · 5 years ago

Note

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.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

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.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji imagine #akaashi keiji scenario #sfw #fukurodani x reader #bruh haikyuu writing #akaashi x rader #keiji x reader

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tyronebeerbohm · 4 years ago

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He and every other competitor who reached the semifinals advance to the state tournament, which begins May 18 in Lexington.

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Q: I had a grandmother whom had rhumetoid arthritis until she died will I inherite her condition. “Our stores are ample for the moment,” he reminded her, “and Your Grace has planted beans and grapes and wheat. Suppose, further, as a final effort of long-suffering, and to leave her utterly without excuse, the 85worthy magistrate rides forth in full force,—man, horse, dog and gun,—to the very verge of the swamp, and there proclaims aloud the merciful mandate. In the dark he could pretend that it was the three-eyed crow who whispered to him and not some grisly talking corpse.. Zach Johnson dons a firefighter's hat as Jennifer Pate, not pictured, takes his photo at the Fire Museum of Texas during Thursday's Happy Hour event. 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misscampacyn · 4 years ago

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Chapter 9

The next morning Alexis wakes up extra early and get ready deciding to take her own car to the motel. She knocks on the door and is greeted by a shitless Matt.

“Glad you’re here, where are the other two?” he asks.

“I don’t know texted Reggie I was going to head here early,” answers Alexis.

Matt nods know why she was here alone.

“What are we doing?” asks Alexis.

“Well I am watching some TV, but hey you still have a couple of hours to kill,” starts Matt as he sits on his bed, “Hey Alejandro why don’t you take Alexis to that little dinner not far from here get some breakfast,” he says.

Alejandro exists the bathroom in his usual suit, “your early,” he states.

“Yeah well I thought we could start early today,” defends Alexis.

Alejandro looks over at Alexis, “well Matt doesn’t start planning until after nine,” he explains.

“Well I’ll come back later then,” says Alexis turning to leave the motel room.

“Hold on, go eat breakfast take Alejandro with you. Brink me a burrito when you’re done,” says Matt.

Alexis looks over at her brother annoyed but turns to look at Alejandro. “What have I told you about meddling?” she questions.

“I just think you two are good for each other,” defends Matt.

“Don’t you think it’s something Alejandro or I should agree on?” fumes Alexis.

“Only one way to find out go get some breakfast, talk, kiss… fuck,” quips Matt, “maybe you’ll loosen up.”

Alexandro just looks over Alexis noticing her anger.

“How fucking dare I’ll have you know I fucked Carl last night,” she disagrees.

“Don’t think he did a good job, you’re still cranky,” jests Matt.

“Fucking asshole!” she sneers.

Matt grins at his sisters’ anger, but he loses it when he sees her walking up to Alejandro and pulls him down planting a rough kiss on the man’s lips.

Alexis only releases Alejandro lips to catch her breath, but then she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down for another kiss. Alejandro wraps one arm around her waist a place the other on the back of her neck.

“Alright I got your point, stop kissing, I’ll stop meddling,” says Matt with his back to the pair.

Alexis releases Alejandro’s lip but leans her nose to his, they both catch their breath. “Want to go have breakfast?” she breaths.

Alexandro nods, “my treat,” he says.

Alexis grin and she reaches his hand and pulls him with her to the door.

“Use protection!” provokes Matt, “and don’t forget my burrito!”

Alexis and Alexandro just chuckle and continue walking to her car.

Alexis enters her car and ties her seatbelt, “you’re a good kisser,” she proclaims.

Alexandro look over at her and leans over and captures her lips for another kiss. Alexis moans into the kiss and runs her fingers through his hair. Alejandro grins and kisses her cheek before sitting back to his seat also tying his seatbelt.

“Let’s have breakfast,” says Alejandro.

“Yeah,” swoons Alexis.

The pair eat breakfast at the dinner and purposefully forget Matt’s burrito. They arrive back at the motel at 8:30 am. By now the room was filled by beefy men belonging to the delta team.

“We are tracking Diaz,” say Matt, “where’s my burrito?”

“They didn’t have any,” says Alejandro grinning over at Alexis who is smirking.

“I made a mistake should have never suggested this relationship. Both of you have too much dirt on me, and you know where to hurt me. I’m starving I didn’t have breakfast,” complains Matt.

“I’ll get you something from the vending machine,” says Alexis leaving the room.

