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jlalafics · 4 years

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“Fantasy”-an Everlark One-Shot

Please read over this prompt from @writing-prompt-s before reading this story or it will make no sense at all.

Also, this was the first song that came into my mind when I read this prompt.

Enjoy!

___

Katniss parked her car in front of the supermarket, a deep sigh escaping her lips after what felt like the longest dinner party of her life.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love seeing her group of friends; Gale and Madge were wonderful hosts. She had known them since they were children and it was nice to have maintained a friendship after almost thirty years.

It was even better because her younger sister was there along with Rory, her sister’s husband, and Gale’s younger brother. The party was rounded out with Delly and Thom, next door neighbors to Gale and Madge who had just moved into the neighborhood.

What was bothersome was that she was the lone guest to a group of couples.

For the most part, Katniss didn’t mind being single. She had been in relationships in the past, her latest one lasting a year before they both decided that lukewarm feelings wouldn’t suffice. She had hit thirty-five and wanted more of a connection and they obviously didn’t have a deep one. Cato was now happily married to the woman that he had met after her.

Prim often told her that she had soulmate expectations, to which Katniss could do nothing but laugh.

Soulmates were a myth; the last occurrence happening possibly a hundred years ago. The historic records on the subject were not concrete enough for her analytical mind, so she could only conclude that the stories were nothing but the hopeful longing of many a pining historians.

Getting out of the car, she rushed to the entrance. It was a frigid night and she was not about to catch a cold due to her poor decision to wear a wrap dress to the Hawthorne dinner party.

The supermarket was practically empty as it was almost closing time. There was a lone cashier up front, her focus on an issue of US Weekly with the most unflattering photo of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle on its cover. Above her, the overhead speaker played an instrumental of Muskrat Love and she grabbed a shopping basket before heading towards the aisles in search of baking powder.

Katniss always baked for her new students, the tradition starting her first year as a college professor. She had been so anxious the night before that she had ended up stress baking dozens of blueberry muffins.

Since she lived alone, there was no other choice but to offer them to her students. Hungry rascals they were, they eagerly took one or two as they entered her class.

Now muffins had become an age-old tradition in Professor Everdeen’s class.

It had expanded now to not just blueberry; she accommodated to those allergic to gluten, eggs, nuts, and dairy baking different varieties of muffins. A coffee and tea station was also available during that first day before they all sat down to get to know one another.

She found the baking aisle easily. However, someone decided that it would be best to place baking powder on the highest shelf.

“Damn.”

Katniss stared up for a moment before placing her basket down. She swiftly looked to each side of the aisle before removing her heels and stepping onto the first shelf, her feet pushing the arranged cans back to make room.

She reached, her hand almost touching the coveted can of baking powder—

“Are you aware that you can easily call someone to get that for you?”

A shock rushed up her spine at being caught.

However, not one to be deterred, Katniss took a breath before responding, “The store is obviously understaffed as the only employee I saw was currently perusing ‘Stars! They’re Just Like Us!’”

“I’ll talk to Rue about that,” the voice, obviously male, replied with a chuckle. “Now, will you step down? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

With a sigh, Katniss did as she was told and turned to face the man. “I’m sorry—”

His smile was the first thing that greeted her; wide and friendly, full of pearly white teeth between smooth lips. The rest of him was not so bad either; medium height, thick blond hair that was short on the sides and full at the top, and eyes so blue that she questioned if it was even genetically possible.

He held out his hand to her. “Peeta.”

She took it, quelling her urge to flutter her eyelashes at him. “Katniss Eve—”

The lights above them began to fade out and the familiar hum of Mariah Carey suddenly blared over the speakers followed by her trademark high note then—

“Oh when you walk by every night

Talking sweet and looking fine

I get kind of hectic inside…”

“Why is Fantasy playing on your speakers?” she yelled.

Peeta opened his mouth to answer when the symphony of lights began to cascade over them.

Pinks…purples…blues…yellows all in tune with the song—it made her dizzy and she turned to the man before her who looked just as confused. The colors highlighted his handsome face in a rainbow of lights.

“What’s Fantasy?” he asked loudly.

“This song!” she answered back. “It was my favorite song—when I was ten!”

Katniss remembered as a child dancing in her bedroom, Walkman in her hands and headphones on her ears as she sang along with Mariah, trying to mimic her high notes. She loved the feeling that the song gave her, the feeling of giddiness that made her heart leap and caused the churn of excitement in her stomach.

She always imagined that was how falling in love felt.

