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latenitetea · 3 years

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what a shame it would be - rodrick heffley

in which rodrick takes a few too many shots...

cw: underage drinking, swearing

word count: 3,228

~~~

Great victories deserve great parties.

That was the way of thinking at Crossland High School when it came to homecoming. After weeks of anticipation from the entire student body, the Crossland football team had defeated their rivals with one touchdown in the last five minutes of the homecoming game. It didn’t matter that half the school didn’t care much about football to begin with - with a victory that big, there were bound to be parties all over town.

As a varsity cheerleader, you weren’t surprised that you were invited to the biggest homecoming party in town. And you weren’t surprised by the atmosphere when you arrived, either.

Music blasted in your ears as you entered through the backdoor of the crowded house. Cheerleaders were laughing so loud you could feel it in your whole body, people were drunkenly dancing and making out with each other on the dance floor, and the football team was taking a celebratory round of shots for their biggest win. Hell, you even saw the student body council and academic decathlon team on the dance floor. Bottles upon bottles of all kinds of alcohol were being pulled out at the bar - kegs of beer, bottles of tequila and vodka, and a giant bowl of punch that was being spiked with a frothing drink. Still, the abundance of alcohol wouldn’t last long at a party this big. But before you could get to the bar to get your pick, you heard your name being called from across the room.

“Y/N!”

There were too many people covering your view to see who called you when you turned around, but you knew exactly who it was coming from. It wasn’t too hard to weave your way through the drunken couples and football players to find him.

Rodrick was leaning against the basement’s doorframe, wearing his favorite Converse, a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, and his Loded Diper t-shirt with a cargo jacket. He ruffled his unkempt, raven hair and took a long swig from his solo cup.

“Give me your keys.”

You raised your eyebrows, stifling a laugh. “Well, hello to you, too.”

After taking another sip of his drink, he held out his hand. Rolling your eyes, you took your lanyard and dropped your keys in his hand, which he put in the pocket of his jacket.

“There we go.” His mouth quirked up into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d never go to another homecoming party again after last year. You still owe me for that, you know.”

Memories of Rodrick holding you steady as you stumbled to his van and slurred your words resurfaced in your mind. You couldn’t hide the tinge of embarrassment that crept up on your cheeks.

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Do you or do you not remember me having to brush your teeth because you forgot how to do it yourself?”

Your once pink cheeks now turned scarlet. Still, you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

“Fine. But I definitely don’t owe you anymore after being the only reason you didn’t fail physics last year.”

He paused, taking another drink from his cup. You could tell the alcohol was beginning to slow his thoughts already.

“I guess I stand corrected.”

You cursed yourself for being sober, wishing you had more confidence to flirt with him. You swallowed the forming lump in your throat and attempted a compliment.

“Look at you, making yourself look nice for homecoming. You even got the new converse and eyeliner and everything.”

God, that couldn’t have been worse. You mentally facepalmed yourself as the words left your mouth.

He chuckled. “Well, I’ve gotta make myself look nice if I’m gonna get one of these cheerleaders to go home with me, right?”

Your embarrassment dissipated into a twinge of disappointment. Quick to cover up any sort of reaction, you cleared your throat.

“I’m gonna go get myself something to drink. See you around, Rodrick.”

You heard him call out a warning about “knowing your limits,” but you didn’t turn around or respond. At first, you were only planning to get buzzed tonight. Your disappointment, however, made a change to your plans.

“Hey, Y/N,” your friend, Allison, said from the bar with a wave. “What do you want to drink?”

“Something strong,” you insisted. With a nod, Allison filled a solo cup with vodka and topped it off with the frothing punch.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She asked as she handed you the cup. You took a swig, ignoring the way the alcohol burned your throat.

“Who knows,” you sighed. “I just got back from talking to Rodrick.”

Allison raised her eyebrows. You paused for a moment, but you gave in to the temptation of getting your feelings out. “Every time I try to flirt with him, I feel like he ignores it. Or worse, he just brings up other girls.”

“Maybe you’re just not flirting hard enough,” Allison suggested. Her comforting smile became smug, pointing to the solo cup in your hand. "Or maybe that liquid courage will finally get you to tell him how you feel.”

The taste in your mouth turned sour at her teasing. Last year’s drunken shenanigans seemed harmless compared to any hypotheticals of you blurting out “Hey Rodrick, I’ve had a crush on you since last homecoming!” and forgetting it by morning. You placed your cup on the bar, deciding that your original plan of a buzz was the safer option. “Actually, I think I’m gonna stick to beer tonight.”

Allison let out a laugh. “Whatever you say. But your feelings are gonna eat you alive at some point. You’re gonna have to tell him how you feel eventually.”

“Emphasis on eventually. See you, Allison.” You gave her a small wave and went out to the dance floor, hoping to find some of your friends and dance your way into forgetting about Rodrick.

~~~

As the wild night began to die down, waves of stumbling high schoolers started leaving the party. Watching the clock hit 3 AM, you decided that it was time for you to head home. Waving goodbye to your friends, you made your way out of the house and to your car, more than ready to open the door and practically fall asleep at the wheel and-

Damnit.

That asshole still had your keys, didn’t he?

Pulling out your phone, you called Rodrick, nearly praying that he didn’t already leave. As you put your phone to your ear, you heard another phone’s ringtone go off. Muttering a “what the hell?” under your breath, you looked up from your car.

Rodrick was standing on the sidewalk across the street, holding onto a streetlight pole as though it was taking everything in his power not to fall.

A noise of both amusement and concern left your lips, and you hung up the call and made your way over to him.

“Hi,” was all he said. His eyes were glazed over and a sheepish smile was spread across his face.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, how the tables turn, huh?”

“I don’t,” he paused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

“No, I’m not!” He blurted out defensively. You cocked your head, giving him a do-you-really-think-you’re-gonna-convince-me look. After a moment, he sighed. “Maybe I’m a little drunk.” He let out another sigh, but it quickly turned into a fit of giggles.

Suppressing the thought that his drunken giggles were extremely cute, you draped his arm over your shoulders. “Come on, drummer boy, let’s get you home.” Rodrick leaned his bodyweight into your side, trying not to fall in the middle of the street.

“I like that nickname.”

“Where’d you put my keys?” You asked him. Instead of answering, he broke into another fit of giggles. With a sigh, you pushed down your embarrassment and started rummaging through the pockets of his jacket. He leaned his head into the crook of your neck, making butterflies swarm in your gut. You tried your best to ignore them and finally pulled out your keys from his pocket, helping him into the passenger seat of your car.

“Wanna hear something funny? I wanted to take home the cheerleader with me. But now the cheerleader is taking me home.” His smile turned into a smirk as he buckled his seatbelt, and you reminded yourself that he was only joking.

“You’re a pervert.”

“You’re pretty.”

Your eyes widened at what Rodrick had just said. The next second, you couldn’t be more thankful that it was too dark to see the blush on your cheeks. You believed that he meant what he said for a second, but the smell of alcohol on his breath brought you back to reality.

“You’re really drunk.”

“You’re really pretty.”

Instead of responding, you started the car and turned on the radio, hoping that it would act as a distraction.

Pulling out of the driveway, you started the drive home. You heard Rodrick laugh again from the passenger’s seat. And then he placed his hand on your thigh.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you tried to stop your breathing from turning shallow. “What are you doing?”

“Flirting with you.”

Your cheeks burned at his direct manner, but you reluctantly took his hand off your thigh. “You can’t flirt with me when you’re drunk.” Pulling into his driveway, you helped him out of your car and to his front door. You grabbed the spare key from under the doormat and opened the door.

After helping him to his room, you filled up an empty glass with water and grabbed a bottle of pain medicine from his kitchen, bringing it upstairs and placing it on his nightstand.

“Here’s for tomorrow when you have a hang-“

“I don’t remember how to take off my shoes.” Rodrick looked up at you from where he was sitting on his bed, his blank stare turning into another eruption of laughter. “I sound like you right now.”

You sighed, letting out a chuckle. You took off his Converse and his jacket, placing them in his closet.

“Well, as long as you don’t need anything else I better get going-“

Before you could finish your sentence, Rodrick grabbed you and pulled you onto his bed. “Can you stay a little while?” Your cheeks burned even brighter, and you knew he knew it too. His flirting was overwhelming; you thought you were going to explode from the butterflies. Still, you managed to stay somewhat composed.

“You need to sleep.”

“I don't want to sleep.”

You shook your head, but the look on Rodrick’s pleading face was enough to convince you. “Fine.”

“Why don’t you let me flirt with you?”

“What?”

Rodrick was looking directly at you. “I always try to flirt with you. And then you act like I’m just joking.”

You wanted to tell him that he didn’t know what he was talking about, that he was just drunk and the alcohol was talking. But Allison’s words of advice were echoing in the back of your head.

You’re going to have to tell him how you feel eventually.

“Because I didn’t think you could ever be serious about actually liking me.”

His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “Of course I’m serious. You’re the prettiest girl in school, you like good music, and you’re just so nice. And pretty.”

You let out a chuckle. “I bet you weren’t thinking those things when you were brushing my teeth for me last year.”

"Yes, I was," He moved a piece of hair from your face. “That’s when I realized I had feelings for you, Y/N.”

The smell of alcohol on his breath was enough to make you want to burst into tears. Here you were, laying on Rodrick Heffley’s bed, close enough to make out the dark outline of his pupils, and you were confessing how you felt for him. And he wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning.

“Can I kiss you?”

His abrupt question silenced your thoughts. “What?”

He closed his eyes and started leaning in for the kiss, but once you processed what he had just asked, you pulled away. “Not right now.”

“Why not?”

You took a deep breath, trying to slow your racing heartbeat. “Tell you what. If you wake up tomorrow and you decide that you still want to kiss me, you can kiss me.”

He thought about your offer for a moment. “Okay. But tomorrow feels so far away.”

“Tomorrow won’t feel far if you go to sleep.”

He smiled and buried his head into your side. “You’ll stay until I fall asleep, right?”

“Right.”

“Promise?”

You felt the urge to cry again. You knew that every promise made tonight would be broken by tomorrow.

“Promise.”

You laid in his bed as his breathing slowed into soft snores. Taking one last look at him, you gently climbed out of his arms. As much as you wanted to stay, wanted to wake him up and confess every feeling you had for him, wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, you knew that would be wrong. You had to ease the inevitable future pain as much as you could.

So you grabbed your keys and left, not finding it in you to look back.

~~~

When Rodrick woke up, he could barely find the energy to open his eyes. The ache he felt across his entire body was throbbing, but he fought the urge to give in and go back to sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw a glass of water and pain medicine sitting on his nightstand.

Considering how awful he felt, there was no way he put that there. Taking two of the pills and downing the glass of water, he tried to connect some of his memories of the night before. As the medicine started to set in, some of his fuzzy memories began to clear. Taking a shot of tequila with his bandmate, taking another shot of tequila with his bandmate, your face turning bright red when he reminded you of when he took care of you last homecoming.

Even though he’d never find the courage to admit it, you looked cute when you blushed. And he always seemed to have butterflies in his stomach around you after last year's homecoming party. But there would be absolutely no way he would ever admit that.

You probably were the one that got him home last night. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that you saw him that drunk, even if he’s seen you even drunker before. He hoped he hadn’t said anything too humiliating to you last night.

His stomach twisted with another wave of embarrassment. What had he said last night?

He stood up, noticing your jacket laying on the other side of his bed. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and unknown embarrassment. He picked up your jacket and grabbed his keys to his van, ready to give it back and thank you for getting him home last night.

But when he picked up the jacket, more memories flooded his mind. You laying in his bed, him pulling the hair out of your face, you being close enough to him that he could have kissed you.

Oh, shit.

He ran to his closet and threw on his converse, too frantic to even tie them. Running out the door, he practically jumped into his van and started the drive to your house.

~~~

You sat on your porch, drinking a cup of coffee and enjoying that crisp October air on your cheeks. Thankful that you didn’t have even the remnants of a hangover, you were certain that every upperclassman at Crossland was sporting a massive one.

You opened your phone and anxiously twiddled your thumbs at the keyboard. You wanted to text Rodrick and ask him how he was feeling, but you were too nervous to contact him after last night. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you would ever be able to look him in the eyes again.

Your concern for him overshadowed your embarrassment. No matter where your relationship with him stood after last night, you still cared about him. Pulling his contact up on your phone, you typed a short message.

Morning, sleepyhead. You feeling ok after last night?

But just as you were about to hit send, you saw a van barreling down your street from your peripheral vision. You didn’t need to see the messy writing on its side to know who’s van it was, either.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Did Rodrick remember what happened last night? Was he here to reject you, to tell you that he couldn’t even be friends with you anymore? You wanted to run inside your house and pretend you weren’t home, but you felt frozen in place.

The van pulled into your driveway, and Rodrick stepped out from the driver’s seat. He was still wearing the same outfit from the night before, but he had his drumsticks in one hand and your jacket in the other. He ran up to your porch, almost frantically.

“Y/N?” He said.

You took a shaky breath, trying to act as casual as possible. “Hey, Rodrick, you feel okay after last night?”

“I’ve had worse hangovers. Er, you left my jacket at my house.” He handed you your jacket.

“Thanks.” You shifted on your feet nervously, looking for the right thing to say. See you Monday? Sorry I confessed my feelings to you last night?

Rodrick looked down at his feet. “Can we talk?” He blurted out.

A plethora of curses went through your head, and you felt the urge to run into your house and curl up in a fetal position until you disappeared. Still, you stayed standing where you were.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Last night, did we,” he anxiously twirled his drumsticks in his hands, “did we kiss?”

Your eyes widened. He did remember last night.

“Well, you wanted to kiss me.” Your stomach churned, and your head was swirling with so many thoughts that you couldn’t stop talking. “But we didn’t kiss because it was just the alcohol talking and I know you didn’t actually want to kiss me and that last night was just the alcohol and I get that you wouldn’t want to kiss me which is totally fine and really it’s no big deal-“

“It wasn’t the alcohol talking.”

Rodrick looked up from the ground and stepped closer to you. You had never seen him look more serious in your life.

“Y/N, everything I said last night. I meant it.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve... I’ve felt this way about you for a while. And I know I’m not a serious person, but I am really serious about this. And I really, really like you.” He took another step closer, and once again, he was close enough that you could see the outline of his pupils.

“So about that promise we made last night,” your breath hitched in your throat, “I think it would be a shame if we broke it.”

“You’re right,” Rodrick’s shy smile spread into a smug grin. He lifted your chin so your faces were barely inches apart.

“It'd really be a shame, wouldn't it?.” He said, closing the gap between your lips.

#Rodrick Heffley #Rodrick Heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #rodrick #rodrick rules #doawk #doawk rodrick rules #diary of a wimpy kid #not my rodrick #my rodrick #devon bostick #heffley #Rodrick Heffley one shot #rodrick one shot #rodrick x reader one shot #Rodrick Heffley x reader one shot

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ricksbowen · 4 years

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one more time | pt. 1

IN WHICH: y/n realizes she had a one night stand with the one person she didn’t expect.

INSPIRATION: feel good inc. — gorillaz, babylon — 5 seconds of summer

WARNING: this whole series is gonna be pretty sexual. i’m making ricky and everyone in the crew a year up, so everyone’s in their senior year and 18+. there’s also implications of sex so read with caution. there’s also underage drinking

A/N: since simply utterly is coming to an end, i’m posting a friends with benefits au cause everyone who reads my stuff probably noticed how much i love clichés

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

You had been best friends with Ricky Bowen since the 3rd grade.

It was unconventional, the way you both met each other. Ricky had accidentally tossed a football right into your eye, and to make it up to you, he let you give him one back by punching him in the eye. You both had to see the principal that day, with your matching black eyes as the principal threatened to call your parents.

Since then, you had been inseparable. You stuck with Ricky through thick and thin; from when his parents started having problems to when Nini Salazar-Roberts broke up with him right before junior year, you were there. You were there to read lines out for High School Musical: the Musical with him. You were always there, with your window wide open and the rope ladder already hanging out for him to climb up to your room.

In the same way, he was there for you. From when the boy you had a crush on for years rejected you to when you got asked out on your first date and needed outfit advice, he was there. When your boyfriend broke up with you in the middle of junior year, he was there with movies and blankets. He had pictures of you hung up in his room, his favorite being the one from third grade. You, with the glasses that were a side too big for your face and him, with his two front teeth missing, smiling at the camera with matching black eyes.

You both knew each other’s secrets. The fears of love you both attained in your lives, the overwhelming dislike of growing up— you looked to each other for a way to escape.

Your friendship has always been that way: strong, unbreakable.

You rubbed your eyes groggily, forcing yourself up off the bed. Immediately, you noticed the lack of clothes you had and the body next to yours. Letting out a small groan, you cursed yourself for yet another guy you had to let down with a note.

That fear of love always stayed.

You shut your eyes, rubbing your temples to try and remember what had happened last night.

Ej’s college acception party. Winning beer pong with Ricky against Seb and Carlos. Drinking an alarming amount of alcohol and skinny dipping in the pool. Kissing someone hard while you pushed them up against the door.

What a party.

You stood up, making sure whoever was next to you in bed was fast asleep. His head was hidden under the blankets, and soft snores escaped his huddled form. You let out a small sigh, reaching down for the haphazardly thrown clothes around the room.

You passed an absurdly patterned red blue and white shirt as you reached for your bra, eyes lingering on the item of clothing for just a second too long.

You’ve seen that shirt before.

You shook your head to rid of your thought, ignoring the striking pain that followed from your hangover. You trudged around the room, picking up the dress you wore that night. You then found your underwear, and as you walked closer to it to reach it, your eyes landed on another piece of clothing.

A white inside shirt. To anyone else, that would’ve meant nothing. But to you, it meant something that made your heart drop.

“What are you wearing?” you laughed out the minute Ricky opened his door.

“I think it’s pretty snazzy for a college acceptance party,” Ricky grinned, giving you a twirl and letting oddly patterned shirt lift up as he did. He wore an oddly patterned button-up that was unbuttoned with a white tank top underneath and black pants.

You could hear Big Red snort next to you, and you rolled your eyes with a grin, crossing your arms over your chest.

“C’mon, lover boy, Ej’s been spamming me with texts since we’re five minutes late.”

Ricky walked up to the both of you, slinging his arms over both of your shoulders lazily. “Are we planning on getting shitfaced while we’re there?”

“What else are we supposed to do?” Big Red grinned, and you all cheered in response as you made your way to your car.

“Y/N?”

You whipped around, letting out a scream and immediately covering yourself up. Ricky slapped a hand over his eyes, yelling ‘Oh my God!’ over and over while you covered yourself with the clothes you had in your hands.

“What the fuck, Ricky?” you yelled, Ricky shaking his head rapidly and pointing blindly towards you with his free hand.

“Don’t you ‘what the fuck me!’” he fired back, his voice two octaves higher. “I don’t know what happened either!”

“You— We—“ you groaned, slipping on your underwear and looking between your underwear and Ricky’s patterned shirt. You put your bra on and slipped his shirt over your shoulders, blaming your choice on the fact that your dress would’ve taken more time.

“We fucked!” Ricky sputtered, removing his eyes and looking at you. His face bloomed red at the sight of you in nothing but his shirt and undergarments, but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

“Shut up!” you hissed, pressing a finger to your lips and looking around at the room you both were in.

This wasn’t your house or Ricky’s.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair and making your way to the door. You opened it slowly, peeking out in the hall while Ricky climbed out of bed and pulled his boxers and pants on. The smell of breakfast wafted down the hall, and you cursed under your breath as you shut the door slowly. “We never left Ej’s house.”

“Are we just ignoring the fact that we most likely had sex?” Ricky asked, head pounding with confusion as he walked over to you.

“We’re just gonna skip over that part,” you stated, glaring at him. You leaned back against the closed door, closing your eyes and trying to let the memories come back to you.

“Holy shit!”

You cheered as you made the last cup in, Seb and Carlos groaning in defeat and the crowd of people you barely knew yelling in victory around you. You pulled Ricky into a hug, his arms around your waist as he lifted you up and spun you around drunkenly.

“We are gods!” Ricky hollered, making you laugh as your arms went around his neck. His eyes lingered on you for just a second too long before he put you back down, swaying slightly as he did.

You looked at him, an unspoken agreement between both of you as the sounds of the party became white noise. Your hand reached for his, intertwining with his fingers as you pulled him away from everyone else.

You led him down the hall, ignoring the other people talking and making out as you opened a random door and pulled him inside with a laugh.

You shut the door and pressed him up against it, his hands reached down to your cheeks and bringing your lips to his. The kiss was fast, needy, and you found yourself wanting more as you tugged his button-up shirt off and he started undoing your dress.

“We can’t tell anyone about this,” you stated, opening your eyes to look at him. He was biting his lip, eyebrows furrowed as he nodded in instant agreement.

“You’re right. Besides, it meant nothing, right?” Ricky asked as if he was reassuring himself more than you.

You nodded your head rapidly, letting out a breath. “You’re right! It was just..”

“Sex,” Ricky finished, and you sighed, buttoning the middle button on his shirt as a way to cover yourself up just a bit more.

You opened the door, peeking your head out and stepping out of the room. You heard voices from the kitchen, and your heartbeat sped up when you realized you had to explain your situation to the people there. Your fingers started nervously tapping on the door, the habit immediately catching Ricky’s eye.

“Chill out— you’re tapping your fingers again,” Ricky murmured behind you, and you sent him a look before you started walking down the hall to the kitchen.

“Ah, look who’s awake!” Big Red grinned teasingly, leaning against the countertop as he ate his pancakes. Carlos was seated on the counter, his smile almost as big as Big Red’s as he ate his own pile of pancakes. There were two other plates on the countertop, ready for you and Ricky.

“Don’t,” you grumbled, sitting next to Carlos and cutting a piece of the pancake you had.

“Where’s Ej? And why are you two still here?” Ricky asked, trying to ignore Big Red’s eyes on him as he started eating his pancakes nonchalantly.

“Work or something. Honestly, I have no idea— he just had to leave in a hurry,” Big Red explained with a growing smile. “We both passed out from last night so we just slept on the couches.”

“Seb was here too. He had to leave since his mom called,” Carlos added. “Ej and Seb don’t know that you two fucked, so you’re in the clear,” Carlos spoke indifferently, as if he was talking about the weather.

“Carlos—“ you glared, making him shrug nonchalantly and shove another piece of pancake into his mouth.

“Now, don’t ignore our questions because we do deserve an explanation,” Carlos stated, pointing his fork between you and Ricky. You were staying on opposite sides of the kitchen, Ricky with Big Red and You with Carlos.

“We may have been passed out drunk last night, but you two were loud enough that we heard,” Big Red snickered, grabbing his glass of orange juice as he started making sounds that sounded similar to a bed creaking. Ricky slapped the side of his bicep, making Big Red snigger again.

“I wish we know how it happened,” you said with a slight frown.

“So, you aren’t even together?” Big Red asked.

“Nope,” Ricky replied, popping the ‘p’ as he finished his pancakes.

“That’s some cliche shit right there,” Carlos commented, making you roll your eyes. “What? I’m just saying you,” he pointed his fork to Ricky, “and you,” he pointed his fork to you, “have been best friends for how long now? And you had sex on a drunken night?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Talk about a WattPad fanfic coming to life.”

“How do you even know about what that WattPad stuff?” Big Red asked with a raised brow, Carlos hiding his smile behind his glass of water.

“Harry Styles is a beaut,” Carlos stated, making you chuckle while Big Red shook his head. “But back to the point. What’re you two gonna do now?”

Ricky shrugged, looking down at the mess of syrup on his plate as he thought. “It was just one time. It won’t happen again.”

“Yep,” you added. “We promised that it was just meaningless sex.”

“Mhm,” Carlos hummed, sharing a look with Big Red as he listened. “Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent,” you replied with a reassuring smile.

—

Ricky grabbed your thighs, wrapping it around his waist as he kissed down your neck. He pressed you up against the wall, his lips descending down your neck and leaving marks in its wake.

