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wkemeup · 4 years

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By Any Other Name (13)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 4.1k warnings: smut (18+), a relief from all that angst, a bubble where nothing bad can happen (if only for a moment) 🌹series masterlist 🌹

The air was cool as you followed James into a third story apartment of an old brownstone. Faded bricks lined up the street-side wall and a couple dozen plants in desperate need of watering sat under the windows. The hinges squeaked as the door closed behind you, a few scuffs on the interior and a deadbolt near the lock. You handed him the baseball cap he insisted you wear to obstruct your face and the heavy overcoat you borrowed.

James smiled nervously at you as he started to shrug off his jacket, watching the way you stepped further into the quaint, one-bedroom apartment. The couch looked to be a few years old, well-worn with use from the dip in the cousins and the faint discoloration of sunlight draped along the backrest. There were newspapers and mail piled high on the kitchen table, an empty mug on the coffee table in the living room, a sweatshirt hung over the back of a chair by the television.

It was so domestic, so genuine; a glimpse into the place where he felt most at home. Safe.

“It’s cute,” you commented, gesturing to the open floor plan that allowed you to step from the furthest end of the kitchen to the wall of the living room in less than ten paces. You touched the exposed brick along the wall by the fireplace, the slight prickles of the cement scraping your fingertips.

“It’s a closet,” James laughed, shaking his head. The edges of his hair fell into his eyes but he quickly brushed it away. “It’s nothing compared to--”

“Maybe I like a closet,” you said, cutting him off before he could even bring up the home you’d been kept locked away in like a prisoner. It was extravagant and spoiled in riches, but it was cold and unkind. You trailed your fingers along the edge of his couch, soft under your nails, as you made your way back to him. “It’s nice to see something that’s really yours.” A pause as he nodded, smile brimming on his face though his cheeks were flushed. “This is your apartment, right? It’s not just part of the cover?”

James laughed at that. “Yeah, it’s mine. Bureau wouldn’t dare spend an extra dime to get James Karpov a nicer place.”

You stood in front of him, tips of your fingers gently dancing around his own until your hands intertwined and you felt the bare warmth of his palms heat the chill of your skin. Leaning into his chest, you cherished the oaky scent of his shampoo, letting your gaze wander around the small, Brooklyn based apartment, that held so many clues to the real identity of the man whose heart you could hear thumping inside his chest.

Baseball cards were framed, but not hung, leaning against the wall on the top bookcase. Sneakers kicked off by the front door like he’d just come back from a run and didn’t quite have the energy to get them in the closet just yet. The manila envelopes stacked on the end table by the couch with coffee rings on the top.

There were a dozen pillows floating around between the couch and the love seat, an old woven rug placed underneath and candles sitting on the fireplace mantel. Photos hung on the walls of the faces you’d been reacquainted with just hours ago; their smiles beaming, mid laugh, dressed in what looked like matching softball outfits with ‘FBI’ embroidered across the front. All so exceptionally normal.

“Y/n?” he called softly, a strain in his voice that surprised you.

“Hmm?”

“You think you might--” he paused, a heavy breath out. “You think you might ever forgive me?”

You pulled back, startled by his question, to find him chewing on his lower lip, tugging at dried skin and trembling exhales past his tongue. Careful hands reach up to the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over cheekbones and grazing the scratch of bristles along his beard line.

“For what?” you asked gently. “For working tirelessly to put a dangerous criminal behind bars where he belongs? For being so impossibly kind and patient with Peter and treating me like maybe I was worth something more than just a trophy on my husband’s arm? For being the good man I always knew you were?”

You felt the muscles of his jaw clench under your palms, eyes darting down to the floor, but he stayed silent.

“So, I don’t know your real name,” you conceded playfully, trying to pull a smile from his lips, “and maybe you weren’t entirely truthful about what you did for a living, but, James, tonight I found out that the man I love doesn’t blindly kill people for a living, doesn’t willingly work for the same vile monster who trapped me in a marriage and threatened to beat my sixteen-year-old cousin within an inch of his life. You don’t need my forgiveness, James, because what you’ve given me is just... relief.”

You were smiling, weightless almost, and it surprised you to find him frozen under your touch. Wide eyes bore into yours, blue faded to dark grey in the dim lighting of his kitchen, and he slowly unclenched his jaw.

“What did you say?” His voice tense, almost aching, a little desperate and you stitched your brows at the center.

You pursed your lips, repeating the last thing you’d said. “There’s nothing to forgive, so you don’t have to—”

“Not that.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

“You said,” James started, unsure as he watched for your reaction, “you said you loved me.”

Had it really slipped out that easily?

You thought about it for a moment, considered the gravity those were held; that they hadn’t been spoken since they were told to a perceived notion of a man who never once cared for you in the way you’d believed. They were an act of manipulation, of deceit, and they had held nothing but disdain.

Until James. Until the beautiful man with a name you didn’t know and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

“Did I?” you exhaled; throat dry suddenly.

A flash of panic quickly crossed James features, a harsh breath in and he nervously stuttered out, “you can take it back if you—”

“No!” you blurted out without much of a second thought. You didn’t need one. This was something you were absolutely certain of. You tucked a fallen hair behind your ear and confirmed, “no, I… I don’t want to take it back.”

Leaning onto his chest, you could feel the rapid pace of his heart pulsing beneath your touch. The unsteady rhythm and the deep rise and fall of his breaths, the physical manifestations of the nerves rushing through your own body, though you waited patiently.

“Good,” he said after a while, like he’d needed a moment to find his bearings.

“Is it?” you teased, chewing on the edge of your lip.

He nodded, smiling growing on his face. “Will you say it again?”

“What?” you replied, grinning wildly and feigning confusion. “’The man I love’ or ‘I love you’ or--”

Lips on yours, a laugh in his breath and a smile etched to his cheeks, the words died easily on your tongue. There wasn’t anything quite like the way he kissed you, all warmth and comfort, wet and aching; he kissed like every touch of your lips might be the last time, like he had novels worth of last words to say and all he had was the gentle tug of his teeth to your bottom lip, the sweep of his tongue over yours, to convey what he was desperate to say.

“Any of it,” he gasped, breathless between kisses along your jawline. “All of it. Say it a million times.”

“Greedy, aren't you?” Your stomach was aching with laughter, his lips kissing along your neckline, the crease of your jaw, your collarbone, and his hands roaming along your hips send goosebumps and tingles up your spine.

“Maybe. You should try it yourself sometime,” he teased, labored breath and stunning red color on his lips. Slowly, he cupped the sides of your face, and pressed a tender, chaste kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

You knew and yet your heart was threatening to burst straight out of your chest. It was in the way the plump red of his lips curved into that smile you adored, the winkles up by ocean blue eyes, dimples caved into his cheeks and the faint outline of scars he’d earned protecting the only family you had left.

“I love you,” he said again, followed by a kiss to your forehead. Lingering, gentle, and sweet.

“I love you,” and a kiss to your nose. Brief and chaste.

“I love you.” Lips on your clavicle. Warmer, open and wet.

“I love you.” He sank down to his knees, the wide surface of his palms resting ever so slightly in a feather’s touch upon your waist line, fingers pressing against skin hidden under your shirt.

You watched him, waiting under bated breaths, as he slowly slipping his hands up under the fabric, tracing along your spine. It lifted the edge of the shirt just enough for him to press a kiss to your stomach, just above your jeans.

A sigh escaped you, and you lifted your arms above your head, the tension burning in your skin as he took the hint without question, and slowly peeled the fabric from your body. Up and over your head, brushing your hair from your eyes and you quickly tried to tame it again, but he was smiling so wide you couldn’t be bothered to care for the flyaways.

“I love you.” A dozen times over and every time the words left his lips, silk and butter on his voice, it felt like the first time; it carried goosebumps prickling on your skin and shivers in your spine.

Coming back to his feet, his lips touched the hill of your breast, forcing your eyes to flutter shut. Though, when his tongue flattened, and the warmth of his mouth trailed down to your sternum, you gasped.

He grinned against your skin, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

“James,” you tried, warning him to stop his teasing, but he hushed you.

“Shh, sweetheart, I’m not done.” His hands snaked up along the indent of your spine, over curves and edges, until his fingers touched the clasp at the back of your bra. His forehead rested on yours, a slight look to your eyes for approval, and with your nod, he swiftly released the clasps.

The material slipped down from your shoulders, straps hanging loosely down by your elbows and he slowly pulled the cushion away from your chest. It fell to the floor and the slight chill of his apartment pebbled at your nipples.

You moved to cover yourself, in the cold and the flush of embarrassment as his eyes had yet to leave your breasts, but there was something about the way he was looking at you; like you weren’t a prize to be won or a stake to claim. You were something of beauty, of astonishment, and the disbelief in his eyes, the genuine awe, allowed your arms to rest at your sides, leaving yourself open and vulnerable to him because for once, you trusted a man to keep you safe.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, fingers trailing around at your hips as he leaned forward to kiss your neck. His lips lowly peppering kisses down your collarbone, over your heartbeat, until he kissed the valley of your breasts. Hands snaked up into his hair, a slight gasp, as his tongue touched the hardened bud.

“I love you,” he whispered, heat of his breath against your breast and he wrapped his lips around the bud. Tongue swirling in gentle circles, teeth grazing ever so slightly over the sensitive peak, though never once in pain. You gasped, digging your nails to his hair and arching your back to the kitchen table.

His hands were everywhere; holding you still, caressing down your waist, anchoring you to the ground while his mouth pushed you high above the clouds.

He moved to the other breast, his right hand coming up to gently massage where his lips could not, a thumb brushing over the nipple, still wet and aching from where he’d left you.

“James,” you whined, a dull ache between your legs and you squeezed your thighs together in refuge. Your hands left his hair and he only smiled in response, sucking harder on the bud and pulling another shaky breath from your lips. Fingers gripped in tight to the edge of his shift, just above his shoulder blades, and you started to tug. “Off. Take this off.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He bent down, let you tug the material up and over his head, discarding it to the floor next to your own. In the moment he tried to lean into you again, to pick up where he’d left off as if going even a moment without touching you – kissing you – was pain within itself, you spotted a faint discoloration on his his chest, one that stilled you in an instant.

“Oh God,” you gasped, a hand pressing to his shoulder to keep him where he stood. There was a heaviness in your voice as your fingers grazed over the raised, light pink edges of scars littering his chest, carving over his shoulders.

He paused, watching you nervously, the playfulness fallen from his face in favor of bated breaths and tension in his jaw.

Fingertips brushed over a particularly prominent one under his ribs, two inches wide, dark in color, like it had healed over a few times. It sat between his muscles, the dip between hardened lines of his stomach, and he shivered under the touch.

“Trafficker in New Orleans,” he said simply, voice low, a thick swallow. “I told you I’ve survived worse than a few punches.”

“You were shot,” you exhaled, hands shaking over the scars and he quickly gathered them in his own, kissing sweetly at your fingers.

“It was a long time ago, love. I’m alright.”

It looked years healed over, like maybe he’d opened the stitches a few too many times because he couldn’t simply sit still and listen to the doctor’s orders. It sounded like him to do such a foolish thing. Too impatient to care for himself when there was work to be done.

“Y/n,” he called gently. “Sweetheart, come back to me.”

Blinking a few times, you found yourself caught up in stormy blue. He smiled sweetly at you, kissing at your hands nestled gingerly within his own.

“I guess I forgot that your job is still as dangerous as it was yesterday,” you admitted, eyes darting to the ground. “But it’s worse than that, isn’t it? Being undercover where you are… it’s more dangerous than just being connected to Hydra.”

“It is,” he confirmed, slow and steady. He had no interest in lying to you anymore, that much you could tell by how easily he replied. There was no hesitation, no pause. His breath was warm over your fingers. “But we’re almost at the end of it. Just one more month. Until the shipment comes in. Then, we’re out.”

“I don’t know if I can last that long,” you confessed quietly and James quickly wrapped you tight into his arms. Chest to chest; skin to skin, and his arms enveloped you close. Hands trailing down the bare of your back, your cheek pressed to his heart.

“You can,” he said, the vibrations of his voice purring against your ear. “I’ll be there with you. You and me, love. I’ve got you.”

Tears blinked over your lashes, touching the skin of his chest. “I’m scared for you.”

“Hey,” he cooed, gingerly pulling you away just enough to see you face. He frowned at the redness in your eyes, the reflection of tears on your cheeks. A thumb brushed up over your cheekbones, carefully sweeping under your eye. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me, okay? I’m good at what I do. I’ve been on dozens of assignments like this and even when shit hits the fan, I still come out on top. I’m still the one walking topside while the bad guys are rotting in jail.”

“But Brock—”

“—doesn’t suspect a thing,” James sighed. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Just let me take care of you tonight, sweetheart; forget about all that waits for us tomorrow. Let me love you.”

There was so much on your mind; images of what Brock might do if he were to ever discover James’ identity, questions of how you were going to spend a month with the knowledge that could get him killed and lie to a master manipulator, fear that you might be the very reason it all comes crashing down.

Your heart rate started to beat a little faster, breaths come in a little quicker, but you felt a slight tug on your hand that pulled you out from under the water.

“Come with me,” James asked, gesturing to the door at the edge of the living room. He had that beautifully sweet smile on his face, one that was exceptionally light and barely even curved the edges of his lips but it lit up bright in his eyes.

You nodded, following him as he guided you through the door. It was dark inside, walls baron white and he flicked the switch to a small lamp in the far corner of the room. It cast a light orange glow over the room, almost like the glow of a dim fire on the edge of extinction. It was just enough to see him; the curves and lines of his muscles and the slight dishevel of his hair.

“It’s just you and me tonight,” he said, gently sweeping your hair away from your shoulder and as his lips touched down along your collarbone. Wet and warm, tracing the bone to your neck. “There’s nothing else. It’s just you and me.”

You nodded, lost in the feeling of his tongue trailing your skin, sucking sweetly at the crevice of your neck until a sigh left you, one that ached deep between your legs. He must have noticed or perhaps it was the way you gripped at his hair or clenched your legs, but James carefully ushered you to the bed, helping you to lay down on your back as he hovered over you. His lips didn’t leave your body for even a second.

His hand trailed down along your stomach, finger tips dancing around the waistline of your pants, and he paused. No question needed to be asked, but one he sought an answer for anyway, and you reached down to unbutton the clasp yourself, slowly wiggling the jeans down your hips and kicking them off the edge of the bed.

A hunger grew in his eyes as he began crawling down your body, peppering kissing along the way; your neck, your breast, stomach, hipbone, until the warmth of his tongue touched over the fabric of your underwear.

“We’ve waited long enough,” you whined, simply wanting him and you were certain you were aching and wet enough from the tension alone. You could feel the gathering pool between your legs, the shift of it when you moved your thighs, the dampness of the fabric.

“There’s always time for this,” he purred and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed core.

You gasped, hands quickly gathering in his hair, yanking and pulling, though it only seemed to make him laugh. He likely imagined you were just sensitive. It had been almost eight months since you allowed Brock to touch you, though even in his best efforts it was never like this. He was a selfish lover, using your body for his own desire.

The truth was, a man had never kissed you there before, over or under the material covering the most vulnerable, most sensitive parts of you, and James was one that seemed to revel in the privilege of it. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, a quick look up to you in wait, and with your nod, he slid them down your legs, discarding them with your jeans.

In the cool air of his bedroom, you tried to squeeze your legs closed, but strong hands curled along the insides of your thighs, holding you open and expose. Fingers dug into the soft skin of your legs and though you strained against him, there was give, enough that you could have overpowered him if you really wanted to.

“Easy, love,” James mewled, lips grazing over your inner thigh, slowly skimming up along your curves until the heat of his breath touched your core and a jolt rocked through you. He chuckled, deep and low, and the vibrations of it trembled through you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing sweetly at the very edge of your leg, right along the curve, and he moaned when your nails dug into his hair. Your eyes fluttered shut just at the sound, the way he rutted against the mattress, his arms snaking around your thighs and caging himself to you.

“I love you,” he said again, teasingly, as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the very place you’d been aching from, clenching around air in anticipation, and your free hand wrapped tight to the bedpost behind you.

“Shit, James, I—” You couldn’t find words, couldn’t string more than a few together because suddenly, his tongue licked a long stripe through your folds, lapping up the wetness and swirling it around your clit with the tip of his tongue. You gasped as he sucked the bundle of nerves between his lips, sliding two fingers easily inside of you and stroked at your walls.