It hit her suddenly, the barely legible account of the soulmate occurrence.

The music…the light show…

It happened whenever soulmates met—or so the legend went.

Katniss looked to the man before her, taking in his apron and his jaunty countenance. “Peeta, how old are you?”

He grinned youthfully before answering, “Nineteen.”

Oh…hell no.

He wasn’t even born when this song came out! Probably just a little blip in his father’s sac at that point.

“I have to go!” she called out in a panic.

Peeta grabbed the can of baking powder, holding it out to her. “What about this?”

She yanked it from his grasp and turned into a full sprint out of the supermarket.

Halfway through her fifth batch, Katniss realized that she had shoplifted.

++++++

“Help yourself to a muffin! Then, take your seats!” Katniss called out as the auditorium began to fill. “The syllabus is on top of your seats. Please read over it as we will have a Q&A before I dismiss the class.”

She had barely closed her eyes before her alarm rang. What sleep she did get was filled with Peeta’s bright blues and that hugely attractive smile.

When she was not sleeping, Katniss was obsessing over the whole occurrence—the music and cacophony of blinding lights that went with it. She even Googled the last soulmate occurrence to make sure that what occurred was an actual soulmate meeting.

It was all there. There was no information on what the music was or even if the people that it happened to had even gotten together.

Her soulmate couldn’t possibly be that boy.

The flutter in her stomach remembering him was likely just a surface attraction to a handsome face and broad chest.

She really needed to get laid.

“Thanks for the muffin.”

Her stomach fluttered—it couldn’t be—she looked up to meet the familiar smile of her newfound ‘soulmate’.

And now, her new student.

Peeta moved in closer, his eyes roving her. “The music and lights stopped as soon as you left.”

Katniss nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“When I got home, I Googled what happened and it mentioned an incident that happened in 1920,” he told her. “It had something to do with soulmates.”

She looked away. “Soulmates aren’t real.”

“Maybe,” Peeta said. “But you and I had a connection—soulmate or not—I’d still like to know you.”

“Well, as my student you will get to know me—as your professor,” she replied easily.

He smirked at her and hand to God, her stomach fluttered as if Mariah was singing right into her chest.

“Looking forward to the class, Professor Everdeen.”

She was so fucked.

FIN.

*Music:

“Fantasy”—Mariah Carey (1995)

#Everlark Fanfiction #Everlark #soulmate!Everlark #agegap!Everlark #one-shot #this won't go any further

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bananaink · 4 years

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KeGo December Day 13 - Window

Izuku crossed his arms in front of his chest, a slight sting shooting through his ribs, and stared after a woman on her bike down the street. She had too many grocery bags on her stupidly colorful bike and swayed dangerously from side to side. Someone tried to help her but she just smiled and kept on. She made it out of Izukus field of view safely and left him bored again.

He sighed against the window and looked over his shoulder to check on Aizawa. He was still sitting with his back to Izuku at the kitchen counter, either reading or scribbling something down. His mug had stopped steaming so he would probably refill it soon but otherwise it was quiet in the apartment with almost no movement.

Boredom was something he wasn't really used to. Usually he would either hide from his brother, avoid his father or work with/for Kurogiri. If these didn’t apply, he would care for his wounds, scavenge for food or write in his journal. But all of the above were just... gone. Not an option. His fingers itched for a pen and his notebook but to get it he’d have to leave the apartment which – as the police, Aizawa and reluctantly Izuku had agreed on – would not be possible for a few more days. Maybe weeks. Just to be safe. Just until they were sure he was safe, his mom was safe, his wounds had healed and they had decided what to do with him.

Nervously, he eyed Aizawas back. The underground hero hadn’t exactly offered to take him in, just told the police to call him when questions would arise, herded him away from the station, into a car and then drove back here. Then he had proceeded to dump Izuku on the couch and empty the storage room of any and all storage. And now Izuku was trapped in a very weird limbo, unsure about anything. What would happen to him?

And to make matters worse, he had never felt so full of energy. His muscles didn’t ache, bones didn’t creak, his stomach wasn’t cramping with hunger and the few restless hours of sleep gave him so much more focus to work with. So much more he could observe, analyze. And no notebook to write it down. Great.

Well, he was supposed to be resting, lying down and letting all that energy work out his lingering injuries which were still stinging and burning and pulsing here and there - but that just wasn’t an option with Aizawa so close. And every time he closed his eyes, his brother loomed over him.