You let out a breathy moan, feeling him nip playfully before he pulled your shirt off and threw it somewhere in his room.

It was supposed to be a study date. You were paired up on a project, and you both only lasted an hour before you got to where you were now; making out and stripping each other against the wall.

You tugged his hair roughly, the low groan he let out hitting you in more ways that one as you pulled his shirt off and throw it behind him. You pulled him back to your lips with need, lips locking with urgency as everything went into overdrive.

“You gotta be quiet, hun,” he breathed against your neck, trying to pull his pants down while you nodded frantically. You threw your head back against the door, letting out a whimper when you felt him grind against you hard. He moaned into your neck, breath hot against your skin while you managed a smirk.

“You too, lover boy,” you groaned when you felt him buck up against you, hands gripping him as if your life depended on it. “We — shit — promised it wouldn’t happen again,” you managed between moans, feeling him move. Each thrust sent up up the wall and back down, and your legs wrapped harder around him.

“I know, but,” he bit his lip, trying to keep in the sounds that threatened to come out “Just one more time,” Ricky murmured breathlessly, kissing under your ear while you nodded.

“Yeah. One more time.”

—

TAGS: @tomshufflepuff, @myrandom-fandomlife, @softpeteparker, @sarcarstic-space-weirdo

#ricky bowen imagine #ricky bowen headcannons #ricky bowen angst #ricky bowen smut #ricky bowen hcs #ricky bowen #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen imagines #joshua bassett imagine #joshua bassett hcs #joshua bassett angst #joshua bassett imagines #joshua bassett x reader #joshua bassett #big red #carlos rodriguez #hsmtmts #high school musical: the musical: the series #ej caswell

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rocorambles · 4 years

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Promise

Pairing: Kageyama x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, SFW

Summary: Volleyball is what brought the two of you together, but is it also going to be what tears the two of you apart?

It's the last week of summer break before he becomes a third year and you'd think as a high schooler he would be playing around and relaxing, enjoying his last few days of freedom, but Kageyama isn't a normal high schooler which is how he finds himself at Karasuno trying to sneak into the boy's volleyball gym. Yamaguchi wasn't free today which meant the only person who had the gym keys was unavailable to let him in, but his stubborn self couldn't just drop it without at least trying. After a few more unsuccessful attempts to pry open the door, he plops down in front of the gym and grumbles, already preparing to at least go for a run instead as he gets up to leave, but the familiar sound of a hand hitting a ball catches his attention as he passes the girl's volleyball gym on his way out and he can't help himself from taking a peek through the windows.

He's stunned by the sight of you leaping into the air, scattering drops of sweat everywhere as you serve a ball over the net and he admires your perfect form and technique. He hasn't paid much attention to the girl's volleyball team, but even as dense as he is, he's heard the whispers in the halls of how strong they've become, how both the Karasuno boy's and girl's teams are considered top tier teams and from watching you, he can tell the rumors have at least some truth behind them. He can feel his body and hands twitch in anticipation, the way they always do when he's excited by something (that something usually being great volleyball playing) and maybe that's why he's standing in the doorway of the gym and nervously asking if he can share the gym with you to practice.

Unlike Kageyama, you know exactly who he is and you shyly but kindly oblige him, excited to see him practice and play in person. Who doesn't know the star setter of the Karasuno boy's volleyball team who was also invited to be part of the All-Japan Youth Training camp? He's literally one of the best setters in the country and as a serious player yourself, you'd have to be living under a rock not to recognize him. The two of you continue practicing, the sound of balls being hit and landing on the ground echoing off the walls, and maybe both of you pause a little too long between practice routines while you subtly try to watch the other from the corner of your eyes, but it's an effective session for both of you and you both grin at each other from across the gym as you both slump down to the ground and catch your breaths. And both of you will argue about whether or not Kageyama taking you to Coach Ukai's store to eat meat buns after you locked up the gym was your first date, but you'll both agree that's how your friendship began.

The two of you begin walking home together after both your practices end and at first it's mostly one-sided conversations with you rattling on and on while Kageyama listens, but over time the two of you begin to banter back and forth. You go to each other's volleyball games and even though you both know you should be rooting for the entire team, neither one of you can stop staring at the other in awe as you both play your hardest. Pretty soon Kageyama begins scanning the crowd for you when the team wins a point and you beam at him when you get a service ace. And when both your teams make it to nationals, you loiter in front of Coach Ukai's store once again, excitedly babbling on and on as the rush of victory thrums throughout your bodies, not stopping until Ukai shoos you away when he closes shop. That night as the two of you walk home together, Kageyama's hand gently brushes against yours and it feels like second nature to you to intertwine your fingers with his and both of you can't help but think it feels so right to walk hand in hand under the starry night sky.

Neither of your teams are surprised that the two of you are dating. They just make fun of the two of you, teasing you both for taking so long to get the memo and both of you sheepishly smile at each other. But there's hardly time to seriously date with Nationals and college entrance exams around the corner and the two of you dive head first into practicing and studying, sneaking in texts and calls here and there, grabbing lunch together, and walking to and from school. Luckily for Kageyama, you're a much better student than he is and although they aren't fun, study and tutoring sessions become the new way the two of you can spend a little more time together (even if you do want to strangle your boyfriend for his stupidity sometimes).

But nationals pass, the college entrance exams pass, and now there's loud banging on your front door. You've barely unlocked the door when it swings open and Kageyama holds his college acceptance letter and sports scholarship offer in triumph. You hadn't brought in your mail yet today, but Kageyama had gathered it up for you and you both nervously look on as you open a similarly sized package with the same college logo on it and you tear up when you see your own acceptance letter and sports scholarship offer. You both share a watery smile before happy tears of relief fall from both of your eyes and you cling tightly to each other, silently excited about being able to spend the next four years at the same university, playing the sport you both love.

The two of you spend the summer break after you graduate from high school going on real dates and enjoying the free time like a normal couple would. Every second of it is perfect and you're almost positive that you've been to every popular date spot in Miyagi after just the first month off. But you both also want to spend some quality time with your families before you head off to college and the two of you part ways for a bit as you both go on summer vacations with your relatives. Kageyama excitedly waits on his bed the day you’re supposed to return, waiting for you to text him that you're back home, but hours pass and you still haven't messaged him despite your earlier text telling him you were almost back and he begins to worry. He scrambles to pick up his phone when your name pops up on the screen, but he's surprised when it's your mom's voice he hears and he almost drops the device when he finally makes out what she's saying in between sobs.

His shirt is on inside out, he almost ran out with his pants on backwards, and he snarled in frustration when his trembling fingers couldn't lace up his sneakers, opting to wear sliders instead as he rushed towards the hospital. He's a mess of frazzled nerves as he practically screams your name at the front desk and clumsily stumbles as he follows the directions to your room. He thinks he might just faint from relief when he sees you turn towards him as he reaches your room and he gingerly cradles your upper body, careful to steer clear of your bandaged lower body. He's so overwhelmed by the fact that you're alive that at first he doesn't register what you're saying or that you're crying, but when he finally pulls away a bit to talk to you, his heart drops once more at your words.

"Tobio…my leg...it hurts so much."

All he can offer are loving words about how much he loves you, how glad he is that you're alive, how he'd be by your side throughout your entire recovery and he puts up a strong reassuring facade, but as soon as he steps out of your room, out of your view, he tenses up as he talks to your parents, trying to understand how badly you've been injured in the car crash. Your parents are grief stricken and your mom continuously cries about how it should have been her who got injured instead while your dad tells Kageyama everything while comforting his wife. You had been driving back home from your family trip when a drunk driver had come out of nowhere and crashed into your car, slamming into the side rear of the car where you had been sitting, effectively crushing your entire leg. The diagnosis is a broken femur, but it's still unknown how severe or long lasting the effects will be. There's uncomfortable silence after those words are uttered and the elephant in the room is left unsaid. No one knows if you'd ever be able to play volleyball ever again.

The rest of the summer is spent by Kageyama taking you to physical therapy every day and anxiously watching you and waiting for you to finish each session. He carefully listens to the moves your therapist tells you to do at home and he dedicates himself to making sure you go through with all your physical homework no matter how painful they are or exhausted you are. It hurts him to see how much pain you're in, but he knows how much more painful it'll be if you can't ever step foot on a court again. At first your recovery seems promising. He smiles as you start walking again and he swears your steps look less and less wobbly with each passing day, but even after weeks, he slightly frowns at the way your limp never seems to go away.

Both of you keep on pressing on with your rehabilitation, straining to do everything you can to get you back in playing shape as your college begins to send information on when sports practices begin, but it's the week before practices begin that your therapist sits both of you down and officially nails the coffin of your volleyball career shut. And that night when the university officially rescinds your scholarship, you cry for hours, you cry so hard that you begin to cough and hiccup, you cry until there are no more tears left to shed and you're left to just dry heave in Kageyama's arms while he resolutely holds you and never lets go of you. Only when you cry yourself to sleep in his embrace does he let out his own heart wrenching sobs out, his tears mixing with the wet mess you've made of his shirt as he grieves with you.

It’s hard to pick up the pieces after that, but Kageyama and you have always been determined and you both walk with your heads held high on the first day of college and you give him a toothy smile as you drop him off at practice before walking off to grab a coffee from the campus cafe. Only when Kageyama enters the gym and you turn around, your face hidden away from him, does your smile drop as you slightly limp towards your destination. Kageyama repeatedly assures you that you don’t need to come watch his games and he’s careful to never really talk much about volleyball around you despite how large a part of his life it is, scared of and unwilling to even remotely hurt you with the reminder of how your own athletic career was stolen from you. But you insist on cheering him on in person, wanting more than anything to be a supportive girlfriend in all parts of Kageyama’s life even if your heart feels like it’s being torn to shreds every minute you watch your boyfriend smile and sweat as he plays and you’re reminded of just how much you too loved the sport. And yet you persist, mustering up excitement when he’s not on the bench and loudly screaming his name when he’s allowed on the court. But as freshman year continues on and his skills are acknowledged and he’s brought into play more and spends less time on the bench, it becomes harder and harder for you to watch and when he officially becomes one of the regular starters during your sophomore year, you stop attending his games, making excuses left and right about being too busy with schoolwork and extracurriculars, hiding the growing jealousy you feel from watching him live the life you’ve always dreamed of, that you’d earned, only to have it unfairly taken from you.

Junior year comes and goes and Kageyama isn’t as dense as he once used to be. He knows you’re lying about why you don’t come to watch his games anymore, but he never confronts you about it. Volleyball is his one true passion and he knows it was the same for you and he can’t imagine how painful it must be to even just see a volleyball court now, so he just nods at your excuses and lovingly kisses you before he rushes off to warm up for his games. Both of you had chosen to come to this university because of how highly regarded their volleyball teams are, so it’s no surprise that being a starter on the team makes you an instant VIP on campus and with your boyfriend’s skills and looks, it was only a matter of time before his name spread like wildfire around campus. You try to keep a low profile, not wanting people to begin bothering you and interrogating you about what dating Kageyama is like, but his fans are drawn to you like a dog to a bone and they sink their teeth in you when they find you, unwilling to let go until they chew off everything they can bite.

It’s easier to laugh and scoff at the jealous girls who scream in your face, loudly and rudely wondering out loud what Kageyama sees in a nobody like you. But it’s the fans who rave on and on about what an amazing setter your boyfriend is, how skilled and talented he is, how lucky you are to be dating a top-tier athlete, who unknowingly hurt you more. Their words claw at your insides because they’re true. He is an amazing athlete and you know he’s going to go so much further in his athletic career. He’s everything you can never be and jealousy begins to twist into hate, bitterness, and resentment. You don’t even know where to direct these negative feelings festering inside of you and they continue growing as you desperately try to squash them down, but it’s no use and you can feel your self-loathing becoming worse every day. And with every new person who praises Kageyama to you, the feelings extend beyond yourself, spreading towards volleyball and Kageyama until just seeing random college students passing around a volleyball or even just seeing your boyfriend’s face makes bile rise in your throat and a scowl form on your face.

Your relationship is hanging by a fraying thread, but the two of you become too busy to discuss the growing tension between the two of you as junior year wraps up. Kageyama throws himself even more into volleyball as recruiters for professional teams begin to scout him. You’re busy with your summer internship and keeping up your grades to stay in the running for the companies you want to apply to during your senior year. But the calm before the storm can only last so long and when Kageyama tells you he’s been given an offer to join the Schweiden Adlers after he graduates, you explode. Kageyama’s known for some time that you’ve been bottling something up inside of you and that something’s been bothering you for a while now, but he’s not prepared for the venomous hate-filled rant you throw at him.

“Volleyball this and volleyball that. I don’t give a fuck, Tobio. I don’t care that you’re going to play for some stupid professional team. I don’t care about volleyball. I don’t care about you. Actually, let’s just break up so that I don’t have to listen to you talk about your stupid sport ever again. This relationship is over. Go have fun being a star athlete or whatever.”

You take sick satisfaction in the way he flinches at your words and stares at you in shock, a twisted damaged part of you finding solace in the fact that he’s finally hurting and suffering like you have for years. But when you see your own pain reflected in his eyes, you quickly turn to walk away from him for forever, only to be stopped by a firm, but gentle hold on your wrist and it takes every ounce of willpower you have not to turn around and run into his chest, to not sink into his familiar and comforting presence. You struggle to pull your arm from his hold, but maybe it’s the part in you that still loves him and yearns for him that makes your motions weaker than you intended and he determinedly holds on to you, pleading for you to talk to him, to help him understand where all this is suddenly coming from. And when you hear his voice crack and you hear the quiet sniffles he tries to hide, all the fight in you dies as you quickly whip around and throw yourself at his toned figure, uncaring of how your hands will ruin his shirt as you tightly clutch the front of it, bunching up fabric between your clenched fists and you sob as all your pent up feelings over the years finally make themselves known. Kageyama quietly listens, his own silent tears cascading down his face as he clenches his teeth and holds you tighter to him, upset at you for holding all of this in, upset at himself for not talking to you when he knew you weren’t fine all this time. There’s a pause after you finally finish unloading years worth of burdens, but you’re stunned by Kageyama’s next question.

“Do you only love me because I’m good at volleyball?”

You splutter indignantly and you jab a finger in his chest as you turn your head up to glare at him and give him a piece of your mind for even assuming something as stupid as that, but you pause at the humorous glint in his eyes and the smile twitching on his lips. Still scowling, you bite back the entire rant that had been about to exit your mouth as you give him a stern “no” and wait for him to continue.

“Volleyball is the reason I like you and it’s how we found each other, but you’re so much more than that to me. I’m not going to let you break up with me over a stupid game.”

You can feel your face begin to heat up at his words and in self-defense you mockingly bite back at him, trying to hide just how much those two sentences had affected you. “Did you just call it a stupid game?”

But your plan backfires when he just nonchalantly shrugs at your teasing words. “Compared to you and our relationship, it is a stupid game.” You think your heart might beat out of your chest with the way it races and you try to hide your face in his chest once more, only to be stopped by Kageyama gently grabbing your chin and keeping your face tilted up to look at him.

“Volleyball will always be a big part of my life, but I’m going to continue showing you and proving to you that I’m more than just that. I’m going to make sure that when you see me, you only see Kageyama, the man you fell in love, the idiot who you have to tutor because he can barely pass his English classes, the “overgrown child” you make fun of for still always drinking milk. I’m going to make sure that you never associate me with those negative feelings ever again. And when those negative feelings bubble up, I want you to tell me and talk through them with me. I’ll always be here with you and for you every step of the way.”

His words alone are enough to almost make you swoon, but it’s his eyes full of nothing but love that have you falling for him all over again and when he leans down to connect his lips with yours, you melt into the touch. And when your eyes meet once again as you press your foreheads against each other, arms wrapped around each other, a silent promise is made. A promise of devotion. A promise of commitment. A promise to never give up no matter how tough things become. And there’s no doubt in either of your minds that there are going to be many bumps along the way, but there’s also no doubt that together you’ll be able to navigate whatever other curve balls life throws at the two of you.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #kageyama x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #kageyama

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vulturhythm · 3 years

Text

i’m what’s left when children go to war - one

Pain and panic alike clog Jaskier's throat, welling until he can scarcely breathe for the fear overwhelming his every sense. He has never felt this dread, this terror before - he stumbles, foot catching on a loose brick in the pavement, and nearly collapses, crying out when he catches himself just in time to keep running, running, running...

The streets of Athens are black as pitch, torches and great vases of fire doing little to illuminate the spaces through which he flees - black as pitch and silent, too, their quiet broken only by his screams and sobs and pleas for help. They all go unanswered... have been unanswered from the start, for who would spare a second's thought of mercy for a simple slave? He's nothing more than filth to the people safe in their houses, safe away from the monster chasing short at his heels. Of course he'd ran toward the wealthier part of the city, of course he'd ran straight into the realm of the very people who despise his kind above all else -

He trips again, and this time he doesn't quite manage to catch himself in time. Jaskier collapses to the cobbled pavement with another cry, the impact on his knees and palms sending spikes of discomfort up through his frame, and before he can drag himself upright once more, the monster is atop him, grabbing him by the shoulder, the waist, the hips, pushing and pulling and turning, and Jaskier yells out another plea for help as those vicious hands flip him to his back again, as those violating hands grab for his arms, and Jaskier curses aloud and kicks out blindly, and he takes only fleeting relief in the grunt of pain he gets when his foot connects - only fleeting, for it is dashed away in a heartbeat -

for the monster is pinning him by the throat to the road, is leering down at him with a face twisted with cruel victory, and Jaskier grabs for the monster's wrist and tries to pry his hand away, but it is too strong, has always been too strong, and as Jaskier screams out again, the monster reaches into the folds of its chiton, draws a dagger that glints bright in the distant firelight, and -

Pain worse than that of before explodes from the epicenter of Jaskier's torso, and his scream echoes high and cracked and afraid as his hands fly to grab for the base of the dagger plunged deep into his flesh. The monster above him merely smiles, holding him firm for another eternity until the world is fading into gray, his lungs heaving for air that he can't quite draw, his grip going weak... and then, just as Jaskier is certain he will die here, pinned beneath his rapist, the monster lets go, ripping the dagger free with a savage twist that tears another scream from Jaskier's aching throat.

As the cry dies off, the monster turns to leave.

He has the strength to do little more than lay there limp at first, sucking in air even though the very act of breathing sends unthinkable pain through his bleeding torso. Staring up at the star-flecked sky, he feels his blood flowing hot and wet and free through his fingers, pressed as tightly as he can manage to the uneven hole. He wants nothing more than to die... and yet - and yet he knows that he cannot.

Jaskier is certain he has never before been so broken, so afraid, as when he forces his body back into motion, turning onto his knees and steadying himself with a single hand on the cobblestone. He coughs, hardly even taken aback by his own blood when it splatters from his lips onto the pavement beneath him. Though his head is spinning, he pushes himself up, first to both knees, then one, then upright; here he staggers, the world swaying around him, or is he swaying in the world? It's difficult to tell - difficult to tell much of anything when colors are going pale and lines are going blurry... but he cannot die. He lurches into motion, both hands clasped together against the wound in an attempt to stop the flow.

Even now, he knows his efforts are in vain.

He grits his teeth until they ache as he stumbles forward along the path, every stride uneven, every stride unbelievably agonizing. It feels as though his innards have been torn and ground to bits, as though they're leaking out between his shaking fingers along with his life force, and it feels as though his hips and thighs will splinter apart with the weight of each step, as though they'll simply crumble to dust under the abuse... but he cannot die. Jaskier calls out again, high and broken, begging for somebody, anybody to take mercy, and he feels a hint of vengeance twist its way into his heart when only the quiet of the Athens aristocracy answers him. He should not - cannot - be surprised. Of course they would turn a blind eye to anything that does not involve themselves.

For all that he was frantic and running blind before, Jaskier knows where he runs toward now - has known it since the moment he pushed himself to shaking feet. If he can only make it there, if he can only last long enough to claim sanctuary and beg for help, maybe he stands a fighting chance. Maybe his life can be spared... maybe it is not quite too late.

Jaskier feels as though he's already dead by the time he turns the corner onto another wide avenue, by the time he lifts his head and looks forward to the massive structure at its end. Torches are lit on the outer walls, and warm light falls onto the steps from the interior. For the first time, a glimmer of hope lights itself in Jaskier's chest; he stumbles once again in his efforts to move faster, nearly doubling over with another coughing fit that sprays his blood onto the pavement. Someone will be displeased with that, he thinks, brief and wild, able to imagine the disgruntled face of a wealthy man when he must walk around a splash of servant's blood come dawn. I'll have to clean it up...

He pushes these thoughts aside when he comes up to the steps, drawing in what little air his burning lungs can hold to cry out once more - a plea for sanctuary, for help, for someone to hear him -

and as he takes the first step, he sees a shadow cast on the walls inside move, take interest, and he dares to hope, and he begs aloud again -

and as he takes the second step, he hears a startled voice, and the embers of maybe flash brighter -

and as he takes the third step -

as he takes the third step, he doubles forward again, another fit of coughing spraying his blood onto the marble, and as he tries to recover, as he tries to lift his head and press on forward, he overbalances, and he slips, and he falls.

Pain shoots through his skull, and brightness flares across his vision in the instant before his world goes black.

A vulture perched upon the temple's roof watches, head cocked in its usual sardonic way, as the slave's skull cracks and bleeds on the edge of the next step - as Jaskier goes still, scarcely breathing, upon the threshold of the temple of Ares.

- - -

The realm of Ares is much the same as that of all the rest, albeit grimmer for its context. A sprawling Athenian estate dominates its bulk, but where the homes of Aphrodite or even Apollo are bright in palette, Ares' is dimmer, every color seeming duller, and where theirs are built of marble, Ares' is built of whitewashed stone. Where gold adorns the corners and detailing of the other gods' dwellings, simple silver plates Ares'. The gardens and wandering stream throughout the courtyard are less vibrant than those that can be found elsewhere, almost as if the somber nature of Ares' dominion has reached the plants themselves, stunting their growth with shared sorrow and mourning. Even the land upon which the aristocratic home rests is duller than the rest, trees less impressive, grass less green.

No matter. It is, for better or for worse, a house - Ares hesitates to call it a home.

He hesitates, in fact, to even call himself Ares, for the deity that first held the name has been among Elysium for many centuries now. Not that the mortals know any better, of course... he didn't, either, not when he was alive. How many decades has it been? Four, five, since he was blessed to take over the godly throne? Enough that he no longer remembers the name of the woman from whom he took the mantle. Blessed. He scoffs at the thought. No... no one who knew the truth would ever call godhood a blessing.

He is so accustomed to the sound of the veil being rent apart that he gives it little thought when the dull hiss and rush of air signifies the arrival of the keres. It is an almost daily occurrence, for the androktasiai do not rest, their cruel wiles unending; but, he thinks, as he sets his book aside and makes to stand from his chair, he does not recall sensing a current war...

"My liege," comes a familiar voice, and he turns, forcing only the barest smile for the spirit he considers a friend before he's fully facing the keres. "We bring an unusual soul before you today."

It is on the tip of his tongue to say something nonchalant and bitter - I have seen every possible manner of death thus far, Renfri, I doubt you can surprise me - but as his eyes drop to the body cradled in the ker's arms, he stalls, freezing in place.

He has seen much, yes - has seen heads crushed under horse's hooves, has seen throats torn and gaping, has seen torsos riddled with arrows and pierced through with spears and swords - and he has grown... not accustomed to, but acquainted with the hideous cruelty of war. Many soldiers are young, many cut down before they're truly given the chance to live; he is no stranger to the sight of ruined armor and frightened eyes overflowing with tears. He is, after all, the god of war. Soldiers' deaths are everyday to him.

This... this boy held close to Renfri's chest... he wears no armor. He scarcely wears even his tunic, the swath of fabric torn in such a way that looks as if a wild thing set its claws to the cloth; what remains is soaked through with blood. His head is resting limp on Renfri's shoulder, dark hair tousled and matted with blood that runs steadily from a fissure in his skin and skull.