All the men start to congratulate Alejandro for his ‘conquest’.

“Hey that my sister,” complains Matt.

The other men just laughed and patted Alejandro’s shoulder, “lucky bastard,” says one of them.

Alexis had decided to instead bring all the team donuts, when she returned to the motel Kate and Reggie were already there.

All the men cheered when Alexis placed the boxes of donuts on Matt’s bed. Alexis walks into the other room where Kate and Reggie are staring at a screen.

“What did I miss?” asks Alexis.

“We found the tunnel,” answers Matt munching on a donut, “I thought you were just going to get me something form the vending machine?” he questions.

“Changed my mind,” says Alexis with a smirk, “was it behind the old car?” she asks.

“Yeah, we are just waiting for Diaz to be called to Mexico,” explains Alejandro who is sitting next to the man on the computer.

Alexis just nods and looks over at the screen. Kate walks up to Alexis an taps her shoulder, “can I talk to you?” she asks.

Alexis looks over her shoulder and tries to read the expression on Kate’s face, Alexis sighs and only nods. The two women walk outside of the motel room.

“I’m sorry for being unfair, I was a bitch to you when you saved me,” apologizes Kate.

“It’s okay,” says Alexis who places her hand on Kate’s shoulder and give her a gentle squeeze.

“What happened with Carl? I say you too leave the bar last night,” asks Kate with a suggestive look.

Alexis looks away from her friend and blushes, “we had sex, he left before you got home,” she admits.

“The guys were saying that you and Alejandro got cozy,” interrogates Kate.

“We kissed, went to breakfast,” admits Alexis.

“You kissed Alejandro? What about Carl?” judges Kate.

“Kate, Carl is a nice guy, and I kissed Alejandro to make Matt shut up,” admits Alexis.

“So, you don’t like him?” asks Kate.

Alexis looks at Kate guiltily, “your judging me,” she points out.

“Of course, I am,” says Kate.

“Listen Kate I’m a grown woman, just let me do what I need to do,” says Alexis walking back into the motel room.

“How’d it go?” asks Reggie.

“She is unbelievable,” exasperates Alexis.

Kate walks in and Matt decides to tell us that Diaz was called to Mexico, and that it was confirmed.

“So what are we going to do now? What the call?” asks Kate.

“We’re going hunting,” says Matt.

The delta leader starts to lay out the plan to his men, so that everyone knew what to do.

“If you see anyone in a Mexican police uniform assume he is a bandit too,” explains Matt, “we are creating a divergence boy, a lot of noise; fourth of July on steroids,” he continues causing the me to laugh.

The delta leader calls for a weapon check so that all the men were ready.

“Those are special opps. Are we going in on this?” asks Reggie.

“Well you not really dressed for the occasion,” quips Matt.

“Well you didn’t fucking tell us,” says Reggie.

“Well you two went crying to daddy yesterday and we don’t wan that,” voices Matt clearly annoyed.

Alexis not knowing that Kate and Reggie had done that stare at them intensely.

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” complains Kate.

“Alright we’ll find you some extra gear,” says Matt.

“We have some tac gear in the car,” dismisses Kate.

“Good,” say Matt, “you guys can hang back when we’re there okay,” continues Matt.

“Then why are we going?” questions Kate.

“cause the CIA can’t operate within U.S. borders,” start Matt then Reggie join in, “without a domestic agency attached,” they finish.

Matt looks at Reggie who has a realization written on his face.

“Told you you’d be useful,” says Matt.

“So that it that’s why I’m here,” says Kate.

“Technically Alexis is here for that you’re just a tag along Jennings made me take,” corrects Matt.

Kate looks over at Alexis in anger, “you knew about this,” she accuses.

“I knew we were needed for being a domestic agency, but I didn’t know the other stuff,” defends Alexis.

“I’m sure you know more than what you put on,” says Kate.

“Kate we were given a choice to join this team, you made your own decision. You could have gotten all these answers from the beginning if you had asked the right questions!” answers Alexis clearly pissed off.

The room grew quite all the men including Alejandro stared at the two females standing face to face. Matt and Reggie were ready to break up a fight.

Kate scuffs, “you’re a real bitch, just like you brother,” she says.

All the men continued to be quite.

“Don’t bring my brother into this!” defends Alexis getting closer to Kate.

“All right, all right come on take a breather,” says Matt stepping in and pulling Alexis away from the other woman.

“She fucking started it Matt,” says Alexis.

