#if he hadn’t been wearing his mask it’d be written all over his face | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bokettochild · 3 years

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The Scarf Fic!!!

Inspired by This post by @sekiumiarashi and written as a gift for @into-the-linkverse

I wanted to write Ravio sharing scarves, but I accidentally found that I like writing Ravio, and more importantly, writing him and Legend like they’re a pair of elderly people, because... just because.

Giving Legend glasses was a choice that I didn’t see coming, but do not regret. I do regret Ravio’s naming scheme, but it was too funny to back out so I kept pushing. I’m not sorry that you all must suffer.

Feel free to read this as being part of my main fic The Ties That Bind, but it can also be separate, just consider the uncle bit as being related to predecessors and stuff.

Enjoy! :)

Mr. Captain Hero Sir wasn’t wearing his scarf.

The one constant Ravio knew he could always count on during the war, was that the captain would be wearing that bright blue scrap of cloth with all the pride in the world, no matter what the circumstances (good grief, one time he’d stumbled upon the man bathing and the scarf had been the only thing that saved them both from embarrassment). But today, he wasn’t.

The heroes had come to stay at Mr. Hero’s house again after a long battle, and Mr. Captain Hero Sir was currently sitting on the couch in the living room, one arm resting across it’s back and his feet propped up on the table. A scowl marred his fine features and his neck was horrifyingly naked.

“Mr. Captain Hero Sir! Where is your scarf?” The words were out of his mouth in a moment as he looked around the captain to make sure it simply hadn’t fallen off or been laid aside (things the captain would never let happen, ever. He’d once been bleeding out and still managed to keep the trailing blue fabric out of the mud.)

“It’s shredded.” The captain sighed, a bitter look in his eyes as he motioned down to the arm hanging from a sling around his neck. “And I’m currently unable to mend it.”

The thought of the captain not having a scarf was so utterly horrible, simply unthinkable, that Ravio didn’t even think about what he was doing, instead bounding over to plonk himself onto the couch and quickly unwind his scarf before rewinding it around the captain’s neck (he had a dozen of these things anyway).

“There! You can’t be without a scarf.”

Mr. Captain Hero Sir smiled fondly, fingers reaching up to gently stroke the fabric. “And you can?”

Ravio shrugged. “I have a dozen of those, keep it, it looks fabulous on you!”

The captain’s eyes sparkled brightly, a familiar cockiness erupting within. “Are you kidding? I make everything look good! Even the Vet’s fashion choices would look fabulous on me!”

Ravio sniggered. He’d heard and seen plenty of the goods from Hytopia, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Mr. Hero even knew what fashion was. But then again, he was just a simple Lolian; for all he knew, things like bomb outfits and heart shaped collars were absolutely acceptable and normal in this world.

“But where is your scarf, Mr. Captain Hero Sir?” He asked after a moment, cocking his head on one side as the man looked at him oddly.

“Don’t you ever get tired of saying that? You can call me Warriors like everyone else you know.”

“I know, Mr. Captain Hero Sir, I don’t mind.”

Mr. Captain Hero Sir blinked. “O-kay.” Shaking his head, he answered. “Legend has it. Since I can’t use my dominant hand, he said he’d stitch it up for me.” The captain hero nodded towards the corner of the room, and Ravio followed his line of sight.

Mr. Hero was perched in that Lolia-awful rocking chair that had been in the house since Nayru knows when. It was a horrid thing in his opinion, old, out of style and absolutely stiff and uncomfortable, and he’d shoved it into the furthest corner of the room ages ago. Mr. Hero loved it though, although he never said why, and he didn’t seem to mind that it was now nearly next to the fireplace all the time, even if he did have to pull it out of the corner to properly rock in it.

Mr. Hero sat with one leg tucked underneath him and the other one hanging down to gently push at the floor, making the big chair rock steadily. Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s scarf lay in his lap and a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, a needle in his hand as he dutifully labored over the brilliant blue fabric of the famed scarf.

“His eyesight is terrible.” Ravio snickered to the Captain.

“But his hearing is perfect.” Mr. Hero’s voice rang clearly across the room, violet gaze darting up to look at them disapprovingly over the top of his spectacles.

The minute he looked away, merchant and captain shared a grin, only to burst into muffled laughter.

...

Mr. Smithy and Tune are cold.

It’s obvious from the way the two huddle in place at the kitchen table as everyone enjoys the meal that Ravio and Mr. Hero have pulled together (Mr. Hero is hesitant to let even the finest of chefs in his kitchen for some reason, despite having stated that Mr. Champion Hero is a very good cook and better than him (at cooking, life, or heroing, he does not specify)). Tune- Wind has all but attached himself to Sky’s side, using the bigger hero as a heat source as he slurps down his warm stew, and Mr. Smithy has bundled himself against the Mr. Rancher.

It’s only autumn, but both of the smaller heroes act like it’s the start of winter with the way they shiver and rub at their arms.

Mr. Hero’s only response when he asks is to sigh, but when he presses, his pink haired doppelganger eventually explains. “Their Hyrules were never corrupted, so they’re used to warmer weather most of the time, if not always. The mist from the ocean is the worst Wind knows, and heaven only knows if Four could survive a proper freeze.” Mr. Hero shakes his head, wiping the last of the broth from their meal off a plate with his dish-rag. “If they need something, they know to ask.”

But Mr. Hero isn’t really that cold hearted, he’s worrying too if the way his brows furrow and the lines around his mouth deepen is any indication. “I offered blankets, but they don’t want them.”

“Does this happen often?” He muses as he takes the plates from Mr. Hero to dry and put away, and to his displeasure, his housemate nods.

“When we come here or to Sky’s Hyrule, yeah. Usually, Wars will bundle them up in his scarf, or Sky with his sailcloth, even Twilight shares his fur, but...” Mr. Hero’s ears twitch irritably (truly adorable how they do that, although he’ll never say as much). “Sky’s asleep with his cape, the wolf pelt is a bloody mess after that battle, and I haven’t finished mending Wars’ scarf.” The ears flap again. “That thing is so dang complex and Warriors apparently hasn’t the faintest about the proper cloth to use to mend it. He used new material to mend a hole! Brand new material, Ravio! It’s an awful state and I swear if Styla could see it she’d faint dead away!” The vet huffed as he plunged another dish under the sudsy water of the wash tub. “Using new cloth on a worn scarf, it’s like he wants the thing to be ruined...”

Ah yes, Mr. Hero’s rants. There’d be no righting this one until he’d fixed the problem, and considering he’d only been torn away from the scarf that lay peacefully sitting on his rocker in order to make food, it was quite likely that once his kitchen was clean again, he’d be right back to working on it.

Ravio smiled, Mr. Captain Hero Sir would be quite pleased.

His gaze traveled over to where the hero in question was sitting. The captain and Tu- Wind, were talking on the couch, the younger staring nearly longingly at the rocker and the scarf on top of it.

Kid really liked that scarf, huh? If Ravio remembered right, half the time during his adventure with Mr. Captain Hero Sir, he’d constantly seen either Mask or Tune hanging onto it.

Somewhere inside of a bunny head, an idea sparked and green eyes brightened excitedly.

He’d donned a new scarf just before dinner, but it wouldn’t do quite right, so instead, he darted off to his room, much to the displeasure of his dish partner as his rag flew into Mr. Hero’s face and left his housemate spluttering indignantly.

“Ravio! You didn’t finish-”

“One sec!”

Mr. Hero’s grumbles followed him out of the kitchen, but faded as he darted into his room and towards his wardrobe. It was the work of moments to select two of his largest scarfs, and less time than that to dart back out to the living room and wrap one around each of the smaller heroes.

“There! Snug as a kit in a quilt!”

Two small heroes stared down at the black and purple fabric that now draped around their shoulders, smiles brightening their flushed faces as Tune buried his face happily in the fabric with a bright hum.

“Thanks, Ravio!”

“Thank you.” Four’s eyes glimmered warm brown as he sunk into his seat, only the top of his face and his hands visible beneath the striped fabric.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s eyes sparkled as the man looked up at him, and Ravio fought the blush that rose in his cheeks as he fiddled with his own scarf (he’d mess with his sleeves, but he’d shed his robe to help do the dishes, and his undershirt wasn’t nearly long enough to fiddle with). “Don’t mention it, it’s-” He chewed his lip for a moment before a smile broke loose, the one Mr. Hero said was cheesy and fake, the one for when he was trying to sell things. “It’s a complimentary gift for exceptional customers and/or guests!”

“We’ve never bought anything from you.” Four deadpanned, eyes glinting with a smile Ravio couldn’t see past all the scarf in the way.

“Yet!” Ravio chirped back, and darted back into the kitchen to help Mr. Hero finish doing the dishes.

...

Mr. Champion keeps rubbing his scars.

The heroes had left for a short spell, traveling off to fight more monsters only to be dumped in the orchard a week or so later (Mr. Hero said it’d been a month and a half for them, but by his time it was a week). And when Ravio said they’d been dumped in the orchard, he meant in the orchard. He’d been busy picking some of the ripened apples before the birds took them all (most of the wild birds knew better, but still, it was the principle of the thing, fresh fruit was rare in Lorule) when a shout and the snapping of branches had sounded all about him.

Ravio had shrieked in surprise, thinking that he was alone only to find (once he’d removed his hood again) that there were nine heroes hanging from various tree branches around him, and Mr. Hero himself was hanging upside down, one foot caught in the branches, as his face dangled inches from Ravio’s own, a scowl darkening it as a string of mumbles escaped his room-mate.

He couldn’t stop himself, he kissed Mr. Hero’s twitching nose.

Mr. Hero shrieked in surprise, jerking in place and effectively loosening himself from the tree, falling all over Ravio in the process. It was worth it, Ravio giggled as he lay on the ground. Mr. Hero was so like the bunnies in Lorule and their noses simply demanded to be kissed.

Laughter and grumbles sounded around them, the heroes pulling themselves down from the trees around them.

Captain Hero Sir Jr. moved with surprising ease, despite his heavy armor, clambering down the tree with the same grace that Mr. Champion did most of the time. Some things never change, he could still see him climbing up onto Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s shoulders in the same manner (only now he rather doubted either of them would attempt to do that anymore, Captain Hero Sir Jr. was much bigger now).

It felt entirely too natural to lead them all up to the house, Mr. Hero trailing at the back with a bushel of apples in his arms. Settling them all down in the kitchen was easy as could be, and he and Mr. Hero worked quickly to set some fresh apple cider to boil before starting on a meal for everyone.

He missed not having them all around, it was going to be awful dull when they all had to go back to their worlds when this adventure was over again.

He was determined to enjoy the moment for that very reason while they all sat about in the living room, sipping apple cider as Mr. Hero had settled down in his blasted rocker, spectacles on his nose and more mending in hand. He never would rest until the light was faded, and Ravio had half a mind to take out his knitting (he was still currently short three scarves) before he decided to simply flop down on the nearest open spot on the couch and just enjoy his cider.

Except, Mr. Champion was sitting in the seat beside him.

The young hero kept rubbing at his scars, eyes distant, and despite the numerous amounts of times that either Mr. Captain Hero Sir or Mr. Rancher tried to move his hands back down to the still full mug he was cradling in his other hand, Mr. Champion (he was younger than Ravio though...would Mr. Be an appropriate title for him?) kept reaching right back up to rub his neck and face.

The scars were enflamed, harsh red and puffy where they peeked out from beneath the collar of his shirt, and it made Ravio wince to even think of how he’d acquired such injuries that would scar so.

He only winced more with every drag of broken nails and rough finger pads over the skin, but Mr. Champion- Wild? He could think of him as Wild right? He was kind of the kid’s uncle in a weird way- didn't seem to even notice that he was doing it. Cornflower blue eyes stared unseeing into the fire, face still and only his hands moving.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, worry pulling his lovely face into shadows as he grasped Wild’s hands again. “Wild, hey, no more of that, okay? You’re hurting yourself.”

Fingers twitched, but no other movement came from the young Champion until Mr. Captain Hero Sir (wait, was Wild also Captain Hero Sir Jr.? Or was he Champion Hero? Oh fiddlesticks, he wasn’t sure anymore) let go, and then broken nails moved right back up towards swollen flesh.

Ravio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Mr. Hero had spaced out before, did it a lot when the sun set or when he was outside, but he never scratched like that. He sang and fiddled with his rings. If Wild Champion Jr. Sir (oh heavens) did something like that, it would be fine, but this was... this was rather unsettling.

Ravio shifted in his seat, curling around his mug as Mr. Captain Hero Sir had to reach out to stop the wild-child's hands from reaching the inflamed wounds (the last scratch had broken skin, and a thin trail of red has appeared).

It was without a thought that he acted, pushing his mug into the captain’s hands and promptly looping his scarf around Wild Champion Hero Captain Jr.’s (oh Lolia help) neck.

Thoughtless fingers nose just as before, but this time, they brushed against soft fabric. Ravio tensed, dearly hoping that his scarf would not be ripped off or simply pushed aside.

To the surprise of all of them, rough fingers brushed over the fabric, paused, and gently stroked its material. The Champion’s face did not move, but slowly, long fingers ran down the fabric, rubbing it between their tips as cornflower blue eyes blinked slowly. In an instant, the young hero’s gaze was lost to sight as the fabric was nuzzled with all the fondness of a cub nuzzling their parent.

“He likes scarves, of course he does.” Mr. Rancher chuckled wearily, a tired smile playing over his features as both he and Mr. Captain Hero Sir sat back (but not before Ravio took his mug back).

“So he does.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, eyes fond as he watched the hero in question curl up on the couch, face lost in purple fabric and bare toes the only moving part of the kid. The wiggling toes were almost like a dog wagging its tail, but weirder, still, he wasn’t one to judge.

Mr. Captain hero Sir caught his eye. “Thank you, Ravio.”

“Customer loyalty.” He murmured softly into his mug.

He caught the way Mr. Hero and the others stared at him though, and he could only be thankful his hood shaded his face enough to hide his pleased blush.

...

Mr. Rancher needs to wear more color.

It’s like looking at the photos of Mr. Hero from just before he’d come around. Mr. Hero always fussed at him for going through things, but he couldn’t help but laugh at how odd his room-mate looked with black hair and dark clothes. “You dyed it?”

“For safety reasons. How many people have you see in Hyrule with pink hair of all things? It was a dead giveaway!”

“But you’re the hero?”

“A hero whose face was plastered on every wanted poster in Hyrule. Still is in some cases.” Mr. Hero had grumbled, folding the last piece of newly clean washing and throwing a pointed glare in his direction. “Life on the run sucks. I was thirteen and just wanted to be ignored.”

A glance at the dark haired but smiling youngster in the photo and back up to the bitter pink haired hero he knew told him (even if Mr. Hero hadn’t already) how well that wish had been fulfilled.

But seriously, those photos at least showed Mr. Hero with some color. The most Mr. Rancher wore was that horrid sash and obi, and the orange and blue looked simply terrible with his color scheme, something that, when brought up to Mr. Hero, his friend seemed to agree with, stating that ‘he’d never get into Hytopia’s capitol looking like that’.

Ravio had never been to Hytopia, but based on the stories and mannerisms Mr. Hero took on after that adventure, he can only agree.

Originally, he’d hoped he could simply find something among his wares that he could sell to Mr. Rancher, but that proved to only be so effective, after all, when one sells weapons and items, it’s hard finding a normal piece of clothing amidst all the blessed or charmed pieces.

Oh well, he was counting on ending up sharing the rest of his scarves with them all anyway.

It wasn’t any dramatic or particularly touching moment when he walked up and slung a clean scarf around the rancher’s shoulders, but Mr. Rancher, after initially starting, smiled as he touched the sun-warmed material. Of course, that expression quickly faded into one of awe as the hero squeezed the fabric lightly.

Mr. Rancher’s eyes lit up like a dog being given a new toy (Ravio wasn’t stupid, he knew a dog when he saw one) and the man proceeded to continue squeezing and petting the springy fabric with eyes sparkling as if Ravio had just handed him the stars themselves.

He was down to two scarves now, but it was worth it.

...

Mr. Traveler Hero is small.

He is small, and wild, and the clothes he’s wearing are nearly too small. The traveler is a growing child (never mind that he’s still a teenager himself) and he’s out and about in nearly threadbare garments that leave Ravio shivering at the mere thought of wearing.

And this is the other hero who grew up in a corrupted world where the sun doesn’t shine as bright as it should and the winters are always too long.

Ravio doesn’t think twice when he sees the first signs of cold in the young hero. He’s got two scarfs recently made, and he’s only too happy to share.

Purple and black stripes nearly drown the young hero when he walks over and wraps not one, but two of the comfiest scarves he’s ever made around the youngster's neck.

Like Mr. Rancher, nothing is said or done immediately, but Mr. Traveler Hero smile at him shyly, holding up a hand and scampering over to his bag.

The pair of polished stones he’s given don’t make much sense, but he catches sight of Mr. Hero and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Both smiling over at the two through the doorways.

“Thank you.” He murmurs warmly, tucking the rocks in his pocket.

“Thank you.!” Mr. Traveler smiles in return, eyes twinkling in the shade of the room and scarf tails flapping like the four wings of a fairy as he spins around to show them to Mr. Hero.

...

Captain Hero Sir Jr. has nothing comfy to wear.

Once more, the heroes had been whisked away, and once more they’d appeared at the house weeks later, looking exhausted and utterly soaked.

The chill autumn rain might be to blame for that.

Mr. Hero hadn’t even protested that... Wild (he’d just call him Wild, he couldn’t do this title thing this time) had bustled off into the kitchen to warm some tea, and instead promptly collapsing in all his soaked glory onto the couch.

The other heroes followed suit, and Ravio (like a good host) immediately hopped up and fetched some blankets. Mr. Rancher was already stoking the fire, and with a bit of work, Ravio was able to help Mr. Her grasp what was left of his own steaming mug of cider (his hands were quite the state in this bitter weather) before popping off to the kitchen to brew more of the sweet apply goodness to share with the heroes.

Armor and over-clothes had been stripped off, sitting wet and dripping in one corner (Mr. Hero eyes it with distaste, knowing just as Ravio did just what that would be doing to the floor) but neither housekeeper said anything, Mr. Hero nursing his cider and letting its warmth sooth his gnarled fingers, and Ravio puttering about with a kettle and mugs to share with everyone else.

Blankets had been pulled from the shelves and were cast around quaking shoulders as chattering teeth uttered breathy thanks to the purple-robed merchant.

There was nothing like being thanked for good service, and Ravio beamed as he passed between them.

That smile faded however when he noticed Captain Hero Sir Jr.

The man sat in a thin linen shirt and under-armor, looking far from being near the level of comfort that the rest did in their undershirts and pants (or a dress in Mr. Hero’s case).

Come to think of it he’d never seen Captain Hero Sir Jr. dress in any comfortable manner since he’d come along behind Mr. Hero that first time since they’d started this adventure. Did the poor kid- er... Man, not have anything comfortable to wear?

While the heroes slept that night, in the two bedrooms and sprawled across the couch, Ravio kept Mr. Hero comfortable, sitting before the fire with his knitting needles while Mr. Hero repaired yet more damaged clothing (poor mister Chosen Hero’s sailcloth had been damaged somehow).

Usually, one or the other of them would eventually remind the other to go to bed, but both were so wrapped up in their work (Mr. Hero started singing even, that goddess ballad Miss. Princess told hm about) that neither seemed to remember to check the clock, or even to go to bed.

Come morning, Ravio finds that he has fallen asleep wrapped in the tails of the scarf he’d been making, and Mr. Hero has become entangled in his mending, a peaceful smile on his face, worn fabric brushing his cheeks and spectacles teetering precariously on the tip of his nose.

Mr. Chosen Hero is the one who wakes them up, stirring awake with a violent sneeze, but he smiles fondly when he lays eyes on them, opening his arms in an offer of a cuddle if either feels inclined to return to sleep. Neither does, but Ravio appreciates it, and even if Mr. Hero doesn’t say as much (quite the opposite really) he knows his friend does too.

The day is normal, as far as a day with nine heroes in the house can be, and with the rain still pouring, they spend their time cleaning, although Mr. Hero shoos them all away after a time because they’re not doing it the right way (AKA Mr. Hero's very practiced manner of cleaning and organizing). It’s after Mr. Hero had shooed them all into the main room while he organizes the basement (thank goodness, it's an awful mess down there) that the talk starts.

It’s cold out, and most of the heroes have donned the scarves they’ve been gifted over time (Ravio isn’t blushing, he’s not). Smiles shine and laughter rings as they explain to their brothers how they’d some to have them.

“And he just... threw t at me! Not a word, not an explanation, just came up and tossed it over my shoulders.” Mr. Rancher chuckles. “Kinda like how my ma would do when I was a tot, jist wrap it up and ‘round soon as the cold weather came a’creepin’ up.”

The others nod, smiles fond. Ravio beams as he lights the candle set near the masks on the wall.

“I had one too once,” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Muses aloud. “Back in the war, you remember, Wars?”

“Do I ever.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir smirks. “I used to tie you up with that thing when you got too rowdy.”

“You and the general both.” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Chuckles, soft and deep and so different from his nearly witch level cackle that Ravio remembers.

“What ever happened to it?” He asks curiously, blowing out his match and turning to move towards the rest of the group.

Captain Hero Sir Jr. Smiles at him, eyes far older but far more at peace than they used to be. “I outgrew it. It was a child’s scarf, even if it was a bit big at the time. I considered bringing it, but it just doesn’t do much anymore.” A thin smile pulls at his features, almost guilty as he admits “I didn’t take the best care of my clothes as a kid.”

Well, that doesn’t matter over much. Ravio smiles at his young (old) friend, and around him he can hear the others whisper and laugh. They know what’s happening, and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Does too if the twinkle in his eyes is to be believed, so Ravio makes a point of flourishing his gift with all the fuss he can before reverently draping the garment around the tall man’s neck. The eldest hero has to stoop, even from where he’s sitting on the couch, so that Ravio can reach, but it only adds to the mock reverence as Ravio adorns another bare neck with one of his toasty scarves.

“Mind you take care of that one,” He scolds lightly. “I was up all night making it.”

“Yes sir.” Captain hero Sir Jr. responds with a playful smile in his eyes, even if his face is the picture of obedience.

Giggles sound around them, and despite hating it, Ravio takes the only seat left available (he really hates that rocker) and curls up. “You all be quiet now, I’m tired and need a nap.”

“Okay, gramps.” The sailor whispers faintly, a giggle in his tone as titters and chuckles erupt.

Strangely, it doesn't take too long for Ravio to doze off, especially when Mr. Hero settles in beside him and starts to rock the stupid chair, humming lightly as fingers work over another project, the light buzz of activity all around them as Ravio allows himself to be carried into dreamland.

...

Mr. Chosen Hero has caught cold.

He’s not surprised, not with how drenched the others all were day before last, but the Skyloftian is shivering madly, miserably sniffing into handkerchiefs and trying his best to avoid drinking the nasty herbal teas that Mr. Hero claims are good for people. Ravio doesn’t care if Mr. Hero drinks them, but for pities sake, drink black tea if you’re going to drink tea! What sort of decent being are you if you’re just drinking plant water?

“Legend, I’m serious, I don’t-” Mr. Chosen Hero breaks off coughing. “I don’t think tea will-” Another cough, nastier than the last. “I don’t think it will help.”

“Trust me.” Mr. Hero already has a small table pulled up to Mr. Chosen Hero’s side, tea and handkerchiefs both set carefully on top. “Tea’s just what you need. Eucalyptus does wonders for a cold.”

“He’s right.” Mr. Traveler Hero chimes in, gaze warm and sleepy as he sips some of the tea himself. “And it’s got a calming effect.”

Mr. Hero cocks a brow. “What are you, ‘Rule, a koala?”

No one knows what that is, except Mr. Traveler Hero, but it doesn’t seem to matter much, as Mr. Chosen Hero breaks into another coughing fit and bundles a blanket closer around his shoulders, voice hoarse when he speaks. “I wish it’d stop raining. I didn’t even realize-” A cough sounds and is followed by a sniffle. “I didn’t realize the surface got so wet.”

And Ravio sees where this is going, the shivering hero, the gentle atmosphere. He doesn’t bother waiting for Mr. Chosen Hero to sniffle again, he just wraps a scarf around the man’s neck, tucking it in close enough to keep the heat in.

The smile exchanged is silent, and Ravio is thankful that the others aren’t about at present to tease, only Mr. Hero and Mr. Traveler Hero are here with them, and neither says a word as they sip their leaf water.

“I’ll make you some real tea.” He murmurs softly, offering a wink and a gentle pat to the knee before he’s off towards the kitchen.

...

Mr. Hero doesn’t have a scarf.

It was glaringly obvious, as whenever the rest of them appeared at the house, they'd all be wearing their Ravio gifted scarfs proudly, smiles on their faces as the ends trailed or dragged after them (despite that, they were all in perfect condition).

But Mr. Hero didn’t have a scarf.

He was never going to get one either.

They’ve all just returned to the house (it’s been two months since the last visit) and the snow outside it up to Ravio’s waist in places. It took him ages to shovel himself out of the house, but the harvest of apples is in and the bees are well prepared for the winter, and Mr. Hero finally tidied the cellar enough that they have room for food storage aplenty.

Cider and tea are brewed as the heroes gather, fluffy socks and scarves on full display as they sit around the fire.

Mr. Hero is shivering.

Curious glances are thrown at both himself and Mr. Hero as the heroes drink their beverage of choice, concern in their gazes as Legend eventually gets up to pull the most ridiculously bulky quilt in the entire house over his shoulders. He’s all pink in the face and he’s shaking like a leaf, and it’s only because he won’t hold still that Ravio hasn’t attempted to try and help him hold a warm mug enough for his fingers to relax.

Mr. Hero moves like a man thrice his age, if not more, and he creaks worse than the roof does in the wind outside.

“Where’s your scarf, vet?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir murmurs softly, one brow raised as he watches Mr. Hero fumble with the quilts edge.

“My what?”

Glances are exchanged among the others. “Your scarf? The one Ravio gave you?”

“I don’t have a scarf.” Mr. Hero answers, dropping the quilt again with a scowl that makes his nose wiggle.

“But” Cornflower blue dart between himself and his housemate. “Aren’t you two friends? How do you not already have a scarf? Even Time did!”

“It’s a customer service thing.” Mr. Hero murmurs. “I’m already a loyal customer, so he doesn’t waste resources on trying to earn my loyalty. That, and I don’t wear purple.”

He shakes his head, loosening his scarf as the eyes of the others twinkle, but rather than taking it off, he only loosens one end, before wrapping it tightly around his friend’s neck, fluffing up the quilt in both of their laps, and settling a warm mug of cider in Mr. Hero’s hands.

“Nonsense!” he chirps, trying not to be hurt at the obvious surprise on his friend's face, so he muses Mr. Hero’s hair instead. “You have every item I offer except this scarf. Why would you keep buying from me if you get it? I have to keep you from having one until I get something better in, otherwise business will plummet!”

Knowing smiles are exchanged amidst the others, but Mr. Hero just sighs and shakes his head, leaning slightly into Ravio’s side as he sips his cider.

A bitter expression overtakes Mr. Hero’s face. “You forgot the cloves.”

“Oh shoot!”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #scarf fic #scarf man #ravio #lu warriors #lu wind #lu four #lu wild #lu twilight #lu time #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu legend #scarf #fluffics #I almost forgot Hyrule!#I'm so sorry baby!

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airis-paris14 · 3 years

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See You Again

A/N: Just something short I never posted. It probably sucks, but I thought I'd share anyway. WE OUTSIDE YALL. (Please be outside RESPONSIBLY. COVID is still a thing. Please get vaccinated and or wear a mask.) Love Y'all.

Masterlist

“My King,” Okoye called, handing T’Challa a bag he forgot. “Next week.”

“ I know Okoye. I promise I will be ready to leave.” Okoye nodded before reboarding the jet. The king watched before beginning the short walk up to his friend's front door.

He rang the doorbell before staring up at the building. It’d been years since he’d last been in this apartment. Freshman year of college to be exact. Anaya’s parents had invited him to spend Thanksgiving with them after finding him and their daughter studying together on a surprise visit to their daughter's dorm. They weren’t in the room, lucky for them, but it seemed that her parents were invested in a dream that wouldn’t come true. Not that either of them was ready to admit they couldn’t be together either. At least that early on.

So much has changed since then. They graduated. Got two Ph. Ds respectively and then moved on. Anaya became a celebrated fashion historian and critic, and T’Challa a king. Halfway across the world, they’d reconnected by chance in Paris and hadn’t let go since. Somewhere T’Challa had been holding on to a silly notion that maybe he and Anaya could give being together another go, but he knew it was a fruitless endeavor.

Same as his ringing of the doorbell had been. Worried, the king began knocking on the door. “Quit your racket! She’s not here!” An elderly woman crooned from her front porch. “Pardon?”

“She ain’t here! The baby called.” The woman chuckled to herself, “Ran outta here like a firecracker. Her two friends following close behind.”

“She was pregnant?”

“Don’t know how you missed it sonny, big as a blimp, carrying high though. My bets on a girl you know,” she paused to size up the young king. “And you must be that no good bastard baby’s father. Walking out on her like that you know I should-!”

“Ma’am, I promise you I am not him. As much as I wish I could have been,” the king mumbled the last part.

“Well then now’s your chance son. The real father ain’t here, and I hate to see that child grow up without a father figure. What’s keeping you from claiming that child?”

“A lot more than you’ll ever know..” T’Challa looked up, despair written across his face. The woman's gaze softened. “You’ll never know till you try. At least go and see her. I mean you came to her house. All dressed up with flowers and a bag of gifts. You must really care for her.”

“I do.”

“She’s at the university hospital.” The old woman instructed. “Thank you,” the king nodded. “Anything to see her happy, ever since her parents died she’s been sitting up in that house all alone. Make it right.”

Two hours and four phone calls later, T’Challa pulled up to the hospital in his hired car. The driver opened the back door of the SUV to allow the king and his baby present out into the air. He nodded at the driver before making his way up to the reception desk. “Hi, how may I help you?” The woman looked up from her computer. “You must be looking for our maternity ward. This your first?” She nodded at the gifts. “You could say that,” T’Challa chuckled.

“May I have your name and the patient’s?”

“T’Challa, and Anaya Johnson.”

“Great, Ms. Johnson is in room 408 in the maternity wing. Go down the hall, on the left, there will be an elevator. Take that up to the fourth floor, make a right and it should be the fourth door down. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” the king smiled hoisting up the big teddy bear, careful not to crush the flowers and various other bags. “Would you like an escort Mr. T’Challa?”

