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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 15

first time reader - click here

TW/SUMMARY: Is bad humour a trigger? Cards against humanity. Loki in the wild. Chaotic Tony, chaotic Reader. Team bonding, a gag chapter lmao

My beta is babey 🥺 @miscmarvelwritings

If someone had bothered to ask me what kind of relationship I had with Tony, it would've made my brain glitch. In the weeks we spent fucking, sciencing and hanging out with the Avengers, it never once crossed my mind. We had fun and it was easy. Unlike both of our lives, it didn't require much mental energy for us to get what we wanted from each other. For me, it was easier to ignore my skin aching for Tony when he was already spending so much time on me. I wasn't sure if it would ever be enough, really, so taking exactly as much as he was giving was my best bet.

We built things in his workshop with Pete by our side and it wasn't awkward. The spiderling said he was happy as long as we were happy and didn't mind it too much when Tony got handsy. The man had at least some morals and stuck to kisses, ass-slaps and lewd comments which made Peter snort and fake-retch sure, yet the boy never displayed any real discomfort. It was endearing. He really became the little brother I never thought I would have.

The sex was fantastic, to say the least. We fucked on just about every flat surface on the residential floors. Steve caught us once, although I am almost hundred percent sure Tony staged it all on purpose. The good Captain didn't even blush, instead just silently closed the door behind him as I stared in his face, gripping Tony's head with my thighs.

The weather grew dreary yet both of my parents still stayed out of New York. Mother went back to Canada and dad continued his never-ending party on the West Coast, conquering California and living his best life. My house was dark and cold, and I started hanging around the tower more often than ever. If I wasn't with Tony, I was busy catching up Wanda and Bucky on pop culture, teaching Thor how to bake cakes and doing other meaningless, domestic stuff. The Avengers tower bustled with life at all hours and there always was someone...

I never felt lonely. It was such an unusual experience. Comfort and reassurance was always one room away. Be it Thor with his gratuitous amount of physical affection or his brother's incredibly witty, dark humor, I never had to stay one-on-one with my thoughts for too long.

Personally witnessing Bruce's coming out of his shell was the highlight of my life, no lie. I was so used to the quiet, mousy Banner that my brain refused to acknowledge his amazing sense of humour at first; I wasn't sure if he was joking or ... Or what? Truth to be told, Brucie-bear was as snarky as Tony,Loki and Stephen. The sorcerer had started visiting more often too, under the guise of tutoring Wanda, but all of us saw the way he lingered in the communal areas after their study time came to an end.

If loneliness was a sickness then the tower's inhabitants and frequent visitors were beginning their recovery journey.

"Have you guys heard about Cards Against Humanity?" I asked one evening once the movie credits began rolling. Wanda was squished into my side with her legs in her brother's lap; Clint laying atop both siblings like the trash bag that he was. And I meant it fondly.

On the other side of me, I had Bucky and Loki, who had begun to discuss their respective collections of sharp and pointy things once they deemed the movie lacked action. Legally Blonde and action, did they really think..? Nevermind.

"Yes, and if you're offering, the answer is yes," Clint mumbled, reaching for his second pack of Cheetos.

We gathered in a circle as I brought the shoebox that had the original deck plus a couple of expansions. This was beginning to look interesting. "So, I have the special Avengers edition right there..."

"Say no more," Clint even abandoned his snacks. "But I'mma put on the episode of Lucifer I missed. Multitasking," He winked, wrestling the remote from Pietro. We waited patiently as they finished the obligatory round of horsing before settling down for the game.

I explained the rules of the game, choosing to disregard Loki's scoffing and Wanda's doubt about the quality of the humor in the game. We played a few rounds with me explaining some of the deeper pop culture references. At a point where all of us were engrossed, laughing and poking fun at each other, more of the Avengers parked themselves on the couch.

Stephen, Tony and Bruce evidently had been sciencing, all three men having had their safety goggles perched forgotten atop their heads. Sam, Natasha and Steve - probably sparring. All three of them brought the smell of soap and laundry detergent to the room. All of the newcomers observed us with mild interest, periodically glance at the TV.

It was Wanda's turn to be the card Czar. I had to take a moment to finish my last giggling fit.

"Okay, the white card goes..." She paused dramatically. "I never truly understood blank until I encountered blank." With that, she poked the timer app on her phone. The sixty second countdown began.

I did a quick inventory check. Then I snorted. I had to quickly stuff two knuckles in my mouth, biting down, to attempt to silence the hysterical fit of laughter I was on the brink of. Loki was definitely going to stab me but the opportunity was too good to pass. No fear, we die like men.

"Ooh, she's got something," Clint teased, having noticed my shaking shoulders.

The timer beeped. Naturally, Loki went first. He wore a mildly disgusted smirk. "I never truly understood parting the red sea until I encountered third base," The trickster caved and began chuckling.

Somewhere behind me, Sam and Tony began cackling while Stephen and Steve groaned loudly in mild distaste.

"Press F to pay respects," Pietro clapped Loki on the shoulder with a sympathetic chuff. "I raise you - I never truly understood licking things to claim as your own until I encountered the clitoris," The young avenger struggled through laughter, followed by everyone else this time.

"That's a keeper, ladies," Sam's rich baritone quipped.

I laughed along, inwardly preparing for the inevitable. "Yikes," I whispered, side-eyeing Loki. "I never truly understood daddy issues..." I trailed off, hearing Bucky and Steve beginning to tease Tony. "... Until I encountered Loki, the trickster God."

The room drowned in a sea of laughter, Tony and Clint busting a gut so hard they fell over. Said trickster God was less than amused, however, glaring in my direction with the force of a pissed off bee swarm.

"Ow, that's cold, Princess, that's just cold," Clint squeezed out.

"Loki," I abandoned my stack of cards, crawling over Pietro and Bucky on all fours, settling prettily on my knees in front of Loki. Making my very best puppy eyes. "I love you, with all my cold black heart. And you're technically the patron saint of fun and shit, so that means you must approve of this very clever joke," I pouted, batting my eyelashes.

"Baby girl, I think you're laying it on too thick," Tony gasped, slumping on the couch, holding his sides. Everyone kept laughing, now at my feeble attempt at placating the upset Loki.

Who, by the way, looked a bit spooked. Subtly but surely, the raven-haired Asgardian leaned away from me.

"Don't be mad, I'm too cute to be mad at," I finally snorted, pat-pat-patting him on the shoulder. "It's okay, you can join my club. We have hot old dudes and cookies."

That broke it. First, the corner of his mouth twitched. Then, Loki looked away. I saw the storm before it crashed; with a weird noise of his own and his cheeks puffed out, Loki joined in on the shit-fest, howling full volume and doubling over. I followed suit, until all of us were writhing around on the floor. We'd stop and then someone would make another remark and it would go into another round again.

"Menace," Loki scoffed at me, smiling. "And for the record, the hottest old dude, as you put it, would be me." That said, he went back to calmly waiting for his next turn. "I'm about a thousand years old."

"Thor's older," Bruce noted thoughtfully.

Loki scoffed. "That man cannot chew with his mouth shut. If that's considered attractive, I'm leaving this forsaken planet."

That struck a thought within me. One that was brewing a long time, to be honest. "Thor is the god of himbos," I said with the same tone as "Eureka!".

"Shit, you're right," Sam exclaimed, following with another, weaker fit of laughter meanwhile Bruce had to be the one explaining the term to the poor, poor, clueless members of the Avengers.

I need to find a way to award them some kind of points for learning the gen-z lingo. "Patrick" stars maybe, since they lived under a fucking rock?

"Princess, never a boring day with you around. You don't half-ass this shit," Tony's warmth reached me as he shuffled around on the couch, sitting directly behind me. I leaned my back against his legs.

"I'm not a clown," I shot back. Tony stiffened. Dramatically flailing my hand I announced: "I am the whole god-damn circus!"

As the game progressed, we found out that Clint was That Guy - meaning, the dude every CAH group had, the one who grossly overused the "Bees?!" card and made Star Wars references whenever humanly possible. The only even slightly funny joke was about a lightsaber up the ass, in the end all of us finding out that Bucky knew a little too much about modern sex toys - "Hey, I saw one on Amazon, I'll send you the link, Birdman" - to Steve's open-mouthed horror.

What Loki lacked in references he made up in wit. The play on "During sex, I like to think about genetically engineered supersoldiers" had Bucky scrambling to switch places with Wanda whilst Loki himself was attempting to shoot bedroom eyes at Steve. It was a mess.

Bucky's own play had Steve abandon all pretense at being in any way appropriate as he struggled for air. "The Avengers new rules prohibit using Mjölnir as a dildo." Me and Tony became somewhat of a messy guffawing octopus of limbs for a moment after the super-soldier said it.

"Don't. Tell. Thor!" Strange gritted out, hiding his laughter behind a palm, uncharacteristically having lost his stuffy attitude. By god's will the man was attractive when he smiled.

As time ticked, each one of the starting players had attracted a newcomer. There weren't enough cards for everyone to play (Tony had, of course, ordered additional ones but they wouldn't arrive until the next day) so people kind of whispered and pointed at what they thought would fit.

Natasha conspired with Wanda, Sam went to his bird-bro, Bruce was forcefully dragged by Bucky to his side. Surprisingly, Steve teamed up with Loki which made Pietro stick his nose up in the air and promptly declare he needed no backup.

I already had Tony on my side. The genius wasn't of much help, however, he simply annoyed me out of my skull by randomly giggling and making immature jokes. It should've alarmed me that Stephen was eager to join me and Tony - usually he just butted heads with anyone who had any opinion whatsoever.

I was left bewildered upon discovering the wizard liked drama as much as the Kardashian clan and was quite competitive at causing the most shit.

My clown crown felt threatened.

"This one," Tony poked at a card in my hand.

"If you think that's funny, your intellect is obviously overestimated." Stephen dismissively waved a hand. "This one," It was unmistakable whom the trembling finger belonged to. It pointed at a card on the other side.

"Wizards are just hilarious," Tony seeped sarcasm.

"Try me, Beyonce," Stephen murmured darkly.

That was just background noise to me. I had all my undivided attention on the TV, my last two functioning brain cells focused on the scene unfolding right in front of me. The Lucifer episode, the devil and his insatiable thirst for honey. The timer buzzed but I was still drawn towards Tom Ellis dipping two of his fingers first in the honeypot, then in his mouth, all the while looking like a damn snack himself. Illegal. I've never simped so hard for a fictional character.

A golden glow snatched a card out of my grasp, levitating it.

"Girl, what the hell?" Wanda saw my face and attempted to revert me back to earth. "Someone turn off the TV, there's not enough water in the tower to quench her thirst."

"Hey, did you two just - don't ignore me!" Tony whined, managing to tug on my hair and attempt to reach for the card now held in Stephen's grasp, simultaneously.

"I don't blame her," Clint mused. "That right there is one very fine dude."

I shook my head, clearing any untoward thoughts. Focus. "First of all, Bird, you're a dude. That there," I pointed up at the TV. "Is a man. A Man." I emphasised, getting a jealous poke in the back from Tony. "Second of all..." I turned towards Stephen. "The quaffle, the snitch and the AUDACITY OF THIS BITCH!" The last of my sentence was pitched. The sorcerer had raised his arm, clutching the card, and I struggled to reach it.

"What... What did you just say?" Stephen was laughing, not at all phased by me climbing him like a tree to take hold of what's mine. Tony was actively helping - or, trying to. One-handed. The other hand attempted to snatch the rest of the cards from my grasp.

"And that's an F on teamwork," Bucky's sarcasm was complemented by Steve's famous Captain America Is Disappointed In You look.

"Uhh... Guys? What's going on?" Peter's timid voice leaked confusion.

"Hello, friends," Thor boomed, drowning out the boy's questioning noises.

"We're playing a game. Cards Against Humanity."

Wordlessly, Peter towed Thor along with him to find a spot amongst us. And even if Thor didn't get any of the references, he still was good fun. His laugh was infectious. The way he cheered for every winner was incredibly wholesome. Golden space puppy. The urge to immediately pet Thor and give him endless pop-tarts was strong in me.

Loki was one dramatic, vengeful bitch. "Women get turned on by the Devil himself"? I was ready to throw hands with the trickster. Everybody's laughter drowned out any cursing I might or might have not directed towards Loki who looked far too satisfied with himself. I was going to substitute the sugar for his tea with salt one day, mark my words.

I wouldn't admit it over my dead body, but the way he got back at me for the daddy issues joke was kinda funny. Okay, very funny. It was fucking hilarious. I admire a clever man.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #avengers team x reader fluff

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kurokoros · 4 years

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meet messy | akaashi

Pairing: akaashi x fem!reader

Summary: Request “hear me out: Akaashi Keiji, roommates au! trope: meeting messy & prompt #30″

AN: my first official one-shot for hq is an Akaashi fic. who would have guessed. there’s some language and mildly crude humor in this one. it took me a hot minute to figure out how to do a roommate au + meet messy, but I think it turned out okay! also, I see Akaashi as the quiet teasing type, so I hope the characterization is okay!

also, I tried to post this earlier, but surprise surprise, tumblr didn’t put it in the tags.

“What do you mean you’re running late?” you ask, glaring at your phone as you speed walk down the street. A mumbled curse escapes you as someone walks by and jostles your shoulder, nearly knocking the box you’re carrying right out of your arms. You shoot the man a sour look before turning back to your friend, irritation already softening into a pout. “Kuroo, I’m supposed to be meeting this guy in like ten minutes, what do I do?”

Kuroo’s lips twitch, looking torn between apologetic and amused as he tries to cover up a smile. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you, not for the first time. “And I would have been on time if someone hadn’t—shit!” Kuroo disappears from the frame, hissing what sounds like ‘demon’ under his breath as the camera shifts.

Suddenly, you’re staring at Yaku instead, his tawny eyes narrowed as he hunches over Kuroo’s phone. “Don’t believe his lies,” he says, scoffing when Kuroo grumbles something in response, voice muffled. “The only reason we’re late is because Kuroo—”

“Oi! Yakkun!”

Kuroo grabs at his phone, but Yaku is faster, ducking under his arm and barely managing to evade his former captain’s outstretched hand. The camera is jostled again, giving you a shaky view of the subway that has your eyes rolling. Even now they still act like bickering teenagers half the time. It’s as endearing as it is annoying, but you’ve known them since high school, so you really aren’t surprised.

It takes a few seconds for the camera to stabilize again, and this time you’re faced with the voice of reason among the three of them. He rubs the back of his neck, smile a little embarrassed as Kuroo and Yaku continue to bicker behind him.

“Kai,” you greet him, a smile automatically tugging at your lips in response to his. “I didn’t know you and Yaku were coming with!” You knew that Kuroo asked Kenma to come with—as expected, he declined—but you had no idea the rest of the former Nekoma third years would be making an appearance.

He shrugs with one shoulder, casually ignoring your friends arguing behind him. “We heard you might need help moving boxes later,” is all he tells you.

“Hopefully,” you tell him. “And thanks. The main reason I invited Kuroo was for the muscle anyway.” A muffled sound of protest comes from off to Kai’s left, but you know Kuroo is secretly preening from the pseudo compliment.

Kai only nods, smiling again. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. It shouldn’t take us more than twenty minutes.”

Before you can respond, Yaku shoves himself under Kai’s arm to pin you with a firm look. “If he tries anything, go for his—”

“Give me that!” The phone is plucked out of Kai’s hands and suddenly you’re staring at Kuroo again. He glares down at Yaku, eyes rolling, before he turns his attention to you. “Twenty minutes,” he tells you firmly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, quickening your steps. Pulling your gaze from Kuroo’s, you glance up at a street sign and wrinkle your nose when you realize how close you are to meeting your new potential roommate. “You promise he’s not weird, right?” you ask suddenly, looking at your phone in time to see his brows furrow. “Because so help me, Kuroo, if you’re letting me move in with some creep, I’ll never forgive you.”

The only reason you even agreed to maybe move in with a complete stranger is because he’s a friend of Kuroo’s. Apparently, they’ve known each other since high school during their volleyball days, but you’ve never had a chance to meet before now. With his friend having an empty room and you being in desperate need of a new place to stay, Kuroo’s suggestion only made sense. And you trust his judgement. Usually.

The look Kuroo sends you is nothing short of offended. He presses his hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him, and you roll your eyes at his theatrics. Despite that, Kuroo is serious when he responds. “Do you think I would let you move in with someone I didn’t trust?” When you shake your head, he continues. “Akaashi doesn’t bite. I promise.” He grins. “Unless you’re into that.”

You make a face. “I’m hanging up now.”

He cackles. “We’ll be there soon. Be safe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, glancing up at another sign, “just get your ass over here.” Yaku and Kai call out their own goodbyes before you end the call, your smile lingering as you shove your phone into your back pocket, still struggling with the box you’re carrying.

Of course, that’s the moment your morning goes from bad to worse.

You’re so busy working your phone into your pocket with one hand and juggling a box with the other that you don’t see the man hurrying towards you, also not paying attention to his surroundings.

You shoulder collides with his. You stumble. The box starts to slip from your grasp. “Shit,” you hiss, flinching as hot coffee splashes down the front of your shirt. It isn’t hot enough to hurt, thankfully, but it’s bound to leave a nasty, uncomfortably wet stain on your chest for the rest of the day. Perfect. That’s exactly what you needed five minutes before you’re supposed to meet your new roommate for the first time. So much for a good first impression.

The man who bumped into you grunts in surprise. He stumbles back as your eyes snap up, and you note with the smallest hint of smug satisfaction that there’s an equally dark spot staining his crisp, white button-up.

Dark blue eyes flicker up to meet yours, wide in alarm.

In any other situation, you might have taken a moment to appreciate the sharp angle of his jaw, or his stupidly pretty face, but right now you’re nervous, stressed, and wet, so all you do is glare and snap, “Watch where you’re going.” His lips part, but you’re already storming past him, mumbling “asshole” under your breath.

You’re already halfway down the street before he regains his bearings; you don’t notice his eyes following you until you disappear.

…

Fuck me, is the first thought that comes to your mind when you find yourself standing in front of your potential roommate’s apartment. There’s a post-it note stuck to the front door, telling you and Kuroo to let yourselves in because your new roommate had an errand to run, but would be back soon. This, of course, wouldn’t be a problem if Kuroo wasn’t late and wasn’t the one with a key to said apartment.

You aren’t sure what’s worse: having to stand here for the next however many minutes like an idiot until Kuroo arrives, or his friend coming home first and having to deal with that conversation without your moral support. Neither option is particularly appealing, but you’re staring to get odd looks from the neighbors and it’s really fucking hot outside, so you’d take the awkward conversation over waiting.

A brief text to Kuroo informs you that they just got off the subway, but should be here soon. You shift your weight from one foot to the next, biting your lip as you continue weighing your options.

Eventually you just say fuck it and slide one of the bobby-pins from your hair. No one has to know.

Unfortunately, picking a lock isn’t nearly as easy as you’ve been led to believe.

“Seriously?” you grumble, jiggling the doorknob and squinting at the pin you have jammed into the lock. Maybe this was a bad idea. Now you definitely look like a creep.

“Need any help with that?”

You lurch away from the door with a yelp. The bobby-pin falls out of your hand and clatters to the floor, only incriminating you further. Whirling around, your expression becomes one of horror when you meet a pair of questioning eyes.

Oh shit, he’s hot, is your first thought, your breath catching when you lock eyes with the most gorgeous man you’ve even seen in your life. Messy dark hair. Deep blue eyes. A sharp jaw. All lean muscle. Oh, yeah. Definitely a former athlete. Your eyes wander down to his chest where the top buttons of his dress-shirt are undone. You glance at his collarbone before moving lower, freezing.

Your second thought is, oh shit, I spilled coffee on this guy and called him an asshole. The stain on his shirt matches yours perfectly, and wow, okay, today really couldn’t have gotten any worse, could it? Not only is your new potential roommate hot as sin, but you’ve already made a complete ass of yourself in front of him, the breaking and entering aside.

He clears his throat, staring at you expectantly; you blush, face burning as you realize you’ve been gaping at him openly.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” you blurt, like an idiot. It’s exactly what it looks like. The way his right eyebrow quirks upwards tells you he isn’t fooled, and you’re surprised when he doesn’t call you out on the lie.

“You must be Kuroo’s friend,” he says instead, observing you carefully. The, admittedly correct, assumption makes you more embarrassed, if possible. You aren’t sure what the assumption says about you, or Kuroo for that matter, but right now you kind of just want to lie down on the floor and die a little bit.

You wet your lips, trying not to squirm under his intense gaze. It’s analytical, but not calculating, and your breathing hitches as he continues to stare. “I… yeah.”

It comes as a surprise when he only nods, eyes snapping away from you as he digs his keys out of his pocket. You step aside quickly as he steps up to the door, his arm brushing up against yours. You stiffen, but he doesn’t shy away from the contact. “Sorry to make you wait,” he says, pulling the post-it note off the door and turning towards the lock.

“It’s fine.” You grab your discarded box off the ground, holding it to your chest as he opens the door and gestures for you to walk inside. Your smile feels forced as you comply. With your head ducked towards your chest and your eyes on the floor, you don’t notice the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You should apologize, right? Yeah, you should totally apologize for spilling coffee on him and yelling at him in the middle of the street.

He follows you inside and shuts the door, meeting your eyes as you spin around to look at him. “I’m really sorry about—”

But he’s already shaking his head. “I wasn’t watching either,” he tells you, ending your apology before it can start. “Akaashi Keiji,” he says, holding out his hand for you to shake, like a normal person.

You tell him your name, trying not to shiver at the way his fingers wrap around yours. Fuck, his hands are big. Like, really big. And warm. You definitely wouldn’t mind having them wrapped around your—moving on.

The corner of Akaashi’s mouth twitches like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “So,” he starts casually, dark eyes watching you carefully, “when would you like to move in?”

#akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #and so far one for hq #hq drabbles

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janeykath318 · 3 years

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Once Upon A Time (WinterShock Fantasy AU)

Once upon a time there lived a happy, mischievous Princess named Darcy. Sadly orphaned at a young age, she was surrounded by loving caregivers, who taught her how to be a good, but kind ruler.

When Princess Darcy was just twelve years old, the regent Lord Phillip noticed she showed signs of being gifted with magic, a rare ability in that land.

After some consultation with Darcy’s other guardians, he decided she should learn how to use her gift and Darcy started magic classes. By the time she was sixteen, she had learned many useful spells and was becoming better at controlling her magic.

In history class, she learned of the great wars between the evil practitioners of black magic known as Hydra and the wizards and knights of the kingdom.

Hydra had been defeated, but at the cost of many lives, including those of the stouthearted Sir Steven Rogers and Sir James Barnes, whose great deeds lived on in story and song. Darcy passed by their portraits in the great hall and wished she could have known those great men. Sir James she found especially appealing with his mirth filled grey-blue eyes, well-shaped face and dark brown hair.

As her twenty-first birthday approached and she readied to take up the mantle of queen, many suitors sought her hand. Most of them didn’t make it past Lord Phillip, who carefully questioned them to gauge their character and intentions, and the few who did did not arouse Darcy’s interest.

Then came the shocking revelation that Sir Steven had been found alive, having been encased in an enchanted block of ice for seventy years. He was brought to the castle and tended to by physicians and healers before Lord Phillip and Lord Nicholas questioned him. Finally, they were finished and allowed Darcy to have an audience with him.

