#Fish Drill Team | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelkissiies · 1 year

Text

brute

abby anderson x reader

cw : hockey!abby , cheerleader!reader , modern!au , m*n , bigotry , usage of slurs ( fag ) , incel , alluded frat tactics ( roof*es ) , violence .

wc : 2.4K

a / n : if you see any grammatical issues , SQUINT , ive never proofread a single thing in my entire life

You shuffled into your seat, letting your bag drop onto the floor next to your feet. It was pretty quiet in the rink, the soft sound of chattering coming from the locker rooms as you settled in– fishing around in your stuff for your laptop. It was a slow day for you, only a couple classes worth of homework to complete, so you’d decided to tag along with Abby to practice for a show while you fought your calculus assignments. Since it was the start of the season, new kids had been brought onto the team which made a ton of sense as a gaggle of 19 year olds raced down the aisles toward the ice– just barely missing your water bottle. “Jeez.” You huffed, pulling your stuff further from the walkway, not willing to risk the ridiculously expensive tumbler Abby had gotten you.

It wasn’t unusual for you to accompany her, seeing as the rink was like a second home to you, the team not minding for the most part– Abby had joked before that the judgment of a pretty girl whipped them more into shape, their plays being better when you were around compared to when you werent.

Abby was beyond annoyed already, following behind the newbies with a scowl. This was the worst part of a new season, given that these kids didn’t know the ways of the team, not that she fully blamed them. She just hated the prospect of dealing with multiple egotistical freshmen in such a small place, their voices managing to carry throughout the entire rink. She held her skates close to her side, nudging the rink door open with the tip of her toes, settling onto one of the benches to finish gearing up for practice. Her nerves were already shot, having the captain of the men's team call up to the rink saying that he’d managed to get sick– meaning she’d be taking on both teams for drills. She’d debated calling the whole thing off, not wanting a repeat of the fiasco last year.

“You gonna make it?” A voice called from behind her, making her crane her neck as she shoved her feet into the skates, the owner of said voice making her roll her eyes. Nora and Mel were walking together just a ways behind her, sliding into the box before the door shut, their helmets and skates hitting the floor as they sat on either side of the girl. “How much do you wanna bet she bites one of their heads off before practice ends?” The two girls had a habit of betting on her downfall and whilst she knew it was all in good fun, seeing as they held some responsibility as co-captains, it still made her heart jump.

The blonde clicked her tongue against her teeth, shaking her head. “Don’t start this again.”

Mel laughed, glancing down to mess with the strap on her gloves. “I got fifty on it being that guy,” She began, using her head to nod towards a dark haired guy on the ice. He was laughing loud enough to fill the entire rink, the sound piercing her ears as she shook her head slightly. “That might end up being me though, super annoying.”

Abby chuckled, easing the helmet over her braid, making sure to tuck the end into the back of her jersey. “He is really annoying, I think that’s the same guy that transferred from UW.” She added, “I heard he made a big deal out of practicing co-ed.” She slid her gloves over her chilly fingers, eying the boy for a second before bringing her gaze up to the benches around the rink– like she always did, searching for you. It didn’t take long, seeing as you always sat in the same place, her heart squeezing slightly at the sight. You were cross-legged on the bench, her massive varsity jacket swallowing you whole as you tapped away on your computer– a frown etched into your sweet face. She knew how much you hated math, so it didn’t take her long to figure out what you were doing, a smile tugging at her lips as she tore her eyes from you.

“Let's hope he behaves, hm?” Nora sighed, pulling open the second door to step out onto the ice– holding it open for the other two. “If not, god, I don’t even wanna know.”

The girl nodded, standing up as she double checked her mouth guard. It was especially cold, as she made her way onto the ice, a chill biting at her exposed cheeks. Her time away from the sport had reflected on her temperature gauge more than anything, making her shudder slightly. “Is everyone here?” She spoke up, coming to a stop in the middle of the rink, tapping her skate slightly on the ice. It was a habit she’d managed to pick up from you, seeing as you prefaced all of your jumps with the tinestest of taps, she carried it like a piece of you on every rink she played on.

One of the boys shrugged, looking to the group behind him before nodding out of the rink, trading her attention for another. Their conversations were low and muffled, only a stray chortle echoing as they found a way to quiet down. She was equally grateful and annoyed.

Abby brushed it off, doing a quick headcount as she tried to figure out how many they’d be down, her patience wearing even thinner as she tried to focus over the bickering from the group in front of her. They had a nasty habit of not coexisting on the best terms, their compliance contractual. She dropped her attention from the teams as she saw Nora waving from the side, her feet propelling her forward to meet the girl in the middle– fingers still toying with the thick mouthguard in her hand. “What’s up?” It was unlike Nora to look so nervous, setting her brow into a downturn as she bent slightly to level with the girl. “Nora, what is it?”

“We might have a problem, I'm not sure, but it definitely sounds like a problem.”

You groaned as you snapped the computer shut, moving your now free hand to rub your temple, there was nothing less enthusing than math. The worksheets you’d been assigned were incomplete, and you only figured that out once you were pretty much done, so all of your work was for nothing– seeing as when you checked your email an entirely new set had been assigned. It was enough to make you want to drop out, the prospect of doing anymore work sending a pang into your head. You shoved the laptop back into its sleeve before tucking it back into your bag, leaning back to rest against the row of seats just above you. You pulled your wrist up to hover above you, eyes locking onto the time. You made a small noise of confusion, sitting up on your elbows to look into the rink– they all were just standing around, Abby and Nora tucked away near the middle with their backs turned to you. They should’ve already started by now.

“Weird.” You muttered, to no one but yourself, as you picked yourself up off of the bench. You grabbed your phone from your stuff and tucked it into your oversized pocket, stepping down the rows until you were right in front of the plexi-glass– breath creating a thick haze on the chilled material. You settled into one of the rink-side seats, just simply glazing over the players before your attention was caught by a couple freshmen. They were standing just outside of a group, their conversation too far for you to hear, but their stares were hard to miss. It made your stomach churn, prompting you to sink lower into your seat as you pulled your phone out to distract yourself. You weren’t not used to men staring, it was just something that came with being a girl, though you could seem to shake the feeling of dread that had lit in your stomach as you scrolled mindlessly through your feed.

Abby’s heart was pounding in her chest, mouth set into a harsh line as she followed Nora’s hushed whispers. Internally, there were alot of things she’d considered doing. Externally, she kept her feet steady on the ice. She had to give him a chance, right? There was some underlying theme of second chances at play, there had to be– but from the grim expression on Nora’s face, she doubted it. The blood had begun to rush to her head, a loud beating in her ears pulling her from the conversation at hand, hand coming up to stop the girl in front of her. “Let me handle this–,” She began, being cut off promptly.

“You can’t hit him, Abby.” The girl sighed, crossing her arms over her stomach as she glanced warily between the boy and Abby. “He’s just a freshman, just go– I dunno, knock him down a peg.”

She nodded, pulling her helmet off and handing it over to Nora. “I won’t hit him, promise.” She toyed with the straps on her gloves for a moment before, also, pulling them off and tucking them into her now empty helmet. While, yes, she had no real plans to hit him– she wasn’t ruling it out. Her feet dug into the ice, pushing off into his direction, a thousand different approaches coming to mind. She couldn’t deny the anger she felt, some of the comments Nora repeated making her nauseous, though in some fucked way– that’s just the way the wold had come to be. Boys said things about you more often than not, they always had innocent intent though– something these seemed to be lacking in their grotesque banter. Abby wasn’t one to let things like this slide, everyone knew that.

Everyone but them, as they missed her overwhelming presence behind them– still snickering behind locked arms. “The things I'd do to get her, I mean come on! Look at her.” The blonde spoke, nudging the brunette with his elbow.

“I know, I know. Imagine finding her at a frat party, I’d like to get her a drink– if you catch my drift.”

Abby’s jaw tensed, a heavy hand coming to lock onto the boy's shoulder. With ease, she spun him around on his skates, his lanky frame wobbling from the sudden change in motion. “Don’t speak. I don’t care what you’re getting at or what your excuse is. That girl you’re talking about isn’t available, nor would she be interested, not that it seems you’d care. Keep your rapist comments to yourself or find the door.” Her voice was low, fingers now digging into the clothed flesh of his shoulder, face a couple shades paler from the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She wanted to hit him, god so bad, but she resisted– her resolve holding for the moment being. There was nothing she hated more than the audacity of men, her spine straightening as she stood to her full height– peering down at him, hoping that he would catch her drift and fuck off.

The brunette snorted, shrugging her hold off with a cocky smile, other boy suddenly uninterested in ‘locker room’ talk. He shook his head, throwing up his hands in a mock gesture. “You feminists and calling all men ‘rapists’, you’re the real problem with society.” He jeered, looking around as if someone else would agree with him. “That girl isn’t even your problem, so why do you care?”

An incredulous smile graced her lips as she let her arms come to rest intertwined against her tense stomach, nodding slowly. “‘That girl’ as you call her, is my business. You see that jacket she’s wearing?” She asked, taking a tiny step forward. “It’s mine. She’s mine.” It was clear, to anyone who had begun to tune into the conversation, that the last piece of self-control she had was breaking. She was pretty good about keeping her cool, usually, seeing as she wasn’t banned from the rink yet– but the look on his face made her rage double, making violence seem like the better option than just letting him go with a warning.

“Oh, I get it. You’re a fag–,”

You’d come out of your seat, phone angled towards the rink with the intention to snap a couple of pictures of Abby. It was something you’d taken to doing during games, a folder now dedicated in your phone to the candids. You clicked the button to snap the picture, instead hovering too long and starting up a video, making you groan slightly before peering into the screen for a moment– seeing the moment Abby’s fist collided with the boy's nose, a sickening crack filling the rink. ”Oh my god.” You breathed, glancing around to the observing parties– seeing them do next to nothing to stop the brawl.

The boy managed to hit her once before becoming subdued by the girl, subdued meaning crumpled onto the ice in the fetal position, his hands now clasping the crooked bone protruding from the flesh. His friends had knelt down around him, hands poking around at his face in attempts to help. “You fucking bitch!” He groaned, blood leaking down his hands and seeping into the fabric of his uniform.

“Yeah, I’m the bitch.” Abby sneered, tongue gliding over her teeth before she spat a mouth full of blood onto the ice beside him. “You’re off the team. Don’t bother coming back.” She hummed, turning on her heel to glide towards the door closest to her– your petrified face coming into view as she did so. “Practice is canceled. Go home.” She said finally, pulling the door open.

You stared up at her, mouth opening and closing for a second before you settled on a question. “What happened?”

The blonde glanced back behind her, the eyes of the team lingering on her, before she dipped down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. The contrast between her bloody lips and the soft cushion of her hand coming to rest on the back of your head was dizzying– but you didn’t complain, the metallic taste seeping into your mouth as you chased her lips. When she finally managed to pull away, there was a smear of blood on the flesh of your bottom lip– making her chuckle.

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.”

#hockey!abby #hockey!au #hockey!abby x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abbyanderson #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us fanfic #the last of us #tlou hbo #hockey abby my beloved

985 notes · View notes

musings-of-a-college-dork · 2 months

Text

An Odd Request

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Word count: roughly 1K

Steve’s wife goes to the gym and makes an odd request when she arrives home.

Warnings: sorta NSFW (mdni), use of Y/N, terms of endearment (baby).

Author’s note: This is just fluffy Steve and was written directly after I got home from the gym needing this man and a very specific kind of cuddling so…here it is! Short and sweet and very silly. Hope y’all enjoy!

It was a quiet Saturday morning in the Harrington household. Steve was the only one home, having a few hours on his own as Y/N went to meet her personal trainer. She had been seeing a trainer for a while as she, quote on quote, wanted “to be able to carry all the groceries in a single trip all by myself.” A noble and worthy cause in Steve’s eyes and yet as long as he was around, she’d never have to lift a finger. He was more than content to show off his own strength for her enjoyment…and yet wished to support her in any and all of her goals so off to the gym she had gone. As such, he had the home to himself for a few hours, a chance to get some work done.

He had spent most of the morning thus far drinking his coffee and sketching up new basketball drills and formations for the middle school team he coached. He finally understood exactly what Hopper had meant all those years ago about “coffee and contemplation” finding more and more that the man’s wisdom was never ending the older he got. We’ve gotta tighten up their current formations, he thought as the TV played some mindless sitcom in the background while he chewed on the end of his pencil. His mind looked over the squiggles on the paper in front of him trying to decide how to fix this. It had been weeks since they had won a game and morale was dropping fast. Jamie has to pass more but Donovan can’t really shoot…maybe if we move Paul to center and then swap Jordan and Cole we could-

The man wasn’t given another moment to think as he heard the front door open and close with a loud slam, the sound of feet padding their way down the entry hallway.

“Hey, baby!” Steve called as he continued to focus on the squiggles, drawing a few more lines before erasing them with equally as much vigor, “How was the gym?” A loud groan was all he received in reply as his wife dropped her bag to the ground and kicked off her tennis shoes, not even bothering to put them in the basket where she knew they belonged. The same basket she insisted his shoes lived in but rules didn’t apply to her, at least not right now. I’ll tease her about it later. “That good huh?” He called with a low chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair, “Well your protein shake is in the fridge. Should be cold enough since I put it in when you left.” Oddly enough, the man received no response. He waited a moment before he called again, looking up from his work.