“I believe I can handle this one,” The king insisted. “Very well, and congratulations.”

The king frowned. “Thank you.”

Four floors up, and three doors down, T’Challa finally stood outside of room 408. He took several steadying breaths before knocking. “Who is it? A familiar voice called. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door before it carefully creaked open.

“T’Challa?”

The king smiled in surprise. “Tella? Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” The brown skin woman beamed, opening up the door, her eyes widening slightly as she saw all of the gifts.”She said she hadn’t heard from you in months.”

“Yeah, I was on my way to visit Anaya and her neighbor told me she was here, having a baby.”

“Yeah, um come in. She and Jean went for a walk, the doctor said it would help with contractions.” Tella grabbed the bear from T’Challa and moved to set it in a corner, while he found space to set down his other gifts. “So how’ve you been? We used to get status updates from Anaya for you. Then you just vanished.”

“Well, there is a lot I haven’t told you all. Wakanda is a monarchy, and my father, and his father, and his father, and his mother, and her father, and his mother, and so on, have all ruled our country. Now it is my turn.”

“To rule?”

“To rule.” The king nodded. “So you vanished because you became king?”

“I vanished because there was a coup, an attempt on my life, which was almost successful. The coup sent my country into a civil war,” The king explained.

“T’Challa, this doesn’t even sound real,” Tella interrupted. “I mean, how is anyone supposed to believe you?”

“May I see your phone?” T’Challa stopped her.

“T’Challa,”

“Just let me prove it to you. I did not ghost Anaya by choice. I still want to be with her.”

“After all this time-”

“Please, I know it seems implausible, but let me show you,” the king reached out a hand.

“Fine T’Challa-” Tella handed over her phone. “Ask siri,” the king instructed.

“Seriously?” Tella frowned. “Just ask her.”

“Siri, who is the king of Wakanda?”

Her phone glowed before responding, “T’Challa Udaku was crowned King of Wakanda after the passing of his father last summer during a United Nations Assembly. I found this article online from the New York Times and several other sources.”

“T’challa if this is true, I mean since this is true, the prospects of you and Anaya getting together is now even more impossible. Why are you here?”

“Because she is my friend, and I love her. She is having a baby, and I will support her.”

“You are not its father!”

“Don’t you think I know that? Do you know how much it hurts me to know that I’m not? That I may never be the father of any of her children.”

“This isn’t about you T.”

“I know, but the child’s father is not here. I am. Even if he was, I still would be, because she is my friend too Tella.”

“I just do not want to see her hurt. Don’t give her false hope T’Challa.”

“On the contrary, I believe it is she who gives me false hope,” the king sighed. Tella pulled him in for a hug. “Just give it time, and who knows, you’re a king now aren’t you?”

“That I am,” T’Challa nodded as the room’s door squeaked open. A nurse helped Anaya back into the room and T'Challa couldn’t help the way his eyes widened at Anaya’s pregnant form. His heart erupted in butterflies, imagining if that had been his child. Tella slapping his arm startled him back to reality. Tella jerked her head towards where the nurse was trying to help Anaya and maneuver the IV stand back into the room with her. T’Challa hurried over to wrap an arm around Anaya’s waist and grab her other hand. The nurse smiled in thanks and surprise. No surprise could top Anaya’s expression. She gaped as T’Challa shot her a smile. “Long time no see,” The king teased as he helped her further into the room and onto her bed. A grimace stole her smile as another contraction hit.

“I’ll grab Dr.Ben and she’ll be right in to check on your progress, Ms. Johnson.” The middle-aged black woman smiled at the expecting mother. “Thank you,” Anaya smiled before turning back to her best friend. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to surprise you, only to find out from your neighbor that you were in labor,” The king smiled.

“Mrs. Patterson told you where I was?”

“I guess so,” the king frowned. Anaya and Tella laughed. “What did you do to her? Mrs. Patterson doesn’t like anyone. Especially men.” Tella explained.

“She did almost try to beat me up when she thought I was your ‘bastard baby’s father’.” T’Challa told the two women who groaned. Anaya grimaced her way through a contraction and T’Challa stepped over and offered her his hand. The mother smiled at his touch and threaded her fingers through his as the contraction dissipated.

“I’m gonna go find Jean in the gift shop,” Tella excused herself, leaving T’Challa and Anaya alone. “What’s been going on with you King T’Challa,” Anaya teased as she tried to push herself into a seated position.

“Nothing much. The world of politics cooled off for a while and I wanted to apologize for being awol these past months.” T’Challa helped rearrange the pillows so she could sit up. “What about you soon to be umama?”

“Well, this has been my life pretty much, still don’t know how I’m going to manage working at museums and shows towing this one around.”

“Where’s the father?” T’Challa asked softly. A tear formed in Anaya’s eye, “He doesn’t want to be involved. We were drunk that night and you know…..”

“You don’t have to explain,” T’Challa squeezed her hand. “Thanks,” she murmured. “What are you having?” The king inquired, sweeping some box braids back over her shoulder. “I don’t know. I wanted to be surprised.”

“Your neighbor thinks it’s a girl,” T’Challa laughed. “She’s been telling me about me carrying high since it became visible I was pregnant.” Anaya laughed. “I guess we’ll find out today or tomorrow.” T’Challa chuckled. His face quickly fell as she slipped into another contraction. He tried to help her breathe the way he’d seen on television but ended up making her laugh. “You’re really bad at this,” Anaya reclined back onto her pillows rubbing her stomach absentmindedly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” T’Challa smiled. “It’s two quick ones and long out. Not in out in out,” Anaya explained. “I’ll do better next time,” T’Challa promised.

“How long are you visiting, you don’t have to stay. It could be another day or so before I give birth.”

“I’m here for the week, until next Tuesday. And Anaya I want to stay. Besides, I can give Tells and Tonya-Jean a break to walk around.”

“Thanks,” the pregnant mother smiled. Her face contorted as another contraction washed over her. “There you go,” T’Challa soothed as she squeezed his hand. He helped her breathe through and eventually, she settled back. “At this rate, it’ll only be a couple of hours until they’re here with us,” the mom to be sighed. “Then I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me be here,” T’Challa kissed the back of her hand. Sweat had gathered on her forehead and he reached for something to dab it away. “I want you here as long as you can be, distract me.”

“Why? You are not enjoying the miracle of life.”

“Says the man not currently pushing a baby out of his body.”

“Fair enough,” he raised his unoccupied arm in surrender. “Tell me about Wakanda and being a king,” Anaya asked, groaning through another contraction.

“Well,” T’Challa started.

Eight hours later, the room was silent. Tonya and Tells had gone home to catch up on sleep. Anaya was sleeping off her exhaustion and the king of Wakanda sat rocking a sleeping baby girl. Well, she was sleeping. Sydney Iesha Johnson’s big brown eyes fluttered open and stared at the man holding her. She stretched out her tiny body and T’Challa’s heart soared at the feeling of her moving around in the swaddle.

“Hi pretty girl,” he whispered. “Hi,” he cooed, smiling as she yawned. “You are so beautiful, just like your mommy. She was the most beautiful girl in the world and now she’s tied with you.” He rocked the infant softly. “T’Challa?” Anaya croaked. “Hey,” the king stood up and walked the baby over to her mother. “She was fussy in the crib, and the nurse suggested I hold her, I hope you don’t mind,” he rambled. Anaya laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. “It’s fine. I love seeing you with her.

“You know I’m here for you right? Both of you now,” the king searched her eyes. “I know I’m not her father, and I’ll never try to be that for her, but she’s a part of you and that makes her important to me.”

Anaya teared up and nodded.

“I want you to move to Wakanda.”

Taglist: @almostpurelysmut @blackbypurpose @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @derangedcupcake @chaneajoyyy @lalapalooza718 @ororowrites @leahnicole1219 @sarcastic-sunshines @sarahboseman @faatassbitch @lady-love-and-glitter-roses @cxnismajcr @tchallasbabymama

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Stalker X Stalker, Part 8

First

Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Tim woke up the next morning, because that’s how things work.

He fought back a groan as he slowly flexed each muscle individually, making sure that everything was still working. To his surprise, it actually was. His brain stuttered to a stop. Why had he been asleep, then? He was pretty sure it wasn’t his usual sleep day…

Then, he finally processed the fact that his face was pressed to something that definitely wasn’t his pillow.

He cracked an eye open. He was laying on top of Marinette, head resting on her stomach. She was still asleep, he noted, one of her hands was thrown over her eyes and the other tangled in his hair.

He vaguely considered just staying there. He could stay in that position forever…

Except he couldn’t. He had responsibilities. He was pretty sure that if he skipped both patrols and work his family would assume he’d been brainwashed in some way.

So, reluctantly, he pushed himself up and reached a hand out to poke Marinette awake.

She grumbled a little and caught his hand, blinking her eyes open. She looked up at him for a moment, uncomprehending in her sleepy state, and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before clambering away from their tangle of limbs so he could take a quick shower and get ready.

First, though, he started up the coffee machine. He’d known that she’d had coffee, he’d been there when she bought it... but, really, if she was worried enough to lie about it he’d at least try and alleviate those fears a little.

That done, he took a quick shower. He already had a towel and toothbrush at the house -- wow, Marinette really wasn’t joking, he had basically moved in already, oops -- so he used those.

Then he pulled on the outfit she’d made him. By the time he needed help lacing up the corset, Marinette had stumbled into the room in a daze.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello?”

She held out one of two mugs for him and he was forced to hide his smile behind his cup.

“Could you help me with this,” he asked.

She nodded and downed her entire mug before walking behind him. He felt her forehead tip forward to rest against the back of his shoulder as she worked and he was very glad she couldn’t see his face because he was sure that he was beginning to get redder than their costumes.

She pulled the lace tight and tied it off and he had no clue if the tightness in his chest was because she had laced him too tightly or because of nerves but either way he didn’t really mind. He turned back around, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll see you later?”

She smiled at him. “I’ll make some bacon for you to eat on the go. Don’t want you to be hungry.”

He considered saying no but, really, he didn’t see her all that often in the morning and he had to admit that it was pretty cute. “If you remember to make some for yourself then sure.”

She hummed a little and turned around to go make food. He’d check on her in a few minutes to make sure she hadn’t fallen back asleep while cooking.

For now, he absently checked his clothes over for bugs. It was an old habit from years of living with the bats and, had he been even slightly more awake, he wouldn’t have done it.

Except he did. And there, hidden in the cuff of his shirt, was a bug.

… he hadn’t even been this happy when Damian had bugged him for the first time. She cared about him and his well-being! He was accepted!

When he made his way back into the kitchen he made sure to give her a long hug.

Marinette was so tired. She had been working on attaching the diamonds to Cassandra Wayne’s dress and there were so fucking many.

So, when Robin climbed through her window, all she did was give a vague wave of acknowledgement.

“You need better window locks,” he informed her.

“Most people don’t know how to pick every lock in existence, kid.”

“But some do.”

She thought about whether or not she really wanted this to be the argument that took up valuable work time. The answer was no, definitely not.

She finally turned to face him, resting her cheek against the couch. She didn’t know Damian personally outside of messing with Tim when they were in their superhero identities, she wasn’t even completely sure that this was Damian (though he did match up with the measurements she had for his outfits), so there was no good reason for him to be there.

She squinted suspiciously at him. Now that she was paying attention, she could see that he had his hands behind his back.

“What do you want?”

“I saw on your lease that you are allowed to have pets in your apartment.”

Oh no.

“Please tell me you didn’t,” she whispered, her voice close to begging.

He slowly brought his hands out from behind his back to reveal a black cat with almost luminous green eyes. She rested her head in her hands, taking deep breaths to remain calm.

“I wish to coparent with you.”

“... your dad didn’t let you get another pet?”

(Yes, she knew about the pet problem. She had seen Batcow. She had seen the Batbats all over the cave that he had apparently taken in.)

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Possibly.”

She slowly lifted her head from her hands to glare at him. Unfortunately for her, he puffed out his little baby cheeks in a pout and, even if most of what she did was played up to mess with Tim, she was weak for little kids that look sad.

“Fine. But you’re paying for everything and you better actually help me take care of it.”

“She! And her name is Vanelope!”

“Van --?” She decided she didn’t care. She glanced at Damian’s still disapproving expression and rolled her eyes before leaning down to be at the cat’s eye level: “I’m sorry for calling you an ‘it’, Vanelope.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied by her begrudging apology.

“C’mon, put Vanelope down, we’re going to the pet store.”

Damian beamed. She pulled the front of his hood down over his eyes in retaliation for the dumb situation he’d put her in. Revenge achieved, she transformed and ducked out her window before she could get stabbed.

Scarecrow’s parties were always the best.

For one thing, there was the haunted house. Scarecrow took the whole ‘scaring people’ thing very seriously, it was his whole shtick, so you could always count on him to dream up the best haunted houses. Even better, he’d give out brownies laced with minute traces of fear toxin to make the whole thing just a little bit scarier.

Speaking of brownies: the food. Tim was pretty sure that some of the stuff served at the parties could rival the things Marinette and Alfred made.

Then there were the venues he picked. They had to get bigger every year, what with Bruce’s adoption problem and the Rogue’s ever-expanding roster. This year the man had rented out an entire park and the building nearby. The building had a dance floor and a kind of second floor that overlooked everyone. The park held all the people that the building could not.

Add in the fact that every single person was probably clinically insane in some way or another and you’d have the reason for why he was always excited to go.

Tim attended the party as a Red Robin employee. He had to, it was on brand.

Marinette raised her eyebrows when she saw him. She’d gotten there before him, which had been a little bit of a surprise. He’d thought she’d at least wait for a few vigilantes to come to make sure it was safe --.

Oh. Nevermind. He stifled a grin when his eyes landed on a blonde in an outfit he recognized as Cassie’s. He was pretty sure dressing up as Wonder Girl was betraying the bats but he wasn’t going to be the one to call Steph out on it. Cassie was pretty cool...

Cassie -- no, Steph -- was suddenly grabbed by the arm by an excited Marinette and pulled her over to him. Marinette was wearing a pirate costume and he suspected that the bottle of wine in her free hand was more than an accessory.

“Red Robin, yum~,” both women chorused.

He rolled his eyes. “They’ve infected you already. Soon you’ll be disappearing into the shadows without ending conversations.”

Marinette grinned, the corner of her mask (now tinted black in some places to mimic a pirate’s beard) twitching. “It’s about time you assholes got a taste of your own medicine.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Y’know, for someone who didn’t like the idea of the party before, you sure did get into your outfit.’

“Please, I put effort into all my outfits.”

“Except for the Ladybug one,” teased Steph.

She huffed. “I was on a time crunch --.”

Tim grinned. “That’s no excuse.”

“... you had thought about it for who knows how long and not only did you come up with the name Drake, but you also came up with an ugly brown outfit. You don’t get a say in this.”

Steph grinned. “And me?”

“Your outfits are okay,” said Marinette after a few second’s thought.

Tim gasped in mock offense. “And I thought we were friends.”

“Friends call each other out for their stupid fashion choices.”

Steph smirked and slung her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “And, really, you need an intervention.”

When did they start ganging up on Tim?

“Whatever. This outfit is nice, so that makes up for all past mistakes.”

“It’d be nicer if you didn’t make the same joke every year,” Steph teased.

He huffed and pouted, but then something caught his eyes. Dick had arrived, Tim could see him perched on a second floor railing in his work clothes… of course, the name tag marking him as Nurse Grayson was gone, but it was still the same light blue scrubs.

He paled a little under his domino for two reasons. The first was the instantaneous worry about their identities; sure, Gotham had many medical workers, but who knows, Gotham and Bludhaven twitter both insisted that Dick had a very distinct body. The second was Marinette was going to end up liking Dick quite a lot -- she already looked up to him for his fighting style, there was no way she was going to be able to resist the signature Grayson charm that had won over every superhero, vigilante, and villain on Earth (and a few other planets as well).

He knew that, inevitably, Dick would win her over… but he was definitely going to stall it as much as he possibly could.

So, he pulled a grin to his face. “Oh, Ladybug, you haven’t gone in the haunted house yet, have you?”

She gave him a slightly wary look. “I don’t do good with scary things.”

He grinned. “I’ll protect you.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly before sighing. “Fine.”

So, they made their way across the park to the haunted house. Scarecrow had, somehow, built an entire house in the one month since he had broken out of Arkham. It looked like it had been torn right out of a video game, with the blackened, decaying, and peeling wood and rickety steps.

Jonathan Crane smiled when he saw the two of them approaching. He was dressed as a scarecrow, but the one from the Wizard of Oz instead of the creepy one he was usually dressed as.

“Crane!” Tim greeted.

Crane held out the plate of fear toxin brownies for them. “Nice to see you, Red Robin. And nice to meet you, Ladybug.”

Marinette blushed a little, her head tipping to the side. “I’d shake your hand but you haven’t set down that tray the entire time I’ve been here. Starting to think you can’t.”

He laughed a little. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Tim smiled a little and popped a brownie in his mouth. Fear toxin tasted a lot like chili powder and, he had to admit, it was pretty good.

Marinette took a brownie with a lot more hesitance.

“Oh! Have you been exposed to fear toxin yet?” Asked Crane before she could take a bite.

Marinette looked a little worried about the use of the word ‘yet’.

Marinette shook her head, though. “No.”

“Then your immunity isn’t built up. I’d suggest just eating half of that.”

She nodded thoughtfully and broke the brownie in half. She held the halves in her hand awkwardly, unsure what to do now.

“I’ll take the half you haven’t eaten,” suggested Crane.

He set down the tray -- Tim swore he could hear a cartoon sound effect as the man struggled to unstick his hand to the metal -- and took her other half.

“Since it’s a lower dose it’ll probably take longer to take effect,” said Tim. “We’ll have to wait a bit so you can have the full experience.”

Marinette took a tentative bite and her eyes lit up. “This is really good. What’s your recipe?”

Apparently, Crane had once tried to replicate the taste with normal chili powder and had fallen short. Tim watched the two of them theorize what it could be that his attempts had been missing. It was clear that Marinette had missed living in a bakery more than she was willing to admit and, unfortunately, none of the bats were particularly good at even cooking basic meals, let alone the kinds of things she was able to do. Alfred was the only exception and, even then, Bruce wouldn’t let him near her most of the time because of Identity Reasons. Tim was glad that she had someone to talk to about it, he just kinda wished that that person wasn’t a Rogue.

Tim jolted out of watching them when Marinette started rubbing up and down her arms absently. Ah, the toxin must be setting in for her now.

“Ladybug, ready to head inside?”

She blinked and looked up from the conversation. “Oh. Sure. I’ll talk to you later!”

“I’ll try not to get thrown into Arkham by anyone else while you’re gone,” joked Crane.

Tim grinned and took Marinette’s hand, pulling her inside.

It turns out she actually wasn’t all that good with scary things. Or, at least, jumpscares. She clung to his arm, dull nails doing their best to dig into his skin.

On one hand, he kind of felt bad for telling her to come along. On the other hand he thought it was kind of cute, maybe the next movie they watched together could be a horror.

He would probably be able to enjoy it a little more if he wasn’t tripping out on fear toxin himself. There was a creepy little girl following them around and he wasn’t going to acknowledge her and her creepy little white clothes because talking to hallucinations is always bad.

But then, towards the end, she disappeared.

He didn’t like that either. It set him on edge. It shouldn’t, the fear toxin was just wearing off… but he didn’t feel like it was wearing off. He was still a little shaky and the buzzing under his skin was still present, so maybe she’d been real and something was up.

He got his answer when he heard the sound of little feet dashing overhead.

Marinette squeaked and her grip on his arm tightened, somehow.

When the end was in sight and Tim was waiting anxiously for the final scare, he heard someone running towards them. High pitched laughter echoed around them.

“Oh fuck no,” he yelped when he saw the little girl running towards them, arms outstretched, pretty white dress splattered with red.

Marinette seemed to agree with the sentiment. She nearly pulled his arm out of its socket as she pushed herself into a sprint. He stumbled awkwardly a few steps before catching his footing and returning the tight grip.

And then, like the vigilantes with nerves of steel they were, they ran from the child.

She tried to look calm when the door swung shut behind them. She was pretty good at managing her emotions, she thought (or, at least, good at pushing them down).

But it wasn’t necessary because, when they reached the safety of the outside, they were handed a framed picture of them sprinting away from the creepy little girl, horror written plainly on their faces.

She blushed, more than a little embarrassed.

Thankfully, she was quickly distracted from her embarrassment. Her eyes landed on Bruce, who was dressed as a vampire. She waved for his attention, intending to point out the similarities in their outfits to mess with him, only for his eyes to zero in on the wine bottle in her hand.

Marinette mumbled a curse.

She turned and pressed a ‘kiss’ to Tim’s cheek through her mask. “Gotta go,” she chirped, before promptly disappearing into the crowd.

Alright, time to avoid Bruce. Where is the last place she’d be? Actually, no, he’d probably check the last place...

Her eyes landed on where Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were hanging out by the drinks.

Hm... a negative (people she was wary about) and a positive (drinks!) to balance each other out. A good middle ground.

She walked over and picked up a weird drink with a lot of different candies sticking out of it. She did not know why Scarecrow felt the need to sully the good name of alcohol with American candies but, since it was apparently the only option, she slipped a straw under her mouth to drink.

The drink was taken from her fingers.

She looked at her now-empty hand, brain struggling to catch up, straw hanging limply from her mouth. Then she spat out the straw and cursed.

She slowly turned to look at the person who had stolen it from her, expecting to see a disappointed Bruce, only to meet eyes with Poison Ivy.

(Ivy had dressed up as a stereotypical martian. Marinette wondered, vaguely, if actual aliens were ever offended when people dressed up like the movie versions of them.)

“I’d like that back, thanks,” she said, reaching for the drink.

She held it out of reach -- holy shit she was tall -- and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “You’re a child.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly: a child,” she said.

Marinette rolled her eyes. Was this how Damian felt? Damn, no wonder he was always so angry about it… but, to be fair, Damian actually was a child. She was nineteen. She had a job and an apartment. Completely different.

But, since convincing Ivy she wasn’t a child wasn’t working, she had to come up with a new approach: “I’ve been drinking since I was six.”

For some reason, this didn’t seem to soothe the woman in front of her.

Thankfully, Harley Quinn -- who was wearing a knockoff Riddler costume -- decided to take pity on her: “Let her drink, Ives, Europeans drink differently than we do.”

Marinette and Poison Ivy exchanged confused looks. Marinette hadn’t gone out drinking with anyone properly in America outside of occasionally dropping into bars to trick old men into giving her drinks and then disappearing. Poison Ivy just, apparently, wasn’t aware of the difference.

“For them it’s a social thing, they don’t really get drunk like we do.”

Ivy hesitated. “You don’t get drunk?”

“I mean… we can get drunk,” she said slowly. She cringed visibly. “I did, once. The day I turned eighteen my mom told me ‘Just this once, to see what it’s like’... the pictures… they deleted them, but I will never live it down...”

She reached for the drink again and, this time, Ivy gave it to her. She was lucky she had her mask to hide the smirk on her face.

When Poison Ivy didn’t leave after that, Marinette knit her eyebrows together. The woman blushed (she blushed green?) and Harley pushed her towards Marinette a step.

“I would like to apologize for how we met…” Ivy said slowly. “Joker was an asshole in Arkham and I’d had a fight with Harley and I guess I just…” She snapped her fingers.

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “It’s fine. It’s not the first world-ending event I’ve had to stop because someone had had a bad day.”

Harley hesitated. “That’s… different.”

She shrugged. “New city, same shit… just sometimes easier, I guess. People are actually scared of Joker?”

“Now, that isn’t very nice!” Said a painfully cheery voice behind her.

She’d summoned him.

Marinette took a long, deep breath, before turning around to greet Joker and Punchline. They were dressed as circus clowns, because of course they would. “Hey! Still alive, I see.”

Joker smiled, like he always did. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Pretty sure you’ve died more than B-man over there,” said Harley.

“No clue why they keep bringing you back.”

Marinette’s eyebrows scrunched together. The man had died? And they had brought him back? Willingly? Weird.

“It’s ‘cause I’m Batsy’s favorite,” cooed Joker.

“Favorite punching bag, maybe,” said Ivy.

Marinette, wisely, decided to back up a step so she wasn’t between the two fighting groups.

“At least people pick him as their first choice,” said Punchline.

“You’d be the expert on what it’s like to be the second choice, I guess, since you’re just me but purple,” said Harley.

“I’m you but self-aware,” Punchline corrected her.

Ivy raised her eyebrows. “Some would say that’s worse.”

Punchline almost punched her.

She didn’t stop because of some amazing show of self-restraint, of course. Nightwing had just chosen that moment to drop down between the two groups. And then Nightwing, with his all-amazing powers of getting pretty much everyone on his side, got them to declare a truce and go to opposite sides of the room.

Marinette was a little disappointed as she took a sip of her drink. It had just started getting good.

But also: Nightwing!

“Is it true that you can do a quadruple somersault?”

Nightwing smiled widely.

Tim was beginning to think that maybe Marinette was so interested in Dick because she was secretly his long lost sister or something. They had the same ability to make even some of the worst people like them.

But, no. Dick having a secret half sister or something? How stupid would that be?

Still, Tim had seen her making friends with: all of his siblings that lived in Gotham, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Dick (damn it, he’d hoped he could keep them apart just a little longer)... the only people she hadn’t gotten to like her were Punchline and Joker, and even then she was choosing to annoy them, who knows what would happen if she actually tried to befriend them… and now she was hanging out with Riddler...

He sat next to them on their bench. “I’m beginning to think you can’t make friends with anyone normal.”

She grinned. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Riddler (dressed as the gameshow host he would probably be if he hadn’t gone off the deep end) looked over at Tim with barely hidden disdain. “Red Robin,” he greeted coolly.

Marinette frowned. “Why don’t you like him?”

“Him and all the bats… they always answer my riddles before I finish telling them.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix: Red, wait until he finishes telling the riddles before answering.”

He scoffed. “Why would I?”

“For the drama!” Riddler said in a tone that made it obvious he thought it was obvious.

“Half the time you have people’s lives on the line. Lower the stakes and maybe we’ll be more attuned to the dramatic tension.”

Riddler scowled. “You bats just don’t appreciate my art.”

“You’d think that they’d be all for drama.”

“Right? They have a whole brooding cave! But I want high stakes and suddenly I’m too concerned with the vibes of things.”

Marinette grinned and leaned towards Riddler conspiratorially. “They have more than a brooding cave. They have brooding gargoyles, brooding rooftops, brooding cars… I once caught Red over there brooding on his motorbike. Who can brood on a motorcycle? It’s a motorcycle!”

Tim huffed. “I thought we agreed to keep that a secret.”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just too easy to mess with you.”

Tim started to respond, but then he realized something.

‘Darling’?

That could mean one of three things. He needed to excuse himself from the conversation to figure out which was the truth.

He sent the two of them a halfhearted glare. “I will not put up with this bullying any longer.”

“Fine, fine. If you’re going to come back, bring me a cookie.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “If I must.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, a man on a mission.

After questioning all of the family she had talked to (she had yet to meet Jason, apparently), he determined that she didn’t use nicknames all that often. When she did it was usually just to make things quicker for herself. The only people outside of him that she ever used nicknames for were Bruce (‘B’) and maybe Damian (‘kid’).

And he had a nickname like that, too, of course. She called him ‘Red’ from time to time, probably just because she was too lazy to go through the hassle of saying his entire codename.

… but ‘darling’ was different. He had a pet name. In both identities, apparently.

Which meant one of two things:

a) he was special to her in both identities

or b) she knew he was Red Robin.

He was kinda hoping for the first one, but he wasn’t about to let emotions cloud his judgement. He sought out the world’s only accurate lie detector.

He found her surveying the crowd with Jason. They looked like they’d been transported directly from the renaissance, with her plague doctor outfit and his Shakespeare costume.

Tim grinned at them despite his slight anxiety. “Nice of you to bring a Green Arrow costume back from Star City, Flamebird.”

Jason touched the ugly goatee and mustache that both of them shared before sending him a glare. “And you all wonder why I don’t come home more often.”

“Really? I thought it was because you and Roy were --.”

Jason’s face reddened with either anger or embarrassment, Tim didn’t know and didn’t particularly care as his brother left them in a huff.

He couldn’t see Cass’s face but he could feel the disapproval.

“I just… I wanted to ask you something in private…”

Cass didn’t leave, so he assumed it was okay.

“Does Ladybug know our identities?”

Cass was motionless for a moment and he wished she didn’t have such a bulky outfit because it was hard to get a read on her…

And then she nodded, tapping the side of her forehead (the sign for ‘know’) to further emphasize the point.

He looked down at where Marinette was excitedly describing something to an enthused Riddler.

He’d been anxious about her finding out but, now that she had, he found that it was a huge weight off his shoulders. She knew who he was and she accepted it.

He leaned against the railing, a smile threatening to make its way across his face.

She accepted him.

#stalker x stalker #maribat #timari #timmari #shutterbug #timinette #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #it isn't important but #duke went as miles morales's spiderman #damian went as batman #also pediatric nurse!dick grayson lives in my head rent free

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the-bastards-box · 3 years

Text

Comic' nightmares

A story written with @neon--nightmare as Fresh, about 11 Year old Comic having a nightmare and Fresh having to deal with that

---------------------------------------------------

Comic woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, their breathing is a bit uneven, they're shaking and tears are streaming down their cheekbones, they tried wiping them away, after that they found their glasses and got out of bed, the small skeleton slowly went towards Fresh' room

In the pitch blackness, Fresh creaked one eye open wearily, his single pupil setting a faint white glow across his face. The parasite sat up and rubbed his eyes, not bothering to reach for his shades for now. He’d just been fast asleep, dreamless, for once, so he couldn’t imagine what had woken him up, but... Fresh had an inkling as to why, and he usually trusted his instincts.

Silently, Fresh stood up, lifting his glasses from his beside, and slipping them on as he went. He opened his door, took a step... and quite literally bumped into Comic, catching himself by surprise.

”C-brah?”

Comic looked up at him, They look scared, they wiped the tears from their face again, "I-I . . ." They started crying more.

Fresh mentally froze. He’d had a sense something was wrong with Comic, but... Crying??? He didn’t know how to deal with crying! But, obviously Comic wasn’t hurt, so... Yeah, never mind, not actually bad. Fresh crouched down on one knee, casting his mind back to what he’d seen other people do on TV.

”Hey... What’s wrong, lil broski? Somethin’ happenin wit’ ya?”

"I-I h-had a n-nightm-mare . . ." Comic said it while wiping their tears again, their voice was cracking.

”Shhh, shhh.” Fresh wiped a tear off Comic’s cheek, and flicked it away.