You could feel his grin against you, the satisfaction of you withering and whining under him. His hips jutted along the bed with every gasp he pulled from you, with every pump of his fingers, and lick of your clit. You’d never known a man to enjoy this the way he did, to find his pleasure in your own.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was heaven.

“Ja—” you bit down on your tongue, your walls clenching at his fingers and he tongue didn’t let up for a second. Your hips moved against his hand, riding him, seeking more because his fingers just weren’t enough.

The peak found you before you were ready for it and you cried out, hips chasing at his fingers as he held you down, sucking furiously at your clit, until the gaze started to subside. A warmth spread through you, limbs heavy and tired, and you’d only come once.

“Come here,” you gasped, tugging gently on his hair as he looked up at you, cheek resting on your thigh, content to stay between your legs for an eternity.

He grinned, slowly crawling back up to you, kissing cervices of your body along the way; the curves that you hid under layers of sweatshirts, the parts of your body that felt used and put on display for a man you despised, now reveled, adored, by a man you so desperately loved.

“Hi.”

You laughed, kissing him on the lips, tasting the tanginess on his tongue. “Hi.”

There was a boyish look on his face, one of a playful kind of awe. “I love you.”

“Yes, I suspect you do,” you teased, smiling up at him. Your hands trailed down his chest, down past his scars, to his jeans where you started to fumble with the clasp. “Show me some more, won’t you?”

“Show you a lot more than that, sweetheart,” James winked, leaning back onto his knees. He straddled over your waist, slowly unbuckling the waist of his jeans. He was teasing you, grinning wildly as he watched the impatience form on your features and you sat up, sliding your fingers between his jeans and his hips, and tugged.

“Need you,” you murmured, pulling down just enough, but paused to let him take the step to fully show himself to you. You looked up at him, wide eyed and eager, chest panting a little, still high from the dull ache between your legs.

“I know, love,” James said sweetly. He pushed himself off of you and quickly removed his jeans, his boxers sliding down along with them. When he stood again, adoringly beautiful kind of smile on his face, he didn’t seem to mind when your eyes lingered downward.

Thick and heavy between his legs, standing against him almost painfully hard, with a drip of precum gathering at his slit. He stepped towards you and you watched how it jolted with his movements. Slowly, James crawled back over you, nestling between your legs as his cock brushed at your slit.

“Wanted you for so long,” he whispered, pained in his voice as he tucked his nose to the crook of your neck. “Loved you for so long.”

“I’m here,” you sighed as a hand slipped up into his hair scratching at his scalp, the other running along his back, tracing over hardened scars and exit wounds, the line of his spine. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, honey. I’m yours.”

His cock brushed along your core, sweeping over your clit and drawing a moan from you. James shivered, a tremble chasing up his spine as he kissed along your jaw, slowly finding his way back to your lips. You brushed the hair from his eyes, meeting ocean blue for a moment under parted lips, and he set his forehead to yours.

His cock edged at your entrance, tip pressing between your folds and into your cunt. You took a breath in and before your exhale, he slid deep into you in one smooth push. He stretched at your walls, a slight ache you had expected quickly melding into a burning desire.

“Move,” you gasped, barely able to get anything else out.

James slowly pulled his hips back, enough so his tip just barely left you before he sank back in. Hot breaths on your neck and he rutted his hips again. The tension of it, the pressure of his width, the touch of his pelvis to your clit; it was like fire and flames, the clearest water, it was refuge and salvation.

Arms wrapped at his shoulders, his chest flush to yours, you lifted your legs, heels pressing to the backs of his thighs to urge him forward with every thrust. All you could take from him, every inch, every touch, every gasp, you wanted it – craved it.

This man, this beautifully selfless man, who volunteered his life to live in the shadows of his own name, to spend each day behind enemy lines at the right hand of the country’s most vile criminals, who managed to help you find pieces of yourself again. He brought hope back into your life. And love.

“Ah-ah, James… I’m—I’m close,” you whimpered, nose scratching along the rough bristles of his beard.

You could hear his heavy pants, the low hums of a moan in his voice, and he snaked a hand between you. His fingers touched your clit, circling gently at first before picking up in pace and pressing down, the pressure pushing you closer to the edge.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispered breathily, kissing sweetly, almost innocently, to your cheek. “I’m—I’m right behind you. Let go, love.”

Losing rhythm, his hips chasing his own release as your walls clenched around him, impossibly tight, and your nails dug into his shoulders as you touched cliffs. Running to the drop off, a free fall into the open sky to only clouds and heaven below, you jumped.

Legs gripped tight around him, arms trembling as you held onto him, rocking through the high pulsing down at your core and sweeping through you. James’ breaths were labored, uneven, as he held himself up on the slight shake of his forearms caged around you.

Then, as you leaned up to kiss tenderly at his neck, he released inside of you. A few slow, drawn out thrusts before he stilled, collapsing in his haze and sinking you to the mattress. Full, wet. You gently ran your fingers through his hair as he caught his breath again.

“I’d like to be able to call out your actual name, you know,” you teased, light and airy and cheeks flushed as he slowly raised his head from your chest.

His lips were swollen red, a line of sweat on his forehead, and he chuckled. “I told you James is my name.”

“Not the name you want me to know you as,” you added, remembering well what he’d said in the warehouse.

He nodded. “Soon, sweetheart. I can wait.”

“Not sure I can,” you shrugged playfully, looking away from him out to the window of his apartment to the stars littering the sky and James started to laugh.

“Let me keep loving you like that and you might just test my patience.”

“Maybe that’s my goal.”

He laughed again and you swore it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever hear. You could have spent forever like that, held under his weight, pressed to cotton sheets that smelled of him, full between your legs of the man you so adored.

But he slipped from you, gone before you were ready, and you whined as he stood from the bed. He chuckled at your reaction, bending down to kiss your forehead before he disappeared to the bathroom. The running water of the faucet carried into the bedroom and you settled against the mattress until he returned; the remnants of his release sticky along your inner thighs.

When he returned, he held a washcloth in his hand, warm as he aired it out and steam filtered around it. He touched it to his face first, testing the temperature, before he slowly bent down and ran it along your leg, almost teasingly, until he tenderly wiped along your thighs and pressed it to your center. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut from the lingering sensitivity, and he gingerly cleaned himself from you.

When he was done, he discarded the cloth back to the bathroom with a quick throw and settled in the bed beside you. He held out an arm, giving you space to curl up against him, cheek pressed to his chest, arm draped over his stomach, fingers tracing over a faded scar along his shoulder he told you was from a bad encounter with a slumlord in Chicago.

It was a dream to hold him like this; to be so close you touched every part of him, to be free enough to say the words as they came to your mind, to not have a filter on each movement, to feel safe.

“I’ll have to take you back soon, you know,” James said reluctantly after some time. You felt a kiss press to the crown of your head.

Your heart sank, knowing he was right, that the sun would be up soon and your husband would inevitably return from the ‘business venture’ downtown he’d taken a side trip on following his meeting at the Chinese restaurant.

“Just let me hold you a little while longer, won’t you?” you asked, trying to hold back the lump in your throat, the impeding reality that would come for you soon enough.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” James sighed, his breath warm against the bare of your skin. It left goosebumps in its wake. “Within these walls, I am completely and entirely yours.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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cxffexngel · 3 years

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[ @aaetherius ]

Ever since learning of Valentine’s Day from Lyria curiously inquiring about whether or not he planned to make chocolates for someone special, Lucifer had spent nearly every hour researching and testing various molds and flavors in order to make the perfect sweets for someone who didn’t like them to begin with, but it was the thought that mattered - or so the girl in blue had assured him after his many failed batches. But the day to present his work to his special someone is finally here. Inhaling against the telltale scent of coffee and with something a little extra mixed in, he gingerly holds a neatly wrapped box in his hands. One covered in a shimmering, red paper with a beautiful auburn bow. Atop it sits a much smaller box in matching paper. The packaging alone was a direct result of him staying up far too late to ensure it was perfect. From what he's read and overheard, this holiday is dedicated to loved ones, and he wants to make certain it's special for Sandalphon.

So he slips inside the cafe of the ship - the early morning sun spilling in through the windows and scattering light upon the countertops and tables until they were sprinkled with tiny particles that resembled gold dust. It's still well before Sandalphon usually opens it to the public, and much of the crew is still asleep, but above the scent that wafts from the chocolates he's made he can pick up the distinctive smell of black coffee so he knows the other is already inside. Tucking the box behind his back, he uses his wings to completely shelter it beneath beaming, blush feathers as a gentle smile slips onto his rosy lips. "Good morning, my love," comes his soft voice that he hopes doesn't give away his budding excitement as he makes his way over to where the other stands, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting as large plumes shiver visibly in his joy and bright, blue eyes seem to shine in the sunlight - it's painfully evident he's up to something."Have you heard of Valentine's Day?" He wastes little time leaping into the subject, unable to contain the delight bubbling up in his core. "Lyria informed me it is a holiday in which one makes chocolates for those they love. Though I have never made sweets before, given the purpose of the holiday, I wished to make some for you this year. In all of the skies, Sandalphon, you are the one I have always loved most. So, I pray you will accept this gift. Happy Valentine's Day."

Wings part and he gingerly places the pair of boxes atop the counter, eagerly awaiting for the other to open them. Inside the larger of the packages is a box that contains the fruit of his labor - coffee flavored milk and white chocolates shaped in little wings. A few of them are stuffed with some highly questionable filling Lucifer would claim is cinnamon.They look good, but the taste is suspect if Lyria gagging as she gave him a thumbs up yesterday before dashing off was any indication. Inside the smaller is a delicate but simple white gold promise ring with a set of six wings painstakingly engraved inside the band. The meaning of such a gift had been unknown to him until recently when he had gone shopping for chocolate supplies and Siero had spotted him struggling. With her guidance, he had managed to get everything he needed, but not before she asked after whom he was making chocolates for and, with a knowing laugh, she introduced him to a jeweler who told him about them.

Morning breezes with it's own peaceful divinity when sunlight casts it's serene grace to the lone cafe whose only inhabitant, for the time being, was the crowned supreme primarch. Up at early hours as an usual occurrence - and also a curse considering it wasn't, most of the time, at his own accord but always somehow door busted at unholy hours of early morning by certain scavenger mortal whose questionable tendencies of dragging his body out the confines of soft mattress and a pile of blankets was deemed an extremely necessity. Sandalphon doesn't question it, not anymore and knows best than to struggle against the captain's wishes, knows best to step away given the past day's usual ruckus whenever yet another holiday was just at the horizon to come. And ah - even his own gift for Lucifer, one he had made with so much care and dedication sat atop shelves where, usually, bags of coffee beans would decorate in it's place. Right now they had been moved somewhere else, somehow, in they place what decorates the shelves are a set of truffles coated in various saucers each, various vanilla scented cookies in various shapes varying on tiny set of wings, with slits at the base perfect enough so they can fit atop the rim of a coffee cup, others shaped like hearts, and a cradle shaped one - the specifics of how was he able to find molds for each a mystery to never be found. Something unique and of valuable effort just for that certain someone he knew was going to, also, grace his presence at the built - sublime in all it's way for Sandalphon who awaits the one who he knows, might have in mind the holiday too. It had been a fleeting comment from the girl in blue, and it was only the obvious considering the Grandcypher in general would make each one and every celebration a big deal that the dawning realization could come from any corner of the airship itself, and... Sandalphon can't help the flutter inside his chest, The way his core all but rattles in anticipation considering Lucifer's been absolutely up to something, yet he had never the heart to blow those endearingly awful attempts at not letting such excitement and the glow on azure eyes blow away it. No. Not when, apparently, he had been just as painfully obvious, to some of the crewmembers.

Sole of shoes echo past the door that gives to the cafe's entrance, it doesn't even take a look to know whose presence had graced the always welcoming of worn wood, musk of freshly cleaned and moped floor by the archangel's very own hand. Another of those habits to keep his mind away from the bad things, to not overthink and instead, channel newfound energy into keeping his body moving, doing things, enjoying every second of it as cups, vases, each utensil and surface of tables, chairs and even the petite lamps adorning the room were clean and shining against sepia light that passes by the various windows which graced anyone's gaze with the mold of uneven clouds, winds that blew them away until their shapes all but morph into endless mysteries, and the expanse of the skies could be seen from most of what those frames and their curtains could offer.

Sandalphon was done with a set of two brews, one awaiting for the former supreme primarch as he senses the other approach and pace in a slow but steady pace, scarlet yes looking up as hands keep expectedly pouring the hot drink on the second up and blossoming a warm smile, licked in some exhaustion all too familiar for the archangel whose hours of sleep usually never went past eight to nine hours at best. " Ah, Lucifer! Good morning, I hope I didn't disrupt your needed rest while I had to leave the room too early. " But he knew the answer to his light anxieties. Knew that he'd not mind nonetheless considering yet Sandalphon never stops with those worries, it was an habit, one that never brought harm and somehow, had always made the other, even if he dismissed his claims over and over, smile in a way that made even the farthest flowers come anew with life. So he lets the last of drops plop with a gentle noise to put away the used pot now dried of anything left, pace from behind the counter to meet the other's terribly obvious delight that seeps from any crack his attempt at feigning calm could try to be. Ah, each day Sandalphon was terribly aware just how everything about Lucifer was enough to affect his core, mold in in ways that twisted his and then reshaped it anew without a crack yet still feeling light into the heavens airborne the puffs of clouds, and as if a blade had embraced it with it's edges, about to bleed out and scatter like mush — Yet, as always. Plays along, head tilting to the side once he's infront the other but letting his back rest his weight against the edge of the counter. Wonder plastered all over his calm exterior. " Valentine's day. I have an idea about it given... the crew had asked me for recipes these last days. While I like the idea of trying making my own for the rest as a pastime, if they want to truly envoy their feelings for those said gifts are aimed for, they should have the guts to try themselves... " There's disdain in his voice, comical exasperation that cannot replace the way his core beats in anticipation. Oh those wings are hiding something, isn't it? And whatever feigned calmness dies little by little into utter fondness that becomes unbearable, along the realization that he's overlooking the simplest, but most horrifying detail about it all.

" You... Did. Oh, Lucifer... " Oh he knew exactly the grave he's digging for himself. Knew exactly what await for him in the eternal life he was grated by where nothing could compare to the terrors those heavenly, delicate porcelains could conjure if he dared to try doing anything but coffee when calloused digits glide over the top of the larger box, and his curiosity is rewarded with the sight of handmade sweets. And yet, it's because Sandalphon couldn't, even if his very life depended on it, tell Lucifer about this meager detail that seemed everyone had overlooked, much as Katalina's own kitchen nightmares she had managed to produce whenever anyone had taken their eyes off her and allowed her to aid at the task. This does not defeat the archangel's resolve, but he does swallow dry, and brace himself when the other presents his heartfelt gifts, to receive them and ah - even if they looked edible, adorably crafted and everything, who knows what Lucifer had added on each one's mix. " You really shouldn't have to... Wait - is this a ring, too? " And his attention redirects from those absolutely not sweets to the glimmering ornament when he had gone and haphazardly also open the smaller looking box. " I... don't get it why would you give me this, but the shape... Are those yo- My inherited wings? " And just like that, whatever perfectly disguised grimace in the form of fondness now truly becomes into whatever he feels now. A mix of genuine curiosity, wonder, joy... A lot passes over the smaller archangel before it settles into a melancholic but tender expression as lips draw upward shyly, and lift the ring to let it slip on one of his ring finger. It fits perfectly, resting with it’s shine perfectly - and is enough to let him completely overlook the little bombs of poison that lies close to his free hand, aimlessly reaching for one to take a bit and,

" GhK — " It was terrible! Why in the skies had he put spicy powder on sweet chocolate and coffee!? Oh heavens, everything burned, yet somehow Sandalphon still could meet the strong, awful taste with an unflinching smile, and not breaking a single sweat despise the way every muscle wanted to scrunch into itself and let the void devour his existence. And he has to advert his gaze a bit before forcing the sweet inside and swallow it clean before it'd sap centuries off his eternity as he can still stand, and live like nothing had happened. " I-It's so good...! Haah — Oh Lucifer, you... really planed this, don't y-you...? " And he decides to focus, instead on guessing he's very much poisoned himself, on the ring, shaking off what best he could of the dread of whatever he had put into his mouth, brow arched a tad. " This ring... Lucifer. A promise ring, dare I ask, out of curiosity, why...? " And ah, even when he feels like he's dying all over again, the meaning about this other item had been something that flew over his head, from genuine ignorance considering rings and jewelry weren't things Sandalphon usually studied beyond their use cosmetically. Not beyond what they could mean in traditions the mortals partake, so it just felt right to ask, and delay the inevitable that is his share of gifts that await contemplatively at the coffee shelves, within their grasp but still not yet the time for them.