“Bab-” And just like that she was in front of him. He jumped and let out a quiet swear as he clutched a hand to his chest. He hadn’t seen her before she had left and found himself taking a sharp inhale as he looked her up and down. She looked so fucking gorgeous in those tight black leggings that fit her just right, a simple white workout top, hugging her every curve, and the expensive black workout jacket he had saved up to get her for Christmas that she never left for the gym without. Not to mention the way her hair looked post-workout and the glow of sweat that radiated off of her. He was about to open his mouth to make some lewd remark he hoped she’d find charming but-

“Hold my tits.” The man blinked once, then again, his mouth open and gaping like a fish.

“W-what?”

“I want your hands on my tits,” Y/N repeated, holding his gaze with complete and utter seriousness, “Please.”

“Like…you want my…”

“Your hands. On my tits. Now.” When the man continued not to move his wife let out a deep sigh and took the pencil from his hand, laying it down next to his sketch as she replaced it with something much better. She led his large palm gently to her breast, letting out a sigh of relief as she encouraged him to give a little squeeze. Again, Steve didn’t even know what to do, never having seen her like this. Sure, she was usually a little more cuddly and blissed out after the gym as the endorphins ran through her body but this was…new. A good kind of new.

“So I take it you had a good time at the gym?” The man teased breathlessly as he ushered her around the coffee table to sit beside him on the couch. The woman let out a hum in confirmation as she laid down so they were pressed together, her back to his front, and wrapped his arms around her so his hands could live right where she needed them to. Another chuckle came from Steve as he buried his face into her hair finding-

“Did you put on perfume?”

“After working out,” she whispered as her eyes closed shut in complete and utter satisfaction, being held just the way she needed to be right now, “Didn’t want to come home smelling only like sweat.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve used his nose to brush the hair from the side of her neck, making her giggle as he pressed mindless kisses there, “I smell like sweat all the time and you still love me.”

“I do,” Y/N titled her head so he could press a kiss to her lips, one she returned eagerly before laying her head back down on the couch, “Fuck, I’m never doing the Stairmaster ever again.”

“Y/N, baby, if this,” Steve gave her tits a little squeeze to punctuate his thought, “is what happens after you’re on the Stairmaster, by all means, keep doing it. Any excuse to cuddle with my pretty little wife and hold her boobies is more than fine by me.”

“Don’t call them that,” Y/N scrunched her nose with a chuckle as she pressed her ass more into him to fit them closer together.

“What?” The man teased giving another squeeze, “Boobies?”

“STEVE!” The couple dissolved into a communal fit of giggles as they lay there together, all stress and strain completely forgotten as calm domesticity filled their hearts and home.

#stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things smut #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fluff

175 notes · View notes

wedonthaveawhile · 1 month

Text

Baby Garreth, and where to find him.

Garreth Weasley x MC

Inspired by her desire to see mermaids, Garreth brews his Herbology partner a potion as a gesture of his affection. Cue the inevitable chaos and peril.

AO3 // Word count: 4.4k

Can be a standalone fic or read as a prequel to Crimson and Clover

Had Garreth been asked for his opinion on the Heroine of Hogwarts a few months back, you likely would have been treated to such eloquent critiquing as: "Bit of a teacher's pet."

There was never any intention to offend; tactful words simply weren't his forte—as proven by the way he inadvertently voiced this opinion directly to her face on the day they were assigned as Herbology partners.

He was only teasing, possibly with an underlying motive of reverse psychology. He had felt her eyes drilling into him while his own ogled the snakeweed—a rare ingredient, almost impossible to obtain by non-thievery means. He thought implying his witness was a snitch might prompt her to look the other way to prove him wrong.

When he tried to execute his nifty little scheme: Pocketing the goods while hoping fifteen students and a professor weren't looking (a tactic that boasted a commendable twenty-three-percent success rate), the snakeweed had vanished—as had his partner.

A middle finger if he'd ever seen one.

Her assault on his pride. Her flawless execution of theft. Her exemplary eye for valuable plunder—It was one step shy of a strip tease, and Garreth had been chasing her tail ever since.

These fresh circumstances might offer insight into why he was currently trudging through ankle-deep mud on yet another lap of the kneazle pen.

His timing had been impeccable—A passing stroll coinciding perfectly with the end of her Beast's class, setting the stage for a spontaneous walk to Herbology together.

Professor Cockblock must have had some trivial errand to palm off to a trustworthy student and was holding back the obvious choice for a briefing.

Just because Garreth had formed new opinions didn't mean he'd relinquished the old ones. Teacher's pet was, unfortunately, terminal.

At long last, the tardy witch bounded down the steps of the hut. Considering Garreth's feet were now encased in a three-inch layer of sludge, he was surprisingly light on them. She remained oblivious to him sauntering up behind her until his shoulder met hers in a clumsy bump.

He grinned as she shot three inches skyward with a hand clutched to her chest. The profanity-laden gasp that followed was the cherry on top.

How she wasn't routinely dismembered during her trips into the forbidden forest was nothing short of a miracle.

"Surprise."

She branded him a twat, delivering a retaliatory shoulder-bump with a slight more force than necessary. "What are you doing lurking around out here?"

"Quidditch practice wrapped up early, so I figured I'd take a stroll."

"A gorgeous morning for it," she chirped as drizzle splattered their faces.

"Caught sight of my favourite botanist and thought I'd put her survival instincts to the test."

"Results?"

"Atrocious."

"Blame it on my hunger," she sighed, booting a pebble in frustration. "Do you think we have time for a detour to the kitchen? I'm starving."

Garreth couldn't relate; he was stuffed to the brim with sweeties. The head of Gryffindor always whipped up a batch of red velvet cookies for their Quidditch meetings—something to do with flying the house colours and fostering team unity. A cloying sentiment, but if they earned him brownie points, who was he to complain?

Quite the wingman was Aunt Matilda.

"Fear not, sunshine. I've got you covered," he declared, fishing around in his pocket and producing a stack of the stolen treats.

"Oh, you do come with perks, Weasley."

"In Garreth, we trust."

The primary ingredient of his perks was fluff from his pocket lining, but she graciously overlooked that detail.

"How did the meeting go?"

"Eh, alright," he shrugged as he shouldered open the door and used a drying charm to restore his sodden hair to its usual wayward refinement. "Team building can only get us so far when the entire Slytherin team is equipped with the latest Nimbus."

Her proceeding moan could have been interpreted as one of sympathy or indulgence as she took a mouthful of sickly scarlet sustenance. "You could shave off your mane; you'll be more aerodynamic."

"Genius. I happen to be a dab hand at hairless potions, ask Leander."

Her ensuing sideways glance was a sly one. If Garreth were a presumptuous man, he might have thought she was checking out the ginger vista.

"Don't, though," was her conclusion.

"But I want to be a speedy boy."

"On your hair be it. I hope there's a nice-shaped cranium underneath all that," she said with a swooping gesture that implied his hair was three-feet wide.

"And if there isn't? How do I make egg-head look good?"

"Ask Leander."

Garreth glanced at her with a grimace of guilt. "He did not make it look good. Poppy mistook him for a golden snidget on three separate occasions. And a testicle on one."

His face lit up as he bathed in the golden glow of her laughter.

Professor Garlick was palpating leaves as they descended into the greenhouse—regaling her students on the metamorphosis of herbage as the wind slammed against the windows and sent the trailing plants into a wild frenzy.

They bypassed the lecture and gathered the equipment to carry out their assignment. Garreth watched the analytical projection suspended over the plant pot twinkle in his partner's eyes as she assessed the growth since its last inspection.

She was a vision.

An english rose.

Worthy of a Chocolate Frog Card.

Probably already on one.

He ought to go find it.

He unwillingly shifted his attention downward when asked his opinion on its condition.

"Beauty in its purest form," he declared as he twiddled a leaf between his fingers, though the sentiment wasn't directed at the foliage.

"Do you think?"

"The crème de la crème of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

"I didn't know you were so fond of mandrakes."

"Mm-hmm, marriage material if you ask me."

He went too far with that one, and she shot him a strange look, "Is that a joke?"

"Dead serious, sweetheart."

Her cheeks flushed at his honeyed words, and she hid it by bobbing under the desk to fetch the cotton balls.

"Here," she declared to the underside of the table. "You'll need some ear protection; we need to repot your wife."

"Saucy. We've been looking for a third."

She muttered a phrase popular among the muggle-born students—something about God giving her strength.

Garreth dismissed it as a term of endearment.

Having successfully ploughed his wife, the witch bent over the worktop to scribble down some notes for their theory assignment. As luck would have it, Garreth found himself conveniently positioned behind her. In a moment of whimsy, he indulged in a passing fantasy wherein the screaming atop the bench wasn't solely the mandrakes' doing. Their fictitious romp was cut short when she turned to Garreth with an expression implying he had just been posed a question.

They locked eyes for a transient moment.

"Hello."

"What can be brewed with mandrakes?" She repeated, fluttering the quill over the title of her notes: Potions.

The blood ascended back to Garreth's brain, which he used to fuel a monologue. He began with healing elixirs, then progressed to combative and defensive tonics. She was very impressed by his knowledge of the animagus potion, so only after he'd soaked up every drop of attention from that did he segue into miscellaneous potions…

"Younger or older?"

Garreth halted his steady stream of words. "Come again?"

"You said age potions. Is that for becoming younger or older?"

"Both."

"Got it," she transcribed the information onto the last remaining sliver of parchment before duplicating the notes and handing him a copy. "That should be enough for now."

"What would be your preference?" Garreth asked as he scanned her hasty summary. “If you had an ageing potion, would you go older or younger?"

"Younger." Her reply was instantaneous. "I'd sign up for first-year classes. Did you hear they get a class trip into Black Lake now that Nerida Roberts has made peace with the mermaids?"

"I heard the rumours, not the confirmation that they're true."

"Well, Mr. Moon has been preparing the boats for their afternoon class, so it's likely."

"Criminal. Why do the ankle-biters get to go?"

"The younger the human, the less likely they are to get eaten." She looked crestfallen at having involuntarily aged into mermaid fodder. "I'd do anything to see one in the flesh."

Anything?

Garreth tucked that juicy little nugget of information into the corner of his brain for future reference.

As he began to tidy up their tools, he hesitated as he reached for the mandrake. Since their last class, it had flourished quite spectacularly. Ripe leaves were unfurling, and fresh sprouts were vying for their place in the renewed soil.

The potions that could be concocted with all this deliciousness.

It made Garreth's thumbs itch.

He leaned on his forearms, knocking an elbow against his partner in herbology/crime. "Might I trouble you for a favour?"

"Another heist?"

"You know how it is."

"You still owe me for the last one."

"What's your price, sunshine?"

After a moment of consideration, she swiped her quill's bristles against his jaw and told him: "Surprise me."

Garreth's heart skipped a beat, then kicked up again at an alarming rate.

Fucking titillating.

"I'll wrangle you a mermaid," he stated succinctly, embodying the charismatic gentleman he was known to be. His words absolutely did not stumble out in a jumbled lump.

"Ambitious."

"And, on second thought, kind of inconvenient," he added, mulling over the logistical implications of housing a mermaid. "Fine, I'll wrangle you a glimpse of a mermaid."

"Still ambitious; how do you plan to pull that off?"

"I have my ways," he said, tapping his nose. "Meet me in the boathouse after lunch?"

She narrowed her eyes, scouring his features for any trace of dubious intentions. The boathouse was a notorious hook-up spot and had been the subject of a few too many jokes (that perhaps weren't entirely jokes) suggesting they relocate their study sessions there.

He kept quiet and tried to look like he wasn't harbouring several ulterior motives. Her curiosity evidently outweighed her better judgment, because she agreed.

With their tasks completed, the distraction sprang over to Garlick, loudly inquiring about the "breathtaking" new assortment of plant life on the opposite side of the greenhouse.

Garreth carried their mandrake over to the shelves.

In a moment of clumsy misfortune, he fumbled with the pot, inadvertently grabbing the plant by its sprouts and plucking off several leaves in the process.

In sheer happenstance, these fallen leaves found their way into his cloak pocket.

Completely unaware of the faux pas, Garreth quickly skedaddled out of the classroom.

The potion prodigy dropped a pilfered leaf into a steaming cauldron. It belched up a scalding mist of fuchsia fog, and Garreth ducked to avoid it with a triumphant grin. As the potion simmered, he envisioned what tantalising rewards awaited him for bringing her dreams to fruition.

It was an odd sensation—having impure thoughts whilst mashing troll bogeys into a fine paste.

Their fictitious romp was cut short once more, this time by the intrusion of an abnormally long nose topped with impeccable hair.

"Hello, Prewett."

Leander sidled up to the desk, two ice-cold butterbeers floating behind him. "Have you been here all morning? I thought you were joining us in Hogsmeade."

"An opportunity arose."

Leander looked a combination of curious and suspicious as he surveyed the array of grimy receptacles. He kept himself and his hair at a safe distance. "What's going on?"

"Just brewing a gift for someone."