”It’s aight, C-dawg, I’m here, I’m here. Ya know it ain’t... Real, yeah? No point ta worryin’ all up about things that ain’t gonna happen.” Of course, Fresh neglected to mention his own nightmares, and how he sometimes snapped awake in a cold sweat, silently heaving for air. That was dumb, and hey, it wasn’t real! Fresh trusted Comic as much as he was capable of, but he still wasn’t in the habit of giving out his... ‘weaknesses’ all willy-nilly.

Suddenly Comic hugged Fresh, hiding their face in Fresh' clothes, "Th-they h-hurt me a-again . . . it h-hurt s-so m-much . . ." They're still shaking.

Fresh frowned, the letters on his glasses flickering briefly, before he wrapped his arms around Comic in turn, rubbing his back. Yeah, this may have been... more than he’d signed up for.

”Hey, hey. Dey ain’t here any more, lil brah. ‘S just you an me, yo! Jus’ all up Fresh an’ Comic, see! Nobody else here.” He went to rub Comic’s head, and thought better of it at the last moment; yeah, if he still thought his bullies were in the house with him, best not to go near the wound they left. Fresh felt a slight twinge in his gut, at that, but shoved it away.

”’Ey, I got a RADICAL idea, homeslice!! How ‘bout we all up go on a walk o’ da place, just ta up an PROVE dey ain’t here?? An’, ya know, even if some unfresh burglar-brah is here ta steal all ya snacks, I’M here ta protect ya~!!” He grinned down at Comic, lifting up his shades with one hand to give a wink.

"O-okay . . ." Comic is trying to calm down, they're still a bit shaky

In one swift movement, Fresh scooped Comic up in his arms, bridal-style, and his grin widened. ”C’mon, C-dawg, lead da way! Where ya wanna go first?”

After a brief moment, he added, ”We can walk an’ talk at da same time, by da way. If ya want~!”

Comic flinched a bit when they were picked up, "B-back to m-my r-room f-for now . . ."

That caught Fresh a bit off guard for a moment, but he managed to mask it quickly, barely letting a shred of surprise cross his face.

”Aiiight, back ta da room it is!! You’re da bus driver here, ya ridin’ on da FRESH EXPRESS! <3” And with that, still carrying the smaller skeleton, Fresh skipped his way back to Comic’s room, oblivious to Comic’s discomfort.

Comic is holding onto him, when they entered the room, the small skeleton looked around and wanted to be put down when they saw their scarf

Fresh set Comic down gently, still keeping a close eye on him. ”Dere ya go, lil brah, go get it. Ya feelin’ any better now?”

Comic took the scarf and wrapped it around their neck, then they went back to Fresh, "a little b-bit . . ." They're not crying anymore, but they are still a bit shaky

”PERFECT, yo!!! Hold on a sec~!” Fresh scooped up Comic once more, then looked around.

”Ya still want dat house tour, or d’ya just wanna up an crash here fo’ now? Ya look MAD wiped out, lil broski.”

"We c-could go around . . ." Comic then yawned quietly

”Ya wish is mah command, yo! Maybe I can, hmm...” Fresh trailed off for a moment, thinking. Then he walked over to Comic’s bed, snatching a pillow off and positioning it in the crook of his arm, so the other skeleton had somewhere that wasn’t bone to lay his head.

”Lil cozier now?”

Comic put their head on the pillow, "y-yeah . . ."

”BAM, SLEEPYTIME CENTRAL!!!” Fresh grinned excitedly, completely ignoring the irony of how loud he usually talked.

”So... Are ya thirsty, huh? Wit’ all dat cryin’, I’m surprised ya ain’t all lookin up like a piece o’ dried jerky right now, ah hahaha!” Fresh beamed at his own joke, the YOLO on his shades glowing slightly in the dark.

Comic chuckled quietly at the joke, "I c-could drink something . . ."

”Rad!!! Hold on just a sec, homedawg, we gonna get HYDRATED up in here!!!” Fresh nestled him closer and headed off in the direction of the kitchen, more slowly this time.

”Now, I ain’t all sure what time it is an’ junk, so I ain’t sure if it’s early enough in da mornin’ fo’ breakfast... I know some peeps up an’ chug warm milk ta get ‘emselves ta sleep an all dat, how’s it soundin’ ta ya? Plus, ya get dat sicknasty CALCIUM in ya diet!! Wicked strong BONES, yo, ya gonna be liftin’ towers in no time!!” Fresh was mostly talking to fill the silence, people did that, right? They’ve gotten this far already, no point in letting Comic’s mind wander back to his nightmares.

"It sounds nice . . ." Comic is rather calm now, they closed their eyesockets

Fresh chuckled softly, pulling up to the kitchen. Balancing Comic steadily, making sure there was as little jostling as possible, Fresh poured the skeleton a cup of milk, kicking the fridge shut and popping the half-full mug into the microwave. Hey, he didn’t want Comic to spill it on either of their clothes on the way back!

The gentle whirring of the microwave filled the quiet kitchen as they waited for the beep, a warm orange light washing over the two. Comic’s eyes were closed, but Fresh continued to smile down at him. It’d be so easy to just possess him like this, with his guard down... But, no, there was no point in it yet. This whole debacle would go a long way in gaining Comic’s trust, Fresh was willing to bet, and that was more than useful enough to justify the work he’d went through.

Besides, he’d gathered a lot of information... Namely that, yes, the incident continued to affect him deeply, something that Fresh already knew - but it was very interesting to see the extent of how deeply. It wasn’t often the parasite had a front seat to this sort of thing... And to see how Fresh was the first one Comic went to for comfort was hilarious, considering the reason Fresh had stuck around in the first place! There were so many possibilities... But, no, he wouldn’t play his hand too soon. He wanted to see where this was going, first! And all the things that trust could lead to...

The microwave dinged, jolting Fresh out of his thoughts. He gently eased the door open and pulled the steaming mug out with one hand, nudging Comic gently. ”Ya still awake in dere, lil brah...? Milk’s up!”

Comic looked at him, they're a bit sleepy

”Aw... Nothin’? Well, I guess da milk can wait a lil. Dey call it WARM milk, not steamin’ milk, after all~!”

Still holding both the mug and Comic, Fresh turned heel and headed back to the bedroom, making sure none of the liquid sloshed out as they went. When they arrived, Fresh gently plopped his cargo down onto the bed, leaving the mug on the nightstand and tucking Comic in. Once that was done, Fresh plopped down next to him, the mattress creaking slightly under the sudden weight.

”All tucked in, an’ wit’ somethin’ ta drink when ya wake up!! How ya feelin’ now, lil homie?” Fresh grinned, obviously proud of himself and his handiwork.

"better . . . Thank you" Comic smiled slightly at him

”Haha... No problem, C-slice. Ya can always count on me, aight~?” Fresh had been planning to leave and wait for Comic to call him back, but he thought better of it; instead, he climbed into bed next to Comic, tucking himself in and placing his shades safely besides him. The other skeleton had seen the parasite many times without his glasses, after all, though, luckily, never asked why his “eyelight” was cracked like that.

Also, Fresh hadn’t had the time to change out of his pajamas in the first place, so it was perfect! Who said that only kids could wear dinosaur-patterned sleep pants? Nobody, that’s who. Fresh sighed and nestled himself in, closing his eyes - although, if anything happened, he was always a light sleeper. For now, though, he highly doubted Comic could do any harm to him... and with that, Fresh was out.

Comic looked at Fresh, they decided to cuddle up to him, they closed their eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

#writing #comic #comic!sans #fresh #fresh!parasite #fresh!sans #asks and requests are appreciated and needed #undermine #undertale #undertale alternate universe #undertale au #undertale ask blog #ut #au #utau #utmv #skeleton ask blog #ask blog

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svtkillua · 4 years

Text

little lion man > 1

rating: [pg-13 / angst] pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader x todoroki shouto warnings: cursing, lots of yummy angst >:)) word count: 6.8k

listen while you read here!

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ch.1 + ch.2 + ch.3 + ch.4 (final) + alt. ending

The rain fell just loud enough for you to hear, the skies a beautiful but somber grey and the world feeling otherwise silent. The birds weren’t chirping. The neighborhood seemed empty. It was just you. You and your empty apartment and your thoughts. The all consuming thoughts that made the silence seem so loud. His voice just kept replaying in your head, like the soundtrack to the otherwise quiet moment.

“I think she’s the one.”

Time alone with him was like a cruel trick. For those hours you could slip out of your mind and focus only on him and you and on how incredible it felt to pretend that Bakugou Katsuki loved you. It felt like a dream to be in his presence, it always had. He wasn’t just a hero to you but so much more. From the moment you’d met you could feel it, that pull to him every time he’d smile or laugh far too loud. He knew just how to get you to give into his crazy ideas and antics and as much as you pretended you hated it, you loved it. You craved it. You craved him.

Loving him was the biggest mistake you had made. Falling for someone who had no such feelings for you was bad enough, but it being your best friend was about a hundred times worse. The sting when he’d talk about others left a constant acrid taste in your mouth and there was no escaping it. You loved him too much to let him go, even if it meant feeling dejected and harboring the emotions in silence. You couldn’t just give him up, in love with him or not, you were his best friend and he was yours.

When he had met her, everything felt like it took a great shift, not with him, but with you. The bitterness had grown more constant in your chest. You had manifested a disdain for yourself the more you heard about her. If you were pretty than she was beautiful. If you were a quiet song than she was a boastful ballad. If you were a starry night than she was a brilliant sunrise. You weren’t undesirable, but she was more. You were the sarcastic comments and loud laughter that earned his friendship, while she was the beautiful smile and soft voice that earned his heart.

They’d been dating about a year and despite his constant touring and packed schedule, you could see him falling in love with her more each passing day. His every waking thought and moment was spent wanting her, thinking of her, missing her. You could see it in his eyes because you saw it in your own, that all consuming love that left you feeling breathless. The only difference was that she loved him as well and supplied him with the oxygen, while you were left feeling like your lungs were being ripped out.

You’d somehow managed to always have an excuse so you wouldn’t have to meet her. She had met the rest of the boys several times and lately Bakugou had been more persistent about you getting to. It wasn’t that you thought you’d dislike her, it was that you knew you probably wouldn’t, and somehow that made it all so much worse. If she was worthy of Bakugou’s attention than she was surely just as incredible as he was, with a shine so bright it was nearly blinding when you stared too long.

You’d spent your time practicing playing your piano, which was far too large and taking up too much room in your small apartment. It was your passion and your outlet the nights the hollow feeling in your chest was just a bit too much. Composing was your dream and while he was supportive he didn’t have any idea that he was such an inspiration to the love songs.

It wasn’t like you were depressed or wanted to disappear, if anything you just wanted your emotions to go away for a while. You needed a reset so you could go back to being oblivious to the feelings you felt. You wanted to be blissfully ignorant to how his touches and words could make you feel, but you weren’t exactly sure how to get there. You couldn’t deny you loved him romantically at this point, it was useless. You loved him down to your very bones.

One late night phone call when he’d been practically begging you to meet her after his full-day shift finished, you’d been rattling off every possible lame excuse you could come up with. It wasn’t until he quietly uttered those five short words that your excuses stopped flowing.

“I think she’s the one.”

It had been the only reason you’d given in, and the exact reason they were coming over for dinner tonight. It’d be the first time you’d seen him since his last small break from work abroad two months ago, and while you were excited to see him, the idea of finally meeting her in person made you a bit queasy. You could only hope it would do some good. Maybe seeing him so in love with someone else in person would be the wake-up call you so desperately needed to jump start moving on.

The quiet ding of the oven ripped your attention away from the rain dripping down the window, your head whipping around and your lips parting to let out a sigh. You couldn’t let your emotions getting the best of you tonight, the last thing you needed was to come across as a completely jealous bitch. Your body moved easily throughout your apartment to the kitchen, turning off the beeping oven and pulling out the cookies you’d made for later, Bakugou’s favorite.

Your apartment wasn’t huge, but far big enough for yourself, just big enough to be roomy but small enough to be cozy. The far wall of the small dining area was lined with photos. As you set the table, your eyes wandered them, a smile spreading on your lips. Some were small and some were large. Some were sentimental and some were goofy but they all made your heart swell. Your personal favorite was a photo of Bakugou and Tokoyami wearing these ridiculous face masks you’d forced them to try a couple months back. Thinking of it always made you smile.

The place had so many memories of late nights with all the guys piled in watching movies. You’d had your fair share of sleepovers and little parties. You’d written a few songs on the piano here with Kaminari which never saw the light of day. You even had a small dent in the back wall of the kitchen from where Bakugou stumbled into it one night he had too much to drink. He proceeded to sit on the floor and chant apologies for a solid hour afterwards. The walls were practically oozing with memories that made your heart do a little hum.

Your phone buzzing in your pocket made you jump a bit, silently cursing yourself for being so lost in thought. With a quick tug, it was pulled from your pocket, the screen lighting up with a text.

Kaminari [19:57] :

We’re pulling up now, see you in a few!

You quickly moved away from the set table, moving to your bedroom and dropping your phone onto the mattress with a dull thud. The reflection of yourself from the mirror in your closet caught your attention, feet moving towards it without much thought. A simple black sweater and dark skinny jeans seemed to fit the dull weather well, hair flowing down over your shoulders and feet clad in a stupid pair of socks Kaminari had sent you a few months back. You were silently thankful it wouldn’t just be you and the happy couple tonight, Kaminari and Todoroki were coming as well.

With soft click of your bedroom door you exited the room, feet quietly padding across the hardwood floors to the front door just as the doorbell rang. You paused for a moment just outside it, hearing the muffled voices on the other side laughing. Just hearing his faint giggling made your stomach do a small involuntary twist. You took one long, deep breathe, before twisting the knob and opening the heavy wooden door. It was now or never.

“Finally!” Kaminari huffed, rushing inside and nearly knocking you over in a tight hug, a laugh leaving your lips as you wrapped your arms around the towering boy. “I thought you were going to leave us out there forever.”

“Kaminari. I answered the door after like, two seconds.” You snorted, patting his cheeks as he smiled cheekily down at you. Once his arms moved off you, Todoroki swooped in for his hug, his arms feeling much stronger around your middle than Kaminari’s had.

“It’s good to see you.” He whispered and smiled softly as he leaned back some, grip still around you as his eyes peered over your figure, as if checking to make sure I hadn’t changed too much. His body was warm against yours and the gentle smile on your face made your nerves simmer down a bit. “You look beautiful, besides those socks.” He chuckled, making Kaminari whine loudly.

“I got her those! They’re cute, thank you very much.” He scoffed, flicking Todoroki’s cheek, earning him a hard pinch in the side.

Kaminari made a yelp and slid an arm around your shoulders, trying to playfully tug you away from Todoroki and instead into his chest, Todoroki just narrowing his eyes at the towering boy.

“Will you two stop hogging her?”

Bakugou’s voice made all focus on the other boys banter slip away, your breathing momentarily stopping as your eyes finally landed on the blonde haired boy. The grin that spread on his lips as he rushed to you made your heart’s tempo double, his arms surrounding you in an instant. Your eyes felt heavy, fluttering shut as you squeezed him tightly, his nose burying against your shoulder as he rocked your bodies side to side.

“I missed you so much.” He whispered into your shirt, making a smile tug up on your face and your hands hold him just a bit stronger. His own hands spread against your back, moving gently up and down in soothing motions. Being in his arms again felt so relaxing, and to you it felt so, so right.

For a moment it felt like just the two of you. Just you and your Bakugou, with his arms holding you and his smell making you feel intoxicated. Your body was molded against his, a soft exhale falling past your lips. Your back arched some so you pressed into him, his own body leaning forward some over you as he nuzzled against your shoulder. He took a deep breathe into your skin, fingertips pressing into your back, as if trying to pull you in closer to him.

“I missed you too, Katsu.” You murmured, eyes opening and focusing on the gorgeous girl standing behind him by the door. Reality felt like a slap to the face, a hard one that would leave an angry red mark across your features. You felt a bit sick to your stomach, grip loosening around him in an instant as you began pulling away, despite the slight grip he seemed to try and hold on you. You tried hard not to let your smile falter when you involuntarily let him go before speaking, “Are you going to introduce me?”

The moment the words left your lips he seemed to fly off you, hastily moving to stand beside her. She was gorgeous, a smile on her face and her eyelashes fluttering as she looked over at his profile. They looked incredible together, his arm easily slinking around her midsection and her face heating up when he pressed a small kiss to her cheek before speaking.

“This is my stunning, brilliant, oh-so-amazing girlfriend, Camie.”

The way his voice lifted and his eyes shined was so very Bakugou. He looked so proud to be hers, his eyes glued onto her face as she waved at you shyly. You vaguely waved back but all you could feel was the sinking in your chest as she moved closer and gave you a small, friendly, hug. Part of you had been hoping she’d be an awful person so you’d have every right to dislike her, but it was clear she wasn’t.

“It’s so great to finally meet you. Katsu talks about you all the time.” Camie giggled, letting you go and moving to stand back beside a blushing Bakugou.

“Babe! Don’t call me that in front of them.” He clicked his tongue at hearing the pet name, fingers moving up to tickle her sides, making her gorgeous laughter float through the air. It seemed fitting her laugh would sound so melodic, he loved making people laugh, it was only fair his girlfriend would have the most beautiful sounding one.

“Let’s sit, everything’s ready.” You said, forcing the most believable smile you had as you moved away from the door towards the dining table. They removed their shoes and coats in a blur of motion, everyone piling around the small table. You found yourself sandwiched between Kaminari and Todoroki, both boys piling food onto their plates while Bakugou pulled out Camie’s chair for her. He sent you a sly wink once he was seated and your smile relaxed into a somewhat more natural one.

“This looks great, have you suddenly become a good cook while I was gone?” He quipped, you sending a playful glare in his direction.

“Excuse you, I’ve always been an amazing cook, you just don’t appreciate my talents. Besides, you have no room to talk, Mr. I can’t cook an egg.”

Kaminari snorted and smacked the table at your comeback, always one for dramatic reactions. Camie giggled at his enthusiasm, patting Bakugou’s hand that rested on the table as she spoke.

“She has a good point.”

He muttered something under his breath about her not coming to his defense, which only seemed to make Kaminari laugh louder, his whole body quaking as he draped an arm around the back of your chair, using his other hand to push a bite into his mouth. Bakugou’s attention moved back over to Camie, his snarl only getting more prominent when she giggled loudly.

As everyone started settling into their meals your eyes flickered back over at the couple, seeing how Camie leaned in quickly and pressed a small kiss to his slightly pout lips when she thought no one was looking. The smile that took over his face was the most beautiful and heart breaking thing you’d ever seen, all at the same time. He looked so indescribably happy just being near her and you felt horrible for hating it. He was your best friend, you should want him to be happy even if it wasn’t with you.

You had been the one that made the mistake of falling in love with him, it wasn’t his fault for falling in love with someone other than you. You had given him your everything without making sure he wanted it and that was something you could only blame yourself for. Even without ever really having him be yours, you were his. You didn’t plan to be, but you were his, and you weren’t sure you’d ever not be.

He wasn’t just some guy you barely knew, he was Bakugou. Bakugou that would sit and watch you play piano for hours with a wistful smile on his face. Bakugou that would call you late at night and hum quiet songs to you til you fell asleep. Bakugou that punched your ex in the face for making you cry. Bakugou that had cried and cried when you both got in a huge fight over something stupid and begged your forgiveness a mere hour later. The same Bakugou you couldn’t help but sometimes resent for loving someone else, you loved with all your heart and soul. Not just romantically, but in every possible manner you could love someone.

Dinner passed with lots of chatter, you found yourself barely paying attention to conversation as the boys reminisced about touring and asked the occasional question, to which you’d give small but good enough responses. Bakugou’s chair had moved closer and closer to Camie’s the entire time, his hand eventually wrapping in hers on the table top, which you had noted, made her blush the prettiest damn shade of pink.

You all moved into the living room after debating over who would do the dishes, Todoroki eventually grabbing them all and marching off to do them, ignoring your complaints. The living room was on the smaller size, filled with a plush chair and two seat sofa, a coffee table, a tv and your huge piano, which took up most of the space in the room. Windows lined the back wall by the piano, overlooking the streets below.

You made it into the room last, Kaminari taking up the chair, Bakugou and Camie sharing the small sofa. Bakugou’s eyes focused on you and he smiled, trying to scoot over some but nearly squashing tiny Camie in the process. She didn’t make a peep, but you could see her squirming a bit uncomfortably.

“Sit by me!” He pouted, patting the tiny spot of sofa on his right side but you only shook your head, walking past him to sit down on your piano bench.

“Katsu, you’re gonna hurt her. It’s a small couch.” You chuckled half heartedly, sitting on the wooden surface with your back to the keys, arms folding lazily over your chest. His eyes shifted from yours, to Camie, then back to yours again when he scooted so she’d have enough room. His arm rose and wrapped around her shoulders as he blushed a tad but his eyes stayed focused on you.

“Mean.” He huffed. You easily rolled your eyes and looked away, Kaminari snickering a bit at you both. Camie’s head fell onto Bakugou’s shoulder as he rubbed his palm back and forth over her shoulder blade, your eyes staring at the interaction.

It was an odd feeling really, seeing in person the girl who had everything you seemingly didn’t. She was smart and seemed to keep up with Bakugou’s constant outbursts. Bakugou had been boasting all dinner about how sweet she was, something that made her turn the color of a tomato. Somewhere thought out dinner she had mentioned that she was studying to be a doctor, but also loved to dance in her free time. That’s how they had met, outside of her dance studio while he was patrolling the city. You could remember the day, Bakugou had been texting you all night about the cute girl he’d met.

She was undeniably beautiful, with long light colored hair swept half up and half down, side-swept bangs making it breathe a look of innocence. Her light colored dress and white sweater was a stark contrast to your all black ensemble. She was small and relatively thin, her fingernails painted a delicate pink, the same color her cheeks had turned when she blushed earlier. She seemed genuinely kind, not at all like the books and movies where the other woman was heartless and undeserving for the man’s love. She seemed perfect for Bakugou, and that thought made your heart twist uncomfortably in your chest.

“Dishes are all done.” Todoroki announced quietly as he came in after a few minutes, sitting beside you on the miniscule bench. He patted your knee, making you chuckle a bit and nod your head. You could vaguely see Bakugou’s eyes on the pair of you but paid it no attention, pressing a small kiss to Todoroki’s plush cheek.

“Thanks Sho. Though, I wish you would have just let me do them myself. You’re the guest.” You smiled, lifting a hand up to run your fingers through your hair, pushing some behind your ear so it’d stop falling in your face.

“Yes, but you cooked.” He argued, folding his muscular arms over his chest and trying to wink at you, failing and pretty much just blinking, which made you laugh and shake your head. His smile spread across his lips as he shook his head back at you, Bakugou clearing his throat a bit.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

A few clicks of the remote later and some cheesy romantic flick was playing on screen, the sound paired with the slow rain still drizzling down outside. Camie was totally engrossed in the film, as Kaminari and Todoroki seemed to be, though Todoroki kept letting out unimpressed yawns. The lighting had grown dim from the setting sun but no one moved to turn the lights on, instead opting to just focus on the glowing screen.

Romantic movies never did much for you, however, so your focus was elsewhere, namely, on Bakugou, who kept catching your eye and making stupid faces in your direction. It made your heart flutter in the way only Bakugou could with such a stupid action. A soft laugh fell past your lips when he stuck his tongue out at you, a grin spreading on his face when your quiet laughter met his ears.

You took the opportunity to make a stupid face back, crossing your eyes and puffing out your cheeks like a fish. His laugh was so loud and sudden it made Kaminari jump, nearly falling off his chair, which resorted in your own laughter. Bakugou smiled sheepishly and reached over to pat his knee, mumbling a sorry for scaring him.

You could feel eyes on you and glanced over, Camie’s eyes catching yours, though she quickly looked away back to the screen. For a moment, you had almost forgotten she was here, you’d only been focusing on Bakugou. She had a small pink tone on her cheeks, perhaps from you catching her stare, but she didn’t give much of a reaction otherwise. Her hand clasped around Bakugou’s free one, before she lifted it up and kissed the back of it, a small but affectionate action.

You looked away, eyes locking onto the screen and focusing on the emotions there rather than the ones spreading in your chest. It was stupid to be jealous over such a simple action as holding hands, but you were. You were envious and you knew it, because you wanted to have those simple affections and touches with Bakugou, and you didn’t. She did, and she clearly treasured them, judging by how she kept doing it subtly all night when she thought no one was looking. She seemed a bit shy, yes, but clearly she wasn’t as shy with her sentiments for him.

You quietly got up when some love profession was happening on screen, feeling Bakugou’s eyes on you as you mumbled something about getting a drink and slipped from the room. In the safety of the kitchen, you let out a quiet puff of air you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You felt dejected, like finally meeting her just put the last check mark of the boxes it took to break your ever shrinking confidence.

The tea kettle made a tiny clink when you set it on the stove top, flicking on the burner and staring at the small flames as they danced upwards. Your body turned to look out the window, hands reaching behind you to rest on the off white countertop. The rain had slowed, but the windows had fogged up some with condensation, little beads of the sweat rolling down the panes at half speed. The rain definitely wasn’t helping your dreary mood, your knuckles turning a bit white from how tightly you gripped the counter.

“You okay?”

Bakugou’s voice startled you, your body lurching upwards some, making him smile as he slipped inside the previously quiet kitchen. The movie could be faintly heard in the other room, along with the boys quiet commentary and Camie’s laughter. His eyes focused on your face as he came closer, leaning against the counter opposite you, his arms draping across his chest in a lazy motion.

“Yeah. I just hate those movies, you know that.” You chuckled half heartedly, averting your eyes from his face to the tea kettle. “Thought I’d make myself a drink and escape having to watch any more of it.”

He hummed, bobbing his head up and down in a small nod while standing his body up straight, his hands shoving into the pockets of his tight black jeans. You caught the smile spreading on his lips when he noticed the plate of his favorite cookies on the counter.

“Right, I almost forgot you’re a love hater.” The teasing was obvious in his tone, but the irony of his words made your laugh taste sour on your tongue.

“I’m not a love hater, Bakugou. I’m a cheesy movie hater, as everyone should be.” You quipped, sticking your tongue out at him before turning around to turn off the kettle which had started to let out a quiet whistle.

“Well, I somewhat enjoy them.”

“Of course you do.” You chuckled, hearing his far too dramatic gasp from behind you.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I have great taste!” He argued, the internal pout evident in his tone.

“You do not. The last movie night we had, you chose that awful action movie, remember? I still can’t believe you liked it.” You laughed, easily falling into your usual rhythm with him. Bakugou made it so simple to feel so comfortable. One minute you were contemplative and gloomy and the next he could have you laughing and smiling so hard your cheeks would grow sore.

“It wasn’t that bad!” He argued, but you could hear the laughter in his tone nonetheless, making it obvious he knew he was wrong. “Can I have a cup too?”

You nodded, grabbing his usual mug from your cupboard and pouring you both some of the hot drink. You turned back towards him, holding the mug out, which he took with an appreciative nod of his head, followed by a beat of silence as you both took a few sips.

His eyes wandered around the room while yours flickered over his face, taking in every curve and dip of his features. His jaw tensed a bit when he took too big of a gulp from his cup, his knuckles tightening their grip on the pastel yellow mug when he swallowed. His upper half was covered in a simple long sleeve white shirt, but he somehow made it look expensive. His hair was a lighter shade of blonde than when you’d last seen him, you noted, eyes wavering back down to his face. You were a bit surprised when you noticed he was now staring back at you.

“You got a haircut.” He said with a funny look on his face you couldn’t pinpoint, hand lifting up to tug lightly on the ends of your hair. You nodded without responding, his hand lifting up more to push the hair back behind your ear, fingers brushing along your cheek in the process. “It looks great, very mature. You’re growing up too fast on me.”

You laughed softly and swatted his hand away, a small smile on your face as you patted his chest. You silently noted how firm it felt under your palm. It was kinda unfair honestly, his physique was about as perfect as his personality, which was saying something.

“You’re being a tad dramatic, it’s a haircut. Besides, you cut yours almost every month.” You chuckled, lifting your cup towards your lips to take a small sip of the tea still left in the mug.

A moment passed where he nibbled on his bottom lip, your eyes shifting and watching the movement over the cusp of your mug. He seemed a bit nervous as he opened his mouth once to speak, closed it, then opened it again.

“So, do you like her?”

It wasn’t a hard question but you could tell from his tone it was loaded. He wanted you to like her, that much was obvious. She was his girlfriend and you were his best friend, it made sense your opinion meant something to him. His eyes darted from yours the doorway and back before he spoke again.

“Be honest with me, please.”

“She seems great Katsu. She seems to make you really happy, so I’m happy for you.”

It wasn’t a lie, mostly, she did seem genuinely kind and lovely. She’d been nothing but nice to you all night, despite her bouts of shyness. It was so clear why Bakugou was so smitten with her, she was like a softer, more reserved, version of him. You were happy for him, yes, mostly anyway. Seeing Bakugou happy made you happy, but knowing it wasn’t because of you did feel like a bit of a blow to your chest.

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes casting down to his hands, which had found their way to his front, thumbs twiddling together. It was a habit he only seemed to do when he was contemplating something. You were about to ask what exactly he was thinking, when he blurted it out himself.

“I think I’m gonna ask her to marry me.”

The words felt like the final shove to push you over the edge, your entire body going numb as the syllables registered in your brain. Thinking about him with her had hurt, but realizing it was going to be forever was indescribably painful. You’d never have him, he would never be yours and any sliver of a chance you ever had was gone.

Forever.

“It’s why I’ve been wanting you to meet her so bad. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I knew I couldn’t without you meeting her first…” His explanation barely met your ears, your head moving robotically in a nod as you stared behind him at the window. The condensation was still rolling down it, the sky dark behind the glass. “I know it’s fast but I’m so crazy about her, she’s so amazing, way too good for me and I just can’t imagine being with anyone else and being so happy.”

You knew you should be smiling or at least speaking, but the muscles in your face refused to move. Your mind was going a mile a minute but also not seeming to form any coherent thoughts. You could vaguely feel his body come closer, his presence feeling suddenly suffocating in the small space. His rambling had trailed off as his fingers wrapped around your limp hand. Your eyes finally met his, which were filled with what looked like a bit of panic.

“Please say something.” He said softly, giving your hand a firm squeeze, eyes boring into yours.

You swallowed down the hard rock forming in your throat and got a small smile to spread on your lips, your hand loosely giving his a squeeze back. You had to seem fine. You couldn’t let on that his words had shattered you. He couldn’t know that you loved him the way he loved her, he never could.