He is not a soldier.

"What is this?" the god of war asks sharply, stepping forward. At Renfri's back and flanks, the other keres edge backward, respectful of the anger they no doubt sense building in his chest. "This isn't a soldier, you've brought me a boy, for how old he looks - I haven't laid a claim on anyone, why are you wasting his dying seconds here?"

Renfri cuts him off before he can launch into another tirade, sounding impossibly patient, a little condescending; just as always, he subsides. "He fell upon your temple stairs."

With that, he goes still, golden eyes going wide as they rest on the youth's face, pallid with the grave. Dread overpowers anger, and in an instant, he feels nothing more than fear. He had hoped - had prayed, as idiotic as that was - that he would never be faced with this instance. Who would seek out Ares for sanctuary? Who would trust the god of war with their lives? "No," he says aloud. "No. I won't - I won't claim him."

"You have no choice," Renfri reminds him. "If it's revealed that he sought sanctuary before the judges, he will be sent back to you regardless."

He grits his jaw, sparing the briefest of glares for the russet-haired woman as his fingers knot into fists at his sides. It is easy, now, to turn away dying soldiers, to promise them rest in Elysium - even when he can sense the evil rolling off their skin, even when he knows it to be a lie. Standing here, a gods-damned youth presented before him, soul ripe for the taking, he struggles to find within himself the strength to resist. He knows he will never pass on the mantle of war, knows he will never subject another soul to the horrors to which he's adjusted... knows there will be no point in accepting the young thing.

No point, and yet... and yet he can at least offer a place of comfort, the solace of company, for the boy's eternal rest.

"Give him to me," he grits out at last, his tone as neutral as he can make it. "Let me hold him."

Renfri complies immediately, as she always does, stepping forward to meet him with outstretched arms. He takes the boy from her protective cradle with practiced care, sinking to his knees that he might hold the boy closer still. He is not surprised when the young thing stirs, a whimper of protest rising in his throat; he is, however, surprised when that bleeding head tips sideways to rest against his chest. He is afraid.

"Can you hear me, young one?" the god of war whispers, grimacing at the feel of blood-drenched fabric on his hands. He readjusts his grip to be as delicate as possible, knowing that the boy's pain will soon cease forever - he can sense no aura of hatred, although... although there is something else, something unique, new. "You are safe now."

As weak as the little thing is, trembling and limp in his embrace, it startles him when heavy eyelashes begin to flutter open, and startles him even further when the shade of blue revealed beneath seems brighter, purer, than even the clearest of skies, for all that they are hazy with death's fog. "Can you speak? I would like your name, if you feel it fit to tell."

He expects no response, but one comes regardless, after a pause that hangs heavy in the air with confusion and pain. "Jaskier," murmurs the boy, and his voice is so subdued, so broken... so afraid, and yet so different to the fear of all the soldiers the god rejects day by day, so different to the terror of death... so beautiful. "My... my name is Jaskier."

The boy's voice cracks there, and the god steadies him as best he can, freeing a hand to brush those matted locks of deep brown aside. Something in his chest goes tight when the boy - Jaskier - tips his head into the touch and lets his eyes drift shut again, so clearly dazed, desperate for kindness. Jaw firm, he lifts his head, meeting Renfri's gaze. "Who killed him?" The question is simple, direct. This was a murder... and part of his steel heart rages at the thought of anyone or anything slaughtering a creature this beautiful, this fragile.

Here, Renfri's own face shutters, and she reaches up to remove the hound's head helmet she wears, balancing it in her arms. There is something new in her eyes, something tense and vicious... a memory. "One of my women saw him fleeing after he was stabbed," she says, her eyes dropping to Jaskier. "She said that the man turned and ran before she could properly see, but he had been chasing the boy for quite some time, she guesses."

"He was nearly inside your temple, my liege," another ker speaks up from Renfri's side; the god's gaze flicks sideways to her. "He was coughing his blood onto the stairs when he slipped and fell... lost his balance, no doubt. His skull... I do believe he is to die immediately."

The war god's face is impassive, though his spirit aches. So close to sanctuary... so close to salvation... and yet, cursed now... your pain will cease, but your suffering will not...

Another weak sound from the boy in his arms draws him back to the present, and he brushes his fingers through those locks again, holding bright blue eyes as they open again. "What happened to you?" he asks him, running his fingertips along the edges of the split in Jaskier's skin. The boy flinches, then stills, no doubt too overwhelmed to feel any specific source of agony. "What do you remember?"

Jaskier is quiet, those eyes fading with every labored breath he draws. Conflict is plain in his gaze, in the way he looks away, up to the ceiling overhead. Another broken noise catches halfway up his throat when he shifts in the god's embrace, pressing his hand more firmly to the wound in his torso. "He chased me," he murmurs at last, "once he was done... threatened to kill me if - if I told a soul... I ran, I didn't - I thought I could make it somewhere safe i - in time..."

Confusion must flicker in the god's eyes, for Jaskier's face pinks with shame even through the pallor of death. The boy says nothing more, and the god lifts his eyes once more. "He was assaulted otherwise, my liege," Renfri explains before he can open his mouth to ask, and the edge in her tone - sorrow, empathy, memory - sends yet another arrow through his heart. "... Taken, and not for the first time, either."

Her meaning dawns at the same time Jaskier all but recoils from the words, drawing closer into the god's chest with a wounded noise. At once, the unfamiliar aura he felt makes sense - it is the brush of evil against purity, the effects of cruelty upon the innocence of youth. Something vicious snarls to life deep within his chest, something feral and full of hate for the mortals whose lives he is meant to end. Never before has he more sincerely wished to send war across the lands, that he might get some gods-damned rest. Not for the first time... what have they done to you, little thing?

"You're alright now," he murmurs aloud, his hand coming to cup Jaskier's face; when the boy noses into the hollow of his wrist, steady trembling abating some, his heart aches properly. It's a strange feeling. "You're alright, beautiful one, you're safe here... you will be safe here."

He senses, more than sees, the keres stir, interest piqued. He spares them not a glance.

"Where?" Jaskier is asking, his voice weaker than before. It is easy to tell he will not last much longer. "Where... am I...?"

The god softens then, and he brushes a thumb across the boy's cheekbone, across that smooth, perfect skin. Those brilliant blue eyes flutter, resting at half-mast as Jaskier relaxes into the repetitive motion. "You're in the realm of a god," he murmurs. "You are dying, young one. You've got but a heartbeat left, I believe..."

Fear flickers through those eyes, and he is quick to speak on, keeping his touch just as delicate as before, unfamiliar though it is. "You've nothing to fear. The judges will find you pure, and they will send you back here to live with me - back here for me to protect you."

"You - who are you?" Jaskier asks, and though the fear has faded back into confusion, he sounds... tranquil. It is easy enough to imagine that even the thought of death is better than that of returning to his prior life.

It is that tranquility that convinces the god to shift his touch lower, to press the pad of his thumb into the hollow of the boy's sternum, exposed through the tears in his tunic. Jaskier winces, but protests not, relaxing again nearly immediately; he is too weak to fight. The god of war watches as a simple black design twines itself onto bare skin, bold at first, then fading to nothing: a hound's skull, Ares' claim. "You know me as Ares," he says aloud, "but my name is Geralt."

"Geralt," he murmurs, soft and low. The name sounds enchanting upon his lips, strained though his voice may be. "I'll come back to you...?"

Geralt nods, returning his grip to Jaskier's jaw; he cannot help but smile, faint and barely-there, when the little thing tilts his head back into the touch immediately. So starved for kindness... so starved for help. "You will come back to me," he replies quietly. "You've nothing to fear."

Standing above them, the keres are growing restless; Geralt can sense their anticipation rising. He glances up to Renfri, poised and waiting; when he looks back down, those blue eyes have nearly faded entirely. "You can let go," he tells the boy, as gently as he knows how. "I will be here waiting."

Jaskier says nothing more, too weak to muster words, but something almost like... like peace glints in his eyes. Just as Geralt grows used to the sight, those eyes gloss over entirely, that slender frame going still. The god heaves a sigh, and looks up to Renfri. She is reaching out already, hand open for the wisps of golden smoke that are rising from the boy's parted lips. Geralt watches in silence as the wisps twine themselves about her forearm, the image of dandelions printing brightly upon her skin before disappearing from view.

"You've chosen well," Renfri murmurs, backing off a stride as Geralt lowers Jaskier's corpse and stands. In mere minutes, it will fade, too. "It does you no good, dwelling here alone."

"I don't need your words of pity," he tells her quietly, already turning away. "Go, now. I trust we'll meet again soon."

He does not have to look to know that Renfri rolls her eyes, nor to know that the keres' bodies shift, women morphing into carrion hounds and vultures alike. The veil is torn once more, and the keres slip through; only a moment later, the room goes still.

Geralt is alone.

#when children go to war #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #greek god au #greek mythology au #my fics

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friendship-ended-with-pokespe · 4 years

Text

Kirby and the Big Race in Dream Land! Chapter 2

The Battleship Halberd, which navigates the great universe. Meta Knight was enjoying his elegant tea time in the central lounge. Then came Capital Vul, the one in charge of the battleship. “My lord, we have a transmission from Dream Land.”

“......Dream Land?” Meta Knight turned away and said. “Tell them that I’m out right now.” “Again, sir? You always tell them that......” “Why does it matter? I’ll beg off from getting dragged in their affairs.” “No, the transmission today isn’t from King Dedede or Kirby. It’s from Walky. Look, sir, it’s that guy with the loud voice.” “......What did you say?” Meta Knight placed his tea cup. “You should say that first. Walky, huh......how unusual. Very well, put him through.” “Aye, aye.” Captain Vul operated a panel close to the wall. A section of the wall became an enormous screen, and Walky was displayed. Walky said nervously. “Ah, Lord Meta knight. Sorry for calling you all of a sudden!” “No worries. What do you want from me?” “Right! It’s about ‘Dream Land ✰ Extreme ✰ Heart-Pounding ✰ Big Race’ that’ll be held this time!” “Hm? What?” Asked Meta Knight in return, and Walky gasped in surprise. “You haven’t heard of it by any chance? My apologies. I was sure that Kirby and King Dedede told you about it......” “I pretend to be absent in all their transmissions.” “I see then. To tell you the truth, a TV program will be produced this time with Dream Land as the setting. It’s about......” Walky explained with enthusiasm. Meta Knight listened with little interest while sipping his tea. “......So that’s what it is. Doesn’t it sound fun?” “I can't say.” “This is a hot topic in Dream Land right now. Everyone is brimming with determination to participate.” “So what about it?” “I have been given a huge task. I will be commenting on the race.” “Oh?” “That’s not all. The producer of the show said that he’ll make me the official announcer if it receives high ratings. I’ll become the announcer of Comet TV!” “......I see.” “I've longed to be an announcer. It'll be incredible to have my voice resound all over the universe!” “......So?” As the story was getting longer, Meta Knight became gradually irritated. “What do you want with me? Can’t just say it already?” “Ah, excuse me. I really want the program to be a success. It has to do with my dream, after all!” “Break a leg.” “No, you see......I’m not confident by myself. I don’t think it’ll catch the attention of the whole universe no matter how hard we publicize it.” “......Hmm?”

“I ask you to lend me your strength, Lord Meta Knight!” Walky kneeled on the ground as soon as he said. Meta Knight was taken aback. “What?” “Your popularity is unsurpassed, being the greatest hero in the universe. You’re a big star whose name is known to everyone.” “Hold your horses. That’s not who I am......” “It’ll become a huge topic if you were to appear in it!” “I have no interest in a TV program or so......” “I beg you, sir! Please commentate with me by your side! Hearing that lord Meta Knight is the commentator, it's bound to grab the attention of everyone in the universe!” “I refuse.” Having had enough, Meta Knight said. “That is no concern of mine. Ask someone else if you really need a commentator.” “There isn’t anyone that would gather more attention than you, sir!” “That’s not my problem anyways. Adieu.” Right when Meta Knight was about to cut off the communication: “Please hold on a moment, sir!” A shout resounded. It isn’t from the screen. The voice was heard from behind Meta Knight. Meta Knight turned around in surprise. Axe Knight, Trident Knight, Javelin Knight, and Maxe Knight are standing in a row......namely the ‘Meta-Knights,' the combatants of Halberd. Compared to Sword Knight and Blade Knight with excellent swordsmanship, they may be a bit lacking in combat, but doesn’t lose when it comes to their loyalty to Meta Knight. They are trustworthy subordinates. “What is it, you guys?” To Meta Knight in confusion, the Meta-Knights said in unison. “We would like for you to grant Walky’s wish!” “It’s not like you to crush the dreams of others, sir!” “Please be the commentator of the race!” The Meta-Knights urged him all at once. Even Meta Knight would be overwhelmed by his subordinates’ unwonted vigor. “What happened to you all? Were you asked by Walky?” “No, sir! We genuinely hope for the race to be a success......” “Gwahahaha!” Captain Vul was the one to interrupt with loud laughter. “You’re so dense, my lord. These lads are all thinking of participating in the race.” “......What?” Meta Knight looked at his subordinates. The Meta-Knights admitted frankly even as they wavered in embarrassment. “He’s right, to be honest. We happened to see the leaflets for recruiting participants......” “I’ve always wanted to appear on TV......” “They say that there’ll be a marvelous prize......” “My mom back in my hometown will be delighted if I were to appear on screen!” “You guys......” Meta Knight sighed deeply. The Meta-Knights insisted frantically. “We want to participate in the race and make it succeed.” “It would be lonely if no one were to watch it.” “Please, Lord Meta Knight!”

He cannot turn it down now it has come to this. Meta Knight may at times be cool and ready to be callous, but is surprisingly considerate towards his men. “It can’t be helped then.” He nodded in reluctance. Walky, who kept prostrating himself on the screen, suddenly rose up. “So you’re accepting it......t-th......!” Captain Vul’s countenance changed, seeing Walky moved deeply and about to tear up at any moment. “Argh, oh no! Everyone, get down! It’s dangerous, sir!” Captain Vul lunged at the screen and tried to turn off the switch, but he was a moment too late. “THHHHHAAAANK YOUUUUUUUU SOOOOO MUUUUUUUCH!!!!!!!!!!!” Together with the resounding of his destructive scream, Halberd’s communication screen smashed in pieces.

The next day. Meta Knight paid a visit to Castle Dedede at once. He thought of stopping by the castle and hear the details for now, but heard a loud voice on the way. “Heave-ho! You can do it, Waddle Dee!” “K......Kirby......no more......” It was Kirby and Waddle Dee’s voice. It can be heard from the trees on the outskirts of the road. Meta Knight made his way there. What met his eyes was a very strange sight. Kirby and Waddle Dee tied themselves to a rope and are dragging an old heavy-looking tire. In spite of his looks, Kirby is pulling it effortlessly with inhuman strength, but that isn’t the case for Waddle Dee. Even as he sweated in large drops with his face in bright red, his tire wasn’t moving an inch. Kirby noticed Meta Knight and rushed over to him. “Ah, it’s Meta Knight! What happened? You’re gonna enter the race too?” “No......what are you guys up to?” “See for yourself! We’re working out!” “For the race?” “Of course! We’re aiming for the victory.” In contrast to Kirby in high spirits, Waddle Dee was dead tired. “Let alone......win, whether I could even......reach the goal or not......” “You’ve got this, Waddle Dee! Let’s do a hundred laps next!” “I......I can’t......!” Seeing Waddle Dee completely worn out, Meta Knight smiled beneath his mask. It was when he was about to leave that area quietly to not disturb the pair. Meta Knight was alerted suddenly, feeling that he was being watched. (......Who is that?) He casually looks over his surroundings. Someone has concealed himself in the shade of trees at a distance. It is a small figure wearing black from top to bottom. It is well-hidden, but cannot deceive the eyes of Meta Knight. (It isn’t from Dream Land. Who is it?) The mysterious figure disappeared without warning. Meta Knight quickly went after it. However, he soon lost sight of it. It also didn’t leave any trail behind. Evading Meta Knight’s pursuit, it was gone like a smoke...... (That isn’t just anyone.) Meta Knight ponders. (What was it looking for? I don’t want to be involved with it, but I can’t help but be worried......)

Meta Knight arrived at Castle Dedede. As he made his way through the corridor, he could already hear the gruff voice of King Dedede. “Come now, no need to hold yourself back. It’s better to keep eating. There’s tons of both cakes and fruits! How’s the drink? Drink some more!” A guest seems to have come before him, where they also appear to be in the midst of a party. Paying no heed, Meta Knight entered the hall. Leaning back on his favorite sofa, King Dedede was in good spirits. A platter on the table is overflowing with food. Sitting on the sofa for guests was a young man that he wasn’t familiar with. He is wearing a flashy outfit with over the top decorations. “Oh man, I’m all stuffed now, King Dedede. I’m good with foods.” “Really? How about you get to the matter at hand then. It's about the race this time, where if you could tweak it slightly for me to win......” Meta Knight cleared his throat a little. Turning around in surprise, King Dedede jumped up from his chair. “Meta Knight!? H-How long have you been there!? What a rude fellow, coming in without saying anything!” “Waddle Dee who should’ve been the guide wasn’t there, so I went in on my own.” “I-I don’t have any qualms about it! In no way was I trying to have the TV producer make me win the race by making him welcome......!” King Dedede became bright red and swung his fists. Although the king’s dishonest plan was obvious, Meta Knight took no notice of it. To him, the outcome of the race isn’t worth worrying about. “I see, so you’re the TV producer.” Said Meta Knight, and the gaudily dressed young man brushed his hair up. “I am Kizario, the famed producer. You wanna participate in the race too?” “No, I was merely asked to commentate on the race.” “......Commentate?” The smile disappeared from Kizario’s face. “What’s this? I didn’t ask anyone to commentate.” “I was requested by Walky. I’m not inclined to, but there’s no choice.” “Wha......hang on a sec. I don’t need no commentating......” “Hoho, so you’re the commentator. How interesting!” Interrupting Kizario’s words, King Dedede bent himself forward. “You’ll commentate well on my performance! Let my charm be known to all my fans in the universe!” “Hold on here. The program has no plans for commentating......” Kizarion was flying out at him, but King Dedede wasn't listening to him at all. Silencing him by shaking that large hand of his, he said in good humour. “Let me introduce him. This fella is Meta Knight, kinda like my underling.” “......Who are you calling underling?” “He’s like that, but is a pretty trustful guy. Although it’s way beneath my level, he’s quite popular on his own. If he takes charge of commentating, it’ll become a hot topic all over the universe!” “H......Hot topic?”

Kizario’s face became more and more drawn. “I-It’ll be problematic if it becomes a huge topic! My plan will......”

“......What?” “N-No, never mind!” Kizario forced a smile. His voice however sounds shrill. It’s suspicious, however you look at it. Still, Meta Knight said with a look of ignorance. “Speaking of which, how many staff are coming?” “Huh? Staff?” “You would need a great number of staff to produce a show. How many staff are in Dream Land right now?” “There aren’t any staff, you see......it’s only me.” “Only you? You’re going to make the program just by yourself?” Meta Knight gazed intently from deep within his mask, where Kizario then replied uneasily. “It’s because we’re on a preliminary inspection right now. Just me alone is enough. Of course, plenty of real staff will come in the hour of filming!” “Alright then......so the figure that I happened to see just now wasn’t the TV staff?” Said Meta Knight as if talking to himself, and studied Kizario’s expression. Kizario asked as he shuddered. “You happened to see......just now?” “It was a figure of suspicion. It was dressed black from top to bottom, and seemed to be hiding something. I was certain that it was the TV staff, but I guess I was mistaken.” “D......Dressed black!?” Kizario cowered in fear, where Meta Knight asked without a moment's delay. “Do you have any idea of it?” “N-Not a chance! I have no clue who that is!” Faking a laugh, Kizario stood up. “Oh dear, I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’m quite a busy bee, so I gotta go back. Cheers, you guys.” “......Hm.” Facing the back of Kizario trying to leave in hurry, said Meta Knight. “My style is to do it my all. I’ll be sure to make this show succeed.” Kizario turned around. He looks awfully off-color. “You are broadcasting it all over the universe, right? I would like to show it to as many people as possible.” Added Meta Knight in an assuring manner. “Y-Yup, of course, Meta Knight. I hope that the program turns out great.” Kizario then rushed away in a fleeing manner.

After Kizario left, King Dedede asked. “Who’s the man wearing black from head to toe?” “Well......I have no clue. But Kizario seemed to have an idea. Meta Knight pondered. “King Dedede, this all sounds nothing but fishy. Is he really a TV producer?” “Yup, of course.” “What’s the evidence?” “What do you mean evidence!? It’s gotta be since the guy himself said so.” Having been told in a lordly manner, Meta Knight sighed a little. Despite being crafty himself, King Dedede is fooled easily. “I can’t get it off my head......what he’s trying to make doesn’t seem to be just a show.” “Hmm? What do you mean by that?” “I’m not sure yet. But there is more to what he said......” Muttered Meta Knight to himself, and turned his back on Dedede.

On the other hand- Having rushed out of Castle Dedede, Kizario was grumbling as he came down from the mountain path. “A suspicious figure in full black could only mean-! What a pain in the neck. You mean to say that Kurron has already shown himself in Dream Land!?” Messing up his hair, he let out a moan. “It’ll be bad if I’m beaten to the punch. I’ve got to find “that thing” before Kurron does! At any rate, that dude was uncalled for......” Kizario clicked his tongue. “With how simple-minded the bunch in Dream Land are, I thought I would lead them by the nose, but......only Meta Knight seems to be pretty keen. Now I can’t say that the TV stuff was all a lie......ahh, such a pain in the neck......”

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Table of contents

#kirby novels #kirby of the stars #light novel #translation #kirby #waddle dee #king dedede #meta knight #walky #meta knights #captain vul

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bumble-weeb · 4 years

Text

Iwaizumi’s seen Oikawa cry hundreds of times over the years.

From scraped knees to broken toys as a child, to lost volleyball matches and break-ups as a teenager, Iwaizumi has been there. He’d witness Oikawa’s face scrunch up unpleasantly, just before his eyes would swell with tears. Oikawa was an ugly crier, always sobbing loud enough to wake the dead and leaking enough snot to warrant an entire box of tissues.

Iwaizumi would tell him to stop being so noisy, wipe away what tears and snot Oikawa would allow before swatting him away, and just sit beside him until the sobs eventually slowed into pitiful sniffles. Even if it took hours, when Oikawa calmed down enough to steady his breathing and finally look over to Iwaizumi, it was always worth it. Oikawa’s rare, bashful smile would always be worth it.

But right now, Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to do.

He’s standing beside the sand box where he and Oikawa first met as kids, wearing only plaid sleeping pants and an inside-out university sweater because his idiot best friend sent him a dozen texts asking him to meet him at the neighborhood park straight away, despite it being almost two in the morning. After years of experience with Oikawa’s sudden late-night adventures, Iwaizumi expected something along the lines of a trip to the 24/7 conbini to satisfy his friend’s recent craving for fried chicken and strawberry mochi. What he definitely hadn’t expected was a confession.

Oikawa’s only a few feet away, in his favorite pair of alien pajamas and a black jacket, a vulnerability in his eyes that Iwaizumi hasn’t seen in years; not since he’d injured his knee. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, a sign of his nerves.

“I’m in love with you,” Oikawa repeats, voice trembling.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi manages, and that’s all that comes out. He knows what he wants to say, he just doesn’t know how to say it. This moment feels too big. He wasn’t prepared for this at all.

Oikawa visibly swallows after a few moments of nothing more than silence, his long lashes fluttering closed as he his lips part to inhale a deep lungful of autumn air. He opens his eyes and smiles, but it’s so completely wrong that Iwaizumi’s stomach drops. The usual tell of oncoming tears was always the scrunching of his nose, but tonight Oikawa’s eyes just gleam brighter and brighter under the moonlight, until the tears slip down his cheeks and drip from his jaw. There’s no sobbing, no mess of snot, no ugly expression.