"Who?"

"Someone."

Leander didn't waste time guessing; he jumped straight to the correct conclusion and informed Garreth that he was a soppy bastard. Garreth didn’t dispute it; she occupied his mind far more than any previous passing fancies.

Turning the notebook around, Leander scanned the nearly indecipherable process for age potions. "How far back does she want to turn the clock?"

"Seven years, give or take," Garreth replied, watching his friend sniff a jug of a failed experiment. “I overshot it with that batch. Best not ingest it; you might turn into a sperm."

Leander tossed the potion back onto the table and scrubbed his unsullied hands on his robes. "Are you sure about this? Sallow will have your head if you turn the heroine of Hogwarts into seminal fluid. Then Gaunt will harvest your functional eyes."

Garreth waved those minor concerns away, his focus honing in on the most critical point. "Don't call her that; she hates it."

"She'd also hate being jizz."

"Trust me, it's going to be a wild success. I have a secret ingredient," Garreth declared, jabbing a bogey-stained thumb to his chest.

"Heart?" Leander asked with a stifled sound of disgust.

"No, me. Garreth Weasley. Most of what I do results in the desired outcome, one way or another."

"Just with several explosions along the way."

"It's called pizazz, Prewett.”

"Well, I can't say I didn't try. I'm leaving before I'm implicated." Leander plucked one of the butterbeers out of the air and slid it across the table. "Best of luck, Weasel."

"Cheers, buddy. For the beverage and soon-to-be-forgotten advice," Garreth raised the drink to his lips and chugged half. Appeasing ladies was thirsty work, and he had begun to resemble one of the sweaty puddles forming on the counter.

He lowered the cup and was met with Leander's horrified visage.

"What…" Garreth's lips curled in disgust; he smacked them together in response to the cataclysmically putrid aftertaste. Had Leander fermented the beer in his arsehole? Bloody hell, it was foul. He opened his mouth to demand answers, but it remained agape as the tabletop began to rise.

Garreth watched in dubious disbelief as his full and frothy butterbeer, alongside a half-empty beaker of defective potion, ascended past him.

Oh shit...

No matter how much Garreth thrashed, pushed, and grabbed at the thick blankets swaddling him, he seemed to be making no progress towards freedom.

A refreshing gust of fresh air greeted his face as someone whisked the material away from it, and his vision adjusted to the gangly thing staring down at him. Bony hands were clamped over its mouth, muffling its irritating bleating, save for one vaguely familiar sound that slipped through the cracks.

"Weasley?"

Garreth had no clue what it meant, nor was he really listening.

His attention had been lured upwards to something familiar and profoundly comforting. It called to mind dreamy memories of tight cuddles and the aroma of freshly baked cookies. With his chubby arms eagerly extended, Garreth reached towards the glossy mass of ginger hair.

"Mama."

Mum's immediate response was a stiff: "No."

She lifted Garreth's arm and began probing the joints while letting out a string of confounded noises: "Well, at least you're not a sperm. How old are you?"

Ah, Garreth knew this trick well. He withdrew his fingers from his dribbling mouth and proudly brandished the moist digits—quantity unknown.

"No, you look younger than four…"

Garreth was actually trying to display eighteen, but that was by the by, as his stomach interrupted the goings-on with a grumble of protest.

Some absolute cretin had failed to provide him with sustenance.

"Don't you dare…," said mum.

Garreth sucked in a deep lungful of air, mustering every wisp of it to articulate his plea: "Mother, please. I'm famished." Except it took the form of a skull-splitting scream.

He cracked open an eye in hopeful anticipation of a succulent meal being bequeathed to him to find a stick hovering an inch from his face.

It looked delectable—a gourmet feast of the highest quality.

He took a hearty bite but was promptly shoved away by Mum. She wiped the resultant drool off on Garreth's hair, which felt uncalled for, before making a noise that shrunk his blanket into clothes befitting his podgy form. He was then scooped up haphazardly, his body contorting at a crooked angle as Mum's lanky fingers awkwardly gripped his limbs.

Her attempts to keep him upright were clumsy and uncoordinated as if she'd never held a child before. Something seemed fishy, but before he could assign any brainpower to the feeling, they were transported through a doorway and absorbed into a bustling crowd.

What were all these people doing in Garreth's house?

He caught snippets of his name, each time prefaced by words beyond his current comprehension like: "Is that..." and "What the fuck have you done..."

A few intruders waved, and Garreth returned the gesture despite Mum's increasingly laborious efforts to prevent him from tumbling to the ground.

Garreth realised it had been some time since he travelled by way of arms, and decided then that he must get back into it.

And so, after that fine voyage (during which he only vomited twice), they landed in a lush field. Overhead, people dressed in vivid green costumes whizzed around on brooms, overseen by a man to whom Garreth was unceremoniously presented.

The man's piercing eyes roved over Garreth's fiery red hair, then lifted to Mum's.

"Prewett, is this your foetus?"

Mum looked freshly displeased and dumped Garreth into the man's much sturdier arms.

A dark line was carved across his eye; it piqued Garreth's innocent curiosity. He reached out to touch it gently, but his new-fangled toddler strength drove his tiny fist to inadvertently deliver a solid punch to the man's nose. Garreth instinctively grasped out as he teetered on the recoil, knotting his hands in the man's thick brown hair.

It looked delectable—a gourmet feast of the highest quality.

Garreth tried to indulge in a munch, but his efforts were met with resistance as his fingers and mouth were gradually, and by all accounts, painfully, pried away from the tangled strands.

This scene unfolded as the man flagged down his airborne squadron. Many pointed gestures were exchanged among the teams' objections before they dispersed towards Garreth's house—except for one dark-haired girl, who stood on the brink of delivering the man's second solid punch of the day for reasons unknown.

Her shrill cries of "You can't cancel our Quidditch practice because of a baby; we're only three days away from a match!" did nothing to alleviate Garreth's confusion.

As they deliberated, he was placed onto the ground, where a grassy banquet awaited him. A fitting compensation for his ordeal in the hair.

In a fit of anger, the girl hurled her broom to the floor, which was promptly confiscated from Garreth’s reach. In the interim, he had chewed a dandelion into a pulp and was now squeezing it until the juices mushed out from his tightened fist. With pride, he handed it to the man for inspection.

Rudely, his attention was elsewhere.

"Up," Garreth called, his stout arms extended as he slapped his soggy green fingers against his palms.

He wasn't spared a glance.

"Up!" he insisted, baffled when his efforts to raise himself three centimetres didn't result in being catapulted straight into awaiting arms. With a disappointed whine, he stretched his limbs higher.

"Quiet, Weasley."

Not one to shut up on command, Garreth rose to his unsteady feet and supported himself on the broom the man held loosely in his hand.

"UP," he commanded.

Up he went.

Draped over the broomstick like a towel hung out to dry, Garreth levitated until he reached a midpoint of the multicoloured spires surrounding the field. The broom purred between his fingers as he hooked an ankle over, the trembling coursing up his arms and animating his fleshy cheeks with a lively jiggle.

A sharp scream rang around the meadow from somewhere far below him.

Mama?

Garreth glanced down. It wasn’t mum—it was the man. His arms outstretched and calling his name. Alas, Garreth's interest in uppies had withered away, for an instinct was awakening. He was somehow aware that if he adjusted his posture...

His cheeks, bereft of their former jiggle, now thrashed against the back of his head as he shot off at breakneck speed.

With a twitch of his finger, he manoeuvred the broom to narrowly avoid smashing into a row of seats—it was a reflex, a memory ingrained deep in his muscles.

He streaked over the team in green, their yelling and leaps onto their brooms signalling their intent to challenge him in a race.

Oh, what delightful fun.

The wind carried away Garreth's gleeful shrieks as he weaved through a narrow waterway flanked by the castle walls. The roar of his peers from walkways spanning the passage propelled him onward. He was a creature of speed—a blur of motion—and, as always, thriving in the presence of an audience.

He ducked beneath a stone bridge and burst across open waters, escorted by a pair of majestic snowy owls gliding alongside him. The birds dropped to the surface of the lake, skimming their wings against the mirrored reflection of the sky before soaring up into the billowing clouds.

Oddly, their shadowy doppelgängers remained by Garreth’s side. His toes grazed the waves as he strained to catch a glimpse of his companions beneath the waterline when a sleek fin sliced through the water, while something breached entirely on the other side of him. Their playful dives splashed icy water across his face before they vanished into the depths. Garreth laughed as he extended his hand and squealed at them to come back.

Glancing up, he realised that his beckoning had summoned a building instead, and it was hurtling toward him at a frightfully rapid pace.

A fish erupted from the crest of a wave, snatching him off the broom seconds before it splintered into a million pieces against the bricks.

Garreth plunged into the water, ensnared in slippery arms.

The biting chill was only a passing thing as the fish breached the surface, clutching Garreth by a pudgy leg and hoisting him above the waterline. It rotated him this way and that, inspecting him with hungry eyes.

Garreth could relate; dandelions had been a sub-standard excuse for nourishment—he much preferred fish.

He grasped what he initially mistook for a writhing mass of serpents, only to discover it was sinewy strands of fish hair. Undiscouraged, he sank his tiny teeth into the gleaming scales. He was torn away, the fish's reprimand manifesting as a bone-shattering wail that shook Garreth to his tiny core.

Upset, tired, and starving, Garreth attempted to deliver a solid punch to the fish's face, but his new-fangled toddler exhaustion hindered his little fist, and he petted the slimy creature instead. On the verge of an imminent nap, Garreth curled into a ball and utilised ropey grey fish hair as a pillow.

He was vaguely aware of some heated commotion around him; at one point, a hungry fish snapped its teeth in his direction while another held him at arm's length. He dismissed this as irrelevant to his situation, providing the offending party with a slap before settling back into his nap with a grumble of irritation.

His consciousness ebbed and flowed with the undulation of the water. A serene fish guided him towards the building he had narrowly avoided colliding with. The lake rippled around them, while boats knocked against each other as they bobbed in the surf.

A delighted gasp stirred him as a figure waded up to her knees to reclaim him from the fish.

This new resting place was the essence of luxury—her familiar, soothing voice a balm to his weary senses. This divine ray of sunshine shrugged a blanket off her shoulders and wrapped Garreth in its warmth, granting him the comfort he needed to indulge in the finest siesta.

He awoke to the jarring sensation of a turbulent ride, his eyes rolling in their sockets as he wobbled around on a skeletal hip.

Merlin, Sharp's built like a sack of razor blades, Garreth grumbled inwardly.

Wait...

His body expanded moments after his mental faculties did.

The flickering flames beneath the cauldrons danced in and out of focus as his vision swayed. Finally it settled on the scene: his body sprawled across Sharp’s lap, both on the floor, scraps of a size 18-24 month Hogwarts uniform strewn across them like confetti.

"Hello, Professor.”

Sharp shoved him off and flung an abandoned cloak in his direction. "Put some clothes on, Weasley."

Garreth felt as though someone had scooped out his brain, used it in lieu of a bludger, and then poured the battered remnants back into his skull.

The soft twinkles of floating candles were like fireworks to his bloodshot eyes, magnifying the relentless throbbing behind them. Everywhere he looked, countless pairs of eyes stared back at him, accented by whispers interwoven with giggles.

An audience during dinner was an unnerving affair he wasn't accustomed to.

He turned a deaf ear to the hearsay that he'd smashed up Imelda's Nimbus. He had enough to bury deep down without living in perpetual fear of a hex taking him from behind. He employed his Gryffindor bravery to bolster his confidence and strode through the great hall his with chin up. If nothing else, it was a great story, albeit a slightly mortifying one.

He caught sight of Leander perched on a high horse. No doubt poised to unleash a storm of I told you so's and serves you right for the bald thing. Before Garreth could muster his wits and rustle up a selection of witty retorts, he was knocked sideways in a flying embrace.

"You're you again!"

He glanced down at the figure clinging to him and Merlin, the smile.

"I was always me, sunshine."

"I can't believe what you did. You brought mermaids into the boathouse, real ones!" Her tender hug was replaced by a firm grip on his tie and a pointed finger jabbing against his chest as she scolded him. "Don't you dare pull a stunt like that again. The whole school thought you'd drowned, but, gosh, it was incredible…"

Garreth's mind spun as her voice gained momentum with each euphoric word until everything froze, and she was touching his cheek—a fleeting, electrifying brush of her lips against his skin before they were torn apart by Poppy and her rapid gunfire of mermaid-themed questions.

His knees turned to mush under the weight of endorphins drowning his system. He slumped onto the bench opposite Leander, who had undergone a mood shift and now radiated a deliciously palpable rage.

Garreth smirked at him.

"Desired outcome achiev—"

"Shut the fuck up, Weasley."

#garreth weasley #weasley wednesday #garreth weasley fanfiction #garreth weasley fluff #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley fanart #garreth weasley x you #garreth weasley x mc #leander prewett #leander prewett fanart #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #poppy sweeting #hogwarts oc #hogwarts houses #weasley

88 notes · View notes

theemporium · 8 months

Note

1. “Okay, maybe I have a crush on you! So what?” with Trevor?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Trevor Zegras was a man with many skills, as would be expected from a professional athlete.