“Congratulations Katsu, I’m happy for you.” You said mutely, eyes burning and mouth growing dry. Never before had you wanted him to leave so badly. All you wanted was to curl up on your sofa and be left alone to wallow in self pity and hatred. The kitchen felt too compact with him so close to you and observing your every movement. You couldn’t show how heart broken you felt. You could deal with the crushing emotions swallowing you whole later, for now you had to be the supportive best friend.

“You don’t look happy.” He said, it just barely audible as he stared down at you, the look of panic replaced with concern, and it was growing by the second.

You quickly shook your head, willing your smile to double in size as you pulled his body into yours, hugging him tightly. You buried your face into his shoulder, vision growing a bit blurry when his arms encased you and held you close as he could.

“I am happy.” You lied easily without having to see his face, your grip on him growing stronger as you clamped your eyes shut to stop the stinging. “You’re going to make each other so happy, why wouldn’t I be ecstatic for you? I was just a bit surprised that’s all, like you said, it’s sorta fast.”

The lies came out one after the other, you just hoped they were more convincing out loud than they were in your head. A quiet laugh left your lips and you shook your head some, despite it being tucked against his neck. Your mouth kept moving even though your thoughts were jumbled and messy.

“You’re gonna be such a good husband, you’ll take such good care of eachother. You can’t cook so she’ll have to do that. I’ll even teach her to make those cookies you love. I’d teach you but you’d probably just burn yourself, though she’s going to be a doctor so she could probably handle that huh?”

You knew you were rambling too much to sound normal, and judging by how his hands rubbed over the expanse of your back, you knew he could tell something was up. Your brain was screaming for you to just shut up. Maybe you could play it of as over excitement, or just some form of extreme surprise. His head shook when you started to pull away some, his hold not letting up as he kept you pinned there, between his body and the counter.

“She doesn’t need to know how to make them, you can make me them.” He said, eyes glued to your face as he tried to gauge whatever was going through your head. It was like he was looking for something but had no idea where it was. He knew you well enough to know when something was wrong but this time he couldn’t figure out what. “Why do you seem so…not you?”

You tried once again to pull from his grasp but he was too strong, and seemed completely unphased by your squirming. He needed answers and you needed to get away from him. It felt like no oxygen was getting to your brain and the longer he stared at you the more your panic started to expand. You couldn’t think of any good excuses for your reaction and the longer you stood there in his line of sight, the harder it was becoming to keep the emotions from overflowing.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Kaminari's voice made Bakugou jump, his surprise giving you a chance to push him away enough for you to move aside. Kaminari’s eyes moved between the two of you, before settling on Bakugou. You could see the confusion on his features from your previous proximity, but he didn’t push it.

“Camie keeps dozing off and we have work in the morning, so we should probably get going.” He said with a small smile in your direction and you silently thanked the universe for cutting you a break. “Sorry, I wish we could stay later.”

“Just give us a moment first.” Bakugou said, a slight edge to his voice you could exactly pinpoint. He was frustrated. Whether it was because you wouldn’t tell him what was up or that he couldn’t figure it out on his own, you weren’t sure.

“Baby?” Camie’s voice caught his attention, however, as she shuffled up behind Kaminari, her hand raising to cover her mouth as she let out a quiet yawn. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, we were just talking.” Bakugou said, a small smile on his lips though you could tell it was a bit forced. He didn’t want to worry her, clearly. You would have found it sweet if you didn’t feel like you wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.

You hadn’t seen this coming and maybe that was why it was so hard for you to play it off like you’d become so good at doing. You were good at covering up your feelings, you’d been doing it for so long but this? This had completely thrown you off, to the point where even you knew you were acting odd, not that you could really help it.

“You guys should get going. I have rehearsal for the gala in the morning.” You blurted, smiling and keeping your eyes on Kaminari and Camie, rather than on Bakugou, whose eyes were burning holes into the side of your head. Clearly, he didn’t want your little conversation to be over just yet, but you needed it to be.

You quickly moved over and hooked arms with Kaminari, letting him drag you from the room towards the front door, thankful for him unknowingly saving you from blurting everything out to Bakugou. You could make some excuse up for your reaction later and figure out how to put on the face of the happy for him best friend again. For now, you needed to be alone, from everyone. After Kaminari and Todoroki showered you with compliments over the meal, they gave you an ample amount of hugs, taking turns. Camie than gave you a polite squeeze as well, her now trademark blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you for having us over. I hope we can hang out again sometime?” Her voice came out as a question rather than a statement and the shy smile on her features made you want to scream. She had no idea you were in love with her, possibly, soon to be fiance, and you could only hope she never found out.

“Definitely.” You said with a small nod, ignoring Bakugou’s stare as he moved forward and hugged you again. It felt different than the other’s hugs, almost desperate, his body heat spreading through your entire system and lighting your nerves on fire. The stinging in your eyes started rising tenfold.

“I’m gonna call you when I get home, okay?” His voice was quiet in your ear, but serious. One thing Bakugou was good at was not letting things go, and for once you were a bit unhappy about it. The last thing you needed was him asking you over and over again what was wrong. You made a mental note to shut your phone off as soon as they were gone. You could deal with him once your head was clear.

With a nod and a forceful pull of your body from his, Camie’s hand was in his, tugging him out the door. The boys shouted goodbyes with big waves as they marched out behind them, laughing amongst themselves. He glanced over his shoulder at you just as you moved to close the door, making your heart leap to your throat as he held the gaze for a second.

You immediately ripped your gaze away, pushing the door closed with a thud. The second the lock turned with a soft click, you felt your pain boiling over, your back hitting the wooden surface as your eyes filled with pointless tears. It felt like you’d been dropped in a pool of ice cold water and your body was seizing up. Every nerve in your body was working on overtime but somehow dull all at once.

It wasn’t like you thought you’d had much of a chance before, but now even the smallest hope of it happening had been snuffed out. The pictures of him on the walls were making you feel like you were being mocked and you wished you could throw them all out. The pleasant thoughts of your apartment you were having earlier were gone, filled with disdain for the memories now burning in your mind.

How could you have been so stupid? How could you have let yourself fall in love this deep for someone who would never feel that way for you?

A sharp laugh escaped you as your eyes fell shut and your head tilted back, slightly knocking off the door. The tears dripped off of your cheek and down onto your shirt, leaving tiny dark circles in the fabric, your bottom lip trembling as you tried to reign it in. This all was like the plot of one of those stupid romantic movies you hated so much and the irony wasn’t lost on you.

But if this was one of those movies than Bakugou would have come running back and confessed that he had always loved you. He’d have thrown his arms around you and kissed you til he couldn’t breathe and have whispered how he could never want anyone else.

But this wasn’t one of those movies, this was reality.

Bakugou wasn’t in love with you, he was in love with Camie. He was going to ask her to marry him and they were going to live happily ever after.

And you were always going to be the best friend.

Nothing more.

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

Text

@sicktember Prompt # 28: Missing Out

Title: Unforgettable

Fandom: N/A

Based on this post as well as an ask box prompt. The prompt: “I’m currently dying for something set in a big house (any period) and the young master of the house has a party to attend but he feels awful and is trying to hide it and be a good host but keeps having to sneak off to cough/sneeze. Until maybe one guest notices and that’s how he meets his future wife.”

A young heir attends a Christmas party with his childhood friend as his date. They find themselves in an interesting position when he falls ill.

CW: Vomiting.

(Author's note: Never written this time period before, but I would like to again in the future! I really enjoyed this prompt. And yes these two are definitely in love and will be married someday.)

The year is 1927, and two young men are seated in the back corner of a jazz club in New England, talking little as they sit, enjoying the music. As the band finishes their opening set and prepares to take a break, the older of the two men takes a deep drag from his cigarette, then glances at his companion.

"All ready for your parents' big Christmas shindig next weekend, Jesse?"

Jesse rolled his eyes and scoffed, tapping a cigarette of his own out of the pack. "Sure John, of course. It's such a thrill to be a captive audience as they get smoked and strut around peacocking for their friends. Highlight of my whole year, that. Masquerade Ball, my ass. What drivel."

John chuckled, reclining back in his chair and taking another drag. "You're expected to bring a dame too, yeah?"

"Naturally. It'd be too bad for the heir of the Hamilton fortune to attend without a looker, wouldn't it? Shame all the women in this town are abhorrent."

John shook his head with another chuckle. "That attitude is why you're a perpetual bachelor, hombre. But I have some news that may interest you. Did you know Miss Greenwood is back in town?"

Jesse's interest was piqued in spite of himself. "Lillian Greenwood is back?"

"The very same. Home from university for the holidays."

Jesse leaned back in his chair, trying to look unbothered. "So what if she is. What's it to me?"

"Well I dunno, only that you might like to invite her to the Masq’. If memory serves, you never found her particularly abhorrent."

"We were kids!"

"You were damn near inseparable. You don't *have* to do anything, Jess. But as your oldest friend, I'm asking you to think on it. You'd enjoy the party more if you had company, and I'm sure she'd like to see her old stomping grounds again. Just something to consider is all."

Jesse made no reply as the band resumed the stage just then, but he did indeed think on it very hard.

***

John's information was proven true only a day later. Jesse was just exiting a drugstore he frequented with a fresh carton of cigarettes when he caught the eye of Lillian Greenwood, who was just about to enter the same store, and looking very fetching in a blue fitted coat and hat. Both their eyes widened in surprise upon seeing each other, and for a moment they were speechless.

"Jesse?" Lillian finally said, a slow grin spreading over her face, so familiar to him. "It's been at least an age!" She seized his hands in hers, reaching up on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. "How are you? I've missed you!"

"Lil!" He wrapped her in a hug. "I've missed you too! What are you doing back in this dump, accomplished University woman that you are now? I'm surprised you didn't run in the opposite direction from here a long time ago."

"Well I haven't graduated yet, silly. And I couldn't miss another Christmas at home. I missed everyone here so much. Oh Jesse, it's so good to see you!" She hugged him fiercely again. "You must tell me everything you've been up to! Come inside while I shop before we freeze."

He willingly followed her back in, looking fondly at the soft brown hair brushing across her shoulders. He was so sick of the horrid bobs all the girls were wearing, and he loved that Lillian was still wearing hers longer.

He trailed her through the whole store, gamely answering the barrage of questions she directed at him, but mostly content to enjoy her familiar presence. Eventually she stopped short, turning to face him.

"Are you all right? You're very quiet. You've hardly said anything."

"I'm sorry. Just worn out I guess. Been working extra before the holidays."

"You are looking a bit peaky. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jabber your ear off."

"No it's fine, honest. I'm just happy to see you."

"Likewise." She gave his hand a little squeeze, accompanied by a warm smile. Knowing he wasn't going to get a better opportunity, he took a deep breath.

"Lilli, do you remember that big bash my parents host every year for Christmas?"

"Oh yes!" she said, her eyes lighting up in pleasure. "It was my favorite part of the holidays!"

"No kidding? Well anyway, they still throw it. The last few years they changed it to a Masquerade Ball, but otherwise it's still just like it was. It's a week from Saturday. I know you just got into town and all, and maybe you already have plans… but what do you think about going with me as my date?"

Lillian's grin was immediate, and she clasped her hands together joyfully. "Oh Jess, I'd love that! Just like old times."

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to smile. "Yeah, I guess. Same old dumb party. Like I said, if you're busy, don't worry about it. But you're welcome to come… if you want and all."

She looked confused and a little hurt at his abrupt backtracking. "Of course I want to come. I'll be there."

"Great. I better get going though. I'll call you in a few days to give you the details. It was great to see you, Lil." He pecked her on the cheek. "I'll see you around, kid."

He strode out of the store with hardly a backwards glance, leaving her shocked face in his wake. He hated himself for behaving that way, and he wasn't even sure why he did it. Perhaps it was because the "old times" she was referring to included the present he was stuck in, while she had clearly moved on. Perhaps it was the realization that he had resorted to asking his childhood best friend on a date rather than finding a real date to avoid the embarrassment of attending his parents' party unaccompanied. But whatever the reason, speaking to her had made him equal parts thrilled and miserable. Surprisingly, when he called her a few days later as promised, she again agreed to accompany him, despite his rude behavior in the drug store, and continued to insist she was excited for the party, despite his constant negativity towards it.

***

The Saturday before Christmas dawned bright and snowy, and the Hamilton estate was in an uproar all day with last-minute preparations. Every surface was bedecked for the holidays with ribbons and garlands and tinsel and wreaths and holly and candles. A Christmas tree stood in every room, making the whole house aromatic, each twinkling and topped with a star. When evening rolled in, so too did the guests, all as twinkling and bedecked as the house, filling every room in no time. The Masquerade Ball had begun.

Lillian arrived promptly. Jesse met her in the foyer. Even wearing a mask, she was easily recognizable. She looked stunning in a sparkling gown that accented her figure perfectly. Her eyes were a color that would be easier called unique than pretty, her nose a touch irregular, and her teeth a touch crooked, but Jesse had always found her beautiful. Yet he was in a foul temper, and had been the whole day, and seeing her gave him little pleasure. He noted she had pinned up her hair so it appeared “bobbed” like everyone else's, and even such a simple thing soured his mood further. Upon seeing her initially, he took her hand and kissed it, then gave a sarcastic bow.

“Welcom, Lillian dear. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil

She curtsied daintily, smiling warmly. “The pleasure is all mine. You look very dashing and alluring in that mask.”

He chucked coldly. “You’re looking spiffy yourself, kid. Well, shall we get on with it?” He offered her his arm, which she took, almost hesitantly.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You seem… not yourself.”

“Fine and dandy. Ready to cut a rug and show a girl a good time. Let’s not keep the evening waiting.” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his tone, but continued to tug her toward the dining room, albeit gently. She reluctantly followed, casting him worried glances.

The young Master Hamilton performed his part admirably through the whole evening, however, donning the persona of the host as easily as he did his mask. He chatted and danced and flirted with the appropriate people, giving Lilli adequate attention as required as well. His mother must have been pleased, for the night was a smashing success, from the dinner to the dancing to the decor. Everyone was raving the whole evening about what a splendid party it was. The best one yet, everyone said, just as they said every year.

Jesse, however, was utterly miserable. The bodies packing every room made him too warm, the lights were too bright, the music and din of talking made his head throb, the food smells turned his stomach, and the aroma of pine everywhere left him feeling on the verge of a sneeze all night, especially since his nose had been on the verge of dripping since he awoke. He could only nibble the rich supper. He was barely able to swallow even small sips of Christmas punch without feeling the urge to gag.

In order to keep his sanity, whenever Lillian was occupied talking to someone and he wasn't otherwise engaged, he would duck into one of the unused side parlors. In this sanctuary, away from the lights and sounds and smells, he removed his mask and composed himself. He would first allow himself to sneeze unhindered, finally able to stop his incessant stifling and sniffling, each time surprising himself at how wet and messy and ill they sounded. Then, if he hadn't been gone too long, he would rest his face against the icy window pane, breathing slowly and deeply as a halo of condensation spread out from his hot forehead. Inevitably though, the time would come when he was forced to replace his mask and reenter the ball before he was missed. He counted down the hours desperately, willing himself to last until the end of the party.

The evening began to wind down, and Jesse found himself ducking away more and more frequently. His stomach was in knots and his nausea was gradually rising, so composure was getting harder to maintain. He always checked to ensure Lilli was involved in a conversation before he did so, however. Imagine his surprise then, when moments after he snuck into his sanctuary yet again, he heard the door open after him and Lillian appeared just as he had given over to a violent sneezing jag:

Hiihhh'GEHSSSH'ieeew! ESSSHH'yuuh! Hrrr'USH'IIEWW! Kuhh-hhiiih-ISSSHYUUH!"

"Bless you, Jesse! Heavens, that was a fit! Are you alright?" she asked, approaching him and removing her own mask. "Have you been sneezing like that all night? You keep disappearing."

He flashed the most winning smile he could muster even as he wiped the mess from his face. "I'm just ducky," he said, swallowing thickly as his stomach also decided to give a nasty lurch. "All the pine in the air gets me sneezing. Must be a bit allergic. Sorry for worrying you. Let's go back out before we're missed. I think I owe you a dance or two."

She ignored his rambling and came to stand directly in front of him with a searching look. She lifted a hand and brought the back of it to his sweaty forehead. She clucked softly.

"You're sick, aren't you? You're not feeling well at all."

The thin facade that was holding him together finally crumbled. He limply leaned against the wall, nodding mutely.

"Why didn't you say something? You should be in bed. You look awful."

"I didn't want to spoil the evening," he mumbled.

"Well we need to get you out of here. You look like you're about to collapse."

"I am about to collapse," he said ruefully.

"Come on then. No one will miss us anyway. Let's go up the servants' steps over here so we're not seen."

"I don't want you to miss out on the ball. You looked like you were having fun."

She caressed his cheek fondly. "I came here tonight to spend time with you. I'm not missing out on anything."

They shared a smile, his first genuine one of the night. Then she took him by the hand and led him expertly along the least conspicuous route to his bedroom. The pair of them had spent hours exploring every inch of this house from top to bottom as children, every cupboard, cranny, and corner. He hadn't forgotten those times, and clearly she hadn't either.

It was strange bringing her back to his room. They had spent hours together here too during their growing-up years. He couldn't help but imagine it through her eyes--what was different, what was the same. He realized bitterly that the only thing that was really different was the lack of toys and games everywhere. His room was a reflection of his life--boring and stagnant.

If she was thinking along those lines, she gave no indication. Instead she led him to his bed with a hand at the small of his back, guiding him into a sitting position and helping him remove his jacket and tie. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and heat rolled off of him in waves. The drier air up here made him begin to cough as soon as he sat, the sound hoarse and desperate. She made a sympathetic sound as she carded her fingers through his damp hair, then dug through his dresser, pulling out a set of his pajamas and tossing them over.

"Make yourself more comfortable, and I'll do the same." She headed to his en suite bathroom. "I'll be right back. Try to relax, Jess." She gave him a little smile, which he attempted to return, a hand going to his sore stomach even as he did.

Once the bathroom door was closed behind her, he slowly changed into his pajama bottoms and managed to strip down to his undershirt. All at once, his stomach had had enough, and he knew he was going to vomit. With the bathroom occupied, the next available option was the balcony off of his room. He dashed outside to the railing, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground below, heaving until he had nothing left. As the spasms slowed, his vision began to go gray and wobbly. He sank to his knees weakly, unable to do anything else, clinging to the railing in the freezing cold, which at first felt pleasant on his fevered skin.

He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, and it would have been even longer had Lillian not come out to find him. By the time she did, he was shivering so violently that his teeth rattled in his head. She was speaking to him, but he couldn't register what she was saying. Finally she pulled him bodily to his feet and helped him inside, her arm wrapped around his waist as she supported most of his weight. She again led him to his bed, making him lie down this time and bundling blankets over his icy cold skin while she sat at his side. His consciousness solidified and the world stopped spinning, and eventually he noticed that while she was still wearing her party dress, she had removed her makeup and unpinned her hair, looking more like her old self. The thought made him marginally warmer.

"Let me go fetch some tea for you, and some medicine," she murmured, stroking his hair. She stood and tried to pull away, but he quickly grabbed her wrist, his grasp surprisingly strong.

"Don't go," he rasped, choking back a cough. "I don't want tea or medicine. It'll only make me vomit again. Just stay."

"Stay…" she repeated. "Right. I suppose I could stay."

She went to pull a chair to his bedside, but he stopped her.

"No, come lie here with me."

"Jesse…" she began. "That's not--"

"Why shouldn't you? You were my date. It's what everyone is expecting anyway," he said, a glint of humor in his eye.

She laughed in spite of herself. "I suppose there is that." Against her better judgement, she crossed to the other side of his bed and slipped under the blankets, trying to be mindful of her dress as she got comfortable. He immediately rolled over and nestled against her, and she wrapped an arm around him and began to rub his back soothingly.

They passed the night exactly like that. He was exhausted and very ill, and was clearly miserable the whole night through. However, he refused to let her leave the bed to fetch him anything and only wanted to lie against her all night as he slipped in and out of sleep. She vaguely recalled him being the same way when they were young, but she certainly hadn't expected such behavior tonight. Then again, she hadn't expected to be sharing his bed either.

He slept fitfully, his symptoms keeping him from true rest despite his weariness. Away from the pine trees his sneezing was less, but the congestion and coughing was worse. He was achy and nauseous and too hot or too cold. He also wanted to be touching her at all times, so she slept even less, for between his tossing and groaning and his sweltering fever heat, she could not get comfortable. Yet she knew he needed her this way tonight, and was glad to be able to help her oldest friend.

The morning dawned gray and cold. Lillian lay awake still, while Jesse was at last sleeping beside her, his face tucked into her side. She was trying to decide how best to convince him to let her go home and change when an opportunity for escape presented itself in the form of his mother.

Lillian heard her well before she saw her, for her best shoes clattered loudly on the stairs, and her inebriated giggling and whispering was impossible to miss. It was almost certain she hadn't gone to bed after the party. Lillian quickly slipped out from under Jesse's arm and slid to the floor, ducking under the bed. Just because Jesse seemed to think she was expected to spend the night with him did not mean she wanted to be caught in it, especially by Mrs. Hamilton, regardless of what did or did not happen.

Mrs. Hamilton attempted to be stealthy as she peeked into her son's room, but only his fever-induced slumber prevented him from waking. However, even while intoxicated, what they say about a mother's sense is true, for she apparently noted something amiss and crept closer to her son's bed. Lillian could only see her feet and legs, but she assumed she Mrs. Hamilton reached out to feel her son's forehead, for the elder woman made a little sound of dismay and began to shake him awake.

"Jesse, you're burning up! Oh my, what happened? Are you sick? Did it start at the ball? How long have you not felt well? Oh you're so pale! And you're shivering! My poor baby! What can I do?..." It seemed she had no end of exclamations and questions. Lillian couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Meanwhile Jesse made sounds of waking, sounding very irritated and confused at first. He didn't realize what was happening initially, and Lillian heard him say her name more than once. Thankfully his mother did not notice over the sound of her own constant flow of verbalized concern. Eventually Jesse realized who was speaking to him and began to give appropriate answers, leaving Lillian out of most of it, which the young woman appreciated.

Mrs. Hamilton didn't stop speaking the entire time she was in the room. Eventually though it became clear she intended to fetch a doctor, tea, medicine, and one hundred other things for her son's illness. Jesse spoke only as much as he had to, his voice weak and hoarse and congested. He did not argue with her about any of it, knowing it was futile. Finally the well-meaning woman left, still talking even as she shut the door behind herself.

Lillian gingerly rolled out from under the bed, startling Jesse when she appeared beside him out of nowhere. However a grin split his face when their eyes met.

"I thought you left me without saying goodbye," he rasped.

"Well now you see I haven't. I do need to leave now though, before your mother returns with an army of doctors and finds me here. I would also like to change my clothes at some point and freshen up. Perhaps take a bit of a nap."

He looked devastated at this, but perked up as she continued:

"I'll come back soon though, as a proper visitor. I don't fancy ducking under the bed whenever anyone comes up the stairs."

"All right," he sighed. "I'll be waiting for you, then."

She approached him, pressing her lips to his hair as he hugged her fiercely.

"Be well, Jess. I'll see you soon." She moved to the doorway, her eyes twinkling in a smile. "And thanks for a great night. That was a date I'll never forget."

#sickfic #everyone is hotter with a fever #sicktember2021 #prompt 28

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inkslingersworld · 3 years

Text

Crowbar (Alternate First Meeting)

Hi guys! This here short story is my first participation in Adrigami Week! I was planning on posting it yesterday, seeing as it’s following the “Alternate First Meeting” prompt, but the time got away from me. Idk if it’s still eligible for the official reblog or not, but I still had a blast writing it all the same. Enjoy! (Contains very mild profanity)

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Her lip was bleeding. For whatever reason, Kagami chose to focus on this minute aspect out of all the other injuries she’d sustained. She dabbed it with a paper towel.

Kagami couldn’t recall how she’d gotten like this. There was so much she couldn’t recall, and the staggering immensity of all her forgotten experiences had weighed down on her for so long that when she found herself in a bathroom without a clue as to how she’d gotten there, she was able to handle the newfound situation better than someone who hadn’t been through what she had.

The only thing that confused Kagami was that her clothes were in perfect condition, despite her face being bloody and streaked with dirt. In fact, they looked as though they’d just been sewn by a master tailor.

She brushed the puzzlement aside - she couldn’t linger here in this mysterious bathroom. Lingering got you killed.

The door opened easily at her touch, and Kagami examined the bedroom that it led into. The walls were painted in an eye-catching shade of purple, but the bed itself was small and plain. Kagami also noticed that there was no furniture other than a small nightstand and that the window was broken. It framed the outside world in jagged glass.

This aforementioned outside world was cloudy and bleak. Based on how damp the street appeared, Kagami concluded it must’ve rained recently. The buildings matched the clouds in their shade of gray, with windows just as broken as the one Kagami was using as an observation point. No street signs were visible. No vehicles, no animals, no people. Not even wind.

Kagami couldn’t care less about the lack of other individuals; her attention was pinpointed on the crowbar leaning casually against the building opposite. Without a second’s hesitation, she kicked away the rest of the glass and crawled expertly out of the window.

She didn’t know how she knew there’d be a fire escape, but resolved not to ponder on it, because every second she didn’t have the crowbar was a second where it could fall into the possession of someone else. Crowbars were tools; tools were extremely helpful.

By the time Kagami had raced down the stairs leading to the ground, she could notice how old and rusty the crowbar was. In retrospect, it probably wouldn’t be much use against some of the more contemporary weapons others owned, but in times like these, Kagami would take anything she could get.

In no time, she had dashed across the street and grasped the crowbar in her right hand. Flakes of deceased metal fell to the ground like rotten snow as she twirled it experimentally. Even if it fell apart in combat, it was nevertheless pretty maneuverable.

“Drop it.”

Kagami turned around instead, searching for the voice’s master. She found the man in question stepping out the adjacent alleyway. His face was hidden under an old halloween mask, but Kagami could see he was wearing a green rain jacket and pointing a pistol in her direction.

Was it a pistol? Further examination led Kagami to realize it was no such thing; it was a water gun, and she almost pitied the hopeless idiot who brandished it at her.

“I said drop it!” the man shouted, though not very loudly.

“You know that’s not a real gun, right?” Kagami asked nonchalantly, deciding to break the truth to him.

The man lowered the toy firearm and hung his head. “Damn it.”

“Wait, you already knew?” said Kagami in disbelief. “Why on Earth would you use a water gun instead of, I don’t know, an actual one?”

“I’m a pacifist,” admitted the man, sounding guilty. “I’m a believer of nonviolence.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but nonviolence fell out of fashion a while back,” said Kagami, not knowing where she’d heard it from.

“Well, I always favored the old styles over the new,” the man said. “You hungry? I’ve got some food.”

Kagami’s mouth fell open in spite of herself. Who did this airhead think he was? You didn’t just go around offering people food. But before she’d even responded, he started walking over to her, removing his mask in the process.

Based off his recent actions, Kagami was expecting him to look innocent and tame, and she was not disappointed. However, she hadn’t foreseen blond hair and green eyes. She hadn’t expected him to look this... well, attractive.

“I’m Adrien, by the way,” he said, plopping his butt on the pavement and taking off his previously concealed backpack. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not about to tell you my name!” Kagami cried exasperatedly. “I know nothing about you!”

Adrien, who’d previously been busy unpacking, looked up at Kagami closely for the first time. His eyes widened after locking with hers and he dropped the box of Ritz crackers he’d been taking out.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Kagami demanded, “What?”

Adrien flinched violently and faced the ground, blushing. “Nothing.”

“Why were you staring at me for so long?” persisted Kagami.

“N-No reason!” Adrien stammered embarrassedly.

“Then why were you doing it?”

“I don’t know!”

Kagami decided not to push the topic and begrudgingly sat down; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.

“So...” began Adrien slowly, seeming to regain some of his previous placidity. “I never did learn your name.”

“We’re not there yet,” Kagami grumbled, snatching a plastic-wrapped sandwich out of his hands.

“Well, what are you doing ‘round these parts?” Adrien asked curiously, putting his chin in his hands.

“None of your business,” snapped Kagami, losing some of her intimidation skills to a mouthful of grilled cheese.

“How’s the food?”

“Awful,” Kagami replied, even though it was delicious.

Adrien laughed hard. “You’re funny!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are!”

“What’s your problem?” asked Kagami sternly. “You know nothing about me, I could’ve killed you without hesitation as soon as you came over here!”

“And yet you didn’t!” Adrien pointed out cheerfully.

Kagami took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check. “Adrien, wasn’t it?”

Adrien nodded and smiled, seeming delighted that she’d remembered his name.

“Adrien, I don’t know what miracle allowed you to survive for this long, but in our society’s current state, you might not be around much longer. I suggest you drop this puppy dog attitude and learn to fend for yourself.”

“Why learn to fend for myself when we can fend for each other?” asked Adrien earnestly.

The sincereness of this question, contrasting with the playfulness Adrien had exhibited, caught Kagami off guard for a moment, though she soon regained her bearings.

“Adrien, no offense, but you’d be dead weight,” she stated. “Even if I wanted to stick around with you, my memory kinda wipes itself clean every six hours or so, only holding on to the most treasured information - my name, my personality, how to speak, how to read and write, knowing what stuff is, and the like.”

“No way!” exclaimed Adrien, before Kagami could continue. “I have the same thing! That’s why I started a diary!”

He zipped open his backpack again and retrieved a worn leather-bound book. Adrien opened it and showed Kagami its messily written contents.

“I originally didn’t remember how to write,” he explained, flipping through some pages to get to the beginning, “but I was able to relearn! It took like a year, though.”

Kagami peered at the even messier scrawl of a younger Adrien. She was shocked to see his name spelled incorrectly with crayon.

“How long’ve you been on your own?” she asked uncertainly.

“About twenty years, I think,” Adrien answered dismissively. “I can’t know for certain, I didn’t relearn how to understand a calendar until someone took me in when I was... fourteen, maybe?”

“Someone took you in?” inquired Kagami.

Suddenly, Adrien’s face began filled with sorrow and loneliness. “Yeah... yeah, I don’t like thinking about that.”

Noticing how sympathetically Kagami was gazing at him, Adrien quickly plastered his old smile back on. “That doesn’t really matter. Now I’ve got you!”

Kagami hesitated. One of the instincts her memory’d held onto was avoiding people, but Adrien seemed different. He in the same situation she was in, and he’d shown her kindness. Besides, it’d be nice to have a companion, and Adrien’s diary probably contained scores of valuable information to help the duo survive.