He paced in front of the window again - four steps, turn, four steps, repeat - and eyed the plant on the little table outside. It looked even sadder with only one green leaf remaining on its dried and frozen body. Izuku found himself guessing how long someone had to ignore a plant for it to reach this state of more-dead-than-alive. Maybe days? Weeks? But it would get water from rain and direct sunlight, wasn’t that supposed to be the only thing for plants to grow? How could it still die? Frowning, Izuku bit down on his lip to keep his bubbling words down and when he heard Aizawa standing up to refill his mug, he stopped and watched him over his shoulder.

But the adult just sat down again, sighing and popping his shoulders, stretching his arms over his head. Izuku grimaced in sympathy at the sound. Sitting hunched over a table did bad things to a back and Ereaserhead hadn’t moved for hours. Aizawa scratched his head, ruffling his already wild black hair and turned to look over his shoulder. Immediately Izuku swiveled his stare outside again, crossing his arms and pretending to be very engrossed in something down the street. His skin prickled a little bit and he started pacing again as soon as the hero's attention wasn’t on him anymore.

He managed ten minutes of mindlessly staring outside with glances at the clock in-between before he looked over his shoulder again. Aizawa was still sitting there. With his back turned. Working or something. Izuku took a deep breath and quietly let it out again, before scratching the side of his head and glaring at that back. This was dumb. He was bored out of his mind. And Aizawa just sat there. Being busy.

“You’re annoying.”, he said with sudden vigor and flexed his hands, waiting for a reaction.

“Okay.”, came the deep answer, obviously distracted.

“And stupid.”

“Mh-Hm.”

Izuku lifted his hands to phantom-strangle Aizawa from across the room, barely stopping himself from hissing in frustration. The adult had been nothing but quiet and nonconfrontational for the duration of Izukus stay and it started to get on is nerves. Especially if he had nothing better to do but stare outside a window and worry his head off.

He paced for two minutes more, grumbling under his breath and watching a cloud, looking like a muffin, move over the sky before he glared at the hero again. He seemed so aloof in these walls. As if he had nothing to fear, presenting his back to Izuku, napping defenselessly slumped on a chair or carelessly handling Izuku knives to chop vegetables.

He could have attacked Ereaserhead by now easily. Yeah, Izuku would probably spectacularly lose but not before inflicting enough harm to scar the hero. Not that he wanted to fight but this indecisive situation, this fear of the unknown, the question of would he be allowed to stay or send away...

Rubbing his scarred cheek, he made a decision. Probably a stupid one, reckless and born from spite but it would be better than smashing his face against the wall or staring at the vulnerable back or waiting and giving another person the power to decide.

Making sure that his pacing went on for a few more seconds, he slowly made his steps quieter, lighter until he was sure Aizawa couldn’t hear them anymore. Then, he chose a path that would avoid that one creaky floorboard beside the couch and keep himself out of Aizawas line of vision, if he decided to turn the same way he had done before. That should give him a few seconds if push came to shove. He tip-toed to the big bookshelf and its inhabitants, zeroing in on the well-used ones and buzzing with anticipation.

It only took him ten, maybe fifteen minutes of nerve-wrecking silence and hyper focused movements to not drop anything, but once he was done, he quietly went back to the balcony-window and made his pacing slowly audible again. Then he threw some huffs and sighs into the mix. Aizawa just sipped his cold coffee.

Izuku crossed his arms in front of his chest and eyed the bookshelf. Inconspicuous and not the biggest inconvenience he had made but still annoying enough. That should show the pro hero to leave him alone to his own devices. And maybe jog his decision...

An annoyed but slightly impressed Shouta stood in front of his bookshelf, holding “How to live like your cat” in one hand and “Well, you are Single - How to cook for one” in the other. Neither had been the one he needed.

Gazing up at his shelf he frowned at the turned picture-frames, his cat-figurines and books facing the walls and that dumb Present Mic action figure Hizashi kept sneaking into his home delicately balanced on its ridiculously accurate hairstyle.

He turned to look at the boy currently highly interested in the window, tapping the glass and fidgeting on the spot. After ten silent seconds of staring at the back of his head, Midoriya even squished one cheek against the window and hummed an innocent tune. Shouta turned back to the shelf, eyeing the turned books. Even the highest figurines he himself struggled to reach were turned - how in the hell had Midoriya managed to reach them without Shouta noticing?

And – more importantly – why?

“Midoriya.”, he said, voice unexpectedly loud in the silence surrounding them. The kid almost jumped out of his skin and up the ceiling, but he still turned around with the most clueless expression Shouta had ever seen.