He was young. He was fast. He had some neat little trick shots up his sleeve. He was one of the rising stars in the league, and living in California for the last few years, he had interacted with his fair share of celebrities and high-profile fans that had watched him play.

Trevor Zegras was known for his chill personality, for the go-with-the-flow attitude and the bright smile that was always plastered on his face. He was known for the jokes he would crack off the ice, the goading chirps that he would crack on the ice. He was known for so much.

And yet, he was never known to be this starstruck before.

Jamie and countless other teammates had given him so much shit for the little crush he had harboured on you. From the day you joined the team almost a year ago as one of the new social media interns, Trevor had been absolutely smitten and there was no going back on it.

The suaveness and charm disappeared the second you were within his vicinity, and it felt like every thought in his head just disappeared. It had taken three months alone for him to stop acting like a gaping fish in front of you and actually start a conversation. But even now, he still gets into a funny little daze whenever he knows you are nearby, much to the amusement of everyone else.

“Hey, Zegras, isn't that your little girlfriend over there?”

The scene that followed almost felt like a skit out of a comedy show. The second girlfriend was mentioned, his head was snapping up like a lost puppy as he glanced around to find you. However, too lost in his search for you, he lost focus of the drill they were currently partaking in and found himself skating straight into the glass instead.

“Please tell me she didn’t see it,” Trevor murmured as he laid on the ice, hoping that a hole would open underneath him and suck him in.

“Everyone saw it,” Jamie snorted. “You need the medic?”

“For my dignity? Yeah,” he grumbled before he slowly pulled himself up, trying to shake it off and pretend like his cheeks weren’t burning in embarrassment.

The rest of practice had been—thankfully—uneventful and ran smoothly before the boys started stepping off the ice, heading towards the locker rooms to shower and change out of their gear. You had been at the tunnel entrance, filming the boys stepping off for footage only to straighten up when you saw Trevor step off.

“Hey,” you smiled, though it seemed a bit painful. “How are you feeling after your…”

Trevor’s cheeks burned. “Oh, I….uh, yeah, no, yeah.”

Your brows furrowed together as you let out a confused laugh. “Yeah, no, yeah?”

His grin was bashful. “Sorry, I got nervous.”

“I make you nervous, Zegras?” You mused in a teasing voice, though your smile seemed genuine. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you have a crush on me.”

“Pfft, what?” Trevor laughed, the noise sudden and loud and catching you by surprise. “Me? No! I…I don’t even have crushes! I have actually never had a crush on anyone ever!”

You blinked.

“Okay, maybe I have a crush on you! So what?” He blurted out, his cheeks now a bright pink and his eyes looking everywhere but you. “Anyways, I have to—”

“Friday.”

Trevor paused, staring at you like a confused puppy. “Huh?”

“I’m free this Friday for our date,” you said casually as you tried to bite back your grin.

“Our date?” He paused for a moment before it clicked, and it was endearing watching his face light up. “Yeah! Our date! I’ll pick you up!”

“Good,” you grinned back at the boy. “Try not to skate into any more walls before then, yeah? I like my dates in one piece.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

#trevor zegras #nhl #anaheim ducks #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras x you #trevor zegras x y/n #trevor zegras fic #trevor zegras one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

305 notes · View notes

definitelynotstable · 8 months

Text

Camomile pt. 3 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Can’t stop, won’t stop <3

Synopsis: You and a tired and injured Ghost enjoy some camomile. Price has put him in charge of drills while he recovers ...oh shit. Words: 798 Warnings: minor injury Ghost x gn!Reader (Callsign Rags): No explicit romance. Fluff as per usual. Relationship development. Soft Ghost <3

Not proof-read (I never ever proof-read).

✧.*

It was unspoken of, these midnight meetings. You would slink into the kitchen and fumble around with the kettle, setting out two mugs of camomile and shortly after the Lieutenant would appear. He would usually bring a book or some paper work and you would doze in your chair, watching over the rim of your mug as he concentrated.

You had only been with the task force for a couple of months and the Lieutenant had proved to be the hardest to get to know. Soap and Gas wore their hearts on their sleeves, joking and laughing - they were easy too read. Price was kind and fair with a good sense of humour; eyes sparkling whenever he watched his team get together.

But Ghost was different. The mask made him difficult to read. You prided yourself on subtle observations but the only way to assess the man was through his eyes. Cobalt blue. Hard with furrowed brows on missions, almost black. Softer when Soap was attempting to rile him up, and almost eager with Price. Like a boy searching for validation from their father. You knew that feeling all to well. Most didn’t end up in the Military without some type of familial dysfunction.

The Lieutenant was quiet but calm. You had spent most of your time in the team trying to gauge whether or not he even liked you - his mannerisms were so hard to crack. But after the first night he had wandered into the kitchen to find you sipping from a mug with a stolen teabag it became some type of ritual. And slowly but surely you were getting to know the man you fought side by side with.

✧.*

You hadn’t expected him to join you tonight. The mission had been a success but a tough one nonetheless. You were all a bit battered and bruised, Ghost more than the rest. Price had forced the stoic Lieutenant into the infirmary straight off the tarmac, giving him no chance to escape. It must be a habit of his, you surmised, ignoring wounds and ailments. The curse of needing to be strong all the time.

So when he shuffled in at quarter past one in the morning, an arm wound tenderly around his ribs, it gave you a scare. You had been dosing on the couch closest to the table, mug of tea tucked in the crock of your arm; lukewarm and forgotten.

A pale hand wrapped around the mug, pulling it softly out of your grasp. You jolted awake at the movement. He was wearing black neck-muff, covering his face from just under his sharp blue eyes, his white-blond hair tousled.

You blink blearily up at him as he tilts his head, now having fished the mug out of your grasp.

“Sleeping durin’ tea-time, Rags?”

His voice is soft and there is a teasing glint in his eyes as he watches you shake yourself awake.

You push your hair back, stretching slightly. “Sorry LT, didn’t think you would show.”

Ghost nods, walking over to the sink to rinse your mug. You watch him tiredly as he flicks on the kettle.

“How’re the ribs?”

The man in question folds his arms, hip against the counter in his signature pose. “Sore. Price won’t let me train for a few more days so I’m back to runnin’ drills.”

You can’t stop the huff that escapes you. Ghost’s drills were lethal. The Lieutenant raises a pale eyebrow. His cool tone doesn’t fool you, there’s teasing in his eyes. “Somethin’ wrong Sergeant?”

You cough shaking your head, pulling yourself off the couch and sliding into a seat at the table. “No sir, your drills are great sir.”

He scoffs quietly, turning back to face the kettle. “You’re a shit lier, Rags.”

You don’t bother arguing. It’s true. He casts a look at you over his shoulder. Your cheek is resting on your fist, eyelids fluttering. He smiles a little. You don’t notice, too busy focusing on staying awake.

“Anotha’ tea, love?”

“Yes please,” you mumble. God you’re so tired.

A steaming mug is pushed into your hands. Ghost settles into his usual seat opposite you with a small groan.

“Fuckin’ ell” he grumbles, resting his elbows on the table, mug to his lips.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Feeling old, LT?”

His eyes snap to meet yours through the wafting steam. “Somethin’ like that.”

You yawn, stretching your arms over to rest behind your head. “Go easy on us tomorrow?”

Ghost’s eyes narrow, he can tell you’re tired. You all are. He takes a long sip of his tea, watching you carefully. “No promises, Sergeant.”

You nod, following suit. “That’s enough for me, LT.”

✧.*

Masterlist

Next Part:

148 notes · View notes

starsailorjannystan · 4 months

Text

in which you’re Kise Ryōta’s best friend, forced to watch him disintegrate before your eyes, his teeth growing sharper, his laughter going higher and his smiles getting faker. your friendship is one of the things you value most in your life. unbeknownst to you, he wants to ruin it.

long one-shot, alternate pov cheerleader!reader light angst, fluff, pining mellow, anime!kise because i’m delulu of his manga version (at least in this fic)

“What? What is it? Intimate? Private? Personal? But what are friends for, if you can’t talk to them about what really matters? All these nights we spent talking together… How could you? How?”

The Name, Matthieu Delaporte and Alexandre de la Patellière

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

You’ve known Kise Ryōta for as long as you could breathe.

Technically, you can’t remember your first meeting, since you were both in glass cribs in a Tokyoite hospital, blissfully unaware of the summer heat, but just as you were neighbours as babies in the maternity ward, you were neighbours as little toddlers in the sandbox, and neighbours as children, waving to each other from your window.

Then you had your first significant meeting in a gym. His elder sisters were taking ballet classes on the upper floor, and you were stuck together during stretching exercises in your rhythmic gymnastics class. You had offered your name, he had offered his, and it had been the childish equivalent of blood-brothering yourselves to each other.

Since then, you had been glued at the hip, like conjoined twins (without the unfortunate medical complications, of course), and people were more surprised to find you on your own than with each other.

You had followed Kise in every sport endeavour he had undertaken, from swimming to baseball, from gymnastics to volleyball, cricket to soccer, short-track and figure skating and cycling, and you watched as each time he mastered a sport and gradually grew bored with it, while you got into cheerleading in third grade and never regretted that decision. You waited for each other at the end of the school day, him on whatever sport activity had struck his fancy at the time, you running drills with the cheer squad, and you always stopped for drinks on the way back home, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your parents never minded the fact that your best friend was a boy, because they had known Kise since he was little too, and you weren’t short of girlfriends thanks to the cheer squad. Though one day you had come back home crying, and your mother had gone into full mama bear mode, until you told her Kise had choked on a bone fish at lunch. You had never been so scared in your life and you had really thought he was going to die. Your father offered to sign you up for first aid classes, and you had dragged Kise with you.

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

Middle school had been the first time you were separated. You went to Teikō Junior High, while Kise joined Teikoku Junior High, a school known for its invincible soccer team.

You made the mistake of briefing him on Teikō’s basketball team. To this day, you still don’t know if you forgive yourself or not. But in the end, you’ve decided that time in your lives had been necessary, and your relationship hadn’t been broken to the point where you couldn’t mend it.

Kise had taken on modelling, and as always you had been as supportive as possible, secretly hoping he would stick to it, that he had finally found a hobby that would keep his interest. He had wanted to get his ears pierced, because it would make him look cool, and you had decided against telling him that earrings could cause accidents. Two girls on your squad had been practising back tucks, and one had accidently caught the other's loop earring while spotting her, and you still remembered her shrill scream and all the blood that had dripped on the mat. However, you had had your own ears pierced a while ago as a birthday gift from one of your aunts, and you had noticed the way Kise looked at your ladybugs pendants. You had always done everything together, maybe he was feeling like he was missing out on an experience. So all in all, you hadn't thought it would be a bad idea, all things considered.

Hoo boy, were you wrong.

You had ended up in a café, sharing a tiny strawberry shortcake because you were both on a diet thanks to your demanding activities, and Kise was still sniffling over the pain of the piercing. You had left Claire's with him clutching his left ear, and your endless stream of comforting words had sort of calmed him, but he had refused to pierce his other ear. You had stopped on your way to buy disinfectant, and, without his knowing, a pair of small ring-like silver earrings. And, over the half-eaten shortcake, you had offered him an earring.

"You know, I think you'll look even cooler with only one. It's a style and I'm sure you'll rock it!"

He had looked up from his spoon, eyes still a bit watery, but glinting with hopefulness.

"You think so?"

"Of course! Here, take it."

You had made sure his wound was clean, and you had slid in the earring's pin. Then, you had slipped the other earring on your right thumb.

"Look, I'll keep it until you want to pierce your other ear. How about that?"

He had nodded, and both to change the topic and cheer him up, you had said:

"You know, my school has this incredible basketball program, and you haven't tried basketball yet, right?"

That's when everything started going south.

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

You didn't mind being small.

Sure, sometimes you wished you would be a bit taller, mostly because you couldn't afford to gain weight, as on your frame it would show immediately and your coach would double your drills, but you knew that your small height was what allowed you to be top girl. You could back tuck into next year any girl on your squad, and any boy on the gymnastics club. Your kneecaps had been stunted by tumbling, but you didn't mind.

Except when Kise joined the basketball team and suddenly every person you hung out with was way, way, wayyyyyy taller than you.

Even Momoi, who didn't even play basketball, was taller than you.

At least none of them were jerks about it. Most of the time.

"Come on, stop sulking!"

"I'm not sulking!"

Aomine was easily the worst offender. At least purple-haired guy (Murasakibara? was that his name?) wasn't really mean about it. Plus he towered over everyone so you never took it personally. Aomine however always seemed to have fun asking you how the snails were faring today, since you were so close to them. You had no idea how Momoi managed to put up with him 24/7. Though it was true that with his negative 20 IQ thing going on half the time, Aomine was mostly manageable. You’d offered to tutor him, and had been blown away by how many subjects he was failing.

“I thought Kise was bad at school,” you’d said, ignoring your best friend’s theatrical pout, “but you take the cake.”

“What cake?”

“Go back to sleep, Murasakibara.”

(You haven’t seen Kise smile like that in a while. You’re not sure Teikoku was a great place.)