Excited to meet one of the heroic men of history, she perked up when Lord Phillip brought him into her reception room.

He was tall, with a powerful physique, golden hair, and melancholy blue eyes.

“Sir Steven!” She greeted, as he bowed before.

“Your highness,” he replied politely.

“We are glad to find you alive against all odds. How do you feel after your awakening?”

“Physically well, but I struggle to reconcile with the passage of time, your highness,” he answered with surprising honesty. Nearly all of my contemporaries are dead or nearly dead and I as yet do not know how to restart my life.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” Darcy said gently, heart aching for the man who’d given up everything for the kingdom. “But just know that if you need a friendly ear to talk to, I am happy to lend mine. Anything you need, just say the word and Phillip will see to it.”

Over the next few months, Steven and Darcy made friends and he told her many stories of his adventures with Sir James, or Bucky, as Steven called him.

Unfortunately, with six months to go before Darcy’s coronation as queen, Hydra began to make its presence known again with the reappearance of their legendary assassin, The Winter Soldier, who felled several wizards and was rumored to be sent after the princess herself. Alarmed, Phillip increased the number of Darcy’s bodyguards and brought in the renowned Lady Natasha for extra security and help planning against Hydra’s threats.

Much as she liked Steven, Darcy chafed at having him everywhere. Her complaints fell on deaf ears, however. Lord Nicholas and Lord Phillip were on high alert and stood firm.

One day, Darcy and Steven walked through the great hall together and he shared anecdotes of several of the royals depicted on its walls. When they reached Sir James’s portrait, Steven fell silent for several moments, grief so raw in his face that Darcy turned away out of respect.

“It must still seem fresh to you,” she said quietly. “I am sorry for your loss, Steven.”

“Thank you, your highness,” he sighed. “Yes, to me it seems like it only happened a few days ago. We were ambushed on a treacherous mountain pass. I tried my hardest to reach him, but he lost his hold and…….fell.”

He swallowed hard, struggling with the memory.

“I know he would have liked you,” he told the Princess. “Bucky appreciated your type of humor and wit. He also was fascinated with magic, albeit only mildly had a very small ability in that area.”

“Sir James had magic?” Darcy asked, even more intrigued.

“He did,” Steve confirmed with a faint smile. “Mostly used it to annoy me: make my armor turn weird colors, grow out my beard to an unnatural length, give my horse a purple tail.”

Darcy chuckled. “What a rascal. Did I tell you how I gave Phillip a toupee once?”

Steve looked at her in amused disbelief.

“No, but I must know now.”

For several weeks, the period of watchfulness continued, but nothing happened and Darcy began to hope that the danger wasn’t coming after all, then one night she was awakened abruptly by Natasha.

“Get up your highness. Your life is in danger.”

“Wha-huh?” Darcy replied sleepily, brain struggling to come to. A pile of clothing was thrown onto her bed.

“Hydra. They nearly killed Lord Nicholas in a late raid. Put on the disguise and pack one bag. We need to get you out of here. Steven is waiting with the horses.”

Numbly, Darcy dressed in the plain gown and dark cloak Natasha had provided and quickly packed a few belongings, hoping desperately her friends were safe.

Natasha led her out through the secret underground exit that led out behind the stables where Steven was waiting, armored and well armed.

“What happened?” Darcy whispered as she mounted the horse behind Natasha. He was a good rider herself, but in the dark and under threat, she was more than happy to have the expert take the reins.

“The Winter Soldier attacked,” Steve said grimly. “I fended him off, but he will likely be back. We are headed for the stronghold of Lord Anthony deep in the mountains. It’s the safest place for you right now.”

The journey was long and hard, taking almost the whole night. They were only a few miles away, when they were overtaken by a black knight on a black horse, covered head to toe in armor, the only mark on him a red star on his silver left arm.

Steve muttered an oath.

“The Winter Soldier!” He muttered. “Get down!”

Darcy obeyed. She heard the sounds of swords clashing as Steve fought the intruder, then there was a ping! Sound and metal hit the ground and Steve cried out “Bucky!” In an anguished tone followed by a deeper voice saying “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Now it was Natasha’s turn to swear, but she stuck close to Darcy. Peering up a bit, she could see the tall knight, his helmet now gone, revealing dark brown hair and finely shaped jaw. Her heart jumped into her throat. It was Sir James! He looked completely cold and menacing, but there was something so dead in his eyes, she knew there was something wildly amiss.

Reaching out with her magic, she sensed the thick cloak of dark magic upon him and guessed Hydra had him under some spell.

“What do you want?” She heard Steve ask.

“My mission is the Princess. Hand her over. They want her alive.”

“Over my dead body,” Steve growled.

“Very well.”

The swords clashed again and the struggle began again. This time, she could tell it was going badly for Steve.

Darcy couldn’t stand it anymore. She stood up, brushing off Natasha’s restraining arm and walked over to the scene of the fight. Steve was now bleeding on the ground, still trying to get Bucky to remember him. James had his sword at Steve’s throat and was ready to plunge it in when Steve murmured, “I’m with you to the end of the line.”

This made The Soldier pause and the cold expression in his eyes was replaced with a flash of recognition followed by pure panic.

Darcy stepped forward.

“Don’t kill him! I’ll surrender.”

James whirled around to face her, confusion written all over his face.

“What are you doing, your highness?” She heard Steve hiss out, but Darcy had a plan and she needed to get closer.

“You surrender?” James repeated dully.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Do what you have to do.”

He stalked towards her with his knife drawn, and Darcy stood stock still, waiting for the right moment. She knew a spell she was pretty sure would work, but it would likely leave her exhausted. At this point, exhausted was preferable to dead and she had to try to help James.

Summoning every ounce of magical strength she could, she cried out, “Restore!” and held out her hands.

Bolts of magical energy sparked from her fingertips and connected with James, wrapping around his head. The energy warred with the darkness and caused it to dissipate and vanish.

James fell over unconscious.

“What did you do?” Steve asked, having dragged himself painfully over to his friend.

“A restoration spell. Hydra was controlling his mind. I cancelled it out,” Darcy sighed, suddenly exhausted.

“Can we bring him to the stronghold? It might be some time before he wakes.”

Steve looked at his friend and nodded.

“We will. I really hope you are right, your highness.”

Between the three of them, they managed to haul James to the gates of the stronghold. It took rather longer to convince Lord Anthony to let him in, but Darcy shamelessly pulled rank on the man and he finally relented.

She was almost stumbling with exhaustion by the time they reached the keep and Natasha almost carried her off to the guest chamber provided.

“I want to be there when he wakes up!”’she protested.

“He may not wake up for some time,” Natasha answered. “Your spell is still working on him. Please rest, your highness. He won’t get away, I promise.”

So Darcy finally agreed and shortly fell into deep slumber. She awoke rather disoriented and very rumpled.

“Ugh. I look like a hag, not a Princess!” She moaned, repulsed by her reflection in the mirror. She managed to get herself into a somewhat respectable state when Natasha came for her.

“Is he awake?” Darcy asked eagerly.

“Yes. He awoke about an hour ago and seems to be himself again. He recognized Steve.”

“That is wonderful news! Please take me to him.”

Natasha obliged and showed Darcy into the room where a bandaged and rather battered looking Steve sat beside James. Darcy felt a pang of remorse for not trying a healing spell on him.

Both men got to their feet as she entered, Steve rather shakily.

“Bucky, this is her highness Princess Darcy. She is strong in good magic and wove the spell that freed you from Hydra. I trust you rested well, Your highness?”

“I did, but sit down, Steven, before you fall down. You need to see the healers.”

“Just what I’ve been telling him….wait PRINCESS Darcy? You saved me?”

James’s voice was filled with awe and wonder as he looked at her, blue eyes now clear and sharp like in his portrait. Oh, heavens, he was incredibly handsome and for a moment she was speechless as they stared at each other. Finally, Bucky shook himself and knelt before her, bowing his head.

“Where are my manners? Forgive me your highness. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. I am your devoted servant henceforth.”

“Sir James, I am very happy to see you in your own mind. I am so relieved that it worked,” Darcy assured him, holding out her hand to show him she accepted his thanks. He kissed it, looking reverently into her eyes and Darcy felt her heart skip a beat. She could feel the unspoken connection between them.

“You and Steven will be honored as heroes,” she declared.

“Steven is well deserving,” James agreed, a shadow falling over his face. “I do not know that I am deserving to hold the title of knight anymore. The things I have done would sicken you.”

“You mean the things Hydra forced you to do?” Darcy responded. “Hydra’s deeds do sicken me, but the reason you became their captive in the first place was because you were fighting to end their reign of terror. You will not be held liable for something you had no control over.”

“You are very gracious, your highness,” James said gratefully.

Darcy turned to Steven next and gently scolded him for not getting his wounds tended to before using a healing spell on him.

Lord Anthony came in to check on his guests and give them an update on the situation at the Castle.

“Hydra had infiltrated some of the guard and it has been difficult to weed them out,” he informed them. “Jasper Sitwell and Lord Alexander are both Hydra and have vowed to take over the kingdom. I am sending reinforcements as soon as I can.”

Anger stirred in Darcy.

“The traitors! I will kick their posteriors!!”

Steve looked startled at her uncouth language, but Anthony grinned and James’s mouth twitched in amusement.

“I like the spirit, your highness, but it’s safer for you to remain here. My stronghold has magical defenses and right now, you are Hydra’s number one target. There is a large bounty on your head.”

Darcy turned pale and gripped a nearby table for support.

She was almost shaking with rage and fear, but told herself to calm down. She had to be strong for her country.

“I can’t just sit back here while you all risk your lives. You know I can defend myself with my magic,” she reminded them.

“You can, but the ratio of Hydra to loyal soldiers is much too high and we cannot risk losing you,” Natasha reminded her. “You’re the last of your family line.”

Darcy deflated at this painful reminder. She knew Natasha was right and she couldn’t endanger the throne by rushing headlong into danger, but she hated the thought of waiting all by herself.

In the end, James volunteered to stay with her as protection duty, being a most powerful warrior. She couldn’t help but be pleased at his company, despite the circumstances.

Before Anthony and the army departed, she took care to lay helpful enchantments upon Steve’s sword and Shield and Natasha’s knives and the archers’ bows.

Satisfied at last, she saw them off with well wishes and turned back to James, who walked beside her back to the luxurious library that she’d picked out as the room to hole up in.

“Come sit by me, James,” she requested. “You can be vigilant in comfort.”

“Thank you, your highness,” he responded, carefully seating himself beside her. Up close, she could see how well built he was and how strong his arms were. She had to stifle a sudden urge to feel his biceps: both the flesh and the metal one.

“Did Hydra equip you with the metal arm?” she asked.

“They did,” James confirmed. “I lost my arm in the fall that led to my capture. They designed it to be another weapon. I shudder to think of how much blood it has spilled.”

He clenched and unclenched his metal fist, sad blue eyes looking reproachfully at it.

“Maybe we can get you a new one once we’ve stomped them out once and for all,” she suggested. “I know Stark would love to upstage them and make a better one. He is very gifted in that area.”

“You are very thoughtful, your highness,” he said, giving her another grateful look that brought a lump to her throat. The poor man was clearly not used to being treated like a human and it hurt her to think of.

“Please call me Darcy,” she requested. “There’s no one else around and it gets old hearing “your highness” all the time.”

“Darcy,” he repeated, saying her name reverently. “What a lovely name.”

The next few days were trying ones for the Princess as she waited for news from the battle. James told her many stories of his and Steve’s adventures and she told him about her childhood and her mishaps while learning magic.

James admitted one of the reasons he’d stayed behind was because he feared Hydra would speak the words to him that would trigger his Winter Soldier persona.

“You mean you didn’t stay because of my captivating beauty and charm?” Darcy said teasingly.

“Now, I didn’t say that, Princess,” he said, flushing a bit. You are very pleasant to be around. I just thought you should be made aware there still might be traces of the spell in me.”

“We’ll have you examined by our best wizards,” Darcy promised, anxious to reassure him. “Their knowledge is greater than mine and they will be able to rid you of any lingering effects.”

“I hope so,” James murmured. “I really hope so.”

He looked at her for a long moment with an expression that made her heartbeat quicken before he sighed and looked sad again, as if longing for something out of his reach.

She saw that expression several more times over the next few days and wished she could comfort him.

Five days later, a messenger returned to the stronghold to bring news both good and bad. The good news was that the Hydra uprising had been crushed and its members dead or in custody. The bad news: the chaos had stirred up a legendary dragon, who was headed straight for the palace.

James thought Darcy should stay at the stronghold, but she overruled him.

“I appreciate your consideration, but I must return and oversee the investigation. I need to talk to the wizards about you as well. I cannot hide any longer. I will go mad.”

He’d sighed and gone to bring the horses around.

The journey back was done as stealthily as possible, and Darcy watched James with interest as he skillfully and silently guided them along the journey, always on high alert. She felt safer with him than any of her bodyguards, good as they were. This knight had had his senses honed to a razor sharpness that was unlike anything she’d seen. She wondered if part of it was due to his latent magic powers and if he’d ever used them. But magic was not a topic he seemed willing to discuss, other than the moment he’d thanked her for rescuing him from it.

They returned to a palace that was very chaotic, evidence of fighting all around it and grim faced guards everywhere.

Darcy went straight to Lord Phillip and Lord Nicholas who were in consultation with Lord Anthony, all three looking very somber.

“I am relieved to see you safely returned, your highness,” said Lord Nicholas. “Thank you,” she told him. “I am also relieved to find you well. I heard you met up with the Winter Soldier.”

“I did and I broke the spell that held him a prisoner,” Darcy told them proudly. “Phillip, Nicholas, may I present Sir James Barnes? I assure you, he is no threat.”

The men looked shocked and wary, but Darcy made them talk to James and confirm that he was, indeed, an ally and in his right mind.

“Where is Steven?” James asked nervously, looking around for his friend.

Phillip sighed.

“He is in the infirmary. He suffered grievous injury fighting Hydra and had previous untreated injuries that led to his collapse.”

Darcy sighed and James groaned.

“Typical of the imbecile,” he muttered. “Never could take care of himself.”

“What?” He said bluntly at the questioning looks the Lords were giving him.

“He just laid there and would have let me—the Soldier—kill him, if the Princess hadn’t intervened. The one time he decides to back down from a fight….” James sighed and shook his head.

“Yes, I have noticed that trend with him,” Lord Phillip admitted, almost smiling at James’s aggravation. “We enchanted the door of his room so that he cannot get out until the healers have finished with him.”

Darcy smiled her approval.

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Phillip,” she said fondly.

“Unfortunately, we will need him at his full strength sooner rather than later,” Lord Nicholas sighed. “The dragons are but a three days journey away.”

As soon as Steven was recovered, they began making plans for defending against the dragon horde, who were led by a large purple beast named Thanos.

Thanos had obliterated many cities in neighboring realms with his terrible breath and destructive claws and he had fifty fearsome fellow dragons with him. It was going to be a very difficult fight. Darcy went around giving motivational speeches to the troops and leaders in between making sure the citizens were evacuated to the mountain strongholds. She stood on a balcony looking out over the city, hoping it wouldn’t be its last day of existence.

“The last of the refugees are about to depart for the mountains, your highness,” Steven reported, James standing beside him. “Are you certain we cannot persuade you to go with them?”

“Very certain,” Darcy said firmly. “My place is here.”

He nodded, then smiled. “I understand. I too, would chafe at being denied the chance to defend my country.”

James heaved a deep sigh.

“There are two of them,” he muttered in a disgruntled tone that had Darcy and Steven chuckling.

“You will get used to it, James,” Darcy said lightly, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

The following day, Thanos and his dragon army arrived, blasting fire and roaring ferociously. The army was ready for them and put up a good fight, slaying quite a few, before they could get into the city. The tide soon turned against them, though, as Thanos’s power was unleashed and death and destruction rained down. Darcy was safely inside the tower and fretting about the increasingly grim reports coming in from the battlefield.

“If we could just get Thanos, we would actually stand a chance!” She said, pacing in frustration.

“Unfortunately, Thanos appears to be untouchable,” Nicholas reported, stress making his eyelid twitch rapidly. “He has a power far beyond anything we’ve faced before. Melts people before they get near him. Normal shields are ineffective.”

“What about magic?” She asked.

“The only spells that might work have to be within twenty paces,” Nicholas mused. “And all our wizards are either wounded, dead, or busy.”

A plan began to take root in Darcy’s mind. It was crazy and might not even work, but at this point, what did she have left to lose?

“Phillip, would the enchantment on Steve’s shield stand up to Thanos’s breath?” She asked.

“Yes, for a few minutes, but Steve does not have magic.”

“He doesn’t have to. I do,” she told them.

Phillip frowned.

“What spell would they have taught you that would fell Thanos?”

Darcy smiled.

They pleaded and argued and begged her not to, but Princess Darcy prevailed.

“What kind of ruler will I be if I am not willing to give my life to protect my people?” She’d told them.

Phillip had closed his eyes, but nodded, unable to dispute this.

After giving a few quick orders, Darcy put on some armor and went out to face Thanos. It wasn’t hard to find him, bring huge and purple and all. He was even more fearsome up close, huge claws and fiery breath wreaking havoc upon the city and its people. Darcy swallowed. She had to stop him before he spilled any more blood. Searching for Steven, she found him finishing off a young red dragon.

“Steven!”

He looked up, shocked to see her.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, panting heavily.

“I think I know how to stop Thanos, but I need your help. Where’s James?”

“Over there,” Steve jerked his head to the left. “Do you need him, too?”

“Yes. For my plan to work we need all three of us.”

James was not pleased to see Darcy in battle and even less so when he heard her plan.

“Eight out of ten cases, that spell kills the caster, too! We can’t lose you, Princess. Surely, there’s some other way.”

His blue eyes were desperate and pleading as he spoke, and Darcy’s own heart hurt a bit. She would have loved to agree and have the chance at deepening her friendship with him into something more, but if they all died due to a dragon, that wouldn’t happen anyway. She would hold out hope she could be in the two out of ten.

Darcy smiled sadly. “The only other wizards that know this spell are incapacitated or dead. I’m so sorry, James. I have to protect my people.”

For a brief moment, he looked as if she’d ripped out his heart and trampled it under foot, then the expressionless soldier’s mask returned and he simply nodded.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Steve will cover us with his shield so that I can get close enough to cast the spell, which will block his airway and allow James to stab him in his soft underbelly. Be quick about it so he doesn’t crash down on top of you,” she urged James. He didn’t look like he cared much about being crushed at this point, but he nodded.

She shook both their hands, then took a deep breath.

“Let’s go.”

Steve held up his magical shield over them as they approached Thanos. She could feel the intense heat around them, but the magic did its job and soon they were within range.

She held out her hands and began chanting, energy swirling through her as she summoned everything she had to hurl at the dragon.

Thanos laughed evilly and blasted fire at them, which bounced off the shield. Knowing the protection would not last long and not wanting to get Steve and James killed, Darcy quickly spoke the rest of the spell, then flung the energy toward the dragon’s snout. It wrapped around and went down his nostrils, thickening up and causing him to sit up and choke and gasp for breath, clutching his nose.

James darted forward and the last thing Darcy heard as the life drained out of her was the terrible scream from Thanos as the knight’s sword plunged into him.

She came back to consciousness in a plain white room, birds singing outside the window.

“Is this the afterlife or did I survive?” She wondered aloud.

There was a gasp and James suddenly lifted his head from where he’d been resting it on the side of the bed.

“I assure you, you’re very much alive, Princess,” he told her, voice trembling with emotion. The usual very polished knight looked haggard and unkempt, eyes red and bloodshot.

“I was one of the lucky two out of ten?” She asked, warmth spreading through her at how he was looking at her.

“Not at first,” added another voice. Steven was beaming at her from the doorway, relief showing strongly in his amiable face.

“What do you mean?” She asked curiously.

“When we finished off Thanos, I picked you up and there was no breath in you. No pulse. Nothing.”

Steven looked pained at the memory and Darcy looked back at James, whose lips were quivering.

“Bucky here insisted on carrying your…...body…...back to the palace,” Steve continued. “Somehow, you started breathing again on the way there. We really have no idea why. Maybe the healers can tell us.”

“Wow,” Darcy breathed, a smile blossoming on her face. “So the dragon army was defeated?”

“Soundly,” Steven assured her. “The kingdom is saved. You’re a hero, Princess. They’re ready to crown you queen right now.”

“Well, they’ll have to wait,” Darcy said with feigned haughtiness. “I refuse to be crowned until I’m able to be fully fabulous again.”

Steve barked out a laugh and Bucky’s shoulders shook. Lifting his head, he looked at her through tear-filled eyes.

“Princess, you’re always fabulous,” he told her sincerely.

A healer bustled in, interrupting the moment. Darcy was a little annoyed, but she let herself be examined with no fuss and took the opportunity to ask about why she had come back to life.

Healer Cho smiled.

“We believe that the one who carried you in has the gift of Healing Touch, which in some cases, can revive a person. Sir James, you have some magic in you, right?”

Bucky nodded, wide-eyed at the realization.

“I couldn’t heal people before, and as the Winter Soldier, I was forced to use what magic I had solely for evil,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve never tried magic since.”

“Sometimes these gifts develop later, James. You may not have known it was there, but it was,” Helen told him gently.

“As for you, your highness, a day or so of rest and you should be back on your feet again. Do you feel in need of food?”

Darcy nodded enthusiastically and Helen departed to get her a tray, looking very pleased.

“Buck, You saved the Princess,” Steve commented proudly.

Bucky, who’d been staring at his hand in disbelief, looked into Darcy’s eyes as she grabbed the hand and kissed it.

“My hero!” she sighed, giving him a dopey smile that somehow tripped something in him to release the emotion he’d been trying to hold back. Steve thoughtfully shut the door and retreated to the corner again. Darcy kept holding James’s hand and whispered soothing words to him as he cried. The poor man had been through so much, and she was determined to help make his new life as happy as possible.

“It killed me to see you lifeless,” he whispered, when he’d finally calmed. “I’ve become very attached to you in the short time I’ve known you. I know you probably wouldn’t want to be courted by a man like me, but if you did, well…..”

“Who says I wouldn’t want to court you?” Darcy retorted. “I would very much like to court you, James. “You’re brave, you’re selfless, you’re funny, you’re an awesome warrior, and you’re exceedingly handsome. Don’t think I haven’t been wanting to run my fingers through your glorious mane since the day we met.”

James blushed bright red.

“However, no courting can happen if you don’t take care of yourself.” She told him. “As your princess, I command you to eat, bathe, and sleep before you return. “You’re clearly exhausted. Steven will make sure this is carried out, won’t you, Sir Steven?”

Darcy’s firm tone had Steven nodding quickly.

“I will, your highness,” he declared, looking pointedly at James. “I attempted to previously, but he refused to leave your side, the stubborn mule.”

“You hypocrite,” James shot back, grinning at them both. “But I will happily follow your commands, Princess.”

Getting to his feet, he kissed her hand and gently released it.

“I will be back.” he promised.

“You’d better!” she called after him.

Falling back on the pillows, Darcy held the hand he’d kissed to her cheek, dreamily thinking about him kissing her on the lips.

Five Months later

The coronation of Queen Darcy was a day of jubilation and partying, a national holiday having been decreed for the occasion. Throngs of people had arrived in the city to witness the grand event and the city, which had recovered from the Hydra and the Dragon invasions, was decorated to within an inch of its life.