#Nostalgic Flavor; [ 1 ]#and our fleeting paradise collapses into a new garden; Lucifer || [ aaetherius ]#aaetherius #[ Sandalphon dies; the series #[ this time? death by absolutely not chocolates he's going to keep consuming and stomach each and every one of them because he #phisically cannot tell Lucifer's hand at cooking is terrible ]#[ this is so endearingly painFUL sFJDSÑFDF Oh sandy im so sorry..... wHEEZES

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ilguna · 3 years

Text

Berceuse - Chapter One

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

warnings; swearing.

wc; 11.5k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

This year, Alyssum is the first to wake in the house.

Typically, she’s one of the last to rise in the house, but as of recently, Alyssum’s been waking up in the middle of the night with sweat soaked sheets and a hollow feeling in her chest.

It’s always the same nightmare that does it to her, and without fail so far, she hasn’t been able to recall what it’s about. All she knows is that it’s nearly impossible for her to fall asleep after she wakes up. Today is no exception.

She can’t blame it all on the nightmare, though. There’s another reason why she’s up so early, and it’s because this is the first year where she’s officially an eligible candidate for the Hunger Games.

That sentence alone is enough to send a chill down her spine.

She had a hard enough time trying to fall asleep last night, she swears it took her an hour of tossing and turning before she finally wore herself out. The nightmare really cut her a few hours shorter than she wishes.

Still, when she catches a glance of herself in front of the mirror, she’s not able to detect a trace of sleep deprivation in her face and movements. It seems as if her body is thinking this is just a regular school day, forgetting that she hasn’t been in school for the past three days in preparation for today.

She’s not the only one, everyone who goes to the boarding school that you run was required to take the three days off for mandatory testing and evaluation. It’s only been recently instilled as of last year. It’s because of an incident regarding volunteer ages and the practicality of the boarding-school-trained tributes making it out of the arena alive.

And no, as far as Alyssum knows, it doesn’t have anything to do with Annie and her tribute counterpart. They were perfect candidates for the games and you had done the right thing by making the 70th games available to the seventeen and eighteen year-olds.

The problem started when the age was lowered to fifteen, it opened a discussion on whether or not it was appropriate because they’re still too young. Personally, Alyssum thinks that the age restrictions don’t have as much authority as they’re giving it.

Sure, it’s a rule that the boarding school has, but what’s really stopping the younger kids from volunteering if they feel like it? You and Finnick are still going to do your jobs, you have to mentor them anyway.

Of course, you’d already thought of it, and it’s one of the reasons why the mandatory evaluations were set up. It’s to test the capabilities of every student inside of the boarding school. The parents can get a proper assessment of their child’s improvements, and it also benefits the boarding school’s records.

Anyway, the three days off are the three days leading up to the reaping. It mostly focuses on physical and mental skills, like fighting and memorizing. It’s a thorough process, all of it being hands-on. The other victors, Annie, Luther and Scotch, come around to help speed up the process.

To keep it as accurate as possible, it was decided that students should be scored like how the gamemakers would if they were put in front of them. And since the gamemakers only score one skill, the victors do the same for each individual skill. At the very end of the third day, students are given their individual scores, and on top of that, an overall score.

Currently, Alyssum is sitting at an eight overall, which is better than the other twelve year-olds inside of the boarding school. If she hadn’t been enrolled in the boarding school since she was seven, she’s sure that it would be a different story.

And it’s not like she started with the other children, either. She’s not the first kid that’s been allowed to train alongside the teenagers, but she was the first child to train in the older kids’ classes.

After only five years, she’s in the fifteen year-old class. Which is the first year that really introduces the weapon specialties. If she spends two years in this class—following the pattern of two years in each class, with the exception of the twelve year-old one—she’ll have mastered the weapons by the time she’s thirteen.

That’s under the assumption that Alyssum survives this reaping.

As she begins to gather her outfit for today, she realizes what a stupid thought that is. Why wouldn’t she survive the reaping? Her name is only going to be in the bowl once. She might be in the fifteen class but her name isn’t in there four times.

Besides, with how the boarding school has been going these past few years, someone would volunteer over her. She doesn’t even doubt it.

Alyssum stands in front of her wardrobe, a dress in each hand. The first one is baby pink with white accents. There’s a ribbon that runs along the middle, and in the back it’s loose so that she can tie it in a bow. The dress is long-sleeved, soft to the touch with a white trim at the bottom.

If she wears this one, she’ll have to be careful with where she walks and what touches it. It looks like it can be easily damaged, then again it can keep her warm, and it leaves an open possibility for any accessories.

In the other hand is a shimmery gold-colored dress. This fabric is stiffer, not easily malleable, and the accents are black instead of white. It’s not long sleeved, though, it’s got the arms of a regular t-shirt. Not to mention, it also has pockets.

As much as she likes the pink dress when she holds it up to her body, she thinks she remembers you warning her about what the weather is going to be like today. Hot, especially as time goes on.

She gives the pink dress a soft smile, putting it back on the rod inside her wardrobe. She’ll save it for later, a colder time when she needs to look formal but cute. Maybe during the winter Victory Tour, sometimes the mayor allows your family to join you at the dinner.

She pulls out her black Mary Jane’s, placing them outside of the closet. After shutting the doors, she takes her time moving around the room. A white pair of socks that will show her ankles, a black ribbon to tie into her hair if she wants to, a bracelet you gave her for her twelfth birthday.

She lays the accessories out on her desk in a line so that she doesn’t forget anything when it’s time to put on the finishing touches. Then, she gets to work with the little things.

Alyssum gathers her underwear and dress into one hand, moving to open her door to use the bathroom across the hall. The master bedroom, the one that you and Finnick use, is the only room that has a bathroom attached. However, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t bathrooms littered across the house.

She’s lucky that you had placed her across the bathroom when she was just a toddler. It makes for a short and easy trip when she doesn’t feel like getting dressed in the bathroom. Alyssum can’t count on her hand how many times she’s thanked you for it.

All you said is that you understood way before the boys did.

After shutting the bathroom door behind her, she quickly gets the shower started. It’s become a routine with her, something that you had started when she was old enough to get a schedule down. It makes for quick and easy mornings, especially when everyone wants to shower before the reaping to look nice.

Even with the victor houses, though, it takes a while for the water to heat up. She brushes her hair, and her teeth, in the meantime. A small yawn escapes her mouth just as she goes to test the water again.

Finally warm, she hops in. She washes her hair with the strawberry scented shampoo, working the conditioner in afterward. The body wash that you had picked out for her the other day isn’t fruity, it’s floral. Needless to say, Alyssum is going to smell nice.

When she gets out of the shower, she carefully dries her hair, and then her body. She’s heard the stories about the machines in the Capitol that automatically do this for their citizens. You keep swearing that the house will get it one day, but you haven’t found out a way to get it here just yet.

For now, Alyssum has to manually dry herself off.

When she’s half-dressed, she works more water out of her hair, afraid that it’ll end up ruining the dress. It’s impossible to get all of it out, so she just hopes that it won’t ruin the fabric too much, besides making it darker.

She leaves the attached ribbon untied, but zips up the back to the top, being sure to fasten the button too. When she looks at herself, half-put together like this, her first thoughts are of how pretty she looks. And then she turns on the vent, allowing the steam to leave the bathroom.

The moment she opens the door again, she can tell she isn’t the only one awake anymore. There’s the faint sounds of coffee brewing in the maker, and sizzling of food. It could be either you, or Reed. The two of you always go back and forth between waking up first.

Before she goes to investigate, she drops her dirty clothes in the hamper just inside her door. She’s quiet down the steps, because a few of them have a history of squeaking if they’re stepped on a certain way. Everyone in the house has memorized where at this point. It’s always left up to guests to step in the wrong place.

“Hello?” Alyssum calls out quietly, rounding the corner to see into the kitchen.

It looks like you’re the early bird this year.

Your head raises, body twisting to see who’s spoken. You relax considerably when you see that it’s Alyssum. A natural smile covers your face.

Alyssum can see that you’re making pancakes when you move out of the way. The ingredients sit along the counter, a blue mug of coffee sits within arms reach. She thinks that it’s the mug with Finnick’s face on it, a souvenir because you thought it was funny.

“Good morning, honey, you’re up early. Did you sleep okay?” You ask, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Alyssum says, moving into the kitchen, “It’s because I went to bed early last night.”

Alyssum’s made sure that none of you know about her nightmares. The moment any of you find out, she’ll be taken out of the boarding school. It was a rule that was made for her when she was little, along with a lot of others. Like the fact that she can’t volunteer. She’s in the boarding school just in case she’s chosen, not because she’s supposed to be a future volunteer.

If she were to get taken out, it wouldn’t be permanent, but it would be long enough to put a dent in her training in the boarding school. Of course, in this hypothetical situation, if she didn’t get better quickly, she’d stay out for as long as it took. And stuff like that is unpredictable.

“Makes sense,” you say, turning your back to her as you resume your cooking, “Nervous for your first year?”

“Kinda.” She admits, joining your side, “You don’t think that they’ll put my name in extra times or something, right?”

You give her a look, “I talked to Mayor Burrula, he’s going to make sure you don’t go in there more than once.”

Alyssum smiles slightly, “Finnick feeling better?”

“Yes, he’s still sleepin’ though.”

“So he’ll be at the reaping?”

“He wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You smile, “Do you need help with your hair?”

“When you have time, yes.” She turns her back to you, “Can you do my bow?”

While you do her bow properly, Alyssum has a perfect view of the staircase, allowing her to watch Reed come down. His hair is messy, eyes tired like they always are. It takes him a second to realize that you and Alyssum are in the kitchen, but he does eventually.

“You’re up early,” Reed says, raising his eyebrow at Alyssum.

“Went to bed early.” You say.

He nods, heading to the mug cupboard, pulling a random one off the shelf. A collection has grown over the years, allowing a variety to be picked. Still, Reed’s pick isn’t as random as Alyssum says, he uses the same three mugs over and over again, never in a specific order.

This time he’s chosen the one that has an outline of the Capitol’s city.

“You’re all tied up.” You say, standing up again, “Grab yourself a few pancakes, be careful not to spill on that dress.”

“Thank you.” Alyssum chirps, helping herself to the goodies along the counter. She skips over the syrup entirely, preferring the plain taste of pancakes soaked with butter.

She eats quietly, listening to the conversation that you and Reed have. It’s nothing of importance just yet, those topics are typically saved until Finnick and Mox come out. All news can wait until everyone is in attendance.

It really isn’t long before that’s the case. Finnick is down the stairs next, placing a gentle hand on Alyssum’s shoulder as he passes. His hair is much tamer than what Reed’s was, and his first stop is the coffee machine.

You pause the conversation long enough to move the mug you’re using, handing it off to poor Finnick, who doesn’t even realize what he’s drinking out of until it’s too late. His own face is staring him in his eyes.

Alyssum watches you hold a smile, lips pressing together in an attempt to stifle the laughter that’s working its way out.

“You’re evil.” Finnick mutters, voice a little raspy.

“I can’t imagine what you mean.” You say back, a knowing smile on your face.

“You’re lucky you make good coffee.” Finnick points with his pinky finger.

A few minutes later, Mox is coming down the stairs, hair tied back so that it’s out of his face, “And I am the last one downstairs, yet again.”

“Since we’re all here, here’s the plan,” you start, not wasting time, “I’m going to get Alyssum ready first, then it’s my turn so I can see Mags and Anchor before noon. After that it’s a free for all—just make sure you’re at the reaping area early for Alyssum.”

“Finnick going with you?” Reed asks.

“I’m gonna need extra time to get ready, so she’ll swing by and grab me before she goes.” Finnick says, taking a sip of the coffee again.

“Sounds like a plan.” Mox is loading his plate with pancakes, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, turning your attention to Alyssum, “Ready?”

Alyssum nods, laying her fork onto her plate. You sweep both up quickly, leaving them in the sink before ushering Alyssum up the stairs. She doesn’t have her shoes on just yet, wanting to wait until the last minute to put them on. They’re brand-new, and even with the constant reminders around her to break in the shoes, she forgot to.

“What do you want to do with your hair?” you ask, following her into her bedroom, “Braids, ponytail, something else?”

“Can you do the two buns like you did the other day?” Alyssum asks, pulling her chair in front of her mirror.

“On the back of your head or lower?” you touch the spots to give her an idea.

“Top--or in the middle.”

Alyssum sits in the chair, watching you get to work behind her. You’re gentle when you handle her hair, nimble fingers that have her hair in position within a few minutes of starting. You’ve had a lot of practice over the years, most of the smaller girls in the boarding school end up needing help with their hair when they learn. With everyone having their own preferences, or hair types, you began to learn quickly.

“When your hair dries a little more, I’ll curl these front pieces, okay?” you say, eyes fixated on the bun you’re putting in place, “What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty, I think.”

“Do you want to run to the Square real quick and see if they have Mox’s shampoo?” you secure the other bun, pushing in the bobby pin.

“Sure.”

You smile behind her, patting her shoulders, “Don’t touch them too much, be back before eleven-thirty.”

“I will, thank you.” Alyssum smiles back.

After you leave the room, Alyssum pulls on her Mary Jane’s, already not liking the back the back of the shoe rubs against her heel. This’ll definitely be the last time she shrugs you all off when you try to give her advice. She’s going to end up with blisters, and who knows what that’ll do to her training?

On the way out of the room, she grabs a hold of her pocket knife, the one that you gifted to her. When it happened, Reed wasn’t too thrilled about it, and Alyssum understands why. He came around to the idea, though. Especially after Finnick calmly explained that the logic doesn’t pull through, there’s a lot of things that Alyssum does that she shouldn’t be doing at her age. Why stop now?

Mox and Reed are still in the kitchen and dining room area when she passes through, talking about what the betting might look like this year. Ever since District Four got Annie, they’ve begun to pick up speed with the careers, making it to the end of the games before they’re killed.

There’s always been betting inside of District Four, it’s not anything new. The Capitol isn’t the only exclusive place that does it, it’s just a matter of popularity. It’s likely to be more popular in the other districts though, always wondering if they’ll finally have an outlier that makes it to the finale.

It’s hardly ever the case.

Alyssum sticks her hand into the cash jar, pulling out the bills that she’s going to need. Everything in the Square is pretty cheap, but everyone in the house has started a habit of paying more than what they need to. There’s more than enough money that goes around the house, yours and Finnicks’ victor checks combined is a huge influx.

They would have to make a genuine effort to make a dent in the allowance, which says a lot about what the Capitol can afford to give away.

After tucking the cash into the pockets on her dress, she stops at the dining room table briefly, “I’m going to get Mox’s shampoo, I’ll try to be quick.”

“You have your pocket knife?” Reed asks.

She pulls it out of her pocket, showing him the black weapon. It’s folded, tightly secured, it won’t be ripping the inside of her dress. With how often she plays with it, though, it’s only a matter of time before she ends up cutting open her hand. She’s smart enough to play with it out in the open when she does, though. It’ll be easier to clean up the bloodstains than to repair the dress.

“Stay safe.” Mox says.

“I will.”

She’s out of the house after that, taking her time to get to the Square. The original house that Reed inherited after their parents’ death was a lot closer to the black market than the victor house they own now. In a sense, Victor’s Village is near the more expensive stores, since they’re now affordable. It’s a longer walk to get to the Square because of this.

Still, Alyssum enjoys the entire time it takes her to get there. She sees a few of her neighbors outside, offering waves and small smiles. Most of them are friendly, you all have had years to get to know them, and they ended up warming up just fine. Others aren’t as open, for a number of reasons.

You won the Hunger Games, and afterwards came a lot of changes. A lot of losses at the beginning of your mentorship, the boarding school, the strictness of the reaping, and the economy changed regarding the smaller businesses on the poorer side of District Four.

It was all inevitable, the more victors that come into District Four, the more the changes are going to be. In a way, they hold all the influence of who stays open and who stays closed. Like Alyssum was saying, they all live closer to the expensive side of District Four, so it’s expected that they spend their money there. Yet, they still end up going to the poor shops, which changes the expectations.