So you hung out with the first-string after practice, head still pounding with the pyramid counts, thighs bruised by the bottom bases’ grips, your shoulder still smarting, pain lancing through your arm. You tried not to throw up the ice-cream you bought, and you turned your head when Momoi touched your arm.

“What do you think about this app? It could be useful.”

You shook your head, looking up to the pink-haired girl.

“Once, I’ve entered Kise’s data in it—”

“You what—”

“And it told me he was three months pregnant. So, those apps are weird. You’re better off tracking it manually on a calendar.”

(The truth was, you didn’t know. You hadn’t had your period yet. None of the girls on your squad had—except Sachiko, and you’d never seen her again after the day you’d heard her crying in the bathrooms).

Momoi smiled, before catching sight of Kuroko and launching herself onwards like a rocket, earning little more than a deadpan look, though you could see the fondness under it.

But truly, you didn't mind, because for the first time in virtually forever, Kise looked genuinely excited about his new hobby. You thought that this time he really found companionship and stimulation. You smiled back at him whenever he turned to you in the bleachers after a successful shot, marvelling at the way he seemed to light up the whole court as soon as he stepped on it. His happiness was your happiness. So you'd never shown defiance towards the basketball team. You really hadn't thought that one through.

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

You went shopping together because Kise had wanted a new phone and you were on your fourth store raid already. You didn't see anything wrong with his current phone, which still had on its back the Hello Kitty sticker you had given him when you entered middle school. Sure, it was peeling a little, but it was fine. Kise only asked for the phone's capacity and photographic quality each time, and off you were on your quest again. Munching on your fizzy drink's straw, you raised your head as he rushed towards you. Before you could ask him if he had finally found it, he slung one arm over your shoulders and told you to smile.

Heads bonking over the screen, you grinned at each other. You were both weak for selfies and your own phone didn't have any storage space left for them.

Kise made that one his lock screen picture, and turned fully to you.

"See, it takes pictures better than my eyes."

You had smiled, too, and you'd never questioned his enthusiasm over it.

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

Kise's modelling activities had several perks.

For one, you got to meet so many hot people it should have been illegal. You could also get reductions on self-care products, and you were too cute to be broke, so you accepted it without problems. You even got to meet (well, stare at from afar) the photographer of your favourite girl group. Half the pictures on his Instagram account were taken by you, and thank cheer practice for flexibility, because you had to contort like a circus artist to get the best angle each time.

However, his fangirls weren't one of them.

Even though your relationship was strictly platonic, you still got some really hurtful letters and even texts (how did they even get your number?), and after a while you simply blocked them out. You had lost count of all the people trying to get to Kise through you, using you as a means to an end, and you just tried to screen the people that had vile intentions.

Though you could still see how it weighed on your best friend. He was nice and bubbly with everyone, and even if you worried about the mental gymnastics he had to do, you knew he wouldn't turn into a people-pleaser. A few days ago, you had snapped at one of your squadmates who had called him a "two-faced asshole" after being (quite politely, might you add) rejected.

And across from you, he had looked glumly at his (fishless) bento, and you had asked him what was wrong.

"There's this girl that keeps following me," he had sighed. "I tried to let her down but she's incredibly annoying. And clingy," he had grimaced.

Vaguely, you'd remembered a brown-haired girl who was always lingering at the basketball gym's door when you came after cheer practice to go home with Kise.

"So she's bothering you. Want me to go talk to her?"

"No! No, it's fine."

You knew he couldn't be blunt because it would come across as rude and the rumours would kill him. Still, it made your stomach churn with anger.

When the girl had latched onto Haizaki, as you comforted Kise after his crushing loss, you thought that at least it was one less thorn in his side.

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

You had realised you were drifting apart at the end of your second year.

Cheer practice had been cancelled because your coach's kid was sick, and you were wandering aimlessly through the streets of the commercial district, half your mind on which high school you would have to go to.

And then you had crossed paths with Kise, who had looked like he was going in one of the glass-paned windows buildings, and you had stopped dead in your tracks. Not because he was where he wasn't supposed to be, but because he had seen you and smiled at you. You recognised that smile. It had the undercurrent of tension that was usually reserved for his fangirls, and it was directed at you.

"Shouldn't you be at practice?" you'd asked.

"Should I?"

That was how you'd known something was deeply wrong.

The basketball team wasn't exactly your friend group, since you hung out with the squad most of the time and without Kise, you didn't really have anything to say to them, except maybe for Momoi and Kuroko. And still you noticed how Aomine was nowhere to be seen, and even Midorima didn't bother with acknowledging you in the halls.

And worst of all, you'd watched Kise's eyes go back to being glazed over with boredom. Every time you asked him if he wanted to talk about it, and every time he reassured you, saying nothing was wrong.

Kise had never lied to you. He had always known all your problems and secrets, and you his.

Somehow, you felt guilty about what happened.

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

Teiko was not known for its leniency when it came to sports practice.

Still, it was you who’d foolishly risen to the bait of your squad captain, and here you were on a Friday evening, shrugging icy water off of you hoping for feeling to come back to your toes, when you could have been at home already soaking in a bubble bath.

One good thing: nothing hurt anymore, since your limbs had fallen asleep. You could still catch the last train, so you made it out quickly, grabbing your bag. You walked stiffly to the exit, unwittingly going next to the basketball gym, ruining all your efforts.

(You hadn’t taken the challenge to prove anything to that empty-brained tumbler. You knew it’d hold you back enough so you could miss Ryōta on the way home and pretend it was club stuff. You’d been avoiding him and pretending not to notice his hurt looks. You were unravelling.)

So, that day, walking past the gym, steeling yourself not to look inside, you heard those words.

“Next time we see each other, we’ll be opponents.”

You sped up, almost running to the bus stop, your ankle smarting again after your short run had warmed up your body, heart beating to the confusing tune of hurt and longing.

You weren’t sure you could handle three more years like this.

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

Sixteen and born to win, you hopped on the train right as the doors closed, slipping in without so much as a hair caught between the metal edges. Your nails flashed hot pink against the grey of your new uniform skirt, and your hair was tied neatly. You were ready to hit the mat before breakfast.

Of course, you dropped on a seat and immediately let your head fall against the window, catching up on your lost sleep.

Under your eyelids, you couldn’t stop your mind from flashing your phone’s black screen, Kise silent after you’d texted him you couldn’t walk to school with him because of club imperatives, your heart sinking a little in your chest. You couldn’t help but remember the knowing look Momoi had given you at graduation when you’d told her which high school you were going to. As if she were one to talk—you hadn’t made any comment when she’d said she would be going to Tōō! And anyway, it was either this or Shutoku, and you wouldn’t be caught dead on the same squad as your former cheer captain. That girl was going down this year or else.

High school was going to be a good time, you’d make sure of it. New place, new people new rules, new you.

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

When Kise Ryōta was five years old, he learnt that little girls could bend in half.

He saw one of them do it, in the gym where his oldest sister had left him while she took her dance classes on the upper floor.

She had bent so far that, for a second, he had been worried she would snap in two.

He would never forget that moment—the moment he discovered what extraordinary meant.

He would never forget any of the moments that came after, when you had told him your name and became his friend at a time when he was so lonely it hurt.

As you both grew up, he’d started to worry you would move on. Find someone better, someone more interesting. Someone truly gifted in something the way he wasn’t—copying is the lowest form of the wit, after all, or however the saying went.

Or maybe he would get bored of you. Get bored of seeing the same face day after day.

Unfortunately, as the years passed, he didn’t grow bored.

Kise discovered a new sentiment: frustration.

And you were painfully oblivious to it, wrapped up in your own worry.

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

First-aid classes with you were horrible for his blood pressure.

Sometimes, the instructor felt merciful and let you practise on mannequins. Other times, the elderly man fancied himself a hotshot cardiac surgeon or something and forced you to practise on live bodies. “A mannequin can’t prepare you for the feeling of ribs breaking under your hands,” he had said, dead serious, with a dozen teens looking uncomfortable as hell.

You insisted on signing up every year in order not to forget the manoeuvres. He knew where that came from, and sure, if he was to choke on a bone fish again or go into cardiac arrest from a bad collision, there’d better be someone who knew the Heimlich manoeuvre and CPR. But if you were the one doing it? He was going to choke anyway.

You hovering over him, eyes on his mouth, gaze focused and jaw set? Yeah, every session was torture and you didn’t even notice. Were you even his friend? Did you even care a little bit about his feelings? How could you not feel the way his skin burnt under your fingers when you pulled him into a practiced recovery position?

As he drifted away from his own teammates, from the new passion basketball had kindled in him, he decided against telling you the only thing keeping him coming to practice was the thought of walking home with you.

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

He didn’t have a clue most of the time.

Everything was fine, and then something switched. The day he started undressing you in his head—absent-mindedly, like it was nothing at all, like you weren’t his most precious friend, like he wasn’t unravelling the last thread of his reality—was the day he knew he was fucked six ways from Sunday. You were stuck in a push-and-pull with each other, and he didn’t know what to do.

It seemed Kise could not keep his friendships going smoothly.

You holding his hand or hugging him was never a problem before. He refused to spoil your relationship like with the other Miracles. On the other hand, throwing it all away was so tempting, the easy way out, burn all the bridges and pretend it never happened. If you had been someone else, he’d already have done it. But you were you. You were not some girl he could just toy with, speeding it up to get faster to the break-up.

On a good day, he would psych himself into trying to talk to you—and always failed miserably to follow through with his plan.

When you were younger, you’d hold sleepovers at his or your house, in the dark, by candlelight, giggling uncontrollably until his sisters or your parents came to scold you gently.

He appreciated candlelight even more now, some seven years later and several hours a day spent under the unforgiving blinding flash of a photographer’s camera. He liked the warm flickering glow of it, how the candle slowly died, and you’d agree on going to bed, but would end up talking again until either of you fell asleep. He liked catching glimpses of you in the dark, piecing you back together in his head, fragments of you in this soft glow haunting his dreams, and he'd wake up with strands of your hair in his dry mouth and his hands uncomfortably close to you and he'd go straight to the bathroom. Being overly enthusiastic at breakfast didn’t quite make up for it, unfortunately, and he’d pretend not to notice the question in your gaze.

At the height of summer, he gave up on faking indifference at the way your shorts rode up on your thighs, showing blue and purple bruises where you’d been gripped countless times, propped up by bottom bases for a pyramid. Lying on the grass, he tried to focus on your words despite the blood rushing in his ears, thinking about how much he wanted to make those bruises his doing, how he wanted to—

He came later and later when you were having sleepovers, photoshoots and practice eating away at his time, smiling sheepishly to your father working in the living-room, you were already half-asleep on your covers spread on the floor, near your open window, aquarium glowing softly purple, pump-pump-pumping water. Your eyes two bright spots on your lit-up face when you pulled gently on his sleeve to make him lie down next to you. He complied every time, exhaustion making his limbs weak. He tried to sleep and not think about how hard it was to not touch.

School was no respite for him. When he managed to hide from his fangirls, you spent the break stowed away, pressed against each other like when you were little, and life was a river under a rainbow. You leaned on his shoulder in the hallway, staying still until the motion-activated lights turned off.

You would both pretend everything was fine, and that this wasn’t the worst time of your lives.

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

You looked at him but you failed to notice how he looked at you—how his gaze followed the hair catching at your mouth whenever you landed a tumbling pass, ponytail flipping, how he trailed close when you walked on railings by the road on the way home, how his breath hitched when you dismounted with an aerial walkover as if a car didn’t zoom past you at one hundred miles per hour, looking back at him and shooting him a cocky grin, how you were always confident and invested in a single thing, laser-focused on your passion.

The hardest thing in cheer was not the tumbling passes, or the pyramids, or the hours or the gruelling practices, the injuries or the rivalries. It was the smile hiding the lactic acid building in the muscles, it was the spring in the step on hardwood floor, the unfailing cheerfulness.

“Why do you like it?”

He’d asked one day, at the end of cheer practice, which for once had overrun basketball—they needed to prepare for regionals, especially with Shutoku’s squad firing on all cylinders on the circuit this year.

“I’m part of something,” you’d said. “I’m part of something and I don’t have to look at myself.”

After a moment, you’d asked:

“Why do you like basketball?”

He’d paused to really think about it for a minute, and realized he’d finally settled on an answer long ago. He just had to acknowledge it.

“I’m part of a team.”

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

Highschool saw you fall into a tentative, sincere routine that was an attempt at going back to the way things were.

(When will you both admit things changed? You were waiting to see who would break first.)

You walked to and from school together. Ease came back as you stopped awkwardly greeting each other, picking up the conversation where you’d last left off without missing a beat, like before. It felt safe, comfortable.

You came to Kise’s games with a spring in your step, happy to see him interact with his teammates, happy to see that Kaijō was free of the currents of tension that had plagued Teikō’s last days.

You went back to your favourite hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, sharing food the way you used to. Everything clicked gradually back into place like synchronizing heartbeats, and even though you knew things would never be the same again, you did your best to make up for what happened, and he did too.

Maybe this was your way of apologizing. Maybe it was his, too.

“I think I need a new lock screen photo,” Kise said one day, gauging your reaction.

“Yeah, I think you do,” you answered.

You grinned at each other.

Things always looked up eventually.