Even if not for all those reasons, there was something else, though Kagami wasn’t sure what it was yet. For whatever reason, Adrien made her feel relaxed, happy even. She didn’t know why, but he did.

“Okay, Adrien,” she said resignedly. “You can stick with me.”

Adrien’s face lit up with gratitude, and before she knew it, Kagami found herself buried in a hug. It was warm and comforting.

“Thank you so much!” Adrien said happily.

“No problem, Adrien,” sighed Kagami, already having her doubts.

Adrien released her and scooped up his backpack. They both stood up.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“West,” responded Kagami mechanically. “It won’t make too much of a difference, but we need all the sunlight we can get.”

The two started to walk. After trekking for about a minute, Adrien spoke again.

“You never did tell me what your name is.”

Kagami smiled softly and rolled her eyes. “It’s Kagami.”

“Kagami,” repeated Adrien thoughtfully. “I like that name.”

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@adrigamiweek

#inkslingersworld #inkslinger #miraculous #adrigamiweek2021 #adrigamiweek #adrien #kagami #alternate first meeting #long post #adrigami #crowbar

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sarahhbe · 3 years

Text

Subway

Cities weren’t known for their friendliness, at least not in Tony’s experience. From the customers he had to deal with at the cafe he served at to the people on the subway the best encounters were the ones where he was ignored. The worst ones were, however, like the one that had just transpired. He dabbed at the bleeding cut under his eye with the tattered cuff of his hoodie and leaned back against the subway wall.

Even though it was late, plenty of people were still at the subway station though none had intervened when he’d been jumped. He counted himself lucky that they’d only been interested in getting his bag and not taking offense to a guy wearing a skirt and makeup. Thankfully Tony wasn’t stupid enough to carry his phone or wallet in any easy to access places, though he bemoaned the loss the small makeup kit he kept in his bag. His best eyeliner had been in there and there was no way he could afford to replace any of the makeup for a while. There had been a library book in the bag too, so no more books until he paid them back.

Keeping the urge to cry in check, he stood carefully and took stock. Aside from the cut under his eye (and the inevitable black eye itself), his side hurt where the guy had pushed him over and his shin hurt from a kick. Coulda died, he reminded himself, straightening his face mask and limping to the edge of the platform as his train pulled up. Once the train stopped he waited for the small stream of people to get off before limping in and finding a seat. At least he had almost 40 minutes until he had to stand back up.

Trying not to look at anyone in particular he swept his eyes over the various people in his car. He was just about to reach that peak dissociation he got while riding the subway - not quite asleep but mentally checked out - when he noticed the guy across from him kept glancing at him before looking down at something in his lap. Tony wasn’t sure if it was the mugging earlier or what but for some reason he snapped. The next time blondie looked up Tony met his gaze.

“What do you want?”

The man’s eyes widened and he quickly looked down but after a second he looked back up. Then he stood up and Tony realized he’d made yet another mistake because this guy was huge. Blondie ripped something out of the book he’d had in his hand and walked closer, making Tony tense.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out, but I was drawing you.” The paper was presented to Tony face up and Tony blinked a few times to focus on it.

The picture - mostly a sketch really - was a full body of Tony. He was leaning back in his seat, his hand covered by the cuff of his oversized hoodie and pressed against his face obscuring the cut. Tony hadn’t even realized he’d still been doing it. His knees were bent to the side and his ankles crossed, his skirt flowing almost to the floor of the subway car. The most detailed part of the picture, though, was Tony’s face above his mask, his eyes drawn in detail, his mop of hair poking wildly out from under his hoodie.

“I wasn’t finished, but I’m not sure when you’re getting off and wanted you to have it. I’m Steve, by the way, that’s my signature at the bottom.”

Tony glanced up at blondie - Steve - and then dropped his hand away from his face to take the picture. He’d completely forgotten about the cut and forming bruise around his eye until Steve gasped.

“Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay? That looks fresh.”

Instinctively, Tony brought his hand up but he brought it back down and took the picture, “Nothing big, got my bag snatched while I was waiting for the train.”

“You got mugged less than 20 minutes ago and it’s not a big deal?” Steve was clearly incredulous which meant either his size deterred would be muggers or he was new to the city.

“Third time this year alone. Surprised you didn’t see ‘easy target’ written across my forehead when you were drawing me.” He indicated the seat next to him since Steve didn’t look to be moving back to his seat.

Steve took the invitation and sat down, “Do you need to go to a hospital or go to a police station?”

“Nah, can’t afford the first and the second is pointless. Nothing of real value was in my bag.”

Briefly he thought about how his friend Jan had made the bag from one of Tony’s old dresses when it’d become to worn out to wear anymore. Sentimental value was worth even less than the drug store compact he had in the bag. He looked down at the picture Steve had given him and thought maybe he’d be able to find a cheap frame at a thrift store, he would like to keep this if he could.

“Thanks for the picture, I’m Tony.”

Steve brightened up, “can I see it for a second?”

Tony handed the picture back over reluctantly and Steve scribbled some more on the paper before handing it back over just as the train slowed at one of the stops. He’d added “Tony” to the top of the page and underneath his signature he’d added a few lines of text:

I’d like to turn this into a painting if that’s okay with you?

Call me if that is okay or not.

Or you could just call me for whatever reason, I’d like to see you again.

Just under that was what was clearly a phone number, the name “Steve Rogers” printed, and an address Steve had labeled “my studio.”

Steve stood up and Tony looked up to meet his eyes.

“That’s all my info for you to look me up with so you know I’m not lying or a serial killer.” And with that Steve nodded, gave Tony a small wave before disembarking the train.

#stevetony #stevetony fanfiction #my fanfiction #also on ao3

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theflashdriver · 3 years

Text

Too Late

A mysterious visitor draws Blaze to the docks, having made his presence known through Marine and requested conversation with her. His reasons for this, who he is and why he's even here are all unknowns. Despite this rudeness, the ruler of the Sol dimension can't help but feel a bizarre tension in the air. Written for sonamysilvazeweek 2021, using the bonus prompt of hurt/comfort!

This one is more intended to be pure angst than romance but it is very soft, I hope folks enjoy!

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These past two days had brought a bizarre tension that Blaze knew the origin of but not how to confront. Yesterday morning, a little before noon, Marine had burst into a royal meeting with all the disruptive force that she could muster. The now adult raccoon, stood in front of ministers and community stakeholders, had freely and willingly babbled about a weird old wizard who had offered to help with her ships if he could meet with the princess. Naturally, due to a combination of the shipwright’s tone and chosen way of relaying this information, Blaze had rather exploded at her, insisting that she leave and that this so-called wizard should make an appointment. When the girl had tried to stand her ground, she’d been asked if this person was a threat. With a grumble of no, knowing she was beat, the raccoon had made her way through the halls but out the castle entirely.

That was, until eight o’clock this morning. The young raccoon had barraged her way into the royal bedchambers, claiming that the same old wizard had successfully pulled eight of her crashed ships from the ocean and aided in their repair by merely waving his hand. She said that he was some kind of psychic sent from the other dimension and that, despite how weird and old he was, he apparently knew Cream, Sonic, Tails and the others. All those things had piqued Blaze’s interest, of course they had, but none of them propagated her curiosity quite like Marine claiming he’d sat on the dock ever since he’d arrived. He hadn’t eaten or even slept; he’d simply sat waiting for the princess.

Unfortunately, just like the day before, today had been filled to burst with work. Gardon had passed away three months ago and, although the monarch was now mature, the burden of that loss was still weighing heavily on her. No longer having that confidante, that source of sage advice, was finally beginning to wear her down. Hours were spent dealing with fussy landowners and handling minor issues, with both sets of Eggman long gone too, the guardian part of her role had been regulated to a mere title. It’d taken until now, approaching night on this summer day, for her to find the time and leave the castle.

The evening was humid, even by the docks, but that wasn’t too abnormal for this time of year. A dark sky hung overhead; grey clouds formed a barrier that barely allowed the pink of the sunset to pierce through. She was dressed in her usual working garb, her purple coat and white tights, but she wasn’t entirely sure if this was work. Marine’s descriptions of this man had been sparse to say the least- apparently, he was old, would glow with a strange cyan light and looked rather homeless. Blaze wasn’t even certain that her aid was needed in the Chaos dimension and so she hadn’t brought the Sol emeralds; according to Marine, he was just here to meet with the princess.

Blaze quickly found herself at the stout dock that Marine tended to work off of. Sure enough, no fewer than eight vessels that she could scarcely recognise were happily floating along either side of the wooden boardwalk. None of them held her attention for long though, despite how ludicrous and intricate their designs were. No, Blaze’s eyes quickly fell upon a cloaked figure sitting at the very end of the dock.

Her attention was immediately captured by a set of seven quills, the formation of which she’d never seen on a hedgehog before. They were long overgrown and, though she could tell five ascended from his forehead while two stretched from the back of his head, they’d all began to matt into one continuous mass of grey fur. The cloak Marine had described was actually a garb formed from brown burlap, heavily stitched in places and acting as some strange poncho with long and billowing sleeves. Strangely, his right sleeve hung loosely at his side while his left reached up to cradle his head.

“Hello there? Are you the one who’s been waiting for me?” She called out, trying to get his attention.

“Oh, hello,” A croaking voice half-hummed from the form, he didn’t so much as turn back, “It’s a shame you didn’t come yesterday, the sunset was wonderful.”

Feeling a little slighted by the hedgehog’s cheekiness, Blaze responded in kind, “Well, I’m sorry but my role finds me rather busy.”

“Oh, no, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I think I can make this work,” Once those words sounded, the hedgehog’s back straightened and his hand left his chin.

She watched from behind as he pointed to the sky and, though she wasn’t sure what to expect, she couldn’t have anticipated what would happen next. The once grey shroud that had blocked the sun was suddenly tinted cotton-candy blue. She watched as his fingers curled into a fist and the cloud mass seemed to convulse, almost gathering at a single point, before he flicked his wrist and spread his fingers. The clouds parted into a wide circle that breached the horizon and, as it did, his hand was made fully visible. A cyan circle shone on the back of his palm; by the tears on his worn glove, she could tell that it was part of his hand.

“Oh, today’s even prettier, is that normal for this world?” It was only then that the form turned for face her, not rising and bowing like most of her subjects would but simply glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile on his face.

Behind him, the sun couldn’t be more than an inch away from the ocean’s surface and the sky was the most glorious shade of pastel pink… but that couldn’t hold the feline’s attention. Her eyes locked on the hedgehog’s face, the face of an old and tired man. Sunburn marred his muzzle, giving him a rough appearance despite his smile. Plumes of white fur breached his garb’s neck-hole, wrinkles covered his face and there was an age in his eyes that spoke volumes to the feline. Marine hadn’t been inaccurate to call him a wizard, what he’d just done was ludicrous and he surely looked the part, but something in those bright yellow eyes called to Blaze in a bizarre way.

Stumped, finding herself unable to answer, Blaze managed another step forward before catching herself, “What on earth did you just do?”

“Oh, I just pushed the clouds away,” He said, so very nonchalantly, as he turned back to the sky, “Don’t you think it’s pretty?

“It’s certainly prettier than it was,” She conceded through clenched teeth, daring to take another step closer. Though he didn’t seem threatening, this bizarre figure had just split the sky with no more than a wave of his hand, “Marine was insistent that I come down here as soon as possible, was there a reason for that?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry, no. I would have happily waited for a few weeks at least,.I heard that you’re very busy,” He patted the spot on the docks next to him, smiling back at her again, “I just wanted to talk with you a little, after that I’ll be on my way.”

Under normal circumstances, Blaze would have turned tail there and then. If he was just here to talk and willing to wait then he could book an appointment like all the rest; but these weren’t normal circumstances. He’d parted the sky, brought ships back from the depths and... well, something bizarre was buzzing in Blaze’s head. As she looked upon his form, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu; she’d never seen this old man in her life and yet he looked so familiar. The term anemoia came to mind but she was struggling to recall its meaning. Without even really thinking, she found herself stepping closer still to the grey figure- soon she was standing by his side.

It was as he turned back to the sunset, releasing a sigh of contentment, that Blaze truly understood what she was looking at. When Marine said he’d raised and repaired her ships with one hand, Blaze hadn’t thought that he lacked the other. His right arm had been reduced to a stump, bound at its end, but that wasn’t where the damage ended. Only his right leg poked free from his garb to hang over the edge, this figure had seen far more than his share of adversity. Even the smiling form of his muzzle seemed slightly battered and, even over the scent of sea air, the stench he carried was that of brimstone and sweat decades aged.

“And what is it that you want to talk about?” Blaze, rather bluntly, managed to ask.

“Well, um,” He tugged at his chest fur, “I have a couple of questions to ask, but I’m sure you’ll have some for me too. How about we take turns asking things? I asked one then you get to.”

Today just kept growing more bizarre, he hadn’t come to ask her anything, he’d come to play a game of twenty questions. Even with Marine, even with Sonic or Amy or any of the others, if they tried to confront her like this then she’d ask them to simply cut to the chase. But as she stood above him, a question did find purchase in her mind. He apparently knew the others, that meant he was probably from their dimension, so why hadn’t they bumped into each other? He was an older hedgehog, was he related to Sonic? She didn’t think so, but it was so bizarre- it was like she knew where he came from, it was almost on the tip of her tongue. Even his name, it was as though she was so sure of it but couldn’t verbalise it no matter how she tried.

With a heavy sigh, not masked in the way she’d try to hide such normalities during her royal meetings, Blaze dropped down to sit beside the grey figure, “Fine, ask away.”

“What, really? O-Okay,” He seemed just as surprised as she was about her willingness to go along with this, “I’m, well, I think I’m eighty-two now. How old are you?”

Blaze blinked; this absolute stranger had just asked the princess her age in such a blunt manner. His lack of tact was frankly astounding but Blaze wasn’t off put. If anything, there was something strangely homely in how casually he’d asked, “I’m twenty-eight now, going on twenty-nine.”

“Oh wow, it’s like we’re opposites,” He immediately seemed to notice, smiling even more warmly than he had before, “Your turn then.”

A couple of ideas floated in her head, questions that felt strangely pointless to ask despite her not knowing the answers. Eventually, she managed to settle on one.

“Marine said you knew those in the other dimension,” She posited, “Do you come from there? I’ve been over a few times now and I don’t think I’ve ever…” For whatever reason, another surge of déjà vu forced her to hesitate, “Seen you.”

“Oh, yes, right. I don’t think you would have, no,” He seemed to stumble over a collection of thoughts, “I’m from there but not from then, you see. I’m from their dimension but a very different time. Two-hundred years in their future, I was born. The time I came from though, that’s long gone, overwritten by my travels,” The old man said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, “It was a bad place to live to be honest, overrun by monsters long before I was born. It took a lot but, after almost a hundred years of work, it’s finally all sorted out. I kept going back to the past and preventing disasters, now there’s nothing left to prevent,” And she found herself listening, as if it was the most regular of answers, “I guess I kind of come from nowhere now though, it’s nice there but it’s not exactly home. I’m just drifting now really…”

“Right…” The princess mumbled, trying to take that all in and finding it surprisingly easy.

Up until now things had been weird but now things were surpassing the point of strangeness. Looking past the other oddities this figure presented, for her to hear what she had just heard and feel as though that was both truthful and normal was the most bizarre sensation Blaze had ever experienced. Perhaps it was because she was used to introducing herself as a princess of another dimension but the fact she was so unphased by his words was thoroughly phasing her.

Before she could dwell on it too much, he was smiling at her again, “I’m wondering, the others mentioned that you were a pyrokinetic, would you mind showing me…?”

Again, without much thought, Blaze found this usually questionable proposal agreeable. She raised her right hand between them and, with no more than the click of her fingers, the top of her forefinger was set alight. Almost immediately he moved in closer, his bright yellow eyes marvelled at the exposed flame.

“Though it took me a while to properly control it, I’ve had this power for all my life,” She explained, snuffing the light against her palm, “What about you? What’s that symbol on your hand and what did you do with the clouds?”

As if to match her, the hedgehog raised his hand. Light seemed to pulse and ebb from the shining mark at his hand’s centre, tinting the environment around it. Once that had been shown, in such a casual way, the hedgehog turned and gestured to the sea before pointing his forefinger up. A light seemed to well in the dark depths of the water and, almost instantly, the waves ceased their lapping. Slowly coiling its way up, like some great serpent emerging from a lake, a long tendril of water, bathed in that same cyan glow, began to extend from the sea. It cut the sky, stretching a good ten metres up. Then, with a further wave of his hand, it fell away from them as though it was a tree that’d been chopped at the base. With a colossal splash, the waves restarted with a brief degree of additional aggression before, eventually, settling back into their regular pattern.

In any other situation, coming from any other person, Blaze would have taken this as some vague show of force. She knew that he could manipulate more than water, she’d seen him shift the cloud many miles in the sky, but he’d chosen to control the element that directly countered her own. Again though, for some unthinkable reason, Blaze couldn’t find the emotion to be shocked or perturbed.

“I’m psychic, I’ve had this power for as long as I remember but, to be quite honest, I’ve got no idea how it actually works or where it comes from,” His smile grew a little warmer, “I never really thought it all that important, all that matters is how these powers are used.”

“I’ve tried to embody similar thoughts myself,” She quickly responded, attempting not to dwell on that or the thoughts that came with it, “It’s your turn.”

“This is my big question, but I know this might be a little strange to ask. You don’t have to answer it if you’re not comfortable,” He said, as if everything up to this point had been normal, “Do you like living here? Do you like being the princess?”

This wasn’t a question Blaze was new to, it wasn’t uncommon for children to ask what it was like being a princess, but Blaze thought his version carried a little more weight. He wasn’t asking about the simple things, like sleeping in a big bed or heading public events. For whatever reason, the princess knew he was asking if she actually enjoyed the role she’d been born into and, again for some unknown reason, she felt prompted to answer truthfully. This stranger was compelling her to unearth truths in a way that she hadn’t dared before.

“It’s… difficult,” She muttered, “Even though I hold a privileged position, even though I know I’m luckier than most, I don’t know that I’ve ever been comfortable,” Her head found her hand, her gaze drifted to the sea, “I can’t see my friends often, I can’t choose where I go and when, I can’t even stroll to the docks on a whim,” For some reason, although that was true, saying it aloud felt incredibly selfish, “But, it would be a lie to say I’m totally uncomfortable here. Marine keeps things interesting. Though I’ve seen adversity I’ve either been able to handle it or found the strength to call upon friends to aid me. Even if it’s not perfect, I’m happy I can live here and bring justice for those around me. I don’t know that I could ever see myself giving it up or…”

Blaze caught herself, grinding their conversation to a halt, “This is hardly professional of me; I really don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I shouldn’t be talking to anyone like this.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I told you I minded all that or that I wasn’t enjoying our conversation,” His eyes seemed to flicker away from hers and, though he spoke positively, his grin drooped ever so slightly, “I simply have a face that a people find familiar, I think it’s got something to do with my travels through time. People tend to speak with me in ways that they wouldn’t others.”

Somehow, despite the softness of his expressions and the newness behind their interactions, the princess could see that he wasn’t telling the total truth. There was something in the bending of his brow, the way the words hung on his lips. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t to do with him at all. Maybe it was the way his words resonated with her eardrums.

Equally though, she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t see what he’d said, “You do have a rather…” She rummaged for the right words, good and polished words, but what she drew was far too flimsy, “Kind face,” Though her stomach churned at her inaccurate choice of words, she pressed on, “Though that concerns me, it does really feel as though I’ve met you before. Were you a friend of Gardon’s?”

“Gardon?” The word rolled off his tongue, she couldn’t recall hearing that name in his voice at all. She knew the answer before he seemed to, “No, I don’t think so. Who’s Gardon?”

“He was,” Her tongue hitched on words like a hoe dragging through rocks, “Like a father to me,” That seemed right to tell him, even if it wasn’t proper to admit, “I didn’t especially realise that when he was with us but, despite that, I think he knew. He’d looked after me since I was a little girl, I can’t imagine he didn’t occasionally consider himself in that role,” She found herself stumbling, emotions were bubbling to the surface but, for some reason, despite her oversharing, she didn’t care, “I probably should have said I shared his view or made my attachment clearer but, given my position, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“Well,” Hesitantly, shakily, that glowing hand of his came to reside upon her shoulder. Any normal stranger would have promptly been brushed off, told to keep their hands away, but something about that weight upon her shoulder ebbed with a further familiarity that she could not place, “It sounds as if I’d love to have been a friend of Gardon’s, I’m so sorry, Blaze.”

It was only now, having sat with him for a while, that Blaze was beginning to pick up on subtle aspects of his mannerisms. Every word seemed as though it was intently thought out, as if he was running through a thousand memories every time she finished a sentence- so often punctuated with a hum or the word well. It was as if he was doing what she had done for so many years; carefully choosing his words, trying to match her royal status. The only difference was that while she searched for professional words, he seemed to do much the opposite. Not once had he remembered to call her your majesty or your highness, regardless of how much thinking he did.

“Though it’s not the same, I’ve lost someone close to me too,” For the first time since they’d started their conversation, his gaze had flickered away from her and back towards the sea, “Then again, I-I suppose that’s to be expected when you reach my age,” He took another moment, his remaining hand slipped from her shoulder to his knee as he seemed to catch himself, “No one so recently of course, but it’s hard to forget,” She watched his brow furrow further, his fingers seemed to push deeper into his cloak as his words slowly spilled, “You never actually want to forget. If you do, you’ll regret forgetting, more than anything else in the world.”

Once again, the two found themselves sitting in silence. Blaze the cat, the cold and hardened queen of the Sol dimension, felt a few bizarre words weighing so heavily on her tongue. In a matter of moments, with only a handful of words, the tension between them had remounted and tripled. Despite that, she was about to make things even more awkward.

“D-Did you love them?” She stumbled to ask, rather immediately regretting it but finding it impossible not to say something in continuation, “The person that you lost, I mean.”

“Oh, I loved her more than anything,” His answer was so immediate, “So much in fact that I can’t help but think I very much took her for granted. She never took to the word love well, it always seemed to embarrass her, but I feel as though I should have said it a million times more,” Unlike the name of Gardon or so many other things Blaze had heard today, the word love in his tone sounded so unforgivably familiar. It made her feel as though she was some kind of demon for not knowing where she’d heard it, “She was smart, brave, strong… and so much kinder than she probably liked to think, let alone that she could stand to admit,” The way he spoke seemed to carry a nostalgic joy and love that Blaze couldn’t recall seeing in any person, across their entire life “She’d scold me so often, I don’t think she realised that was how she showed her love. I don’t think I knew it either, but I would still go too far and get myself hurt just trying to impress her. It was all with the intent to do good of course, never pointless, but...”

A spark had grown in his eye, another glow that she recognised, but so very quickly he seemed to snuff it. Worry lines appeared on the hedgehog’s brow as he turned back to the sunset.

His smile frayed away at the seams as he mumbled, that love wasn’t gone but now it was being tiptoed around, “Well, she went too far herself a handful of times…”

This old man, this man almost three times her age, had already established a connection with her that few people, inside or out of her kingdom, had managed. Somehow, in a matter of minutes and without seeming to try, he’d managed to bring her fully out of her shell and allowed her access to his. No, it was more than that, it was as if she wanted access to the walls around this history he’d lived.

“I’m…” Something about this felt weird to say, even though she knew it was right, “Sorry for your loss too.”

“I’m sure she loves watching the sunset,” He half hummed before catching himself and beginning to stammer, “W-Would have loved to, rather. This world is so very pretty, though I haven’t stayed for long, I’ve found myself rather smitten with it,” With his hand, he gestured out to the horizon and she followed his pointing, “Islands littered with limitless wonders, a glorious sunset every evening, softly rolling tides and wonderful people,” He spoke such simple words but they were so plainly from the heart, “Yes, this must be the most beautiful place I’ve ever visited. Even better than the world I made.”

Having not watched many sunsets, Blaze didn’t think she was in a good position to judge but there was no denying the prettiness of this sky. The soft pink of the ether, fading orange away from the sun and red towards, it was truly breath-taking to behold. The way the silver clouds hung, parted by his will, as if it were a picture frame surrounding the view made it all the more special. It was as if he’d revealed something she’d never have noticed, like he’d excavated some fossil or deciphered some ancient code.

“I’ve…” She caught herself before she could say something naïve again, “I must profess, I never really watched it until today. It just seemed so regular, as if it wasn’t worth noticing,” That turned his head but she kept her focus on the view in front of them, “But you’re right, it is beautiful,” In this moment, having discussed so much, Blaze felt bold enough to finally pry and ask the question she weirdly felt she already knew the answer to, “What did you say your name was?”

“Oh, I don’t think you asked so I didn’t give my name,” He’d tried to make it sound as though he’d just realised but Blaze could tell that was intentional, “I’m, um…” It took him much too long to provide an answer, “I’m Venice, yes, sorry. Its been a while since I’ve heard my name, let alone used it.”

“Venice?” That name didn’t sit fondly on her tongue, it didn’t seem to suit him at all. No, without even watching him speak it, Blaze knew that he was lying, “You mean, like the city in the other dimension? The one with the canals.”

“Y-Yeah,” He muttered in an attempt to reaffirm, “I think I was born there. I must admit, its been too long for me to really remember now. It’s really beautiful, but it can’t compare to this…”

“I see,” She didn’t feel as though she could really fight him on this, not directly at least.

In the silence that followed, Blaze couldn’t help but tear her gaze from the skyline and attempt to look upon him again. His heart seemed to always be on his sleeve; he was perpetually trying not to lie but plainly obfuscating the truth. Now closer, she could make out little details that were lost on her before. While his missing arm and leg were the most obvious marks on his body, it was clear that the tattered shroud he wore was intended to cover more. On his muzzle, just beneath his left eye, was a thin but clear gash that stretched almost the entire length of his cheek. The hedgehog’s nose looked as though it had been broken at least once, the way his left shoulder seemed to slump suggested that arm hadn’t escaped unharmed too and he was missing no fewer than three teeth.

These injuries would make any normal person feel bad for the hedgehog, but something about them was impacting Blaze a magnitude more than she’d expected. She’d been to hospitals in the wake of disaster, she’d seen people with injuries like his and even far worse following great storms and fires and floods, and she had felt for them… but it had never seemed quite so personal. Perhaps it was because he was older and she had just lost Gardon, perhaps it was because he’d shown her kindness, but Blaze doubted that. It was probably because of the bizarre connection she had felt this entire time. Who was this old man, who had he loved and what was he doing here?

Despite that question hanging in her mind, a very different one fell from Blaze’s mouth, “Do you want to talk about your partner some more?”

Equal parts of his face read that he did and didn’t want to but, ultimately, he resumed his talk, “I remember every detail, every little thing about her, as if we were together only yesterday. The way she’d flinch and brace at every bump in the night, the way she’d try to hide her laugh whenever I was especially stupid, the purrs she’d babble whenever things were truly peaceful, how she’d fuss over me while bandaging my injuries only to fuss more when I offered to help with hers,” Emotion now seemed to be overwhelming him, he went from staring straight at the sunset to turning such that she couldn’t see more than the edge of his muzzle, “There was this word she’d use, scolding me but not scolding me every time she spoke it. I didn’t even know what it meant for ages; it took me until very recently to know just what she meant by it though…”

Before she could even puppet her tongue, a question forcibly spilled fourth, “What was that word?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can stand to say it,” Somehow, by only seeing the edge of his ears furrowing and the slightest shake of his body, the princess could tell that the old hedgehog was at least hurting if not actually crying, “I’m sorry.”

Carefully, slowly, Blaze reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. That contact seemed to freeze him entirely or, perhaps, it would be better said that her touch had petrified him, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, I’m sorry you lost someone you clearly cared so much for,” For whatever reason, even though it was what so many had said to her after Gardon’s death, that didn’t seem like enough, “But, judging by what you said when I first arrived, I’m sure she’d be very proud of you. It sounds like you’ve lived a difficult life and done more for your world than people will ever know.”

“She probably would be,” He turned back, eyes red and plainly tired. He rubbed at his eyes with his stub, “I suppose, I lived up to our agreement.”

“You had an agreement?” She automatically pried before instantly regretting her forwardness.

“We promised to save our world, regardless of the cost,” Those words carried a weight that, try as she might, Blaze couldn’t shake. He concluded with five simple words that carried a tremendous weight, “That cost was rather high.”

Again, words seemed to leave her before she could question whether it was right or wrong to ask, “Do you think it was worth it?”

“I like to think this was,” Pulling his hand from his face, he rubbed where his right hand should have been, “Other things though… no, not so much, but there’s no going back now. It’s too late now, there’s no way of making up for what we exchanged.”

Blaze didn’t even need to ask the next question on her mind- the gap was filled without her permission. He lost his partner, whoever this woman was, to their task, at what stage and age she had no idea, but Blaze could feel her heart bleeding for him. He was old and so there was no real way to know when he’d lost her, he talked as if it was recent but to her it felt as though she’d vanished from his life long ago. This was just so strange, Blaze felt so many things that she couldn’t express and couldn’t recall feeling before. Why was he talking with her about all this?

Floundering, struggling for something to raise his spirits, Blaze blurted, “W-What about the others? I assume you’ve spent time with Cream, Sonic, Amy, all of them? Bonding with them helped me, did it do the same for you?”

“To an extent, I can’t deny that, but I haven’t seen any of them for decades. I’ve been dealing with their children and their children’s children and so on…” Recalling that seemed to return some of the joy to his muzzle, “Their faces began to blur towards the end, I’m sure I called one of their furthest descendants Amy more often than by her own name,” He almost chuckled, “It feels like yours is the most unique face I’ve seen in years, Blaze.”

Not once had he referred to her as princess or by the likes of your majesty, he’d asked about it as her job but it clearly wasn’t who he considered her. The name Blaze seemed to fall from his mouth and slip into her ears so easily, as if it almost belonged in the space between the two of them. Venice didn’t seem as though it’d capture nearly the same space.

“But no, there was no replacing her; not even partially,” He managed to continue, bright eyes gleamed with light even as the sun was rapidly setting, “Knowing them helped certainly but it's only now, as I reach this twilight age, I’ve realised quite how much I miss her.”

Part of Blaze wanted to believe that was the only reason he was here, that the old man was a wandering soul that’d long lost its leash, but there was something in itching at the back of her head that told her that wasn’t true. Furthermore, while it sounded like there was some truth to what he’d said, it didn’t seem like the whole truth; his talk of forgetting echoed in her mind. Regardless of that though, this sad hedgehog had rather endeared himself to her and if she could help shed some of that weight from his shoulders then she’d have done good today.

“What was she like?” She more gently questioned.