This is a pain that Iwaizumi’s never seen in him before, and it’s all his fault.

Panic rises in him and he opens his mouth to say something, to fix this, but Oikawa cuts him off.

“It’s okay, silly Iwa-chan,” he continues to smile, sounding anything but okay. “No need to look so disgusted, it was just a joke. As if Oikawa-san would want a brute like you for his boyfriend.”

Iwaizumi stiffens. The lie is so painfully absurd he wants to reach out and smack the idiot upside the head, and then pull him close and never let go. He steps forward, hoping that whatever expression he was wearing that made Oikawa think he was disgusted is gone. His stomach drops again when Oikawa steps back, keeping his distance.

I’m fucking up. I’m fucking this all up, Iwaizumi thinks and grits his teeth. Just say something!

“Too bad, Shittykawa, because I want to be your stupid boyfriend!”

Iwaizumi regrets it instantly, his face and neck heating up in embarrassment.

Oikawa’s mouth falls open in surprise.

“Let me… let me try that again,” Iwaizumi covers his face with one hand to hide his deepening flush. “I thought you called me out here to do something stupid, like you always do on our last night of a break. I didn’t expect you to confess.”

He’s met with silence and he’s too nervous to pull his hand away.

“Before you left for university, you told me that you were going to spend the next four years training for a spot on the national team. You said that you couldn’t spare the time for anything else, not when your dream was the closest it’d ever been.”

“That didn’t include you,” Oikawa’s voice sounds so small. “Iwa-chan has always been the exception.”

Iwaizumi lowers his hand, his gaze falling onto Oikawa’s crying face. It’s the one he recognizes, scrunched up and covered in snot, so familiar that Iwaizumi’s nerves melt into a warmth that settles in his chest. He loves this man so much, even with his stupid bedhead and his lame space pajamas.

“I didn’t respond to you right away because I didn’t know how to. It sounds dumb, but I thought I’d be the one confessing once you graduated and had a spot on the national team… I thought I would have the time to plan it out, make it this big thing that would make you cry and want to brag to Matsukawa and Hanamaki,” Iwaizumi reaches out to take Oikawa’s trembling hand in his own. “I’m sorry I hurt you, that wasn’t my intention.”

Oikawa’s sobbing now, the kind that will absolutely wake up everyone within a one-mile radius, so Iwaizumi laughs while pulling him close. He presses his fingers into soft, brown curls so Oikawa will take the hint and cry into his shoulder. He’s immediately wrapped up in long arms, dragged down to the ground under Oikawa’s weight until he’s on his knees. It’s an awkward position, but Iwaizumi doesn’t mind. He runs his palm over Oikawa’s hair, his neck, his shoulders.

“I-Iwa-chan is so mean,” Oikawa wails against Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Iwaizumi continues petting him, trying to comfort him in a way he’s allowed to now.

“I know.”

Oikawa shifts back like he’s going to sit up, but not before using Iwaizumi’s sleeve to wipe off his face. If he weren’t so in love right now, Iwaizumi definitely would’ve shoved him to the ground for that.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says softly, sniffling once to clear his nose. His hands hold onto the front of Iwaizumi’s inside-out sweater when he pulls back, as if afraid he’ll slip away. “Hajime.”

Iwaizumi’s jerks, eyes going wide. He hasn’t heard Oikawa call him that since grade school.

“Y-yeah,” he responds, like Oikawa’s a teacher calling attendance. It earns him a huff of laughter.

“Hajime, I love you,” Oikawa looks at him like he looks at his favorite constellations, like he looks at the scoreboard after a crushing victory. It’s overwhelming, but in an incredibly good way. “I don’t want to wait until graduation to be with you, I don’t want to wait until I’m on the national team. I’ve waited my entire life for you, please don’t make me wait any longer.”

Iwaizumi’s heart speeds up. His own hands move to cup Oikawa’s face, his thumbs brushing across the tinge of pink high on his cheek bones. He feels like an idiot for having thought this should wait. They’d been waiting for each other for a long time already, hadn’t they?

“I love you, too,” Iwaizumi confesses into the small space between them. “Tooru, can I be your stupid boyfriend?”

Oikawa laughs abruptly, his eyes crinkling in the corners. A stray tear slips down his cheek, but Iwaizumi wipes it away before he finds the courage to lean in. It’s just a gentle press of lips, more of a promise than an actual kiss, but it’s so warm that he finds it hard to pull away. Reluctantly, he puts space between them, but only enough to see his boyfriend’s face.

Oikawa’s eyes are shining like he might cry again, but his expression is soft and open. Noticing Iwaizumi’s intent gaze, his lips stretch into a small, bashful smile.

Ah. There it is, Iwaizumi grins, his fingers gripping onto the soft curls at the nape of Oikawa’s neck and tugging him close again.

When their lips meet the second time, it’s just as warm.

#iwaoi #iwaizumi x oikawa #oikawa #iwaizumi #haikyuu

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am-imagines · 5 years

Text

Crazy in Love - Alex Morgan Imagine.

A/N: I’m sorry this took me so long to finish: Anything involving a jealous Alex would be great! Maybe with an at first very oblivious reader. Thanks :) I hope the wait is at least somewhat worth it, anon! <3

Being best friends with Alex happened naturally.

After coming back from a serious injury that put your career on hold, Orlando Pride gave you a second chance to prove your worth on the league. It took you two years to come back, to test the odds and challenge your limits just to play once more. But you found your place wearing Orlando’s jersey, and you wore those colors proudly.

No one could match your skills, and in no time, you turned the league again.

With Alex as your partner at the front, Orlando had a lethal combination. It was unexpected, but exactly what the team needed to escalate on the board.

When Alex went away to the World Cup, you found your rhythm with Marta with ease although it wasn’t the same dynamic like with Alex. At least, not on your mind. Sure, you two still put on a show and did a fine job keeping the Pride on its track, but you missed number thirteen.

You two are really similar; passionate about what you do, hard-working, a little stubborn, and competitive to a fault. People assumed you would clash, but you never did. Your rivalry has been playful, and the only consequence of losing the ongoing bet is who ends up paying for dinner.

Life works in strange ways though, and when Jill called you up to the USWNT for the last match on the Victory Tour, Alex wasn’t there to freak out with you. She’s in L.A. and actually, you won’t get to see each other until she joins camp a day later than you.

It’s not a big deal.

Except that you’re meeting the team on your own.

You’re meeting World Champions and despite knowing them through the league, joining them in Chicago feels unreal. This is also the end of an era, and you have one single chance to make the best first impression. This is your time to shine so whoever comes after Jill knows you’re there.

You didn’t make the World Cup roster, but you focus on the future rather than the past. Your goal is the Olympic team, and if you get one chance now, you’ll make the most out of it.

Joining the USWNT comes with craziness; courtesy of Kelley O’Hara and Emily Sonnett. It helps to have Ali and Ash around; they take care of the introductions which is a good start, but doesn’t make things less overwhelming. Still, it’s surprising how easy you fall in place. It’s almost like you were a part of the National Team from the beginning.

By dinner, you’re engaged in lively conversation with Christen, Tobin and Allie.

At some point, Tobin excuses herself, and as soon as she leaves the spot next to you, someone is already taking it. It has been like that all day long; the girls are curious about you and everyone wants to have a chance to ask you something.

“Did you miss me?”

Your gaze snaps up to meet Alex; already in training clothes and smiling brightly. Without thinking, you wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. You know if you two were standing, you would’ve tackled her due to your enthusiasm.

It’s been weeks since you’ve been in the same city, let alone sitting next to each other. That hug; the one she reciprocates just as fiercely, is one you’ve craved since the moment she went back to L.A.

“So much,” you admit. “Nothing is the same without you.”

You feel her smile even if you can’t see her face. Can’t blame her when you’re smiling too.

Open displays of affection are relatively new to you, but Alex makes them feel right. So, you do little more than blush when she kisses your cheek before the hug finally ends.

Once Tobin is back, Alex doesn’t let go of the seat. She even puts on a show of holding into your arm as further proof she isn’t going anywhere. The Thorn only rolls her eyes in amusement, but quickly finds an open spot next to Christen.

Even then, Alex pulls you a bit closer while the chatter resumes.

You don’t mind the closeness at all.

You also don’t mind her becoming your shadow until everyone is back on their rooms. You also don’t mind it when she makes her way into your bed and you end up cuddling while you catch up. It’s not something foreign; you’ve had many movie nights in the past that have ended just like this; with Alex being the little spoon as you drift off to sleep.

A soft chuckle escapes you when the next morning, she rushes to sit next to you on the way to practice. She practically body-checks Sonnett in the process. You weren’t lying when you said things aren’t the same when she’s not around.

This experience is crazy, but having Alex with you through it is incredible. You laugh with the entire team and join their silly joke contest. Alex only manages to roll her eyes and groan when you share a particularly awful pun, but you can see the hint of a smile on her lips.

A bunch of nerds can’t practice because of injuries; Alex, Kelley and Ali are some of them. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t a part of training. Pictures are taken, conversations bloom everywhere, and Alex’s arms are around you whenever she has a chance to be close.

She tells everyone willing to listen about your abilities; the fact they’ve seen them while you play on your club doesn’t matter, and you get to show them the extent of your skills when Jill starts a scrimmage.

You’re paired with Christen at first, and no one can stop you. Same thing happens when Rose, Mal and Tobin are placed next to you on the field to try different combinations. You adapt to what Jill asks of you, and you do your best every single time.

Everybody is a little impressed, and a few comments are made about the things you could have done on the World Cup. It’s not like they needed you. After all, this is the Victory Tour for a reason. Before you can say so, Alex has distracted you.

Every day is harder to deny you have a crush on her, and it doesn’t help one bit she’s brushing a strand of hair from your place while telling you how great you did. The blush burns your cheeks, and it isn’t from exertion alone, but you hope she can’t tell the difference. Maybe one day you’ll get the courage to confess; today is not the day.

“You want to go out with us for dinner?” She asks once training is over.

“Of course.”

You heard the guys talking about it not so long ago, and you’re excited about sharing another thing as part of the USWNT.

You head out together; joining the rest while they decide where to go. It’s too late to make a reservation for twenty something women, you’re sure of that. However, google is one magical thing that leads you to the perfect restaurant in a matter of seconds. The team moves like a flock of flamingos or something like that; standing in one leg and looking like clueless birds for at least three blocks; aimlessly following Sonnett.

Then, someone pushes you to the front where the real madness is taking place.

It’s very amusing, but you decide to hang on the sideline while Kelley does whatever she’s doing. You don’t want to ask why she took her shirt off. Nope. You have the feeling that someone is gonna take yours off if you do as much as staring at her for too long.

Thank the Gods for Christen, sweet Christen, joining your side and tugging on your sleeve until you follow her around the corner.

“Are they always like this?” You ask in bewilderment.

“Most of the time, yes.”

Christen offers you a smile, then heads into the restaurant to make sure they’re ready for a bunch of soccer players. And that’s when you realize that it’d be hard to do much without a few adults around.

“Hey, where did you go?”

You smile at the sound of Alex’s voice coming from behind you. A moment is all it takes for her to catch up, but instead of acting like a normal person, she jumps into your back.

This is a side of her you know too well; along the one stealing your hoodies when she stays over at your place. Of course, that doesn’t stop you from almost face planting with the inertia of her jump, but you manage to stay on your feet. The only thing you can do is laugh at her antics, shaking your head in amusement.

“Eh, Christen got me out of there before Kelley started stripping people.”

“I wouldn’t have let her take off your clothes.”

In a way, Alex has kept you safe since the beginning. She helps you deal with most of the pressure, and it’s easy to focus just on the game when she’s next to you. But, if someone is going to stop Kelley and the others from doing something way out there, it won’t be Alex.

That responsibility would probably be Naeher.

“And who’s going to stop you from taking it off yourself?” You ask with a smirk.

“You can always say no to me.”

Except you really can’t.

That’s why she’s still perched on your back; chin resting on your shoulder while you carry her all the way to the restaurant. She has no intention of letting go, and you don’t want the moment to end.

You find Christen waiting for you next to the hostess. She’s one patient soul, but you have the feeling that all hell would break loose the moment she snaps.

The lack of privacy doesn’t seem to bother Alex, she just waves at Christen without letting go. Then, she nuzzles your neck and places the softest kiss there and you almost drop her. There’s no way she doesn’t notice the way you shiver, but she needs to make sure your reaction is to her, so she nuzzles you again.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice is high pitched and strained although it never stops being a whisper. Your face is burning hot, but your hands are firm on her legs to keep her in place. How do you manage not to faint? You’ll never know.

That woman is going to kill you, and she doesn’t even know it.

Alex doesn’t have time to answer when the rest of the team burst into the small restaurant. They fill up the silence with chatter, laughter and even hollering. You can’t even hear what Christen says and she’s standing right next to you.

Two minutes later you’re at the table, and only then you realize that Alex is still on your back. Good. You don’t want her to believe your lack of coolness and massive crush are anything she’d have to feel guilty about. Her actions took you by surprise, and perhaps your neck is more sensitive than you’d like to admit, but none of that is her fault.

“Hey! Stop hogging the rockie.”

You’re not sure who said that; too worried about getting Alex back on her feet while pulling out her chair at the same time. It’s not an easy maneuver, but you manage not to knock all the silverware down. You didn’t expect others to sit next to you, or even want to. It makes sense, they were all over you before Alex arrived.

It’s still amusing to find JJ looking at Alex accusingly while Mal is already occupying the seat on your other side.

You’re the newest member, and the new attraction. Thankfully, T. is still the baby.

“Get your own,” Alex replies without missing a beat. “This one is mine.”

Her words are just playful banter with one of her teammates, you know that. But they still have an effect on you, although you’re not sure where that’s coming from. You like the hint of possessiveness in her voice and the way she immediately holds your hand to drive the point across.

Most of dinner goes away in a blur. You barely notice how Alex never lets go of said hand. You join the conversation sporadically; listening to the stories they have to share instead of sharing your own. Honestly, you prefer it that way.

When you finish your food, conversation lingers. You’re all smiles while Alex joins a conversation with Kelley and flings your hand around as she expresses herself. It’s endearing, and you can’t find it within yourself to let go.

When the guys become too much to handle; too emotionally exhausting for you to engage willingly instead of out of social obligation, Alex knows it. She pulls you into a one-on-one conversation before she suggest a walk back to the hotel.

You’re not too far, and the night is just perfect.

Only then you forget about the rest of the world. She makes you laugh and at some point both of you stop so you can stare into each other’s eyes while talking about everything and nothing at all.

The way back to the hotel isn’t as long as you wish it could be.

She isn’t going back to Orlando until the next season begins, but you made plans to visit her in L.A. She’ll show you around while you get to spend more time with her. You have to finish the season first, and you promise her to do your best while she isn’t around.

The team catches up with you before you make it into your room, and a movie night is planned right away. It’s the best way to deal with the stress pre-game, or so they say.

Alex goes oddly quiet when you accept. Anyone would give it away to tiredness, but she’s not shy about calling it a night if she doesn’t feel like it. However, she accepts the invitation after you do, and then leaves your side to sit in a corner.

Usually, something like that could be brushed off with ease. Not after she has spent the last day latching onto you. The team seems happy she’s finally sharing, and they are all around you before you can ask her about the sudden change.

With a sigh, you focus on the rest of the girls. You want to know them better, and it’s hard to tell if destiny has the USWNT in your future once a new coach takes the control.

The movie catches your attention for a grand total of twenty five minutes. You know Alex is in that room, but you wish she would be closer instead of the furthest corner.

All in all, you have a great time.

When the film ends, you wait a few minutes until most of the girl leave. There’s no need to fight your way out when you can talk with Christen as she gives you some insight on the upcoming match. Chris is sweet as a cinnamon roll, talented and gorgeous. Spending time with her is no chore at all.

And yet, you don’t miss the moment Alex makes an exit. You want to follow her but also don’t want to be rude with your host.

“Go after her,” Christen encourages softly. “You’re the one sharing a room with her and a grumpy Alex is not the easiest person to hang around.”

A chuckle is what you offer in lieu of an answer. Your favorite girl has a temper, and dealing with it can be pretty much like handling a dragon.

A muttered goodnight thrown to a hard chillin Tobin, a quick hug to Press and you’re out of there.

You run down the corridor just in time to avoid Alex closing the door on your face. Instead, she holds it open with an amused smile on her face. That’s a good sign. It doesn’t mean you’ll let her off the hook so easily, but it’s a start.

“Okay,” you say closing the distance between you. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Alright, she’s playing dumb. She can try, but you know her well enough to see through the facade. Countering her tactic with silence will only make her close up, avoid the topic and pretend nothing happened. You can’t have that; first because she’s your best friend, and second because you two are sharing a room and it’s impossible to ignore it.

“How much did you miss me?”

The question surprises her, but she’s not reluctant to answering it.

“A lot.”

“Enough to keep everyone away whenever they wanted my attention?”

“It’s not like that!” She defends.

You pull her a bit closer because she’s trying to avoid your eyes and you only want to know the truth. Alex seemed upset leaving Christen and Tobin’s room, so you know there’s something bothering her.

“Are you afraid someone is going to kidnap me to dye my hair pink?” You ask with mock shock. “Is someone going to set me up on a blind date if I don’t pay attention?”

“I’m sure more than one of them would like to date you.”

“Like who?”

Your heart beats madly in your chest while you wonder if this is really happening. You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but if there’s any chance of Alex liking you back, you want to know it then and there.

In your mind, everything makes sense. That could be your crush on Alex speaking rather than the objective truth, so you hold your breath while waiting for her answer.

“Christen to start with,” she says bitterly.

“Wait, what?”

Her answer throws you off entirely. You thought she was dating Tobin. Sure, she’s sweet but nothing about your interactions told you she liked you in that way. She was the one telling you to go after Alex when the latter stormed off.

Oh.

“Are you jealous?”

She’s ready to deny it. You can see as much, but the truth is clear on her eyes, so she closes her mouth and nods. You shake your head because this is incredibly stupid. Like every other lesbian, or lady-loving woman out there, you can’t simply talk about your feelings.

“Would it help if I say you’re the only one I want?”

Her expression changes in an instant. There’s a moment of shock while her eyes sparkle with hope. She knows what she wants, and that’s you.

You make her nervous in ways she’s not used to and the way you’re smiling at her doesn’t really help. When she hesitates, you take charge.

It’s impossible not to look at her lips before closing the distance. The first touch is tentative, cautious as you kiss her for the first time. The ringing in your ears is all you hear while one of your hands goes from her waist to her cheek.

You need to feel her. To make sure she’s actually there and you aren’t just having the best dream ever. It takes a moment for her to react; hands going into your hair as she responds in kind. Kissing her is better than you’ve ever imagined. It leaves you breathless, a little lost when you pull apart, but you find home in her eyes; forever changing between blue and green.

There’s a dazed look on her face, and she traps the laughter bubbling out of you with another kiss. You indulge, holding into her while she takes you to another dimension. You’re not the only one craving that kiss, that much is obvious.

“I’ve been flirting with you since you joined Orlando,” she says when you rest your forehead against her.

“I’ve never been flirted with before. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You laugh at that before kissing her again. Now you know, and there’s no way you’ll let her go.

#alex morgan imagine #alex morgan imagines #alex morgan x reader #uswnt imagines #requested #fulfilled prompt

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newcaptainofsquad9 · 4 years

Text

The Shakespeare Substitute {2} Kim Taehyung x black! fem! reader (College AU)

Parts: 1 2 3

Pairing: Taehyung x reader Taglist: @agustdpeach, @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore

Summary: After coming down from the high of meeting your old crush, Kim Taehyung again, you end up over analyzing your previous encounter with him. Of course your best friend James teases you for your awkward, yet false sense of bravado. You think about contacting Taehyung, however he ends up contacting you first, sending you down memory lane and wondering where this familiar encounter can take you.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Romance, College AU, Smut(in later parts)

Word Count: 2, 194

Warnings: None for this chapter.

Author’s Note: I’m glad people are enjoying this! I want to know actually if these black readers are working for people, like I just want black bts army to feel included with fics like this, since I’ve never had fics like this when I started to read/wrtie fanfiction. Also! If you guys read part one of my Jungkook fic, this is the same university that the reader in that fic goes to. If you want to read part one of Welcome To Shimmer Star, click here. So, let me know how it makes you guys feel. Requests are open for BTS and EXO, send me some! Thanks! One more thing, let me know if you’d like to be a part of the taglist, just message me about it!

I’m halfway out of the English building when James comes sprinting at me with that intense stare. Maybe I could have made it out of the building, but not with Shimmer Star University’s former track-star at my heels.

“Uh, Y/N, hold up!” he urges.

I turn toward James, who gives me an upturnt grin.

“What?” I ask with a little too much bite.

James stifles a chuckle, he raises his hands up in defense as I give him a hard side eye.

“I-I was just wondering what took so long with Mr. Kim,” he says.

I roll my eyes.

“It’s Taehyung, God I can’t believe he’s here,” I groan.

James crosses his arms.

“You were pretty fixated on getting out of the building,” he says, “you sure Taehyung didn’t try anything?”

I notice how serious James grows with those thick eyebrows furrowing and his jaw clenching. It’s scary. I shake my head in order to reassure him.

“No, we just talked for a moment,” I say, “nothing to worry about.”

I try to walk away from this conversation again, trying to comprehend my thoughts but James doesn’t let up. Of course he doesn’t.

“It’s nothing to worry about?” he asks, “then why are you blushing light skinned princess? And why are you so fixated on getting away from me? We usually grab tea after Shakespeare, remember?”

I blink up at him.

“Damn! I, shit, James I really forgot,” I stammer, “I-I just got to finish up on some homework.”

James keeps an amused look on his face, still trying to suppress his growing grin.

“Taehyung totally got you smitten, didn’t he?” he asks, “what happened to putting that shit in the past?”

I don’t even know that myself. Here I thought Kim Taehyung truly left my life at eighteen, fled back to Korea to do something while leaving me baffled with the potential of having a relationship with him. I’m still reeling from his return at Shimmer Star University! Out of all these universities in the country, he chooses Shimmer Star! What the actual fuck!

“Y/N,” James says, “you good in that head of yours?”

I grimace and shrug.

“I don’t know,” I admit, “that entire exchange overwhelmed me and I just don’t know what to do.”

James whines.

“Aw, c’mon sweetie, I’m sure a green tea can ease you,” he reassures, “you can get a mango shot and everything!”

“I don’t know James.”

“Please?” he begs, “it’ll be on me! my treat! you won’t even have to waste your meal plans, or get that rinky dink small cup, you’ll get a large today!”

I can’t help giggling at his goofy ass.

“Ok ok, fine,” I say, “I’m only going for tea, don’t expect me to stay at the cafe long.”

James only nods with a fist pump of victory before pulling me into a tight hug.

“Don’t worry girl,” he says, “if things don’t work out with Taehyung, can I take a shot at him?”

I stiffen against him and pinch him hard under his armpit. He yelps, flinching back as his arms fall from around me.

“Fine! I’ll quit it!” he exclaims as he puts an arm around my shoulder, leading me towards Shimmer Star Cafe.

━ ━ ━

Shimmer Star Cafe isn’t as crowded as it usually is during the day. Noon is it’s peaked hours, line trailing almost through the library where the cafe is connected with. Once James I get there around 5:15 pm it’s practically empty, the baristas are conversing among themselves prior to one of them popping back around to the cash register.

“James, hi there!” the barista greets.

James beams as I glance at him and the barista beams back.

“Hi! Could I get two large iced green teas? One with a mango shot and the other with a strawberry shot,” he says.

The barista grabs the cups from the left of the register swiftly with a nod.

“Coming right up real soon!” she says with a wink.

“Thanks boo!” James says.

We retreat to a booth near the back, it’s secluded, except for a tiny pile of books on a square table next to it. I stand beside it as James sits.

“What’s with that look?” he asks.