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

One second you were soaring in the air under the blinding lights of the stadium, so high, high, high up you could have sworn you touched the rafters, your whole body tight and arms crossed on your chest as you completed your flip, heart rattling against your ribcage partly because of the booming music and partly because of the sheer excitement you’d been feeling.

The next second, your head was meeting the unforgiving, hardwood, polished floor of the court, your squadmates desperately scrambling for you, painted nails scratching at your arms, thighs and waist, clutching and leaving crescent-shaped indents in your skin, and as you were propped upright, you felt sticky hot blood coating your forehead and hairline, and you blurted out: "Oh, that's not good."

The good side of things was that you didn't really feel the pain, since you were living an out-of-body experience. It had started when your squad got on the court, as always, your body slipping out of your mind's control to execute the choreography, the tumbling passes and pyramid beats, and even your injury couldn't jolt you back to reality. Adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, and the hallway was swirling a little. One of your squadmates was standing guard near the bench you sat on, trying not to lie down, and your coach had called an ambulance. You had started debating internally whether falling asleep and risking not waking up was worth it or not when you caught a blue and yellow blur at the periphery of your vision.

A split second later, two strong, callused hands softly cupped your cheeks and you tried to focus on the two worried brown eyes staring at you. It took three long seconds for you to piece it back together—pretty in blue, perfectly winged eyeliner and the hand that held your own when he dragged you from mall to mall—your best friend was here.

You smiled brightly, though you weren't sure if your numbing body had followed the motion since Kise's brows furrowed further.

"Ryōta!" you chimed, your own voice sounding far away. "Is the match over?"

"It's still half-time. They're cleaning your blood off the court."

"Oh," you muttered, nodding in understanding, the movement sending pain flaring through your nerves, kind of bumped out Kise hadn't won yet, because then you would have headed out for celebratory drinks, and you knew you had to talk to him about something, but what? You were sure you had planned to talk…

You heard Kise calling out your name, and the edge of panic to his voice made you realise you’d been zoning out.

"Are you okay?"

As you tried to focus on his gaze and the feeling of his fingers on your cheeks, you caught sight of your squadmate beckoning your coach over.

"I'm perfectly fine," you beamed as you started falling over, the siren of the ambulance blaring painfully in your brain even from behind the stadium glass gates, blue and red lights flashing on your face, and your vision went black.

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

Kise could barely focus on the rest of the match.

Of course, it didn't mean he threw it. He blazed across the court in his usual, miracle-curb-stomping-mortals fashion, but he was off, half out of it. Even though the team they were facing was nowhere near a threat to Kaijō, he knew Kasamatsu wouldn't have hesitated to drop kick him into next year were it not for the too-shiny spot near the half court line where you bled out. Okay, maybe there was no need to be dramatic about it but you'd been whisked away by an ambulance and even the cheer coach, who didn't blink at splintered shins and broken arms, had looked worried. Head injuries could be lethal in this sport. You weren't paralyzed or anything, but he remembered the dried blood near your hairline and your unfocused eyes, glazed over with pain and what was probably the beginning of a concussion.

After the game, he put his clothes back on in autopilot mode, wordlessly letting know Coach Takeuchi he was going straight to the hospital and not getting on the team bus.

The receptionist looked at him with downright unwarranted distrust when he told her he was waiting for you, and that you’d suffered a head injury.

“Let me guess: she fell down the stairs?”

Kise didn’t even know what to say to that, mind coming up blank with worry, and so simply went to sit between a sniffling child and a man who seemed fine despite the axe planted in his head. He belatedly remembered to text his manager he was not coming to the shoot after all.

His chest deflated with relief when he saw your coach step back out in the waiting room, with you right behind her, bandages hiding under your bangs. He sprung up, ignoring the eyes of the receptionist burning holes in his back, and waited until your coach had left you near your house before talking to you. The blood trickling from your forehead where you’d split skin had been spectacular but harmless, as you’d only suffered from a little head trauma. The hematoma would disappear in three weeks all on its own. His throat felt choked up with relief and all the unnamed emotions he’d let simmer during all those years.

You arrived in front of your apartment complex, street lights falling on the street walk, splashes of light on the dark pavement. Silence blanketed you while you were trying to muster the courage to talk.

At the same time, you both said:

“I’m sorry.”

Kise blinked. Sorry? About what? What even—why couldn’t he even apologize properly—

“I wasn’t there for you,” you said, feeling your eyelashes brush against your bandages. “I should have tried to help you instead of watching it happen.”

“What—no, no! I—”

Come on, get your shit together, Ryōta.

“I was avoiding you,” he finally admitted. “Because… I can’t be friends with you anymore.”

You were stunned into silence, coming to a halt before the steps leading to the entrance of the apartment complex. For a second, you convinced yourself you’d misheard. That you’d actually suffered a concussion and were hallucinating this whole part. That this wasn’t happening.

“It’s not because I don’t like you!” He scrambled to save the throw, trying to get all his thoughts out faster upon seeing the way you’d reacted. “It’s because I like you…too much.”

Kise bit on his tongue. He was messing this up. He was messing this up so badly. He felt so stupid, where was his casual flirtiness when he needed it, you would never talk to him again—

You silently hugged him tight, something you hadn’t done since middle school, and the air flew out of his lungs like you’d just punched him.

Humiliating tears pricked his eyes and he closed his arms around you, burying his nose in your hair, your game-day shampoo’s scent wrapping around him, and he found the strength to say, so quietly you could have not heard it: “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Stupid, stupid you to worry about him when you literally split your head open. But it was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t need to be dragged to practice, you’d timidly gone back to hanging out together more often, and he found that he actually liked those Kaijō lunatics (though he still did not appreciate Kasamatsu’s cage fight skills).

“See you tomorrow?”

Kise reluctantly let you out of his arms, and nodded, heart swelling with relief. Relief, relief, relief. You still wanted to talk to him.

“See you tomorrow.”

You turned, but halted, one foot still lifted over the first step. Did your heart hurt? Did he need to call your parents? His hand went fishing for his phone in his pocket, set on dialling your mom’s number, but he went still when you turned again and took one step closer to him, your hand gripping his jacket, and he mindlessly bent down, eyes widening as you got closer and closer until your lips pressed against his.

Every coherent thought disappeared as his brain turned to mush, and he let out an undignified noise as your tongue anxiously, timidly slipped into his mouth. He’d become the embodiment of non-resistance, hands cupping your face as a wave of heat washed over him.

Then, as quickly as you’d started, you stopped and took a step back.

Kise distantly thought he was probably as red as Kagami’s hair, brain rewiring to produce full sentences again.

“See you tomorrow,” you said, with finality this time, smiling softly.

He nodded, watching you go inside.

He’d see you tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#knb #knb x reader #kuroko no basket #kuroko's basketball #kuroko no basuke #kise x reader #kise ryota x reader #kise ryota #gom #knb imagines #knb scenarios #knb one-shot #reader scenario #knb fanfic #plot bunny status: out of my head and that's all that matters

88 notes · View notes

babiebom · 9 months

Text

When You Fall (III)

A/N: I have made a masterlist for sdv and in general! I don’t have many things to read yet but hopefully you want to stick around for when I do!

Tw: anxiety, mentions of death

Wc:2.8k

Previous Next Masterlist

‘To our valued JojaMart customers:

Our team members have removed the landslide caused by our drilling operation near the mountain lake. I’d like to remind you that our drilling operation is entirely legal (pursuant to init. L61091, JojaCo Amendment). Responsible stewardship of the local environment is our top priority!

We apologize for any inconvenience this accident may have caused.

As always, we value your continued support and patronage!

-Morris,

Joja Customer Satisfaction Representative.’

Your frown increasingly deepens as you read the letter sent by Joja. Landslide? Mountain lake? You hadn’t left your farm in days to even know that there even was a landslide. After putting the letter away, you spend your time tending to your crops. It had been a week since you had planted your parsnips, and though you were new at this, looking up the time it takes for them to grow, you think they would be ready at the end of the month, at least you hoped they would be ready to harvest then. You only had so much savings to get you through learning how to farm.

You had decided that clearing out the rest of the land would have to wait until the winter months, you had no time to learn to farm, fish, clear the farm, and now you had an entirely new place to explore when you hadn’t even ventured out past your own farm very much. You had still only been to the beach and the town, which is virtually nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Sighing, you kick at the dirt next to the patch of parsnips you had growing, having only 15 seeds and therefore only 15 things to sell meant that you wouldn't last long at all. You knew you had to go into town at some point, and you had enough money to at least buy enough seeds so you could make money. You just wished that interacting with people wasn't something that you dreaded, it would make it a lot easier if you were at least the same level of social that you were before.

It was difficult getting yourself to even the edge of your farm, and the second you crossed the gate your body began to feel as if it were going to cave into itself. You dragged yourself towards the town, the travel time almost doubling from your hesitation.

The sun beamed down brightly onto the pavement, reflecting straight into your eyes. You groan as you continue on your trek into town, the sight of people making your heart sink. Hoping you would avoid everyone was dumb, but that hope didn't need to be crushed that easily.

The closer you got, you could tell that it was just the mayor, and who you think is Maru going into the clinic. Quickening your pace, you hope he leaves you be, but knowing how old people are you doubt that will be the case. He stands in front of the clinic, off towards the side just watching what you can only tell to be absolutely nothing. Maybe he was bird watching…?

Stopping just on the edge of where he's standing, you try to think of a way to avoid him, but going all the way around, in a path that you weren't even sure existed was more trouble than what you hope is a short conversation.

"Farmer!" His voice rings out before you can even get yourself moving again. Letting your eyes focus on him, you can see that he's looking at you curiously, as if you were someone to be studied. You force a smile to your face, walking towards him with a step so preppy you can tell that you look goofy.

"Mayor," you approach him with a hand out, "how are you?"

"Good! Good. Say, could you come with me for a moment?"

You stare at him, wanting to drop your jaw in how unlucky you were. "Um, I was just....going to…sure." You give up rather quickly, following the man on a path behind the clinic.

You want to throw yourself on the ground and cry at the thought of going on an extra errand, but the thought is put on a backburner as the two of you approach a worn down building.

Leaves and vines covered the windows, looping and winding in and out between loose boards and holes in the roof and walls. A large clock sat completely still, not ticking or chiming as the hands were stuck in place, reading its last working moment, time frozen for it. Chipped paint, faintly reading 'Pelican Town' makes your heart clench for the old building. It was if the town forgot about it, left it behind for nature to reclaim it. Just as you left your grandfather behind when you got too old to think coming on a farm was any fun. Just how he and your parents left you behind, stuck thinking about the past with no one there to pick up the pieces to let you still function in the future.

"What an eyesore…" Lewis looks at the old building with a look you take as disgust. You choose not to respond as the old man turns and looks at you. "This is the Pelican Town Community Center…or what's left of it anyway."

You nod, letting your eyes run over the building, it didn't look as if it had been used anytime in recent years. Or even in the last decade. You couldn't remember it being used when you were a child either. But then again, you stayed on the farm mostly. Lewis turns and looks back at the building, his face morphing into that of sadness.

"It used to be the pride and joy of the town… always bustling with activity. Now…just look at it. It's shameful."

You fight to control your facial expression, annoyance blanketing over your form. Isn't it his job to take care of the building? Surely he could've hired someone to patch it up?

"These days, the young folk would rather sit in front of the TV than engage with the community." Again, you think, your job. It was weird he was blaming the younger generations for him not keeping up with this building.

"But listen to me, I sound like an old fool." You crack a smile, letting a laugh slip through momentarily. He looks at you in confusion, so you shake your head and motion for him to continue on his journey to the past.

"Joja corporation has been hounding me to sell them the land so they can turn it into a warehouse…Pelican Town could use the money, but there's something stopping me from selling it…I guess old timers like me get attached to relics of the past…ah well. If anyone buys a joja co membership I'm just gonna go ahead and sell it."

He sighs as if he was really torn up about the thought of having to sell the land. Again, you have to fight to control your facial expression. He sounded more convinced that Pelican Town needed the money from selling than him being attached to the building at all. And if he was so attached why'd he let it get run down. What all was there to do in a small town like this?

"Here, let's go inside." He moves and unlocks the doors, pushing them in causing a poof of dust to fall down like a waterfall on top of your heads. You cough loudly, waving a hand in front of your face. Lewis doubles down in front of you, launched into a coughing fit from the dust. You frown, swallowing a couple times to clear your throat and sinuses. You feel your throat burn as you swallow, drier than you had ever felt it before…well not drier than when you have a sore throat but y'know.

When the two of you are done coughing, you take a moment to look around. The inside of the Community Center was just like the outside. Taken over by nature. It was sort of beautiful to know that even when humans are long gone, Mother Earth would take everything back. But at the same time, your heart breaks again for the old building. It was obvious no one had cared for it for years.

You could tell that the building used to be beautiful, a dusty old rug laid sort of curled up, wrinkled. The layer of dust on it covered whatever color it was supposed to be. Above that was a brick fireplace, the bricks out of place, but somehow not caved in, a plaque on top of it with dusty imprints where you guess stars are supposed to be, there are six. You wonder where the stars went, but assume someone must've stolen them. What could they have been representing, you do not know.