Darcy stood in the hall, dressed in a deep green formal gown and rich red robes, trying to calm her nerves. There were a lot of eyes on her today and she hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself.

Lord Phillip and Lord Nicholas were busily going over the schedule with Lady Natasha and the royal guards and Darcy was going over her speech once again in her head.

There was a clanking of metal, and she saw her favorite knights approaching, both looking impeccable and stunning.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she greeted warmly. “You’re looking magnificent.”

They bowed gracefully.

“Thank you, your highness. So are you,” Steve replied.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” James said, giving her a look that made her blush. He was quite the master at those looks, as she’d learned during their courtship. There had been quite a stir when it was announced that the soon to be Queen was betrothed to the former Winter Soldier, but happily, the critics were vastly outnumbered by the supporters, as he was now seen as a hero after saving her life. Darcy had been highly lauded herself and was still being swamped with gifts from her grateful subjects.

“How are you feeling, Darcy?” He asked quietly.

“Nervous, but excited,” she said. “I’m going to be the best queen I can be.”

“I know you will,” James agreed, with one of his becoming smiles. “Save me a dance at the ball later?”

“Silly man,” she chuckled fondly. “You should know by now all of my dances are for you.”

#wintershock #darcy lewis #bucky barnes #fantasy au #medieval au #princess darcy #knight bucky

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mimssides · 3 years

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Life on Crow Avenue: Part 20

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“You’ve cooked for a whole battalion, ro-bro,” Remus remarked, watching his brother put the lasagne into the still cold oven.

Roman turned around and shot him an annoyed look before he checked if everything was in place. The aubergine-tomato antipasti were in place, they had garlic bread in case someone wanted to eat something between the starter and main course. He had thought about making a primo piatto and a secondo piatto, but decided that they probably would have enough with the lasagne and like that everyone would still like to eat dessert; a fig and raspberry tart.

He hoped they would like it.

“They’re gonna love it. Now, go change. They’re gonna be here in like half an hour,” Remus told Roman as he nudged him in the side.

With a huff Roman disappeared and Remus looked around in the living room. Mrs. Snuffles was sitting on the cat tree Virgil had given them and looked at him with her beautiful blue eyes. Smiling he walked up to her and nuzzled his face against her fluffy face, her eagerly headbutting into the movement. Softly he lifted her from the tree, adjusted her in his arms and held her like one would hold a baby, gently swaying her in his arms.

Cats always had always been one of Remus’s favourite animals. Just how they carried themselves, how much elegance and dorkiness fit in one single, fluffy entity amazed him each time anew. And somehow it fit perfectly into their new life. A life, where their living room is spacey and bright. Where their couch didn’t smell funny and he actually liked the combination of the furniture they had.

“Earth to Remus?”

Remus flinched and turned around. Roman stood in the end of the hallway, grinning at his brother’s weird cat dance.

Remus blinked. Roman was wearing a thin wine-red cardigan, beneath a white t-shirt and the black slim fit jeans Remus had bought him. Together with the slightly condescending and yet somehow charming smug smirk on Roman’s face, he looked good. Really good.

“What have you done with my brother?” Remus joked and walked towards Roman. “He’s never been seen in nice clothes on a Sunday forever!”

Roman rolled his eyes and picked the hem of his cardigan’s sleeve. He knew it was a compliment. He appreciated it. But somehow it just felt weird to make himself look fancy. To try and look at himself in the mirror and like or at least accept what stared back at him.

“Don’t make such a sour face! You look splendid! Jan’s never going to be able to eat any of the food because he’ll keep gawking at your pretty face!” Remus insisted, seeing far too well that Roman was doubting himself.

Nervously Roman pressed his lips together and told Remus with a sigh: “That would be a waste of food.”

“Come on! I know what kind of hairdo that is! Look-At-Me-And-Hold-Your-Breath! This is dress to impress, and if you don’t admit you’re a dirty liar!”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes Roman retorted: “I didn’t say that’s not my intention. It’s just gonna be a shame for the food that’s going to be wasted, won’t it?”

With mock offence Remus stared at him with his mouth wide open before the twins broke into a laughing fit. Mrs. Snuffles didn’t appreciate the shaking very much and Remus had to let her down still giggling furiously, when the doorbell rang.

Remus gave Roman a nod and then walked up to the door, pressed the speaker and heard Logan’s voice: “Salutations. It is Logan Fojtík. Excuse the disturbance.”

“We invited you, bicho. You’re not disturbing,” Remus chuckled and pressed the button to let Logan in.

A few short moments after Logan had walked up the stairs and Remus greeted him with a wide grin and a hug. The bookstore owner reciprocated the hug after a short second of hesitancy and then gave Roman a cordial nod as a greeting. Roman just smirked at the awkward look on Logan’s face and told him to follow him into the living room. Roman also made the mental note that Logan was wearing the turtleneck sweater and the slightly nicer jeans he usually wore on Friday evenings, which seemed to be an outfit he reserved for special occasions.

With ease Roman then enthralled Logan in some casual conversation about the food he had prepared. Logan looked mildly interested, even though he looked over to Remus playing with Mrs. Snuffles several times. That too, Roman would definitely remember for future events.

But soon there came the next ring and Remus let Janus and Virgil in just has he had Logan. Virgil had brought some cat treats and a few more toys for Mrs. Snuffles and was soon sitting with Remus on the floor playing with the cat instead of socializing with the with the other people in the room.

“Seeing this makes me wish, I was a pet,” Roman comments amused as both Janus and Logan gave him a look. “Unlimited attention, affection and reassurance thrown at you with no questions asked and you won’t even be punished if you scratch an asshole’s face.”

“While that outlook does have its appeal,” Logan commented his eyes locked on Mrs. Snuffles trying to catch a string with feathers attached to its end, “I would not enjoy doing my business in a litter box or outside under a tree.”

Janus chuckled and sat down at the already set table. For a moment his eyes drifted over the plates, the cutlery, cutlery mats and napkins, which were set up carefully and beautifully, before he looked over to Logan and teased lazily: “What a humorous remark coming from you, Mrs. Fojtík. I didn’t think you’d have an ounce of fun in your body.”

Logan did not grace that remark with an answer but shot him a glare. Janus did not care for it and instead turned to Roman and told him: “The table looks marvellous, Roman. I don’t think I’ve ever been invited for dinner at someone’s place who had such a sweetly decorated table.”

Janus watched Roman’s eyes glow with pride and listened happily as Roman started to tell how he liked decorating and how it was a way to treat themselves with something nice.

“After all, sitting at a nice set up table makes one feel a bit like royalty, doesn’t it?” Roman rambled happily.

Janus answered with a smile and a nod and would have been content to listen even longer, when the doorbell rang again and Roman stood up to get the door.

Not too surprisingly, Patton had arrived and Roman let the tattoo artist into their flat. He had a cheery look on his face and promptly thanked Roman for the invitation.

“Oh, don’t mention it, padre! After the way you all helped us last Friday, I wanted to give something back. It’s the least I can do,” Roman said and shot a look over to Remus who looked up from Mrs. Snuffles in front of him and gave a little nod.

“Yeah, something happy for a change,” Remus said and looked down Mrs. Snuffles.

Remus’s eyes shone peacefully. Lips tugged in a lopsided smile. Patton felt his heart pound in his chest. Remus looked beautiful and in this very moment every fibre in his body was painfully aware of that. He actually shivered when Remus raised his look from Mrs. Snuffles to him and the little smile grew a little wider as he met Patton’s eyes. It was the best thing he had felt in a long time and he was sure that his smile reflected the sentiment well, as Remus chuckled and got up from the floor.

“Now, princesa, do you want to get us all into a food coma?” Remus asked and put his hands on his hips with an eyeroll.

Energetically, Roman jumped to action and ushered their guests to get to the table.

“Oh, I hope you’re hungry!” Roman announced in a singsong tone and the five others settled down around the table.

Curiously Janus looked into the kitchen from his chair, as Patton complimented Remus’s clothes; a green t-shirt with pink spots, a light blue jeans vest and orange skinny fit pants. Remus gave to comment back, adding that he liked the look of the pastel pink tank top, with black ripped-jeans and the bun Patton had put his hair in.

“Your hair is nice too!” Patton gave back and looked at the black messy hair on top of Remus’s head.

Remus tousled through his bangs and shrugged.

“Thanks. I don’t really know what to do with it. It’s a bit ‘meh’ so I tend to just let it do its thing.”

“Are you aware how to best take care of the hair type you have?” Logan suddenly chimed into the conversation.

And so, Roman served his aubergine-tomato antipasti, as the conversation about hair styling and grooming got started. Logan did most of the talking, Patton sometimes adding something and Remus curiously asking questions. The conversation only got interrupted when Logan finally started eating, after Roman chiding him for letting the food get cold. In that sudden pause, Janus took the chance to compliment Roman’s cooking, as the others did just a moment after.

They ate, talked and the mood was light and pleasant. Remus had, as promised earlier, gotten out his sketchbooks and went through it with Patton while Roman got the main dish ready. Virgil was once again playing with Mrs. Snuffles and Logan occupied himself by following Roman into the kitchen, asking about how he had prepared the antipasti from before and offering his help, which was politely declined. And Janus had sneaked away from the table and inconspicuously walked through the flat, looking in all rooms without entering any of them so his snooping around would not be detected.

Just as Janus peeked into Roman’s room, strikingly tidy with red and gold accented décor knickknacks, a hand was put on his shoulder and he flinched as he was caught red-handed.

“You could have asked for a tour, Jay.”

Janus turned to see Roman smirking at him. Speechless he opened his mouth only to close it again and press his lips together. Roman grinned until Remus called from the living room: “Are ya’ making out? Should we not wait with the food for you?”

With an eyeroll Roman turned around but kept his eyes locked on Janus. A smile tugged at the edges of Roman’s lips and he said quietly: “I’ll be happy to show you around after you’ve told me how much you like the lasagne I’ve made.”

Finally, Janus found his composure again, grinned back and replied: “Then I’ll be kind enough to indulge you, Señor Segura Reyes.”

Roman chuckled and they went back into the living room. Smoothly Roman walked around the table to Janus’s seat, pulled it back for him and sat down telling his guest to help themselves with the lasagne.

Already anticipating Virgil’s questioning look Roman told him: “It’s vegetarian. I could have made a different dish for you but I didn’t feel like it and just made the meatless variant for all of us.”

“Cool. Thanks,” Virgil mumbled a little shyly before he took some of the lasagne.

“What did you take instead of the meat?” Logan asked eyeing the food in front of him judgingly.

“Spinach and Cheese. And if you find that inedible, I can get you something else,” Roman answered and rose his eyebrows playfully daring.

Logan pressed his lips together and looked back down to the food. It smelled good and it didn’t look like the vegetables his mother used to make him eat when he was younger. He could at least try. And so, he tried.

“Das ist alles andere als ungeniessbar,” Logan almost inaudibly said under his breath and took another bite.

Roman, who was sitting next to him, shot him an incredulous look which turned into an excited one and he enthusiastically said: “Danke sehr! Ich wusste nicht, dass du Deutsch sprichts?”

Baffled Logan looked up to Roman and the rest of the table did the same, not knowing what Roman had just said and why he suddenly spoke in a different language.

“Ich, uh, übe noch. Sprache war schon immer ein Leidenschaft von mir,” Logan said slowly, not quite certain if he had gotten the gender of ‘passion’ right.

“No way!” Roman exclaimed joyously, “Me too! Languages are so cool! Which ones besides German do you know?”

Logan blinked. Blinked again. Roman’s enthusiasm for languages matched his own passion, which was rare, and he seemed very eager to talk about it. Not dismissing him. He was not dismissing him, Logan realized, took a little breath and started telling Roman how he had begun learning Czech and Polish when he was in his early teens and over the years had added Spanish and German to the mix.

“That’s so cool! You have to teach me some Polish and Czech! I’d love to get into some new languages. It always interesting to see how they are different or the same to some languages I already know. And like, both are Slavic languages, right? I’m curious if they work similarly to Russian!”

“You speak Russian?” Logan asked intrigued.

“Not super well, but I’d get by. The wife of our florist mentor is Russian and I got to learn if from her. And he’s Brazilian, which is why I know some Portuguese. German, Italian and French I learned in school and from old Disney VHS movies Mamá got on a flea market. It’s so interesting to see how all of them sound and work and-”

“Yes, my thoughts exactly!” Logan agreed and the two kept on marvelling over the beauty of languages until the main dish was eaten.

The others kept quiet and just watched both men being unabashedly passionate about languages and how they work. Watched Roman stumble over his words because he got excited about tenses in Spanish and Logan raising his voice in euphoria about cases in Slavic languages. It was quite a scene they got to look at and none of them could complain, even though Remus would later claim that the nerding out over languages was the bane of his existence.

When all had finished their lasagne, Roman picked up the plates and put them into the dishwasher. The rest settled down on the couch, beanbag and the armchairs before dessert would get served. Remus and Virgil were yet again playing with Mrs. Snuffles and Janus, Patton and Logan just watched them have fun, since they were all a bit tired after the big meal. Roman soon joined them and sat down on the couch next to Janus, bickering a little with his brother about how he was neglecting their guests.

“What no! Look their all happy doing nothing after overeating on your stupidly delicious food!” Remus retorted.

Roman puffed his cheeks and nagged: “Still! You could at least try and indulge them in a convers-”

“Sorry, Rem, could you maybe check something on Mrs. Snuffles for me?”

Both twins shut up immediately and Virgil looked up from the cat to see Remus’s extremely concerned look.

“She’s fine! It’s fine! Just-” Virgil quickly added hoping he could stop Remus from freaking out - “just check something for me. Just touch her belly for me and tell me if what you feel.”

Remus blinked, gave a short nod and inched closer to the white cat lady. Softly he petted her until she laid down and carefully touched the side of her belly.

“It’s pretty normal, I think? Like I feel her breathing and some tiny movements, I guess? Isn’t that just digestion, though?” Remus asked warily.

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, smiled and told Remus: “It could, but I think you might need to wait with neutering her. It’s possible that she’s pregnant but I’d have the vet check her to make sure.”

Remus squealed in an octave dogs and bats could hear and successfully made all guests jump in their seats. This was the best thing to ever happen to Remus and an ecstatic voice in the back of his head told him to kiss either Patton or Logan or even both just to get all the pent-up energy out. Instead, he tackle hugged Virgil, who was not prepared for Remus’s hug and fell backwards so both ended up laying on the floor.

And while that happened and drew all the attention on Remus and Virgil, Roman had a silent anxiety attack. Trembling he stood up, quietly mumbling No estoy preparado para ser padre. and taking out his phone to open the app where he had to arrange little squares according to hue. He forced himself to concentrate on the colours, on moving his fingers accordingly and not focus on the fact that their cat would-

Colours. Sorting. Making a clean perfect hue.

I am a wonderful, amazing, gorgeous, magnificent hue-master!

Alright. Okay.

Roman turned back to look at his brother, who was still almost smothering Virgil and decidedly walked up to them. Firmly he grabbed Remus by the arm and pulled him back a little.

“Stop pestering him! Get up and go whip cream to get your energy out. I need more calories after this shock,” Roman chided Remus.

Snickering Remus got up, shoving Roman a little in the shoulder and turning towards the kitchen.

“Oh, you’ll love them too! Don’t worry,” Remus told him as he disappeared.

Roman fumed for a few seconds, massaged the bridge of his nose before he offered Virgil his hand to get up.

“How many kittens does a cat have in a litter, generally?” Roman asked in the most defeated tone they had ever heard him use.

Virgil cleared his throat and answered: “Around four. And don’t pick her up until you know for sure if she’s pregnant or not. You could accidentally hurt the babies.”

Roman nodded and declared that they would have desert now, since he now needed some stress food. Before long the six men sat at the table again, all with a big slice of a fig and raspberry tart. Roman had put a big spoon of whipped cream on his slice and told the others to help themselves with the cream as much as they wanted. Patton took the offer and toasted Roman with a sympathetic smile as Remus bounced on his chair and asked Virgil a million questions about kitten’s and how to care for them.

It was more than clear that Remus was very hyped for the potential of a kitten litter and was already unwilling to give away a single one of them. No matter what Roman would say, Remus wouldn’t change his mind and Roman had to accept it.

“Hey, if they ever get too rowdy and you need a break, I can maybe catsit? Is that a thing?” Patton offered.

That got a snicker out of Roman and he thanked Patton for the gracious offer but Remus would have to catsit, since he was the one who wanted to keep them. Remus said he would do that happily and the evening continued calmly. After finishing desert Roman showed Janus the flat and around ten the four guests eventually bid goodbye and left the twins to themselves.

The tension on Roman’s shoulders had eased away a bit. But it was still there. He still felt it linger and he was glad when Remus asked if he should clean the kitchen, so Roman could get ready for bed.

But next to Remus nobody seemed to have noticed. Which was good and what Roman had wanted. He told himself.

He didn’t want others to know. They didn’t need to know. After all, he had it under control.

At least, that was what he told himself.

___

@varthandi

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

Tagged for this fic:

@frawkeye

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@a-non-binary-pan

@simone-the-weird-person

#sanders sides #brotherly creativitwins #roceit #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #mrs. snuffles the cat #food mention #panic attack #it's not very detailed but it is there #Life on Crow Avenue #eir writes #please reblog

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astralaffairs · 4 years

Note

If you're taking asks, can I get "did you really have to give me so many hickeys" with Laurens? Thank you! I've re-read Freedom of the Press too many times to count, I love it so much

aww thank you!! i've had major writer's block with fotp 05, so i hope these drabbles hold y'all over until I can get it out. side note -- i've been doing sm writing for john lately and?? he's absolutely adorable???

---

You'd been avoiding John's workplace for about as long as you'd known him. You'd met him through a mutual friend, incidentally one of his colleagues, and hearing them discuss their job, their coworkers and clients, turned you off to the corporate world the moment you began to learn about it. Since you and he had been together, of course, he'd told you more and more, and since you'd moved in with him, you'd begun to feel like you could reconstruct his entire office from the ground up. As much as you hated the topic, it was his life, and if you wanted him, it came with the role. It was a trade-off you were more than eager to make.

However, actually breaking the boundary between your and his worlds was a line you hadn't yet crossed. So when he asked you to go his annual office party, a celebration of the corporation's progress and profits, your resistance was all but endless. He saw the party as the next step in your relationship; you saw it as pushing you further out of it.

When the time came, you couldn't say no -- it was clear how much this meant to him, and one night out of the rest of your life felt like a small sacrifice to make.

So that was exactly how you found yourself in the over-glamorous sixtieth floor of a corporate skyscraper. (John had been quick to catch onto the fact that "corporate" was a turn-off. At least you wouldn't be trying to rub one out in his place of work.) It wasn't quite what you'd expected, admittedly. Marble floors, glass doors and walls, gilded chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows -- you could go on.

It was a black-tie event. You'd arrived at the floor of the office huddled close to John, his arm around your waist, you pleading with him until the very last minute to go home as he only chuckled, kissed your cheek and all but pulled you out of the elevator.

"But what if we went home," you whined in his ear, clinging to his arm, and he only rolled his eyes, now scanning the room for who-knows-what. A sly smile crept onto your face as you leaned in, pulling him closer. "Promise I'd make it worth your time."

He could hear the mischief in your tone, and while he appeared moderately amused at your attempts, he gave you a pointed look. "Not the time, baby. Can you be good, just for one night?"

Your lips fell into a hard line, considering his demeanor as he raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. With your arms around his neck, you pulled him down to your level so you could kiss him on the nose. "Only for you," you whispered, and his smile was undeniable as he briefly leaned down to kiss you properly.

"Then c'mon."

You swallowed your exhausted groan as he tugged you toward a group of his colleagues -- these appeared to be the ones you'd heard about most often, his closest friends, and as he introduced them, you couldn't help but play back the stories he'd told you in your head. You'd obviously met Hercules -- he was the one who introduced you to John in the first place -- and Alex had dropped by your apartment a number of times, so you'd slowly familiarized yourself with him. However, everyone else's names immediately triggered a word association. Eliza: catching the communal microwave on fire -- three times. Lafayette: getting half the staff drunk while working overtime. Maria: serving as the divorce lawyer for one of her co-workers' spouses. The list sure did go on.

They all seemed incredibly friendly, however, so you decided to make nice and not let your aversion to gilded capitalism ruin everyone's night. The things you did for your boyfriend.

And so, you humored John. You met his boss. You stood by while they discussed corporate law, made esoteric jokes that you knew you couldn't begin to understand, and laughed when the group had obviously deemed it appropriate. You hardly left John's side; you didn't think you'd have made it through the night if he'd expected you to socialize independently. There were two things you thought you could honestly say in the night's favor -- John was absolutely beaming as he finally had the opportunity to show you off to his colleagues and friends, which wholly validated your reason for acquiescing to his invitation with little resistance, and the company had splurged on the wine and cheese for which you'd never have been willing to fork over such unholy amounts of cash.

You were careful not to drink too much, wanted to stay as far from the verge of tipsy as you could manage so as not to make a fool of yourself in front of the entire office, but you allowed yourself two glasses of the $600 merlot from the end of the refreshments table. Moreover, you shamelessly loaded up on cheese.

That was the only reason you ever had to steal away from John for a moment. It seemed that few of the employees were going to pillage the snacks, which made it feel all the more like your well-deserved karma for deciding to come, so John only laughed every time you told him you were going back to the cheese cart.

By the fourth time, you were on your second glass of wine, and you squinted at the various variations on smoked brie before deciding exactly how to pick your poison that time around.

"You new here?" A voice came from your right, startling you out of your dairy-induced haze. You turned with wide eyes to see a man standing beside you with a moderately amused smirk. "Because unless you're our transfer from Atlanta, I can't say I've heard about you -- and unlike Beatrice, you don't quite look 57."

You couldn't help your laugh at his playful tone. You gave him a once-over; he didn't fit the description of anyone John had told you about. "I can assure you, I'm not here to steal poor Beatrice's identity," you replied mildly. "I'm actually here as a guest, Mr..."

You trailed off an eyebrow raised. "Jefferson," he supplied, offering you his hand to shake, "Thomas Jefferson."

"Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you." You shook his hand, and something akin to recognition flashed across his face. Perhaps he'd heard about you from John? His crooked grin only grew with that as he drew closer to you.

"So you're here as a guest, hm?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. You nodded hesitantly. "Must not have had a very good host to bring you then, huh? Can't imagine leaving a pretty little thing like you unattended around here."

You raised your eyebrows at that. His sudden confidence was off-putting, and you shifted your weight from one foot to another as you gave him a slightly strained smile. The shift in his demeanor was beginning to make you mildly uncomfortable. "I assure you, I can take care of myself, Mr. Jefferson."

"I don't doubt that, sweetheart." His reply was mildly absentminded as his eyes trailed down your figure, and you took an unconscious step back. When you did, his eyes jumped back to yours as he flashed you a winning smile. "But please, it's Thomas, to you."

"Well, Thomas, it's been nice meeting you, but I think I need to get back to my date." You silently mourned your not having collected any new cheeses, but you were eager to end that interaction. He raised an eyebrow, grin groundlessly smug.