Reggie grabs Kate and leads her to the door not wanting Kate to escalate the situation. He knew both women to be levelheaded never engaging in physical or verbal fight with anyone.

Once Kate and Reggie were gone Matt let go of Alexis, she goes to walk out of the motel room but a couple of men in the delta team step in her way.

“I’m going for my tac gear in my car,” says Alexis clearly still agitated.

Matt looks over at Alejandro, who is only looking at Alexis.

“You can take an escort, we don’t want a cat fight to happen in the parking lot,” jokes Matt, “any volunteers?” he asks.

“I’ll go with her,” says Alejandro.

“I don’t need a babysitter to go get stuff from my car. I’m not going to kick her ass,” admits Alexis.

“We know you’re not,” mocks Matt.

Alexis glares at her brother but continues to the door followed by Alejandro.

She walks to her car and opens the trunk. The trunk is littered with tactical items, Alexis picks up a bullet proof vest with a DEA patch on it. She tears it off and collects all the plates needed for it.

“Do you have tactical training?” asks Alejandro.

“Mandatory for when we need to raid places,” explains Alexis.

Alejandro nods understanding. Alexis start to strap on the vest an moves stuff around to get her riffle. One she collects all the equipment she needed she started to go back to the room. Alejandro stops her and moves a strand of hair behind her ear, “you looked like you could kill her by just looking at her,” comments Alejandro.

“Nobody talks like that about my brother,” states Alexis, “he’s all I got.”

Alejandro looks into Alexis’ eyes and smiles warmly at her, “your protective,” he points out.

Alexis meets his gaze and leans up and gives him a peck on the lips, “your going to take down Alarcon and Diaz,” says Alexis.

“Si,” confirms Alejandro. (yes)

Alexis nods, “and will you come back?” she asks.

Alejandro smiles knowing what she is implying, “if you want me to.”

Alexis doesn’t answer she doesn’t have to, he could tell what she wanted.

“Well let get this shit done,” she finally says walking back into the motel room.

Authors Note:

Dang people are going to take this personal; I need to put it out there I enjoyed Emily Blunt’s performance in Sicario. And for this story I wanted to make my version of Kate a bit judgy, which not really how she is depicted in the movie. Anyways hope you like it and keep on reading to find out what happens next!!

#sicario #alejandro gillick #alejandroxofc #benicio del toro #matt graver #joshbrolin #josh brolin #kate macer #emily blunt #movie fanfic #movie fandom #fanfiction #fanfictions #fandom #love #ofc

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timelessphoenix · 5 years ago

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“As Soul Gazed Into Soul”

A new Bellarke minific

Notes: This starts at the end of a scene I haven’t written or even imagined. Maybe I’ll look back and edit soon! This takes place during peacetime, when they can actually have a moment to themselves. Presumably, the season has ended. Becho is broken up, has been for a while (for the sake of fanon).

I hope you enjoy!

***

“The heart and the head.” Clarke smiles upon the familiar phrase. She looks to Bellamy, anticipating his usual echoed response, as they’ve done so many times in the past.

Bellamy looks back at her, silently holding Clarke’s gaze, lost in thought for a moment. And another. And yet another.

She’s still waiting. “Bellamy, are yo-”

“I love you,” Bellamy breathes, so quick, so quiet, Clarke almost doesn’t hear him.

She almost doesn’t believe him either.

Almost.

Seconds upon seconds pass as the head gazes into the eyes of her heart, trying to think of the right words to convey the feelings she’s been waiting to reveal for several years. She had never felt it had been the right time, and it still doesn’t feel right, but for the better for for worse the moment is here and Clarke suddenly can’t think because shes falling, falling, falling into Bellamy’s dark eyes and she can’t seem to breathe because all the past feelings she’s suppressed for the sake of the mission and protecting Madi and not wanting to hurt Echo and being afraid that he won’t feel the same come rushing back to her and--

She’s waited too long. As Clarke blinks back to the present, she sees Bellamy to shake his head slightly, a timid-- or... guilty?-- apology forming on his face.

Before he can say anything, before she can regret it, Clarke reaches up to cup Bellamy’s head in her hands and hurriedly stretches up to close the space between them. She hesitates a fraction of a second before closing her eyes, blurring with tears from her panic, and gently pressing her lips to Bellamy’s, praying her actions speak louder than the words she had not been able to say.