It’s hard to tell someone what to do with their money, especially when they’re already doing a lot for the area they live in. Still, people find a way to do it anyway. And if they’re not being vocal about it, then they’re surely not being shy with the way they look at people.

Mox has told her stories about where they used to live, a house that’s still in their possession. She’s been back a few times, but it doesn’t hold any sentimental value to her. She doesn’t remember living there, and the few memories that she tries to cough up are likely made up. She really relies on what her older siblings have to say about the place.

A constant story that’s brought up is always about the neighbors in that area. How kind, generous, understanding they are. Even after you won your games, they never left the Gallows’ family side, because they’re all one big community there. Through thick and thin, they support the families that always get the lesser. Babysitters, meals, clothes, gateways to jobs, anything that a person needed, someone in that neighborhood would find a way to get it to them.

Alyssum may not have experienced it first hand just yet, but she hopes that she’ll be able to see it in person. There’s not much hope for District Four if there’s no humanity that goes around.

Like every reaping day, the Square is crawling with people. There’s a bouncer of sorts outside of the warehouse, someone she hasn’t seen before. She normally knows the people that stand outside as lookouts. Busts on the Square aren’t common, but it’s happened enough times for people to finally crack and make sure that there’s a person standing outside at all times during the busy days like today.

It’s a man, with short dark hair and brown eyes. His arms are crossed, he’s leaned back against the uneven metal of the building’s wall. At first, when Alyssum approaches, he seemingly pays no attention to her. It’s only when she makes a move to go inside, does he finally react, putting his arm out to stop her.

“You can’t go in.” he says, looking her over.

Alyssum raises her eyebrows, giving him a small smile, “Why not?”

“It’s not a place for people like you.” His tone is simple, slightly annoying. Just because she’s dressed nice, she’s not allowed to go inside?

Her hand secures around her pocket knife, thumb over the space that’ll allow her to flip open the knife, “You’re new here, that’s okay.” she states, watching the man’s face, “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but you do know that you piss off the vendors when you turn people away, right? Especially the regulars, like me.”

She finally pulls out the knife, motioning to his arm with a straight face, “Move it, or I’ll make you.”

He doesn’t move at first, staring her down to see if she’s serious. When Alyssum doesn’t crack either, he finally moves his arm, allowing her entry.

“I’m Alyssum, by the way.” she flicks her knife shut, shoving it back into her pocket, “My older sister is (Y/n), I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

She slips her way inside, leaving the man to realize the minor mistake he made. There’s enough people inside of the Square for it to be claustrophobic, her arm is always touching someone else. It’s not enough to make her worry about the well-being of her dress, though. If she really thinks that it’ll get damaged, she smoothes it down just enough to slip by.

The vendor she’s going to isn’t that far inside, yet it takes forever for her to actually get there. Many people want to stop and have a conversation with her, all of them knowing that this is her first year for the reaping. It’s all good words, reassurances that she won’t get chosen. The chances of it happening are too slim, and there’s plenty of volunteers that’ll want to get to have their try at the Hunger Games.

At the table, the vendor already has Mox’s shampoo on the surface. All Alyssum has to do is pay and grab the bottle, thanking the vendor and assuring him that he’ll be seeing her siblings soon. She waves goodbye, and takes her time leaving the Square. When the sun finally hits her face again, she stops a familiar face long enough to catch the time, finding out that she has thirty minutes to make it back home.

She doesn’t waste time anymore, trying to take the shortcuts so that she can get back to the house quicker. She doesn’t have to rush too badly, Mox is always the last to shower every year. He likes to let everyone else go before him, not minding the cold water. He’s also by far the quickest when it comes to showers.

Victor’s Village is just as barren as always, the silence overwhelming. It’s weird to think that there are seven different families living in the little neighborhood, yet there isn’t a single sound to prove that. Alyssum is sure not to disturb the peace, quietly making her way up the house steps.

Finnick is sitting at the dinner table when she goes inside, head resting against his hand, eyes closed. She doesn’t say anything to him as she goes up the stairs, knowing that he needs the sleep. Finnick’s been sick for the last couple of weeks, and you were convinced that he wouldn’t get better before the games. It wasn't normal sickness, Finnick had been out of it for weeks.

He only recently started feeling better, rising from the steep dip that he suddenly took. You didn’t want to push him into the normal routine so early, but he insisted that he got back to it as soon as possible. There was a slight rift when it came to that, in the end you gave it up, making him promise that he’ll take it easy and not strain himself too badly.

Alyssum drops the shampoo off in the bathroom, and then heads towards Mox’s bedroom down the hall, to the right. She knocks quietly a few times as a warning before opening the door. Mox’s head is raised, waiting to see who’s at the door.

“Shampoo’s in the bathroom.”

“Thanks.” Mox smiles, “(Y/n) wanted me to tell you that she’s taking you to the reaping, so stick near Finnick.”

“Gotcha.”

Alyssum heads back to her bedroom to put on any finishing accessories that she might want to wear. She had laid out a lot of potential earlier, knowing that she would end up changing her mind on a lot of it, like the ribbon. And there’s not nearly enough time to curl the front of her hair, anymore. She’s left to wind it around her finger to give it some temporary curl.

She empties her pocket knife onto her desk, setting it off to the side. She pulls on the gifted bracelet, and a dainty ring that Mox got her that same birthday. Alyssum’s ears are pierced, so she carefully works in silver stars. She doesn’t wear earrings often anymore, and it’s because they get caught on fabric and hair when she trains in the boarding school.

She takes a step back to see herself in the mirror, and a broad smile covers her face.

She looks so pretty.

Finnick is still at the table when she gets back downstairs, the only difference is that he’s awake now. He’s drumming his fingertips against the table, sounding off a steady rhythm. He doesn’t seem to notice Alyssum at first, not until she’s pulling out a chair to sit at the table.

“When did you come in?” he asks, looking her over.

“While you were napping.” she smiles, playing with her bracelet.

He hums.

The two of them sit in silence while they wait for you to finish your rounds. It’s a daily occurrence, the job of it just bounces back and forth between you, Finnick and Anchor. The older victor’s need to be checked up on, starting with Mags, then Luther, and finally, Scotch. Annie has her family so she doesn’t need to be looked over as vigilantly.

Ninety percent of the time, they don’t need to be checked up on. It’s the other ten percent of the time that makes it worth it, though. Luther’s taken some nasty spills recently, forcing him to move to the downstairs part of his house to avoid another accident. Or like a few years ago, when Mags had her stroke, and you’d found her before it had been too late.

It also helps build relationships, too. It lets the other victor’s know that someone cares, even if it’s the person across the street. Scotch wasn’t always friendly, it took years of talking to and invitations to finally get him to open up. He never married, didn’t have any kids. Luther’s wife died a long time ago, he didn’t want any kids. And Mags only has your family to rely on.

Remember what Alyssum had said about community? Victor’s Village didn’t have one, not until you and Finnick rolled around. It took years of building, but it got there, and it’s what keeps the neighborhood running. Not to mention, it takes an hour, two max to check up on the others.

It’s not a waste of time, not if it can save lives.

The door opens a little while later, revealing you. Upon seeing that Alyssum and Finnick are ready to go, a smile appears on your face, waving for them to get a move on.

“Sorry I took so long, apparently Luther needed to shower so I had to go and grab Anchor.” you hold the door open for Alyssum, allowing Finnick to take care of it when he walks out last.

“You didn’t wash him yourself?” Finnick jokes, you give him a playful eye roll.

“No, I’ll leave the sponge baths to you and Anchor.”

Mags is waiting at the bottom steps, cane in hand. She doesn’t really need it, it’s just extra support to take the weight off of her feet. Together, the four of them start to head towards the courtyard area where the reaping takes place. This year, Anchor has agreed to go ahead and take Scotch and Luther to the reaping. As always, Annie’s family can take care of their daughter.

The walk is fairly quiet, with only you and Finnick talking, and the occasional question being directed towards Alyssum. It's a lighthearted conversation, keeping Alyssum’s mind off of the fact that she’ll be standing with the other twelve year-olds in less than a half hour.

Besides the fact that the courtyard is so far, they left early so that they’d be able to get Alyssum signed in before it got too busy. The Capitol takes advantage of the Hunger Games’ reaping by keeping track of the population. Mostly just the children eligible for the reaping itself, they could care less about the actual adults that are too old for the games.

After all, their deaths will be recorded by the hospitals that get the misfortunate of reporting it.

“They already know that you exist, Alyssum,” you tell her once you see the station full of peacekeepers, “All you have to do is tell them your name and they’ll take a blood sample. It’s going to hurt for just a second.”

“And then I go and find you?”

“We’ll be nearby, you don’t have to go searching too far.” Finnick says.

Alyssum gives them a nod, “Okay.”

She splits from them, heading towards the end of the line. It’s moving at a steady pace, it’ll be her turn in no time. From where she stands, it looks like there’s not a lot of people in the fenced-in area for the reaping. She’ll get to choose where she wants to stand, and it’ll be in view of you.

Alyssum watches the boy ahead of her, stating his name, and then holding out his hand for the peacekeeper to take when they’re ready. He moves on quickly, going straight towards the courtyard, and suddenly it’s Alyssum’s turn.

She moves forward, “Alyssum Gallows.”

The peacekeeper writes the name down, “Twelve?”

“Yes.”

“Sister of (Y/n), right?” he looks up, the visor on his helmet is at the top, allowing her to see the peacekeeper’s eyes. They’re a dark brown, not a very common color inside of District Four. He’s definitely from the Capitol, “The victor?”

Well, obviously the victor. There’s no one else in District Four with the last name of Gallows, and it's because it was hand-picked by a great-grandmother during the Dark Days. The family name wasn’t always Gallows.

“Yes.” Alyssum says it slower this time, eyes narrowing slightly. What is he getting at?

He holds out his gloved hand for hers, presumably for the blood draw. He secures it, yanking her forward, closer to the table as he brings up the buzzer. Just by looking at his eyes, the wrinkles that have engraved themselves in the corners, he’s got a smile of sorts on his face. She’s got a sick feeling it isn’t friendly, though.

He tazes the tip of her finger, presses the print down onto the space beneath her name, and doesn’t let go immediately, “The Capitol will love you.”

Alyssum recoils, pulling her hand free. She’s careful not to touch the blood to the outside of her dress, instead she opts for shoving them straight into her pockets, staring down at the man, “It’s a shame they didn’t like you the same, isn’t it?” she can see the wrinkles fading, which means his smile is going, “After all, you became a peacekeeper.”

She goes to leave, a step in, when another thought comes to mind. A grin covers her face, eyes landing on the man again, who’s no longer as smug as he was before, “And the Capitol already loves me.”

She walks away, heading straight to you and Finnick. She doesn’t have to grab your attention, because the two of you are caught between looking at her, and looking at the peacekeeper that had just given her a hard time.

“What did he say?” Finnick asks, you press a hand to her back, ushering her to the stage.

“He asked if I was your sister, was all.” Alyssum says.

“Besides that, he said something else.” you say, “I know he did, because you wouldn’t have pulled away like that.”

Alyssum shrugs, “He said, ‘The Capitol will love you’ and so I told him that they do.”

She doesn’t miss how you and Finnick share a look. It’s not very subtle at all, she’d like to read your minds, but she hasn’t gotten to that point yet. She does begin to get a little worried when you stop walking, and make her stop too.

“We talked to Elysia and Mayor Burrula.” Finnick reminds you.

“But they aren’t in charge--” you start, pausing briefly to secure your hands over Alyssum’s ears. It’s all muffled, too hard for her to hear besides a few words. She thinks you mention President Snow and the Capitol, that’s as far as she can hear, though.

The hands are removed, and Alyssum is being pushed towards the stage again.

“Is everything okay?” Alyssum asks, looking at you.

You give her a gentle smile, “Yes, the reaping starts in fifteen minutes, so why don’t you go ahead and stand at the twelve section, okay?”

Alyssum nods, allows you to grab her head to place a quick kiss on the top of it. Finnick gives her a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, and then follows you to the stage. Mags has already taken her seat, right next to Luther, Scotch and Anchor. When Alyssum turns to get a quick glance behind her, she’s able to see that Annie is coming up. Reed and Mox are not in sight.

They always arrive late. You asked them to be early this morning, but that’s practically impossible for them to do. They always have something going on, an extra-long shower, stopping at Caspian’s house, walking slower than normal. The most that Alyssum will probably get is five minutes before the reaping. If she enters now, like you asked her to, then she won’t be getting those few minutes.

It’s not all that important, anyway. She’ll be seeing them after the reaping, and maybe a quick goodbye from you before you and Finnick go to the Capitol to mentor.

She takes a deep breath, and then goes forward, passing the peacekeepers that are in charge of corralling the teenagers and keeping them inside. She has to walk all the way up to the front, since the older kids are required to stand in the back. It’s mostly because of height differences, it makes it a lot easier to actually see the eligible faces of the young if the old aren’t in the way.

There’s not a lot of girls in her section, so she positions herself wherever she wants. She can see your chair, and where the Mayor and Capitol escort is, and that’s really all that matters.

In the meantime, she keeps her feet planted and lets the other girls walk around her. One of Alyssum’s friends, Laleh, decides to stand right next to her, talking about her dress. Alyssum tries to be polite by listening to what she has to say, but eventually can’t pay attention anymore. Her hands are sweating and her stomach is twisting into knots.

As soon as there aren’t teenagers coming into the reaping area anymore, Mayor Burrula stands from where he was sitting. He heads towards the microphone, and starts his usual speech, starting with the history of Panem, moving onto the Dark Days and what brought them to the Hunger Games, and then the list of District Four’s victors.

“Mags Flanagan,” he starts, he holds no cards. The speech is committed to his memory, “Luther Burch, Scotch Holloway, Anchor Ridge, (Y/n) Gallows, Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta.”

A total of seven.

And with that, he introduces Elysia Petalsong, District Four’s Capitol escort.

This year, she’s dawned in a gentle blue, with fake seafoam strategically placed around her dress. She gives the mayor a smile, wandering her way up to the microphone on the podium. Alyssum’s had plenty of conversations with Elysia by now, so she knows that Elysia’s reliable and kind. District Four is lucky to have her.

“Happy Hunger Games,” Elysia’s accent isn’t as strong as some of the Capitol people Alyssum’s met, “And may the odds be ever in your favor. Let’s begin with the ladies.”

Elysia moves to the bowl on her left, her hands are also covered by gloves, this time white. The ones that the peacekeepers have are black and leather, most smooth to the touch. The one sitting at the table wasn’t, it’s obviously had its fair share of wear and tear.

She stops in front of the girls bowl, a smile on her face. She sticks her hand in, picking a slip of paper that’s pressed to the glass bowl. With two fingers, she brings it back out, taking her time to find her place back at the podium again.

Alyssum can feel her heart beating in her chest, blood rushing in her ears. She’s only twelve, she knows her name is only in there one time, so why is she feeling this way? There are many, many other girls that could be called, who’s to say that it’s her?

The feeling doesn’t shake, not even when she looks at you.

This scene, it’s too familiar...

Elysia unfolds the paper slip, a smile on her face. She inhales, preparing to say the name, but it never comes. She deflates, the microphone catching the wind. Elysia seems to go rigid, eyes glued to the paper slip between her gloved fingers.

Alyssum can see you sit up taller, eyebrows inward and trying to see if you can catch the name yourself. It must be too far, because you’re shaking your head and shrugging at Finnick.

Another couple of seconds pass, and it’s enough to make the head peacekeeper impatient. He clears his throat, letting her know to get a move on. It’s enough to finally slap her out of her daze, blinking several times. When she speaks, though, it’s barely above a whisper.

“The girl’s tribute this year is--um--” she pauses for a moment again, shaking her head, taking in a deep breath. She ends up letting out half of it before she speaks again, “--Alyssum Gallows.”

It hits Alyssum, making her go rigid.

Her nightmare, she remembers what it’s been, and why this whole scene was so familiar. It’s because she’s lived this exact scenario several times a week, leading up to today. It wasn’t just a nightmare, it was the future.

The now.

Alyssum lifts her head slightly, eyes finding you first, wanting to make sure that this is real, this isn’t some dream. By the way you’ve braced yourself against the chair, hands gripped around the seat, how Finnick has his hand wrapped around your stomach, holding you back. It’s real, this is all real.