"You sure you wanna do that? I mean, if your date cared little enough to leave you out here all alone in this big office, I think you're justified in findin' other company." He moved imperceptibly closer, but it made all the difference to you. You swallowed. "Besides--"

"Y/N!" You whipped around, on cloud nine when you made eye contact with the source of the voice. You must have looked endlessly relieved, grateful for your savior, your white knight, your Messiah -- not to be dramatic -- but John just looked tense as he approached where you were standing. His smile was clearly forced, and Thomas raised an eyebrow. When he reached you, he wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you further away from his coworker immediately. "Jefferson, I see you've met my girlfriend."

Thomas didn't miss the emphasis on the word 'girlfriend.' His eyebrows jumped toward his hairline, and he huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "Your girlfriend, huh?" He looked between the two of you, and the tension as he met John's gaze was palpable. He broke it after hardly a second, turning his focus back to you with an irritatingly pitying smile. "Oh, sweetheart, how much is he paying you? Surely, it can't be that much, considerin' how much less John makes--"

"I'm not in this for money, Mr. Jefferson," you said, careful to keep your tone level. Beside you, John's jaw ticked, the pads of his fingers pressing possessively into the side of your waist.

Doubt still drenched his stare, and John cut in. "Not everything can be bought, Mr. Jefferson--" The utterance of his title was mocking, the words closer to a sneer, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll stop calling my girlfriend an escort. Watch it."

"Mmh, your loss, gettin' with him. You could be making some good money off of that." He let his gaze wander, never going above your neckline. It was painfully obvious that he was just playing it up to get a rise out of John, but nonetheless, it was working. You heard your boyfriend inhale harshly; his grip on you was getting closer to a vice. Thomas shot you a wink. "Gimme a call if you're ever interested in actually gettin' something out of a relationship, for once."

John scowled; you had to cling to his side to restrain him from tackling Thomas right there and then. His teeth were clenched, his gaze full of unbridled fury. "I swear to God--"

"Baby, c'mon, it's not worth it." Your quiet plea cut him off as you rested a hand on his chest. You could feel some of the tension leave his body. "You're fine. I'm fine. Let's just go, yeah?" He met your wide eyes, and your worried gaze had him forcing himself to cool off.

He shot Thomas one last burning glare before turning on his heel, promptly pulling you as far from his coworker as he could get you. You went with him readily.

He was quiet for the rest of the night. Despite your constant questioning stare and occasional attempts to check on him, voice hardly above a whisper, he just ignored it, waved you away. You didn't stay much longer after that, and the car ride back to your apartment was dead silent. John's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

After you made it home, though, you tried one more time. He threw the keys into the bowl by the door after locking it, and immediately began to loosen his tie, eager to relax and forget about the night.

"John, are you okay?" Though the question was hesitant, your tone was firm, demanding. He reluctantly met your eyes, vexation still brewing near the surface of his gaze. "Talk to me, baby. What's up?"

"What the fuck was that stunt with Jefferson?" The question had your eyes widening.

"'Stunt'?" you repeated, hoping you'd misheard him. "Seriously? He approached me; I just wanted more cheese!"

"You didn't exactly seem to be pulling away," he accused, and you gave a short, mirthless laugh.

"You've gotta be kidding me, John." His expectant expression told you that he absolutely was not, and you scowled. "I didn't wanna cause a scene. I was trying to get away politely. I just... didn't want anything to escalate."

"Some excuse."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, Y/N." His voice was louder that time, and it was tinged with genuine anger. He took a step toward you, looming over you as he began to close the space. "You've never cared about being impolite before; don't expect me to believe you're suddenly miss proper. You were just enjoying the attention."

"This was my first time around your colleagues! At your office!" you protested, standing your ground.

"You don't give two shits what corporate employees think about you!"

"But you do." The truth behind your words was what made him bite his tongue, not the urgency in your tone. Tentatively, you closed the small gap between you, reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders. "John, I didn't wanna make a scene because I didn't wanna embarrass you. You were so excited to bring me there and have everyone come see me, and I knew how much tonight meant to you." He looked down at you with his eyebrows raised. Much of the tension in his shoulders had melted away at your touch; his eyes held no hostility as they met yours, and his hands ghosted across your hips. "I just wanted you to be happy, baby."

He wrapped an arm snugly around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and he brought his other hand up to smooth your hair back, away from your face. His frustration had been replaced by a tiny, playful smile. Slowly, he moved forward, and your eyes widened as you stumbled in his grasp; it only took him a moment to back you into the kitchen counter. "Fucking Jefferson has no idea what he's missing out on."

You smiled, pulling yourself up to him to rest your forehead against him, to look him in the eye. "And he never will."

-----------

You both woke up late the next morning, exhausted and disinterested in leaving your bed. You weren't surprised; you'd ended up having a late night. You groaned at the sunlight streaming through your window as your eyes fluttered open, trying to bury yourself in John's embrace. He breathed deeply as he held a hand to the small of your back, dipping down to kiss you as he stretched, stifling a yawn.

"Morning, baby," he hummed, fatigue sitting heavy in his voice. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you groaned, and he chuckled. You glared playfully up at him.

"You complaining?" he retorted, raising a teasing brow, and you didn't bother to hide your grin.

"Never." You kissed the tip of his nose. "But John?"

"Mmhmm?" His forehead creased, and your smile only grew at how unnecessarily concerned he looked.

"As hot as it is seeing you jealous -- and it is, ridiculously hot, actually -- did you really have to give me so many hickeys?" The words came out as a whine, and he laughed as he eyed your pout.

"I dunno, babygirl," he began, rolling over so you were on your back and he was propped up on his arms above you. The wistful regret in his voice was dramatically phony. "If last night told me anything, it's that you can't seem to keep the men away, no matter where we go." He paused, shrugging. "Not that I blame them. Look at you."

He dipped down to kiss your neck with that, and you huffed. "John. Promise you've given me enough hickies. You can stop."

"I like seeing 'em," he said, smile growing as he looked proudly down at you. "Besides, if the world needs a reminder that you're mine, you had better bet that I'm not gonna hesitate to give it to them."

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roselen-mylady · 4 years

Text

In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader ° part two

Summary: Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life.

They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected. Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occured she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

A/n: For those who read this book before, I had to do some major redrafting so please be patient with me! Enjoy🤟

2014

“She’s a child, Fury.” The woman’s voice scolded. Y/n winced hating the fact that she was the source of conflict between the two. Fury wore his usual monotone and mildly pissed off expression as his eyes narrowed on the woman. Councilwoman Hawley’s face hardened as she turned to Y/n, “Do your parents know you're here?” She questioned, her voice loud and demanding.

Y/n's eyes drifted to Fury, uncertain and intimidated. Councilwoman was right, Y/n was just a child. But she had a mind that only Tony Stark himself could rival and that mind quickly realized that the only way she was going to stay at S.H.I.E.L.D was if she lied.

"Yes. They wanted to thank you for the opportunity S.H.I.E.L.D has given me." Y/n said cooly, trying to muster up enough confidence to fool the woman. Though she didn't seem convinced, Hawley was tired and after a few moments of staring down Y/n to see if she would relinquish her testimony, she sighed.

Councilwoman then turned to Fury, looking at him with less than pleased eyes. "I trust you'll handle the affairs then." Fury offered no acknowledgement in return and Y/n wondered if everyone in S.H.I.E.L.D was this cold. "Fury, I'm taking a chance here for you. The minute this proves to be more of a burden than a service, I'm ending it." The harshness of her tone shot through Y/n like a bullet but Fury appeared unphased giving her a little solace.

"You'll find the council will be grateful for what I'm doing here." Fury's proclamation seemed to grip the councilwoman, stopping her dead in her tracks as a conflicted expression fell over her features. She shot him a deadly glare however what rage bubbled up in her wasn't enough to compel her to reply and she continued on, leaving smothering tension in the air.

"What are you doing?" Y/n asked cautiously, turning to the man who had convinced her to leave her old life behind. The leather of his eyepatch squeaked in protest as his eyebrows furrowed, his eye landing on her small frame beside him.

"We are going to take the first step in protecting our world for the future. Welcome to the Next Generation Initiative." Y/n swallowed thickly to try and relieve the dryness of her throat as Fury moved toward the door.

"We start immediately." His voice called and she quickly followed after him, hoping to not agitate him further. "First let's see what you're capable of."

•••

The months that followed were hard, harder than she had naively expected. Fury was true to his word, providing her with a living space at S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters along with necessities such as food passes and clothes, though all of them sported the S.H.I.E.L.D logo.

At first it had been exciting to live a new life, the pride that came from becoming independent being enough to distract her for the first couple of weeks. But soon she found that being isolated from the rest of the agents wasn't just the normal separation from the pack that came with being new.

Communication with other agents was limited by her new guardian and her access around The Triskelion was even more restricted. It didn't take much for her to catch onto the fact that she was meant to be a secret instead of an agent.

This annoyed her but she hardly saw Fury which prevented her from questioning or even opposing the situation. And in the times she did see him she never got any answers. Fury pushed her constantly and while she knew she had signed up for it, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd made the right choice.

In order to stay at S.H.I.E.L.D she had to avoid all contact with her parents and adjusting to her new life without them was hard. The only person she had to trust with her well being was Fury and while he made sure she was taken care of, he wasn't exactly a parental figure. He was cold and abrasive and having conversations with him were frightening and offered very little support.

Her wish to be a hero convinced her that maybe it'd get better once she adjusted to the way things operated at S.H.I.E.L.D but it never did. Loneliness crept into her every second she was there and nothing she did seemed to help.

Doubt seeped into her heart and she started to question the cause she now stood for. Her parents had always rejected Fury's propositions toward making Y/n an agent but Y/n had never understood why until then. Fury was shrouded in a thick layer of mystery and the appeal it once had quickly faded away when she began to realize she had left everything behind for a promise of doing something great.

She felt like a naive and stupid child chasing the dream of being a superhero like so many children had and she longed for the guidance of her parents.

Training was even more miserable than her solitude. Fury wanted her to be ready for anything even though all of her missions so far were from the safety of a control room. He trained her himself, claiming that it was easier that way instead of taking other agents off of missions.

While she felt like it was a lie she accepted it and attended training everyday. And it wasn't long before she learned that his cold exterior was frozen all the way through.

"Agh!" Y/n cried out in frustration, forcing herself up from the ground. Fury almost smirked as she rushed forward, messily slamming her fist into his arms that had moved to block his face. A pained groan escaped her lips as she retracted her fist trying to conceal the red spotting through from under the wrap.

Another hand entered her view and she gave a defeated sigh as Fury took her bloodied knuckles. "I don't understand why I have to do this. You just want me for my brain anyways." Her irritation flooding off of her.

"It's so that nobody kills you. What good would your brain be if you're dead?" Fury said, offering no warmth or ease as he spoke. A frown tugged at her lips and she jerked her hand away, getting herself into stance.

It wasn't long before she was on her back again, her lungs struggling to replenish the air that had been knocked out of her. But Y/n found herself strangely motivated with each failure. Each time she slammed into the mat she was filled with an overwhelming amount of rage and whether it had been his plan all along she didn't know but she rose to her feet again with more strength than before.

With her fists drawn to her sides and her shoulders coming back in a brilliant pose of purpose, she stood before him anger radiating off of her. Her eyes narrowed on Fury with a determined shine and she advanced again, this time landing a hit to his ribs. While she wasn't too intimating in size, she easily calculated places to strike in which would leave the attacker most weakened and with her new found strategy, Fury fell.

Before she could even process her victory, a foreign sound echoed through the gym making her freeze. It was an eerie sound that shouldn't have sent a chill down her spine. A sound that heard from anyone else would've made her smile. Yet coming from the usually stoic man she couldn't help but recoil as if hearing it was the equivalent of being stuck.

Fury's body shook in laughter as he pushed himself up off his knees. "Motherfucker." He exclaimed, his eye landing on her with a glimpse of something she'd never seen from him before. Pride? Amusement? Either one brought a disbelieving and hesitant smile to her face as she quickly moved to help him up.

"I was wondering how many times it would take getting the crap beat out of you for you to finally put that brain of yours to use." Fury grunted, his hand coming to his ribs as he stood. Y/n's brows creased looking up at him in confusion.

"Wait, you're not mad?" She questioned, rattled by how entertained he was with her finally snapping at him. He moved to unwrap his fists looking up at her with a lifted brow.

"Am I supposed to be? Taking me down was your objective." He replied, glancing over his shoulder as she mimicked him, tugging the wrapping carefully as to avoid further hurting her split knuckles. She offered a shrug, allowing her prideful smirk to appear.

"Well, you just got taken down by a girl." Fury's gaze hardened on her cheeky grin and he shook his head, his amusement diminishing with her childish humor.

"Don't give me that bullshit. I've been training you for months, you taking me down once ain't nothing to be excited over." He grumbled, trying to dismiss her win.

Y/n's smile lingered for the rest of the day.

•••

"So what's the point of the 'Next Generation Initiative'? Aren't some of the Avengers, like, immortal?" Y/n questioned, poking at the keyboard in front of her. Fury's annoyed gaze fell on her for the fifth time in the past ten minutes and he sighed heavily pushing the keyboard away from her. She lifted her head off of her elbow and turned to face him as his chair swiveled toward her.

"Thor's practically immortal. But the rest aren't." Fury explained. Y/n reached out to grab the pen on the table only to have Fury slam his hand down on hers, forcibly stopping her. "Do you always have to mess with something?" He questioned, his tone sharp.

Y/n gave him a glare before retracting her hands and wedging them between her thighs. "What about Hulk? Not only did the gamma rays make him immortal, he can't die as either Bruce Banner or Hulk. And what about Captain America? I mean isn't he like 100?" She rambled.

Fury massaged his temples, reminding himself that he had to put up with her if he wanted his project to succeed. "96. And no he's not immortal." He corrected, ignoring Y/n's mockful expression as she rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. You didn't answer my question." She accused, shooting him an expectant gaze. He peered down at her, his brow lowering in an unamused scowl.

"Like the Avengers Initiative, Next Gen's purpose is to protect Earth from all threats, whether it be from other worlds or our own." Fury droned, his own statement seeming to bore him. He'd given the same speech to the council a million times before and he wasn't someone that cared to repeat himself. Yet in enthusiasm Y/n easily had enough for the both of them as she listened carefully to his every word, enjoying the fact that he was finally telling her something.

Sure she'd known that joining S.H.I.E.L.D especially with her skills would mean some kind of hero work. Fury had explained to her and her parents once before that with Y/n's brain she could help set the world forward into technical advances and with the right training become an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. All she knew about S.H.I.E.L.D was what could be linked to the Avengers so she had automatically been hooked but her parents didn't share her eagerness.

Yet never did she imagine becoming a part of a project similar to the Avengers, a team she'd grown up idolizing. Suddenly any doubt she'd felt washed away with her fascination toward becoming a superhero. The idea of putting her skills toward something bigger than herself was what had drawn her away from her friends and family after all.

"So, the next generation of superheroes?" She assumed, unable to hide the thrilled smile that crossed her face. Fury nodded slowly, unsure whether he should be encouraging her so much. Her unwavering grin stuck as he turned back to the computer in front of him, tapping on the keys with a quick sweep of his hand.

"Then why don't the Avengers know about me?" She questioned suddenly.

"The council doesn't want anyone to know about you. At least not until this succeeds." He answered shortly, his concentration unbroken as he did so.

"When will that be? And why aren't there more of me? I mean aren't there more superhero kids you should be scouting?" Y/n began questioning again making him sigh heavily. He was beginning to regret recruiting her, finding her intuitive and adolescent need to question everything bothersome.

"You are what we call a trial basis. That's when-"

"I know what a trial basis is. I'm not stupid." Fury's eyes narrowed on the girl who'd interrupted him, nearly chuckling at the irony of what she'd said.

"Well, then stop acting like it." He retorted, drawing an unhappy pout from her. With arms crossed and her brow creased she glared at him but he ignored her turning back to the computer.

"I'm not acting stupid. Trust me, I'm sure I'd be a lot more help if I actually knew what was going on. This is the most I've gotten you to talk since I got here." She challenged, making sure not to provoke him. If she had there'd be no way to get answers out of him. "I'm just saying I left everything to be here and you can't even give me the time of day to explain why I'm really here. Why would you recruit me? I don't have powers, I just happen to be smart. Why would you pick me to start such an important project?"

The doubt she'd been feeling for months was beginning to flood back as she confessed to him. His persistence in wanting to recruit her at the start had convinced her enough that she was worthy of being a part of whatever he had planned but now that she knew what it was she was becoming painfully aware of how minuscule she was in comparison.

Fury kept his stare focused on the monitor before him, a sigh flushing through him and escaping out his nose as his hands stilled on the keyboard. He knew she was right. All the information he'd given her up to that point was the name of the project and the vague details he'd offered her parents.

He needed to give her a sign of good faith, something to earn a bit of her trust and acceptance in order to continue with the project.

Y/n watched with an intense gaze as he grabbed the mouse, directing the cursor toward another file. Everything in her was screaming to press for an answer but the contrast in his behavior kept her from doing so. Never had he gone silent before and she wondered if this was finally it. Was he finally going to reveal his true intentions?

After effortlessly bypassing several forms of security, a file was brought up, her own picture dragging her attention away from his silence. To the left of the photo was her name, birthdate, social security number and several other pieces of information like her parents' names and her education records.

Yet beside her name was another name, this one bubbled in quotations like an alias.

"Next Generation Stark?" She read aloud, the words rolling off her tongue like she was accusing him of a lie. Fury sat back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied her baffled face and slack jaw. "Stark? Like Tony Stark? What the hell does that mean?" She demanded, all restraint on herself to remain polite out the window upon such an absurd comparison.

Fury pierced his lips gesturing to the computer, "Exactly what it says." He told her, his tone much more matter of fact than she felt was appropriate. Her head frantically shook as she tried to make him see how absolutely insane he sounded.

"I can't be. Tony Stark is my hero and a literal superhero. Not to mention a billionaire, genius-" She was cut short by Fury sitting forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he snidely remarked.

"I thought you were a genius. IQ of 224 and all." The sarcasm practically dripped from his words and Y/n's glare returned with more intensity than before.

"If that's the only similarity between us we're going to have a lot of problems." She pointed out earning a returning glare from Fury. The fact that he was arguing with a teenager was enough to make him question his life choices but the fact that she was calling him out on the outlandishness of his operation was enough to make his blood boil.

Though his pride was unwilling, he managed to release his irritation with a deep sigh. The entire program rested on his ability to train and create the next line of defense and though it frustrated him, the only 'defense' he had was Y/n.

"Look. I didn't recruit you because I wanted you to be Stark." He began, the tension that built in his shoulders and between them easing some as he spoke. "I recruited you because you have the potential to be someone just as great."

Y/n tried to fight the warmth that spread through her chest. It had been the kindest thing said to her in months and her need to please others simply jumped for joy at the praise.

Her once defensive posture slacked a bit as she fell back against her chair, sending him an irritated yet pleased look. "You're strangely motivational. Were you born like that or did you take lessons?" She questioned, her snarky manner returning with the lightness in the air.

"I know a guy." Fury shrugged before returning to his work. Y/n rolled her eyes, growing used to the way that everything he said had to hold a bit of secretiveness.

"If you say yourself, I will slap you regardless of who you are." She replied, lifting her legs up and placing her feet up onto the desk. Fury eyed them with a disdained look before pushing them off with one swift movement.

"You know that code name is all the more fitting with that attitude of yours." He countered, slightly entertained as her feet fell back to the floor forcing her to sit up right. Her expression remained annoyed unable to muster up the effort to glare at him once more.

"Tony Stark wishes he had an attitude like mine." A short scoff escaped Fury as Y/n crossed her arms, a smug smile tugging at her lips.

•••

The months that followed were easier with her new found purpose. As Fury had hoped, giving her more details on the project insured her compliance and even inspired her to take on more tasks and missions.

It was a few months after their discussion before he decided to untrust her with Project Insight. With the help of the 15 year old genius the work went smoother and a lot of the technical issues they faced either became minor inconveniences or vanished all together.

And with her new access to the labs containing some of the most advanced technology she spent almost all her free time tinkering away. Whenever Fury asked what it was she was devoting so much time and energy to, she immediately shut him down, a little embarrassed by the idea of telling him.

But it didn't stop him from checking surveillance in the lab. He had to confess it was a pretty good replica of the famous Iron Man though he'd never tell her. He was almost tempted to alert Stark that his precious suit wasn't as exclusive as he'd hoped.

Though it was slow at first and unwanted, Fury grew used to Y/n's presence and rather than a nuisance she became a normal figure in his life. He'd never admit it but whenever she wasn't at his side or where he'd left her a small bit of panic would set in. The instinct Maria pointed out to be paternal was often and annoyed him beyond belief but happened nonetheless.

The feeling seemed to be mutual because Y/n frequently came to him with anything and everything that happened during her day to which he reluctantly listened.

"Some of the other agents were talking about their countdowns. I can't wait to get mine." Y/n spoke, glancing up at Fury as he faintly listened from his desk. Not yet satisfied without his full attention, a mischievous smirk curved onto her features and she leaned on her palm to look at him. "Who's your soulmate?"

The hard stare he directed at her would've been enough to make a grown man quake but Y/n had become immune to such glares. "None of your business." He replied, his tone callous and indifferent. But Y/n noticed something, a fleeting glance to his left just before he spoke.

Her knowing smile riled through him and he huffed, moving aside his monitor to properly scowl at her. "Is it Maria? Nah she's too nice to be your soulmate. Or maybe it's one of those opposites attract types of situations?" Y/n unleashed every thought that buzzed through her mind and Fury wasn't sure which one to be most enraged by. So he remained silent, allowing her curiosity to brew.

Sensing his disinterest in answering her she sat up, moving to climb to her feet. "Well, I guess I'll just have to ask Ms. Hill." The sigh that filled the air was playful as if getting the answers she so wanted was a chore but Fury knew she had no issue in seeking out the woman in question.

"Leave her be. She's leading a covert mission right now." He cautioned. Y/n paused, sinking back into her chair as he folded his hands. "She's my soulmate, is that what you want to hear?" His confession sent a bit of joy through her from being right but she didn't speak her pride, instead allowing him to continue.

"When she joined S.H.I.E.L.D we found out we were soulmates but we never let it get in the way of our work." The explanation came easily but the troubled expression on his face was anything but. She almost felt a bit guilty for dragging the truth out of him.

"So you guys aren't together?" For the first time ever, she watched him shift uncomfortably. His action only seemed to urge her to press more, sensing him beginning to crack.

"We are a part of the percentage of the world with platonic soulmates." He described. She nodded slowly, not believing him for a second. She may have only been there for a little under a year but she had never seen such a profound bond between two people. A little envy from their relationship had established itself in her even if it was a 'platonic' relationship.

"Does she know that?"

Fury froze, his single eye widening ever so slightly. She'd struck a nerve.

"Y'know what? I'm done telling you shit." Fury snapped, turning away from her with an agitated growl. Y/n instantly sat forward, guilt grasping hold of her creased brow as she scrambled to apologize.

"Wait no, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It came rushed but was heard making Fury haltingly glance back up at her. Her lip had been pulled back between her teeth as she chewed at it nervously. "My-my mom used to tell me that just because I know a lot doesn't mean I need to know everything. She usually keeps me in check but-..."

Her words dropped off into a deafening silence. Y/n tended to question everything and while her mother believed it to be some form of OCD her father argued it was just her paranoia. Whatever the case it led to a lot of frustration for those who were being interrogated and Y/n realized for the past year Fury had been the focus of that.