“Does that girl have a crush on you, or something?” I ask, doing a double take back to the counter.

James chuckles.

“Mandy? Nah, well, she knows I’m gay, but I’m not sure,” he admits, “it might be because I’m so dope, right?”

I roll my eyes and plop down across from him.

“Hardly,” I joke.

James pops his neck out in a false attempt to fight, but I’m ready this time with my own false fighting stance from an old Dragon Ball Z game.

“What the hell?” James asks through a fit of laughter, “your anime head ass, lord you win damn!”

He pats my hand, rising to his feet as his name is called from the counter.

“I’ll be back-”

I cut him off as I get up.

“No, I should just take my tea and leave,” I say, “thanks for treating me like this dude.”

James pouts.

“Aw, but I wanted to talk more,” he whines, “we don’t even have that much Shakespeare homework.”

“I’ve got other classes,” I counter.

James mutters a fine as we both walk back up to the counter together. Another barista hands us the teas from the end of the counter. While grabbing our napkins, straws, along with any other sugar condiments we’d need.

“Um, what could I get you?” the barista asks.

I turn towards her and my mouth nearly drops. There’s Taehyung standing next to another handsome guy, a bit shorter than him with medium length brown hair. I hide behind James and sip my tea slowly.

“Girl what is it-oh,” he says, noticing Taehyung as well. “Don’t panic, I know that guy with Taehyung.”

“You do?” I ask.

“Yeah, “ he says, “yo! Jungkook!”

Jungkook turns along with Taehyung, who raises an eyebrow.

“James, what’s going on dude?” Jungkook greets.

James slips into a slick handshake with Jungkook who follows it effortlessly. I can’t help but watch in awe. Of course James knows this guy, he’s so bubbly. I was joking earlier, but James is really electric, he’s got a way of putting people at ease, it’s helped me a lot since freshman year.

“Y/N?”

I look up and Taehyung is standing in front of me, his black turtleneck clear in view while his black coat is missing.

“Um, hi, uh, “ I stammer, “I gotta go!”

Taehyung takes a step forward.

“Wait, please I-”

“Uh, I’m sorry, I got homework, bye!” I let out quickly as I sip my tea for dear life and flee.

━ ━ ━

The tea is halfway gone once I get home. I kick off my shoes before plopping onto the blue sheets on my bed and roll onto my back. My eyes shut as I try to fathom what the hell just happened today. Not only does Taehyung teach as a substitute, he’s also subbing my class and one of his friends (or acquaintances) know James. This just got so much more complicated than I could handle.

My phone buzzes again, echoing it’s irritating noises from my drive back here. It’s got to be James, of course I could ignore it and actually start on homework, however, if I ignore him there could be grave consequences. His stank face is a worse punishment in itself. I rise and pick up my phone from the dresser, it reacts to me with multiple text message icons littering the screen. A swipe of my finger awakens it, I punch the numbers in and it unlocks revealing a few missed calls from James, along with a few texts.

They read:

I’m sorry I didn’t notice Taehyung

He’s Jungkook’s friend, he’s really chill for a TA!

Girl, this man is husband material, or at least enough for a pleasant dick appointment

I regret my actions. Of fucking course James is thirst texting. Why am I not surprised.

Another text interrupts my reading. This one read:

I know, you’re in the middle of homework. I caught you off guard today and I just wanted to talk.

I freeze as the person continues to type.

It’s Taehyung btw

Is he in control of my phone service now? Could I just get a moment to catch my breath? I’ve been in a whirlwind all day.

James is cool, great guy

I can’t trust James to do anything. I decide to text Taehyung right back.

Did he give you my number?

Taehyung responds right back.

Yeah, that ok?

I guess, but not for him. I’m surprised he didn’t you his number.

Taehyung’s response takes a bit longer this time.

Why- wait, he’s gay, isn’t he?

Great observation Sherlock. JK, he’s got great duality, he usually isn’t too charismatic unless he’s around me. He wasn’t flirting, was he?

No, but Jungkook was egging him on to do something, I polity had to decline. He seemed rather bisexual to me.

I smile down at the phone before responding.

I’m glad to see you weren’t eyeing my friend, can’t say I can speak for the rest of my peers.

I stare at the messages for a moment as Taehyung doesn’t even type this time. Instead of another message popping up, an incoming call does instead with the number Taehyung texted from. A groan escapes me as I press the green phone button and answer.

“Hello?”

“What do you mean the rest of them?” Taehyung asks.

I’m caught off guard at how his voice comes through, just as deep as it’s always been.

“I didn’t mean for you to call me,” I explain.

“Do you think I’ll let those girls in class get to me?”

I hum at his question.

“I don’t know, Jessica was practically throwing herself at you,” I say.

Taehyung chuckles lowly.

“Were you jealous?” he asks.

I tremble at his question. I know he did not just ask me that.

“Tae, I’m hanging up,” I declare.

“Hold on Y/N! Wait, please!”

I hold the phone against my shoulder, shuddering against how soft and familiar his voice is. It reminds me of how tender he told me of his feelings that night, four years ago at prom. God, why couldn’t he have just kept his thoughts to himself? I wouldn’t be in this mess if he wouldn’t.

“Y/N, are you still there?” he breathes.

“Yeah,” I whisper, “God, Taehyung, don’t you understand the shit you put me through the year you left? You can’t just come back and flirt with me like everything's ok!”

I cover my mouth as soon as the words come out.

“Taehyung I-”

“No, Y/N, you’re right,” he says, “I was being too informal.”

“Taehyung,” I start but he cuts me off again.

“I’m sorry, ok,” he admits, “God, let me at least make it up to you. What can I do?”

I chew on my lip and fall back against the bed. This is the first time I’ve had the control before. When we were almost a thing back in high school, he admitted his feelings and I just accepted them without much thought besides how good looking me was.

“I-I don’t know,” I say, “you apologizing was a step in the right direction, what do you have in mind?”

Taehyung shifts in wherever he is, I hear papers crinkle and shift around him.

“You have classes Tuesday?”

“Yeah,” I say, “just one in the morning though.”

“Let me take you out,” he suggests, “we can start over, I can get to know you better and actual listen.”

My heart pumps at his words.

“Really?” I ask, “where at? I need to make sure I can afford it first.”

“That doesn’t matter Y/N,” he says, “I’ll take care of it, let me treat you.”

“Are you sure?”

Taehyung chuckles and hums.

“Of course, the kids back in school didn’t call me Mr. Gucci for nothing,” he jokes.

A fit of giggles escape my mouth.

“I can’t believe you remember those idiots calling you that!” I exclaim.

Taehyung laughs again.

“Hey, it got you to laugh that’s all that matters,” he notes, “how’s homework going? Did you read Act one of Hamlet yet?”

I bite my lip and shake my head.

“No,” I admit, “I was going to, but I’m on the phone with my gorgeous substitute.”

“Ah, so you can flirt, but I can’t,” Taehyung says with a hint of amusement.

“Sorry,” I say, “that was a little informal of me.”

“No, you’re fine,” he says, “I have no problem with this, I can act very well and play your well behaved sub.”

I sigh against the sheets and bury my face between them. This man will be the death of me.

“I gotta go Tae,” I let out.

“Did I make you blush?” he asks.

By his tone I can practically hear the boxy smile on the other line.

“That’s none of your business Tae!” I say, “goodbye.”

Taehyung chuckles lowly.

“Goodbye beautiful.”

He hangs up soon after, leaving me a flustered mess.

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angstyryguy · 4 years

Text

A Digital Fever

no pairings

no spoilers for anything in the series, it’s just somewhere during season 1

themes: whump, sickfic

words: 3668

Summary:

Ryan is a Walker and Walkers do not get sick. So when Ryan goes to school with a high fever and his powers in turmoil, what else can happen than something bad?

******

A common cold was not something the Ryan Walker could have. He didn’t get sick. That was his whole thing.

...Apart from the whole “controlling technology with his mind" of course. That was still an important thing.

Oh, and the fact that he was one of the pilots of Mech X4…

Yeah, he actually had a couple of things, but that was beside the point. The point was, he didn’t get sick, so now that his nose was a little runny and his brain was a little slow as he woke up from the infuriatingly loud blaring of his alarm clock, he was fine. It didn’t matter that he swayed a bit as he stood from his bed, or that he didn’t feel like eating his mom’s newest experimental breakfast food. Everything was totally–

“Hey, you okay Ry-guy?”

“Fine.”

Ryan and Mark were seated at the kitchen table as their mom was preparing the batter for her food truck's famous pancakes. She eyed Ryan with her scanning motherly eyes as her spatula was frozen mid-spin in the bowl. She didn’t look convinced in the slightest.

Ryan quickly grabbed his fork to stuff his mouth with eggs. He looked her in the eyes as he chewed. See? he tried to show his mom, I’m totally fine.

She sighed and set about mixing her batter again, seemingly content enough that he was at least eating now. He was glad her motherly instincts didn’t mean she could actually read minds. He really didn't want her to know just how hard it was to swallow even the smallest bite. His stomach turned even as he thought about it.

He shuffled his food around on his plate with his fork for a bit, making it seem as if he had touched more of it than just that one bite, and then quickly left the kitchen table. He grabbed his bag just as Mark scraped his plate clean. Show off.

“Come on, we’re going to be late,” Ryan said, already heading out of the door. He couldn’t actually go to school without Mark, since he was his ride, but acting like he was leaving without him helped with the pressure to get Mark to follow. He wanted this day to be over as quickly as possible. Mark gave a quick goodbye smile to mom and dashed off after Ryan, his own bag sloppily thrown over one shoulder.

“Hey wait up!”

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

School was dreaded for a reason, but when you were definitely not sick, it was even worse. The first half of the day went by slow, like really slow, but manageable. Lessons were boring, teachers were not too terrible and the low buzz of the school board, the computers, smartphones and lamps were not too distracting.

No, if only lessons had been his school day, he would have survived it.

But he hadn’t thought about lunch time. The canteen was filled with chaos and noise. His mind felt like it was being crushed little by little with every yell and every time someone laughed. All the phones of all the students were buzzing and ringing and going off at the same time, or at least it felt like it. Nails tapped on screens and batteries hummed in disharmony. The constant noises pained his ear drums and filled his head with a hundred stabbing needles.

He was so overwhelmed from the sound, he couldn’t help but flinch a little when suddenly a hand patted him on his shoulder.

Spyder appeared before him. “Are you gonna stand in the doorway the whole time?" A mischievous grin spread on his face. "Because I will gladly take your sandwiches if you aren’t up for it you know? Maybe then I can finally build a tower of cheese. Man, I have always wanted to do that.”

Harris punched Spyder in his side. “No one’s taking Ryan’s sandwiches, dude. Now, are we gonna go to our table or what? I want to finish up on my project before the next term starts.”

Ryan softly shook his head to get rid of the slowly creeping nausea and to try and shake away all the sounds, but he wasn’t successful at all. No matter, he could hold on until he could be home and safely in his bed again. Just half a day left.

“Yeah, yeah let’s go, I’m starving.”

The trio sat at their usual table and as always, Spyder and Harris lost themselves in a debate over something incredibly stupid. This time it was about the best kind of sandwich to ever exist. Spyder insisted that his abomination of a sandwich, with salmon, cheese, peanut butter and chocolate spread, topped off with a little bit of mashed potatoes, was the most delicious thing in the world. Meanwhile Harris was sure that combination of flavors shouldn't even be legal.

Ryan sighed as he tuned out the voices of his friends and instead took out his phone. Maybe some dumb video's would help him ignore his throbbing headache for a while. He clicked on one of Cassie's reports on the school's kickbox team. Of course, his brother was the big star of the video, and normally he didn't like watching Mark get so much praise, but he couldn't care less right now. He just had to watch something. Anything to distract himself.

Just as Cassie went over the most recent victory of the team, a loud voice broke through it.

"Hi sweetie, how's your first day?" The voice was loud, but Ryan was sure it came from the other side of the canteen, where a freshman was calling with his mom. Why would he set the call on speaker?

Ryan turned back and ignored it, but soon another sound interrupted his video. The annoying 8-bit soundtrack of a mobile game echoed through his mind, the sound of clashing swords and yelling characters making it even more annoying. What stupid kid let his sound on extra loud when he was gaming during school break? A drop of sweat slid down his temple. Cheering rang in his ears as the kid cleared his level and it hurt. It was loud and awful and his head was swimming and throbbing and pulsing with every beat.

Ryan shivered in his thick hoodie.

"No dad, you don't have to pick me up," another student said as he was calling from a few tables away.

Ryan huffed and kept staring at his phone, even though the he didn't register anything Cassis said in her video. He still kept trying.

Tap, tap, tap. In the row for the food, someone was texting their friends, every tap with their thumb banging against his skull.

Ryan looked to his left. A teacher was checking his news feed, sirens wailing, people screaming, shouting - some video about the most recent monster attack. To his right, a girl was filming a video with her friends, laughing, playing music, typing a caption and then laughing again. They were so loud.

More videos, more games, more typing, more voices. Every second it got louder, every second it seemed to penetrate further and further into his mind.

Tap Tap Tap.

Screaming.

Laughing.

Sirens.

Cheering.

Tap Tap Tap.

Ryan clutched his phone tighter and shut his eyes, willing for the ever growing buzzing of the lamps and phones and laptops and screens to stop.

It all had to stoppleasestopit'stoomuchtooloudMAKEITSTOP-

The sizzling of something burning made his mind snap out of it. Ryan quickly looked down where his phone lay in his hands, broken and blackened, a small trail of smoke coming from it.

Oops.

His eyes darted up to look if anyone had seen that - and to his relief no one did - so he quickly hid his phone under the table and let it slide into his bag. He would deal with that later.

Since he had no way of distracting himself anymore, and the sounds around him were now even making his vision grow wobbly as they pounded against his brain, Ryan knew he had to make a run for it. It was not like he had actually wanted to eat school food anyway, so no loss there.

"Hey guys?" He said, his left arm smoothly disappearing under the table. "I think I left my mech-link in the classroom. I'll go get it. See you later okay?"

Before the other two could answer, Ryan stood up and turned around, tucking his left arm in the pocket of his hoodie so they couldn't see his mech-link still nicely around his wrist. Briskly, he walked away, ignoring how his eyes couldn't focus or how he could throw up any second. He was fine.

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

Okay, maybe, just maybe, Ryan was not fine. After the small incident with his phone, he had accidentally also fried the teacher's smartwatch during PE when the teacher had blown his whistle right next to Ryan's ear out of nowhere. On top of that, he had also derailed someone's electronic car when he had been waiting on Mark outside of the school and the speakers had blasted the ringing bell right above his head. So you could say he was a little bit jumpy and a lot bit nauseous, and maybe not totally fine, but he would manage. He was Ryan Walker and Walkers didn't get sick.

Whatever. It didn’t matter if he finally admitted to himself that something was wrong, because as soon as school was out, he and Mark had headed straight to Mech X4 when they had gotten a monster alert.

Sick or not, Ryan was the only one who could stop it, so he had to power through. He could do this. Probably. Maybe.

As the gang made their way out of the awful elevator and to their stations, Ryan had to physically swallow down the urge to puke. That elevator hadn't helped in the slightest.

Ryan clicked the belt around his middle and the robot rose from its hiding spot. A rough cough came from him as he tried to move the robot into kneeling position, but he played it off as an awkward cough instead of the start of bile rising in his throat. He had to concentrate or otherwise he'd short-circuit the robot.

However, the miserable attempt didn't go unnoticed.

"Hey man, you okay?" Spyder asked from behind him.

Ryan nodded, but regretted immediately as his head spun with the sudden motion.

"Yeah, of course, I'm fine," he said and readied his feet to jump. Spyder seemed to want to ask something else, but Ryan cut him off.

"Mech, Execute!" he yelled and jumped away. Now was not the time to worry about himself. They had people to save.

"The monster just popped up next to the river at the other side of the city, what would it want there?" Harris asked out loud. He was furiously typing and checking the screens as he followed the beast's movements on his maps. "Wait, where is it – oh. Oh no."

Mark bent over the rails to look at the screens. "What? What is it dingus?"

"The monster! It's heading straight for us! How is it so fast?!"

Ryan's head shot up when he noticed the beast flying straight at them at a rapid speed. "Guys, it's here!"

He barely had enough time to raise his arms in front of his head before the monster crashed right into them, hitting Mech X4 with such devastating force that Ryan was shot into the air, a couple of cables exploding behind him from the rough impact.

"Ryan are you okay?!" Mark yelled.

Ryan swallowed and lifted his head from the cold floor. "Yeah I'm good," he said as he carefully stood up again. The giant monster in front of them was already readying itself for the next attack.

Ryan rolled his shoulders and raised his fists in fighting position. He ignored the cold sweat building on his forehead. "Let's finish this quick. Spyder?"

"One plasma punch coming right up." Spyder slid his chair back from the desk and grabbed a hold of his weapon arm.

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

Ryan and Spyder simultaneously drew back their arms and swung them back as Mech X4 did the same with his glowing fist. The monster had been distracted, working up the power to hit again, but was instead swept off his feet when the fist hit full force. It fell to the ground with a large growl, but was still moving.

"Again!" Ryan yelled, already jumping up again to do it.

"Wait dude, it needs to recharge first, we need to buy some time!" Spyder frantically punched his buttons as he read from the screen. "If we do it now, it will be like a grandma punch!" He stopped mid-punching his buttons as he thought about something. "Wait. Nevermind, my grandma would punch this dude into tomorrow. Okay what about, if we used it right now it would be like if Harris punched it!"

Harris spun in his chair with a "not cool, son," before he got back to his scanning and getting up the shields. Mark and Ryan silently grinned. It was an accurate comparison.

"Okay, Harris, how are we with the shields?"

"Almost done and… now they're up!"

And just in time too, because as soon as Ryan turned back to the large window, he saw the monster getting back to his feet again. It let out a low growl as its wings spread out in warning.

"Get ready, he's coming back!"

The robot stepped back as Ryan raised his fists and braced for the next attack. The monster darted forward, its claws barely missing the chest of the robot as Ryan ducked out of the way. Then, it lifted itself on his back legs and rose into the sky, its wings harshly pushing away the wind. As the gang was too distracted by the strong winds that almost pushed the robot off his feet, they didn't see the tip of the monster's tail, heading straight for the head. It clashed against the shield and bounced back, while in the process it successfully pushed Ryan and the robot out of balance, both failing to the ground with a thud.

Ryan grunted his way through the pain as he got back up. They were almost done with this and then he could hide himself in his blankets for the rest of the day. Almost there, almost done.

The beast lashed out again as it clawed against the shield. It seemed to try to rip it open.

"The shields won't hold this for long! Spyder is the plasma punch ready?"

"Almost…" Spyder tapped impatiently against his desk, his eyes glued to his screen.

"Ryan watch out!" Mark yelled. Ryan lifted his arms in front of his head just as the monster ripped away the shield, the pixels giving way as the energy ran out. The monster flew forward and extended its claws as it headed for the head. Without the shields, all Ryan could do was hold his ground and cover himself, not even finding an opening to strike back.

"Spyder?!"

"Almost…"

The beast struck out with a right hook and got around Ryan's defenses, punching the robot hard against his head. Ryan whipped back from the impact and clutched his jaw. That hurt. His eyes watered and refused to focus anymore. A shiver ran down his spine, even if he himself felt like he was burning from the inside.

"Spyder?!"

"I'll say when it's ready!"

The monster hit again and again, sparks flying around the control center as Ryan bounced around in his harness. He was literally being beaten to a pulp and all his strength failed him. He was too weak.

He was… not fine at all.

Mark was pacing across the deck, checking his screens and performing quick damage control. "Spyder, we can't take much more!"

Spyder spun in his chair and pulled back his attack handle. "It's ready!"

Immediately, Ryan stumbled to his feet and raised his fists. Please let this be the final attack, he wished desperately. His mind screamed at him to never move again and just give up, but he just had to do one more thing. Just this one thing. He could survive that. Ryan jumped into the air and brought his fist down with so much force that his knuckles burned. The hit landed, the robot's fist piercing straight through the monster's chest as it de-transformed into ooze and splashed to the ground.

For a moment it was quiet, and then the team of Mech X4 burst out in cheers. They had finished it! Ryan smiled weakly as he sighed. His muscles burned, his vision swum, but they had done it. Finally. He wiped his sweat of his brow and roughly dropped to the floor, his legs giving out from under him. Now on his knees, he unbuckled his belt and let the harness fly up into its storage. When his hand returned from the motion however, something caught his eye. There was red on his hand. His eyes widened. There was blood on his hand. he was bleeding. That monster must have done more damage than he thought.

“Hey guys…” he said, his voice weak and barely audible. No one heard as the rest of the team congratulated each other with their victory. Ryan shivered.

“Guys…” was the final thing he said before he crashed down onto the floor, his vision and mind going blank as he did not even notice how all the lights and screens in the robot flickered and died out with him.

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

“...Ryan.”

“Ryan!”

“RYAN!”

Ryan jolted awake and immediately regretted it as he bend over and lost his diner from the day before. Someone patted him on the back as he retched, but his eyes were too blurry with tears to see who it was. Lights flickered around them.

The same hands placed him back down on the bed when he was done, wiping his forehead with a cold towel. Ryan sighed and closed his eyes again, already worn out from keeping his head upright.

“Get well soon…” Someone said and then he fell asleep once more.

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

The next time he woke, he didn’t get the urge to puke as soon as he opened his eyes. That was good news at least. A little dazed, he looked around the room. The Medbay. Of course.

“Guys! Guys, he’s awake!” Spyder’s voice yelled from too close next to him. In reflex, Ryan shut his eyes tight and groaned, his head not happy with the loud noise.

Two sets of footsteps entered the Medbay as the door slid open.

“Bro, are you okay?!” Ryan opened his eyes and saw Mark rushing towards him, sitting down next to the bed and placing a warm hand on his shoulder. On the older shoulder came Harris’ hand as his best friend shot a worried look at him.

“You scared us buddy,” he said and slightly squeezed his shoulder.

Ryan smiled weakly as he closed his eyes and sighed. “Sorry about that…”

“Do you wanna tell us what happened?” Harris said, his attention already going to the screens next to the bed to check on Ryan’s vitals.

Ryan slowly opened his eyes. “Guess that monster was stronger than I thought.”

“Nah man, that was like a level 5 monster. It wasn’t even made of the red ooze, just the orange,” Spyder said with a shrug, “You normally beat down level 10 monsters with ease.”

“Where did you come up with this rating system?” Harris asked confused.

“It’s just what the collector’s cards say, I didn’t make it.”

“We have collector's cards?” Mark asked eagerly.

Harris shot them both an incredulous look before he turned his attention back to Ryan with an eye roll.

“The scanners are picking up a high temperature, on top of signs of dehydration and not enough nutritions to give your body the energy to heal as fast. Ryan, did you eat at all yesterday?”

Ryan averted his eyes to stare at the scanner beside him. “I didn’t.”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows. “Dude, why wouldn’t you eat anything and still go to fight? Are you stupid? You could have die–”

Ryan flinched as Harris stopped Mark with a gesture of his hand. He shook his head at the older one of the Walker brothers.

“Ryan,” he said, his tone far more calm than Mark’s, “why didn’t you just say you were sick? We could’ve found another way to defeat the monster.”

“No we wouldn’t!” Ryan snapped, his eyes widening as soon as the words left his mouth. he hadn't meant to say it in that tone. He sighed. “Look, just, we all know that we need the robot to defeat the monsters and that we can do nothing with the robot without my powers. I had to fight. It was the only option. And honestly?” Ryan slowly pushed himself in sitting position with his arms. “I was fine doing it. Just got a nasty wound, that’s all.”

Harris shook his head. “This wasn’t just a nasty wound Ryan. On top of your fever, you have several bruised ribs and a large wound to your head. You’re lucky it was mostly superficial or it could have done serious damage to your brain.”

Mark nodded and patted Ryan’s head while Ryan weakly tried to push him off. “You hear that Dingus? No more fighting when you have a fever alright?”