“My partner was, and always will be, the best person I ever knew,” His remaining shoulder started to relax, his whole form seemed to loosen as his stare returned to the sunset, “She knew me better than I knew myself, whenever I was pushing myself too far she wouldn’t hesitate to stop me. Without even blinking, she wouldn’t hesitate to knock me down or tell me I was being foolish. My emotions would get the better of me rather often while, even though she usually felt the same as me, she subdued most of hers. Whenever she couldn’t though, whenever things grew too aggravating or a defeat crushed her, I was there as best as I could be to help,” Even though he was looking off into the distance, she could tell he was more imagining than staring at the sunset, “She’d read poetry and prose while I liked to play games and investigate history, but we shared a number of things…”

For whatever reason, though she assumed it to be second-hand embarrassment on the part of Venice’s long-lost partner, the way he’d phrased those first compliments and briefly regaled her with their history was warming the princess’ heart further still. She found herself shifting just a little closer, entirely enamoured with the way he talked about this woman. Though Blaze couldn’t even begin to picture this other time traveler in her mind, she felt as though she was familiar too. Albeit, in a very different way.

“The world we were born into was practically devoid of nature, plants refused to grow and rain rarely fell. The world of the past that we knew came from books and, of the collections of books we found, none would interest us like those tomes containing nature photography. They let us see waterfalls, lush green grass and sights we couldn’t have even fathomed,” He reminisced, “As soon as I found out about them, I’d compare her to a star so very often. It always seemed to embarrass her just a little, how I always thought they were so very pretty. I never meant it like that at the time, but hindsight and a life of living paints a rather different story. I was so very… well, it’s not her word, but I was very oblivious to both of our feelings.”

A few clouds had begun to drift, dusting the sky and obscuring the end of the sunset, but with a wave he rearranged the sky again. As he did so, she watched as his attention was pulled from that imagined place and arrived back at reality. What was pink had gradually drifted to a deeper red and the colour had begun to overwhelm the dark clouds that lingered upon it. Even as it was nearing its end, even if the sun would dip beneath the horizon in a matter of minutes, it was all still so beautiful.

“The way the sun paints the sky in such a natural way never ceases to amaze me. I love a bright blue sky, free of clouds, but the way this one contrasts and blurs them is just so…” The joy in his voice reached a crescendo, “I’m just so glad that I finally got to see this with you.”

“See this with me?” Blaze blinked; she’d been overjoyed to hear him talk so freely but that stumble caught her full attention.

Her questioning seemed to stop him in his tracks, just as it did her. What could he have possibly meant by that? Panic and regret crumpled his face, “Um, yes… I’m glad we could have our meeting, as in…” The hedgehog’s head quickly whipped from her again, “But it’s been so long, the sun’s almost set. I’m sorry, Blaze, I’ve taken up far too much of your time,” A flash of cyan emanated from beneath his robes and, before Blaze could even understand what was happening, he’d materialised a leg from light and risen to stand tall. His remaining hand was extended down to her, “I’m sure you must be very busy…”

“N-No, I… Venice,” As she took his hand and said that name for the first time, it felt so wrong in her mouth. It absolutely wasn’t his name, “I don’t know what has happened, or even who you truly are, but meeting you…” She scrambled for the right words, “I don’t know what it is, but I feel as if there’s much more to you. I’ve never talked to someone like this, let alone a stranger. We’ve hardly been together half an hour but-

“Th-That’s why I need to go, even that’s too long,” He grumbled before a pulsing hum began to overwhelm his words. He raised his remaining hand and from the ring in his palm a disk of cyan light was projected. With another gesture, it was pushed outwards and Blaze could see a swirling blue vortex within that hole, “I’ve probably stayed with you longer than I should have, I’m sorry.”

“Why did you actually come here? What did you come here to do?” Why was her voice wavering? Why was she getting louder? What did it matter if this stranger left? “You can’t have crossed time and space just to see me, why would you do that?”

“Even if things aren’t perfect, I’m glad you’re safe and comfortable here,” He wasn’t listening to her or, at the very least, he wasn’t acknowledging her words, “Please try to enjoy yourself. If you get the opportunity, please be with your friends more and live the life you want to live. You were…” He managed to look at her again, smiling while his eyes were stained red with tears, “You are brilliant, Blaze. I’m so glad I made it here before the end,” Without turning from her, he stumbled forward and vanished into that void.

Her immediate reflex was to follow but the hole collapsed on itself and vanished in the air, spluttering out his final words, “Good luck,” as it vanished from reality.

Alone on the docks, left with only the sound of the waves and the whistling of wind, Blaze felt something inside her ache in a way she’d never ached before. Who was that figure, why did she care, what had he meant by his end and why had he come? She didn’t feel like she was watching one of her citizens die, she didn’t even feel as she had at Gardon’s funeral; this was alien to her and yet so familiar.

Having only risen to her feet a moment ago, she stumbled back and ended up sitting on the dock again. Ahead of her was the sky that he’d cleared, the sun had just dipped beneath the horizon. It was only a matter of time before his last impact on the world would be blown away, clouds were already encroaching on the space he’d made. He’d be wiped from this world, the ship’s he’d revived for Marine would surely sink again, but, for some reason, that old man had claimed an eternal place within the princess’ soul.

Why that was and who he was she’d surely never know, but she hoped her heart would stop aching soon.

#sonamysilvazeweek2021 #silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #angst #fanfic #marine the raccoon

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xerxia31 · 3 years

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the Big Bang - an Everlark ficlet

Inspired by a story I read on CNN, that I couldn’t get out of my head. A warning - there are shades of dub-con here that may be disturbing to some readers. Rated M.

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Peeta Mellark was fit to be tied.

“I don’t know what you want me to say here, boy,” Haymitch drawled. “You knew where these characters were heading when you signed on.”

“Come on, Haymitch,” Peeta growled. He was standing in Haymitch Abernathy’s office, holding the week’s script while Haymitch, head writer and executive producer of the hit series The Arena, in which Peeta starred, stared at him from under a mop of greasy, overlong hair. Until now, Peeta had loved working on the show, loved the ensemble cast, loved the interesting storylines and well-written scripts.

But not today.

“They’ve been growing together slowly for three damned seasons and now, this week, bam!” Peeta clapped his hands for emphasis, “out of nowhere you have three fucking sex scenes in the script.” For three seasons the show had been teasing a relationship between the character Peeta played, macho FBI agent Barley St James, and his shy, brainy colleague, Allium Winterland. It was a fantastic story, well paced, the dialogue between them always fun. Nearly three years they’d been teasing the audience with it.

And now this week’s script turned everything on it’s head. “You’re just screwing with us.” There was no way the timing was coincidental. Because the actress who played Allium, the actress he’d be stripping down to his skivvies and dry-humping with on national television? She was none other than his now-ex-girlfriend.

Haymitch glanced away. Peeta thought it was in shame until Haymitch spoke.

“You might as well come in, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said, and Peeta spun to look behind him. “We were talking about you.”

Katniss Everdeen was standing just outside Haymitch’s open door. It was the first time Peeta had laid eyes on her in the flesh in two weeks. Two fucking weeks! He hadn’t seen her since the night she walked out of their house.

He knew where she’d gone though, the whole fucking world did. All of the gossip rags, and even the more reputable news sites, were reporting how her on again off again affair with one Gale Hawthorne, star of multiple movie franchises and People magazine’s sexiest man alive 2018, was definitely on again.

“Story of my life,” Katniss muttered as she walked the rest of the way through the door, schooling her expression into a dispassionate scowl as she did. Peeta had no idea why she went into acting, he could read her every emotion through the impassive mask. He always could. Today was no exception, her mask might be in place, but her eyes were flashing with fury, and something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

She didn’t acknowledge Peeta at all, striding into the room on silent feet and stopping a solid six feet away. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest, but her copy of the script was clenched in one fist. No doubt she’d been planning on storming in here to blast Haymitch. But Peeta beat her to it.

“Save your breath, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said. “Like I told the boy, you knew this was coming.”

“It’s fine,” she said, shooting a cool look in Peeta’s direction. “I’m a professional.” Then she turned, and strutted back out the door, back straight, long, black braid swinging. He could only watch, jaw clenched.

“Brrr,” Haymitch said. “You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime.” He was right, of course, and Peeta knew it. The audience would be expecting a pair of lovebirds. Not two people who could barely look each other in the eye.

“Whatever,” Peeta grunted. She wanted to play it that way? He could be cold too.

o-o-o

The table read went smooth as silk. Katniss sat on one side of the room, chatting lightly with their costar Delly Cartwright between scenes, Peeta sat on the other, joking with Cressida Faulkner, who was directing that week’s episode. Most of the cast had no clue Peeta and Katniss had broken up, because most of them never knew they’d been an item at all. Haymitch had figured it out somehow, clearly, but none of the other cast noticed anything was amiss.

The following day’s rehearsal, not so much. Rehearsals were always in costume and filmed, so that the production team could splice in any good bits that came out of them. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in TV, especially in a weekly series where time was tight. Peeta was used to it.

His first few scenes were fine, his lines came easily, he hit every mark. Then came the first scene he and Katniss shared that week, the one that led up to the first of the three fucking sex scenes.

She walked onto the set, and Peeta’s heart did a slow tumble in his chest. She was utterly beautiful, her hair loose and flowing, and wearing a dress patterned with autumn leaves. Soft orange, his favourite colour.

The colour of heartbreak.

They both stumbled through their lines, avoiding each other's eyes, interacting stiffing and unnaturally. Cressida halted the scene over and over again. It was a huge drag on the rest of the cast, slowing down everything.

Peeta’s only solace was that Katniss looked as miserable as he felt.

Peeta left as soon as rehearsal ended and headed for the gym. The call sheet had them both in an evening meeting at the studio, and he was going to need to work off some steam before he faced her again.

He should have asked, though, what the meeting was about. Because when he got back to the studio he found Katniss, dressed in leggings and a tiny little tank top, her face bare and so pretty, sitting cross-legged on a gym mat and chatting with a willowy brunette who gave off crunchy granola vibes. “Did I miss the memo about mandatory yoga?” he drawled.

Katniss scowled, but the brunette smiled beatifically. “Hello Mr. Mellark,” she said softly, her voice like windchimes, musical and irritating. “I’m Annie Cresta, your intimacy coordinator.”

Peeta was too confused to make a joke. “My what now?”

Annie laughed. “Intimacy coordinator,” she repeated. “It’s my job to choreograph simulated sex scenes for actors.”

“I think we know how sex works,” Peeta grumbled, and Katniss flushed, obvious without the stage makeup caked on her skin, then looked down at her lap. But Annie was undeterred.

“Of course,” she said gently. “But it’s about more than just choreography. It’s about helping you both to be comfortable, about navigating respect and consent and keeping the set safe.”

Peeta had heard about this, once before maybe, in the wake of the #metoo movement. But he’d never worked with one before. Katniss must have requested it. Figured she couldn’t even trust him to be a professional on the set. “With all due respect, Ms. Cresta,” Peeta said. “I don’t think we need this. We’ve both filmed scenes like this before.” Not with each other, but that was a minor point.

Katniss, to his surprise, looked inclined to agree. Annie just smiled.

“Not negotiable, I’m afraid,” she said. “All of Panem Entertainment’s productions must have an intimacy coordinator on set.” Peeta frowned, they were in the third season of filming, he’d never seen Annie before. As if reading his mind, she nodded. “I worked with Thresh Watts and Rue Lamonte last year.” That scene had been filmed on a closed set, Peeta had seen the finished product, but not any of the lead-up, and it hadn’t occurred to him at the time to ask about it.

Peeta sighed, and resigned himself to having a stranger teach him how to have fake sex with his real ex-girlfriend.

“Have a seat,” Annie said, indicating the mat beside Katniss. Peeta gritted his teeth, but he sat, his knee brushing hers.

She didn’t react.

“Now,” Annie said. “Communication is key.” Peeta snorted, and Katniss scowled at him. Communication. With the woman who had spoken a single word to him in the past 15 days. Sure. "The most important thing is that the people involved feel safe.”

“Why would we feel unsafe?” Peeta interrupted. There was a Cubs game on TV tonight, he’d rather be watching that.

Annie was unperturbed. “You're revealing a lot in a scene, you're going to places where you're vulnerable, and that requires an awful lot of trust," she said, looking pointedly between Peeta and Katniss. He wondered with some annoyance just how much Katniss had revealed to Annie about their situation before he’d walked in. “I have the script, and an outline of how your director wants it to look. But you two will need to talk with each other and with me and say, 'What are you comfortable with? What are you not comfortable with?'”

“I don’t want kissing,” Katniss blurted, then flushed again. “I mean,” she amended, “I’m not sure I can concentrate on both that and lines and choreography.” Peeta knew that was bullshit, in three seasons he could count on one hand the number of times Katniss had forgotten a line or missed a mark.

She just didn’t want to kiss him. And it stung.

Annie nodded. “We can work around that,” she said. “There will need to be some close up shots of you kissing, but they can be filmed separately from the simulated sex.”

Great, Peeta thought. Their characters had kissed a lot over the past three seasons, but that had been easy. They were both professionals, and kissing Katniss for the camera had been no big deal. Fun, even, in a comfortable, familiar way. Never sexual, there was always too much lipstick and stage makeup to worry about for there ever to be more than a peck. But steady, and comforting.

He doubted it’d be like that now. Or ever again.

“Let’s start with directorial expectations,” Annie began. “I’ve been given a timeline for the scenes and an outline of the specific angles that are expected. The most challenging part, from an intimacy perspective, is likely to be the third, which will be shot side angle with you, Peeta, on top of Katniss and no sheets to shield anything. We’ll have to block arms and leg placements carefully, and it’s likely you’ll both feel very vulnerable.”

Peeta didn’t see how that would be difficult, yet when Annie positioned him kneeling between Katniss’s thighs, a ridiculous little brocade cushion between their bodies, it was incredibly awkward. Katniss couldn’t hide in this position, with their faces only inches apart, and he couldn’t ignore, looking into her silver eyes, just how much he’d lost.

Two hours of rolling around on the floor, blocking arm and hand and leg movements sucked any sexy out of the scene. It felt robotic and contrived and awkward as hell. Katniss, for her part, looked fucking miserable. “Well,” Annie said finally. “I’m sensing some discomfort, so I think we should close for the evening.”

Peeta rolled onto his back on the mat and stared at the ceiling. Why was this so fucking hard? He was an actor, for god’s sake. He’d filmed sex scenes before, and none of them felt this shitty.

“I think we could do with a couple more rehearsals,” Annie said. “I’ll ask Cressida to schedule some.” Just fucking great, Peeta thought.

Annie floated away like an ethereal being. Katniss hung back, maybe to talk with him, maybe just to avoid Annie. But he wasn’t in the mood. He’d been subjected to her stony silences for two days, his heart hurt and his pride was dented and he just needed to get out and lick his wounds.

“Peeta,” Katniss said softly. Peeta held up his hand.

“Not now,” was all he said.

She scowled. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Peeta almost leapt to his feet, his exhaustion morphing into rage. “Look, you haven’t said a damned word to me in weeks, you haven’t even come home for your things, and now you want to talk?” Peeta spat, cringing internally at his use of the word home to describe the house where they’d been living together until two weeks ago.

Katniss looked puzzled, under all of that anger. “Jo said you threw everything away.” Johanna Mason was a mutual… well... not quite friend. Peeta had often accompanied her to awards shows, in the early days of her career when she was concerned that if it got out that she preferred women, it would stop her from getting leading lady roles. She didn’t need to worry about that anymore, she was a bonafide A-lister these days, and her relationship with an adorably bubbly talk show host was in every magazine. But Jo generally had her own unknowable agenda and sometimes she liked to stir up shit just for fun.

“You think I’d do that?” he asked, voice deceptively soft. He might have thought about it, fantasized about it really, when he found out who she was staying with. But he had more dignity than that, and she damned well should know it.

In fact, everything was exactly as she’d left it when she stomped out of their home, out of his life, 15 days ago. Her toothbrush was beside the bathroom sink, her favourite sweater on her favourite chair. A shabby silver-framed picture of her parents nestled between their awards. All of the homey pieces of her life, all of her simple treasures, abandoned.

Katniss shrugged, like she didn’t care, like his worth, his honour, the life they’d built together, was inconsequential, and it just pissed Peeta off more. He hated her ice princess routine, hated how fucking above it all she was. She’d always been good at freezing him out, at making him chase her, but no more. He didn’t have to put up with her stone cold shit.

“Get you crap or I will toss it,” he seethed, walking away. She didn’t call after him, but then she never did.

o-o-o

Haymitch dropped two of the three sex scenes from the script. Peeta should have been relieved, he was relieved. But he also felt sick about it. Like he was destroying his career.

The tension on set was obvious and palpable now, and he knew it looked like he was the cause. Katniss, always quiet, remained quiet. But Peeta couldn’t fake it, once the cameras stopped. Cold didn’t come naturally to him, and too often he veered into mean and snappish.

He had to figure out a way to get past this, to get past his anger, his hurt, and work with Katniss again. But he had no idea how.

Peeta leaned back in his favourite club chair, in the cozy den at the back of his house, and allowed himself to relive that day, the day it had all come crashing down. Until then, he’d thought he had it all, had the world in the palm of his hand. A great job, a comfortable home and the most radiant woman in the world in his bed every night.

Katniss Everdeen had been a child star on a hugely popular sitcom. He knew her only by name when she showed up to screen test with him. He’d been expecting a cute little moppet. Instead, she was a silver-eyed stunner. And right off the bat, he was a goner.

They clicked, in almost every way. Working together was a joy, chatting together between takes a delight. He loved her intelligence and wry sense of humour. They moved from friends to more at breakneck speed, but it never felt too fast.

She was insistent that they keep a lid on their relationship, even when they eventually moved in together. He understood it, her previous relationship, also with a costar, had been documented to death, she’d been hounded and harassed by the paparazzi constantly, even now they followed her everywhere. He didn’t love keeping them a secret, but he loved Katniss, so he acquiesced.

And that day, the day it all fell apart? It was supposed to be a good day, a great day. The first day of their two-week mid-season filming break. They had grand plans to do nothing but each other. Peeta had run a few errands, then stopped by his agent’s office to sign a couple of endorsement contracts.

That’s when the shit started.

“I figured you’d want to hear it from me first,” Finnick Odair, the best agent in the business, said with a grimace. He handed Peeta a tablet. Loaded up was the National Enquirer, his mother’s smirking face beside a promotional shot of Peeta and Katniss, and the headline, ‘It’s Real’. His fucking mother had struck again. It wasn’t the first time she’d sold Peeta out to the tabloids.

“Shit,” Peeta murmured. Not because the headline wasn’t true, it was. But Katniss guarded her privacy with clenched fists, and for two years, they’d barely let anyone in on their secret. Finn knew, but he was very discreet and like he’d said when Peeta had first hired him, he couldn’t protect Peeta unless he knew all of his secrets.

“She’s going to be pissed, huh?” Finn said sympathetically.

He didn’t know the half of it.

Peeta was in a foul temper and all he wanted was his quiet house and a couple of fingers of scotch before he had to deal with Katniss, who was sure to be furious. But no, he wouldn’t even get that. Because Rye was standing at his front door when he arrived home. Peeta groaned, and parked in front of the house, instead of pulling into the garage, where the door he generally entered by was. They’d chosen this place because the gated community was supposed to offer them more privacy and security. He was going to have to talk with the guard at the gate again. Just because Rye looked like his brother didn’t mean Peeta wanted him here.

“Peet,” Rye said genially as Peeta unlocked the seldom-used front door.

“What do you want, Rye?” Peeta really had no time for his brother’s bullshit, not that day of all days, and he hadn’t bothered hiding his annoyance.

“I can’t just pop by to see my little brother?” Rye never came by unless he wanted something. Often it was money. Rye seldom worked, preferring to live off his association with Peeta There were a lot of people in LA who would wine and dine the families of celebrities, looking for an in. Rye had brought him a few abominable scripts over the years from people who’d promised him a big finders fee if he could get Peeta to sign on.

“Cut to the chase, Rye,” Peeta said impatiently. There was a small liquor cabinet in the living room closest to the front door. Not that they ever lived in this room. It was only for show, the place where outsiders were held, away from the parts of the house where they actually did their living.

“Fine,” Rye laughed. “Tell me it isn’t true, little brother,” he said. There was no point pretending Peeta didn’t know what he was talking about. Rye was a terrible gossip hound. Peeta shook his head. “Thank god,” Rye said. “You can do so much better than that. She’s not very big, and definitely not hot.”

Peeta sighed. Rye’s taste in women only included girls who fawned all over him. Katniss would never make that list.

“Where did Mom come up with that idea anyway?” Rye asked, eyeing the single glass Peeta poured with interest. Peeta was not going to offer him a drink. He wasn’t going to do anything that suggested Rye was welcome to stay. “It’s pretty fucking crazy, even for her.”

“I don’t know,” Peeta grumbled. He knew exactly where. She must have listened in on one of Peeta’s calls with his father. His dad was his best friend, Peeta just couldn’t keep secrets from him. But the old man wasn’t always careful when he talked to Peeta.

“Katniss Everdeen. As fucking if. You have much better taste than that,” Rye laughed. “Remember that chick you were with a couple of years ago? The one who was in Playboy?”

“Cashmere Solomon,” Peeta muttered half under his breath. He’s gone out with her twice, and she’d been a nightmare, only interested in what he could do for her celebrity.

“She was hot,” Rye nodded. “I hooked up with her, after.” That was more than Peeta needed to know.

“Look,” Peeta started, an attempt to get rid of Rye, to get back to his plans for a few quiet minutes before Katniss got home and he’d have to have another, very different conversation on this topic.

“Mom’s a mental case,” Rye interrupted. “Like you’d ever stoop low enough to fuck that Everdeen chick. Stuck up little bitch like that? You’ve got more pride.”

“Are we done?” Peeta was bone weary, and not at all in the mood to listen to one of his brother’s diatribes. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do tonight.”

“Right, right,” Rye said. Peeta didn’t give a damn whether his brother believed him or not. He started to guide Rye back to the entryway. “I don’t know how Hawthorne puts up with her, “ Rye said. “Rumour has it she’s completely frigid.”

Peeta laughed, he couldn’t help it. Katniss was the furthest thing in the world from frigid, she was a live wire in bed, far and away the best sex of his life. And she had broken up with Gale Hawthorne some four years earlier, but the media still wrote about them as if they were just taking a break.

“Listen,” Rye said, though Peeta was already shepherding him towards the door. “I know this girl, Glimmer her name is. Tits for miles! She’s working on a pilot.” Working on a pilot was LA code for unemployed. “She’s so hot,” Rye continued, oblivious to Peeta’s irritation, “spend a little time with her, I’ll get my pap friend to follow you. That’ll make the Enquirer story go away. Kill any hint of association with that little piece of work.”

“Bye, Rye, Peeta said, pushing his brother through the door.

“Call me,” Rye said, and Peeta slammed the door in his face, flipping the bolt. Idiot. He exhaled slowly, then turned.

Katniss was standing behind him. Shit. How much of Rye’s crap had she heard?

“How could you let him talk about me that way,” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Peeta cringed. Evidently most of it. “What was I supposed to say? You don’t want him to know we’re together.”

“We have to be together for you to defend me?” Katniss asked, incredulous. “Women are only worth defending if you’re fucking them?”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he said. “You know I’m not like that.”

“Do I?” Katniss was pacing, little mincing steps that would fit on a pie plate. “Sure as hell didn’t sound like it.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Peeta was yelling. He flung his arms wide, expensive scotch sloshed over the edge of his glass, splashed his watch. Just great.

“How about ‘Katniss isn’t a stuck up little bitch’ for starters?”

“Jesus, Katniss, why do you even care? You know he’s an asshole.”

“He said awful things about me, in my own home, and you just stood there and nodded, like you agreed,” Katniss snapped. “That was a total dick move.”

“Well excuse-fucking-me,” Peeta said, “but it’s not even your house.” She lived there, but the lease was in his name. Her official address was an empty condo in Van Nuys, so that people wouldn’t figure out they were shacked up together. He hated the cloak and dagger bullshit, but she’d insisted.

Katniss froze, face twisted in disgust. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s not.”

Before Peeta even had a chance to respond, the door was slamming behind her.

Peeta knew, even before she’d gotten to her car, that he was wrong. But he was angry, angry with his mother, angry with his brother, and pissed as hell that Katniss insisted on hiding, like he was some dirty secret instead of the man she’d been dating for two years.

She didn’t come home that evening. Peeta wasn’t completely surprised. It wasn’t the first time she’d frozen him out. He’d give her the night, then apologize in the morning.

But when morning came, his phone had blown up with texts. TMZ was running a spread of pictures, grainy and obviously through a long lens. Katniss, standing on a balcony, and not alone. With her was Gale-fucking-Hawthorne, her ex. She was locked in his embrace wearing only a robe, while he was in boxers. The gossip sites were having a field day, former lovers reunited.

Peeta, still in bed, dialed his phone. She answered on the second ring, voice hoarse. “Are you with Gale?” Peeta asked with no preamble.

There was the slightest of pauses. “Yes,” Katniss said.

“You couldn’t fucking wait to go rushing back to his bed?” Peeta yelled. “Or maybe you never really left?”

The line died in his hand. It was the last time they’d spoken, until now.

o-o-o

Katniss made no further attempt to talk to Peeta, outside of what they said on the soundstage. She’d doubled down on the ice princess routine, speaking to him in cold, overly formal tones when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Working with Annie Cresta hadn’t gotten any better either, but at least they’d managed to memorise a routine—hand here, thigh there, twist this way, arch like that. Annie insisted it would look a lot more natural than it felt. Peeta wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the thing done.

The scene was set for late afternoon, after the rest of principal photography was done for the episode and the lion’s share of cast and crew had left. “Saving the best for last,” Cressida chirped, but no one really believed that.

Katniss had a rider in her contract specifying no nudity, Peeta knew that. He hadn’t bothered with one himself, he didn’t care who saw him, but Katniss had always been uncomfortable baring everything. In other scenes, the production sometimes used a body double for Katniss. But this scene, the scene, would be her and him, on a bed, doing choreographed dry humping. It had to be her, there wasn’t any other choice.

Haymitch wasn’t on set, something Peeta suspected was Katniss’s doing, but he appreciated it. The crew was at a bare minimum, to make it easier for the actors, but it was still a lot of people. Cressida was directing, busily setting up the scene. Two female grips he’d never met before were behind the stationary cameras, two of his favourite camera guys—Castor and Pollox—had the handhelds. Two more grips had the boom mics, a gaffer adjusted the lights, and a set designer, Octavia, was fussing over the bedding, rumpling it in an artistic way that Peeta knew from rehearsal would last about twelve seconds before they destroyed it. Annie, strangely, was nowhere to be seen. He’d thought that, as their intimacy coordinator, she’d be there to coach when they actually filmed. Apparently not.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Cressida called out, affecting a carefree tone. Peeta knew it was an act, an attempt to get all of them to relax. The antagonism and animosity between the two leads wasn’t exactly a secret, not anymore, and the mood on the small soundstage was tense. No one was looking forward to this.

Katniss had seen him naked a thousand times, had touched and stroked and tasted every inch of his body. Still, it was strange, even on a closed set, to be standing in front of her wearing nothing but a sock tied to his dick. She was clutching the edges of her pink silk robe so tightly her knuckles were white, and looking everywhere but at him.

Cinna approached and helped Katniss out of her robe, careful not to disrupt the cascade of windblown curls Peeta knew had likely taken an hour and several cans of product to achieve. Katniss’s hair was naturally pin straight, yet they were always curling it in the show, and she hated it. So focussed was Peeta on her hair that he didn’t notice what she was wearing until Cinna stepped away, leaving Katniss standing beside the bed in a pair of pasties and an adhesive pad that covered her pubic hair and not much else. Peeta couldn’t help but stare. It was far less than he was expecting, Annie had told him Katniss would be wearing a pair of flesh coloured panties and a little tube top over her boobs. “The sides of her underwear showed in the test shots,” Castor muttered in his ear. “Haymitch insisted on that instead.”

For half a minute, Peeta felt really bad for Katniss, knowing her discomfort, knowing what it was costing her to stand under the lights and in front of so many people wearing little more than three bandaids. But then she sighed, and barked, “can we just get this over with?” and any sympathy Peeta felt for her evaporated like spring snow.

The scene opened with them both on the bed. They’d practiced the routine, both on floor mats and on a set bed. But in rehearsal, they’d been clothed, pillows between them to minimise contact.

No longer.

Now, they were essentially naked, skin pressed to skin, staring wide-eyed at each other. She was so soft under him, fit him so perfectly. Her breath—sharp, nervous little pants—caressed his jaw, his throat. Her hands, small but so much stronger than they looked, clutched at this back.

His dick twitched and hardened, he couldn’t fucking help it. They’d fucked a thousand times over the previous two years, he’d always been insanely attracted to her. His dick didn’t know that this time it wasn’t real. He clenched his teeth and kept going. There was no way, positioned as they were, to prevent her from feeling it.

Katniss smirked at him, just a fleeting little hint of amusement, but coupled with his embarrassment at getting turned on when the ice fucking queen clearly felt nothing it was too much. Rage flooded his veins like venom. He sneered down at Katniss, uncaring if the handycam caught his expression. Then he deliberately rocked against her, rubbing his hard cock against her core, only a little strip of fabric and a glorified sock between them.

Her breath caught, a choked little sound.

“Like that, princess?” he spat, lowering his mouth to her ear. “You like knowing that you can still get me hot?”

She moaned softly. It just made him angrier. Was she acting, or actually responding? Was she thinking about Gale while he was grinding against her? Had she always been thinking about him?

The few lines he was supposed to say flew out of his head. “Does your boyfriend get you hot like this?” he groaned instead, anger and lust combining. “Do you moan for him like you did for me?” Her hands, which had been moving through the choreography much more fluidly than in rehearsal suddenly froze. “Does he fill you up as good as I did?”

“Peeta,” Katniss whispered, a hint of warning in her tone. But he was too mad. Mad and heartsick and wildly turned on, it was a potent brew. He couldn’t stop. He ground harder against her, his chest rasping against her breasts, bare but for a pair of stickers. He nipped at her earlobe with sharp teeth, and her gasp was loud over his harsh breaths.

“Do you melt for him, ice princess?” She said nothing, but he didn’t care. He angled his hips and thrust hard, the way he knew she liked. He rocked over and over again, forgetting about the others in the room, lost in Katniss, however fake it might be.

“Do you want to give them a show,” he growled against her throat. “Take off the guard? One last fuck, for old times sake?”