She sucks in a sharp breath, her hands curling into fists as she moves to go to the aisle. The volunteers will not be immediate, after District Four started getting so many, the Capitol encouraged Mayor Burrula to fall back on the old rules; the original children get up to stage, and then volunteers are asked.

Alyssum can still hear her heart in her ears, feel the back of her shoes rubbing against her heels. She should’ve broke the shoes in, it wouldn’t be painful to walk, had she just broke the shoes in.

She relaxes her hands, forcing a smile on her face, despite the grim looks that everyone on stage is sharing at the moment. The peacekeepers march her to the stairs, which is only a few feet away, and then they leave her to make the rest of the way up by herself.

Elysia gently takes Alyssum’s hand in hers, directing Alyssum to stand in front of the girls’ glass bowl. There’s a constant thought running through her head, reminding her that every camera is currently on her and her older sister. Everyone in the Capitol is currently on the edge of their seats.

Alyssum Gallows, younger sister of (Y/n) Gallows. Or as you’re professionally known, The Executioner.

From way up there, on the stage, Alyssum can finally see her brothers, who also aren’t looking too hopeful. Reed has paled severely, lost all color in his face. Mox doesn’t even look like he’s inside of his own body anymore, just staring straight forward.

Alyssum can understand why you’re all looking this way, horrified. It’s because you all knew it was a possibility, you didn’t think that it would come true.

Even with his current state, Reed waves a hand to catch Alyssum’s attention. He has his lips pressed together, face twisted. She’s never seen him cry before, but that might change today. Still, he stands up taller, draws his shoulders back, and raises his chin. Then, he motions to her.

She understands, and follows what he did, one at a time. He wants her to look confident, standing tall and brave. It’s a smart tactic, takes away the idea that she’s scared.

“And now, to the boys.” Elysia isn’t as confident, moving towards the boys’ bowl.

She digs her hand into the paper slips, and pulls out one that was sitting in the middle. No matter where she grabs from, there will be an unlucky child that’s called to the stage. There’s no escaping it. Alyssum is a good example of this.

Back at the microphone, she unwraps the tape and clears her throat, “The boy tribute for this year is Delroy Hardin.”

Alyssum recognizes the name, he’s in the boarding school. And funny enough, he’s fifteen, so she’s trained alongside him. Just like Alyssum, he’s good, just not perfect yet. With more time, both of them will get there.

Delroy comes out of the right side in the boys section. The peacekeepers spot him, and join his side for the march up front. He looks straight ahead, not paying attention to them. During the few conversations that Alyssum’s had with him, he was standoffish at the beginning.

It’s not really a surprise that he’s not a big fan of the peacekeepers.

He takes his time going up the steps, Elysia guides him to his place behind the boys’ glass ball. When she returns to the podium, she seems to have lightened up a little.

“Any volunteers?” She asks.

For a moment, it’s still, then a hand shoots up in the seventeen section for the boys, none of the girls move. Which is fine, because Elysia is going to ask again, anyway.

“I volunteer!” The teen emphasizes, coming out of the section. The peacekeepers spot him, and move him forward to the front.

Alyssum knows him, too. He’s from the boarding school, but even worse, he’s the brother of Marsh Milillio—Annie’s tribute counterpart who ended up being decapitated. Paslee Milillio has come close to going inside of the Hunger Games once before already, and that’s when Marsh volunteered over him.

She holds her breath, wanting to look at you.

Delroy backs up, allowing space for Paslee to take his place. First, he joins Elysia at the microphone to introduce himself.

“And what’s your name?” She asks.

“Paslee Milillio.” He echoes Alyssum’s thoughts.

Elysia doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Alyssum wonders what Annie looks like, actually.

“Brother of Marsh Milillio?” Elysia asks slowly.

“Yes.” Paslee nods, and then flashes a smile.

“Thank you for your nobility.” She says, queueing Paslee to take Delroy’s place. Once he stops moving, she turns to the mic again, “Any girl volunteers?”

Silence. No one moves. Alyssum can hear the wind whistling in her ears, and feel her heart beat harder in her chest, knees locking so that she stays upright.

“No volunteers.” Elysia says, taking a deep breath, “Well, Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

She backs up, allowing Alyssum to see Paslee. The two of them shake hands now, she’s seen it happen a dozen times. She forces a smile on her face, being the first to move forward. Paslee’s hand is warm, and he’s got a tight grip. They shake once, and then twice.

Once again, Alyssum turns to face everyone standing in the sections. The Capitol’s anthem blares overheard, hurting her ears. And she doesn’t miss how Mox is crying, a fist pressed to his mouth.

As soon as the anthem is done, she’s getting swept into the Justice Building. Paslee is taken one way, she’s brought the other. They put her in a room with velvet couches and lock the door behind them, leaving her alone to her thoughts.

Alyssum stares at the window, not knowing whether to laugh, to cry, or to pinch herself. It feels like she’s dreaming, as if none of this is actually real, but she runs her hand along the couch and she can feel the softness beneath her fingertips.

Still, for good measure, she pinched herself, tighter and tighter. The pain grows, and there’s a red spot when she pulls her hand away. She’s not dreaming, she’s still awake.

Alyssum takes a seat on the couch, places her hands together, and then slides them between her thighs. She leans forward, prepared to get up at any moment while she stares at the sunbeams on the floor.

She’s only twelve, her name was on one paper slip. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence, like it just-so-happened to have turned out this way. It feels planned, especially since no one volunteered over her. Every single year, there’s been two volunteers, why is this year any different?

It takes only a moment for her to realize.

The peacekeeper just before the reaping, he knew that this was coming. He knew, and that’s why he said something, to taunt her. You and Finnick had gone out of your way to make sure that Alyssum wouldn’t get picked for the Hunger Games, and still, the Capitol always finds its way.

But why would they want her now? Why wouldn’t they want to wait until she was older? Is it because of experience?

With the thousands of questions running through her mind, Alyssum nearly misses the fact that the door opens. She looks up, and then over at the area to see who is first to say goodbye. Of course, it’s her family.

Reed, Mox, you, and Finnick are all coming toward her at once, with widely different reactions on your faces. Alyssum stands, and collides with Reed first, who holds her tightly, tight enough for her to think that her ribs are going to break. She squeezes back, eyes closed.

“I am so--” your voice is wavering, Alyssum pulls away long enough to see the tears in your eyes, “--sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

She hugs you next, even though she knows that she’ll be around you for the whole week.

“You can do this.” Reed says, “All you have to do is remember your training, okay? You’ve got five years right now.”

Her head bobs, moving on to Mox. He lets out a shaky breath, sucking in quickly afterwards. When she moves off of him, you and Reed work at the same pace. You take off her bracelet, he slides off of Mox’s ring. The two of you pocket the jewelry, and she doesn’t have time to argue before there’s a replacement being presented.

A necklace.

It’s blue, reflecting the sunlight that comes through the window. It has a silver chain, and she very carefully lifts it into the air to get a better look at it. She has a feeling she should know where it’s coming from, but she can’t place her finger on it.

“It’s tanzanite.” your voice is soft, quiet, “It was mom’s, and before that, it was grandma’s too.”

“And it’s going to be your token.” Reed says, cupping her hands, “We love you.”

“Thank you,” Alyssum says, “Thank you.”

Reed pulls her back into a hug, head angled backward to look at the ceiling. Alyssum can hear their thoughts, even if they’re not being said aloud. They can’t believe that they’ve spent eleven years raising her, protecting her, loving her. Only for it to come back down on them in the worst way possible. You getting chosen for the Hunger Games was bad enough, this is--was--out of the question.

“You listen to (Y/n) and Finnick,” Reed starts, she knew this was coming, it was inevitable, “Every word they say, every piece of advice they have to give, you listen to it and you find a way to make it work.”

“Yes.” she says.

“No,” Reed says suddenly, making her look him in the eyes, “Promise me, right now.”

No one wants to say it. No one wants to say that she has a little to no chance of winning, that it’s not funny. Finnick was the youngest victor to ever win, and that’s with the help of you. There hasn’t been a single tribute younger that’s come close to winning.

It would take a miracle for her to pull it off.

“I promise.” Alyssum says, “I will listen to (Y/n) and Finnick.”

“Good.” he breathes, he doesn’t look more at ease.

The sound of the doorknob turning across the room, makes them all look over. The peacekeeper on the other side stares into the room for a second, and then says, “Time’s up.”

Alyssum watches as you and Finnick join the group hug that’s given to her, and then quickly back away so she can have an official goodbye with her brothers. Reed squeezes her, Mox cries into her shoulder, the both of them telling her that they love her.

Just before you exit the room, you stop next to the door, “Cameras are at the train station, so chin up, okay? Big smiles.”

The peacekeeper shuts the door as soon as you’re out of the way, leaving Alyssum alone again. She’s sure that she won't get any more visitors. Laleh is her friend, but her mother will hold her back from doing it. Instead, Alyssum stares at the necklace for a while longer, running her thumb over the smooth rock.

You wouldn’t have given it to her if you knew that it had the chance of getting declined from being a token. Which means that she’ll be able to represent mom, and grandma, just like you had when you went into the games. You took that engagement ring, a family heirloom, and took the spirit of your family with. Maybe the necklace will have the same effect.

Actually, she’s counting that it will.

When the peacekeepers come back, it’s to collect her and bring her to the car. By then, she’s already got the necklace around her neck, so she follows them to where they guide her to be. Inside of the car is Elysia and Paslee, the door slams shut behind her.

The ride from the Justice Building to the train station isn’t all that long. It’s enough time for Alyssum to think about how this is her second time in a car, ever. The first time being when you had been chosen for the Hunger Games, and Reed and Mox needed a speedy way to get to the train station before you did. She was only three then, she doesn’t remember a single thing from it. Not even the urgency.

Elysia is required to get out of the car first, Alyssum is directed next. She doesn’t miss how badly the back of her feet hurt, and bites back the facial expressions she wants to make. Paslee comes out after, graceful and smiling. The two of them are brought to the platform, and stand there to allow the Capitol to get a good look at them before the train takes them away.

Reed and Mox are at the very front. Reed’s arms are crossed, face in a frown, and briefly musters a smile just for her. Mox is still crying, hands pressed together in a prayer, which are against his lips. He’s shaking his head, disbelief, she thinks it is.

Alyssum gives them a smile, blows a kiss, and then waves.

“Okay, come on.” Elysia finally says, pressing a hand to each of their shoulders, pushing them inside of the train.

The door shuts, the train immediately beginning to move. You and Finnick are nowhere in sight just yet, and Alyssum has a feeling it’s because Elysia has to give a tour of the train first. The Justice Building in District four is nice inside, probably a lot better than the poorer districts--she won’t even bother to compare it to the other career districts--but the train is even nicer.

Alyssum and Paslee each get their own bedrooms, private bathrooms, and large dressing rooms. It’s better than her house back home, of course. However, she still wouldn’t trade her small bedroom and the bathroom across the hallway for anything here. The dressers inside of the bedroom are filled with expensive clothing from brands that she didn’t even know existed. Elysia keeps repeating that they can do whatever they want on the train, wear the clothes without charge, this is their time to be comfortable before the chaos of the Capitol.

Elysia stops in the hallway that’s shared between the two tribute bedrooms, with Alyssum to her right and Paslee to her left, “Neither of you will see the mentors until supper, which is in an hour. I suggest showering, changing, letting out any emotions you might be feeling beforehand.”

“Thank you.” Alyssum says.

“Yes, thank you.” Paslee repeats.

Elysia smiles at the both of them, leaving through the door they all came through. For a moment, the two tributes stand there, not moving to go to their rooms. Paslee is the first to speak up.

“Do you want to try out an alliance?” he asks, “And decide later on if we want to stick to it?”

Alyssum gives him a smile, “Sure.”

He gives her a smile back, splitting ways. Alyssum gets into her bedroom, only a few steps in, the door just barely closing behind her, and she’s already bursting into tears, a hand clamped over her mouth. She squeezes her eyes shut, lowering herself to the floor to sit down. It doesn’t feel real, none of this feels real.

She sniffs, and she’s breaking down immediately after.

Her name was supposed to be inside of the bowl once. Who knows how many times the Capitol requested it be? They could have had the whole bowl be her name, and it wouldn’t have mattered what paper Elysia picked. All outcomes would’ve pointed to Alyssum, and she would have ended up here, on the train to the Capitol, a contender of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

She slams her fist into the carpet once, twice, three times. It hurts, she wants to stop, but she doesn’t know what else to do. How else is she supposed to let all of it out? Rip the clothing in the closet? Order plates and break them against the walls? Smash everything around her?

It’ll just create a mess that someone else will have to clean up. So, for now, she continues to slam her fist against the carpet, hoping that she’ll still have this frustration later on in the training center. That’s where all of this anger will really matter.

She should shower.

Alyssum pulls herself together, dragging her feet into the walk-in closet. She digs through the drawers, finding a pair of black jeans and a red shirt to wear. She skips over shoes, knowing that she’ll have plenty of time leftover to pick a pair out.

She places the necklace into a glass bowl, being careful not to tangle the silver chain. After she starts the shower, she undresses, using a hanger nearby to put the dress up. If she makes it out of the Hunger Games alive, she knows that she’ll ultimately want the dress as a keepsake, for whatever reason that may be later on. She doesn’t bother to pull out her hair, not wanting to get it wet in the first place.

She wants to use the bodywash that’s offered, the only problem is that she doesn’t want to wash away the floral scent from home. The one you picked out for her months ago, and she hasn’t been able to get enough of the smell ever since. In the end, she doesn’t have much of a choice, she smells like sweat from standing out in the sun for nearly an hour.

When she comes out of the shower, she gets dressed, and decides against shoes. If she’s going to be walking through the train to get to the dinner table, she should be fine. It would be a different story if she had to go outside or step into anything dirty. Knowing the Capitol, and how they prioritize safety, both of those scenarios have been ruled out.

Alyssum walks herself to the dinner car, running into Elysia on the way. Elysia gives her a small set of directions on how to get there, and then goes right back to trying to retrieve Paslee for dinner. Alyssum makes it to the car just fine, and just as Elysia had promised earlier, you and Finnick are sitting at the table.

“You look nice,” you say, you haven’t changed your outfit at all. Neither has Finnick.

“I skipped out on shoes.” Alyssum admits, taking a chair.

You suppress a laugh.

Elysia comes back a few minutes later, Paslee walking behind her. He’s hunched forward at first, until he notices that you and Finnick are here. He perks up, back straightening, a smile coming over his face again. He must be eager to learn, which is weird, because he’s learned everything possible in the five years he’s been with the boarding school.

Well, Alyssum thinks it’s five years.

Paslee takes his seat next to her.

“The dinner comes in courses,” you warn, allowing Elysia to sit, “Eat too much of just one food and you won’t have enough room for the rest.”

“I’d suggest eating small portions, and knowing how to pace yourself.” Finnick continues, “The food can make you feel sick after.”

Alyssum nods, Paslee does the same.

It starts with a vegetable soup, with potatoes, carrots, celery and more. It moves onto the salad, full of greens, then a beef roast, a light snack of crackers and cheese, and ends with a dessert of ice cream and a small chocolate cake that leaks fudge when it’s broken open.

All of it is delicious, far better than what Alyssum eats back home, which is typically the high-class stuff. With the Capitol money, you can afford the butcher shops, the real bread, the freshly grown vegetables. She’s never had to endure the same pain that you have. Still, even with Reed’s cooking--something he’s very good at--he doesn’t even compare to what she’s just eaten.

She’s full, but craving more. She’s glad that she’ll be able to eat like this for the rest of the week. If the tributes going into the arena with her don’t treat her well, then the food that the Capitol feeds her will.

After their stomachs are settled, Elysia brings them all to a new compartment, one that will allow them to watch the recap of the reapings. This is the part that’s important, what Paslee and Alyssum have been waiting for. They can finally get a good idea of what their competition will look like, and decide whether or not alliances will be worth it.

As always, District One isn’t anything to get teary-eyed over. It was figured out years ago that the mentors pick their tributes prior to the Hunger Games. So when a tall, skinny boy volunteers, it’s not really noble. Neither is the blonde girl, who’s strikingly pretty, giving the crowd a white smile.

District Two follows the same pattern of volunteers, this time starting with girls. She looks average at first, but the truth is that she’s strong, even if she did walk out of the fifteen section. And undoubtedly, she is much heavier than Alyssum is. Her tribute counterpart is just as terrifyingly large, he’d be able to kill Alyssum without blinking.