His hardened expression faltered and if one truly studied his expressions they would recognize a bit of remorse had surfaced to match her own.

"I really miss her. My dad, too." Y/n confessed, solemn and longing. "I wonder if they're mad at me. Maybe that's why they haven't tried to visit me."

An unfamiliar pang of guilt hit Fury's heart and his gaze fell onto the file in front of him. Anywhere to avoid looking at the child before him. How was he supposed to tell her that her parents had tried to see her? Tell her that each time he sent them away, insisting she was safe and that they should leave? Tell her how many letters and calls they'd received from them over the past year in hopes it might reach her.

How did he begin to make up for such a wrong yet necessary act?

"Maybe it's time you visited them." The statement left him before he even had a chance to properly analyze it. What was he thinking? Letting her leave would compromise the whole project.

But he couldn't help it. Something deep inside him needed to make up for all the secrets and lies and his unwanted connection to the girl only justified his actions.

"Really?" Fury nodded, yet again surprising the both of them.

"I'll have an agent take you tomorrow. But only under one circumstance." He told her, the seriousness he was known for returning. She nodded instantly ready to pay whatever price to see her family.

"You must come back to S.H.I.E.L.D."

A tense feeling she'd only felt upon her arrival rested in the air, easily thick enough to make her choke. But the excitement she felt outweighed any rational thought.

"I promise."

Part three

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heroprose · 4 years

Note

Monoma comforting his s/o after they flub their Sports Fest fight?? Look im a simple anon i only wnt hurt/comfort

a/n. i don’t often do angst or angst adjacent prompts but i had to make an exception for mister monoma here......anywhomstve thanks for requesting!

it’s transparent to see the way weariness clings to your form, dragging the corners of your mouth perpetually downwards. and you looked so small-- slouching in your seat and over the plastic table, with your chin resting on your crossed arms. but the worst part of it all was that you could hardly spare him a glance.

he’d taken the seat across from you and had full view of the expressions on your face. if he extended his hand, he could easily reach out to wipe your brow or take your hand in his and rub his thumb over your bruised knuckles. but for now, he just sits, taking you in sincerity and hoping you’d give him unspoken permission to cross that barrier.

you keep your gaze leveled downward, stopping just short of neito to stare particularly at the table. it’s hard to see you this way-- unnerving, even. he managed to usher everyone out of the break room to give you some space, but for him to leave you now too just felt wrong.

“hey,” neito eventually breaks, his voice deliberate and calm. “let’s go watch the next match.”

you’ve obviously heard him, but you don’t respond immediately. he observes the way you suck in a breath, and patiently awaits your response-- but when you let it out in an exhalation that’s slow and loud and shaky in the empty break room, the polite smile neito sports stutters away in a blink.

“hold on,” you say, your jaw working. “i just-- i just need a moment.”

he can’t help the sigh that leaves him. it’s so hard to see you this way. not for his own sake but for yours. honestly, it renders him a bit ill, even.

“don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself?” neito says, as noncommittally as possible. “i mean, yes, you lost-- but you put up a good fight. like, did you see some of the other kids out there before you?” an exaggerated noise of repulsion leaves him, only half in jest. “horrible technique. pathetic, really. even i could operate their quirk better.”

“not helping,” you mumble in response, but you finally lift your head. your eyes glitter and something cold builds in the pit of his stomach. you look as though you might cry-- although whether out of frustration or disappointment, he’s not entirely sure. “you can leave, you know. i think i’m going to be here for a bit.”

“me? leave you?” neito scoffs. “absolutely not.” he’s never been too good at consolations; the best he can do now is stay with you until you feel alright. it’s the least he could do, anyway.

“really, neito, i’ll be fine. i don’t need--”

“maybe not,” he interjects seamlessly. “but i need you right now. can you humor me?” when you fail to answer, he shrugs.

a silence unfolds in the cold room before another sigh escapes you. he lets his eyes linger about the walls and ceilings before gradually making their way back to you.

“i messed up,” you whisper.

he purses his lips and looks at you in a tilted gaze, raising his chin. “so you did. it happens.”

“i feel terrible.”

“i know,” he says. “and so what now?”

“what?”

“what are you going to do now?”

“i don’t know,” you say miserably. “cry a little, probably. maybe even repress it in my memories.”

“sounds like a great idea if you want to lose in the exact same manner as today again.”

an exasperated but amused noise leaves you unexpectedly and something flutters in neito’s rib cage. “is neito monoma giving me a lecture? astounding.”

“excuse me? i don’t lecture. it’s a pep talk.”

“i don’t feel very uplifted, i have to say.”

“no? please, let me try that again then.” he clears his throat. “you’ve worked hard. sometimes things don’t work out. we move on.” shifting in his seat, he plants his elbows on the table. “it’s gotta be tiring to always be thinking about all the what if’s. i don’t recommend that. is that better?”

“perhaps,” you answer mildly. you sit up straighter and wipe at the edges of your eyes. “man. i’m embarrassed.”

“again, you didn’t even do that terribly-- remember the guy from the first match who was totally wiped--”

“no, i don’t mean the match. i mean,” you pause to collect your thoughts. “i mean right now.”

neito stares. “right now?”

“don’t i seem like an idiot? getting so caught up in something like this?” you groan, pressing your palms to your eyelids. the movement conceals your face from him and he wishes he’d stuffed his handkerchief into his tracksuit pants before arriving here.

“mm,” he says. “i don’t know about that.”

“you’re right though. i’m not the only one who lost. you lost too.” when you lift your hands from your face, the red that lined your eyes seemed to alleviate a little.

neito coughs. “okay, hold on-- i lost because of that dork from-- it’s fine. anyway. let’s move on, yeah? together.”

“yeah.” you press a thin smile before shakily pulling yourself out of your chair. his eyes trail you as you pull around the table towards him, extending your hands as if to help pull him up. “let’s go back.”

“of course,” he replies. a flutter of a grin resumes on his mouth as he takes your wrists. as he stands, he kicks the chair back in one fluid motion and pulls you close. the chair scrapes against the floor in an unpleasant but brief screech, but he pays it no mind when he leans in, his breath brushed against your ear.

“i do intend to see you do better the next time, though.” his inflection is familiar; haughty and provoking, you know he means only the best.

“i could say the same to you,” you counter and he only clicks his tongue, humored, as he turns his mouth to your cheek.

#neito monoma x reader #monoma x reader #monoma neito x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines

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halequeenjas · 4 years

Text

It’ll Cost an Arm and a Leg || Alain & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Alain meets with Jasmine to discuss selling his home and buying a new one.

Who could have known that the hardest part of going to Ms. Hale’s real estate agency would not be the crutches (he had abandoned the idea of using a wheelchair after his first encounter with the sidewalk), but rather running into people he vaguely knew from his job as a mechanic, and who just had to ask him how he was ? Alain who did not want to be late, and had, even when he had two legs, never liked making small talk with people, had to find a polite way to tell them to fuck off and leave him be. After all, he had never really had a thing for caring about other people’s business, and he wanted people to feel the same about him. The less they knew, the better. And so, he had to use this trick that managed to make anyone feel uncomfortable and like you did not care : calling them by the wrong name. It was a simple trick that allowed you to politely indicate that these people were not your friends and that you would not talk with them any longer. Obviously, this was not the attitude he would have with Jasmine Hale. She had to know a few things about him in order to help him sell his house and purchase a new one.

Pulling the door open with the crutches was another hassle, and the man found himself smiling at that stupid door with the most annoyed grin on his face.

Coming to the office and working on real estate was a welcome distraction to the sheer volume of ghost related problems that seemed to be piling up on. Jasmine knew her ability meant it was her duty to protect people from malevolent spirits and help some pass on, but it got exhausting after a while. Real estate was easier. Lives weren’t put on her shoulders when she was showing properties and helping people find their dream homes. Plus, the pay out was a lot more money for a lot less stress. This particular morning she had been preemptively working on advertisements and open house dates for Alain’s home. Finding him a townhome he liked would be no problem. She had a few lined up she was sure fit both his budget and lifestyle. These were solutions she could easily provide with no sweat off her back. Not that she could do much of her other work with her arm currently broken. She’d be putting herself and others at risk if she even tried. So she’d knock out as much real estate work as she could. She’d been looking through some listings when she heard some struggle with the door. She was quick to get up and open the door for him with her good arm. The arm in the black cast gestured for him to come in. “Hello,” she greeted with a bright smile, “You must be Mr. Babineaux. Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like some coffee or tea? I have some water bottles in here as well.”

“Thank you,” Alain gave the door one last annoyed glance before turning his attention toward the amicable woman. “The leg gave it away, huh?” He asked, walking in with the help of his crutches. He was still not used to walking with those, but already more comfortable than he had been when he got out of his hospital room about thirty minutes ago. Several times, on his way to here, he found himself repeating to himself that this would be okay, that he would be okay. Everyone had kept on assuring him that it was possible to live a normal life even with a whole limb gone, and he had decided to listen to them. What other choice did he have? Giving up had never been in his nature, but this one hardship seemed to have been the one droplet of water that had managed to make him drown. He was grateful for the people that had checked on him, Kaden, Erin, Blanche, and even Evelyn. The thought brought a thin smile to him. Sitting down by her desk, he looked over at Ms.Hale, a perplexed look on his face. He could have coffee, right? “Coffee sounds good,” he nodded, putting his crutches to rest against the arm of the second chair. He did not really want to leave his countryside home, but there was something inevitable here. He could not afford to live alone, away from all commodities. “Thank you,” he added, eventually. It was not so much about the coffee, but rather about the fact that she had been so swift. Maybe he had expressed anxiety in his message, or maybe she was just effective like that. Either way, he was thankful.

Though Jasmine hadn’t known about the leg thing prior to their meeting, the first floor home made more sense now. Not that she loved stairs either, but walking up stairs with 5-inch heels was way different than walking up stairs with crutches. At least she imagined so. While she was curious, she wasn’t going to ask too many questions about it. She laughed slightly at his joke and retorted, “Well, my only other appointment this morning is Mrs. Belsky and you don’t really look like an elderly Russian woman.” There was a humorous grin on her face as she turned around to pour some coffee for her client. She always kept a hot pot going so she'd have something to offer anyone who visited her office. She admittedly also loved the smell. There was a bit of a struggle as she was still getting used to the cast on her arm, but she managed to pour a mug without making a total mess. With a mug in her good hand and a cup of cream and sugar packets in the other, she took careful steps back toward her desk. She was almost home free when she felt herself become unsteady. She caught herself well enough to not spill hot coffee all over herself or Alain, but she did manage to send her bag falling from her desk. Internally, she cursed herself as the loud clang of iron rods hit the floor with salt spilling out after them. She let out a sigh and set the coffee down in front of Alain. “Well, if the coffee wasn’t going to wake you up. That surely did.” She collected the iron rods, salt, and assorted tubes of lipstick that fell out of her purse from the ground. “Sorry about that. Promise I’m not some sort of freak or anything. Doing a couple of crafts and repairs for a showing I have later today.” That sounded legitimate enough.

“I knew I should not have gone out without a scarf to cover my hair,” Alain’s smile dropped, as if he was feeling remorse for failing at dressing like an old Russian lady. “Maybe next time,” leaning back in the chair, he looked as she poured coffee. He had no idea of how it was that she had broken her arm, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that this was not due to her falling down the stairs. He just tried to recall, now, just how many times he had broken his arm, his leg, through all these years. It seemed like he had stopped counting at 10. Who could blame him? There was something inevitable here. And there was no point to keep counts as the number would just keep on growing. The sound of metal hitting the ground brought him out of his thoughts. How long had he been lost in his thoughts this time ? Could not have been more than a few seconds, right? “I… right, thank you for … waking me up,” his voice faltered as he glanced at the things scattered on the floor. Salt and iron rods. Right. Not exactly typical. His brows furrowed, and he glanced back at the realtor with a perplexed look in his eyes. “That’s a lot of salt. Probably a lot of lipstick too. Not that I’m an expert. We don’t have that in Russia,” he was not here to discuss why she got hurt, or who she really was, just like he was not here to discuss his injury and how he got it. “So, how are we going to do this?”

Jasmine had an amused grin on her face as Alain went along with her joke. In any other situation she’d make a joke about how he was far too handsome to be an elderly woman, but given the professional setting she simply laughed along. While flirting with clients probably could have gotten her farther in some cases, Jasmine prided herself on her professionalism among many other things. Though her little display of accidentally spilling ghost weapons and makeup out of her purse was far from. She’d never broken any bones before and outside of clashing with literally every single outfit she owned, the cast was making it hard to navigate. She recovered quickly with a bright smile and responded, “Any time.” The mention of salt and lipstick was only mildly concerning. What possible excuse could she have for the salt without him thinking she was one of those new age fake wiccan chicks? At least he said it in a somewhat joking manner so she laughed along. “You never know when you’ll have a lipstick emergency. Have to have a shade for every outfit.” Maybe if she just glossed over the salt thing, they could move on to a subject that didn’t make her seem like a total White Crest freak. Thankfully, he was asking about the process now which was a lot easier to go over. “So, I do already have some listings I’ve picked out for you to check out that I think fit the bill of what you’re looking for. I’ll be setting up an appointment for you to meet with a mortgage broker so we can get you preapproved so we can immediately put an offer in if you find a place you love. As far as selling your home goes, I’ll be coming by with my photographer so we can get some top tier photos for the listing I’ll put in the MLS. Do a few open houses. I do like to stage the area so I may do some little touches here and there around the house. Always have a vanilla candle going during showings too. Makes it’s smell home-y.”

“I really don’t relate to that, but I’m going to trust your word on this,” he cleared his throat, coughing lightly in his hand, although it was clear that he just had a smile to hide here. She had not made any comments on the salt, but considering salt was something mostly used by hunters, he had no business asking too many questions although he did wonder what it was she dealt with. As far as he was concerned, his only experience with salt had been his attempt to keep a mara away. Attempt, and success. The subject went back to the house seeking question, and he stopped thinking about hunting then. Or at least, for a few. He wondered if asking to be away from cemeteries was suspicious or not, but figured that it was a legit worry for some people, not having a room with a view on tombstones. “I forgot to precise, but I really would rather not have a view on a cemetery. We have so many in town that it might make it a lot harder, but… that’s just so morbid, you know?” Sure. Morbid. He had always been great at pretending to be normal, but never a great liar, and he hoped that she wouldn’t ask more questions about this. He doubted that she would, but that still worried him. Many things did, but losing a leg did put things into perspective. “Okay, that sounds great. I’ll have a couple hospital bills to pay, but that’s alright,” he was speaking mostly to himself here, thinking aloud. “I’ll start packing some things as soon as I get home. The house will look less cluttered. I suppose that’s better. I’ll try to keep the dogs out of the house. They have a way to make the place smell home-y in a different way,” he wrinkled his nose. He missed his dogs so much and he could not wait to see them again. It was nice to know that Kaden and Nell had been taking care of them, but it was not the same as seeing them.

“Right, of course. No lipstick in Russia after all,” Jasmine joked with an amused smirk on her face. At least he wasn’t pushing on the salt thing and she much preferred to keep their little joke going. It seemed he was likely clueless as to why someone would be carrying salt around anyhow. Crafting seemed legitimate enough. They were now focusing on the purpose of this meeting and it was much preferred. Jasmine took a seat in her leather desk chair and listened as he spoke. All his requests seemed easy enough though it was curious that he noted the whole cemetery thing. Not that she wanted to live near one either. Last thing she wanted was to see ghosts right outside her window. “I think I can manage to find something without a cemetery view. I’m not a big fan of them either. Definitely a little morbid and home should be cozy not morbid.” She quickly jotted that down on her notepad just to be sure she didn’t forget. Not that she usually chose places near cemeteries. Well, occasionally she did. There was always some young white couple who wanted their home to be spooky which she never understood. Who wanted to literally live in a Stephen King novel? Not her, that was for sure. As he mentioned the dog smell, she refrained from scrunching her nose and nodded slowly. “That’d be perfect. Generally better to not have them in the house during showings anyhow. Some people are afraid of dogs of all things. I’m sure a few candles would give us just the vibe we’re going for. Maybe I’ll do maple candles, that’s totally a remote home vibe.” Touching on the previous thing he said, she added, “I wouldn’t worry too much about the hospital bills affecting your preapproval. Those don’t generally impact credit. I hope they weren’t too bad though. I know medical expenses here can be through the roof.” She thought briefly of Nell and Bea and their current medical debt predicament. “If you do end up needing some debt consolidation for those, I know a guy… Actually, I pretty much know a guy for everything. Anyway, did you want to take a peek at some of the listings I thought may work for you and the pups?”

“I would rather avoid having a morbid house, yes. That’s what I was looking for when I renovated the house I live in, something that felt like home,” and somewhere lost in the middle of nowhere, where he would have quiet and peace for whatever he chose to do there. Through the years, a few vampires had shown up by his doorstep, and you could not afford to have the neighbors watch you drag them inside, could you? That was simply out of the question. With a pleasant smile, Alain glanced away from the realtor to have a look around the office. The place was tidy and there was something about the way it had been arranged that made him feel uncomfortable. Of course, Ms Hale’s charming demeanor helped as well.

“Of course, I’ll make sure to move their belongings to the garage, and to have them with me at work during showings,” he probably would have commented on the candles more if it was not for the fact that he had not a damn clue about those. The last time he used candles was when the power was cut for a few hours a few years ago, and he could not find the camping lamps. And you were safe to assume that those emergency candles had no scent to them. The idea of putting perfume in his house seemed a bit too much to him, but if people would buy it faster that way, then he would go with it. She knew her job better than he did, this much was sure. “I know a guy for everything.” His tone, as he repeated that sentence, was not quite the same as hers. His, was perplexed, as if he questioned what that could mean. “Well that’s ominous. You don’t seem the type to work for a crime lord but you never know in this town,” leaning forward, he glanced over at her monitor, wondering if she was going to show her something there, of if she had printed out something for him. Maybe both.

“Thank god. As much as I’m willing to oblige the weird hipster trend of spooky houses, it’s not my preferred place to be,” Jasmine said with a laugh. Usually those houses had ghosts galore and it always made her skin crawl. She got rid of them or warded off the homes for the sake of safety, but it still left her entirely perplexed. How could someone just want to live in a haunted house? Not that all ghosts were malicious by any measure, but the more they hung around and decided they didn’t like that you re-painted, the more unstable and dangerous they became. Not that these people had any actual understanding of that. At least this Alain guy seemed to have some actual sense even living off in a remote part of town had never been her cup of tea. There was a huge difference between enjoying your privacy and having a dangerous morbid fascination with the more occult aspects of the town. Not that she avoided hauntings, but she didn’t want to live with them.

“Perfect, if this weekend works for you, I’ll come by and get the photos done,” Jasmine answered with a relaxed grin on her face. Of her current clients, Alain seemed to be fairly easy going and it’d be simple enough for her to find what he was looking for. She set her notepad down on her desk and rummaged around her drawer for a card for the mortgage broker that she set near her for the time being as she noticed a shift in his tone. Her face was confused for a moment as she realized that her statement did in fact sound a little ominous. A laugh filled the otherwise still air and she responded, “Oh, god no. I definitely didn’t mean it like that. I’ve just lived here my whole life and I’m well connected so hence… a guy for everything. You know, like handy work, business, or like tech-y things.” Also, had people for magic and muscle but that just sounded crazy. She recovered quickly and had her signature smile back on her face. “Please, me and crime don’t mix. Do I look like I could survive in prison? Or that I’d be caught alive in a polyester jumpsuit?”

“Oh so that’s a trend among hipsters, alright,” Alain’s raised eyebrows and small smirk told a lot regarding his opinion on hipsters although he could not recall ever meeting a single person who approved of these people. “Well, good for you if they want those houses, they can’t be easy to sell,” his eyebrows raised further more as he got even more exasperated by some people’s stupidity. Jasmine probably would think that he had a strong distaste for hipsters and cemeteries, which he did not really mind. There was nothing weird with that, right?

“I don’t really go to work these days, but I’ll be home this weekend,” he nodded to further his agreement, smiling back as he thought of all the crap he would have to hide in boxes before Saturday came. Great. Sounded like a great time. Then, he did not have much of a choice, unless he wanted whoever visited the house to know about his strange passion for all things undead and medieval weaponry. Far from ideal, really. Her laughter caught him off guard, and his eyebrows furrowed as he locked eyes with her. Well, at least he had made her laugh, that was something. Shaking his head, he raised his hands apologetically, “look, in a town like that one, don’t blame me for having several questions about this statement,” she was truly easy to speak to. He wondered if this was genuine, or all part of an act meant to sell more. It might have been a mix of both. “I don’t know, I don’t know you enough to assume that. I might be surprised,” he gave her a shrug, although her last comment brought a deadpan look to his face, “I’m sure you could pull it off, not a lot of people can pride themselves with that,” he grimaced, “so I’m guessing you didn’t break your arm in an underground fighting ring? How disappointing,” he sighed.

“I can’t say I get it, but they have some weird fascination with things being haunted or occult without any actual understanding,” Jasmine responded with an amused grin on her currently red lips. It seemed like he had the same distaste for people who were obsessed with haunted houses though Jasmine’s issue was more with people endangering themselves without even realizing it. Probably better to not mention that. That was a whole can of worms that would likely make her appear crazy if he wasn’t already privy to the more unsavory aspects of the town. “Odd trends have their perks, I suppose.” It wasn’t like haunted houses always looked haunted anyway.

“That makes sense,” she said with a small nod and a sympathetic gaze, “I’m sure adjusting after the accident hasn’t been easy. I can help out with tidying up and clearing clutter if the clutter isn’t too heavy. If you’d like, that is.” Did she just offer to help clean? Was this some sort of out of body experience? She didn’t even do her own tidying, she paid Lauren for that. Too late to rescind the offer now. It’d look bad and this client was both selling and purchasing through her. That commission could easily fund some holiday fun. Maybe if she went right back to the joking, he’d forget she’d made the offer? “You make a fair point, but I can go ahead and tell you prison and I would not get along. Aside from that, I’m totally cool with the whole following the laws thing. They’re there for a reason.” As much was true. Plus, doing the right thing was always better. Her parents could have taken a lesson from her on that one. She laughed at the idea of her in a crime-fighting ring. “I’m flattered really. Afraid the real story isn’t quite that exciting. Just a bit of a clumsy moment with a tree.” That she was thrown into by a ghost. Semantics, really. “I’d look better in than most. Would still rather not. My bed is far too comfortable to give up for a prison cot.” Was that a good recovery? She didn’t know. She liked to think the easiness of their back and forth kept him from being too suspicious.

“Well their loss. This town has a way to remind you that stories are told for a good reason,” he shook his head and sighed. Alain doubted that the stories he had been told as a child were the same as the one most people had heard, the ones that she had heard. In his books, SnowWhite was a vampire coming back from the dead, and the Prince a hunter who staked her in her coffin. To someone unaware of what was going on in town, what he said could appear as slightly odd, or a bit too serious, and for someone aware, it was just telling.