“Stop,” she said, so faintly it was barely a breath. “Please.” Peeta pulled back. Beneath him, Katniss’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners. The anger rushed away, leaving him horrified and utterly ashamed.

He rolled away and climbed off the bed. “Need a break,” he grunted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Katniss had curled onto her side, facing away, naked and vulnerable. The need to comfort her battled with the sick feeling in his gut over how cruel he’d been. How completely unlike himself.

Cressida called out to him, but he didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. Couldn’t stay another minute on that set.

He pushed past Castor who was staring open-mouthed, the camera on his shoulder still blinking as it ran, and stomped to his dressing room. There, he sank into a chair, the leather sticking to his bare ass. He pulled the modesty bag off his now-deflated cock and dropped his head into his hands.

How had it gotten to this?

How had he gotten to the point where he was tormenting the woman he loved more than life with fake sex on their job site? Bullying her to tears in front of their crew.

He was disgusted with himself. That wasn’t who he was.

He needed to go to Katniss and apologise, for more than just the scene.

Fifteen minutes later, he’d calmed down and thrown on sweats. Katniss’s dressing room door was closed, but he knew she wasn’t in there. He walked past the small set and the little office Annie had used, but he knew she wouldn’t be there either.

Down the hall, past craft services stood the door to the electrical room. It was never locked. Peeta pushed inside. Past all of the clutter and detritus of broken light stands and boxes of cables was another door, narrow and unmarked. A steep set of metal stairs lay beyond it, and at the top a door he had to duck to walk through.

Then he was standing on the roof, a soft Burbank breeze ruffling his hair.

It wasn’t anything special, this part of the roof, gravel-topped and housing the building’s HVAC system. But it was their spot, a place no one else ever went. A place they could find some measure of solitude in the midst of a busy studio. No one ever disturbed them up here.

Katniss was sitting on the low ledge that bisected the roof, wrapped in a robe, her pink silk clad back to him. He knew she must have heard his approach, the gravel beneath him crunched with every step. But she didn’t move, didn’t react as he straddled the cement to lower himself beside her.

She didn’t turn towards him, but she didn’t need to. Her profile said everything: smudged makeup, red nose, puffy eyes. The breeze caught loose tendrils of her hair, blowing them around her face but she was still and silent save for her uneven breaths. An island in a tempest. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon, past the endless parking lots and low studio buildings to where the sun was sinking low, bathing the sky in soft orange. Her silence wasn’t icy tonight. Pain radiated from every line, every curve.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta started. Katniss nodded, her posture otherwise unchanged. “I was a complete dick in there, and you didn’t deserve any of that. It was inexcusable.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I don’t want to go on like this. Making out for the cameras, then ignoring each other when they’re off. I was hoping that if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends?” It would certainly make their jobs a lot easier.

“I’ve never slept with Gale,” she said softly, and Peeta startled. That wasn’t even possible. She’d run right back to him, was living with him again.

As if reading his mind, Katniss continued. “He’s been a good friend to me, a brother in some ways. But we’ve never had a physical relationship.”

“Bullshit,” Peeta sputtered, conciliatory tone gone. “You were with him for years.”

Katniss glanced at him then, a half smirk twisting her lips. “You were with Johanna for years too,” she said.

“You know that wasn’t real. And Gale isn’t gay.”

Katniss shrugged, and turned back to the horizon.

Peeta continued to watch her. He knew all of her expressions, her every tell. She wasn’t lying.

“Why,” he started, then stopped. That wasn’t the question he really needed an answer to. “You let me think you were together.”

“Maybe I wanted to hurt you,” she whispered. “Like you hurt me.”

Mission accomplished, he thought. He’d been in fucking agony since he saw the TMZ pictures, and the ones that followed; Katniss and Gale riding in his convertible, Katniss and Gale leaving a trendy LA cafe, Katniss and Gale sipping wine on the balcony of his oceanfront estate. It had been a form of masochism, adding her name to his news alerts and reading the day's gossip about her blossoming relationship with Gale Hawthorne.

Could it really have all been fake?

Katniss and Gale had been on the same sitcom as children, had played cousins. So when, years later, they moved in together, of course everyone assumed they were together. They’d certainly never done anything to contradict it.

“You never mentioned that before,” Peeta said quietly. Not that Gale’s name had come up often in their time together, but they’d talked about past relationships, and she’d never said that Gale had been nothing more than a friend. She’d really never said anything about her years with Gale, and that had always made Peeta insecure, wondering if she’d still harboured feelings for him. If she kept their relationship a secret not from the world, but from Gale Hawthorne. Katniss shrugged.

“I didn’t think it would matter. You’re in the business, you know how often dating is just for show.”

He did. But he’d been upfront with Katniss about Jo, he’d never let her think there was anything there. That she hadn’t given him the same respect, hadn’t trusted him, was gutting.

“He kissed me, once,” Katniss said, and Peeta’s stomach clenched in inappropriate jealousy. “I was seventeen. It was the summer after we’d both finished filming Seam Street, but before he got his big break on that superhero movie. Back when we thought we might still be normal.” She was smiling sadly, lost in the moment. “We both gagged,” she continued, and Peeta’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Katniss laughed softly, but it wasn’t at Peeta. It was at whatever she was remembering. “All of those childhood friends to lovers tropes, it definitely wasn’t like that for me and Gale. Kissing him was…” Katniss trailed off, shuddering. “I love Gale, he’s mine, I’m his. But not like that.

“But it didn’t matter. Once the media decided we were together, they invented stories. Every time we went anywhere together, they took pictures and manipulated them to fit whatever story they’d decided to write about us that week.” Katniss sighed, and rubbed her eyes. “We couldn’t have a life, outside of each other. Anytime either of us was seen with another person, the tabloids went crazy. I got my own place, tried to put some distance there. But it didn’t stop.

“And after he started dating Claudia, it all got worse,” she said. “The media, and fans who decided that he and I belonged together, they couldn’t let it go. They hounded her incessantly, called her a homewrecker and things far worse. Trolled her on social media, harassed her family, and anything either of us tried to get them to back off only made things worse. When she finally broke things off with him, he blamed me, at least a bit.” She paused, and sniffled. “It’s why we’ve barely talked over the past few years. First because it bothered Claudia, and then because Gale was so pissed off. It came close to destroying our friendship.”

Peeta sat in stunned silence as realisation washed over him. “That’s why you wanted to keep us a secret,” he said. “You were protecting me.”

“Private,” she said. “Not secret. And that’s what you and I do, protect each other. Or did,” she added softly.

But he hadn’t protected her. Not on the set, and not from his brother’s vitriol.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta said. “I shouldn’t have let Rye talk shit about you. And I shouldn’t have been all defensive when you rightly called me on it.”

She nodded again, but didn’t turn towards him. And he didn’t know how to bridge the gulf. He’d been wrong, on so many levels. But she hadn’t trusted him, and still didn’t. She could have eased so many of his insecurities just by being honest. But she hadn’t.

He wanted to fix things. He wanted to be with her again, this time with more openness and honesty. To build a better relationship, one they both deserved. He wasn’t sure if it was possible with so much hurt between them. But he wanted to try. He just needed to get Katniss on the same page, and he knew from experience that wasn’t likely to be easy.

“We should go back,” Peeta said what felt like an hour later. The sun was almost gone, and though the air still held the perpetual California heat, Katniss was shivering in the breeze. “I’m done being a wounded prick, I promise.”

Katniss turned to him, finally. She still looked so sad, with her red eyes and ruined makeup. His heart clenched. “Cressida called shooting for the day,” she said. “Didn’t think either of us was in a good place to continue.” Haymitch would doubtless be pissed, any disruption in the schedule was tens of thousands of dollars wasted. Peeta sighed, but he knew it was the right call.

“Probably for the best,” Peeta said. “We’re a mess.”

Katniss laughed, just slightly, and Peeta grinned at her. When he extended his hand to help her up, she took it, and it felt so good to feel her fingers entwined with his again, not for show but in actual friendship.

They walked back to the dressing rooms together. “Do you maybe want to get dinner together?” Peeta asked, and he knew he sounded small and uncertain. But to his surprise, Katniss nodded.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They walked out to the lot thirty minutes later, and Peeta led her to his car. She was wearing jeans and a little tank top, her hair pulled back in a no-fuss braid and a pair of sunglasses shielding eyes that still bore traces of the evening’s emotions. She was in every way Katniss, the woman he loved. But he could feel her holding back, feel the stiffness and uncertainty in the way she looked at him, spoke to him. Not intentional, simply reflexive, like she was trying to keep her heart safe. From him. The wall between them loomed large. It was going to take a Herculean effort to break it down.

There was a restaurant, Sae’s, not too far from the house they’d shared. It catered to people like them. The front was nothing so much as a shabby little diner, but in the back were private, windowless rooms where they could have a meal without prying eyes.

Peeta ordered pasta and Katniss got her favourite goat cheese and apple panini. But the way she pushed the food around on her plate spoke to how distressed she still was. Katniss typically ate with gusto, like she was afraid she’d never see food again.

He left her be, keeping conversation light, trying to ease her back into being comfortable with him. Joking with her, the way he always had. She smiled, but it felt hollow. If anything, she seemed to get more sad as the meal wore on. Peeta’s spirits flagged.

He paid the bill, and they headed out the back door. There, he stopped, and pulled Katniss to stand in front of him.

“Talk to me,” Peeta said, voice gruff with guilt.

“About what?” She wasn’t being flippant, if anything, she sounded defeated.

“Katniss,” he sighed. She looked up at him, eyes unfathomable, dark pools in the lamplight. He could tell she was trying to psych herself up to talk. So he leaned against the restaurant wall and waited.

“I’m sorry, okay,” she said finally, and it wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’m sorry that keeping us a secret hurt you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Peeta opened his mouth, to say he understood better now, but she pushed on.

“And it didn’t mean I loved you any less.”

“Loved?” Her use of past tense gutted him. “Not anymore?”

In the deep shadows of the single street light, he could see her face crumple. She wrapped her arms around her body, as if shielding herself from another blow. “Does it matter?” Her words were choked, he could hear she was fighting tears again. “I know what you think of me.”

“Katniss,” he said, the word regret-soaked.

“Frigid little ice princess,” she parroted, but there was no anger. Only pain.

“I didn’t mean it,” Peeta said. “I know that’s not you.” She played at being cold sometimes. But underneath, she was a flame, burning bright.

“Everyone thinks that about me. They always have.”

“I don’t,” Peeta said, and he let the pleading come through in his voice, let her hear his own pain. “I know you’re not cold. You’re the girl on fire.” Katniss’s lips twitched at the old nickname, one she’d gotten as a teenager in an action movie. But her heartbroken expression didn’t change. “I was angry, and wounded, and I lashed out. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said, then she was wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Peeta pulled her in close and buried his face in her hair. It was the first time he’d felt whole in more than two weeks, like the broken piece of his soul had returned.

Her little body shook against him, he knew she was crying. “Shhh,” he said, stroking her back. “Shhh. It’s going to be okay.” It was. He’d make sure of it.

“Just missed you so much,” she muttered. His heart soared.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Please come home.”

She didn’t say anything. But he felt her nod against his chest. And it was enough.

He took her back to his place, to their place. They were both exhausted, emotions raw, and had an early morning call, to redo the evening’s ruined scene. But she climbed into bed beside him, and he held her all night.

They were quiet the next morning, tentative and uncertain around each other, but they were together, and Peeta was committed to making things better, for both of them. He’d be patient. He’d communicate better. He’d lost the love of his life once, he wouldn’t let it happen again.

They climbed back into his car, since hers was at the studio, but as soon as the garage door opened Peeta saw Rye there, waving his phone. Beside him, Katniss tensed, and shrank down into her seat. He could almost smell her pain. Just fucking great. The moron had to show up now, when they had barely started patching things together.

“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Rye said as soon as Peeta stepped out of the car. It was just past eight, Rye didn’t typically get up before noon. Peeta suspected he hadn’t yet been to bed.

“Go home, Rye,” Peeta said. “This isn’t the time.”

“They’re saying this is you and that Everdeen chick,” Rye insisted, shaking his phone in Peeta’s face. Sure enough, on the screen was a dark and blurry shot of him, holding Katniss in his arms. Her face wasn’t visible, but her long black braid and sweet little ass were perfectly recognisable. Fuck. He thought they’d be safe at Sae’s. But he’d been wrong. Again. “I already told the Hollywood Reporter it was fake, that you wouldn’t slum with the likes of that—”

“Shut up!” Peeta roared, and for once, Rye stopped talking. “Katniss is the woman I love, and I won’t listen to you disparage her anymore,” Peeta said. “Now get the fuck out of here and stop fucking talking to the media about me.” Peeta was seething. He was going to make sure that security guard was fired. Maybe his boss too. And his boss’s boss.

Rye backed away, hands held up in supplication. “Sure, yeah,” he said quickly. “I’ll just get out of your hair. We’ll talk more later, yeah?”

Peeta didn’t dignify that with an answer. He spun on his heel, to head back to the car. But Katniss was there already, standing just behind him. She must have heard everything they’d said, and worse, Rye would have seen her there. He flinched, but she just smiled at him, then walked straight into his arms.

“Thank you,” she said.

Fuck. She didn’t need to thank him for defending her, it’s what any decent person would do. “I should have said that last time,” he admitted, tightening his hold on her.

“You said it this time,” she said. Then she stretched up onto her toes, and kissed him.

Relief and disbelief and so much love flooded Peeta. He cupped her ass in his hands and hoisted her into his arms, his lips never leaving hers.

He knew Rye was watching. Knew that some of their neighbours could see them too. “We should go back to the garage,” he whispered between kisses that were growing too hot for the street. “People are watching.”

“Let them,” she gasped. “I don't want to hide how I feel about you. Not anymore.”

He laughed against her lips, and kissed her more.

o-o-o

She was sitting in her favourite chair, a mug of camomile tea forgotten beside her, when Peeta got home. He glanced at the television glowing on the wall and groaned. “Access Hollywood? Really?” Katniss, his Katniss, was watching the creme de la creme of shitty tabloid TV.

Their relationship had been dissected endlessly by the gossip shows in the four months since they’d been outed, first by his attention-seeking mother, then by a slightly risqué public display of affection in front of their house that had been captured on cellphone video by multiple sources. Peeta understood so much better now why Katniss had tried so hard to avoid unwanted exposure. He was sick to death of the coverage.

But they were handling it together.

“Shhh,” she said, grinning. “They’re discussing whether we really did the deed while shooting Allium and Barley’s big scene.” Peeta glanced back at the television. The banner read 15 Times 'Love' Scenes On Screen Were Real.

“Oh my god,” Peeta groaned, and sank into the chair beside Katniss’s, covering his face with his hands.

The day after their disastrous first attempt at filming, they’d gone back to the set and found Haymitch waiting for them. The crusty old bastard had actually apologised for putting them in such a shitty position, and told them he’d take the scene out, make it a fade to black.

“No,” Katniss had said, silver eyes brighter than they’d been all week. “The script needs the scene. Our fans need it. And we’re ready this time.”

The second attempt had been so much better. It was still awkward, the choreography still felt strange. One of her pasties came unstuck and ended up caught in his chest hair. Twice they had to cut filming when Katniss started giggling.

Peeta had been loath to watch it, once it’d been edited. Afraid to reopen the barely healing wounds. But the end result, just as Annie promised, looked real. The cameras caught their very real joy at being reunited, their very real love for one another. And those things made the very fake sex look like something more.

They’d filmed several more sex scenes over the course of finishing the season, each easier than the last. Communication, it turned out, did make the scenes less awkward. And it helped with their real relationship too.

But the first scene, the one that Peeta still cringed thinking about, that episode had aired just days ago.

The television sound cut off abruptly and Katniss burst into laughter. Peeta peeked out from between his fingers. Frozen on the big screen was a shot of Peeta’s ass in all of its hi-def glory, and Mario Lopez was pointing to a spot just between his thighs where apparently a hint of nutsack had been caught by the camera.

Well that brought unwanted exposure to a whole new level.

Peeta groaned. “I’m putting a nudity rider in my next contract,” he mumbled.

#everlark #bang #xerxia writes #this one is a little out there #but what can I say?#and I make no apologies for naming him Barley

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amusedyan · 3 years

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Monthly Meetings

A Peaky Blinders commission!

Words: 2k

Once a month there was a meeting. It was something dreaded by both parties, but one that was necessary- it was neutral territory, where mutual suggestions were discussed, grievances were gone over and business settled. No one officially came armed- but that was never written into the deal. Just like it wasn’t discussed that both parties came with a small coterie of their most trusted, each eyeing the other and waiting for a twitchy trigger finger.

Tommy Shelby was never on time to any meeting.

He came early when he was the one to suggest it- to get the drop on the other person, to make an impression. You waste my time, and you have no right to ask anything of me, was the goal there. When told to meet someone, he always made it a point to arrive 5 minutes late, because you aren’t worth my time.

This meant that meeting Alfie Solomons put him in an uncomfortable position- he had to come on time. And sometimes Alfie was there already, smug, or sometimes Alfie was late and dismissive about it, but with a stack of papers and grievances to make up the difference.

Tommy was continually unimpressed with the Jewish mobster, though you could color him surprised when word got out through the grapevine that Alfie Solomon had started going steady with some bird from the local flower shop.

He’d never figure him to be one to settle down, but those same rumors claimed that he ws continually trailing after her. Considering how…temperamental his associate could be, Tommy could believe it.

When Alfie actually entered the restaurant, Tommy reflected that the rumors must be true because the man was practically glowing. More importantly though, his usual stack of gripes was noticeably absent.

“Tommy-boy!” The man grunted, taking his seat at the table. There was already whiskey poured- courtesy of Tommy, of course.

“Alfie,” Tommy greeted, watching the man settle.

It was such a waste of his time to come here, and it took active work not to lose his temper about it. He could be home now

“So, to business. Would you like to begin?” Tommy offered magnanimously.

Alfie drank from his glass and winced at the taste. “Shit, that is,” he mused, shaking his head. “How’ve you been, Tommy? How’s life treated you?”

Suspicion colored Tommy’s thoughts. What was Solomons up to? Small talk wasn’t part of the meeting, ever. As if reading his thoughts, Alfie chuckled. “Don’t be like that, Shelby. I’ve been advised to try diplomacy.”

“By your new conquest?” Tommy countered. The expression on Alfie’s face closed off, and no longer was he looking at a man blatantly in love and feeling charitable to the whole world for it. It made things much easier to deal with. But a moment later, a sly smile crept across Alfie Solomon’s face, and Tommy wasn’t much fond of that expression.

“You’d know all about conquests, wouldn’t you, Tom?” Alfie folded his hands across his midsection and leaned back against his seat, leveling Tommy with a look just as cold.

Fury unfolded, and beside that, fear. What did that mean? Who had talked?

Chuckling, Alfie waved it off. “Now, there’s no need for that look, my good man. There’s been whispers, same as there have been for me. About a pretty girl. What’s her name?”

“We aren’t here to discuss women, Alfie.” Tommy said flatly, trying not to growl. From the corner of his eye, he could see Finn watching intently. He was waiting for a signal. No, he needed to reign it in.

Alfie was just intent on pushing his buttons though, grinning broadly, damn near leering at Tommy. “Well, her name’s Margaret.” His finger drummed against the glass, the ring he was wearing clinking methodically. “I doubt her name’s in your network, yeah? Every fucking thing else, but not that.” He shook his head. “Beautiful name.” And there was that lovesick look again.

“Is that all?” Tommy asked. What would it take to get the meeting back on track? Alfie eyed him, and reached into his coat-

Finn and Isaiah were drawing their guns, Alfie’s men were responding-

“SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Alfie boomed, stilling the room. Tommy saw that what he’d withdrawn was his wallet.

“What are you planning, Solomons?” He asked, withdrawing a cigarette from his case.

The Camden bastard rolled his eyes and withdrew a photo. “Here,” he grunted, “have a look at this.” He handed it over to Tommy.

And honestly the last thing that Tommy expected to see was the image of a young woman posing for the camera. Rather lewdly, to put it mildly. Like a whore if you wanted to be blunt.

“My Margaret,” pride dripped from Solomons’ voice, like he hadn’t just shown off the parts of a woman that only her husband would see.

Tommy weighed his answers- would Solomons light up with fury if he complimented the woman? Or would he be offended if he didn’t? The trouble was that you never knew with him. He took a contemplative drag of his cigarette.

“Lovely,” he settled on.

Alfie scowled. “Oh like yours is any better,” he taunted. “C’mon, let’s see ‘er then.”

“I don’t have pictures of my woman on me, Alfie.” Tommy said, unable to stop the slight condescension from creeping into his tone, like he was talking to a child, or else someone very simpleminded.

“Well why the fuck not? How’m I s’posed to know if this woman exists, eh?” Alfie accused, smacking the table.

This was all very confusing honestly. What the hell was he playing at? “I didn’t claim she was real.”

“What man doesn’t have a picture of the woman he loves?”

“What man carries filthy pictures of his?”

“Oi mate, those are fuckin art!” Alfie argued with surprising vehemence. It was a strange hill to make a stand on, but hey, he could relate.

“Whatever you say, Alfie,” Tommy sighed and blew out another cloud of smoke.

It was raining now. Storm clouds had been gathering all of yesterday, and he’d been able to taste the moisture, along with the filth in the city air. Rain was ugly here, didn’t clean a fuckin’ thing. He found himself thinking, longingly of the estate. The Shelby Estate, a grander name than something like Arrow House. But little things like a name change kept your feet on the ground. Sylvia would be there, reading. It was raining, so she couldn’t ride today.

At first she’d hated being in the house. She’d wanted to be back in Birmingham. Always liked the action, wanted to support him. It had been charming before, but now that they were together, it couldn’t be tolerated. Too many risks.

“Are you fucking ignoring me, Tommy-boy?” Alfie’s voice was dangerous now, angry and short. Shit. He stubbed out the remains of his smoke in the ashtray.

“No, Alfie, I’m not ignoring you,” he said on the exhale. Clearly, he reflected, nothing was going to get done with this meeting. It was a shame, but at least that meant things were secure where they stood.

Either Solomons was happy or about to betray him again.

“So, I’ve told you about my Margaret, tell me about your girl.” Alfie ordered, pouring another drink.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tom said, but at the disbelieving look on Alfie’s face, he shrugged slightly.

“I just don’t understand how a man can have a woman and not want to talk about her. Obviously you’ve heard how proud I am, but you? Are you ashamed?” It sounded like it was amusing- the idea that Tommy Shelby would be ashamed of anything in his life.

But the idea of being ashamed of Sylvia? That struck a nerve and that pissed him off properly.

“I’m not ashamed of her.” He snapped.

Alfie’s grin was positively disgusting. “So she does exist? Well, come now, what’s her name?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he spoke begrudgingly, “Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, aye.” He nodded, turning it over. “She a gypsy like you?”

“No. She is not a gypsy.” Eye contact was key. “It wouldn’t matter either way.”

“So why don’t you talk about her? I could talk all day about mine, as I’m sure that you’ve noticed,” of course he had. “You move her in yet?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Tommy mocked, making Alfie roll his eyes.

“Neither of us are gentlemen, Tom, no matter how you fuckin’ pretend. I moved Margaret in almost right away, you know? We just, we just had this connection- I saw her and I wanted her. Sent her gifts every day, came into the store when I could- her smiles, they lit up my fuckin’ life.”

“I’ve never known you to be so open about your business, Alfie. Aren’t you worried that someone might overhear?” It wasn’t a threat, not at all, not for once. This hit a little too close to home for it to be anything more than idle curiosity, and luckily Solomons knew it.

“No, mate. I need her to know how much I love her. And I need other people to know. Because if someone thinks that they can hurt her? I will…” he laughed, and it didn’t sound sane at all, but it didn’t bother Tommy, “well fuck, I think I’d burn the fuckin’ city down. But,” and he looked at Tommy, and that affable, unstable mask came off for a moment, and Tommy was looking at the emptiness that came from the war, the same emptiness in every soldier who’d been in the field, “but I think you know that, don’t you Tom?” He sighed and shook his head. “I figured, hell, if anyone on this Earth knew what I felt- how far I’d go- it’d be you.. And you do, don’t you?”

Tommy thought about Sylvia. He always thought about Sylvia.

He did horrible things on a daily basis. What would he do if something happened to her?

And the thing was, Tommy didn’t even need to ask himself that question. He’d known the moment that he’d seen her what he’d do for her, what he’d already done. She was safe, that was what he told himself, she was under constant watch, by men he trusted, where he didn’t need to worry about someone running off with her, or an accident, or any of the things that could take her away.

“And you just keep her in an apartment?” He muttered.

“How else would I see her?” Alfie countered evenly. “I take it you don’t?”

Tommy didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, not in the context of the question.

“No, no, the way I see it, it’s better that I can keep an eye on ‘er. I get to come home to a nice meal, lovely company, and everyone knows what’ll happen if they fuck with her. You keep yours,” and he pointed at his business associate, “in some isolated fuckin’ kingdom and what happens? People get curious. You can’t see her as often. She goes missing. There’s no fuckin’ neighbors to pay to keep watch.” And hell, that was actually a very good point, but he didn’t want to hear that from Solomons.

“Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Oh I fuckin’ disagree, mate. You don’t get that shit in hand-“

“And what might happen, Solomons?” Tommy asked calmly. He knew what this was- this was Solomons trying to knock him off his game, disturb him. And why? What the hell did Solomons have up his sleeve? “What are you planning?”

“Well I dunno mate.” The glass in Solomons’ hand was empty now, “what do you think I’m planning?”

“I think you’re just being a prick.” The other man barked out a laugh.

“Fair enough, so- grievances.”

And there it was.

When it was over, Tommy went over the meeting- all of it, bullshit included- in his head, thinking it over.

Alfie Solomons was a two faced bastard.

But Tommy found himself making plans to go visit Sylvia as a surprise, nonetheless.

#yandere peaky blinders #yandere alfie solomons #yandere tommy shelby

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fkingsteverogers · 3 years

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Tell Me We’ll Be Just Fine

A/N: A couple points: 1) I made a new blog for these writings to make them easier to find 2) I have a tag list! lmk if you want to be added to it 3) For my non US babes and others, your third amendment rights say you can’t be forced to house soldiers. Long Story Short

Contains TFATWS Episode 5 spoilers

****

With John Walker being Honorably Discharged after an International Incident, you’re stuck under house arrest. (The United States Government would tell you house arrest is too strong of a word, it’s simply Strongly Advised you stay in your apartment.) You want to scream from the rooftops that you had nothing to do with him, that it was all an act, but you’re being Strongly Advised, so that’s not an option. You hope, wherever he is, Bucky is having a better time than you are.

Five Days; Eastern Europe:

Bucky is not having a good time. They’re in a country where everyone wants them dead, holed up in a shitty motel and all he can think of is the absolutely devastated look on your face when he walked out the door. It makes him brood.

“You have to talk about her sometime.”

“Who?”

“Whoever makes you frown like that.”

“‘M not frowning. What do you know about it anyway? You’re single.” So maybe he was being an ass about it. You were so far away, probably cuddled up with John or Steve, and he was here, sitting in a motel room with Sam. John Walker was probably feeling you up right now, running his hand over those beautiful thighs of yours as you kissed him, making soft little noises--he clenches his fist so hard he breaks the bowl he’d been holding, splattering rice and beans all over the floor cracked tile floor.

“Yo, man, what the fuck?!”

Day One; New York City:

Steve’s allowed to visit, because of course he is. He flashes some badge and the guards (who are Strongly Advising you), stand down. “Why are you here, Stevie?” And you hate that you still call him Stevie. Stevie is what you called him on the quiet nights when you two were alone and he was still yours. Steve gives you his sad smile and you want to fall into his arms, to sob into his chest and tell him how you fucked it all up. You don’t.

“Just go, Stevie.”

Four Days; Eastern Europe:

Sam goes to do some surveillance, announcing that he “couldn’t deal with this shit,” leaving Bucky alone in the shitty room they were sharing. Before he’d been deployed, he would’ve spent an afternoon alone in a hotel curled up with a pretty girl or a handsome boy. During the war, he’d spend a quiet day catching up on some sleep or rereading a well loved copy of The Hobbit. During his Hydra days (which he hated thinking about but also couldn’t stop thinking about), there really weren’t days off. There were days where he killed and days where he didn’t. Since then, he’d spent most of his days off trying to remember how to be a human.

You had made those days feel like living again. And now you were John’s girl, dressed all pretty up for him and everything. Bucky’d been fucking stupid to think you’d want someone like him, someone damaged, someone with blood on his hands. You were good and soft and pretty. You spoke four languages and had probably read every book ever written.

You’d been good enough for Steve.

He breaks another bowl and has to lay down after.

Day Three; New York City:

You glare down the solider that’s sitting in your kitchen, eating a sandwich. “This is violating my Third Amendment Rights, you know.”

The smug bastard grins and keeps eating his sandwich.

Two Days; Louisiana:

“That shield’s the closest thing I’ve got left to a family, so when you retired it, I felt like I had nothing left.”

The mission had gone down as well as any of their missions go, they’d been shot at, gotten out by the skin of their teeth. Sam left to go back home as soon as he could, Bucky followed. Where else did he have to go?

“You have her.”

He didn’t, not really.

“I don’t want to talk about her, Sam.” Bucky tosses the shield, scowling deeply.

Sam sighs, catching the shield. He turned to face his friend, were they friends?, and looked him up and down. “Yeah, you do.” So maybe Bucky does want to talk about you, about how betrayed he feels by you choosing Walker over him. The government hadn’t been powerful enough to stop some gossip magazine from publishing a spread of you and Walker, you in a little red sundress that makes you look incredible and his hand on your thigh. There’s some bullshit story about how you met and had been so enamored with him you’d asked him for coffee on the spot.

It makes Bucky physically sick with rage.

Day Four; New York City:

After four days of being Strongly Advised, you’re ready to start pulling out your hair. The news is nonstop coverage of what happened to John Walker, the green beret who had gone crazy and killed a man in a moment of grief induced rage. And to top it all off, People released a spread that makes you want to scream. The whole shoot hadn’t been your idea, some government publicist had insisted it was necessary to sell the story. In reality, it’d been five hours with John’s hands all over you, grinning like the cat that got the cream. During a break, he’d asked you about Steve, his tone suggesting something that was none of his business.

“You don’t get to talk about Steve.” John had smirked at you, running his tongue over his teeth. It clearly annoyed him, someone thinking he wasn’t good enough for something. “What about your wife, John?” A look of surprise crosses his face but it’s gone in a moment, the mask he wears to keep people out back in place.