Ryan successfully swatted away Mark’s hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

“You have to promise.”

“I promise Mark, I promise.” Ryan smiled softly and looked at his team. “Thank you though.”

“For what?” Spyder asked.

“For caring about me like this,” Ryan said and lay back down. He was tired. “I really don’t know what I could’ve done without any of you guys…” His voice got quieter as his eyelids closed, but before he fell asleep he still heard the “awww’s” around him. Yeah, he would definitely get teased about this later.

For now though, he meant it.

He loved his team.

#mech x4 #ryan walker #mark walker #harris harris jr #spyder #whump #fan fiction #sick fic #happy ending #angst #fluff #best friends #season 1 #a digital fever

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

By City-Wide Decree

It's a crush.

And in any other situation, that would be it. He'd be able to keep going about his day in normal pining fashion. But nothing about this is normal. Because in the last few minutes Bellamy's complained about shredded cheese and Clarke's making jokes about Bleecker Street and apparently there's some city-wide rule about car services now.

Or: the last thing Bellamy Blake expected during a national health pandemic was being forced to kiss his neighbor.

----

Rating: Teen Word Count: Just over 5.6K AN: Hey there, internet. It was really only a matter of time until I wrote some kind of nonsense here. But I do want to say that this story does include COVID-19 stuff, so if that is not for you, I totally get it. That being said, this admittedly very silly nonsense, is very much just that and hopefully it offers a bit of a distraction for a few minutes.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

----

He almost drops the box of macaroni in his hand.

The edge stabs his palm, a weird pain that's really more like the general sense of Bellamy’s frustration because just a few seconds ago he witnessed two grown adults glaring at each other over the final few rolls of toilet paper in aisle five. And there aren’t really that many other people in this grocery store, which he supposes is a good thing. Everyone taking social distancing seriously and staying home and he’s got every intention of doing the same, but first he’s got to deal with this.

“Pre-shredded cheese,” he mumbles under his breath, glancing at the box. He’s bent the edge. He hopes he doesn’t break the box. There weren’t many left in that aisle, either. Just the one thing of shells Bellamy had been able to grab and four boxes of whole wheat linguine, which, really, almost offends him more than the idea of pre-shredded cheese.

In a variety of flavors.

And adjectives.

“Cheese should not have adjectives attached to it,” Bellamy continues, and apparently he’s reached the crazy portion of his day.

That also seems to be the standard for most of the world, though. He’d been very close to breaking up the toilet paper fight. So maybe he’s just catching up to everyone else. He needs to go home. He needs to—

“Pick a goddamn cheese,” he says. Whatever sound he makes at his own private conversation isn’t so much a sigh, but rather another round of frustration and possible resignation and taco-flavored cheese can’t be that bad.

Right? Maybe.

He can’t imagine what kind of preservatives are used in taco-flavored cheese. Like..are there even spices involved? There should be spices. When all of this is over he’s going to write a strongly worded letter to the Kraft family.

Bellamy sighs again, drawing more than a few looks and a glare or too, and he’s going to give himself a headache if he keeps rolling his eyes at their current rate. He lunges forward, careful to account for the box of macaroni and the small thing of buttermilk that’s honestly starting to make his fingers go numb and—

An arm moves next to his.

She’s also a little off-balance — a backpack that’s close to bursting and something that might actually be paint streaked across her left cheek, but Bellamy can barely register that when she’s already starting to stumble back, a package of margarine clutched in her hand.

“Oh,” Clarke breathes, eyes going wide and what looks like the first hints of a smile tugging at the ends of her mouth. “Hey, Bell.”

His stomach flies into his throat.

As per usual.

That might be the most normal part of his day so far.

To say that he’s been harboring a pretty monumental crush on Clarke Griffin since she moved into the apartment across the hall from Bellamy would be—

Accurate.

It would be accurate, honestly.

In almost painful fashion.

Six months ago, she showed up with a handful of boxes and paint on her jeans, and a smile that seemed to reverberate through him. In a way where that doesn’t sound insane. Maybe he wasn’t catching up to everyone else. Maybe he was just sprinting past them. Towards crazy.

The kind of crazy that also means he’s stupid into his neighbor.

She’d said hi first that day too. So he offered to help her carry some boxes and she’d promised she’d be ok, but he was stubborn and a little overwhelmed by the very specific color of her eyes and she really did have a lot of stuff and they’d ordered from the Thai place up the street after.

And if that's not the basis for a pretty solid friendship, then Bellamy isn’t sure what is.

Only that’s really all it is. Because, well—Bellamy isn’t sure. Octavia would say he’s being an idiot and to some extent that’s true, but he and Clarke are pretty good friends now and sometimes she curls up on the corner of his couch when she’s stressed about the arts budget of the high school she works at in the Bowery or he kicks on her door when he’s got some new pages he thinks she might like to read and it’s—

Good.

Normal.

In a world that is very quickly spiraling out of control.

He hopes those people didn’t actually start yelling over toilet paper. He’s not sure his brain would be able to cope with that.

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks, taking another step back and he hadn’t noticed she’s got another bag of art supplies in her left hand.

“Glaring at cheese.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Glaring at cheese,” Bellamy repeats. He nods towards the minimal selection, Clarke’s eyes widening at his admittedly petty reaction to the cheese issue. It should not be an issue. “I—well, I’m running low on some food and I—” He grits his teeth, suddenly hopeful that he’ll be able to melt into the supermarket floor.

That’s probably not hygienic.

“Is it super top secret, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “No, it’s—ok, do you promise not to laugh?” “Absolutely not.” “You look like you staged a battle getting here.” “Nah,” she objects, but there’s a slight blush creeping across her cheeks and it’s probably wrong to feel some kind of victory at that. Just, like—with everything else going on. Flirting should probably be a low priority at this point.

“Then…” “Why are you angry at the cheese?” “Mostly the selection of cheese,” Bellamy admits. “Because I’m supposed to use a very specific kind, so—” “—For what?” “My mom’s mac and cheese recipe.” She gapes at him. Which is not the reaction he was hoping for, really. He’s not sure what would be better, but he had been pretty partial to the blush and he’s positive this is somehow the paint streak’s fault.

Clarke has a habit of getting paint everywhere.

There’s still a stain on his floor from three weeks ago.

“Did you think I was going to laugh at you making your mom’s mac and cheese recipe during an international health pandemic?” Clarke cries. It draws another round of curious stares and one set of incredibly narrow eyes from a woman with a cropped haircut and a cart practically overflowing with paper products.

Clarke sneers. “I might actually fight someone for bulk-buying things. God, people are—” “—The worst?” “Is that why you’d thought I’d laugh at you being adorable?”

Bellamy forgets all about his stomach and its current location in his throat. He’s far more preoccupied with the matter of his exploding heart. Which is not nearly as painful an experience as he would have assumed.

His smile threatens to take up most of his face, muscles unaccustomed to the movement when everything else seems to be going to shit. He hopes standing this long in the dairy aisle doesn’t adversely affect the buttermilk.

That’s a key part of the recipe too.

“Adorable, huh?” “Oh shut up,” Clarke grumbles, kicking her foot out of habit. She’s still a few feet away from him. That probably shouldn’t be disappointing either. In any situation, honestly. “Seriously, are you out here being weird about cheese because—” “—A quick detour out of adorable.” “Only because you keep interrupting me.”

He smiles wider. “When I was a kid, my mom used to make this mac and cheese for every major event. Birthdays, holidays, great grade on a test.” “Because you were a nerd?” “Look who’s interrupting the flow of the story.” “You should consider speeding up your approach” Clarke laughs. “The lady with forty-thousand paper napkins might come back and start pelting you with them for taking so long.” “You think she bought those paper napkins for reasons not related to eating food?” “God.” His shoulders shake a little when he chuckles — another threat to the pasta and his grip on any of the groceries he’s trying very hard to buy. “Moral of the story? I’m stressed out, people continue to be the worst, I saw a bunch of people, including actual grown adults, sitting out in Washington Square like nothing is wrong, so in an attempt to combat the general horribleness of the world I am going to make my mom’s mac and cheese recipe. Only apparently a lot of other people have had the same thought—” “—About your mom’s mac and cheese recipe?”

“Bring the paper napkin lady back here so I can throw stuff at you.” Clarke grins, and the overall brightness of her eyes is probably just a byproduct of the lighting in the dairy aisle of Gristedes. Or so Bellamy will tell himself for the next forty-eight hours.

“Taco cheese does not scream mac and cheese,” he continues. “But I’m also not willing to stage some sort of quest for the appropriate kind of cheddar. Or blocks of cheese.”

“It can’t be shredded cheese?” “Eh. I’m willing to make some sacrifices at this point.” “Wow,” Clarke drawls. “How gallant of you. And you wanted to make it yourself, then? No thoughts of take-out from Murray’s.”

“Don’t insult me like that.” “You have issues with a place that actually has cheese in its name?” “Murray’s Cheese Bar is an overpriced tourist trap that does not need my business to stay in business. I’m sure they’re perfectly fine.” “Murray himself?” “Or whatever corporate chain that place is owned and operated by. Plus, have you ever had their cheese plate? Like—just, it was gross. We got, maybe, half a dozen crackers.”

Clarke presses her lips together, but her laugh still manages to find its way into the six-feet of mandated space between her and Bellamy. “Did Octavia order the cheese plate at Murray’s once?” “And a bottle of chianti.” “Fancy.” “Gross,” Bellamy amends. “I can’t stand red wine.” “Why didn’t I know that you hated Murray’s so much? Do you feel that way about—” “—Most of the places on Bleecker?” Bellamy finishes, ignoring Clarke’s wide-eyed stare at yet another interruption. They have got to get out of this store. The processed air is obviously going to his head. Or, whatever.

Maybe just the state of his heart. “Down with the establishment, huh?” Clarke quips. She absolutely, positively does not rock towards him. Bellamy is sure.

He hums, and maybe his issue really lies in the overall state of his heart. Explosions cannot be healthy. In a biological sense. “Why are you here, then? I’m assuming it’s not just to share the very high opinions you��ve got about the restaurants on Bleecker.” “Ok, that is not what I said at all. I’m not advocating we start doing some kind of Bleecker restaurant crawl when this is all over, even if that one Gelato place on the corner is good.” “Tourist trap.” “Is the oxygen thinner on that high horse you’re riding?” Bellamy scrunches his nose when he makes a vaguely ridiculous noise in the back of his throat, part agreement, part unspoken suggestion to keep talking. “Whatever,” Clarke grumbles. “I am here because I needed butter to make cookies. But there’s only this garbage.”

She brandishes the margarine, arm flung out in front of her and Bellamy refuses to be held accountable for whatever noise he makes at that. Just as ridiculous as the last one. With even more flirting involved.

“I walked down here,” Clarke adds. “There are no other stores open and—” “—Walked from where?” Bellamy asks sharply. He doesn’t mean for the words to come out quite like that, but he’s also not entirely sure what feeling is shooting down either one of his arms.

He’s very glad Octavia isn’t here.

She’d make fun of him.

More so than usual.

“Relax,” Clarke mutters, jerking the bag at her side. “I needed stuff for class, but most of my supplies are still at school and it’s not like I can get into school any time soon, so I went up to Marmorino. Nyko agreed to open for, like, twenty minutes so I could get some new brushes and—” She shrugs, all nonchalance. Like walking twenty blocks to the art supply store in the middle of that previously discussed pandemic so she can keep teaching kids how to paint isn't equal parts absurd and wonderful. “What are you going to paint?” Bellamy asks. “We’re doing life studies. Figured it’d be a good way to get parents involved too. You know, kids paint their mom or their dad or...whatever. Like I said, I just needed a brushes. And butter.”

“Those go hand in hand, huh? You know I have butter.”

Clarke blinks. And her grip on the bag noticeably loosens. “What?” “Butter,” he repeats. “That’s how this all started. I kept opening my fridge and the butter was sitting there, like it was taunting me and—”

“—Can the butter form coherent sentences?” “I’m offering you butter, princess. And mac and cheese. If you want it.”

Another blink.

That’s...Bellamy doesn’t want to consider what that is. Because this is not the first time he’s done this. Or vice versa. Far from it. They both live alone and they’re friends and it’s not that far across the hall, after all.

There’s just not usually an international health pandemic involved.

“Yeah?” Clarke asks softly, like she’s waiting to shout surprise. Or throw paper napkins at them for standing in the dairy aisle for so long.

Bellamy nods. “Yeah. That’s how humanity survives, right? We pool resources and seek out companionship in times of difficulty.” “Something like that, I’m sure.” “Ok, so you leave the gross margarine here and I’ll deal with the taco cheese.” “I have cheddar in my fridge.” Maybe this is a dream. Maybe the after-effects of his exploding heart have left Bellamy hallucinating in the middle of Gristedes. Maybe he got food poisoning from the cheese plate at Murray’s when Octavia visited three weeks ago and he’s only just now discovering it.

Clarke smiles.

“If you want it,” she adds. “I—well, I’d had big plans for grilled cheese quarantines, but there was only block cheese at that point and I haven’t even opened it. Yours for the taking.” He nods slowly, trying to come to terms with all of this. It’s not flirting. No one flirts like this. They shouldn’t flirt like this.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “That’d be great. A, uh—COVID team, huh?” Idiot.

Idiot.

He’s sure Octavia knows about this. Somehow. A sixth sense that alerts his younger sister to his overwhelming idiocy and she’d been annoyed that he hadn’t invited Clarke to Murray’s with them.

“Something like that,” Clarke says again. “Ok, then let me pay for a car back home. I don’t know if my shoulders can cope with this backpack and—do not offer to carry this backpack for me,” she adds as soon as Bellamy opens his mouth, “I’ll get the paper napkin lady back here, I swear to God.” “She’d probably call a manager on you.”

Clarke scoffs, but her smile hasn’t changed and Bellamy spends most of the next twenty-four minutes standing in the checkout line thinking only about that. Until Clarke tells the guy in front of them to “stop being a dick” to the cashier when he starts complaining about the lack of bread in aisle two.

The guy doesn’t say anything else after that.

And the cashier definitely mumbles “thanks” when Bellamy puts his slightly bent box of pasta on the conveyor belt.

They don’t spend long waiting for the car — and Bellamy can’t imagine business is exactly booming, which is part of the reason he agreed to this and the rest is entirely selfish and possibly a little stalker’ish and he just likes spending time with Clarke. No matter the world’s collective health situation.

“You two together?” the driver asks, hardly opening the window and it’s not easy to understand what he’s saying.

Bellamy furrows his brows. “Excuse me?” He swings open the door, sliding across the backset and moving his feet so Clarke’s backpack can fit comfortably between them. And he’s not one to pass judgement, particularly not now, but the whole thing looks a bit like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. There are sheets of plastic wrap stretched between the front seats, the driver wearing gloves and casting impatient glances in his rearview mirror.

Bellamy glances at Clarke’s phone — the driver’s name is Bryan.

“C’mon man,” Bryan presses. “I need an answer.” “I don’t—” Bellamy starts, shaking his head and that dream theory is starting to make more and more sense. “What are you talking about?”

“The rules.” “Ok, that doesn’t clear it up. Can we just go?” “Nope. I need you to tell me. I don’t want my license revoked.” “What the hell are you talking about?” Clarke lets out a soft gasp, eyes going impossibly wide. “Shit. Are you kidding me?” “What part of nope are you guys having a difficult time wrapping your heads around?” Bryan asks. “Listen, I can’t break the law, ok? I—we’re living in crazy times and—” “—Seriously what are you talking about?” Bellamy snaps.

Bryan takes a deep breath, shoulders moving with the effort, and Clarke hasn’t looked Bellamy’s direction in what feels like an eternity. He can’t rationalize the chill that slinks down his spine, a growing dread that threatens to tug him through the backseat or take up residence in between his ribs and he’s got to stop making so many sweeping biological assessments.

There are no facts to back any of this up.

And yet he can’t quite understand the look on Clarke’s face either, teeth digging into her lower lip while she refuses to meet his gaze. “Guys,” Bryan groans. “In or out, yes or not, just—prove it.” Bellamy opens his mouth again, ready to demand answers if need be, but Clarke is already talking and the words don’t process immediately — mandate from the mayor and I totally forgot and only real couples.

She grits her teeth when she finally looks up, a pained expression that almost makes Bellamy shiver. It’s unnaturally warm in the city that afternoon. “Did you not see the press conference?” she mutters. He shakes his head. “I, uh—I totally forgot about it, but ride-share services are still cool and essential, they just...if you share, you have to be a couple.” “Real couple too,” Bryan adds. “That’s what the mayor said.” Clarke squeezes one eye shut. “He did, yeah.”

Bellamy has no idea what’s happening. That’s not hyperbole. He genuinely cannot keep up with the conversation or the events of the last few hours and he’s certain this is now somehow the fault of the paper napkin lady and those toilet paper people and— “So,” Bryan continues, “either prove it or lose it?” “Lose what, exactly?” Bellamy rasps. He doesn’t take his eyes off Clarke, can see just how tight her jaw has gone and the exact moment her tongue flashes between her lips and maybe it would just be better for everyone if he grabbed her backpack and sprinted the fifteen blocks back to their apartment.

Apartment building.

They don’t live in the same apartment.

Seriously, screw the toilet paper people.

“My services,” Bryan answers. “Seriously. I’m not getting fucked over by this. So prove you're a real couple or start walking.” “And how would you like us to do that, exactly?” “Kiss her.” It is several different miracles that Bellamy does not rip down Bryan’s plastic wrap wall right then and there. He considers it, fingers flexing and head at a sudden angle while he glares at the rearview mirror. But something keeps him from actually reacting and it might be Clarke’s soft ok a few inches away.

They are no longer the appropriate six feet apart.

“Wait, what?” Bellamy asks, only marginally disappointed when his voice manages to crack over both words.

Clarke’s smile doesn’t waver, but it shifts slightly — a little cautious and a little nervous and, maybe, a little hopeful. She leans forward, ignoring the goddamn backpack and how straight Bellamy’s spine has gone, breathing quickly like he did run those fifteen blocks. “Just a kiss, right?” she mutters. “Couples kiss. That’s—” “—Real couples,” Bryan amends. Bellamy might strangle Bryan before they get out of this car.

“Right, right, right. And that’s—it’s not a big deal.” Bellamy’s never going to blink again.

“I don’t know how else to double check,” Bryan admits.

Clarke hums, still moving and Bellamy doesn’t flinch when her hand lands on his bent knee. So, points or whatever. Her tongue flashes once more, a soft huff of air that barely reaches his cheek when she’s close enough and this can’t possibly be sanitary.

God, he does not want to be thinking about that now.

Bellamy doesn’t remember bending his neck, but it appears to have happened anyway, curls threatening to fall in his eyes. That’s not right. The top of Clarke’s backpack digs into his chest, what feels like an actual paint brush pushing against the side and he’s going to say something. He is. He’s going to promise that he can walk and he’ll carry the backpack and just meet her at home, but none of the words seem all that interested in coming out of his mouth and his lips pop softly when they part, another bit of movement and a direct violation of social distancing and—

His eyes flutter shut when Clarke kisses him.

With Bryan watching intently.

And it’s not...well, it’s not quite the way Bellamy had always imagined when he’d let himself imagine this. Far more often than he should. It’s stilted and awkward, weird angles and bumped noses. It’s chins jostling for position and that fucking backpack, both of them far too aware of the two bags of groceries at their feet.

Bellamy does his best not to actually sigh — even more frustration, that does not belong in a situation like this, but then his eyes open and the tip of Clarke’s tongue finds his lips and everything kind of spirals after that.

His hand flies up, curling into her hair and pulling her closer, a crunch that is absolutely the box of shells, but the shells can go fuck off for all Bellamy cares. He opens his mouth, lets his head tilt slightly until they find a rhythm that’s a bit like driving at seventy miles an hour on an open highway. That’d be impossible anywhere in New York.

Even under quarantine.

And yet. Bellamy feels like he’s rushing towards something, everything and anything and a variety of words that should be far more overwhelming than they are. He nips at Clarke’s lower lip, lets his nose drag along her cheek until he’s practically tracing that streak of paint and the sound that draws will be branded on every inch of him for the foreseeable future. They only break apart to catch their breath, the rhythm going almost desperate when Clarke’s nails scratch at the back of Bellamy’s neck and—

Bryan coughs.

He might not tip Bryan.

No, he’ll definitely tip Bryan. It’s a fucking pandemic.

Bellamy’s not a total dick.

Just…

“So, uh, cool,” Bryan says, already pulling out onto the street. “Thanks for the, uh—for the demonstration, then.” Clarke jerks back.

And Bellamy feels like he’s been thrown in the East River. Specifically. Because that river is notoriously grosser than the Hudson.

He’s gross.

He twists, trying to put as much space between them as possible when they’re still in Bryan’s silver Toyota Camry. And he doesn’t actually count the minutes that it takes to get back to their building, but it’s awfully close because it seems to take a lifetime and happen far too soon, Clarke mumbling her thanks and hoping Bryan doesn’t have to drive too much in the future and Bellamy doesn’t want to think about the state of that box of shells.

It feels far too literal.

And they don’t rush up the stairs, both Bellamy and Clarke taking even steps as they do their mutual and collective best to stare at their shoes. But then he’s tugging his keys out of his back pocket and the air feels like it’s crackling around him, enough tension to power the island of Manhattan — especially when Clarke follows him inside his apartment.

“So, uh—” she starts, a click of her jaw when she notices the look on Bellamy’s face.

His eyes have started to water, they’re so wide, standing in the middle of his exceptionally tiny living room. “Clarke, I—” “—Oh shit, I forgot the butter.” “Clarke.” “No, no, I should go get the butter, right? Yeah. That’s—shit, I didn’t even think. I...sorry, sorry, it’s—” She shakes her head brusquely, like she’s trying to shake away the awkwardness and Bellamy wishes there weren’t any awkwardness. He wishes he’d asked her out before the world started falling apart.

He’s back in her space in a few more steps, fingers finding her flailing hands. She’s biting her lip again. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” “No?” “Absolutely not,” Bellamy promises. “I might, though. I just—I didn’t realize what was going on and then—” “I’m going to go get the butter,” Clarke announces, sounding almost disappointed at the idea. She pulls her hands back, a quick hiss of pain when she manages to elbow herself in the side in the process, all but running out of his apartment. Her backpack is still on his couch.

Bellamy doesn’t move. He’s not sure he can, honestly. His legs feel like they’ve locked themselves in place, waiting with those same wide eyes for something he’s not sure he can have because it can’t possibly happen like this and Octavia is probably hysterical on the other side of the country.

And he’s still not counting seconds or minutes, when he finally manages to get his feet to cooperate. So he can wash his hands. Like a responsible adult. Not one who hoards paper products.

The footsteps that return to his still-open door a little slower than usual.

“You didn’t close your door,” Clarke points out. She kicks back, a tremulous smile and Bellamy can’t believe this is going to happen while she’s holding butter. And at least two pounds of flour. He’s not sure what’s going to happen, exactly. “Did you even turn your oven on?” He shakes his head. “No.” “Real fond of that word all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

Bellamy doesn’t think he imagines the edge in her voice, narrowing his eyes slightly like that will help him pick up on certain conversational cues. It doesn’t — especially when Clarke breezes by him, marching into her kitchen like it’s hers or could be hers and that’s probably when he decides. What he wants to happen. “Do you want to make the cookies or the mac and cheese first?” she asks, and that question sounds more determined than any Bellamy’s heard before. Some of the tension in his shoulders disappears.

“Hey, will you talk to me?”

“About something other than our cooking order?” “Yeah,” Bellamy nods. “Definitely about something other than our cooking order.” “I’m really hungry, though.”

His laugh has a certain strangled quality to it, but that may be a product of his heart, recently reformed and re-exploded. As soon as Bellamy realized what kissing Clarke was like. “I’m not going to let you starve,” Bellamy says. “Just—c’mon, look at me at least.”