She doesn’t like to watch the recap of the District Four reaping as much, pressing her lips together and trying to focus on Caesar and Claudius’ narration.

“And finally, the last of the careers,” Caesar says, “District Four.”

Elysia follows through with her normal routine, picks the girl tribute, and then stands at the podium. This is when it stops, because she’s not speaking immediately, and her Capitol facade dies.

“What’s taking her so long?” Claudius asks.

“Maybe she doesn’t know how to pronounce the name?” Caesar suggests, leaning his chin against his hand.

She suddenly jolts upwards, which must be because of the peacekeeper. She takes a deep breath, and quietly repeats the name for everyone watching. It’s loud enough for the microphone to catch the words, but just barely.

Caesar straightens up, eyebrows drawing in, “Did she say Alyssum Gallows?”

“I think so.”

“Must be why it took her so long.” Caesar looks at the camera now, Alyssum can feel the history lesson coming, “For those of you who don’t know--”

Claudius scoffs, “--which should be impossible--”

“--Alyssum is the younger sister of (Y/n) Gallows, winner of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games, alongside Finnick Odair.” Caesar finishes.

“We should note that there is no guarantee that she goes inside.” Claudius says, “District Four has had an incline of volunteers over the past ten years.”

Caesar nods, agreeing.

Alyssum makes it to the top of the stage, standing with her hands at her sides, smiling at her brothers below. Elysia calls Delroy, who comes up to the stage too. This is when Elysia asks for volunteers, Paslee comes to the stage. And for one final time, volunteers are asked for again, with no response.

“And just like that, Alyssum is going to the Capitol.” Caesar smiles, “I can’t wait to see if she’s anything like her older sister.”

“They make me sick.” You spit, crossing your arms.

The following six districts don’t stand out to Alyssum in any way. District Eleven picks at her interest when another twelve year-old is picked, and met with the same wind-whistling answer when volunteers are asked for. As for District Twelve, it was nearly another repeat, another girl, but her older sister volunteered over her before she even got to the stage.

And then the program ends.

They all sit in silence, staring at the television as Caesar and Claudius begin talking about what they noticed throughout the reapings but didn’t have time to point out, the predictions will follow soon after. Elysia goes to turn off the tv out of habit, never making it past the reapings anymore.

You catch her hand, stopping her from pressing the button, “Wait.”

They mill around with Districts One and Two, going back and forth on commenting on their tributes. Someone then says something off-screen, making the two men lean back and swivel in the direction the sound is coming from.

“What was that, my dear?” Caesar asks, cupping his ear and leaning forward.

The voice is much too quiet for the microphone to pick up, but they seem to hear the girl. Caesar raises his eyebrows, a smile coming to his face while the screen behind him changes to a picture of you from your reaping.

“Oh.” Claudius says.

Caesar laughs slightly, “For those of you who didn’t catch that, one of our interns has noticed a similarity between reaping outfits for the Gallows sisters.”

It’s you, in this gold dress that you had inherited from your mother. Alyssum doesn’t recognize it, doesn’t even know where it came from. For all she knows, you bought it prior to the Hunger Games at the Square.

Next, they fade in a picture of Alyssum standing on the stage, in her own gold dress. It makes her feel sick again, reinforcing her idea that this was planned, she was always going to go into the arena this year.

“It doesn’t matter if this was intentional or not, because I think it’s fantastic!” Caesar laughs, motioning to the screen, “There’s practically no difference between the two here, they look the same. She may only be twelve, but she’s already begun to leave a lasting impression. Once again, I can’t wait to see how this all plays out.”

“And let’s not forget the boy that volunteered--” Claudius is saying quickly, not wanting the subject to change, “Paslee Milillio, was it? We had a tribute a couple of years ago by the name of Marsh Milillio, and by what Paslee had said on stage, they’re brothers!”

“Yes,” Caesar says the word as if everyone has already made the connection, “We’ve got a lot of siblings going inside of the arena this year, including the girl from Twelve--”

The tv shuts off then, not allowing them to go any further.

Alyssum looks over her shoulder to see you tossing the remote back onto the couch, “We’ll be in the Capitol in a few hours. I suggest the two of you get some rest until then, you’re going to need it.”

“We’ll come and get you.” Elysia smiles, getting up from where she was sitting.

She’s the first to leave, Paslee is second. Alyssum doesn’t move from the couch until they’re both gone, and when they are, she’s throwing herself at you. You hug her tightly, rubbing her back.

“They did this on purpose, didn’t they?” Alyssum asks, sucking in deep breaths to keep herself crying.

“Yes, they did. And they’re going to regret it.”

BERCEUSE IS A SPIN-OFF //MASTERLIST//

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#ilguna #berceuse #berceuse chapter one #halcyon

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mmand0 · 3 years

Text

Back To You // F!Reader - Javi

Quantico

05:00

You groaned and tossed in your bed as your watched beeped at you, the light blinking rapidly signaling the start of a new day. Your roommate Wanda was still asleep, but you could hear her protest as her alarm went off. Slowly, you got out of bed and began your routine: grab a towel, your plastic basket filled with shower items, fresh underwear and a bra, and slipped into your rubber flip flops. You braced yourself before opening the door to the living area where another one of your roommates, Marie, was already heading out the door to shower as well. The two of you exchanged a sleepy greeting before heading to the communal showers together. As usual the morning folks were already nearly done with their showers and chatting with one another as they moisturized and got ready for the day. This part of the day was always your least favorite, but you were almost done with the mundane routine of Quantico. You found your way through the steamy room and found favorite shower stall. There was nothing special about it really, but it was tucked in the back and it was the darkest part of the shower room. After your shower, you quickly dried down and slipped into your undergarments before heading to the benches to get ready. Sitting in your underwear with a towel wrapped around your hair, you continued your routine of getting ready- lotion, moisturizer, sunscreen, and minimal make up. You always felt like you weren't much to look at, so there was no point in making much efforts in looking "pretty." Some of the girls put more effort, but you weren't here to mingle.

"Almost done, Y/N?" You looked up to see Marie already dressed with her make up and hair done. She was the pretty one. The men always stole glances at her when they would walk down the hallways. She was bubbly brunette with such a bright smile. Marie was sweet- truly, but she had a ferocity hidden beneath that million dollar smile. There was one incident at a bar once; as you and the other girls were drinking, a man walked by and placed his hand on her rear. Within seconds, Marie had turned and slapped him across the face. This kind of behavior typically gets you eighty-sixed from any establishment, but luckily you were regulars. The man was kicked out immediately, and the crowd cheered.

"Yeah, just need to put on my clothes and dry my hair." You slipped into your khakis, white tennis shoes, shirt, and a grey sweater with your last name printed on the back. Not cute, but very convenient to wear such bland clothes. You do like to keep up with fashion, though you never ventured out to wear outside of certain colors- earth tones, grey, black, white, blue, and beige. Timeless and effortless. You unwrapped your towel from your hair and began to dry it.

"You know you should really just borrow my hair dryer," Marie said as she fussed over your wet hair. You rolled your eyes and began to put your hair in a braid.

"Yeah, yeah."

"No, really! You'd look so gorgeous with a little more volume and-"

"Marie."

"Alright, fine. But just keep that in mind... You never know who might be checking you out." She smirked at you with a twinkle in her eye.

The second eye roll of the morning.

"You're still going with that Javi thing?"

Marie shrugged and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "I don't know, maybe? I mean you guys have some sexual tension every time we do any training together."

"No, I'm just competitive. That's all, Marie. Besides, doesn't he have a fiancé?"

"I'm just competitive- right. You've convinced no one, sweetie. The two of you just need to do the deed before we all get separated. And yeah, that's what I heard, but I haven't seen a fiancé." You sighed and slipped out of Marie's half embrace.

"Come on, let's get breakfast..."

She was right though. You couldn't deny that sexual tension between you and Javier Peña, but the man was a flirt. He was easy on the eyes, smart, athletic, and charismatic. The girls were always smirking and giving him bedroom eyes. Of course, you had no idea if the tension was one sided, nevertheless, you were attracted to him. Were you going to do anything about it? No, of course not. There two things on your mind: excel and get hired. There was no time for romancing, especially not a flirty hunk (who might have a girl waiting for him) everyone is already swooning over. Despite the attraction and competition between the two of you, you can admit that Javi was a nice guy from time to time. In fact, he does consider you a friend in the academy. Even with the constant bickering and one-upping one another, the two of you would study together every now and then. Sometimes he even worked out or ate meals with you. You always wondered why that was- perhaps just to show he's not all bad? To avoid getting your heart broken and to kill what little hope for a deeper relationship, you have convinced yourself that Javi was just trying to get close to you to ruin your chances on becoming the top student in Quantico. That had to be it.

You and Marie found your usual table in the cafeteria and was soon joined by your other roommates, Eleanor and Wanda. Breakfast was simple today: oatmeal, fruit cup, coffee, and a boiled egg. The girls chatted with one another about the upcoming exams as they ate.

"Can you believe Wilson's giving us another test? That's what? Twice this month already?" Eleanor grumbled with a mouthful of oatmeal.

"Yeah, but it's just behavioral science. Not that bad, right, Y/N?" Wanda turned to you. "Besides, if you need help, you know you can ask Y/N for-"

"Unless she's going to ditch us to study with Peña again," Eleanor sneered. You turned bright pink. "Oh my god. You are studying with Peña!"

"Well, he asked, and-"

"Oh my god, you minx! You said you didn't like him!"

"No, I don't, but-"

"No but's! You totally have a thing for him! Look, Y/N, I am in total support of you sleeping with Peña, but just be aware that I will need-"

"Okay, that's enough Eleanor," Marie interjected, a finger pointing at her. "If Y/N says she's not into him, she's not. Besides, they're two very talented agents and they're always in competition with one another. Honestly, it makes sense." Despite the teasing earlier, Marie was always good at defending you when you needed it. Eleanor was always into her gossip and frankly, she needs to keep her cool more often when it comes down to academy rumors. "And Y/N should keep her enemies close, right, Y/N?"

You nodded and laughed. "Exactly. Think of it as like... a real life case- Peña is enemy number one, and I gotta keep my eye on him before he takes my number one spot."

"Speaking of which..." Wanda whispered. Her eyes were looking straight past you, and you didn't need to ask what- or rather who- she was looking at. You felt a familiar presence behind you before he slid to sit at the table.

"Well good morning, ladies!" Javier Peña flashed a smile and sipped some black coffee. "What are we talking about this morning?"

"Peña." Wanda responded, raising a brow. "What makes you think you're invited at our table? Don't you usually eat with your roommates?"

Javi frowned. "Aw, don't be like that, Wanda. Can't I visit my favorite ladies in the academy this fine morning?"

"You mean visit Y/N?" Eleanor smirked and nodded towards you. Javi put his hands in the air and chuckled. "You got me. Just here to check in with you for studying later. Still good at 17:30?"

"Yes, now go away and let me eat in peace, Javi," you respond before drinking your coffee.

"Ouch, alright, alright. Kind of cold this morning, Y/N. Maybe you and I could go for a run to heat things up?" You turned your head to Javi and rolled your eyes. Third eye roll of the morning. Javi laughed and stood, "See you ladies later." The other three ladies Eleanor was about to open her mouth, but you raised your hand to stop her.

"Don't, Eleanor. Stop fantasizing. Let's just get to the tracks before it gets crowded."

The rest of the morning and afternoon was calm. After breakfast you went straight to do physical training, then a short break before forensic science, another larger break, then communications, lunch with the girls, then the last two classes. You headed straight to your room to get out of your clothes, take a quick shower, then get into jeans and a clean shirt before heading to study with Javi. The shower room was quiet this evening, and you were grateful for that. You needed to think without everyone else making comments. This morning's exchange was curious. Javi never really came to check on you when you set up study time together. You always showed up, and he would always be there waiting. There was never a question whether you would be there or not, so why did he "check" with you?

"Whatever," you told yourself. You turned the knob off and quickly got ready before heading to the library. You grabbed your backpack and a stack of study materials, and started the short walk towards the library. Javi was already outside leaning against a pillar smoking a cigarette. You approached him and sighed as he put his cigarette out on the ground. "I know, I know, I should stop."

"It doesn't help your lungs, idiot."

"Yeah, I know. That's why you're so much smarter than me. Anyway, let's get going. I want to get to sleep earlier for once."

Studying with Javi wasn't as bad as you made it seem with the girls. He was a pleasant study partner and he did work hard on understanding the material. There were times when the two of you had opposing answers, and instead of getting frustrated, he went straight to the books to check. Most of the times you were right, and he would admit defeat. Honestly, he made you a better student despite the constant competition and snarky remarks with one another. As the two of you studied a particularly confusing case, you noticed Javi seemed to be on edge. You never really saw him this rigid or nervous before, and decided to take action.

"Want to take a break?" you asked, closing the folder.

"Hm? Why? We're almost done."

"Let's just take a break. Ten minutes."

Javi pursed his lips and admitted defeat. "Fine. Let's go take a walk."

The two of you headed back outside to take a couple laps around the campus. The moon was shining brightly already, and people were heading back to their dorms. A few of them waved or bid the two of you goodnight as they disappeared into the buildings. "So... Are you doing alright?" you asked after a few excruciating seconds of silence.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, Javi, you tell me. You came up to check on me this morning and you're body language right now doesn't exactly convince me that you're fine."

Javi reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and his zippo. "Alright, fine. I'm just nervous about what comes after the academy."

"Why?"

Javi stopped walking, unlit cigarette nearly falling out of his lips. "W-well, I..." He paused, placed the cigarette back into the pack, and stared down at his feet. "I don't know. I'm just attached, I guess."

"To the academy?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"You know for someone so fucking smart, you're clueless."

You raised a brow and placed your hands on your hips. "What is this about, Javi?" Without another word, his lips were on yours. You didn't do that right? He did? You were frozen, but you let yourself give in, arms falling down at your sides while his hands found your face. It felt like an eternity before he pulled away.

"I don't know if I'll see you again after this, and I just wanted a chance to do that before we go our separate ways."

"Javi, this is just going to-"

"Complicate things, I know, but I'd rather do it than not do it at all. Didn't you know how I felt this whole time?"

"I mean... people talked, but I wasn't entirely sure. You flirted with everyone," you responded, waving your arms around. "How was I supposed to know?! Besides don't you have a-"

"Fiancé? I did." You could hear the hint of sadness in his voice. You wanted to pry and ask more about it, but perhaps this wasn't the best time. "I had a fiancé. It didn't work out. Look-" He took your hand in his, and squeezed it gently. "I'm leaving the country after the exit exams. Whatever happens, I just wanted to at least have this before we lose contact."

"Alright, I get it... I wish you would have just told me sooner, Javi." He tucked your hair behind your ear and leaned in for another soft kiss. It was odd kissing someone you've been in constant competition with, but it felt... good, you suppose. It was not a great feeling. You weren't exactly happy, but you weren't angry or sad either. It just felt confusing and you didn't know this at the time, but this memory would haunt you in the future. For know you were going to savor the moment before it ended. Javi led you towards a more secluded area where the two of you devoured one another for a good twenty minutes before heading back to the library. The rest of the evening was more tense than before, but the two of you were professionals. After finishing your studies, he walked you to your dorm, kissed you goodnight, and went on his way. As soon as Javi disappeared, you opened the door to find the girls sitting around with mouths agape.

"Are you kidding me?!" Marie exclaimed, eyes wide with shock.

"WE SAW THAT!" Wanda squealed. "NO DENYING NOW, Y/N!!!"

Eleanor sat smugly, pretending to check her nails. "Told you!" You sighed and dropped your bag on the floor. They were right, you couldn't pretend and deny it anymore. They saw it from the peephole on the door, and there was no point in hiding when your face was as red as the apple Marie was holding. "Tell us everything!!" Marie said between the crunching of the apple in her mouth. "You have to!!! Roommate rules!"

Although you usually avoided discussions of romance and gossip, you couldn't help but retell everything to them. You never had a lot of encounters with men even before Quantico, and this one was a little more special than that of the few boys you have dated. The delight and squeals of joy from your friends made you laugh. It was a nice little jovial exchange that you desperately needed before heading to bed where you knew you were going to analyze everything that just happened. After an exciting discussion and the number of congratulatory hugs from them, you bid them goodnight. As you lay in bed that night, you couldn't help but caress your lips. He kissed you. Whatever happens after the academy, you at least had the chance to experience some sort of romance with Javier Peña.