His brows furrowed however, at her next offer. He did not know what it was with women with their arms in a cast and offering help with packing boxes, but Jasmine was the second to make him this offer. From Erin, it was expected. She had always been supportive, and she probably felt bad for the bear incident. He hardly blamed her for it. “No such thing as too much help, especially while I’m still recovering,” to think that he could have carried half his furniture on his own, and that now, he would need help for this. Unacceptable. “Thank you for the offer,” he added with a tight lipped smile. Well if this did not show that he still had no idea of how to accept help from people or how to thank them. His people skill had never been anything but rusty, but you would think that some things could get better with age. Alain shook his head as she admitted to having a vicious fight with a tree. “Well let me know if you want to … get revenge on the tree, anything,” his shoulders raised briefly as he scoffed. His arms crossed over his chest and once again, shook his head at her. “That is by far the best reason someone has given me for staying out of jail, so congratulations, Ms. Hale,” he lightly touched the tip of his nose and looked away from her for a second, moving his hand to scratch a leg that just wasn’t there. It’s only as he touched the fabric of the chair that he looked up with a confused look on his face. “Saturday is when you stop by, right?”

“That they are. Doesn’t stop the high schoolers from turning it into a party game,” Jasmine said as a nod to the kids who summoned Bloody Mary and in turn the Sand Creep. There was no way for her to discern if they knew what would happen. Probably not what Alain had meant anyway. Unless he had. She wasn’t about to do a supernatural chicken game on a first meeting with a client so she wasn’t about to push it. On the chance he was totally normal, she’d rather him think of her the same. The whole “I see dead people” thing was a little too M. Night Shyamalan for most.

Jasmine could have cursed herself for offering to help pack up some of the clutter while she was there. While she had a broken arm at that. Had she completely lost her mind? It’d be far too rude to rescind the offer now, so she smiled and said, “Of course! It’ll help me get an idea of staging before we start showing the place.” It was true. She hated it a little bit, but it was true. At least he really wasn’t Mrs. Belsky. She’d have to hear stories about every single creepy angel figurine if that was the case. Somehow, this seemed preferable. Unless he secretly collected dolls or something. She caught herself from blurting that thought out loud and instead said, “Yep, Saturday mid morning if that works for you.” As he moved to leave, she was quick to open the door again. She offered a warm smile and a wave as he left. “I’ll see you Saturday, Mr. Babineaux!”

#wickedswriting #it'll cost an arm and a leg #alain

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pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Jokes

Chapter 11

The past several minutes were piecemeal to Tommy. He could infer what had happened based on the clues around him, but when he tried to recall the actual event occurring, details slipped away, like he was remembering a dream.

The facts were these: he was sitting on the floor. That was good - the floor was solid and he always found lowering his center of gravity stabilized him. Gordon was beside him. This was also good. He was trembling slightly and he looked severely rattled, but had incurred no further injury. Dr. Coomer was there, too, sitting cross-legged in front of them.

And there was another Dr. Coomer laying a few feet away. And another one beyond that. And another. And another. The air was thick with the scent of blood and the room just as much so with the bodies of clones. They were riddled with holes.

Tommy could connect the dots. He was the only one present who was armed.

What stuck in his memory quite well, however, was the look Gordon gave him after it happened. Frightened and dazed and a little awestruck, pupils blown wide and mouth parted in shock. Tommy wasn’t sure what it meant; whether he had scared Gordon with that act of unbridled violence or if the man was just grateful to still be alive or something else entirely. It was a weighty look. Settled heavily in Tommy’s chest.

Dr. Coomer - the living one, the original - was smiling mildly at them, as if Tommy hadn’t buried two slugs of lead in his chest only moments ago. Tommy stared distractedly at the crimson soaking into his shirt while Gordon pried information out of the scientist. What was his near death experience tally up to now? Double digits, at least. Gordon’s voice was remarkably steady for what he had just gone through, but when Tommy slid his gaze toward him, he noticed how shaky his hands were, how stark the whites of his eyes stood out. He was still very much afraid.

He wordlessly shifted so that his knee was pressing into Gordon’s leg. Just enough to give him an anchor. His hands were otherwise occupied with his rifle, which he had laid across his knees in a latent threat. Having to murder Dr. Coomer dozens of times had taken a swing at Tommy’s resolve, but he’d do it all over again if it meant keeping Gordon alive. He could carry this burden for him, at least.

Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away. Now wasn’t the time to lose his composure.

Dr. Coomer, to his credit, seemed relatively unbothered as he answered Gordon’s questions. “Well, Benrey and Bubby have been… whispering for some time about how to handle a problem.” he paused delicately. “I believe the problem is you, Dr. Freeman.”

Gordon was doubtful. “A pro – why am – is it my trackers? The GPS trackers?”

“I think they’re just spiteful,” Coomer guessed.

Tommy snorted. Sounds about right.

“What have I done to th - t-?” Gordon stammered, outraged. “They’re fuc - they’re assholes, man. I don’t - I have like-” he paused, collecting his thoughts. “We’ve all killed people,” he iterated.

“Yes, but we all have our passports,” Coomer pointed out.

“Passport?” Tommy repeated.

Benrey was really fixated on that, huh? He idled over that thought for a moment, wondering if it was all an elaborate stunt to fuck with Gordon or if there was more to it than that.

Dr. Coomer responded congenially. “Passport!”

Beside him, Tommy felt the shaking in Gordon’s leg grow more pronounced. “If I – if it’s-“ he took in a steadying breath, then spat out the rest of his words in frustration. “If this is over a goddamn passport, I will strangle that bald fuck with my own one hand.”

The old scientist’s eyes lit up. “Can I help?”

“Yeah, you could d – you could do the other hand,” Gordon allowed, giving him an appreciative look. “That’d be fun for you, I bet.”

“Exciting!”

Gordon laughed hoarsely. “Yeah, well, at least you can give me a chuckle. Did you know – where’d they go, where are they?”

“Well, I lost them,” Coomer admitted. “I was spending the past few minutes trying to hunt you down and find out where you were. We got separated, you see.” He cast a somewhat bemused look at the bodies littering the floor at the bottom of the stairwell. “I see you encountered my clones.”

“The nightmare,” Gordon echoed hollowly. “I encountered the nightmare.”

Dr. Coomer furrowed his brow in a serious look. “Now, Gordon, it’s only safe to warn you. I felt everything they felt.”

Tommy couldn’t suppress a flinch. He didn’t remember how many bullets he’d fired in the past few minutes, but judging by the carnage it had been quite a lot. Having been shot before, he was intimately aware of how much it hurt to have a bullet rip through one’s body. Trying to reconcile that kind of pain all at once in rapid succession made Tommy unable to meet the scientist’s gaze.

Gordon’s laugh was all nerves. “He was the one that did that,” he clarified, and he gave Tommy’s shoulder a squeeze in an attempt at reassurance. “Just so you know. Tommy killed all of those.”

Coomer was still smiling. “Oh, I’m quite aware,” he remarked, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Fine shooting, Tommy!”

Tommy grimaced and didn’t respond. It wasn’t forgiveness, but he’d take it. Gordon rapidly changed the subject.

“Okay. So… do you have any idea what we can do about this?” he asked, gesturing to the stump where his hand used to reside.

Dr. Coomer scratched his jaw contemplatively. “Well, clearly climbing inside of your arm and wearing you like a puppet didn’t work, so perhaps I could help you find… something to help.”

The distant sound of water dripping was all that could be heard for a moment while Gordon paused. “That was the scariest sentence I’ve ever heard,” he finally muttered. “Okay, let’s – s – so let’s go. Yeah.”

Coomer nodded. “Hello, Gordon.”

“Is there – augh, man – Maybe we can h–” he broke off, suddenly remembering. “The Cybernetics Department! Where is that?”

“Oh, I believe it’s next to the Lambda Department,” the old boxer answered.

Gordon’s broad shoulders slumped with relief. “Oh, so it’s on the way,” he sighed gratefully. “Oh my god.”

Tommy finally spoke a full sentence for the first time since they’d sat down. “I know where that is,” he commented. “They – I wandered in there once because they have a lot of cylinders that look like soda cans, but I was told they’re batteries.”

He felt Gordon shake slightly as he let out a soft guffaw. “Did you drink them?” the other man asked expectantly, brows raised, eyes twinkling, cheeks dimpled with humor.

Tommy smiled fondly at him. He could replace the sun with Gordon’s dazzling grin.

“I tried.”

---

Navigating Black Mesa’s maze of conveyor belts was a headache, but they managed. It took a lot of spatial interference on Tommy’s part to keep Gordon from plummeting to his death every few minutes. His sense of balance was completely shot. At least the mood had somewhat been lightened by Dr. Coomer’s grim joke about the ‘Skull Grinding Facility.’ The old boxer was in much better spirits now that his clones had been eliminated, and while Tommy didn’t necessarily trust him, he at least wasn’t posing an active threat.

He was past the point of finding Black Mesa’s batshit insane experiments humorous anymore. He just wanted to go home.

They inevitably encountered more aliens. Crates full of them. Were they being held here purposefully? He didn’t give himself much time to think about it as he mowed down the creatures, rifle in hand. Coomer flanked him, wreaking havoc with his fists, while Gordon - unarmed, unhanded - very wisely took cover.

“Sucks being helpless, man,” he sighed once the room was still.

Tough. He could be helpful by taking advantage of that med kit beyond the sliding door. Tommy kept an eye out for any encroaching monsters while Gordon fiddled with the cabinet. He heard him let out a crestfallen exhale.

“It had like, two… fucking seconds of juice left.”

Tommy passed him a snicker. “Two blood?”

“Two blood,” Gordon confirmed, an elastic smile leaping onto his face. “Two CCs.”

“Maybe if we bump the machine, there will be some more hidden in there,” Coomer suggested, quite reasonably, before emitting a startlingly loud shout and hooking a punch at the med kit.

Gordon leapt away from the dent in the metal, but he was laughing.

“Usually that works,” Dr. Coomer intoned, while Tommy’s shoulders shook with amusement.

As they headed down the hall, Gordon’s laughter could still be heard in between footsteps. “Honestly, guys?” he began, a smile in his voice. “Really, I think I - I love you two.”

Tommy’s mouth was halfway open to form a response when he remembered what a collective affirmation was. He bit down on his words. God, how hopeless could he get?

He was saved from having to dwell on that when they encountered Bubby’s cloning tube. Tommy felt a surge of loathing when he saw the prototype encased inside, trapped, pathetic, and oh so guilty. Sure, he couldn’t kill the guy permanently, but he could undoubtedly make his death agonizing.

Something in Gordon’s voice, however, stayed Tommy’s trigger finger. The way he growled, “hey, motherfucker,” low in his throat made his scalp tingle. Bubby looked to Tommy pleadingly, palms pressed against the glass, but he just returned his stare coolly before leaving Gordon to handle it. He deserved his revenge.

“Gordon, I just want you to know-” Bubby began, but Gordon cut him off.

“Do I look any different to you?” he asked, displaying his injury.

The scientist cringed away like it was a brand. “I never told them to do that,” he claimed. “They uh, they fooled me!”

Tommy scoffed. He didn’t want to hear Bubby’s sob story. Siding with Benrey was like cuddling with a cobra, and it was Bubby’s own fault he’d been bitten. Shouldering his rifle, he began poking around the room, tuning out the conversation while Coomer remained at Gordon’s side.

In summary, Bubby pleaded ignorance, managing to assure Gordon that he had been coerced by the entity into betraying him. Tommy was less convinced, but if Gordon wanted him to come along, he’d let him. Dr. Coomer vented some of his frustrations by whaling on the glass for a while, and his disposition was much more agreeable than it had been when they entered. Gordon gave him the go ahead and the boxer hit the release button.

As Bubby, wholly relieved, stepped out of the shattered remains of his tube, Tommy made a point to send him a threatening glare. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t be coming along with them at all. But he still tossed the prototype a weapon and half a chance. Slip up and you’re dead, his stare told him. Bubby snatched the gun out of the air and gave Tommy a tight-lipped smile. He got the message.

Their progress through the facility was much quicker with an additional team member. They cleared the way ahead for Gordon, who stumbled along after them, leaking out blood. Tommy’s satisfaction with their pace was soured somewhat by the appearance of a skeleton that flickered in and out of his line of sight. So the entity was loose again. Took the lazy way out of spatial entrapment by offing himself, it seemed.

Gordon, visibly shaken by the entity’s presence, suddenly found himself unsteady on his feet. Tommy urged him onward with a reassuring hand at his back, throwing a spiteful look over his shoulder at the skeleton as they went.

---

A few more hellish sectors brought them to a series of industrial lasers. Tommy stepped thoughtfully from room to room, quickly realizing that this puzzle was essentially just designed to blast through the facility wall. Would be nice if they could just use a door, he thought with some disdain. What an expensive, impractical stunt.

Gordon was woozy and nauseous - a state that probably wasn’t helped when Dr. Coomer had nearly rendered him unconscious with laughter by calling him “Dr. Pussy” a few minutes earlier. While he sagged against a doorway, barely managing not to barf, Tommy elbowed him in an attempt to distract.

“‘Nother triangle, Mr. Freeman,” he said, indicating the sizable prism being used to refract the laser’s beam.

Gordon gave him a foggy look, uncomprehending. “I don’t think those have to do anything with any of this.”

“I believe they do,” Bubby contended, striding confidently past them into the control room. “I have deduced that lasers can blow a hole in this wall for us to escape.”

Coomer chimed in as he jogged after him. “Gordon, it’s very important that we don’t obstruct the laser shield, as the sign says up here.”

“I’m going to obstruct it,” Bubby said.

They followed the scientists into the control room. Tommy matched his pace with Gordon’s in case blood loss caused him to lose his footing again. God, he was tired. But Gordon was halfway to death and steadily slipping closer, so there wasn’t exactly a wide margin for rest.

“The power from the triangles will guide us through this,” he quipped, and he was rewarded with a thin, breathy laugh.

“So, hey,” Gordon called to the group. He halted, stationary, in the middle of the room while the rest of them puzzled over the laser. “I lack the mental fortitude to refute anything you say to me. Who wants to be the de facto leader?”

Bubby pounced on the opportunity from where he stood at the console. “Cool. I call dibs.”

“Hey, hey.” Gordon backpedaled immediately. “Wait, wait. No,” he cast a complicated look in Tommy’s direction. “It’s Tommy,” he said, and his voice held the weight of truth in it. “It’s only Tommy. I only trust Tommy.”

Tommy reeled, pressing a hand unconsciously to his chest and feeling his heart beating out a rapid rhythm beneath. He had to grab the coattails of time and yank. Pause everything around him for just a few seconds so he could study that exposed, vulnerable expression on Gordon’s face. It was the same look he had given him after he’d lain waste to Dr. Coomer’s doubles earlier that day - open, fragile, a little wonderstruck. Eyes so deep Tommy thought he might fall into them.

It’s only Tommy. I only trust Tommy.

What a badge of honor. What an indescribable burden. He allowed himself a few moments to stand there, unknotting the emotion in his chest, before finally releasing his hold on time. The Science Team moved on without noticing the interruption. And Gordon’s words pounded in Tommy’s pulse for the rest of the day.

Chapter 10 <-----> Chapter 12

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #blood #violence #guns #hlvrai

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Faith, Hope, Love (Rated PG)

Summary: On Christmas Eve, centuries ago, Crowley catches Aziraphale performing numerous acts of breaking-and-entering. The reality? A bit more heart-wrenching. The outcome? Mildly humorous. So he decides to lend a hand. (2669 words)

Notes: Written for @potterheadandsherlocked . I used a real German painter from the approximate time period as inspiration, and points to the possible origins of a certain Christmas legend. XD

Read on AO3.

A small village in the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, 16th Century

A silent night.

No clouds, but a howling wind.

A full silver moon, throwing shadows on the ground.

Between them, a figure glides, moving about the houses in the square, keeping to the walls and peeking in the windows.

He opens the doors a crack and sneaks inside, a pack on his bag so laden with packages it should slow him down.

But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t so much as press his feet into the snow so he leaves no prints behind.

Cloaked in red and white, covered in feathers like an upright standing dove, the figure flies from house to house, dipping in and out so quickly he appears as only a blur between blinks.

An ephemeral streak against the dreary landscape.

The figure reaches the final house – the smallest of the lot, leaning with every breeze that blows. His hand reaches for the knob, ready to give it a turn, when a secondary figure creeps up behind him – one without his gift for secrecy.

“Hello, Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale’s hand jerks away from the door in surprise. “Do you have to keep doing that every time you see me?” He peeks behind him, glares into poison yellow eyes.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Well, well, well, isn’t this a sight.” Crowley smirks, arms crossed over his chest, though that’s hard to tell in the outfit he’s wearing. “Breaking into houses on the holiest night of the year? Tsk tsk, Aziraphale. If you wanted to fall so badly, you could have just come talk to me.” I would have talked you out of it, he thinks bitterly.

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Aziraphale hisses.

“You could have fooled me. I’ve been watching you – running in and out of these houses with that pack on your back, full of ill-gotten goods. And …” Crowley leans back, his smirk growing, eyeing up and down the blood-red cloak the angel has on, shielded by his wings curled around his body. “What on Earth are you wearing?”

Aziraphale’s right eyebrow shoots up on his forehead. “You should talk. What poor creature did you mutilate to make your get-up?” He snickers as he looks down the demon’s body at the shaggy jacket and trousers he’s wearing, reminiscent of a muskox, horns included, fixed to the hood, and … Aziraphale’s brows draw together. “Are there … hooves on your shoes?”

“There are indeed,” Crowley says, overly proud since he knows he’s being made fun of. “They’re quite useful for walking through all this ice and snow.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the door. “I’ll bet. Now, if you don’t mind …” He gives the door a shove, ready to resume his work, but it’s stuck. He pushes again. It seems to push back, actively resisting. That’s when he realizes …

“Crowley! Stop holding the door shut!”

“Nope. Not until you tell me what you’re doing.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. But it’s been a long night. I’m bored.” The demon sniffs. “Amuse me.”

Aziraphale sighs. He doesn’t have the time nor the patience for this. But it has been a long night. Aziraphale could retaliate – blow the door off its hinges, knock Crowley down the mountain to boot. But neither is worth the effort in the long run.

Plus, he runs the risk of waking someone up.

“If you must know,” he starts haughtily, “I’m not stealing anything. I’m giving.”

“And what are you giving, angel?” Crowley’s voice becomes softer – not just in volume, but in tone. It makes Aziraphale want to mirror it.

“Hope. In the form of food, warm clothes, a few toys for the kids.”

“Ah, I see,” Crowley says, his soft tone turning sour, and Aziraphale is sorry he let his guard down. “Church attendance low in this town or something?”

Aziraphale sighs again. “Something like that.” He’s not necessarily offended that Crowley would boil everything down to that. God doesn’t happen to be one among his favorites. But for Aziraphale, it goes farther than humans occupying the pews in the rundown shack of a church outside town. It was put there by the same people who force these people to work from sun up to sun down with little to no compensation so why should they attend? And since that’s been happening, keeps happening generation after generation, why should they have faith at all that the Almighty is going to fix that for them?

No, Aziraphale doesn’t care that only three people here still attend church every Sunday, or that they’re the only ones here who pray. He cares that very few people in this town want to go on living, that more and more men risk the dangers of the ice and cold knowing that they won’t return.

Betting on it, in some case.

That’s what concerns Aziraphale more than anything.

He wants these people to have something to believe in.

He needs them to see that there’s a brighter future ahead.

“How many houses have you been to tonight?” Crowley asks.

“I … I don’t know. About two hundred? Maybe three? I started at the bottom of the mountain after sunset …”

Crowley tuts. “Why don’t you use a miracle? Do all the houses at once? Unless …” He tilts his head, eyes Aziraphale dubiously “… you don’t want Heaven to know what you’re doing? Do you?”

“This doesn’t happen to be one of my official assignments, no, so I thought it best not to bother Heaven.”

“But why not? They’d give you a commendation, right? Or don’t they think giving food and toys to poor people is worth a miracle?”

“Whether they do or not isn’t the point,” Aziraphale says, hoisting the sagging pack on his back, hoping Crowley will take the hint and leave him to it. “Sometimes it’s nice to do things without someone else looking over your shoulder.”

Crowley nods. Then his eye widen. “Oh. Should I … should I leave then? Do you want to be alone?”

Aziraphale stares at the bizarrely shaggy demon, balanced expertly on two hooves, a bit too much on the nose for Aziraphale’s taste, and smiles. “No,” he says with a muted chuckle. “That’s all right. Stay, if you’d like. I’d appreciate the company.”

“All right-y then.” Crowley beams, all too pleased, and Aziraphale begins to wonder if he made the right decision inviting him along.

Oh, well. Too late now.

Aziraphale turns back to the door. The warm comfort of Crowley’s body presses against him as the demon prepares to follow him inside. Aziraphale’s smile, which had been absent most of the night, blooms. What a comical duo they must make to outside eyes, he thinks. But what on Earth will he tell people if they get caught? Aziraphale can pass himself off as Saint Nicholas, of course, but Crowley? Will the mortals believe that he’s Aziraphale’s tall, gangly pet? Some kind of malformed reindeer, perhaps?

They’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.

He opens the door slowly, thanking God when the wood doesn’t creak, the hinges don’t whine. There hasn’t been any rain since the snows set in and the doors have been dry as bone. With not a single soul awake, the square is still full of conversation, the houses spreading gossip that can be heard for miles with every wind that blows.

Crowley steps into the house behind him, catching the door when Aziraphale lets it go and closing it, careful not to make a sound. With the door shut, they should be plunged into darkness, but there are so many cracks and holes and uneven corners, pricks of blue moonlight shine through. Inside the house feels more like an ice box than a home, the coals in the stove having long since given up the fight at keeping the place warm.

“This poor family,” Aziraphale mutters as he puts down his pack and sets to work. “A mom and two children, one crippled, father gone. How they manage to keep food on the table, I can’t understand.”

“Sounds like a miracle.” Crowley strolls the small living area, examining the nothing this family owns but this two-room hovel, the lot of them huddled together in the next room, fast asleep.

“I wish it was,” Aziraphale says, unpacking a box of oranges, another of walnuts, sacks of sugar and flour, small pouches of molasses and peppermint, and a brown burlap wrapped side of bacon. Then he sets out some brightly painted wooden blocks, a toy train, a set of eight water colors, a soft doll with real yarn hair wearing a pretty blue dress. Crowley watches the angel pull more and more items out – a few warm blankets, trousers, shirts, and shoes, marveling at its capacity.

“That’s some bag.”

“Made it myself.”

“Any alcohol in there.”

“A bottle or two. Mostly for use as medicine, for good moms and dads.”

“Party pooper,” Crowley grouses. “Probably the shite stuff anyway, ain’t it? Knowing angels ...”

“Hell---hello?”

Aziraphale and Crowley look at one another, both of them wide eyes and rigid spines. The first to his senses, Aziraphale spins around quickly, curling his wings around himself, hiding his face behind long, white feathers that make him appear to have grown a beard.

“Hello, little boy,” he says in a huskier version of his voice, one that makes Crowley choke on his tongue. “What’s your name?”

“H---hans,” the boy stutters, creeping out further into the moonlight. “Hans von Aachen.”

“Hello, Hans. And what are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I heard voices. I’m the man of the house, so I came to investigate.”

“Are you now?” Aziraphale says fondly, sadly, since this man of the house can’t be older than ten.

His lack of nourishment makes him look eight.

“A-ha.” The thin boy looks up at the angel in awe. “Are you … Saint Nicholas!?”