She doesn’t. She pushes up on her toes instead, stabbing at the buttons on his oven. Bellamy sighs, doing his best not to start proclaiming things, giving voice to the sentiment that’s been bouncing around his soul for the better part of the last six months, and the flour that’s sitting on his minimal counter space is half open.

The top’s rolling up, a haphazard curl to the paper, which only makes it easier to reach his hand inside without Clarke noticing.

And immediately flick his fingers in Clarke’s direction.

Her eyes flash, mouth dropping open, but Bellamy just grins, another flick that leaves flour clinging to Clarke’s cheek and the ends of her hair and she’d never washed that paint streak off.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands.

“Got you to look at me.” “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Am I laughing?”

Clarke groans, trying to shake the flour off. All it does is ensure her hair shifts and the smell of her shampoo takes over most of the air in his kitchen. “You’re an idiot,” she sneers, “that’s what you are. I’m trying to feed us and—” “—You’re really very concerned about that. We’ve got to reorganize this conversation.”

Bellamy needs to get more flour before he can go for the third flick, but that proves to be his undoing. Clarke moves before he can, reflexes that he’d like to have a very serious discussion about eventually and she doesn’t flick. She slams her hand into his chest, a perfectly formed print in the middle of his shirt, twisting the fabric under her like that will make sure the mark stays there.

Things are starting to feel a little literal again.

At least he hopes so.

So, it’s only reasonable and passably romantic to retaliate in kind — letting his flour-covered fingers flutter over Clarke’s hair and one of them gasps, but it’s difficult to figure out when they’re as close as they are, her hands dragging across his side and dangerously close to the top of his jeans and Bellamy’s definitely the one who groans when Clarke works her way under the hem of his shirt.

Clarke beams. Bright and honest and her eyes are blue enough that Bellamy briefly considers getting lost in them for those minutes he’s still refusing to count, but then—

“God, I can’t believe I had to use some stupid marshall law bullshit to kiss you,” he mutters.

“Is marshall law the right term there?” “No, not at all.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, hand staying exactly where it is. “I didn’t think so. And I—this was not some elaborate ruse, just for the record.” “Were you looking for elaborate ruses to make out with me?” “We’ve got to work on your vocabulary. Make out doesn’t seem right either.” “A work in progress.” “For the words, or…” She gasps again. Presumably because Bellamy’s ducking his head and his arm has curled around her middle and it’s easier to kiss her when there isn’t a backpack between them. Bellamy’s hand flattens against the small of Clarke’s back, a curve there that is quite suddenly the only thing he’d like to talk about for the remainder of the day.

And they’re just as good at this as they were in Bryan’s car, but there’s something inherently different about the second go-around. An ease to the angles and the now-familiar rhythm, like they’d simply been waiting for the chance or the opportunity and—

“Maybe make out was an acceptable description,” Clarke mumbles against Bellamy’s mouth. He grins, dropping down so he can kiss her jaw and the side of her neck, only a little pleased with the goosebumps he notices there. “Oh, don’t get smug,” Clarke adds, “that’s not a good look on you.” “That certainly sounds like you’ve got opinions on my looks, actually.”

She clicks her tongue, leaning back to get in his eye line. “Maybe a few.” “A few?” “Bell, c’mon, that’s—” “—I have a very big crush on you.” Clarke blinks. Opens her mouth only to close it. Smiles. Scoffs. Blinks again. And then she’s kissing him and it’s good and great and both of those things feel wrong during a pandemic, but Bellamy assumes there's something to be said for the human spirit. Or whatever.

“Makes for a good story, though,” Clarke says, eyes gone a color Bellamy’s never seen before. “You know, if you’re looking for something to write about.” “You want me to write about us? I write history books.” “Is this not historic?” “Oh, now who’s fishing for compliments,” Bellamy chuckles. Clarke blushes. Again, or still. “I would have liked to kiss you under less dramatic circumstances, but, uh—it also wasn’t the worst first kiss I’ve ever had.” “High praise.” “We’re very good at kissing each other.” “Yeah, I figured we would be.” “Did you just?” Clarke hums. “I’m pretty sure my friends had some kind of pool going. Especially now. When I’d finally give in and just like...attack you with my mouth or something. I talk about you all the time. At school. To Raven. Strangers on the street.” “Strangers on the street?” “I mean, Bryan assumed we were a couple.” “That’s because the mayor required him too,” Bellamy argues. “But, uh—I get the opinionated peanut gallery. O was convinced we were secretly dating when she was here.” “Before or after the chianti?” “Well before.” “Oh,” Clarke says, like that’s somehow surprising or good. Bellamy hopes it’s good. He’d like some good at this point. “You should probably change shirts.” “That sounds like a suggestion to take my shirt off.” “Wow, weird.” Her laugh turns into something far closer to a giggle when he kisses behind her ear, a fact he’s already stored for future reference, but then they’re moving and there are discarded clothes and kicked off shoes and neither one of them bothers to get up when the oven finishes pre-heating.

“I have a crush on you too,” Clarke says, head propped up on her hand. In Bellamy’s bed. They’re in Bellamy’s bed.

Her backpack is still on his couch. “Good,” he grins. “You want to eat, or…” “God, I’d thought you’d never ask.” And they do make both things, Clarke announcing that this is the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had while Bellamy does an absolutely terrible job of stealing cookie batter on the sly. She moves her backpack eventually too — into the corner of his living room. It’s easier that way, something about pandemics and limiting movement and if one of her students notices the change of scenery during their live-streamed class two days later, none of them say anything.

#bellarke ff #bellarke fan fiction #bellarke #bellamy x clarke #the 100 #covidー19 #this is very silly nonsense #like...i cannot possibly overstate that

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burnedbyshoto · 5 years

Text

Passion, Passion, and More Passion

yoarashi inasa x reader

warning: fluff

a/n: i combined these two, if you’re anon and would like it to be separate just let me know, ill definitely fix it for you :)

Before friendship:

you’re a quiet person, you had always been that way since getting your quirk. it was Alternate Reality. you could change the reality of the area around you for five minutes before it changed back

and people were fearful of you because of that

no one trusted you and because of that your personality faded away, instead you put up walls that kept everyone out. no one trusted you to begin with, why did they deserve you?

so when you meet inasa in middle school, youre immediately drawn to him. his inability to be fearful because he just loved everything so much

but you didn’t change yourself, he would eventually turn on you, right?

he doesn’t stop bugging you, claiming that your power is something special and you should be super passionate for it, but you scoff and leave him every time only for the large boy to follow you while citing off his top 1000 list of Pro-Heroes to which he couldn’t actually list off because they were all just so passionate!

expect to be bugged constantly with everything that Inasa can think of

because he can see the passion in your eyes

no matter how much you scoff at him

or snap at him

he won’t leave

then it happens one day in class, p.e. when the two of you are put up against each other for a competition, and its the slight fire in your eyes and the way you take off with victory on your mind that makes inasa step back and realize there only one thing that would make him happier than he already was. being friends with you.

Friendship:

expect constant declarations of his love for your passion for you as his friend

he loves you (platonically at this point) and your quirk

he won’t shut up about your quirk ever

showing another group of girls a cockroach he found

“This is AMAZING! you know what’s even better--y/l/n-chan’s quirk!”

you do take awhile for your walls to fall down, but you’re happy it was him who gets it down because he is supportive

expect him to bring you the most insane presents

a stick because it reminded him of the one time you two got into a screaming competition, don’t ask how, you still didn’t understand

he just loves you so much

competitions made out of literally anything and the most important competition between you two comes days before results of high school enrollment begins

“I BET I CAN BEAT YOU IN A TREE CLIMBING COMPETITION!” Inasa hollers as the two of you stare at the large, very compelling tree in front of you.

you smirk at him and nod, “ready?”

Inasa shakes his head excitedly, dropping his backpack on the ground as he stares up and he screams when you disappear from view

his eyes look up to see you already nearing the top, and with a spurt of his quirk he rockets up, catching up easily.

inasa laughs joyusly, “YES Y/L/N-CHAN, YOUR PASSION IS SO BRIGHT I HOPE YOU WIN!”

with another warp of reality, he comes crashing into tree branches and you laugh as he is disorientated as you implement a ladder into the tree climbing up and winning

“Take THAT Yoarashi-kun!”

it had to be the way you sat in the tree with the wind blowing through your hair, your eyes filled with excitement and joy of winning, and the grin on your face that he had longed for so long to see months ago

and a blush over comes him as his heart begins thumping in a passionate way thats... foreign and yet calming

the tree branches you made disappear and he topples towards the ground with a load groan

inasa blinks looking up at the sky as your head peers into your vision, worry and concern on your face

“Are you hurt?! Why didn’t you use your quirk, Yoarashi-kun?!?! Are you okay?!” you say as you try tending to any injury of his

“haha, im very sorry for scaring you, I just slipped!”

“if you say so...”

Crushing:

if you thought your best friend was overbearing and invasive, you took it all back now

the two of you were going to Shiketsu Academy after Inasa said he would not be able to go to U.A. which was both of your dream school

but above anything your dream of being a pro-hero meant staying with inasa, so you followed him despite being offered a seat as well

but right now he was sort of avoiding you, only talking about you to other people in your class, but he refused to have a conversation outside of a generic one

as if you two weren’t best friends

and it pisses you off because you were in love with that babbling baffoon but he was suddenly giving you a distant shoulder? that wasn’t the passionate overbearing person you knew him to be

it takes you a bit to gather your wits, but you finally confront him one day when you are able to get him trapped within your quirk

“what the FUCK is wrong with you Yoarashi?!” you seethe as you shove him against the wall you manifested. “you can’t go from being over the top to ignoring me every second of the day?! you’re my best friend and i can’t have you doing this to me without an explanation!” you sob

and inasa breaks, the passion you had for the two of you was too much

and he does his trademark apology, slamming his bleeding forehead into the ground as he seeks your forgiveness

and you give it to him without hesitation

inasa then tries to woo you with overwhelming love and attention, something you find to be,,,, real nice

he’s just pure energy and charm and he’s oh so pretty

inasa’s over one day to study, the two of you are up in your room

it was a hot and sticky day

and you’re in a tank and shorts and inasa is having a hard time not staring at you

“what did you get for number 47?” you ask gazing up to your best friend who was now caught in the middle of oogling at your chest

and you shriek embarrassed

“IM SO SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME!”

when you calm down, the two of you are unable to focus as the two of you keep stammering out sentences and blushing ridiculous amounts

“Yoarashi--”

“Y/l/n-chan,” Inasa speaks over you, his large hand on yours, and you freeze as you watch as he shifts towards you leaning in closely. “I have feelings for you, and I want to confess them to you right now, if you will let me.”

you nod dumbly as Inasa rises from your bed and comes to tower over where you stood. you were short already, but next to your best friend you felt almost childish

you shrieked as Inasa sank to his knees in front of you

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHY ARE YOU KNEELING?!”

“I like you, a lot, will you be my girlfriend?”

You shake slightly as you take in that sentence, the worry in his eyes as you remain silent for too long, but the crushing, passionate kiss you place on his lips answers the question for him as he quickly returns the passion to the tenth degree

“of course i will be...”

Dating:

you think he was overbearing before, guess what

his hands are always in yours

he won’t do much more than hold you hand for PDA because he’s too polite and formal but he will always hold your hand

you will whisk him away into an empty classroom to kiss him until his too flustered to speak and walk away without a care in the world

walking to and from school his arm is slung across your shoulder as long as there aren’t too many eyes

he always does spontaneous dates

“Y/l/n-chan, lets go rock picking to express our passionate feelings for each other!”

“Y/l/n-chan, I heard the shelter got new puppies! let’s get some dinner and head over and look at them together!!”

“Y/l/n-chan, your favorite passionate hero is out the corner, leT’S GO AND ASK FOR THEIR BLESSING!”

he will spoil you with his love

duh what else would he do with those overflowing feelings

making out in your room instead of studying

kissing him in public as he would have to bury his face into your neck because your passion was way too bright for him to handle

using his quirk to cool you down, or to lift you up when you needed to grab something from a tall cabinet

making out on the couch while his family made dinner because it made him feel like he was going to implode

freshly picked flowers

making out

you get the point

How he falls in love, and how he confesses:

it’s nearing the final year of your education at Shiketsu, and the two of you are the school’s powercouple.

it’s rumored you two could take on the entire hero course of U.A. and win (inasa spread that rumor so that todoroki and bakugou would reach out and speak with him)

the two of you are making out on your desk because walking two meters to your bed was too much work, and then you pull away panting and instead of going back in for a kiss you wrap him in a hug

and this flusters inasa as you place your head on his chest, listening to the thundering heartbeat in his chest

“a-are you okay?” he would stutter out as he was unsure if his new kissing technique was bad, damn he knew he shouldn’t had listened to camie about the tongue sucking technique!!!

he knew it was weird!!!

but she had used the words passionate and he bought it

the small nod against his bare chest brings him to reality and you look up and smile at him, “I’m just so grateful for you, inasa...”

his name leaving your lips just feels so passionate, so loving

he envelopes you into a crushing hug and the rest of the night the two of you cuddle in bed

its when you fall asleep on his chest, your finger still tracing blobs and shapes onto his stomach is when it hits him, he’s in love

he loves you with more passion then he has ever felt in his life

and he smiles softly as he kisses the top of your forehead falling asleep himself

he’s not ready to tell you yet, he was waiting for your two year anniversary to announce his love for you when you get him too excited during a particularly intense makeout session and the words tumble out of his mouth

“i love you... so much, y/n.” he gasps out as his lips attack your neck, he obviously being unaware of the words that came out of his mouth

you freeze and shove him away

a light whine escaping his lips as he tries to reattach himself onto you

“You love me?!” you pant as a blush overcomes both your cheeks

and the passion in inasa’s being inhibits him from speaking as he nods

“I-i, I love you too, inasa-chan, so much.” You whisper as both your eyes search others and laughter escapes your lips as you pull him back onto you, ready to show him how much you love him

it was a night filled with passion, passion, and more passion

and both of you knew that there was no one else in the world they wanted

#inasa yoarashi x reader #yoarashi inasa #bnha yoarashi #mha yoarashi #bnha inasa #mha inasa #inasa x reader #bnha #bnha writing blog #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha #inasa headcanons #yoarashi headcanons #inasa fluff #yoarashi fluff

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fakeyellow · 5 years

Text

Based on multiple prompts.

Kamilah pretends to join Gaius but things go terribly wrong.

Summary: Kamilah and co. win the war against Gaius but at great personal cost. Fifty years have passed since their pyrrhic victory when a stranger, looking exactly like the woman they lost, enters their lives. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Prologue:

“I’ve spent the last hundred years denying who I really am, pretending to be someone I’m not, but I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to.

“I love the woman I am when I’m with you. There is no greater feeling than the power that rushes through my veins when I’m by your side, killing all those who dare oppose us. Why should I protect humans when I am superior, when they should be begging me to feed from them?”

Kamilah stared resolutely at Gaius at the end of her impassioned declaration. He looked back at her imperiously from his throne, Priya draped over his side like a purring cat.

“And the girl?” Gaius asked without a hint of emotion.

Priya pouted, wrapping her arms around his neck and speaking intimately into his ear, “She wouldn’t even let me play with her precious little human.”

Kamilah ignored the woman, focusing solely on the man she had once thought she’d loved, “I thought if I pretended to love a mortal, I could fool myself into thinking I really loved humans. It was all an act of course, but still, I never did like sharing.”

Gaius remained silent, his eyes calculating as he tried to see into her, tried to see any signs that she was lying to him. But he would be unsuccessful. She knew Gaius and his pride was his greatest vulnerability. Kamilah would pretend to be the woman who had blindly followed his every word, and he would see only that. The woman who loved him. He would never believe that Kamilah’s heart lay with an inconsequential mortal, even if she was the Bloodkeeper.

At last, Gaius rose from his throne, causing the woman at his side to frantically catch her balance before settling back onto the armrest.

“I knew you would return to me. We are inevitable,” Gaius proclaimed as he walked down the steps to where Kamilah stood.

Priya clambered down to join them, her brows furrowed in disbelief, “Excuse me?! You can’t seriously believe she‘s telling the truth?! She’s just trying to protect her human loving friends and her dirty human whore!”

Gaius waved at her dismissively, “I tire of you.”

As a fuming Priya marched out of the room, her heels clicking angrily on the tiled floors, Gaius embraced Kamilah.

“It’s been so long, my Queen.”

The title felt nearly sinister in the way he whispered it to her, but Kamilah forced herself to relax into his arms before pulling back with the corners of her lip upturned into a coy smile.

“My King.”

—-

The next time Kamilah saw everyone, they were on opposite sides of the battlefield.

As if she was in one of the TV shows she liked to reference so much, Lily’s jaw dropped upon seeing her presence at Gaius’s side. Jax’s sword was pointed directly at her, his face contorted in fury while Adrian looked at her with a crushing expression of betrayal.

But she looked towards Laia, Laia, who had never been good at hiding her feelings.

There was an infinite sadness on Laia’s face and somehow, it made Kamilah feel small despite the over two thousand years she had on her. She’d expected anger, betrayal, or hatred, but this sadness almost made her cave in before she caught herself.

Jax spat at her, “I can’t believe you’d go back to him. People really don’t change, do they.”

“I guess they don’t, mutt,” Kamilah snapped back at him, twirling her daggers with a hungry look. At Gaius’s nod, she and all of their forces charged and were instantaneously met with all of Adrian’s forces. The battle had begun.

—-

Hours had passed and Kamilah’s hair had turned black from the ashes of all of the vampires she’d killed. By herself, she was a terrifying force of nature, but with Gaius at her side, they were unstoppable.

He let out a laugh as he carved through another man and Kamilah knew from experience that this was but a game to Gaius. He was exhilarated when he killed, and his excitement had once been infectious.

But now she forced herself to smirk back at him, as if she wasn’t killing vampires she knew, vampires who were part of Adrian’s clan, her clan.

Adrian, Jax, and Lily were all busy fighting against Gaius’s Ferals and Kamilah was grateful for this small mercy, that they didn’t have to face each other in battle. Priya had disappeared a long time ago; she hated getting her hands dirty unless it was from some hedonistic act that left her satisfied and her lover dead.

And Laia was...

Kamilah couldn’t find her anywhere. Her head swivelled around in a quick scan of the room but there was no sign of the mortal woman amidst the fray of fighting vampires. She struggled to keep her panic from showing; Laia was probably in a safe place. Adrian wouldn’t let her come to harm.

And then Gaius suddenly burst into a series of fluid actions that cleared a thirty feet radius around them, a flurry of ashes settling onto the floor.

Their opponents backed off, wary of drawing close to them after this ruthless display, and Kamilah looked at him questioningly when suddenly she saw Laia.

Priya was clad in her immaculate, white dress that plunged down to her navel, but more importantly, she was dragging a chained Laia behind her.

Laia looked worse for the wear, her clothes sooty and tattered at the edges, unable to do anything but struggle futilely against her chains. But her eyes were fierce with hatred and she was otherwise unharmed.

Priya confidently strutted towards them, revelling in the attention and the fact that no one dared attack her. She yanked at Laia’s chain, causing her to fall over onto the ground and Kamilah’s blood boiled at the sight. It took every bit of self control she had to not show any signs of her fury.

“What is the meaning of this, my King?” she asked tightly.

Gaius gave her an easy smirk, “I have to admit, I haven’t quite forgiven you for your role in my captivity. But if you killed this human, it would put all of my misgivings to rest.”

Her daggers clutched tightly in her hands, Kamilah walked carefully over to Laia, feeling the weight of every step. Laia seemed unaware of what had happened, spitting on Priya with a nasty grin.

Priya grimaced but otherwise contained herself in an uncharacteristic show of restraint, keeping her keen eyes on Kamilah’s every move.

And then she was face to face with Laia, who finally looked up at her. There was no fury or hatred on her face, and although there was fear, it was outweighed by the overwhelming amount of trust in her luminous eyes.

There was no way they could speak to each other, not with the eyes on them, but Laia simply nodded and closed her eyes, ready for whatever Kamilah was going to do.

And Kamilah broke at this display of faith, that Laia would trust her to the point of facing her death…

As she had planned to since the moment she’d seen Laia come in, Kamilah ceremoniously raises her daggers before turning and slashing viciously at Priya.

There was no time for any feelings of satisfaction, even though she had finally ended the life of a woman she’d wanted to kill for over a century, and Kamilah immediately turned around, ready to face Gaius head on.

But then she froze as she saw Laia dashing in front of her, her arms outspread. Gaius’s sword fell in a silver arc until it burst into Laia’s chest, the silver point poking out from her back before it was withdrawn in one cruel move. Kamilah’s daggers fell helplessly to her side as Laia toppled over onto the ground.

Bright scarlet bloomed around and on Laia, a seemingly unending flow of blood streaming out of her. Kamilah immediately dropped to her knees, turning the woman’s body to her and cradling it in her arms as she furiously shook her head in denial

“You brave, trusting fool. Why would you sacrifice yourself for me?” Kamilah’s voice broke on the last word as she gazed upon the suddenly pale face of the woman she loved.

Blood seeped out of her mouth and her chest wracked with spasms, but Laia fought to gasp out, “I couldn’t let you die… I never stopped believing in you.”

Her words were slowing down now and Kamilah wasted no more time before her fangs were bared and a shower of blood was spraying from her freshly cut wrist.

Laia gurgled, “I love you.”

And then Kamilah placed her wrist into Laia’s already bloody mouth.

When at last Kamilah gingerly placed Laia on the floor and rose, she was drenched in the blood of both Laia and herself. Gaius eyed her with disgust, unable to believe Kamilah would be so consumed with grief over a mortal, and opened his mouth to say as much.

But Kamilah let out a fearsome roar and charged straight at him.

—-

It had taken too long a time and too high a cost, but the war had finally ended. Gaius was completely and utterly dead and no amount of the First’s blood would be enough to revive him. The world was finally safe from his clutches.

But there was no time to celebrate.

Kamilah raced through the thick fall of ashes, her mind focused solely on the woman she had left behind. Her body was still where Kamilah had placed it, and she pushed past the people surrounding Laia, barely registering their presence.

She gathered Laia’s body into her arms only to pause at the cold touch of her skin.

No. This couldn’t be true. She had still been alive when Kamilah had fed her her blood. No. This wasn’t possible. It made no sense.

She rose, Laia’s body safely in her arms, and finally saw the expressions on everyone’s faces. Jax was pointedly looking away, a tick in his jaw betraying how tightly his teeth were clenched. Lily was openly sobbing, her eyes blotchy behind her glasses.

Adrian laid his hand on Kamilah’s shoulder but Kamilah rejected the pain and understanding in his eyes. She shrugged it off and spoke urgently, “We have to put her in a dark space. Now.”

Adrian merely shook his head, “It was too late.”

“She’s gone.”

—-

A/N: So I almost barfed while writing that brief scene with Gaius and Kamilah lmao.

If Gaius can canonically give MC time to shop for new clothes and fuck her LI one last time, Gaius can give MC and Kamilah one last moment in my story.

Kamilah thought the only way they’d get a chance at defeating Gaius was if he believed she was on his side again. So, without telling anyone, Kamilah joined Gaius’s side as a double agent. But she knew he’d still be wary of her which is why she went so far as to fight/kill the vampires on her side. Once Gaius trusted her, she was going to end him. But of course, Gaius trapped her with MC, and Kamilah blew her cover. Then she just went against him directly.

Kamilah Turned MC but for reasons that will be revealed later, MC didn’t revive so now they all think MC is dead (is she really dead or am I replacing her with a new character? You’ll have to wait and see).

#bloodbound #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #jax matsuo #lily spencer #adrian raines #My writing

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tfcrp · 4 years

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CHAMPIONSHIPS 05: PALMETTO STATE FOXES vs. UCLA BRUINS

PRE-GAME

The Foxes arrive at their home court an hour before first serve, donning their white-on-orange uniforms, ready to play in front of a home crowd for only the second time in the Championships.