The intensity of the moment is overwhelming, but she still feels Bellamy kiss back, bringing one hand to hold her head and one to wrap around her shoulders in a warm embrace. Clarke sighs through her nose in relief, a small tear escaping down her cheek. The long-awaited kiss is deep and passionate, full of a desire that had been brewing between them for so long. Clarke never wants it to end. Never wants to leave Bellamy again, never wants to pull apart from his embrace. She lets herself sink into the moment for a little longer, and she feels Bellamy do the same.

Another moment passes.

Slowly, unsure, Clarke and Bellamy pull a few inches apart, the electricity between them yearning to grow close and connect again. Intensely, they hold each other’s captivating gaze. Clarke smiles shyly, a deep blush inching across her face. Bellamy’s eyes brighten in return, a playful smile starting to appear.

“Well, that’s good to know,” he laughs. Clarke doesn’t need to ask what he means. In fact, she’s relieved, too.

“Yeah, well...” she trails off with a smile, taking the joke in stride. “I love you, too, Bellamy. I tried to tell you before, on one of the radio calls, back when I was on Earth and you were on the Ark, and I didn’t know if you’d made it, if you could hear me, or if I’d ever see you again...” Clarke takes a brief pause from her nervous ramble to look into Bellamy’s thoughtful eyes, then she continues, “Turns out you couldn’t hear a single word I’d said, but I’m glad now, that I got to tell you-- well, to show you-- in person.”

Bellamy takes her left hand in his right and lifts it to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles. They smile at each other and spend a few moments gazing into each other’s eyes in comfortable silence.

Clarke knows they’ll talk more about this later. Eventually, she’ll learn that Bellamy had loved her for a lot longer than she’d imagined. She’ll learn how it took years to move on from loving Clarke after they’d been separated, and how he feels like he’ll never shake his guilt from leaving her behind, even though they found each other again and never intend to part. She’ll learn how he wept after she’d been proclaimed dead by Josephine-- though she won’t learn that from Bellamy... She’ll tell him about her time alone on Earth after Praimfaiya, how before she met Madi, he was the one who kept her company, if only in spirit. She’ll tell him how she thought she was dreaming when she saw his silhouette lined by the light of the retreating rover, and how much she’d hurt when she watched Bellamy run to Echo and embrace her in a way Clarke thought she’d never feel herself. And she’ll tell him how grateful to him she is for saving her life countless times, often in ways he could never understand.

But right now, they hold each other in silence, knowing that they’ll get through anything.

Together.

***

This is my first fic! I’m super nervous to post, but I had an idea that I had to write down, and it turned into this! I hope it’s not too messy, and it’s easy to follow. I had a lot of fun writing it, and though I don’t know if I’ll write any more, I’m so glad I wrote it!

#the 100 #the 100 fanfic #bellarke #bellarke fanfic #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #the heart and the head #first fanfic #i hope this reads well #this is largely unedited #i'm a bit nervous #thanks for reading this far #thought flower

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norbaum · 4 years ago

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but when you 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘵 the light i 𝑅𝐸𝒜𝐿𝐼𝒵𝐸...

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆:

✧ ( jack gilinsky + 21 + cis male + he/him ) — did you see 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐘 ‘𝐍𝐎𝐑’ 𝐁𝐀𝐔𝐌 walking down 3rd ? rumor has it they are a 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 @ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 & 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 and have lived in 𝟐𝟐𝟑 e 66th st 𝐀𝐏𝐓 𝟒𝟎𝟏 for 𝐀 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅. i’d describe them as ( 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙-𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙 ) but ( 𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 ), and when they pass by i’m always reminded of 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊, 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍, & 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝟏𝟎 𝐃𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑. ( ollie, 22, they/them, est )

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒:

one half ( the younger ) of the baum twins — the self-proclaimed christmas tree twins but really, it’s their parents’ fault ; works the first shift at the sunrise baking the bulk of goods for the day && has a love for baking in general ; a senior at NYU studying an individualized track of architecture ; a kind soul who genuinely means well even if he misses the point a bit ( read : a himbo ).

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘:

— norway baum was born in a buffalo, new york hospital two minutes and forty-three seconds after his sister fir baum, and unlike his sister, did not scream upon his arrival into the world. it snowed on that december night, CHRISTMAS EVE, an irrelevant fact considering the baums, jewish in heritage, did not celebrate. their parents knew quite in advance that their family would be increasing by two, so it’s anyone’s guess why instead of picking nice normal names for their children they settled on ( as the twins would realize as they got older ) two versions of what amounted to christmas tree.