“Olivia isn’t part of the deal. I thought we could be friends,” he spits the word out like it’s dirty, “but clearly you’re not interested in that, clearly you’re interested in--”

“Be careful how you finish that sentence, John.” Your voice is low, betraying the landmine he’s almost stepped on. Given the chance, you’d stab John Walker in his pretty face. Decades in prison means nothing when the love of your life abandoned you and the man you thought you could count on ran out. (So maybe you were thinking about Bucky, it doesn’t actually matter.)

Bucky had been a solid presence in a sea of uncertainty. He’d made you feel safe and okay. After Steve’s departure and the death of Tony, the only member of your family left, solid and safety had been in short supply. He’d showed up, ate his cold beans in silence in the kitchen, and hadn’t left. He’d made you laugh in a way you hadn’t in months. You’d developed a routine, Bucky would wake up before you and boil water for tea, you’d stumble out and cook something to serve as breakfast, and you’d both go about your days. In the evenings, you’d come together, talk about the stupid shit that had happened during the day, watch a movie on Friday nights, and go to bed. It was nice to have a routine, something and someone you could depend on.

The nights had been quiet since he left.

Twelve Hours; New York City:

Bucky’s plane lands and he breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s raining when he steps out of the airport, a down pour by anyone’s standards. Fine by him, less people to avoid. He manages to make it to the little coffee shop outside your apartment without getting too soaked. Going up there wasn’t an option, not when you were probably angry with him for running out. So he sits, drinks endless cups of coffee and watches.

“She takes it two creams, no sugar, if you want to bring it up to her.” Bucky turns and finds himself face to face with Steve. His friend looks old, but happy, at peace even. There’s so much he wants to say, he wants to ask Steve why he left, what he thought about Walker. He wants to punch him or throttle him or hug him. Bucky wants a long fucking hug.

“I don’t think she wants to see me, punk.” Steve sits, shaking his head.

“I didn’t think she wanted to see me, either. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s good for her..”

Before Bucky can reply, before he can really process what Steve is saying, he gets a text from Sam and he’s off to save the world again.

Day Five; New York City:

Because the universe hates you, you can’t even use your phone to entertain yourself. Someone leaked your personal number and it hadn’t stopped ringing since. And, since the internet has no nuance, they’re mostly death threats. You’re reading a book when the guards who are Strongly Advising you abandon their posts. There’s something going on, something that no one bothers to inform you about.

You go back to reading your book. Hopefully Bucky’s not being thrown through a wall.

Thirty Minutes; New York City:

Bucky gets thrown through a wall.

It fucking hurts and he’s dizzy after. Like can’t-walk-straight-am-I-actually-drunk-dizzy. Sam, the useless bastard, loads him into a taxi, tells him he’ll be fine, and gives the driver your address. Bucky’s dimly aware of this fact, aware of the fact that this poor man is driving him, a bleeding super solider, to the one place he wanted to be but wasn’t welcome.

Two Minutes; New York City:

The guards aren’t back by the time the downstairs buzzer starts ringing incessantly. You’re in the middle of your book, right at the moment where the head-strong damsel and the Lord she hated are about to kiss. You try to ignore it, With a groan, you stomp down to the doors.

Standing there, half supported by Vasily, the Russian cabbie (who is definitely into some shady business), is Bucky.

Now; New York City:

You thank Vasily, telling him you’ll pay for the cab when you see him on Friday for Shabbat, and take the bleeding Bucky into your arms. Bucky mumbles something, clearly speaking Russian but too lowly for you to actually understand. Vasily glares at him, muttering curses as he stalks away.

Dragging Bucky up to your sixth floor apartment means sharing a run in with Daisy Mae, your elderly neighbor who’s 90% blind and enjoys loitering in the elevator. She seems to take offense to Bucky mumbling Russian children’s songs to himself.

“Speak English dear, not Communism. We’re in the United States.”

“Mind the business that pays you, Daisy Mae.”

She hmphs, but doesn’t say anything else. Bucky, for his part, gives a rousing performance of the Russian alphabet. Finally, you get Bucky into your apartment and unceremoniously drop him on your couch.

It’s not long before he falls asleep, leaving you to stare at him for hours, wondering just what he’s going to say when he wakes up.

When he does wake up, it’s to the scent of your soap, sweet watermelon that always leaves an aching in the pit of his stomach. Waking up on your couch, smelling your soap, and listening to you cook feels like a dream. How many times had he thought about this exact moment while he was with Sam? Soon enough you’d turn the corner from the kitchenette and smile at him, that beautiful smile that never failed to make him feel a little dizzy.

And then he’d wake up in a shitty hotel room, listening to Sam take a shit through the paper thin walls.

He waits, but when you appear, you’re frowning anxiously. And God, you’re so fucking beautiful. You’re wearing a pair of tiny sleep shorts that expose your long legs to his greedy eyes. Your hair is pushed back off your face, exposing the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.

Steve was a lucky man, to be able to love you. Maybe one day he’ll find a woman like you to love, if he’s lucky. Has he ever been lucky?

Bucky looks confused when you appear holding tea. “Hi.” He doesn’t say anything back, just frowns back. Your mind races, realizing he probably doesn’t want to see you, that he was dropped off here by some well meaning friend, and he was going to get up and walk out the door again.

“At least let me clean you up before you go.” Bucky nods wordlessly, looking like he’s still a little stunned. He takes a seat at the kitchen table as you pull down the first aid kit you’d put together when Steve was still here. There’s a cut above his eyebrow that’s still oozing a little blood. It’s in such a place you have to situate yourself between his legs in order to get to it.

It’s quiet while you work, Bucky’s never been a man of many words and now he’s probably trying to figure out how to tell you you’re never going to see him again. As soon as he’s cleaned up well enough that you’re satisfied he won’t die sitting at your kitchen table, you step away to admire your handy work. Bucky’s left hand, his metal hand, catches your wrist and pulls you back to him. It holds you there while his right hand comes up to cup your face, running a thumb over your cheekbone.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He’s not sure what possesses him when he pulls you back into him. All he knows is if he doesn’t get you close, if he doesn’t tell you how fucking beautiful you are, he won’t be able to breathe. You make a little noise of exasperation, your gorgeous lips parting. “I mean it.” “Bucky…” You try to pull away but he holds you there, studying every inch of your face and committing it to memory. There’s an electricity between the two of you, it feels like the air is charged enough to light that stupid snail lamp you’d bought from Arrow or whatever that store you loved was called. “Bucky…” You repeat, your voice softer, in a tone he can’t quite describe

Before either of you can move or say anything else, the door swings open to reveal Sam and Torres, flanked by three soldiers. None of them take notice of what feels like a very compromising position.

“Oh good, you’re here, Sargent Barnes. You're all being moved to a safe house. Pack enough for an indeterminate amount of time.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #tfatws #tfatws x reader #tfatws imagine #I hope ya'll like this one as much as the other one!!#these idiots don't realize they're in love and I HATE it #I have all kinds of plans and I'm so excited for this to become a series #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #ls!reader #Sara writes

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frizz22 · 3 years

Text

Book Review pt 2

Prompt from @somethingwicked19: Book review ch. 91 part two where the sisters talk and reconcile. Read on ao3 here

Wow, sorry for the complete lack of anything written for ages. I hope some of you who sent me prompts a while ago are still round to enjoy them when I get to them. Enjoy!

Hilda watched Zelda flee, not that her sister would ever call it such, and guilt roiled through her.

She didn’t handle that properly.

Well, to be honest, she shouldn’t have written the book this way in the first place. It was one thing to pull inspiration from real life, it was quite another to cruelly denigrate her sister in the process.

Especially... especially when Zelda was right. Her sister had encouraged her relationship with Cee, dried her tears over a misunderstood rejection, and helped with the Damascus steel.

It’d just been so easy, though. Hilda could hardly write ill of the dead, and it wasn’t as though Edward would disapprove in any case, not with his enthrallment with mortals. And then there was Zelda’s reaction to Diana.

Write what she knew.

That was the advice Cee gave when she expressed an interest in writing a book. And, well, Hilda knew all too well how her sister acted in the past to relationships with mortals; making her the villain fit with the story line and, really, once her characters came clean about their respective abilities—demon and witch—another obstacle needed to be thrown at them or the book would’ve been woefully short.

Still, insisting the villain be a ‘loveless, spinster hag’, especially when Hilda certainly didn’t see Zelda that way, was a misstep to say the least. Then sharing it with the students when the other comparisons were obvious was another.... Hilda had just been so excited about it and wanted to share her accomplishment with everyone that she hadn’t stopped to think.

Perhaps she should have shared it with Zelda first... but Hilda now knew why she hadn’t done that, because on some unconscious level, she knew she was in the wrong.

Collecting herself, Hilda quickly checked on the students once more before going to find her sister and apologize; the bare minimum she could do. Thankfully, Zelda only went as far as her office; they were still in the midst of a crisis, after all and her sister was never one to shirk her duties.

Tentatively knocking on the door, Hilda stepped inside. “Zelds?”

“Not now, Hilda, this ‘hag’ has work to do.” Zelda snapped, not looking up from the documents in front of her.

Heart clenching at how Zelda immediately shrouded herself in the insult, wearing it like a badge so it couldn’t be used against her, Hilda shut the door behind her. “And this awful sister needs to apologize.” She murmured, tugging at the ends of her sleeves.

Jaw jutting to the side, Zelda scoffed. “Perhaps, but it’s for your benefit, not mine. You only feel guilty now that I’ve confronted you. If you truly felt bad about the contents of that book, you’d never have published it. Let alone spread it like poison through the entire coven.”

Hilda grimaced and moved closer. “I lacked a lot of foresight regarding the book, and you’re right, I never should have shared it with the coven. I let my excitement over actually publishing something blind me to the consequences. I’m sorry, I know it changes nothing, but I am sorry. You did support me and Cee, it was wrong to suggest otherwise, even if it was in fiction.” She admitted, still trying to catch her sister’s eye and failing. “But I think my bigger blunder was never realizing what pain you went through during and after the Caligari spell.”

That caught Zelda’s attention, she stiffened and then swallowed hard. “Nonsense.”

Undeterred, Hilda pressed on. “Zelds, you used the word torturous—"

Her sister’s hands slammed onto the desk suddenly, startling Hilda. “Torturous because of boredom.” Zelda retorted harshly, though her eyes shone brightly with unshed tears as she continued to focus on the papers in front of her. “I was trapped inside my head and forced to listen to Faustus blather on and on, Hell knew how I longed to roll my eyes and slap him quiet. You misunderstood me.”

Tears welling, Hilda edged a bit closer. “I don’t think I did.” She whispered.

Muscles in her cheek twitching, Zelda shook her head. “You did. You misunderstood. That spell, it was just mind numbing, literally. Nothing—" her voice cracked, “nothing else happened. Besides, Faustus and I never loved one another, I said as much when he proposed, and he proved as much with the Caligari.” Struggling to contain herself, Zelda added. “So, your description might be more on point than I originally thought. Loveless...” she scoffed a little wetly, “how apt. Now leave, I’ve work to do.” She waved a hand to dismiss Hilda further.

“No.” Hilda stated firmly, arms crossing. “I was cruel. I made our petty fights public, at least the times you were cruel you kept it at home, so no one bore witness to it. I—"

Her sister finally looked at her, face hard. “I couldn’t care less about this trash you’ve written.” She snarled, eyes flashing. But Hilda could see straight through the lie, straight through the mask and see the pain lurking in Zelda’s eyes.

She sighed, knowing when to pick her battles after centuries of fights, perhaps they’d revisit this book topic when Zelda wasn’t quite so raw. “Then we’ll forget about the book, I just wanted to make sure I apologized for it.” She paused, giving Zelda one last chance to contradict her, to carry on so they could fully clear the air, but her sister merely cocked an unimpressed brow. Exhaling softly, Hilda pressed in. “I won’t let the effects of the Caligari spell go, though.” On that, Hilda was adamant. She should have realized, shouldn’t have let Zelda go back once free. This, this was a battle she’d chose until the end of time. Hilda couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let her sister continue to suffer in silence.

A mocking laugh emanated from Zelda. “You won’t let it go?” She scoffed and wiped her eyes in what she likely thought a discreet manner. “Hilda, this matter doesn’t concern you. It clearly didn’t concern you while it was ongoing, seeing as I remained under the spell for a good time after I returned home. It clearly didn’t concern you once it was lifted and I went back under its pretense. So, the aftereffects certainly don’t concern you either.” Eyes blazing, Zelda was breathing heavily by the end of her speech.

Wounded by the not entirely unwarranted diatribe, Hilda pressed her lips together to keep her chin from trembling, because despite herself, Zelda just admitted to there being aftereffects. And this slip told Hilda more than anything else, because if her normally tight lipped and controlled sister was letting things slip, it was far worse than Hilda imagined. Composing herself with a little difficulty, Hilda swallowed. “Zelds, please, you’re right. Of course you are, but please, help me understand. I want to help, however you’ll let me.”

“And if I won’t let you?” Zelda scoffed, and Hilda could practically see her sister’s walls climbing even higher.

She closed the remaining distance between them and reached to touch Zelda’s hand where it lay clenched on the desk. “Then I’ll be here until you do.” Hilda murmured softly, forcing herself not to cry when Zelda jerked her hand away.

Huffing, Zelda ran her tongue over her teeth. “I suppose I’ve no say in the matter? That you’ll make yourself a nuisance until I allow you to help?” And though her tone was laced with derision, the way Zelda looked at her told Hilda that her persistence was what her sister needed.

That after everything—after Blackwood’s abuse, the coven labeling her a bitch, Sabrina loosing Lucifer, Hilda betraying her trust—what her sister needed most was a demonstration that someone truly did care and would stand by her side.

Not that Zelda would ever admit to as much.

But Hilda knew her sister. Could read between the lines and behind the stoic masks, and she refused to be pushed away by venomous words or actions when she knew this was an unhealthy coping mechanism she triggered with her book.

Persistence.

It was something Hilda would only be too happy to provide if it meant repairing what she broke with the book, and perhaps the same persistence would help Hilda patch up some other pieces of Zelda that she refused to acknowledge were hurting.

Squaring her shoulders, Hilda nodded curtly. “Correct, you’ve no say in the matter. I’m here for you, Zelds, always, whether you like it or not.”

Lips twisting for a moment in unveiled emotion, Zelda quickly regained herself and rolled her eyes. “Fine. It seems you’re adamant and arguing with you is a waste of time. I’ve much to do, Hilda, if you insist on helping me, I suggest you go back to the infirmary and check on the students.”

Another clear dismissal, though this time Hilda took her leave, but not before quickly catching Zelda’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. When her sister didn’t flinch, pull away, or hurl some insult at her, Hilda smiled softly and hurried back to the infirmary.

Everything wasn’t fixed, far from it, their relationship too complex for easy solutions… but Hilda knew they’d taken a step in the right direction. Knew she loved her sister and that Zelda loved her just as fiercely back, and if on occasion it seemed otherwise, well, thank goodness witches lived so long, so that they might show those they loved how much they truly meant and deserved.

#caos #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #Zelda Spellman #hilda spellman #caos fanfiction #caos fic #mentions of #faustus blackwood #writing prompt #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #ao3fic #AO3 fanfic #sabrina spellman #ambrose spellman

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ddaengyoonmin · 4 years

Text

Genre: smut, a bit of fluff

Warnings: public sex, riding, slightly dom!reader, lots of talk of stuff in a sex store.

Word count: 3.6k

A/n: this is co-written by my bestest bud @kingsuckjin ! She wrote the smut part, so if you love this story make sure to send her some asks to let her know 💖

Summary: You work in a sex store, and a customer comes in that needs a bit of extra assistance...

——————

The store smelled a lot like plastic. It was masked by the heavy perfume that the store owner instructed you to spray around in the lingerie section.

Rows and rows of bright colored panties and bras hung, now likely permanently coated in the cheap perfume that misted down on it daily.

It was only you at the store, as it was most days. The amount of customers that felt like stopping by a small town sex store in the middle of the day was next to none.

You sat on the large counter, your legs dangling off the edge as you let out a loud sigh. Your last customer had been about three hours ago right when your store had opened, and you weren’t sure if you could even call them a customer, they hadn’t bought anything, they merely asked far too many questions about getting the length on their dildo they were going to purchase juuuust right.

Then there was Yoongi, the boy who worked next door who would come over and chat with you occasionally. It was nice to have things to pass the time, there was only so much you could do on your phone when the wifi in the shop was shit.

You were just about to go to the computer and check if any of the new nipple tassels that you’d requested to be ordered in were in transit when you heard the familiar but rare ding of the front door opening.

Your head shot over to see a tall brown haired man awkwardly stumbling in. You had worked here for a few years and had a pretty good eye for when a customer was in a sex shop for the first time.

“Hello and welcome to Magic Desires. What brings ya in today?” you chimed cheerfully from where you sat at the counter. Not wanting to scare him off by running up to him right away.

“Ah” He choked out as he disappeared behind a row of lingerie.

There was silence for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Actually can I ask you something?” He yelled out.

You slid off the counter slowly and tucked your phone that had been in your hand into your back pocket of your jeans and put on your customer service smile.

When you got to the man you had to hold back a slight gasp when you realized how attractive he was. He had a dreamy look on his face, lost in thought as he fingered through a row of pink bras.

“How can I help you?” you chirped.

“What…” He bit down on his lip, thinking hard on how to phrase his question. “What kind of lingerie do women like?” you could see his embarrassment displayed on all of his features, he looked like he wanted to jump back behind another row.

“Oh?” You giggled “Um...everyone is different? That's why we have so many different ones…”

The young man looked to the floor and cursed quietly under his breath.

“Looking for your girlfriend I’m guessing?”

He shook his head and pulled another bra off the rack, a blue one this time, he looked at it with a confused face, the way one might look at a math problem.

You laughed again and he put it back quickly.

“I’m a photographer. I’ve just got ahead of myself and made a post on my page that I was going to be offering some more...sensual photography sessions if you know what I mean. And I figured I should buy my first some outfits for the shoots they’ve booked…” he sighed and looked down to the ground. “But I have no idea what women would want to wear.”

“Well what would you like to see a woman in? I’m sure these women are taking their photos for someone else no? What do you think their partner would want to see them in?” you asked, raising an eyebrow up.

Like a lightbulb shone in his head his eyes lit up and he nodded.

“Okay, I think that could help.” He bit down on his lip again. It was cute how he did that, you couldn’t help but notice that his eyes flicked up and down your figure this time as he rolled his lip between his teeth.

“I think…” He turned around to the rack behind him and flipped through a few hangers until he pulled one out. A lace red bra and pantie set dangling from the hanger was now being held out in front of you. “I think I need help seeing what it would look like on someone before I buy it. Would you?” You could tell that he was growing hot with embarrassment, yet he continued to stand by his bold request, holding the set out in front of himself and out to you.

“I think this looks like your size? Don’t hit me if I’m wrong in a bad way, this obviously isn’t my thing.” His eyes twinkled a bit as he smirked at you slightly.

Your mouth hung open, and you started to become a stuttering mess of nonsense.

“I-I guess maybe?” Finally got out.

Of all of the things that you could’ve finally come up with, that was it? Was that what you really meant to say?

Maybe a part of you really did mean it…

It was boring here, and it wouldn’t be the worst way to pass the time. Fuck it. He’s cute.

You smiled shyly and grabbed the set out of his hand and checked the size.

“You were right.” you chuckled softly.

The man in front of you did a tiny fist pump to celebrate and laughed at his goofiness, getting shy once again.

“Go on then.” He nodded his head in the direction of your store’s fitting room.

“I’m gonna lock up first, this is weird.” you decided and walked over to the front doors, taking the key from around your neck and using it to lock them.

You could hear amused noise coming from the man in your store as you did this.

Damn it why were you such a sucker for a cute face.

You quickly walked into the dressing rooms, trying to avoid him as you passed but he followed close behind, standing outside of the curtain that you were now behind.

“I’m Taehyung by the way. You may have heard of me?” you heard his voice from behind the red cloth as you slipped your jeans off of your ankles.

“Um...Should I have?” you unclipped your white worn bra and started to exchange it for the red one that you can't deny was about to make your tits look amazing.

“I won the art contest downtown this past summer.” He replied, “It was kind of a big deal.”

You checked yourself over in the mirror, adjusting the cloth on the back of the panties so that they weren’t folded over awkwardly in any places.

“If you’re into that” you spoke back.

“What?” you heard him reply in a slightly surprised tone.

You pulled back the curtains quickly to see him standing far too close to where the cloth had been.

“If you’re into that it's a big deal I guess.” You shrugged.

Your comment seemed to go ignored as Taehyung’s eyes roamed up and down your body.

“Damn.” He whispered. “Yeah, I’ll take that.” he breathed out.

“Okay, that was easy.” you chuckled and spun around to head back into the changing room.

“C-can I take your picture.” He quickly stammered. You turned back around in just enough time to see his eyes quickly try to pretend they weren’t just staring at your ass when you were turned around.

“I just wanna see how it’d look with my camera.” he patted the bulky pack that hung on his shoulder.

“Really?” you raised an eyebrow with a smirk, “It’s not so you can have some new pictures to get off to at home?” you winked, “We’ve got plenty of porn in the back.”

His jaw tightened at that and he stepped away from you for a moment.

“I’m sorry.” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

You shook your hands out in front of you quickly. “No, I’m just joking around. Actually...sure. I don’t mind. Fuck it.” you shrugged. God, the things you were doing for this boy, simply because he asked. You were acting whipped and he was a complete stranger, you wanted to smack yourself and get some sense back. Though, what would be the harm in seeing where this goes...you really were quite bored…

“Oh?” His eyes widened again, he was not really expecting you to say yes, it was a longshot.

You nodded.

“Right here?”

Taehyung looked around your shop to decide on a better spot.

“There.” he pointed to the couch that you had a manikin laying on modeling a set of lingerie and thigh high socks.

“Um...Occupied?”

“You can’t move her boss?” he winked at you.

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “You better buy more than just a pantie and bra set for all the quality customer service you’re getting.” you teased as you walked across the store to move the manikin from the red lounge sofa to the floor.

Taehyung had followed, adjusting some settings on his camera now standing next to the couch.

“Just...model, it doesn’t matter too much, I really just need to see how to colors show up.”

“Mhmm.” you hummed sarcastically, teasing him again.

“Ah shut up.” He shied away from you, pulling out his camera and snapping a few quick shots once you got sitting on the couch, moving from laying on your side to showing him your backside.

He continued to mutter curses as you posed for him.

You were guilty of trying to be as sexy as you could be, but you couldn’t help wanting to show off for a man bold enough to ask to take pictures of you like this.

“Okay yeah. I’m taking it.” His eyes seemed to have a hard time looking anywhere but the hem of the lace red panties you were wearing.

“Alright I’ll go change out then.”

“Or…” He muttered, scanning your body that had been obviously teasing him.

“Or?” Your eyes twinkled now meeting his directly.

“You wear it well, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to unsee anyone else wearing that without thinking of how much better it looks on you…I-” he seemed to need to take a few breaths before being able to finish his next thought. “I’d hate myself for not at least trying…” His eyes flickered over from you to the sofa quickly. His intentions are perfectly clear to you.

“You wanna fuck me Taehyung?” both eyebrows now raised in mock surprise. You knew he wanted to fuck you, you’d been putting on your best show and his erection could probably be seen from across the street.

He nodded slowly, setting his camera down on a nearby shelf and taking a step near you.

“You wanna fuck me baby?” He smirked at you, now stepping forward again, this time so close that his chest was pressed against your own.

One of his hands reached out and grabbed your side, pulling you close so that your hips were now pressed against him as well.

You breathed in sharply flashing him a quick smile as you took the next step, leaning in to him and pressing your lips to his.

He quickly brought a hand to the back of your head, moving his fingers gently through your hair as he gave you soft and shy kisses that somehow managed to turn deep and bold before you even realized what was happening. Much like a lot of how this man Taehyung behaved.

It was sexy, so fucking sexy how you couldn’t quite pin him down.

And that's where the thought popped into your head of how fun it would be to do just that, literally.

You pushed against him, using a grip on his hips to spin him around and throw him down onto the couch where you’d just been laying.

You stared down at him as he looked up at you with an animalistic look of pure lust in his eyes, a look that made your blood rush.

You climbed onto his lap facing him, setting a leg on each side of his hips. You didn't let your body make contact with his cock hard in his pants under you just to tease him.

"Do I want to fuck you?" You raised a brow as you placed a hand on his shoulder and ran it through his hair. His eyes stayed on you as if entranced by you. "What do you think? Do you think I would've put this lingerie on and let you take pictures of me to touch yourself to later if I didn't want to fuck you?"

"Fair enough" He muttered, eyes now fixation on your lips as his hands went to your hips that had yet to lower onto his.

Your lips drifted closer to his but before closing the distance you spoke again.

"I believe I asked if you wanted to fuck me first, it seems like you do."

"Oh god yes." His breathless whisper sounded like a plead.

You lowered your hips finally onto his clothed, hard cock as he leaned in to kiss you hungrily. His hands urged your hips to grind down onto his to try to gain some kind of pleasure for the both of you. The excitement felt wild to you, like two young strangers making out at a college party, a feeling you hadn't had since, well, college.

You abruptly got off of his lap and got to your feet and wordlessly walked off towards the cash register counter. You could already feel the damp lacy fabric beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs as you walked.

"Wait, where are you going? I thought we were going to…" He seemed utterly confused until you reached into the candy bowl full of condoms on the counter and held it up between your thumb and index finger to show him as you sauntered back over to him and took your former spot back on his lap.

"Gotta be safe, you know?" You threw the condom in the empty spot beside you before grinding back down on his still solid erection.

"Can- can I fuck you in- will you leave the lingerie on?" He seemed nervous about asking but the way his eyes stared at how good your cleavage looked in the bra and how sexy you felt in it made you agree.

"Sure, why not." You shrugged. "So," You leaned into his ear noticing the sharp but tantalizing scent of his cologne "You have a hot girl on your lap in sexy lingerie. What do you want to do to me Taehyung?"

He let out a moan that sounded more like a growl as you rubbed against his cock once more and placed a few slow kisses on his neck.

"Anything you'll let me do." You felt him squeeze your ass hard in his hands. "I want to cram every inch of my cock inside of you, baby. Would you like that? You want me to fuck you right here with all of these windows where anyone could walk by and see you taking my cock?"

What felt like adrenaline coursed through you as you grabbed his right arm and guided his hand until it touched the sticky material between your legs.

"Do you feel how wet I am just for you? Does that tell you how badly I want it? Put on the condom and fuck me." You demanded and scooted back so he could have space to do as you asked.

He scrambled to get his pants undone and down just enough for his stiff cock to be let loose.

Being the kind lady you were, you opened the condom wrapper and put it on for him before going back to your spot hovering over him, this time feeling him at your entrance as you pushed the thigh hole of your panties aside.

You took him but the shirt collar and pulled his face into yours, kissing him as you took him slowly inside of you.

He moaned against your lips as he kissed you back and took another hand full of your ass in his hand.

"Bounce." He demanded into your lips but you pulled away.

"Ask me nicely." You teased.

"Baby please bounce on my cock. Please let me see you fuck yourself on it."

You tightened your muscles around him and slowly began to move up and ram yourself down onto him hard. It felt so good that you wanted to speed up, but stopped yourself as you saw how much he seemed to be enjoying it.

"Oh fuck." He groaned as he threw his head back.

His dick fit so well inside of you, hitting all the right places inside of you every time you came back down on him, but it still wasn't enough and his deep moans were driving you crazy.

You stuck your hand down the front of the panties and began to rub fast circles on your clit.

When he noticed what you were doing he began to buck his hips up into you, using the grip on your ass to have your hips meet his harder and faster.

Now it almost felt too much for you, there was no holding in your impending orgasm or stopping it as it hit hard and fast. Each time he bucked up into you it sent wave after wave of bliss running through you leaving you gripping his shirt.

"Fuck you're so hot." He panted "gonna cum."

You bounced faster to not only drag out the last milliseconds of your orgasm but to also help him with his.

"You feel so fucking good Taehyung." You whined and that seemed to throw him over the edge. He quickly pulled out of you and you watched as he jerked himself hard and fast until his cum filled the condom. Heavy breathing was the only noise in the store for a moment as you both regained your composure.

“Damn.” Taehyung muttered, staring up at you, his body still slightly shaking as he came down from his high.

“Yeah.” You chuckled and shot him a large grin as you slid yourself sideways off of him and off of the couch. “Not bad.” you winked.

Taehyung laughed a single loud ‘ha’ and sat up, reaching out and tickling your side. “Not bad huh?” he smirked at you.

You flinched away at his touch giggling.

“I need to get the shop back open.” you had forgotten for a moment that you were still at work, rushing back to the changing room and throwing your clothes back on.

When you got back out onto the shop floor Taehyung was flipping through lingerie sets again, a couple in his hands now.

“I don’t think I can try on anymore.” you yelled out to him as you walked behind the counter after unlocking the front doors. “But bring up another set of the ones I had on. I don’t really know if the first set is really...sellable now.” you laughed, though your pockets hurt slightly, knowing you’d be buying that bra and panty set for yourself. At least you looked good in it.

Taehyung quietly looked for a few more minutes and returned to the counter with a total of four sets, mostly just variations of the ones you’d been wearing, just in different colors.

“Good picks.” you winked at him as you scanned them.

He smiled shyly at you as if he suddenly forgot how to talk to you.

He paid and you were putting the bras and panties in a bag when Taehyung finally spoke up again.

“Hey. Thanks. That was…” He smiled and shook his head to himself, already replaying the image of you riding him in his head.

“It really was.” You handed him the bag. “Thank you for shopping at Magic Desires.” you chimed in your best customer service voice.

“If you ever wanna…” he mumbled quietly, rummaging through his pockets. “If you ever wanna book a session with me here's my card.” he handed you a small white rectangle with Kim Taehyung and all of his information on it.

You smiled widely, imagining the trouble you could get into with him if you were to use this number to contact him again.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You winked at him biting down on your lower lip lightly.

He nodded nervously, leaning forward to go in for a kiss on your cheek, you leaned forward to receive it, giggling quietly and feeling your cheeks grow slightly hot right where his lips had met your skin.

He walked out the door without looking back at you.

You sighed and smiled to yourself, lingering butterflies in your stomach fluttered around wildly.

You watched him get into his car that was pulled up right in front of the window of the store. He shot over one last smile and pulled away.

There were a lot of phantom feelings of his hands on you, of being filled up by him. You spun around in a small circle and jumped back up on the counter.

You pulled out your phone and the card that Taehyung had given you and typed in the phone number on the card. You put “Photographer.” next to his name and saved the contact.

That could come in handy again later.

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