Lewis looks confused as he looks around, "hmm? What's this? I guess Vincent and Jas must've been playing in here". He stares at a small hut in the furthest left corner. You stare at it for a second, a weird feeling wiggling down your spine.

Lewis makes a sound from his throat, attracting your attention. "This place is even more dilapidated than I remember."

A green thing appears behind him, causing you to jump back. It looks unlike anything you've ever seen, sort of like a little ball, if it had tiny little arms and legs, and was less round and more like dough that has been sitting on a board for a while, the bottom slightly flat.

"What?" Lewis turns and looks to where your eyes were glued. The second he turns around, the green thing disappears, causing you to jump again and you make a noise of confusion. "What's the matter? Are you ill?"

It's like it's impossible for you to respond, confusion taking over your senses. Instead of saying anything, you rush towards where the thing had disappeared from. What the hell…?

"You saw something? Hmm…I wouldn't be surprised if this place was full of rats." He lets out a chuckle. All you can get out is a "no". It quite obviously wasn't a rat. Unless it was green, maybe the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles got their hands on one…? No! Whatever it was was absolutely no anything you had ever seen before.

Lewis was now in front of you, but you looked through him. What in the world was happening? Were you going crazy?

Another one of those things popped up behind Lewis again, and this time you believe it has to be playing tricks on you. Or maybe you were losing it and having hallucinations. Terrified, and a bit annoyed, you yelp loudly. Jumping backwards. The thing didn't look dangerous, but babies aren't dangerous and they could easily give you a black eye without trying. Lewis turns again to look at what you were staring at, but again the thing disappears just as soon as he faces it. "What?" You speak aloud, confused.

"You're worrying me, Farmer…" Lewis lets out an awkward chuckle, so you look at him assuming from the slightly afraid look on his face that you had to look deranged. Maybe he thought you were losing it too, you had just lost your family. You would think you're crazy too.

"Look, I think I'm going to head home. I need some lunch."

Lunch…? Just how long have you been here? You literally just walked in. Checking your watch you see that it is in fact past lunch time. You had been in there staring for like an hour and a half? Maybe that's why he thinks you're crazy.

Lewis starts towards the door, then turns and looks at you, he hesitates for a moment before speaking.

"Hey. I'll keep this place unlocked from now on ..maybe you can help catch that rat if you have some extra time. And maybe you can stop by the Saloon tonight. Meet some people."

He leaves you alone in the building. Strange…I'll have to come back and explore this building further. You think, starting for the door. Just before you stop and turn around or maybe I can explore now.

Pierre's closed probably later than it is right now, he had to be open for a little while longer at least, and the walk was less than five minutes to get up here. You had time…right?

You go further inside, passing the small hut and into the hallway. There's two doors, and then the hallway progresses. With fear in your heart, you choose to go into the door on your right and are met with an empty pantry, the shelves broken and splintered across the floor.

Finding nothing, you return back into the hallway, moving to the door on your left. This time the room is bigger. The purple carpet is torn up as well as the blue wallpaper. The room is dark and empty except for an empty bookshelf, some piles of wood and a single glowing golden scroll in the middle of the floor.

Stepping into the room you get the same shiver that you got when you had first seen the little thing and the hut, but this time it's stronger, as if it were pulling your spine towards the scroll. The light was bright as you neared, yet somehow it didn't burn your eyes. It felt more…comforting than scary, but that didn't stop your heart from beating erratically in your chest.

Picking it up, you can't read anything on the parchment. It looks like drawings, and even then you can't tell what they're supposed to be. Putting the scroll back down where it was, you leave the room deciding that exploring the rest of the place could wait for another day. Looking at your watch you realize that you had stayed another hour in the building.

Time had gone by way too fast, and you wonder just how long you would've been staring at that golden parchment had you not remembered that you needed to leave to get to the store.

The sun was still bright when you left though you could tell that it would begin to go down soon, so you ran hoping that the store wasn't closed. Luckily you made it to the store in time, almost falling into the doors in your rush. The store was basically empty, except for a man at the counter.

It was smaller than you thought it would be. Awkwardly you send a smile to the man and slink into the aisles, looking for any seeds you could buy. Luckily, finding them wasn't hard, especially with a great big SEEDS sign marking where they are. You grab a bunch of each kind, reading their descriptions and grow time as you walk up to the counter.

"Hey, it's Y/N, the new farmer! I'm Pierre, owner of this general store. If you're looking for seeds, my shop is the place to go!" He looks down at your bunch of seeds happily and you almost immediately decide that you dislike the man. Who goes into an advertisement when introducing yourself?

"I'll also buy produce from you for a good price! A little agriculture could really inject new life into the local economy."

You nod and watch him scan your seeds silently, not really in the mood to talk. Your stomach growls loudly, and you frown looking away cringing slightly. Pierre laughs as he bags your seeds. "Looks like someone's hungry! Are you gonna stop by the Saloon later?"

You swallow and nod, rummaging around in your wallet for money. You didn't want to make the situation awkward, but you also couldn't be arsed about making an effort especially when you've already decided you disliked the man. Taking your bag, you call out a goodbye as you rush from the building. With what little sunlight you had left you could use it to work before you showed the town your face.

Working took the rest of the day, by the time you were planting your new seeds the sun had long been down. Your stomach was growling constantly and louder every passing second. Unfortunately you had run out of little things you could eat, and you don't think if you even had the snacks that they would give your stomach what it wants.

As you approach the Saloon, you're happy you decided to go here on a weekday, though it would probably be just as busy as it'll ever be because what else is there to do in a small town? The second you open the door, you're hit with the smell of food and bright lights.

It makes you nauseous and doubly hungry. Your eyes focus on the smiling face of a man behind the counter. The sight of him fills you with warmth and comfort, almost instantly calming your nerves. Well calming them mostly.

"Well hello there! I'm Gus, chef and owner of the Stardrop Saloon."

108 notes · View notes

onboardsorasora · 10 months

Text

Not sure if I like it, but this not about me😅 so here we are Tennis AU;

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

Part 4!

Daniel collapsed onto his back, star fishing on the court in the shade. His white shorts rode up to show off his pulsing sweaty thighs. His leg hairs were pressed down and slick. His tattoos glistened.

He'd been running drills for too long, if you asked Micheal (don't), he'd say it wasn't long enough. They'd been at it all day, running through their program steadily.

His phone went off in his duffle.

"Is that the power rangers theme?" Micheal paused and raised a brow.

"Kim Possible actually, rude." Daniel pointed his racquet limply in Michael's general direction.

"They're the same tone." Blake called out, chin tucked to his chest, typing away on his phone in the shade. "Doesn't explain why you've gone back to it though."

"It's Max's tone." Daniel was grinning, all teeth. "When my phone's like off silent anyway."

"We allow you on one extracurricular and you come back with a boyfriend." Michael teased throwing a tennis ball at him.

"hey!" Daniel cried out and shifted his hips, turning onto his side to avoid it. Micheal threw another and Daniel lifted the racquet to lob it away with a cheer.

The phone went off again and Daniel scrambled up to get it but was blocked by a new barrage from Michael. He ran off laughingly in the opposite direction to 'safety'.

"Nope." Micheal popped the p with his lips, a cheeky grin present. "We're not done yet, you can check your sexts after."

Daniel whined, pouting his lips and batting his eyes at his trainer.

"Save the pretty eyes for Max, now on mark let's go asshole."

"you can send him a pic of your legs after." Blake looked up quickly with a smirk before going back to his phone.

Daniel grumbled but prepared himself for work anyway. The quicker he got through this, the quicker he could see what Max sent him.

They'd been texting since the night of the beach party. They had spent the rest of the afternoon together, chatting away at a table mostly in their own world.

Max had introduced him to a few people on his team and a couple other drivers who had passed through. It was a great time getting to know Max the man outside of the paddock and around people he felt comfortable with. He was very funny, he made Daniel laugh breathlessly the whole afternoon. They bantered relentlessly, creating and extending jokes about everything.

That was two days ago, Max had escorted him back to the flat he and his team were renting and they exchanged numbers. Daniel kissed him at the door and ducked into the apartment quickly to hide his blush. Not the suavest move, but Max made his brain stop working.

Since then, they've been texting when Daniel wasn't getting his ass kicked by his best friend slash trainer. Max appreciated his training camp and he tried to avoid texting during the day knowing Daniel was busy and needed to focus.

They had dinner plans tonight, so realistically the texts could have been confirming their date or rain checking.

That thought stopped him suddenly and he missed an easy volley.

"Focus DR!" Micheal called, calmly sending over another ball. Daniel shook his head physically to dislodge the thought. He'd think of it all after.

They went on until he was gasping for breath, only stopping after Daniel declared a strike, demanded a union and then plopped himself bodily beside Blake who grimaced. He barely dodged the impending wet hug.

Daniel grasped for his phone, swiping away all the calendar notifications and social media messages to find the one he wanted. He was single minded, completely ignoring the freeze pop electrolyte drink that Michael chucked at him. It bounced off of his sweaty face.

He opened the text thread from Max;

Max V 🥵

Are we still on for 8?

Oops, sorry. Tell Michael not to be mean.

"Max says not to be mean to me Mikey, he's a world champ, you should listen to him." Daniel called out, grinning in delight. Micheal snorted a laugh. Daniel texted back

8 is still good for me. Mike's being evil as always. I swear he gets off on suffering😢

Daniel tore open the freeze pop with his teeth and sucked greedily at the cold drink. His phone went off again in his hands.

Max V 🥵

Poor thing. I'll have to take care of you then, I'll pick you up at 7:30.

Daniel tried to ignore the flutter in his chest at the thought of Max taking care of him.

Gonna show me a good time? 👀

Max V 🥵

Do you want to sleep over?

Daniel barely managed to keep from choking, the empty freeze pop plastic feel out of his mouth. He looked around swiftly and shifted in his seat, suddenly full of energy. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest now, a thrumming in his veins that wasn't there before.

He tilted his phone away from Blake's potential gaze, completely regretting sitting so close now. He bit his lip, unable to pinch his grin.

I'd love to.

#tennis!dan #maxiel #danny ric #dr3 #max/daniel #tennis player!dan #drabble practice #au drabble #drabble #procrastination drabble

63 notes · View notes

rwby-encrusted-blog · 1 year

Note

Ok so I learned on a show that dolphins are basically dicks and bully other fishes. My question is did Jaune ever have a problem with them?

INSPIRATION HAS STRUCK! (and I also did a post about that)

Jaune is out in Vale with Ciel. Their having a nice time until ...

???: WELL WELL WELL! If it isn't our favorite little Sand-Shark!

Jaune: Oh God.

Twelve imposing figures of Several Dolphin Faunus, the leader seemingly an Orca, Stand behind our lovely set of Marine Faunus.

Ciel: Jaune, are you alright? Who are these People?

Jaune: Ugh, a soccer team from Home. A bunch of jerks. The big guy's name Orkinus Salaco.

Orkinus: Aw, C'mon Jauney! It's been, what, A year and a Half!

Orkinus: And You ain't got your Sisters to protect you now!

Ciel: Excuse me, I am Ciel Soleil, Jaune's romantic Partner, And I would appreciate us if you left alone. Any quarrels you have with him, kindly Stuff up your ass until a later date.

Orkinus: Oh, some mighty big words from someone so small. You look and smell like an Atlesian.

Ciel: I am. What about it?

Jaune: Ciel, Honey, let's just leave! They'll get bored if we ignore them!

Orkinus: Maybe you should listen to your waste of space Boy-Toy. You Sky-City Pricks only pick up Faunus for social points.

Ciel: ... Excuse me?

Jaune: Oh You Shouldn't have said that.

Ciel: You realize that there are Faunus in Atlas, yes? That I'm one?

Orkinus: Oh really? What kind?

Ciel: Fittingly to my name, a Seal.

Jaune: Orkinus, really, I suggest you leave!

Orkinus: Can it Janet! Alrighty then! You must be pretty Stupid to not realize how fights between Orcas and Seals go in the wild! *He flicks Her beret off of her head.*

Jaune: ... Orkinus?

Orkinus: What daffodil!

Jaune: If you were a nicer person I'd say I'm sorry for whats about to happen.

Ciel picked her hat off the ground, dusting it off gently, and returning it to it's place on her head as she began removing her gloves.

Ciel: Before I do what I plan on doing, I will tell you your mistakes.

Ciel: One. You Disrupted my schedule.

Ciel: Two. You insulted My Boyfriend and I.

Ciel: Three. You've forgotten we aren't in Nature.

Ciel slashed her claws against his face, Furred arms and partially webbed fingers on full display. A Rocket Locker slammed into the ground between Her and the Prick. She pulled out her weapon, a large Flame thrower-esque contraption, with several moderately sized Dust containers of various colors.

Setting a gauge to Gravity dust, a dark cloud of weightless vapor pooling around the bully, causing him to float.

Spinning, Ciel Switched the Weapon into a Hammer form, knocking Orkinus into a build across the street. It collapsed into a Full Arm gauntlet with a nasty looking Drill on the end, Revving it to intimidate the remaining jerks.

Ciel: His fourth and Final mistake was deciding not to run!

Ciel: Don't Make the Same Mistake.

The Remaining Dolphins ran like their live depended on it.