Los Angeles, One year later

06:00

The aroma of coffee filled your apartment as your boyfriend busied himself with making breakfast as you showered and got ready. It has been a year since graduation, and you haven't heard from Javier Peña since then. There was no denying that it broke your heart a little, but you managed. Two months after graduating, you and Marie were immediately hired to be part of the FBI team in Los Angeles. It wasn't an easy transition, but you were grateful for the job that would distract you from the heartbreak, and even more grateful to be close to your family who lived in San Diego. After a few transitional months, you ended up meeting Adam, an LAPD officer. He was nice, but not as motivated as Javi. It was a little annoying at times... Adam preferred to do the desk work and slacked off a little often to your taste, and you would try to push him to get more motivated which only caused him to be irritable. After the few times you pushed, you decided to pick your battles better and here you are, six months later, living together in your apartment.

"Breakfast is ready!" Adam said, poking his head in the bathroom.

"Thanks, I'll be out there."

You stared at the mirror and inspected your image. After being around these LA folks, you began to learn how to do your hair and make up a tiny bit better, but still kept it minimal. Marie taught you techniques with your hair, and on your days off you would go over to Marie's apartment and the two of you would venture to the shopping malls to take a look at make up. It was nice to have a normal life for once- no studying, no Javi messing with your thoughts, and no shower time being shared. You headed into the kitchen and sat at the pub table where your breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast was already there waiting for you.

"I'll be late today, by the way," you said between bites. "I have a meeting with the director later."

"Oh. Okay... no problem," Adam responded. He sounded sad, but you were too busy to notice. Your attention was on the radio that was playing in the background. They were talking about Colombia and the cartels again. The war on drugs was becoming a prominent talk of the town, and the DEA agents were swamped with arrests and cases, particularly with the cocaine epidemic. Although it wasn't your branch, the FBI was becoming more and more involved with the cartel cases. Too many dead bodies were being reported, and not to mention the issues with communism. You seldom discussed these things with Adam, mostly because it was classified, but also he didn't seem to care too much about it. Often times he just wanted you to "relax" and "take it easy for once." It made you cringe the way he looked at the growing problems in the country- it was like he truly didn't care. You often found yourself devising a plan to break up with him, but never had the courage to pull the trigger. You needed an excuse- it'll be easier that way.

"What time do you think you'll be home?" he asked. "Don't you remember what today is?"

You looked up, a look of confusion and guilt on your face. Suddenly, it hit you- it was date night. The two of you had promised to do date nights once a week, and you've managed to skip out on it for the past three weeks. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, Adam. This is really-"

"Important. I understand. Don't worry, we have the weekend!" He always had an optimistic attitude despite the constant rainchecks you've been giving him. "I know you, Y/N. You're a hard working agent, and I know you can't really talk to me about what's going on in the FBI, but just please take some time off once in a while..."

You finished your cup of coffee, nodding to avoid any more conversations about taking the time off. This routine with Adam was beginning to get on your nerves. You stood from the table and planted a kiss on Adam's cheek before saying goodbye. On the way to the office, you picked up Marie who had a cup of coffee ready for the two of you.

"Jeez, what's with that face?" she asked as she handed you your cup. "Looks like you're off to a rough start already."

"Huh? Do I look that bad today?"

"No, make up looks great- it's your face. Did Adam do something?" You glanced at the side mirror and saw what she was talking about- you looked drained and annoyed. Perhaps this relationship was taking a much bigger toll than you expected. "No, he didn't. I'm just annoyed from the reports in the news this morning. They're not accurate, that's all." Marie shrugged and flipped the radio on to the FM radio. The commute to work with Marie always began with some music on the FM radio. This was a rule the two of you made- no news, no reports, no work talk in the morning. It was a great rule, really. It relaxed you guys before you entered the stressful lives as FBI agents. Marie worked mostly with missing persons, and you tend to get assigned to terrorism and surveillance. The past month you were teamed up with DEA. The Colombian cartels have wreaked havoc in California, and it was a blood bath. Your day consisted of lots of digging up files today. Reports, some interrogation (though thankfully you didn't need to do the interrogation yourself), and lots of calls. By the end of the day, you were looked absolutely exhausted. You sat behind your desk reading some files when the director appeared seemingly out of nowhere- or you were just not paying attention.

"Evening, Y/LN," he greeted. The director was a proper looking man in his mid fifties. Mr. Smith always wore a black suit, and his black and pepper hair was always slicked back with pomade and even his mustache was incredibly clean and trimmed. He never came to work with stubble, and he always seemed to smell like leather and aftershave.

"Evening, sir," you respond, closing the file and standing to shake his hand.

"This is urgent. We need to talk now." Smith led you to his office, letting you in first before closing the door. You took a seat and folded your hands on your lap, attempting to control your nervousness. He took his seat behind the large oak desk that was as neat as the way he looked.

"Let's cut to the chase, kid. You're getting transferred."

"I'm sorry? Did... Did I do something wrong?" Your mind always went straight to the worst case scenario- anxiety does that to you.

"No, christ, Y/N, absolutely not. You've been one of our best agents, but your intellect and skills have been requested elsewhere. We're taking a huge loss, but this is an opportunity of a lifetime." Smith paused and leaned back in his leather chair. He furrowed his thick brows and placed his hand on the side of his face. He was studying your body language- from what he could see, you were confused. You didn't show it physically, but your eyebrows made a small twitch. It was enough for him to know you were concerned.

"How would you like to go to Colombia?"

#javier pena x reader #Javier Pena #Pedro Pascal

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malfoymanortings · 3 years

Text

fluorescent adolescent PART 1

summary: Fred Weasley has been drawing the eldest Malfoy daughter since his third year of Hogwarts. Elara Malfoy has fancied Fred Weasley since her fifth year at Hogwarts. It is during their final year, that the two of them do something about the mutual attraction.

pairing: Fred x OC older Malfoy sister

not related to flames and snow!! just a different perspective on Fred x older Malfoy sister.

Fred Weasley was an artist, and a damn good one at that.

His special skill was normally used to sketch out the beginnings of a prank plot he and George were thinking of, and it slowly progressed into making designs for actual products and contraptions he and George planned for their joke shop.

He also found, during his third year, that he was fond of drawing a stunning silver haired goddess with bewitching grey eyes. He was enamored with drawing her in every position he could think of, staring out at the black lake, walking down the corridor, sitting at the Great Hall. Any position he found her in, he immediately itched to sketch it out.

Why, exactly, was Fred so obsessed with drawing Elara Malfoy? He didn’t have a clue. Yes, she was beautiful there was no doubt to that, but her personality… Well, it needed some work.

She rarely ever smiled and normally had the look that she had smelled something unpleasant. Her free time was spent cajoling with the other Pureblood families she deemed worthy of her time, and although he hadn't seen her bully the other kids the way her brother Draco liked, he had seen her hex a few students that didn’t appear to deserve it. She certainly believed in the awful blood purity ideals her family believed in, and she was snarky and rude neary every time he had heard her speak.

Not only that, but he had even seen the girl cosying up to Umbridge of all people. The nasty woman who made students carve words into their arms and hands as detention. Elara Malfoy was the furthest thing from the type of woman Fred Weasley should spend his time thinking about.

Yet… he knew she thought of him too. Granted, he was certain she didn’t have a sketchbook filled with drawings of himself, but on more than one occasion he had caught her staring at him. The first time was at the Yule Ball, and Fred was dancing with Angelina Johnson while Elara looked bored and slightly uncomfortable with Theodore Nott as her date.

As much as Fred found Angelina pretty, she paled in comparison to the grace that was Elara Malfoy. Elara had worn a dark green, shimmering dress, accentuating her curves and flowing to the floor with a regal look that had every head turned. Her hair had been up in some complicated look, and her creamy neck was adorned with a silver necklace with the Malfoy family crest sitting arrogantly on her cleavage. Fred could describe all the little details about Elara, but couldn’t even tell you what color Angelina’s dress was.

It was when Fred was twirling Angelina up in the air, the both of them laughing, that Fred noticed Elara with an odd look on her face, as she was held in Theodore Nott’s stiff arms. It took Fred a moment to place the look as jealousy. Their eyes met as Fred set Angelina back down on the ground, and Elara’s lips screwed down in a scowl worthy of her father, and swiftly turned away from his gaze.

From that moment, he had seen her staring several other times, and he was able to draw her eyes in more detail as he was finally getting to see them more often. George was the only person who knew of his obsession, and frequently switched between making fun of him and worrying about him.

“Mate,” George had said one night, when Fred was up later than he should have been, furiously getting her eyes just right. “This girl isn’t worth the stress. She’s a Malfoy.”

“Georgie, I’m well aware of her heritage,” Fred had replied, pausing his pencil to look at his twin. “I know nothing will come of this. But I just can’t stop thinking of her.”

It wasn’t like Elara was all bad, either. Thanks to his obsession, he had seen her more than once secretly hex her brother when he was being mean to younger students. And Fred noticed that anytime she saw an older student from any house doing anything to make the younger students of any house feel uncomfortable or bullying them, she would silently hex them too. She did care, Fred knew, it just didn’t seem to be a priority to her.

Fred’s moment to shine, however, came in the form of a Potions class that he and George had arrived late to. There had been no seats left, except for one next to Lee Jordan, and one left to Elara Malfoy. George had given him a swift wink before setting his things down next to Lee, while Fred was left to make his way to the back corner where Elara had her head bent over a brightly colored journal that seemed out of place in her usual dark attire.

“Afternoon.” Fred tried to say the word cheerfully, but it came out funny and stuck in his suddenly dry throat, giving the impression that he had regressed in puberty.

Elara looked up then, her black lips pursing and her grey eyes narrowing. This close, he could see there was actually a ring of blue and flecks of green in her eyes, and his fingers twitched as he thought of drawing them later.

She parted her full lips to say something, but was interrupted as Snape informed them to turn to page seven hundred and thirty eight in their Potions book. She settled for a sneer instead, and Fred had to hold back a laugh as it fully mirrored her brother’s infamous look.

“Something amusing, Weasley?” She uttered, her long black fingernails flicking through the pages.

And Merlin, her voice was something else. It was throaty and light at the same time, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to hear her rasp as he fucked her over a counter- and he had to stop himself there.

“Just the family resemblance, is all.” Fred replied smoothly, cocking an eyebrow as he met her contempt gaze.

“Hm,” Elara paused, looking him up and down. “You’re right, family resemblance is a funny thing, Weasley.”

With that, she went back to flipping through the pages of her Potions book. And yes, Fred knew, he just knew that was an insult, but he couldn’t get over how attractive she was up close and how delectable her voice was to him. This close, he could see that her bottom lip was slightly fuller than her top lip, her eyebrow had a small slit in it from what appeared to be a long forgotten scar, she had dimples, and she smelled like lavender and vanilla mixed with fresh laundry. She wore rings on every finger, small dainty silver ones with different jewels and designs, of course one with the Malfoy crest, and her hands themselves were smaller than he had imagined.

Fred couldn’t stop staring at her.

She suddenly stood from the table, and walked towards the front of the room. That made Fred remember that he was supposed to be brewing a potion, and he hastily found the correct page in the book, and then jotted down the ingredients he would need. He made his way up just as she made her way back, and although he offered her a smile, she didn’t return it.

“How’s it going, Freddie?” George nudged his side with his elbow as they gathered their ingredients.

“Exactly as you’re imagining, mate.” Fred replied snarkily to his twin, who laughed at his misery. It was rare that George got to see Fred in a position like this, and he had to admit he was enjoying every second of it.

“Good luck!” George winked at Fred, cheerily going to sit back down with Lee Jordan.

Fred would get George back for this.

Elara was busy crushing up dried nettlefish when Fred came back to the table, her sleek silver hair tied back from her face. Fred dumped his ingredients on his half of the table, reaching out a quick hand to grasp the jar containing a bat spleen before it rolled off the side of the table.

Elara noticed, and the side of her mouth quirked up into a smirk. Fred swore then and there that his heart had stopped for a second before starting back up again.

He quickly launched into getting his ingredients put together, running through the motions rather quickly and confidently in an attempt to impress Elara, who already had the correct color and consistency of the Potion they were brewing. Fred swore under his breath as his potion switched from a pale blue color, to a murky green.

“You’ve added too much wormroot,” Elara sighed, pausing in the stirring of her own potion. “Add a pinch more of the dried nettlefish, and it should be fine.”

“Define a pinch.” Fred scratched the back of his head, grimacing in frustration.

Elara huffed, and suddenly she was invading Fred’s personal space, her heavenly scent washing over him as she quickly added the ingredient to the potion, going so far as to stir it for him. She nodded at him when it finally turned to more of a blue than a green.

“It won’t be perfect, but unless you’d rather start over that’s the best you’ll get.” Elara shrugged, turning her attention back to her own. It was the perfect shimmering blue, and Fred was mesmerized as he watched Elara gently stir it once more, before raising her hand for Professor Snape to come take a look.

“Thanks.” said Fred, unable to take his eyes off Elara’s beautiful face. She had gorgeous cheekbones, high and hollow like they were carved by Aphrodite herself. Even as she sat there with her hand raised, she had the grace and poise that could only be associated with traditional pure blood families.

“Ah, Miss Malfoy,” Snape pulled a vial from his bat like robes, streaming her potion inside of it and placing a rubber stopper to hold it in place. “Interesting company you have with yourself today.”

“Yes, indeed,” Elara replied, and it was only because Fred was studying her that he noticed her jaw clench, and her fingers clench around the edge of the table top. “Perhaps if you had more tables in your classroom, I wouldn’t have had to subject myself to a Gryffindor.”

Snape narrowed his eyes at her, and then darted his gaze over to Fred, who felt insulted at Elara’s words. “Weasley, I see you did only slightly better than your brother.”

“Well, at least I still came out on top, hm?” Fred retorted, giving a wide smile to the slimy git. Snape rolled his eyes, and swiftly gathered a vial of his potion before moving onto the next table.

“Didn’t mean to subject you to my presence, by the way,” said Fred lightly, focusing on gathering his ingredients together. “There were no other places for me to sit.”

“Aw, did little Weasley get his feelings hurt?” Elara said the words almost seductively, teasing most certainly, but with a little spice. “What’s he gonna do about it?”

Fred paused, looking to see that Elara had a smirk on her beautiful face, her long fingernails tapping against the counter. She leaned forward slightly, and Fred noticed that she had undone the top three buttons of her blouse, and he could just barely see a lace bra underneath the fabric. He swallowed hard.

“Perhaps you should meet me at the astronomy tower around midnight, ey?” Fred said the words casually, ignoring the way his dick twitched at the thought.

Elara bit her lip, and sat back in her chair. She slowly crossed her legs, and Fred had to grip the table in front of him.

“I’ll be there.”

part two

#fred weasley #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley one shot #oc malfoy #older malfoy sister #fred x elara #elara malfoy #harry potter #potter #hogwarts #hp x reader

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

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Blood Trails [ Pt. 3 ]

Chapter Summary : Bucky Barnes fails to protect Sasha and she ends up getting taken by you. You spend the night with a five year old and certain revelations do not fare well with you.

Warnings: Slight/Implied Child abuse , use of explicit language

Word Count : 2500 + words allegedly

Link to Blood Trails Masterlist -> here.

“Yeah I know, Natasha’s out on a mission with Banner.”

Bucky was pacing up and down the living room. The penthouse suite was a mess, curtains had been ripped off the walls, and what looked like confetti was strewn all over the floor. The HYDRA soldier who had just escaped from Bucky’s hands a few minutes back had left their gun on the floor. As Bucky spoke to Tony, wondering how someone had managed to get into the perimeters of such heavily secure building, he bent slightly and picked up your gun, eyeing it carefully.

“What do you mean that the alarm was disabled? How can the alarms be… Natalia, she must have forgotten on her way out.” he mumbled her name in a very low voice, his eyes lifting and fixing on his five year old girl who was standing by the now fallen Christmas tree, with a sadness in her eyes.

He had almost lost her today; and this meant only one thing, if they had found her out, they would come again, and they would keep coming until … they had her.

“Stark, I’m getting Sasha back to the towers– “ he snapped his neck towards his daughter, who was now looking at him with inquisitiveness in her big blue orbs. Pulling the phone off his ear, placing his palm over the speaker, he smiled, “Мед, it’s okay. Go on and wait for daddy in your room. We’re gonna go and pay your favourite superheroes a visit.”