“Why, yes,” Aziraphale lies confidently since he’d intended on going with that explanation all along. “Yes, I am.”

Hans gasps. “I was hoping you’d come! My momma, she says that she would pray and pray and pray for you when she was my age, but you never came! But here you are! Oh!” His hands flutter in excitement. “I should go get her! Tell her the good news!”

“Oh!” Aziraphale glances over his shoulder at Crowley, subconsciously asking for help. Crowley is better with children than Aziraphale, after all. Luckily, Aziraphale hadn’t encountered one till now. “That wouldn’t be …”

“Don’t do that,” Crowley steps in. “No need to bother her. She needs her rest.”

Crowley’s voice attracts Hans’s attention. When he lays eyes on the demon towering above him in his shaggy suit with hooved feet and a hood of horns on his head, the boy’s paper thin skin goes pale.

“Who … who are you?” Hans asks in a shaky voice, pointing a fearful finger at Crowley’s face.

Crowley looks to Aziraphale for an appropriate response. But since the angel doesn’t seem to have one, Crowley decides on one for himself.

It gives him a wicked giggle, too.

“I’m a demon!” Crowley growls before Aziraphale can stop him.

Hans’s breath catches in his throat. “B-but … why would Father Christmas be traveling with a demon?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, unamused, “why would Father Christmas be traveling with a demon?”

“I’m …” Crowley hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead, but he recovers quickly “… I’m here to punish all the bad boys and girls! Stuff them into baskets and take them down to Hell for an eternity of punishment!”

Hans gasps again, stumbling backward, literally shaking with fear.

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale mutters.

“You’re not a bad little boy?” Crowley asks, slinking towards Hans, tilting his head left and right in jarring ways. “Are you?”

“Oh! Oh, n-no! I’m not … I’m not bad! I pr-promise! I swear!”

“Leave him be,” Aziraphale says, taking a snarling Crowley by the shoulder and pulling him back behind him. “Don’t worry, dear Hans. My traveling companion won’t hurt you.”

Hans nods, but he continues to look unsure. He takes a step towards Saint Nicholas, but the hissing, spitting demon keeps him away.

“Wh---what can I do to make him leave?” Hans asks timidly, but in Aziraphale’s eyes, with great courage.

Crowley stands up straight, gazing thoughtfully at the little boy worrying his lower lip with gapped teeth, the two up front too big for his mouth. “Does your mum keep any alcohol in the place?”

Aziraphale puts a hand to Crowley’s chest and pushes him towards the door. “Just run along to bed, Hans, and go back to sleep. And for being such a good boy, such a responsible young man, I’ve brought presents for you and your family. You may open them in the morning.”

“Oh thank you, Saint Nicholas!” Hans cries, jumping up and down with a joy that overwhelms his fear. “Thank you so much!”

“And remember!” Crowley calls after him. “Don’t tell a soul you saw us! Or I’ll be back next year with the basket!”

“You’re a horrible demon!” Aziraphale says when the boy has squirreled himself away, back onto a straw-stuffed mattress with his mother and brother, a touch of angelic magic seeing him off to his best ever dreams, and a new thick wool blanket covering the three of them.

“Well, duh.” Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s sack, ties it at the top, and tosses it over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

***

Soho, Christmas 2019

“How do you like your present?” Crowley asks, pouring himself a glass of the rare red vintage Aziraphale acquired for him through less than angelic means.

The acquisition is an integral part of the gift.

Buying Crowley a bottle of his favorite wine isn’t any fun. He can do that for himself. Hiring an ex-member of a cartel to steal it from a local mob boss, just to have both gentlemen cornered in a dark alley and arrested seconds before they’re about to take one another out however?

That’s another story.

One that Crowley reads over and over with every glass he pours, every sip he savors.

“It’s lovely,” Aziraphale says, pushing wrapping paper aside and opening the book Crowley gave him. He flips through the pages, focusing mostly on the plates and not the words just this once. He stops on one page that Crowley had bookmarked with a red satin ribbon. The plate on this page features a lesser known painting by a famous 16th century artist, of Saint Nicholas and the demon Krampus, huddled by the dusty grey hearth of a creaky, hole-infested matchbox of a house, laughing over something the viewer may only speculate about. But unlike similar paintings of this stolen moment, it’s the demon that looks fondly on and the saint that seems to have a glint of mischief in his blue eyes. The painting is so finely rendered, so intricately detailed, it could be mistaken for a photograph if not for the handful of visible strokes signifying otherwise.

Aziraphale searches for the signature, his suspicions confirmed when he sees the name etched along the bottom in gold - Hans von Aachen.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” Aziraphale hovers delicate fingertips above the image – the first painting Hans ever sold. It rescued him, his mother, and his brother from that ragged shack, brought his whole town out of poverty. “But please, tell me one thing?”

“Anything.”

Aziraphale lifts the book, displaying the painting for Crowley to see. “How did that whole Don’t tell a soul you saw us or else! thing work out for you?”

“I’d say it worked out rather well …” Crowley slides onto the arm of the sofa, bumping his husband’s shoulder with his hip “… if it gives people hope. Faith. Something, anything, to believe in. Don’t you?”

Crowley leans down, lips puckered, fishing for a kiss, and Aziraphale, chuckling at his ridiculous, shaggy demon, lifts his chin to give it. “I guess I can’t disagree.”

#Good Omens #ineffable husbands #Potterheadandsherlocked #goodomenssecretsanta #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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kurokoros · 4 years

Note

hear me out: Akaashi Keiji, roommates au! trope: meeting messy & prompt #30

my first official one-shot for hq is an Akaashi fic. who would have guessed. there’s some language and mildly crude humor in this one. it took me a hot minute to figure out how to do a roommate au + meet messy, but I think it turned out okay! also, I see Akaashi as the quiet teasing type, so I hope the characterization is okay!

“Oi! Yakkun!”

He shrugs with one shoulder, casually ignoring your friends arguing behind him. “We heard you might need help moving boxes later,” is all he tells you.

Kai only nods, smiling again. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. It shouldn’t take us more than twenty minutes.”

Before you can respond, Yaku shoves himself under Kai’s arm to pin you with a firm look. “If he tries anything, go for his—”

You make a face. “I’m hanging up now.”

He cackles. “We’ll be there soon. Be safe.”

Of course, that’s the moment your morning goes from bad to worse.

You’re so busy working your phone into your pocket with one hand and juggling a box with the other that you don’t see the man hurrying towards you, also not paying attention to his surroundings.

Dark blue eyes flicker up to meet yours, wide in alarm.

You’re already halfway down the street before he regains his bearings; you don’t notice his eyes following you until you disappear.

…

A brief text to Kuroo informs you that they just got off the subway, but should be here soon. You shift your weight from one foot to the next, biting your lip as you continue weighing your options.

Eventually you just say fuck it and slide one of the bobby-pins from your hair. No one has to know.

Unfortunately, picking a lock isn’t nearly as easy as you’ve been led to believe.

“Seriously?” you grumble, jiggling the doorknob and squinting at the pin you have jammed into the lock. Maybe this was a bad idea. Now you definitely look like a creep.

“Need any help with that?”

He clears his throat, staring at you expectantly; you blush, face burning as you realize you’ve been gaping at him openly.

You wet your lips, trying not to squirm under his intense gaze. It’s analytical, but not calculating, and your breathing hitches as he continues to stare. “I… yeah.”

You should apologize, right? Yeah, you should totally apologize for spilling coffee on him and yelling at him in the middle of the street.

He follows you inside and shuts the door, meeting your eyes as you spin around to look at him. “I’m really sorry about—”

The corner of Akaashi’s mouth twitches like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “So,” he starts casually, dark eyes watching you carefully, “when would you like to move in?”

#haikyuu!!#akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq #haikyuu #hqdrabbles #hq drabbles #Anonymous

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spideypool504 · 4 years

Text

Little Things

KamiDeku

Kaminari x Midoriya

Denki x Izuku

The gentle morning sun is what woke up Midoryia this morning. Which he's thankful for because normally Denki is the first one up, which just would not do for what he has planned today.

It's their tenth wedding anniversary and thankfully it's Izuku's turn to plan something for them. Ever since their first anniversary when they first started dating 15 years ago when they were 17, they've unintentionally slash intentionally switched off every year with the planning.

Three years ago Denki surprised him with a three day trip off of work to go to America to visit Izuku's parents in New York. After his mom got remarried to the really nice man, James Barnes, they lived in Japan for around six years before moving to America. They visit every few years or so and he and his mom talk to each other every Wednesday like clock work, but for Denki to go out of his way to not only get them the time off but book the tickets and plan things with his mom and step dad and fly them all the way to America? Izuku fell even more in love with him than he thought was possible.

Then again Denki does things daily that make him fall more and more every day since their first together. It's small things like bringing him a cup of coffee made just how he likes it on his breaks even when Denki has days off. Small things like making sure to bring an extra one of Izuku's jackets with them to work because he knows that his husband will most likely get cold later on that night but won't admit to it unless he sees the jacket in Denki's hand. Izuku loves all the little thing Denki does for him in their daily life both at work and at home.

He's the sweetest most loving person Izuku has ever met and it is a privilege that he chose Izuku to spend his life with. Izuku knows how lucky he is.

Not only is his husband the sweetest, but he's also the most handsome and adorable person around. He's not the only person that knows this, the more than several magazines that have come out over the years ranking Denki as the cutest thing alive proves him in his drunk rants. He's just speaking facts.

Denki knows Izuku better than he knows himself and takes care of him so well that he does his damnedest to make sure his husband knows just how much he means to him. That he really truly is the love of Izuku's life.

So this year he's decided to make sure Denki knows it irrefutably.

First on the list is go make breakfast for this human form of sunshine. Which sounds easy enough but that includes getting out of bed without waking up said sunshine who is currently latched onto him with a vice grip with no signs of loosening anytime soon. He's going to try though.

He starts with the arms that are wrapped around his chest and clasped together at his side. Denki's often said that if he doesn't hold hands with himself while he cuddles Izuku then his arms will just fall to the side and "that's just not real cuddling babe". He can hear his Honey Bee's voice in his head and he has to hold back a chuckle but lets his smile make up for the suppressed chuckle. So he takes Denki's hand that's resting on top and gently pries it away from its twin.

Which is when Denki intertwines their hands together and snuggles even closer to him. Okay so at least he's got his hands unwrapped from around his chest, even if it did create another obstacle to get through. He just has to try to slip a pillow in his place and he should be good, right? Well he slowly starts to slide his shoulder out from under the blonde's head, keeping it level with his hand so he can put a pillow under him and then-

He's up.

He's staring right at me with amused sleepy eyes.

He's got his eyebrow arched in a way that he knows I know that he knows what I'm trying to do.

"Are you trying to es-capay my sweet husband?" The humor in his voice brings a blush to the tips of Izuku's ears.

Izuku mildly panics and draws out a "Whaaat? I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just laying here giving my husband the best cuddles, and I'm being accused of trying to leave him. I'm hurt. Truly." Izuku throws his head back on the pillow and huffs dramatically.

"Just callin' it like I sees it." Denki shrugs his shoulder that isn't pressed to the bed and smiles up to Izuku. "Why were you trying to get up though, KuBear? We don't have to be in to the agency till tonight. What nefarious plans are you up too, good sir?" He snuggles his face into the broad and scarred chest in front of him, wiggling his body in content like a puppy would, even though they're 32. Well Denki is 32, Izuku's birthday is in a few days, today being July 9th and all. But he's positive that his short blonde husband will remain a child at heart for the rest of his life. He can't wait to see a grey haired Denki pulling pranks on their friends, it's going to be great.

"Nothing too serious, I just wanted to make you some breakfast before you woke up." Izuku pouts his bottom lip out because now his plan that started with a surprise breakfast is no longer a surprise. Even though he knew if he didn't give up his "nefarious plans" he would have gotten a zap to the hip till he gave them up.

"Aww! Babe! You're too sweet to me." The blonde stretches his neck out to reach Izuku's and plants a soft chaste kiss on his lips. He pulls away before it Izuku can even process the kiss.

"Uh uh, come here." He pulls his giggling husband back to him and smiles into the kiss he gives the blonde. There's no fighting in the kiss, it's all soft passion filled to the brim with love. 15 years, countless fights and smile, laughs and tears and they're still hopelessly in love with each other. They truly married their best friend and it was the best feeling in the world.

When they pull away from each other, Izuku is almost blinded by how big and bright Bee's smile is. He's mesmerized by it every time he's graced with it. With nothing but pure warmth and joy in his heart he starts covering Denki's face in kisses. He starts with his nose and then his cheeks to his eyelids, from there to his forehead and then hugging him to his chest and a finally kiss placed on the crown of his head. He breaths in the smell of thunderstorm with is so distinctly Denki that he's come to look forward to when it rains so he can be even more surrounded by what reminds him of his love.

"Okay, so I already had something in mind to make for breakfast but any suggestions or special requests?" His muffled by the hair he's burrowed himself into but he knows Denki heard him, or at least he knows what was asked. Just like he understood Denki's muffled response that was muffled into his chest.

"Well what did you have in mind?"

They pull away from each other and Izuku squints an eye at him and asks, "Well what do you want?"

Denki squints back and it's quiet for a moment. Then they're both smiling at each other. "Same time?" They're in sync with their speech. They give a small laugh and nod to each other.

"1"

"2"

"3"

"Banana stuffed french toast with chocolate chips"

"I knew it." Izuku does a little victory wiggle of his head at knowing exactly what his husbands favorite breakfast is.

Denki sits up to give a full deep from the belly laugh and lightly pushes Izuku's shoulder while he's still laying down. "You dork!" he laughs loudly again and scoffs. Then the cracked door flings open and the bed dips and there's a total of two tiny bodies and a wiggling pit bull piled onto the bed with a 16 year old leaning against their doorway.

"I told them they had to wait till at least one of you were up and being loud. They heard y'all laugh it was on. Happy anniversary Dad and Pops." Wade sounds nonchalant but there's a really big smile plastered across his face.

"Thank you, sweetheart. Wanna come join the pile? You know you wanna." Denki enticed their oldest son to come join the pile including his brothers and family fur daughter with a waggle of his eyebrows and overly big smile that pulled his face tight.

Wade laughed at his Dad's antics and came to sit next to Izuku who wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders. The whole family was in the King sized bed and the small family decided that before they got up for the day they'd watch an episode or two of cartoons, just because they could.

Izuku watched his family enjoy the morning with no worries in sight and felt content with the world. He began to think back on how they'd gotten to where they were right now and smiled back at his memories.

While the two were in America visiting Izuku's parents, they ran into the then 13 year old. Like Wade literally ran into them. After settling the situation between Wade and the shop owner who accused Wade of stealing, which he didn't by the way, they walked the boy back to the orphanage he lived at. While they walked him home, they got to know the boy and were actually sad when they finally reached the orphanage. The boy ran had run inside before they could ask him any questions so they left back to their hotel room.

He and Denki talked about it all night before canceling their lunch get together with Izuku's parents, telling them that they had something important pop up, but not to worry because they were still going to make it for dinner that night. Then they made their way back to the orphanage that they'd dropped the boy off at and walked inside to speak with the social workers. When they told the social worker there that came to the front desk after recognizing them, when they mentioned Wade by name the lady had gotten exasperated with the situation before they'd even said another word. She told them that she apologized for whatever Wade had done to them and said that she'd make sure to reprimand the child herself. Then she went on a mini rant about how terrible of a child Wade was and Denki had cut her off before Izuku could, which was probably for the best.

Well what happened then is for another story. By the end of Denki's quiet and polite "go fuck yourself" rant the head social worker, Pepper, had shown up and taken them into her office in the back. She actually listened to what they wanted and needed to say and to say she was just a little surprised at what they wanted was lying. She had brought them to one of their meeting rooms the was filled with toys and had a table and two sets of chairs in the middle of the room. There were also bean bags so of course Denki had drug one over next to the table and plopped down on it. Before Izuku could call his husband an "overgrown child" and ask him to pull another one over for him, Pepper had walked in with a disgruntled Wade.

He had looked surprised to see the two of them but sat down with a weary eye nonetheless. The boy had seemed to be on edge like he wanted to get right to the point, so with a quick look between Izuku and Denki then the former just came out with it. "We want to adopt you."

The way Wade's face went from surprise to excitement and then watch his face fall and then have him tell them, "I don't to be adopted by you. Either of you." He looked heartbroken.

Then he had startled at Denki asking him,"Why's that? Is it because I accidentally zapped you? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean too! I promise my quirk doesn't misfire almost ever anym-"

"It's not that. I promise." Wade held his hands out to stop Denki from trying to apologize any further. Which had calmed Denki down considerably, he'd always been afraid of accidentally hurting anyone with his quirk after a small electrical fire when he was younger that burned his mom.

"Oh." Denki paused and then looked back up to Wade. "Why then? If you feel comfortable telling us that is. It's okay if you're not, we're not here to push you into anything that you don't want. We're just curious if there's anything we can do to maybe change your mind? We'd really like for you to be apart of our little family." Denki looked hopeful but there was an acceptance in his eyes that told Izuku that he'd be crushed if Wade decided in the end to not allow them to go through with the adoption. It would be hard to walk away but he knew neither him nor Denki would force the boy.

Wade stayed quiet for a moment and looked around the room for a moment till Pepper spoke up. "How about I go get some water for everyone? Would it be okay if I left you with Izuku and Denki for a moment Wade?" Wade looked up to the red head and gave her a small smile before nodding. "I'll be right back then." With that she nodded at Izuku and Denki and closed the door behind her quietly once she stepped out.

Wade's shoulders dropped a bit like he'd relaxed when he heard the door close, it made Izuku quirk his eye up and look towards Denki who was almost hyper focused on the boy in front of them.

"Would you like to tell us now? Or is it something you'd rather to keep to yourself? We'll understand either way, Wade." Izuku tried this time, letting him know that it wasn't just Denki who was hoping to fix whatever it was that was keeping Wade from telling them that he wanted to be apart of their family.

Wade was quiet for a moment before he uttered out a quiet reply. "I'm sorry, I just get kind of nervous around any of the worker here. They don't really like, Mrs. Hogan is really nice to me, but I just don't want to accidentally say or do anything that would change that." The duo nod in understanding, they'd noticed the side looks they got mentioning Wade's name. They didn't like it one bit.

"That's okay, there's no need to be sorry." Denki was quick to reassure the brunette boy. Wade nods and then looked like he wanted to say something and then bit his lip to stop himself. "What? There's basically nothing you could tell us that we'd get mad at, hun." The word "hun" coming from Denki in his Japanese accented English was... it was something else. He's so glad he spent so many hours with Denki on his English work in school. He struggled sometimes but he was pretty fluent because of all the interviews the duo have ended up doing in the past 13 years of being pro heroes.

"It's just," Wade looks like he's struggling to find the words to put with his thoughts, "they're not going to be mad, White." There's a pause and the husbands look to each other in concern. Was wade okay? "They said they wanted to know how to fix it, they actually want us. No, Yellow. Just because they'll know about him won't mean they'll just throw me to the side. They said they wanted me first, they can't go back on that. But they're not like the others White!" Another pause and the duo look to the boy in concern, what was going on in the boy;s head?Wade had his face turned towards the table so they couldn't see his expression but they could tell from his voice he was getting desperate in his thoughts, or conversation it seemed. Izuku almost had a flashback to when he used to mumble bad when he was still in school. He only really ever did it anymore when he was really excited or nervous or stuck in an extra delicate or complicated situation. This though seemed like Wade was talking to someone, two someones, in head head. "Peter!" The two across from the boy jumped a little at the outburst.

"Peter who Wade?" Izuku asks him quietly when nothing other than the name comes from the boy's mouth.

"Parker. Peter Parker. My best friend." Wade looks up with tears brimming on his eyes and Izuku sees Denki clench is hands in his lap to keep from going to hug the boy who seemed to be almost on a mental break.

"What about Peter Parker, Wade?" Denki is quiet in his question trying to not startle the boy.

"I can't leave him. I can't leave him here Mr. Midoriya." Wade's bottom lip wobbles and Izuku knows his husband is already on the move to hug him before he even looks over. "Pete is so tiny and he gets picked on because of his quirk and I have to protect him because he doesn't deserve that! Just because his quirk lets him be like a bug doesn't mean he is one! Spiders aren't even bugs! They're arachnids! But none of the kids care so they call him Bug Boy and it hurts him and it makes me angry and it makes me want to hit them but if I did that then Peter would get mad at me and then he'd be sad because he's mad at me because he hates being mad at me and then I get sad because he's sad and I JUST CAN'T LEAVE HIM!" Wade was full on sobbing into Denki's chest now and they could barely make out half of what Wade said but Izuku heard enough to be mad.

With both Izuku and Denki being victims of bullying as children they knew how bad other kids could get when they latched onto something. Izuku growing up quirkless and Denki growing up being teased for his quirk misfires, it was hardly a thought they needed actually discuss with words. Just one look into Denki's bright yellow eyes and Izuku was up and walking out of the room to ask Pepper to find a little Spider quirk boy named Peter Parker.

Peter now sat snuggled next to Denki, who was holding their youngest and newest addition to the family Hitoshi. Hitoshi was supposed to be just a foster child that was with them for a short while but with how well he got along with Wade and the way he and Peter almost clung to each other through mutual bullying experiences over their quirks and the way Denki looked at him like he was already apart of the family, Izuku had just filed the papers to adopt him not even a full three weeks after he started staying with them.

Wade was almost as broad shouldered as Izuku, so he laid back in Izuku's lap with his arms crossed. Their rescue pit, Knick Knack, was contently laying at the foot of the bed sleeping not bothered by the random laughs and giggles of her family.

Izuku looks over to his right and finds his husband mid laugh at something Bugs Bunny was doing and fell just a little bit deeper in love with him.

It's mornings like this filled with hundreds of little things with the love of his life and his sons that keep him happy.

"Pops, I'm hungry. Can you and Wade make breakfast already?" Peter pipes up from his position cuddled into his Dad's side.

Izuku chuckles and asks Wade, "Wanna help me in the kitchen?" Wade's head thunks against Izuku's chest to look up at him and then a smile graces his face accompanied with an enthusiastic nod of his head. "Alright, then." Izuku turns his had to kiss Denki, Peter, and Hitoshi's foreheads. A groan comes from all three of them.

"You're blocking the screen Pops!" Peter pouts at him.

"Yeah Pops!" Denki sarcastically agrees with Peter with a pout of his own.

"Alright, alright. We're going. I'll come get you guys when we're done." The smile on Denki's lips warms his heart.

He and Wade duck under the television that's mounted on the wall and make their way out of the room to happily go make their family breakfast.

#kamideku #bhna kaminari #kaminari fluff #bhna deku #midoriya izuku #denki x izuku #husbands #fluff #bnha fluff #deadpool #spiderman #mha shinsou #adoption #aged up

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wrathofthewind · 3 years

Text

iv. Child

A bowl of hot soup hadn’t been the trick. Once Arnalt had taken that young boy to his palace from the Jungles of Tahr, it required several bowls, more than a few butchered pigs and quite the large amount of bags of rice. The boy was insatiable. It wasn’t a normal appetite either, any stomach would’ve given out. It shouldn’t have been so alarming, but with rumours of his status as a Kurian child, the state in which he arrived, the hunger with which he ate— in an unrefined matter no less, it didn’t take long for the kitchen staff to stop sending out dishes.