“Why?”

The boy eyed Shouta intensely first before glancing at the bookshelf.

“I’ve asked myself the same thing. Seems impractical to store them like this, Ereaserhead. You can’t even read the labels or see the pictures.”

“No... Why would you do that?”

“Do what? Improve your mind with casual memory tasks? Save you from thousand dead cat-eyes staring into your soul?”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”, Shouta tried to say without exasperation and put the two books back were Midoriya had sorted them. Backs facing the walls.

“And I told you to call me Aizawa when I’m out of costume.”

“Sure beans. You’re welcome by the way.”

The pro hero rubbed his forehead, sighed and then put his hands on his hips, turning fully to look at Midoriya. The kid flinched hard again despite his confident voice and the impressive defiance in his eyes.

“Alright, undo all of this. And get me my books on the history of quirk manifestation back in order please, I need them.”

Midoriya stared at Shouta for a few seconds with an unreadable expression. Long enough for it to almost get uncomfortable. But then the kid shrugged and walked over. Stiff and tense but he made sure to sound as carefree as he tried to move.

“A shame, this is so much more exciting. Which book will you get? Cats, cooking, history or even more cats? You never know.”

With that he shuffled close and started picking specific books out and piling them at his feet. Shouta eyed the covers and quickly realized that he was sorting them by genre. The kid had memorized the books and their placement which wouldn’t be that impressive if it weren’t for the fact that Shouta had a whole wall of books. He himself never cared about a specific order or sorting system since he only used a handful of them regularly. One section for school-related books and one for his favorite cat-themed-ones. But other than that, he just stuffed them somewhere in hopes of forgetting them. Most of them weren’t even his since he usually had no time to read anyway.

Midoriya pulled out a ‘teaching for dummies – part 3’ book and Shouta sighed at the memory of that specific birthday party. Hizashi had been oh so funny...

Shouta sighed, watched the kid and wanted to cross his arms over his chest to get comfortable, but suddenly Midoriya ducked into a crouch and swirled around, eyes wide and face ashen. He knocked a small pile of books over and Shouta froze with his arms halfway in the air. The boy in turn froze with his shoulders curled, eyes jumping all over Shoutas body and lingering on his hands. He looked scared. Prepared. As if expecting a hit.

They blinked at each other – one surprised and one expectant.

Okay.

So, that happened.

The kid took a measured breath, awkwardly saying something about being startled by a spider and quickly tried to play his own reaction off by grabbing the knocked over books. As he stood up to sort them back into the shelf in alphabetical order, the pro hero carefully lowered his hands again, stuffing them into his pockets. Right. Traumatized kid. Not fond of hands. He carefully observed his forcefully relaxed body movements and how he always had Shouta at least halfway in his vision. His back never fully turned towards him.

He gripped the books a little bit too tight.

“Midoriya-”, he said and the kid startled bad enough to let the book go, frantically trying to catch it before it hit the ground and knocked three more to the floor in the process. He winced and tucked his flailing arms back in before presenting Shouta with another very innocent look over his shoulder. The underground hero sighed.

“Is there something you maybe want to let me know?”, he asked and Midoriya – for a very hot second - looked trapped. But he quickly caught himself, fiddling with the sleeves of Aizawas borrowed pullover that looked entirely too big on him and made his face as expressionless as possible. His cheek twitched and he tried to hide it by scratching his scar. Unnecessarily hard, digging into the skin. Aizawa suppressed a frown at that because the boy looked on edge and ready to bolt. His attempt at a casual shrug looked stiff and forced.

“Your plant is dying. Pretty negligently for a pro hero.”, he said, surprisingly sure of himself and Shouta couldn’t shake the feeling that the boy was deflecting. He hummed in thought, eyes roaming over Midoriya and his posture. He was obviously still in pain, holding himself a little lopsided and tense but at the same time he had managed to rearrange his whole bookshelf as quiet as a trained professional.

And it had taken him a lot of focus to pull that off.

Midoriya eyed him from under his long and unruly curls, still very expectant and tense. As if waiting for a sentence. A verdict. Shouta sighed and let his eyes wander to the balcony. The door was still open a small gap because Midoriya really didn’t like closed doors and tended to flee to the open when anxious. Shouta would have to keep that in mind, especially regarding the costs of keeping his home nice and cozy. Maybe more blankets? That’s when a thought entered his head and he would have face-palmed himself if not for the fact that the boy was still fidgeting right beside him.