— nor supposes he ought to be thankful they didn’t name him spruce, because at least norway ( despite also being a country ) could be shortened to a mildly acceptable nickname. instead they graciously made that his middle name leaving every time he gets carded to be an adventure in dubious looks as someone read “norway spruce baum” across the shiny plastic.

— the twins’ entrance into the world would remain a blueprint for most of their lives, fir — the feral child, nor — the calmer but dumber one ; though unlike predicted, they did not balance each other out ( at least in the sense that their parents hoped ). instead it was excruciatingly obvious from the moment they were capable of semi-complex thought that they would be absolute hellions together.

— they grew as thick as thieves as they got older, outgrowing the hellion age soon enough, but only to enter the scheming menaces phase that some may argue they still haven’t left. there were times they had their differences, sure, but in the end they never amounted more to a ripple in the ocean, quickly forgiven and on to the next grand thing.

— they were raised very comfortably in a large house some might consider a mansion ( a modest one at that ), having been privileged enough to be born into the lower upper class. the baums were a rather practical family all the same, in spite of the big house and healthy number of zeros in their bank account, raising their children to be humble, polite, and hardworking : for the most part succeeding ( hardworking might be a matter of perspective ).

— for high school, they attended the local prestigious private co-ed school, nichols ; nor apparently not quite as dumb as everyone seemed to think considering his passing of the entrance exams and decent grades to back that up. nor graduated from nichols ranked surprisingly well, thanks to apparent natural abilities in math and physics.

— college was a toss up, but the choice quickly become a no-brainer when fir was also accepted into NYU. move-in day was a flurry of excitement, most notably the first time the twins would be living ( somewhat ) apart in different dorms thanks to random housing placement and a no co-ed room policy. that excitement lasted about six days for nor, when he became frustrated with the fact that his new roommate, though by almost all accounts PLEASANT, could not seemingly read his mind.

— several other factors, one of which was definitely not separation anxiety, lead them to room together with a few of their mutual friends their sophomore year, and then seek an apartment together the summer before their junior year.

— the 66th st hadn’t really been somewhere nor had frequented, though the neighborhood was known to be affordable and good for students seeking reasonably priced apartments. besides, the apartments were nice, not such a bad commute from school, and they both needed jobs if they wanted to continue to continue to have fun : for though their parents’ generosity extended to both their tuition and rent, it did not extend to spending money.

— in spite of their chaotic energy, they somehow landed one of the apartments on the block and moved in the beginning of august before their junior year ( august 2019 ).

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂:

— nor is one of the bakers at sunrise on weekdays and saturdays, likely with the 4 am shift that makes the bulk of the baked goods for the morning rush. he also helps with the counter if needed when the shop opens. he’s kicking down the door of 401 a little after 9 am on weekdays just in time to bring fir breakfast and go to class, and noon on weekends. he’d always been a bit of an early riser ( though 4 am isn’t really an acceptable time for anyone, it’s something he’s grown accustomed to ), and luckily functions well on just five hours of sleep or so. he is prone to taking about an hour and a half nap in the afternoons, though. he does enjoy his work, especially walking through the near abandoned corner at the wee hours of morning.

— at NYU nor studies an individualized track in architecture through the gallatin school of individualized study ; his track combines studies in architecture with structural classes in the tandon school of engineering so he can better understand practicality and the importance of structural-based architecture.

— has played hockey since he was quite young and the baums were looking for some way to burn off his energy. a sports town like buffalo it was a pretty obvious choice. he played up through high school, until an injury and two surgeries near the end of his junior year pretty much put an end to any serious athletic scholarships to a hockey school. he still played his senior year, but was advised against the rigors of college hockey. it was also in this time that he discovered his love of baking. he has played for fun nearby on one of the beer league teams the past couple years.

— as mentioned above, he really started to get into baking end of his junior year and senior year when he was either in recovery or benched a lot and wanted to contribute something. he bonded with one of his grandmothers over this time and he definitely loves making her recipes even now !! he’s also definitely the type to make baked goods for the neighbors. he started out beginning of last season at sunrise just doing regular cashier stuff but in a pinch when they were running low on something popular and they didn’t have any bakers on hand he was able to whip up a batch and saved the day and after that his manager asked him if he wanted to be one of the bakers.