Jaune: Well. Now we have Paperwork to fill out as for why the Locker was launched.

Ciel: I'm well aware. You'll help me won't you~

Jaune: Yeah. Of course I will.

Orcas also fuck with Seals and Sea Lions, and are dolphins despite the name "Killer Whale."

I'm glad I Wrote (Sh)Arc en Seal before this. Ciel is also a Non-Character, and therefore free real estate.

#rwby #jaune arc #ciel soleil #arc en ciel #shark!faunus jaune #seal!faunus ciel #asks and answers #rwby shitpost #also yes the Bullies are a Dndaddies reference #paybackcity1

133 notes · View notes

arisunakayama · 2 years

Text

Pandora’s Box

Agency Founder!Reader Meeting the Main Three + 2BDamned

May be a little long, sorry there’s a lot for reader considering they are in the place of my OC. So instead if your name being “Pandora” you’ll have it as your Alias while keeping (Y/n) as well. Reader will have gender neutral pronouns, but still will be fem presenting.

Before meeting the main four along with building your own agency you used to work at the AAHW as a drill instructor. And a really good and brutal one at that.

This was also before the AAHW had even decided to clone soldats. Every month you’d rotate about a platoon worth of newer grunts that had been cloned, and turn them into the Soldats you see in the MadCom series or Project Nexus.

Those who failed the requirements of becoming a soldat would either become the regular agents, or if they failed really bad, they’d become a janitor or whatever the agency does with them. You honestly couldn’t care less about them. In this world, it’s either you kill someone, or you end up being a bandit’s next meal.

You had a knack for drilling them deep into the ground with learning the basics of shooting, handling, cleaning, disassemble and reassemble their weapons along with moving tactically and reading each other efficiently. After that, you’d move onto the next rotation. Repeating the same thing over and over again. Until you quit that was.

The reason why you quit was because of the really horrid pay the agency would give you for producing high functioning and dangerous soldats. That and the sexual harassment you’d constantly face. Unlucky for them, you’d make an example out of them. Though it seems that some of the grunts in that god awful agency wouldn’t learn.

So as a big fuck you, you left the AAHW and created a new one with the soldats you knew thought about going AWOL. You were just that push. Of course you’d have them dress differently, they were their own people now that they were gone from the place they were created from. Still it you could tell that the GO4s had a harder time adjusting considering they would just stare at you and wait for your orders of a new job that was given to you. But hey, they made great mercenaries for your company anyways. So why not put it to use?

Though this one grunt, Charlie is what they called themselves, seemed to have a knack a cyber security and attacks. So you ended up making them your agency’s CyberSecurity and Hacker. You two ended up bonding pretty well actually

Though your company ended growing more than you expected with people who were out on the streets struggling willing to do anything. Plus they heard that your agency pays well too along with housing and feeding them. They heard about the job openings of your newly formed agency and took the risk. Now you and the GO4s act as Drill Instuctors for the new recruits who come in before sending them off to their first job. Of course there’d be some that don’t make it back, but that was also why you sent them in teams.

There’d be times you’d take in the bigger fish yourself considering your skill was much more honed than the others. You didn’t want to put your own lower enlisted mercs through that anyways. Though you’d take in the ones who you knew were able to handle it.

There was a time out of pure boredom you decided to open up a nightclub, called “Eden’s Gate” to your surprise it ended up doing well. But that’s for something later.

Your agency ended up growing bigger than you expected to where your agency, which was now called Pandora’s Box, ended up having to expand to different parts of the city. Of course you had the trusted GO4s run those parts of the agency. Though for extra precautions, you had Charlie keep an eye on them.

You sat in your office, filling out paperwork for one of the mercenaries who had finished their job and was now having some time to recover considering how wounded they were coming back. As an extra, you ended up paying them a little more along with covering their medical expenses. You sighed, leaning back into your chair before hearing the familiar tune that would play whenever Charlie would call you. It cane from your earpiece.

They explain to you that someone was here to see you. Of course, you were confused. You hadn’t schedule a meeting with someone. Grabbing your gun that rested on top of your desk and putting it into the holster that was on your hip, you go down to the lobby of you HQ only to be faced with the one and only 2BDamned

{2BDAMNED}

2BDamned would probably be the one who would’ve caught wind of you first before the other three. He had heard of the AAHW soldats were becoming more sloppy than the usual trouble they used to be. Though he just chalked it up to all that cloning the AAHW would do. Deimos had mentioned about the cloning process not being perfect so there’d be things the next gen wouldn’t have that the previous one did. But right now he was focused on another thing.

He had heard of a new agency coming up and thriving really well. A little too well to where they had to expand to different parts of the Nexus city. Apparently, its name was Pandora’s Box. But that wasn’t what caught his interest, if anything it was that your agency was rapidly growing that was what caught his interest.

He would to attempt pull up information on your agency, let along you, only to find out that your information was heavily secured. Of course, he’d have Deimos decrypt it. Though Deimos was pretty damn frustrated with how complicated the encryption was, he was able get it through in the end.

His interest in you would peak even high after reading what information he had gotten on you. Apparently you had used to work at the AAHW as a Drill Instructor for the Soldats. And a pretty harsh one too at that. He watched the videos that were put up from the security cams from the AAHW, watching you smother a soldat’s face into the ground with your boot after he had said something snarky about you. Like you said, you’d make an example out of him.

Other videos would include your marksmanship and how agile you were. It almost rivaled to Hank’s. Though your strength on the other hand, Hank easily outshines you on that. But you had your technique to make up for that, seeing as you had brought a G0L3M onto their knees. 2B would also read the reports of several soldats going AWOL as soon as you left. Ones that were on the watchlist of the AAHW. Apparently they had all left with you. And considering that you left, he had found the reason to why the quality in the soldats in the AAHW had declined.

He made it his priority to seek you out, it’d probably be best their best interest to have someone like you to become an ally to the Anti-AAHW. Let alone help snuff out the AAHW. He told the main three that he would be out in a couple of days. Sanford was the only one to have questioned him, only to be told that it would be something that would help them out in the long run.

Now this is where you are standing right in front of him, arms crossed as you look at him with your guard up. Of course the other mercenaries were out in the lobby, watching you two making sure nothing ends up going haywire while doing what they were doing before 2B had entered into the HQ building.

“I assume you must be who they, Pandora?” His red goggles shining in the light as his voice was lightly muffled from his mask. 2B looks up from his holopad and straight into yours.

“Your assumptions would be correct, Mr. 2BDamned… May I ask, of all other people, why you are here?” You let out long exhale through your nostril. It was obvious you were careful around this man, considering he was also working with that Hank guy and his friends. Or could you even call them that?

“I’d like to talk to you about a possible partnership with the Anti-AAHW” That was what had peaked your interest along with the others who were inside the room at the time. You raise your eyebrow, the corner of your lips cocked upwards giving 2B a crooked smile.

“I’m listening…”

From there the two of you would talk about your agencies’ partnership, what the two of you would be giving to each other and what you’d be receiving back.

2BDamned thought of you as someone who was serious and cooperative. Let alone professional enough to where he finds you pleasant to work with and be around. Unlike the other three. Aside from Sanford, but even he sometimes had his moments.

2B would give you a couple of jobs, ones where you knew that you only had to do it. He’d pay of course, let alone exchange enough info with you for you to carry out and complete it. Anything to get whatever he needed you to do. He also made sure to guarantee that he would have tour back as long as you have theirs.

In exchange, you carried out the job and shipped weapon crates to them, provided extra mercenaries and had Charlie given them back info on whatever place they needed to be scouted.

2BDamned did think about when the other three may have to meet you soon. And honestly, he wondered how fast you and the others would clear. Though considering Hank doesn’t like to work with people, it may take a minute… At least for him anyways. Too bad, he needed to suck it up anyways.

{HANK J. WIMBLETON}

Hank had met you when 2B had set him up with a partner, despite him knowing how he hates working with people. Let alone random strangers. He tolerated the other two, but still prefers going on solos. He didn’t really talk to you, only staring at you through his red goggles before giving an irritated grunt.

2BDamned scolded him for it, saying how rude for him to act the way he was. But he didn’t care. Especially after he knows he could complete a whole raid on the AAHW himself. Still 2B didn’t let up and forces him to go on a raid with you.

The ride there was silent between the two of you, the only time the two of you had talk was when the two of you had spoke about what this raid was even for. Well more of you than him. Apparently it was for intel, why couldn’t 2B just send Deimos with him instead of this random grunt? You say nothing as it didn’t pertain to the job prior. Other than that, you both said nothing to each other.

When you two get to the agency building you were assigned to, you could imagine Hank’s relief when you said the two of you will split for this. And that he was going to be the main focus of all the chaos that would be ensured in the building. Meaning he will be the one providing a good distraction for you.

Good, he preferred having more things to slaughter anyways. Plus he didn’t have to deal with you if you had gotten shot. Not like he would’ve left you for dead anyways if you ever did.

When the two of you split, Hank had wasted no time kicking up the genocide that happens every time he raids an AAHW building. How the rush of adrenaline and bloodlust ran through his veins as he would pop one of the agent’s head open, scattering blood and brain matter all over the floor and his fellow co-workers before going to the next one.

He didn’t know how long it was, all he knew was that he had gone through multiple rooms already. But what caught him off guard the most was when he had entered a room and saw the same carnage he had brought to those behind him. Except this time he wasn’t the one who had done this.

Not only that, Hank notices the clean cuts to the neck of the agents and soldats that were lying in their own pool of blood, both red and yellow creating that muddy looking orange. Hell even the shots they had taken were straight to the dome.

Then he remembered you were still on this mission with him.

He wasn’t going to lie, he was honestly impressed to find someone who can deal this much damage and was efficient enough to know what they were doing with a blade.

That was until he had walked into the room where you were located in. That being the east wing of the building where you had pinged him.

When he reaches to your location, you walk through the door from the room you had pinged him from. You were unscathed other than the yellow and crimson blood that coated your hands. You only gave Hank a side glance before brushing past him.

He looks inside the room. It was nothing but broken bodies everywhere. Tables broken with soldats who lay on top of it, unmoving. Gunshot holes littering the entire room. Hell he had seen an agent who was impaled through the bottom of his chin from the broken glass of the window, the faint gurgling noises coming from him before silence.

You called out to Hank, ushering him to hurry up so the two of you can finally go home. He only stares at the room before looking back at you. You raise an eyebrow before clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you grew more and more impatient with him.

When Hank had gotten back from the raid 2B had sent him, he had gone to his office and mentioned something about you.

“What of them? They got what I needed you two to get me. Leave them be, Hank.” 2BDamned didn’t even bother looking up from his laptop.

He asks 2B where he’s found them only to be met with a sigh.

That was when 2B had explained to Hank who the reader was to the agency and why they were working with them. But all in all, Hank still didn’t care. He was intrigued, yes. But this also meant he had to tolerate another person when working with them.

{DEIMOS & SANFORD}

Deimos and Sanford would probably be next to meet you, but at the HQ of your agency. Something about grabbing a hard drive that contained intel from the previous raid that you had gone to with Hank.

If anything Doc would be the one to send them if he was too busy to even come visit you due to other affairs that needed to be taken care of.

The two of them would probably be skeptical around you, especially Sanford considering he was the more cautious one out of the two. If anything it was what probably kept him and Deimos alive. Though he would have to trust you just enough if Doc was willing to put this much effort in creating an alliance with you and your agency.

Deimos on the other hand would be more intrigued with you, asking probing questions while trying to get more information out of you. He also seemed to like seeing what made you tick. Not only that, he never got to see what was inside whatever contents Doc wanted him to decrypt. Surely you had something to do with it.

Though the two would probably warm up to you after a while of coming back and forth to pick up intel and weaponry shipments that were to be made to 2BDamned as per deal for the Anti-AAHW. They’d still warm up to you faster than Hank would considering he still doesn’t trust you nor does he like going on clear out raids with someone.

Deimos would still keep trying to poke and prod at getting more information.

There was a time he tried to hack into your system only to be met with an error along with the message “Nice try loser :)”

His pride was definitely hurt along with stringing out a few curse words

Sanford found it hilarious, especially when he had told you right in front of him.

You flash both of them a smile before giving them a shrug and a wink.

“I just have a really good security system.”

Deimos would curse under his breath as Sanford chuckled before patting his back.

“If you guys are actually serious about knowing where I came from, just ask nicely instead of asking invasive ones. Let alone try to hack in my shit…”

Deimos took no hesitation on asking where you came from. Let alone what you did before you ended up becoming a founder for your agency.

“I used to work as a Drill Instructor for the AAHW. Left cause the pay was utter dog shit.” You shrugged.

“Wait wait wait, you worked as a Drill Instructor for the AAHW? How the fuck did I not see you during my time there?!”

“Wait, you were the reason why the Soldats were a pain in the ass before they starting getting sloppy? Holy fuckin shit.”

Least to say the two of them were baffled to find out you of all people were one who trained the Soldats to be inconveniences before the sudden drop in discipline.

#madness combat #madcom x reader #madness combat x reader #deimos x reader #deimos x sanford #deimos x sanford x reader #hank j wimbleton x reader #2bdamned x reader

184 notes · View notes