This time, it’s the Bruins’ turn to be far from home and with few supporters in the stands. On the court, it’s a sold out crowd: the stands packed with more orange than the Foxes have ever seen before, enthusiastic for the Vixens as they run through their pre-game routines. And, prominently in the front row are the professional scouts that the Foxes saw at their open practice earlier in the week, ready to see what their draft-eligible fifth years can do.

Half an hour before first serve, the Foxes are allowed onto the court for a brief warm-up. They line up in order of position: Strikers, then Dealers, then Backliners, then Goalkeepers. Though walking with the help of a crutch, Grant still leads the Foxes onto the court as their Captain, with Claudia, as Vice-Captain, behind him.

Once warm-ups are done, it’s Claudia that comes to center court alongside the Bruins’ captain for the coin toss that will determine who gets first serve. The Foxes win, and the starting players enter the court for the start of the game.

Red Cards: Leo Duarte

Scratched: N/A

Injuries: Grant Rollins (knee)

FIRST HALF

STARTING LINEUP:

Goalkeeper: Emmett Ashford (Sub: Alis Tan)

Dealers: Claudia Jewell (Subs: Raph Peruggia, Olivia Finch)

Strikers: Brayden Sykes, Arlo Booth (Subs: Indigo Hayes, Sasha Hart-Ashby)

Backliners: Grayson Sharpe, Glory Hoskins (Sub: Bastion LeFrey)

The players take their starting positions, and Claudia serves to start play.

With all of the Foxes focused on offense, the goalkeepers have less support from their backline: they’re going to be more exposed, and they need to be sharp.

The Bruins are able to take possession early, and Emmett faces a flurry of shots, scrambling to turn them away until Glory is able to grab the ball and pass it up to Claudia.

She doesn’t get far. A stick-check steals the ball away from Claudia, and the Bruins score the first goal of the game on a long-distance shot that Emmett can’t track through the screen of players.

The Bruins serve, but Grayson chases the receiving striker down, checking them into the wall and knocking the ball free. Glory darts in to grab it and heave it up the court, and Brayden sprints for it.

A no-look pass puts the ball squarely in Arlo’s racquet, and he makes a fast shot past the goalkeeper for the Foxes’ first point.

At the pause in play, Wymack sends in his subs: Alis for Emmett; Raph for Claudia; Bastion for Glory; and Indigo and Sasha—playing again as a striker to keep the Foxes’ offense fresh—for Brayden and Arlo.

The Bruins steal possession off of Raph’s serve, and he grapples with two players to try and get it back. He’s taken down, but he still tries for the ball from the ground⁠—until his hand is crushed underneath a backliner’s foot.

Raph tries to struggle to his feet, but he can’t get a grip on his racquet. Indigo sees and tries to flag down the referees, but play doesn't stop until Alis gets the ball and holds it.

Raph comes off the court, where Abby is waiting, and Olivia is sent on. No penalties are awarded, but the Foxes are given the serve.

Olivia serves and the strikers make a push. With everything tilted towards offense, Bastion is there at half court when the strikers need some relief.

Sasha cycles the ball back to him, keeping it moving as the Foxes look for openings: it’s Indigo who breaks through, feinting around a backliner to put it in the goal.

Olivia serves, and play resumes. A Bruins striker crushes Bastion’s arm against the wall, forcing him to drop his racquet, and he loses precious seconds trying to shake off the hit and retrieve it.

Meanwhile, the Bruins get a wide-open shot at the goal, one that Alis can’t dive far or fast enough to block.

The Bruins serve, and as play gets tangled up at center court, Sasha earns a yellow card for a late and high hit.

The Bruins are given possession, serving from inside the Foxes’ defensive zone. A quick play puts them in scoring position, the ball glancing off of Alis’ racquet and into the goal.

The buzzer sounds, and after a late surge by the Bruins, the Foxes are trailing, 3-2.

HALFTIME

The Foxes retreat to their locker room behind by one: but it’s a position they’ve been in before, in the Championships, and been able to claw their way back from. Back on the court, the Vixens run through their half-time routines to the home crowd, which hasn’t lost its energy yet. After fifteen minutes, both teams are called back to the court.

SECOND HALF

STARTING LINEUP:

Goalkeeper: Caleb Fournier (Sub: Anderson Ford)

Dealers: Louis Granger (Sub: River Tate)

Strikers: Carter Maddox, Henry Isaacs (Sub: Akira Sato)

Backliners: Sterling Walsh, Sydney McCray (Sub: Beck Morgan)

The Foxes take their positions, but there’s a delay on the Bruins side: with Louis on the court, they send on backliner Joe Carmichael, sporting stitches behind the grating of his helmet.

The Bruins serve, and Sterling dives to get his racquet on an early shot, but it’s just out of his reach—and Caleb’s as well, and the Bruins pull further ahead.

The Bruins serve, and Louis is hounded by his former classmate. The referees don’t blow their whistles on the first trip, but when Louis is sent to the ground again, Carmichael is given a yellow card.

The Foxes are given possession, and Louis serves to Carter, who takes a shot of the goal that goes just wide. Henry is able to pick up the rebound, and put it into the goal.

Louis serves, but the Bruins take over after the goalkeeper slams a shot from Carter all the way into the Foxes’ zone.

A Bruins striker receives it, and gets a pass off before Sydney crushes them into the wall, and the receiving striker puts it behind Caleb on a sharp-angled shot.

It looks like a fight might break out: Joe Carmichael is in Louis’ face, but Louis doesn’t rise to the bait. When he backs away, Sydney puts herself in the middle, keeping them apart.

With play paused, and the Foxes behind, Wymack sends in his subs: Anderson for Caleb; River for Louis; Akira for Henry; and Beck for Sydney.

The Bruins serve, but Beck intercepts it. She passes to Carter, who makes a break for the Bruins goal with no one covering him.

As the Bruins dealer tries to catch a charging Carter, they take him down with a trip, earning themselves a yellow card.

Before play can restart, Carter retaliates with a shove, and he is given his own yellow card, and the Bruins are given the serve.

Anderson blocks a shot and, when the ball is loose in front of him, darts out of the goal to check a Bruin to the ground and take possession and heave it up the court.

Akira fakes a shot and the goalkeeper falls for it, making a sprawling dive that they can’t recover from when Akira does take the shot, putting the Foxes within one.

River serves, but the Bruins beat the Foxes to it. Anderson blocks one shot—but, just as quickly, it deflects off of the body of one of the players around the goal and trickles in.

The Bruins serve, now with a two goal cushion. Anderson dives to block another Bruins attempt, and the swing of his racquet sends it hard into the body of a Bruins player, who goes down immediately.

Play halts while the Bruin is down on the court, but they get to their feet and stay on the court—for what little time remains.

The clock runs out, and a high-scoring game has nonetheless ended in a loss for the Foxes: 6-4.

POST-GAME

The Foxes lost, but they still have four points to put to their third round total, something for them to build on in their second—and final—third round game. That doesn’t make the loss sit any better with the Foxes, and it doesn’t make much of a difference to their dejected orange-clad fans, who have yet to see the Foxes win a game at home during the Championships.

This time, the referees are close by as the Foxes and the Bruins shake hands, as is the Bruins’ coach, a stocky and intimidating former player, who glowers at Louis in particular as the Foxes make their way through the line. This time, however, it passes mostly without incident—except for River, who hastily leaves the court without completing the line. Seeing something on their face, though, Wymack lets them go.

It’s quieter back in the locker room than it’s been for the past few games, the Foxes showering and changing out with little to celebrate, as Wymack sends Indigo and Bastion to face the press.

The overwhelming elation of their death match victory against the Rebels feels far away, now. With a loss, there’s little reason for the Foxes to linger, nothing for them to do at the end of the night besides go their separate ways, try to get the loss out of their minds.

——

ADMIN NOTE: And there you have it! As a reminder, you’re welcome to set threads during any of the periods listed above—(pre-game, expanding on the events of the game itself, halftime, post-game)—and I can’t wait to see what you come up with!

I’ll see you back here for the Foxes’ next (and final) third round game, which will be an away game against the DePaul Blue Demons, on the in-game date of March 29.

And, as always, please let me know if you have any questions or feedback!

#tfcgames

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erroetcresco · 6 years

Text

Smile in Victory

Aleks met James while he was wearing a homemade Gumby mask. Aleks joined the Creatures with their masks off. Aleks and James wore matching Cow masks. Cow Chop celebrated on the roof.

[A03 Link] - 1533 Words

The first time Aleks saw James - though he didn’t know it yet - the man had a mask on, some kind of fucked up green bag with red eyes. Aleks waited for the masked man to dive into the van after a man with a red mask, and a man with a cartoon batman mask, and floored it out of there. He’d been hired to drive them away from the jewelry store they just heisted, lose the cops, shit like that. When he looked into the rear view mirror, the three of them are high fiving and pulling out necklaces and even a tiara to show to each other. The cops got a whiff of their scent, but Aleks lost them easily in the Liberty City traffic. When he dropped them off before going to ditch the van, the green masked guy knocked on his window. Aleks rolled it down, and the man hiked up his mask high enough that Aleks could see straight white teeth bared in a dangerous grin and a black beard neatly trimmed on his chin.

“Here,” the guy said, and dropped a diamond studded ring into Aleks’ hand. “You did good. See ya around.”

Aleks examined the band in his palm for a moment, while the man went and joined the others he’d dropped off. The diamonds weren’t too big, it definitely wasn’t a big fraction of the haul, but it was a nice tip for his driving, at least. He put it in his pocket, and drove towards the airport to ditch the van, a dumpster to drop the plates, and a random garbage can to leave his plastic transformers mask in.

He figured he would pawn it, but he never did. Sometimes, he considered it as a last resort - a source of cash if he had nothing left - but that never came up. The crew he had driven for hired him again, and again, until he was in it. He was a Creature, same as the guy in the fucked up green bag.

----

James didn’t wear a mask on the job before everything changed. Aleks wasn’t driving anymore; he had shown himself to be more than smart at the wheel. He had a smart tongue too, and quick hands. James was better at shooting, but Aleks was good at getting behind someone and sliding a knife between their ribs. This job felt different, though, and in a different sense than “every job was unique”. James was on edge, Aleks could tell by the way he disassembled and reassembled his pistol before the job, the way he kept silent through the usual pre-job banter, the way he ran his fingers through his short curls while the two of them waited in position. James being on edge put everyone else on edge: Kootra flipping his butterfly knife around like a toy, Dan checking the comms over and over again, Aron crushing his usual dumdum under his foot, rather than sucking on it.

The ring James had given him glittered on his right middle finger, a point of teasing for the rest of the crew, but was a part of him at this point. Aleks spun it around his finger, over and over, fiddling with it in a way to express his nerves the same as everyone else. See, Aleks knew what was wrong, which was something he wasn’t sure the rest of the crew could say. James was pissed, and for good reason. He’d had a different way of doing this job, brought it up, and got shut down. James thought this was a sure way to get someone hurt, and he had a better idea. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it felt different this time. It felt like the breaking point.

Aleks earned himself a gunshot during this job, and he’d even gotten lucky. It was a graze, but he couldn’t help the way he had to breathe through his teeth to keep from freaking out and becoming a burden on the rest of the crew. The blood soaked through his hoodie and had started to drip from his sleeve, even with Dan holding a bunched up jacket against the wound, When James rejoined them at the randevu, Aleks saw the way he blinked when he saw him leaning against the corner of the motel room they were using, and promptly put his fist, silently, through the drywall. He knew he had been right about his feelings before. Something was going to change.

---

The next time Aleks saw James in a mask, they were matching. They were both wearing plastic cow masks, same as everyone else in their crew. They had left, together, with a scab still crusting over Aleks’ shoulder. Joe had come with them, so had Aron. They picked up some other people during the move, using the contacts they had made during their stint with the Creatures.

On the one hand, they had to build themselves up from a shaky foundations. They had contacts from the beginning. James - or Nova, at least - was a name to know in the game, after all, and his time in the Creatures had only introduced him to more channels to exploit. That was more than other crews could say, crews that started from nothing. On the other hand, it still wasn’t easy. They had to prove themselves to the Fake syndicate, had to prove that they weren’t Creatures anymore to their contacts, had to prove to each other over and over that they could do this - they could handle this. Together, at least, they could handle this.

Aleks spun his diamond ring around and around his middle finger, waiting for the signal to hop out of the van and disrupt an arms deal the Fake Syndicate wanted interrupted. They would get to keep what they found, and two gangs would be out of money and guns - it was a win-win all around. This wasn’t their first job together, and the crew ran like a well oiled machine, but nerves still curled in Aleks’ stomach. He didn’t stop spinning his ring, until a gloved hand reached over and stopped him. Aleks looked up through his shitty mask to see another cow staring at him - anonymous and too intimate all at once.

“We got it,” James said, from behind his mask. Aleks smiled, before realizing that it didn’t show.

“I know,” He confirmed, and let their fingers intertwine for a second. James gave his hand a squeeze, before letting his hand drop. Before Aleks could even think, the signal sounded, the door opened, and Trevor was yelling ‘go, go, go’ in a mock soldier voice through their ear pieces.

---

Sitting on the roof of their warehouse, Aleks decided for the hundredth time, Los Santos was good to them. James was leaning into his shoulder, beer clasped loosely in his hand, while Aleks puffed on and pass around a joint to their crew. Their crew. It was another job well done, and they had found some sweet sniper rifles in the cases they had taken - among some other things. Sure, Brett was complaining that a rumored grenade launcher wasn’t there, but Aleks would rather it not be there than pulled on them during the firefight. Yeah, it had been an ambush, and it had been a quick fight, but still. He’d rather hear the familiar pop-pop-pop of gunfire than the overwhelming explosion that could mean his friends were dead from one trigger pull. Aleks gave his ring a spin, absentmindedly, at the thought, but James’ hand was there on top of his before he could even get it around completely.

“You’re gonna screw your finger right off, someday,” James said, and there was a light in his eyes that only happened after a solid job got pulled off well. Aleks smiled, and bumped their shoulders together.

“Yeah, someday,” He agreed, breezily enough. James put a hand on his hair - short now, and bleached blonde - and gave a ruffle that Aleks would generally give to Trevor. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“‘M always an asshole,” James said, and his smile was easy, so easy, and his teeth were bared in victory the same way they had been when they were all Aleks had ever seen of him.

“Shut up,” Aleks said, and kissed him, because that was something he could do, something he’d been able to do for years, but had never quite lost its shine, the same way his ring never lost its sparkle. James was still smiling into the kiss, so it was more of a dry press of the lips than anything else.

“Don’t be gross,” Trevor groaned, from his perch near the skylight, and Aleks didn’t move away from James - didn’t hesitate to flip him the middle finger, diamond ring sparkling in the city lights around them as he did it. James laughed, and bumped their noses together. Aleks reluctantly pulled away, but James kept him close with an arm thrown over his shoulders.

Aleks glanced down one more time, and righted the ring so it sat symmetrically on his finger. It’d ended up being much more than the tip it had originally meant to be.

#NovaHD #fake chop #fake creatures #Still working on the 198x AU but I couldn't sleep till I wrote this #hmu inbox is open

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siempre-bucky · 7 years

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Murder at Stark Manor: Peter Parker X Reader

PART 1 of2

Midtown High Students have come to participate in Liz’s live action role play. The reader wants to confess her feelings for Peter but knows about his crush on Liz. No one actually dies, it’s ok :)

Word Count: 1.8k (OMG I’M SORRY T.T)

Peter Parker x Reader

Based on the board game Clue

It was the middle of the beautiful month of April, and around this time a grand party was about to be announced by the popular Liz Toomes. It was an annual gathering, only certain students were invited to partake in this year’s party. For it would be a party to die for.

“What do you think her party theme is this year?” Y/F/N Y/L/N asked her best friend as they walked through the crowded halls of Midtown High. Peter Parker looked down at her and shrugged, reaching his locker. Y/N picked at her army green sweater as she leaned against the locker next to Peter’s. She took a moment to admire the spider boy, he was perfect, his hair, his body, even his fingers as they graced the lock.

Upon opening the locker, a white envelope fell out, making a soft noise as it collided with the ground. The light brown haired male was oblivious to the envelope as he continued to stuff his books in his messy locker. “You dropped something,” Y/N told him. Peter looked down and gasped, picking up the envelope.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked her excitedly, pointing at the red wax seal. Y/N shook her head, although, in reality, she knew what it was. And frankly, she was afraid, this was Liz trying to get Peter to be hers “Read the initials! LT! It’s an invite to the biggest party of the year,” he nearly squealed. Y/N put her pointer finger up to her lips to silence the overly excited boy. Everyone was aware of the crush Peter has had on Liz since forever grade. Peter sighed to calm himself down, this is too exciting.

“I’m going to open it,” he said as he broke the seal and hurriedly took the thick and shiny invitation:

You are cordially invited to participate in…

A Party to Die For

Presented by Liz Toomes

17th of April 7:00 pm sharp

Boddy Manor

(Please attend in 1920s fashion and speak with an English accent)

Y/N rolled her eyes, of course, Liz would pull out all the stops for her parties. Boddy Manor was the old mansion upstate, recently bought by an unknown owner. A party to die for? So cliché, she thought as she looked over at the invitation in Peter’s hand. If this was a cartoon, Y/N’s skin would be turning green, but she would never admit it. “I’m going to class, don’t drown in your own drool,” she laughed as she walked off for class. Peter wiped the bead of drool of his chin and wiped it on his dark blue jeans.

The grumpy girl stood in front of her gray locker and slowly started to turn the numbers on her small lock. Suddenly a shadow appeared behind her, she breathed in, slightly cringing at the overwhelming smell of Marc Jacobs perfume. Y/N ran her hand through her choppy neck length hair before turning around to look at the girl.

Behind her was none other than Liz Toomes holding out a white envelope exactly the same as Peter’s. Liz’s frosty pink lips turned up into a knowing smile as she looked down at Y/N’s unimpressed facial expression.

“This is for you,” she spoke. Y/N hesitantly reached out and took the envelope from her manicured hands.

“Uh, thanks, Liz,” Y/N said in disbelief, why would she give her an invitation? Y/N studied the indecipherable look on the taller girl’s face. What has possessed the daughter of Satan? What kind of trick was she trying to play on her… or Peter? Liz broke the eye contact and took a step back. It was no secret that you and Liz didn't like each other, especially since you were both competing for Peter's attention

“Anything for you Y/N! Remember don’t be late,” Liz said, flipping her long curly dark hair over her shoulder and walking away. Y/N didn’t bother reading the invitation, I’m only going because Peter is, she reminded herself, shoving the envelope into her bag.

The evening had come, the grand party was about to take place. The sun had started to set and the air had become cooler. From the other side of the street, Y/N stood there and watched the other people standing on the porch, dressed appropriately for the occasion. She tugged on her sparkly lavender drop waist dress and sighed deeply.

She took clumsy steps with her high heels, slowly managing to walk across the wet street. Glancing up at the large door, Y/N took her place next to Peter. “Y/N! You got invited,” Peter whispered as he draped his arm around her shoulders. As they chill of the night settled in Y/N leaned into his embrace, observing those around her. He looked amazing in his black tux and thick red tie.

Standing across from the pair where the other players, Ned, of course, was invited but stayed far away from the group...he was really into this. He blew his pipe, and out came bubbles, Peter let out a laugh and nudged Y/N to look. On the other side of Ned was Michelle Jones Liz’s best friend, her nose in a book, Scratching her hand which was in a dreadfully itchy white lace glove.

And of course, there was the girl of the hour, Liz with her green dress and brown faux fur coat. She was the best dressed there, twirling her pearl necklace as she talked to Michelle.

The guests waited anxiously for the opening of the doors, but finally, they had opened to reveal the maid character, Peter's eyes opened wide as he recognized her as Wanda “Welcome, welcome! Ms. Toomes and Mr. Stark welcome you all to this live action game of Clue at the Boddy Manor!” Mr. Stark? Peter whipped his head around to the street to see the billionaire standing there with his velvet lounge outfit, his hands nicely tucked in the large pockets. With Pepper Potts on his arm, wearing a skin tight red dress and hair in classic curls.

“Actually my dear, it's now Stark Manor,” he corrected with his fake accent. He was the buyer of the old mansion? Wanda rolled her eyes “ Our rules state that you must act in character and stick to your character descriptions,” She told them, stepping aside to let them into the entry way. Peter let Y/N go in front of him as he stopped to talk to Tony.

“M-Mr Stark? How did you know about this?” he asked.

“That Liz girl has good bribery skills. I don't like her,” he muttered in a hushed tone. “Listen, kid, just enjoy and ask Y/N out ok, she's better,” he winked and gave Peter a firm pat on the back before walking into the mansion.

The room was barely lit, setting off a creepy vibe within the younger patrons. The maid walked and stood behind two large glass bowls with pieces of paper “Please come forth and select a paper, this will be your character description, one is for the gentleman and the other is for the girls,” she told them. Liz tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked up to the bowl twirling her hand inside before pulling one out with two fingers.

“Heiress to a large fortune, newly engaged to the heir of the large hotel in Manhattan,” she read aloud, smirking. Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance. Michelle followed her lead and picked from the bowl.

“Daughter of the wealthy business man, heavily sheltered. Bite me” she spat, walking back to Liz. Ned walked up to the bowl and stuck his hand inside the bowl for the men’s side.

“Ah, the business partner to the CEO, choice,” he laughed in victory, taking his place back in the group. And so it went on the other patrons found out their places in the game, Peter was to be “married” to Liz, Y/N was ironically the best friend to the heir of the hotel. Tony was naturally was cast as the CEO, while Pepper played the wife of Tony.

The guests walked into the living room for drinks, Y/N stood in the corner as she watched Peter sit on the couch in between Liz and Michelle, hamming it up. She furrowed eyes as her painted nails tapped the glass in annoyance.Tony took the last sip of his drink, noticing it was empty he left the room, to grab another bottle of champagne.

Minutes have passed, the same old record had played over and over, the sound had become nauseating. Suddenly the record player stopped and the lights went out. Everyone gasped. “Y/N!” Peter yelled, his spidey senses going wild. Jumping from the couch to find Y/N.

“I’m ok,” she said, looking around in complete darkness, trying to search for her friend. Peter followed her voice and slowly made his way over to her, bumping into the edge of the coffee table with his shin. He let out a groan bending down to grip in throbbing shin.

There was a sound, a bottle had broken in the other room and it earned everyone’s attention. “What was that?” Michelle shouted out, starting to get scared. The room was silent once again, the sounds of their heartbeats were the only things to be heard. Until the lights flickered back on and the maid rushed into the room, crying hysterically with blood all over her delicate hands.

“Someone killed my Master,” she cried, falling to the floor. Ned rushed over and sat beside her “What happened to my friend?” he asked, staying in character. The maid slowly stood up and walked the guests into the kitchen.

There on the floor was Tony lying on the ground, with blood covering his upper torso. Pepper pushed her way up to the front “Tony,” she sobbed, pulling out a handkerchief out of her dress, wiping her eyes. She leaned her head against Liz’s shoulder, who hesitantly tapped her shoulder in comfort.

“I came in after cleaning the master bedroom and he was found dead… one of you did it,” the maid’s demeanor changed. There were no more tears, she was angry, and everyone could tell.

“She has great acting,” Peter whispered to Y/N. She nudged his side, making him laugh and look at the crime scene.

“On the table behind me, there are envelopes for each of you. They contain a magnifying glass, a notepad, fingerprint dusting equipment and a map to the house. We will check in every hour… you have 3 hours to find out which one of you killed Tony Stark. I wish all of you good luck,” She informed before beginning to break down and cry over his body with a white sheet.

“Do you think Liz wants to pair up with me?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” Y/N looked over at Liz who was already arm and arm with Michelle, “I think she may have a partner already.” Peter looked at the pair that just left and pouted. Y/N looked at him in disbelief, they had been best friends since 1st grade and this is what she gets? She’s his second choice. I’m his second choice, this is ridiculous, she thought as she grabbed her packet off the table. If only he could see how much she loved him.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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