“I must apologize. I haven’t been as openly with my communication as I promised I’d be.”, he started and Midoriyas face fell a little bit, devoid of color before he swallowed and ridigly turned to the bookshelf. He fidgled with a cat-figurine in stiff hands and had his shoulders up to his ears.

“Whatever.”, he hissed, tightly.

Shouta sighed again, feeling dumb and sheepish and not like someone ready to decide something so big for a boy with a history as complex as Midoriyas. He had talked with Inko Midoriya about this, with Hizashi, with Tsukauchi and with the principal, but not even once with the kid in question. Had wanted to wait until he’d have the paperwork read, until he’d have everything planned out, thought out. He had wanted to make sure he knew what he was doing and showing the anxious, traumatized and scared kid that he could take care of him and his needs, that he’d have a plan, that he’d make sure he’d get the help he and anyone in his position deserved. But that seemed to have backfired.

Midoriya had his eyes on his work, diligently putting the books back in order, but his eyes were dull and tired. His whole frame seemed to have sunken in.

“I am in the process of getting full custody over you.”, Shouta said and watched again how the kid let go of everything he had held in his hands. Surprised he twirled around, eyes wide but quickly tried to stifle his reaction and looked at the ground, gritting his teeth.

“There is a lot of paperwork tat needs to be filled out but I am confident that I’ll be able to take care of you.”, Shouta said and tried hard not o sound like he was selling himself too much. The kid jus scrunched up his nose and Shouta – for a short second – feared that he had made the wrong decision, but then the kid rubbed his arm and leaned to the side. Unconciously closer to Shouta.

“Why?”, he asked and Shouta found green eyes starin caustiosly up at him. Shouta knew he had to be honest with the kid right now, so he took a deep breath and met the gaze head on.

“Because...”, he started “... I won’t hand you off to some kind of orphanage or rehabilitation system provided by the hero-society. With your history, people will treat you differently, unfair and cruelly. I’ve seen it happen, have dealt with the outcome. It will happen and that’s horrible, but under my guard I can protect you, prepare you, help you. I won’t let people make you into a villain.”

Immediately Midoriya jerked up, eyes blazing with fury.

“I’m not a villain!”, he seethed and Shouta met his fury with calmness.

“I know that. Still doesn’t change the fact that people might think differently when they find out and act on that.”

Midoriya sagged and looked to the ground, frustration and sadness rolling off him in waves. He absentmindedly touched his scarred cheek, tracing the handprint-shape and then frowned miserably.

“What... what about my mom?”, he asked, voice small and finally sounding like the young, scared boy he really was. Shouta felt the urge to reach out and put a hand on the boys head, offering comfort like he used to do with kids. But he stopped himself and instead leaned a little bit down to catch a better look off his face.

“She is still your mother and nothing will change that. As soon as you decide that you want to live with her again, you’ll be able to-”

“No, I- I don’t-”, Midoriya interrupted him and then looked mortified by it. But Shouta just waited until he had gathered his words.

“She- is she going to be fine? People- if people find out about me and the-”, at this he scratched his cheek harshly again, ”-won't she suffer, too?”

Shouta felt his chest give a painful little twinge at the pure raw feelings in that freckled face, laid bare and obviously terrified by it.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”, he said with as much conviction he could give and held the green-eyed stare for as long as he could. Midoriya broke it off with a little doubtful frown. And Shouta supposed that he could do nothing about it for now. So he looked at the books again.

“Now that we clarified this... finish with this and then we can go over the paperwork together. I asked of you to be honest and open with me as much as you could. It’s only fair I offer you the same.”

Midoriya stifled a sniff and went silently to work.

___________

Who is behind almost four days in their own challenge? This Idiot! ��(◉Д◉)ᕗ

Well, the temperatures in germany suddenly spiked and so I got hit with a migraine ready to burn a whole in my skull so... I blame the new lost day on that :’D

However! I made it and that’s all that matters :D

As usual, check out @banashee, wo is so much more disciplined than me and I crossposted this chapter on AO3!

Also, check out the kego prompts! :D

#bnha au #imprint au #midoriya izuku #aizawa shouta #dadzawa #in the first stages #he tries okay #and i have a backstory to this kinda thingy #but i havent read vigilante #so... i' making stuff up as I go #:D #and now i wanna write the scene in the police station #its very angsty #so maybe if the prompt allow it?#if not you'll have to wait some more on that front #sorry :D #kego december #writing challenge

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