“More.” Arnalt demanded, his chilly gaze sweeping over the service.

“Sire… we, we’re not able to continue.”

“What, did we run out of chickens? Is the State in my name so devoid of birds?”

The servant daren’t speak, but they had already crossed a line. Any other household would have them released. That’s probably what they wanted.

“Here then,” Arnalt tossed his bow and signaled with his chin towards the bag of arrows in the corner of the room. “Go hunt something then. Pallax!”

Pallax came walking swiftly.

“Can it be we really ran out of chickens?”

“Sire, they…”

He waited for the servant to clear the room. Nervous glances thrown sideways at both him and Tyssen.

“They don’t want to keep… feeding a Kurian.”

Arnalt pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly rubbed it, eyes closed.

The boy started coughing behind them. Arnalt approached him and slapped his back, making him spit a bone.

“No wonder you’re choking. Slow down!”

Pallax grimaced.

Nobody wanted to touch the Kurian, or look at the Kurian, or acknowledge it was there anymore. But Pallax was a loyal vassal, and willingly stepped in to try and place a fork and knife or other cutlery on the child’s hand.

Arnalt smiled at him brightly. “Thank you.”

It disturbed Pallax momentarily, who nearly dropped the fork. But just as quickly, Arnalt was once again stern-faced and pacing the room. He then sat in front of the child on the table.

“You.”

The boy didn’t pay attention, so he snapped his fingers in front of his face to draw his eyes. “Yes, you. What’s your name?”

“Mar… Marius.” He tried to speak between mouthfuls. “Marius Ihnat di Aedan.”

“So you do speak.” And had a strong name actually. Arnalt had already assumed the boy probably came from a wealthy merchant family, with the quality of his tattered clothes and the few jeweled accessories they found in his pockets. It seemed he might be of one with rank and title too.

“What about your age? You look about 7? 8? Do you know how to count?” Arnalt raised his palm up to try and signal the numbers with his fingers.

“12.” He chewed the remaining bits of rice and potatoes in his mouth and swallowed briskly, immediately reaching for another bowl of soup and drinking it down, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with large gulps.

Arnalt and Pallax both blinked, looked at each other, then back at Marius.

“That’s… then why do you look so…” Pallax said.

Arnalt lifted a hand to stop him. “Nevermind, so you’ve been quite hungry haven’t you?”

Marius nodded and finally seemed to be done with the food he could safely consume. He burped generously and quickly covered his mouth.

Arnalt snorted, while Pallax looked offended beyond belief. “Such lack of manners in front of his Highness, how dare—“

“It’s alright, he doesn’t understand what I am.”

“You’re the prince.” Marius said simply, his eyes suddenly wide and honest. “You’re the seventeenth prince, his royal highness Arnalt Azuria. The Eagle.”

He sounded like a pamphlet. Arnalt was mildly shocked. “Right.”

“…”

“Where are you from?”

“…”

“How did you end up in the Jungles?”

“…”

And the most difficult question. “Where are your parents.”

“They’re gone.” Marius looked down, fixating on his lap.

“I see.” Arnalt didn’t know what else to say.

“I know what they say. I know I’m cursed. Is it true this is my last meal?”

A lightbulb suddenly popped in Arnalt’s head. He started laughing heartily, slamming his fist on the table and shaking all over with his head lowered. “Is this why you’ve eaten all my chickens? Hahaha!”

Pallax was mortified.

Marius’s eyes watered.

“You silly child. I was just confirmed and crowned into the Azurian pantheon thanks to that Vegna Spyralia you carried in your fist.” Arnalt felt his face grow a little hot suddenly, having called him a child wasn’t quite right, considering he was only 4 years younger, but his body looked so young he couldn’t help himself. He wondered how long he’d been malnourished in those Jungles. It must’ve been several years. How did he learn to speak so eloquently? Why did he know his name, rank and title? How was he informed of the goings on of the world? Did he sneak out of Tahr? He might’ve unknowingly contaminated others so Arnalt made a mental note to order a full territory sweep. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, I’ve granted you my Mercy. You will not die under my watch, you hear me?”

The boy’s wet eyes blossomed, his arm immediately coming up to wipe at his suddenly wet cheeks.

Arnalt thought it was both a silly and happy occasion, so he kept laughing to Pallax’s horror. “Now, now, no need to cry. You’re safe.”

“I see.” Marius said, his voice trembling. “In that case…” he sniffed and composed himself, straightening his shoulders. “Use me as you will. I pledge myself to your house.” Marius lowered his head solemnly. It was a bit amusing coming from someone so young, who looked so much younger than his age.

Arnalt smiled, his chin resting leisurely on the back of his hand. “As you wish.”

***

With the battle aganist Ithana squared away and scheduled, and a few other council duties and reprimands already brought over to his desk, Arnalt wrapped up the final tasks of the day and went back to the kitchen quarters.

He entered Marius’s chambers like a sudden gust, a heavy bag strapped on his back.

Marius instantly moved to stand from the bed where he’d been resting from his relentless training, no doubt ready to assist with the bag, but Arnalt had already sat down in front of him, and Marius remained with his torso raised but the rest of him firmly laying on the bed. He awkwardly tried shifting so that he could at least move into a more formal sitting position, even if the coarse robes he wore could never lend an air of formality to the situation, at the very least his posture could contribute. Next to him was a bowl of hot soup made with chicken stock, boiled chicken strips, corn and sliced potatoes, prepared exactly as they’d been years ago when he was still a child.

Arnalt had gone to the kitchen to order it and asked the staff to keep it coming throughout the night. Naturally he wouldn’t deliver something like that himself, and he didn’t want to make it so important that Marius would suddenly inquire about it.

A servant came in with another bowl and this time Arnalt waved a hand. “Alright that’s the final one, you’re dismissed and no need to send more until the morning.”

The servant quietly placed the bowl on the small wooden table next to Marius’s bed and just as quietly shuffled out of the room--their steps eagerly faster as they were allowed to leave.

Arnalt kept staring with an icy glare which to others would’ve seemed combative but to Marius merely showed Arnalt was deep in thought. It was still a little nerve-wracking, his whole countenance was already so cool and refined, like a porcelain doll with marble grey eyes. At times it felt like staring into a storm, and others like speaking to a stone. The eerie silence begged to be broken.

“So, now can I say this is my last meal?” Marius said.

Arnalt was surprised by the sheer cheek of that remark. “Your humor is astounding.” And also how perceptive! Just like that, the porcelain glimmered back to life and a bit of peachy softness rose up, as if Arnalt was ashamed to have found that particular joke charming.

“My impulse is to punish you, everything that’s happened, everything you’ve done, it’s all led to this. This is your fault. You need to bear responsibility. I did my best to warn you and you still won’t listen. And don’t say your duty is to protect me.” Arnalt pre-emptively raised his hand to pause Marius’s reply. “Your duty, first and foremost is to serve, and to listen. I expect my orders followed. Now with everything coming up, this time you will follow instructions precisely or so help me Aegerian gods I will deliver you to the Glaes Winterlands myself.”

Marius glanced at Arnalt’s fist. It was clenched unconsciously. Arnalt quickly released it.

“Tomorrow, I’ll duel Ithana to secure a vote in your favor in the High Council.”

“As if a vote would matter much...” Marius muttered.

“Of course a vote matters for shit.” Arnalt exclaimed. “I’ll just act as a distraction.”

“My Lord-- why would... that’s not--” Marius looked deeply uncomfortable and ready to jump in and make some bold statement, but Arnalt cut in before he could even start.

“And you, so-called hellhound of Kur,” Arnalt threw the bag he’d been carrying on his back on the ground, a weight off his shoulders that was so visible his body practically lifted once he’d let that bag go, “you’ll run away.”

Marius paled.

“This is where we say our goodbyes. May you have a good life.”

He couldn’t understand why Marius looked so shocked, or why his fists clenched.

True, his life might be difficult outside of the palace of the 17th Prince, but he could manage at least a few weeks on his own before anyone recognized his identity. There were ways to hide the marks that made him a Kurian. Either way, the boy had been extensively trained and should if anything find some manual labor in a small village somewhere.

They both heard a few hard steps and then the door slid, Tyssen had entered and bowed quickly. “Your highness, I’ve arranged everything.”

“Tyssen will brief you on your escape route.” Arnalt stood up.

Marius quickly rose to his feet. “My Lord, wait I—!”

“Make sure he memorizes that map tonight and have him equipped by dawn. I’ll try to keep the battle going until noon.”

Even Tyssen’s eyes widened, but he knew better than to contradict. He bowed once more. “Yes, your Highness, and-- Calm down you!” He pushed Marius back and locked the door as Arnalt left.

Arnalt heard Marius yelling behind him. “My Lord please reconsider. This is impossible! My Lord listen—!”

But Arnalt quickly walked away to avoid changing his mind. This was as much as he could do, battle Ithana until his body gave out, at least by then Marius would have escaped, and he would’ve kept his word.

Marius would absolutely not die under his watch. And he’d already made as much use of Marius’s oath as he could. The boy had downright become a liability anyway.

Even if the idea of remaining in the arena, standing, for seven hours straight against Ithana… was probably exactly as Marius had said: impossible.

Well fuck impossible.

Arnalt unconsciously gripped his Aerial ring between two fingers and turned it nervously. After a while, he’d already let go.

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skvaderarts · 4 years

Text

Apocrypha Chapter Nine: Preparations

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Chapter Nine: Preparations

Note: Thanks for all your wonderful comments! I got this one done a day early, so I'm feeling pretty good about that! Hope you're all having a good week! This was a fun chapter to write!

(-~-)

A soft sigh escaped Nico's lips as she folded her arms and stared at the note on the door in front of her. They weren't here right now. While it made perfect sense that they would only be gone for a short while, and as such, had no reason to call and alert her of their absence, she still couldn't help but wonder why the note was so exceptionally vague.

"Gone to Zephyr Street. Making an effort to not run too long. -Magnolia"

The young mechanic shook her head and plucked the note from the door, turning towards the top of the stairs. Waiting for them to return wasn't much of a problem, but perhaps heading over to meet them would be a better use of her time. That was what she was going to tell herself anyway. Normally she'd just take a quick nap in the van and wait for them to return, but all the sugar and caffeine she'd indulged in a little more than an hour ago had made swift work of any semblance of tiredness she'd formerly possessed. Now boredome had set and she was ready to do something more productive with her time, even if it probably was a waste of gas.

Nico descended the stairs and headed over to the van. She'd parked it diagonally across two different parking spots, an action that would have surely awarded her a parking citation if anyone had been around to see it. Luckily she had only left the car like this for a split second, so it wouldn't be an issue. The dark haired woman clambered into the driver's seat and put the car in reverse, heading towards the main road. Now it was time to figure out where Zephyr Street was. Where had that map gone off too?

(-~-)

With the front door to the manor locked, Magnolia took the opportunity to open her umbrella. The rain had picked up while they were inside of the house looking around, and neither of them were keen on being soaked through. A chilly breeze blew past them, eliciting shivers from Magnolia as she tiptoed to try and hold the umbrella over them both. V smirked, mildly entertained by her attempt to keep him dry.

"I could hold that for you, if you'd like." V said as he ducked under the umbrella. He honestly didn't really care about being wet, but Magnolia's attempt to help him was so earnest and kind hearted that he didn't feel right elaborating on that fact. He would just play along until they reached the car at the back of the house. After all, it wasn't that far.

Magnolia shrugged and handed him the purple umbrella, chuckling to herself. "Literally everyone in your family makes me feel incredibly short. I wish I had whatever gene runs in your family that makes you all so tall."

V shrugged, unsure of what to say to that. While he had to admit that he was quite tall, he'd never seen it as much of an advantage. If anything, it had been a social ankle weight. He'd always been tall for his age, and that coupled with his unique hair color had made him stand out in the worst way possible to other people around him. It was something that still caused him problems on occasion, but he'd learned to adjust to it. After all, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't exactly wish himself shorter, now could he? And he probably wouldn't even if he could. He was used to it now, after all, and he had no intention of changing anything about himself to please others. It did nothing for him.

"Were you invited to this beach trip everyone is going on about?" V asked as they headed down the stairs, being careful to not slip on the stone," From what I've heard, there will be quite a few of us. I've been told we leave tomorrow morning."

Magnolia blinked blankly, her large grayish blue eyes showing no indication that she knew what he was talking about. The lack of recognition in her face was almost jaring, and V knew immediately that he didn't need her to answer that question anymore. How could she go to something she didn't know about?

"I had no idea you lot were planning to leave town," Magnolia said they headed towards the corner, the wind picking up and nearly turning the large umbrella inside out," this trip was someone's brainchild. Any idea as to who?"

V shrugged again, searching his memory for any relevant information. "I… don't actually know the answer to that question," He said after a moment, genuinely unsure as to who's idea this had been," Nero and I were invited by our father, and I'm relatively sure he didn't plan this outing. It doesn't seem like something he would do."

She shrugged as the two of them continued up the sidewalk, V wrestling with the umbrella more and more with every step they took. Magnolia had to take three steps for every one he took, making her pace much more brisk than his despite the relaxed striked he'd taken on.

"You're quite right, it doesn't. But I'm still going to skin him alive the next time I see him for not inviting me," She spoke in a manner so blase that V wasn't entirely sure if she was being sarcastic or not," Does that mean that I would have said yes? Probably not. But still, it's that thought that counts."

The young summoner chuckled under his breath slightly, once again amused by her wiley personality. He could only imagine what she and her sisters had done to Vergil during their youth.

"I couldn't agree more. Lessons must be learned." V responded, nodding in approval.

Magnolia cackled hysterically, giving him a playful but gently poke in the side followed up immediately by a punch in the shoulder. V buckled, taken totally by surprise. He wasn't accustomed to being toyed with in such a manner. He shot her a surprised look as he fumbled with the umbrella, accidently knocking her upside the head and splashing cold water all over her. She shrieked, still laughing as his cheeks flushed bright pink.

"It's good to see that you do have a sense of humor!" She said with a bright smile, shivering from the cold rain," Let's get back before this storm-"

Before she could continue her statement, a loud screech could be heard from a few blocks around the corner. Within seconds, the van came rocketing around the corner of the building on it's side and skidded to a halt. The van slammed upright on all four of it's tires as Magnolia and V stared at it, startled.

"There you are! I thought I was lost for a while there!" Nico said as she rolled down the window, waving at them," Were ya ready to head back?"

V glanced over at Magnolia and she nodded, waving back at Nico. "You two go on ahead. I need to be getting back to my shop soon. I have some customers to meet with today. it was good to see you both again! Drop by after your trip and I'll make you both dinner!"

Nico nodded excitedly as V gave a single waive over his shoulder towards Magnolia. "Farewell. I'll think on your offer and meet with you when I return."

She nodded and grabbed her umbrella before jogging towards the opposite end of the street. V clambered into the van and closed the door with a final glance in her direction before settling into the passenger seat and closing his eyes. He had a lot to think on.

"Hello, Nico."

(-~-)

Blinding light shined through the floor to ceiling windows as the hanging fans spun lazily, barely circulating any meaningful air. The office was unusually quiet. No music played and all the lights were out since the window provided ample light, even with the stormy weather outside. Dante yawned and stretched as she descended the stairs, still in the process of waking up from his restful slumber. Considering the fact that they would be waking up across from the seafront this time tomorrow, he was trying to capitalize on the peace and quiet while he still could. The twins would more than likely be splitting a hotel room for a day or two. Part of him didn't expect to survive such an experience.

As he approached the middle of the staircase, he glanced over towards the couch that sat directly adjacent to his desk and stopped. Vergil had supposedly woken up in the middle of the night and made his way into the living room. That didn't really surprise him. What did was the fact that he was laying on the couch asleep with an all too familiar book spread out in front of him.

In the just under two weeks that they had been living together, the youngest Son of Sparda had come to realize that Vergil didn't really sleep very much. Aside from the day long nap that he had taken just after arriving, he was almost always awake and on alert. But in the last few days, he had been slowly easing into domestic cohabitation. Despite the fact that he seemed to be physically incapable of relaxing and didn't really have anything interesting to do with his abundance of spare time, Vergil hadn't stabbed anyone to death yet.

Morrison had instructed Dante to contact him when they returned from their trip, and he intended to do so. From what he could tell, this job was going to be big and maybe dragging Vergil along would give them both the opportunity to blow off some steam. It was worth a shot, at least. Better that than to let him stay at the office with the girls. Someone wouldn't make it out of that equation alive. Of that he was certain.

He walked past him and stole a glance in his direction. The only time he seemed to be totally at peace were the brief intervals of rest he indulged in from time to time. The rest of the time he was either reading from that book or seemingly thinking. About what, Dante couldn't say, but keeping him out of his head for extended periods of time seemed like a good idea considering his past track record. While he was making a concerted effort to not go back down that road, the youngest of the twins knew that it was still a possibility if he were pushed far enough. A faint possibility, but still one that existed. Actual meaningful change took a long time, and Vergil was making small but important steps. He needed to be realigned from time to time.

Just as he approached the desk, the phone suddenly roared to life, ringing relentlessly. He groaned and grabbed the phone off of the receiver, holding it up to his ear. Before he could say a single word, a voice on the other end chimed in.

"Omigosh! I can't wait for this trip tomorrow! I already have my bags packed and everything! I'm gonna take so many cute pictures and show all my friends when we get back and eat a bunch of good food and buy so many souvenirs! It's gonna be AMAZING! I know you have to be excited, too! Right Dante? Are you even listening?! So help me, Dante, I swear if you hang up on me I'm gonna hit you so hard in the head Morrison is going to have to have to fix you like he does everything else around your office!"

Dante blinked, shaking his head as if to kickstart his mental process. Despite the abundance of demonic blood flowing through his brains, his brain didn't work any better than an average human upon waking up. In fact, at times it seemed to work even slower. He sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand, leaning back against the desk as he stretched his shoulders and neck in an attempt to loosen up. Upon sparing a glance at the nearest clock, he came to the conclusion that it was just a little past nine in the mourning. As far as he was concerned, if it was too early for his older twin than it was too early for him.

"... Hey Patty. Just woke up. You're gonna have to save all of that for the train ride," Dante said with a yawn, rubbing the back of his neck," It's too early for me to understand anything you just said. Talk to you later. Gotta keep the line open, ya know?"

She groaned and let out an exasperated sigh. Dante could practically see her folding her arms grumpily before she responded. "Ok then! I'll meet you at the train station with the others at four o'clock sharp. Don't be late, you lazy butt! later!"

With that she hung up the phone, beating Dante to the chase as she did so. He stared at the phone blankly for a moment before shaking his head and tossing the phone back onto the receiver. He then flopped back into his seat and put his feet up. Was it too early to order pizza? Somewhere half decent had to be open, didn't it?

"Ug, four o'clock in the mourning? Why did Morrison and the girls have to book those tickets so early?" He said under his breath as he reached for a magazine. Had he read all of them a million times over? Yes. Was he going out in the rain to procure new reading material? Absolutely not. He didn't care if he could get away with using Cavaliere on a public street or not. He wasn't going anywhere.

"... Is she always that energetic?"

Dante's head darted over in the direction of the couch, not so much startled as he was surprised. It made sense that Vergil had woken up in response to all the noise the ringing phone and subsequent conversation had made, but he hadn't noticed him sit up and resume reading his book. The eldest Son of Sparda sat with his legs crossed in a reclining position, indulging in another section of his already well read book. A part of Dante made him wonder what it was with their family and rereading the same goddamn books over and over. Why didn't they ever pick up anything new?

"Basically. She's actually calmed down a lot since she was a kid. At least she hits me with less cleaning supplies now." Dante said with an incredulous look, his eyes traveling over to the phone again. Patty had always been Vibrant, both in her manner of dress and her overabundance of energy. While it was true that he found it exhausting, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy that aspect of her personality. She was such a stark contrast to the other ladies in his life and she always brought something new and exciting for them to enjoy.

Vergil raised an eyebrow but didn't look away from his book. "What, did she beat you over the head with a mop or something?"

Dante half laughed. "I wish you were wrong, but yea. All the time. Said I was lazy and that she wasn't my cleaning lady. That I "was a grown adult and needed to clean up after myself. Feistiest kid I've ever met besides Nero."

To Dante's surprise, Vergil let out a sound somewhat similar to a schoff cracking a momentary smirk as he turned the page of the book. "I don't see a flaw in her logic. She makes a valid point, aside from the notion that you were ever an adult, that is.

Dante shot him a dirty look, shaking his head. "Sure, take her side." Vergil said nothing, simply continuing to read his book quietly. A smug look lingered on his face for a short while before dissipating as he focused more intently on his current source of literary interest.

Content that someplace that delivered had to be open by now, Dante reached towards the phone, intent on ordering himself something to eat. Just before his fingers could make contact with the phone, Vergil let out a discontent sigh.

"You don't know how to cook, do you?" He said, closing his eyes and shaking his head slowly," Am I going to have to start making actual food for us to eat?"

Dante shrugged and picked up the phone, going through a mental list in his head. Vergil closed his book and placed it on the couch before standing up and heading towards the kitchen. Dante wasn't sure what he expected to find in there besides cans of tomato juice and dust bunnies, but he had no intention of stopping him, either.

"I've been fine until now. Don't see the problem." Dante said as he dialed the number to a bar up the street. Their pizza was... passable at the very least. A clatter in the kitchen told Dante that his twin was more than likely going through the cabinets.

"Yes I'm sure it has," Vergil said as the sound of a cabinet door closing echoed through the building followed by another and then a third. There was a pause as he presumably checked the last of the cabinets in the small kitchen. Dante could feel a sudden shift in the atmosphere as Vergil returned to the main room, a look of what he could only describe as murderous intent plastered upon his face."

Explain to me how it is possible that you don't own a single dish, cup, or piece of cookware?!" He said as he leaned over the desk to make eye contact with him, looming menacingly across the small space between them. Dante couldn't pinpoint what it was about the question that suddenly made him deeply uncomfortable, but he suddenly felt the need to be as far from Vergil as possible. He could practically feel Vergil snapping his neck just by making eye contact with him.

"I… don't really have an answer to that." He said, reclining in his chair in an effort to put some space between them. Vergil looked about two seconds from whipping out Yamato and harpooning him like some sort of deranged deep sea fisherman.

Vergil closed his eyes and shook his head, repressing the urge to twitch in discontent. "Get up. We're fixing this. Now."

Dante groaned and glanced around him, noting the rain that fogged up the windows and ran down them in lines like a fogged up glass coated in condensation. "You do know it's storming outside right? And we won't even be here tomorrow. Why worry about it?"

"...Did I stutter?" Vergil stated flatly in a tone so devoid of humor that Dante could practically feel the room grow darker.

They stared at each other for a moment before the younger Son of Sparda sighed and shrugged, pushing his chair upright again. There was no point in battling this one out. He'd just end up laid out on the floor with a katana stuck through him. And getting the stains out of the floor was probably more expensive than whatever Vergil had in mind.

"... Let me get my coat?" Dante said, almost pleadingly. He didn't feel like having to ring himself out like an old towel when they got back.

Vergil shook his head, no hint of humor, mercy, of sympathy anywhere to be found in his vicinity. "No."

(-~-)

The beach arc starts next week on Wednesday! Writing this fic has been a blast so far! I love hearing from everyone, and I hope you're enjoying the series so far! Take care and sorry for any spelling errors I missed during editing!

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