— of the two of them, nor is the one more likely to cook, but they probably still rely a bit too heavily on ordering take out ( they are trying their best ).

— nor is quite neat, but more due to the fact he doesn’t own very much for things to get messy.

— has plants in his room and absolutely talks to them

— probably falls asleep while rewatching episodes of the great british bakeoff every night.

— sings in the shower and hums or sings quietly under his breath when he bakes. he’s really not that bad but he definitely lacks the creativity to do songwriting or talent to play an instrument so don’t ask.

— fir and nor have successfully gone to each other’s classes before despite being fraternal, most notably the longest gambit they ran sophomore year of high school where nor went to fir’s math class and she went to his history class and they kept it up until parent-teacher conferences in october ( something they had forgotten to take into consideration ) and their scheme was then exposed and they were subsequently grounded.

— he’s not straight and very much just loves who he loves. that being said, his tendency to look past people’s flaws and hand out second chances has gotten his heart broken a few times and has resulted in fir taking to examining anyone he shows the vaguest interest in under a microscope ( and possibly taken to interrogation ).

— fir and nor co-run the most chaotic tik tok @xmastreez. it has no real purpose or direction and mostly consists of capturing random shenanigans of each other, themselves, or random people. they have a modest following.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘:

— put bluntly, nor is a rather kind and gentle soul ; he tends to want to see the best in people and that leads to him coming across rather naive. that may be true in a sense, but it’s less due to ignorance and more that he hasn’t let any hardship or heartbreak get in the way of his worldview. the exception to this is of course anyone who has hurt fir ; you will then learn that he’s very good at holding grudges too.

— nor isn’t someone to worry about the future very much. there was a point early in high school when he did, but after the injury his junior year, he took on a very one week, one day at a time sort of mentality. he is quite happy to live in the moment for now.

— he’s a hard worker, but only when it comes to things that he likes or wants to learn. he’ll put 100% into anything he deems worthy : his baking, hockey, certain classes of study, but try to get him to read something he doesn’t want to or learn something he dislikes and he will become the biggest slacker you have ever seen.

— he and fir bounce well off each other and though nor may be the more responsible one, it’s clear that fir is more of the leader of the two and that his resolve when it comes to his sister’s absurd ideas is not very strong. that being said he can be very protective of fir ( though not overbearingly so ), in a way that can be seen as quite endearing.

— nor is smart, but only in the context of his classwork. outside the classroom or the bakery, and especially in day-to-day interactions, nor just seems to be lacking a certain brand of common sense.

— honestly he’s a fucking himbo. need i say more.

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄:

— 5′11″ ( one inch taller than fir, a fact hotly contested between them and many times a moot point considering she likes to wear heels ), rather fit thanks to keeping up hockey as a hobby.

— brown eyes, skin that tends to always look a little sunkissed even in the middle of winter, dark brown hair that fluctuates in length, sometimes a bit short, usually a bit longer so that it starts to curl slightly.

— style : he likes black skinny jeans or semi-fitted army green pants that probably get covered in flour too quickly but he wears them to work anyway, and fitted t-shirts in any color. he’s a fan of hoodies, cycling through an old nichols hockey one, an adidas branded one, and a newer nyu sweatshirt he got when he committed to the university. he considers hoodies adequate enough for most of the winter, and hey he’s never really gotten sick from walking to class in just that so why change ?? though he may on occasion throw on a denim jacket over a hoodie. he wears practical boots when it isn’t too hot ( unlike his sister ). — ref: yes, yes, and yes

— jewelry : nor’s not one for accessories, limited to a couple simple silver necklaces and an analogue watch with a brown leather band that probably takes him a little too long to read.

— scars, tattoos, etc : no tattoos ; a small well-healed scar over his left cheekbone from a hockey accident ( near invisible and most people don’t know it’s there unless they’re close or looking ), several other small scars on his legs and hands that he can’t recall what they’re from ; small birthmark on the outside of his right thigh.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

🎵i wanna ~𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦~ with somebody🎵 🎵feel the ᶜʰᵉᵐ with someboᵈʸʸʸʸʸʸ🎵

𝐎𝐎𝐂:

hello everyone !! i’m ollie ( 22, est, they/them pronouns ) one of your admins. i am pretty much always on discord so hmu there pls, thank you so much for joining 66th, and i can’t wait to vibe w you all !!!!

#66th.intro

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