“But daddy, you’re my favorite superhero.” The little girl innocently whispered, to which Bucky just gave her a smile, “I know. Okay, your favorites after me and your мать.”

As her footsteps retreated away, and Bucky was sure that she was not within the hearing range, he sighed slowly before pulling the phone back to his ear, “they won’t rest Stark, not until they have her.” He then pulled off the phone, sliding it back into the pocket of his sweatpants as he made his way into Sasha’s room to pack her stuff before they left.

An hour later, Sasha and Bucky were seated in his ceramic blue sedan, as Bucky buckled her seat belt, before his foot hit the gas and the car slowly started moving, before picking up pace. Although his eyes and his hands were on the road, and the steering wheel, a thousand thoughts seemed to be running at the back of his mind; the most recurring of the thoughts being that HYDRA soldier’s voice. It was familiar, and he knew he had heard it before, perhaps back at the Siberian base.

“Daddy? Is uncle Sam going to be there too?”

“Mhm?” he absentmindedly turned to give her a look, before turning back towards the road, “you bet. Your uncle Sam is always there.”

You pulled off the binoculars from your eyes, and your legs carelessly dangled underneath you, as you murmured into the comms in a husky voice, “Vasili. I see them. Do you copy? I’m going in.” You sat atop the iron grills on the bridge; your eyes plastered to the car that was speeding it’s way towards the bridge where you were.

“Get her today, Johanna. I know you can do it.”

That was enough confirmation for you. You waited another two minutes, for the car to pass by you, and as expected, Bucky’s eyes never caught you; especially not when you were sitting high on top of that bridge. The minute the car buzzed from below you, you stood up, and elegantly, placing both your hands on one of the rods, you twirled your body into a to and fro moving motion like a pendulum, and jumped from one grill to another, and then, right down until you landed gracefully on the deserted bridge underneath the grill where your motorcycle stood in a corner.

Smirking to yourself, you pushed yourself atop your bike, and you darted straight towards your target, your bike almost flying at a pace faster than most of the vehicles that were around you. You manouvred tactfully between the cars, your eyes fixed on that one car that you were following and finally, when you were close enough, you slid out your weapon, aimed it casually towards the front tyre and pulled the trigger, the tyre bursting in front of your eyes, like a firecracker.

Bucky ’s car skidded left and then right, and it was clear that Bucky had lost the controls. You waited, and you watched, with anticipation, your heart drumming wildly against your chest. Any minute now. And lo and behold, as if on cue, the car finally lost its balance and hit the railing of the bridge, breaking it and plunged right into the water, with Bucky and your target inside.

“It can’t be this easy, can it?” you asked yourself as you jumped into the water, a second after the car crashed into it.

You swam under, your eyes fixed on the car, and you could see that the man was trying to unbuckle the wailing girl’s seatbelt. He was so engrossed in trying to get her out of the car, he didn’t notice you swimming towards his side of the car. It was only when you smashed your gun against his window , did his eyes widen in recognition and a look of dark, venomous hate flashed in his eyes as water started filling up the car. It was too late for him; for you had already grabbed a magnet from your pocket, placing it on the top of the car, the magnetic pull of it being so strong, Bucky’s metal arm was stuck on top of him, and no matter how hard he tried to pull it off, he was unable to. He kept screaming in anger, as you swam to the other side, and effortlessly pulled the girl out of the car, holding her against you as you started swimming back towards the surface, leaving the Winter Soldier to die.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

You didn’t mind a bit that you were dripping water from head to toe, the only thing that worried you was the faint girl that was hanging over your shoulder. Although she had been awake as you had pulled her out of water, she had fainted minutes after and you hadn’t had the time or bother to revive her then and there, so you had sat her in front of you on your bike as you had spiraled your way back to your apartment.

You laid her on bed, and placed your palms on her chest, checking her heartbeat first and confirming her pulse. When you were sure she had survived, and was alive, you started pumping her chest, in hopes of reviving her.

A few tries later, you heaved a sigh of relief when she started coughing water, and slowly opened her frightened eyes and started looking around, When you realized that she was about to scream, you placed your palm against her lips, and pulled out your handkerchief, tying it across her mouth, barely giving her the chance to scream.

“Now, Теперь ты должна быть хорошей девочкой, если хочешь снова увидеть своих родителей. (Now you must be a good girl if you want to see your parents again.)” You ruffled her hair, ignoring her frightened, tear streaked eyes as you stood up and looked at your phone that had died perhaps due to the water. Maybe with your little tryst in water, neither your phone, nor your comms was now working, and all you could hear in your comms was a static. “Great. This phone cost me a fortune, and it’s not even water proof.” You dumped the phone on the bed carelessly knowing that Vasili was going to contact you, one way or the other.

“Now listen, принцесса, I’m not going to hurt you. If you cooperate. Now if I take that off your mouth, do you promise you won’t make a fuss?” You pulled out a dry piece of clothing from your bag, and grabbed the girl's arm, lifting it over her head as you started changing her out of her wet dress. Once you were done, you looked down at her again, waiting for an answer.

She nodded.

You placed the hand on the knot at the back of her head and loosened it, taking off the handkerchief from her mouth as she started screaming, “DADDY! DADDY! WHAT DID YOU DO..WHERES MY DADDY..”

“Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you, принцесса, there are only two things I hate, one, kids, and two, whiney, mopey and crybaby kids.” You grabbed her arm, rather roughly and started dragging her down the hall, slightly marveling at the fight that the five year old seemed to putting in. No wonder HYDRA wanted her. But still, you were stronger and more trained than she was, so you managed to drag her to the corner most room, that was more of a walk in closet, spacey enough to fit a whiney kid. You pulled open the door, threw her in, and slammed the door shut.

Ignoring her incessant crying, and screaming, trying to bang her tiny hands again and again against the door, you skipped into the kitchen and grabbed a carton of strawberry milk. You lowered yourself on the floor, and opening the nozzle of the carton, you slammed it to your lips, hungrily devouring the contents of it, more due to boredom and irritation of the continuous wailing and screaming coming from the closet, rather than hunger.

A few minutes later, when you realized that the wailing had stopped, and reduced to soft whimpers, you didn’t know why, but you decided to go check on her. Maybe the fact that she was a kid, you were going soft of her, something they had trained you never to do. Holding the half empty carton in your hand, you slowly unlocked the door, and stepped into the closet.

Sasha was huddled in a corner, her knees pressed to her chest, his face buried into her arms and knees, as she continued to sniffle and sob.

“Listen kid, let me be honest with you. You can bawl your eyes out, but I won’t let you go.”

She looked up, her eyes and her cheeks stained with dried up tears, “Я просто хочу вернуться домой, пожалуйста. (I just want to go back home.)”

You almost scoffed at her words, and wondered if kids were really this ignorant, this innocent. You stood up, leaving the carton of milk right there on the floor, and stretched your arms, as you started to leave, when her tiny squabble of a voice called out, “You are a bad lady. You don’t know my daddy, my mommy and my uncles, they are Avengers. They will come for me, you are bad lady.”

“Really? Your daddy is probably swimming with the dolphins, милая.”

Smirking, you slammed the door shut as you stepped out of the closet, leaving her inside. The minute you stepped out, you gasped, like a fish out of water, bending slightly, like you couldn’t breathe. You didn’t understand but your head was throbbing and it felt like someone was drilling holes against your temples. You wiped the tears off your eyes and took a deep breath, to calm your suddenly racing insides.

You didn’t understand the fuck your brain was acting like.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

“Goddamnit.”

You kicked your useless, pathetic phone away. You didn't understand why Vasili had only given you a phone, and no other means of communication. Now you were stuck here, with a kid, and you didn't know what to do.

"Vasili, where are you?" You whispered, as you switched sides, and decided to lay down on your right instead of the left.

You tried to sleep for the next fifteen minutes, but sleep evaded your eyes. You didn't know why, you kept feeling an urge, to get up and go check on your mission.

"For fucks sake," you sat up in bed, rubbing your tired, sleep deprived eyes as you slid against the edge of your bed, your feet dangling against the side as you stepped up and slowly started walking towards the closet. The first thing you did was place your ear against the door to listen in for any whimpering or crying, but there was none. Finally, with much reluctance, you opened the door, and your heart deflated when you saw her. She was laying on the floor, curled into a foetal position against her side, the carton of milk empty. The empty closet was filled with the sounds of her soft, rhythmic snores and you couldn't help but sigh.

You walked up to her, and slowly, placing your hand under her head, and another one under her thigh, you lifted her up. Holding her against your chest, you carried her back into your room, and laid her against your bed, pulling the covers over her tiny body.

"I didn't want to do this. But I have no choice. You're my mission. I am a soldier, and it's my duty to comply." Your words were almost mumbled, and your voice soft and breezy, as you laid down next to her, resting your arm on top of your head. You didn't know when, but sleep finally took control of you, and you found yourself drifting off into a slumber.

You slept well, atleast for a few hours until... you felt someone's hands on you, waking you up.

Instinctively, your eyes darted open, your hand almost flying to your gun, that you kept under your pillow, for emergencies like these.

It took your eyes a couple of seconds to register, that the little girl, who you had so effortlessly managed to kidnap, was sitting on your stomach, almost straddling you, her feet on either side of yours as her hands repeatedly shook your shoulders. "Клянусь Богом, это будет лучше. (It better be important, I swear to God.)"

You pushed yourself up in bed, and instinctively, the girl crawled off you, perhaps in fear, but her eyes remained on you.

"Thank you for getting your paws off me. Now what is it, принцесса?" You said in a raspy morning voice.

The little girl parted her lips, as though in an attempt to say something, but she shut up again, and started staring at you from the corner of her eyes.

"What?" You growled.

"I.. I.. Daddy told me you were in heaven."

"What the fuck?"

"Daddy says we shouldn't say that word."

You slid out of bed, and crossed your arms over your chest, glaring down at the girl sitting cross legged on your bed.

"I think the fall you took, kiddo, it hit your head. You don't know what you're talking about. Heaven.. " You scoffed at that word.

"But daddy never lies to me."

You didn't know what irked you more right now; the fact that this girl was getting on your nerves, or the fact that you were beginning to get a gnawing headache.

"Your daddy doesn't even know who I am."

Sasha rolled out her legs in front of her, swinging them against the side of the bed so that her back was now turned towards you. She was a quiet for a minute, until her next words hit you like a brick right across your face.

"Daddy has your photo in his wallet.. he told me you went to heaven, giving birth to me.. you're...my...mommy?"

You didn't know why you suddenly felt like someone had stabbed you in the gut. You couldn't breathe. A guttural cry forced itself out of your lips as hot tears of frustration rolled down your cheeks. Her words were infuriating, it annoyed your nerves, and made you grind your teeth.

"Я не твоя мать. Ты слышишь меня?"

(I'm not your mother. You hear me?)

When she didn't answer, your nostrils flared, and your lips quivered, as you grabbed her by her arm and almost shook her, trying to knock some senses into her.

"Я не знаю, какую игру разума ты затеваешь. Но выслушай это, принцесса. Я чудовище. Я могу отправить тебя на небеса щелчком пальца– " (I dont know what mind game you're upto. But hear this out, princess. I am a monster. I can send you to heaven with a snap of my finger– )

The bang on your front door caused you to stop speaking, and instead, you squinted your eyes towards it before glaring at her again. You brought your finger to your lips, and slowly, you pulled out your revolver from underneath the pillow, and walked out of the room until you were standing on the other side of the door.

"Who is it?"

"Это я, дорогая."

You wouldn't lie; you were happy to hear his voice.

"Vasili–" you unbolted the door from the inside and pulled it open, moving out of the way as Vasili took off his coat, and stepped in, "Просто вытащи ее отсюда, пока я не оторву ей язычок." (Just get her out of here before I rip her little tongue off.)

"Calm down little dove." Vasili's cold palm came to rest against your cheek as he ran your thumb over your plump lower lip in a teasing way before he pulled away and went inside to take a look at his reward. An ever permanent scowl on your face, you quietly followed your handler inside and stopped when you saw him leaning against the doorframe as he studied the little girl; who had yet not seen him.

"This kid is delusional. Thinks I am her dead mother." You grumbled, failing to notice how Vasili's eyebrow shot up when those words escaped your lips, perhaps the first thought crossing his mind was whether you remembered her or not.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction

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dercolaris · 3 years

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What safe means

Hey guys, I am back! Two weeks in hospital and as soon as I'm home, I'm already writing again. I’m a bit addicted or something. We’re starting with Scriddler (what a suprise!), hopefully not to clonky for the first story after such a long break. I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks to @shin-arei for correcting it.

Song: https://youtu.be/ZfWRZJmzuBU

A small beam of light flickered almost smoothly over the rough walls, illuminating the room with a glaring, fake glow. Edward blinked slightly and tried to ignore the loud hum of the car in the street in front of the old house. As quickly as the halogen spotlight had lit the room, just as quickly it had disappeared into the darkness of the night again. What remained was a pleasant warmth in the small bedroom. The tinkerer rubbed his arching forehead, which was still wet, and felt with the flat of his hand over the white bed sheet, clawing lightly into the damp fabric. His heart was beating fairly steadily after the unexpectedly intense activity, but absolute chaos broke out in his mind after he was calmed down enough. The raven-haired man tried to ignore the nagging thoughts, searched with his fingers for the thin summer quilt on his thighs. He pulled it up to his shoulders with a flowing movement and stared at the grey wallpaper. The sweat slowly dried up due to the milder temperatures during the summer night. The Riddler took a deep breath, smelled that special blend of roasted coffee beans and a hint of Benzeneselenol again. A slight rustling behind him made him flinch a little. Was Jonathan already asleep? Probably. Edward stiffened a little and carefully looked over his shoulder, staring at the former psychiatrist's messy, brown hair. He didn't move or make any really loud noises. The tinkerer slowly turned his head back, staring again at the innumerable cracks in the mouldy wall. This whole evening was basically a huge riddle for the younger man with a never-ending spiral of cheap attempts at explanations. The inventor grumbled cautiously, then suddenly stopped. Had he actually just compared the night to a riddle? The raven-haired man smiled barely noticeably at the unintentionally fitting choice of words for the unusual situation and licked his salty-tasting lips. And what now? The rogue felt a slight throb on his strained forehead. To make matters worse, the bed began to shake when a presumably heavily laden truck drove past the unstable house. Much heavier than the load of the vehicle were probably only the thoughts of the Riddler at that moment. The faint ticking of the old wall clock in the dusty hall allowed the strange assumption that time itself would pass more slowly than usual. His blue eyes fixed one of the innumerable points on the wall. He had to somehow put what was happening in a logical context, but how? Edward frowned and pulled his knees up slightly, wrapping his arms around his calves. Actually, it could be summed up to literally one important point: he had a sexual intercourse with Jonathan Crane that night.

That was a fact that definitely could not be changed in his careful deliberation any more. Still, the chain of events that led to the unexpected 'climax' raised an endless number of unanswered questions. The tinkerer stroked some scars on his shin. It had started with a common plan, which - as always - got completely out of hand after a very short time. Scarecrow was a very stubborn figure of the underground and you could rarely change his mind, even if the professor was absolutely wrong with his statements and he would run straight into an avoidable catastrophe. The former psychiatrist's pride often prevented him from actually seeing mistakes and apologizing adequately for his bigotry. The raven-haired man sagged a little more on the bed, lowered his forehead to his drawn knees. Unfortunately, this was one of the few behaviour patterns in which the two criminals looked almost like twins. Even the inventor found it incredibly difficult to admit that he was not perfect. This was in strong contrast to his own feelings. Edward bit his lip lightly. The constant overcompensation of his non-existent self-esteem shot completely at odds with the image that he desperately wanted to convey to society: he, the one and only Edward Nygma, was the top of human ingenuity and mentally superior to all of the imbeciles around him. If anyone dared to say the opposite, this person was a fool or a simpleton. The reality was of course different. The Riddler was breathing a little slower than before. It seemed so absurd. He waged an almost endless fight with himself, which he could never win because the raven-haired man was not convinced of his own demeanour. A shimmering costume did not enhance a soul that was broken several times. The glittering fabric only hid the most obvious injuries in the torn mind.

And then there was Jonathan Crane. The older one probably saw through his shell when they first met. The brown-haired man analysed every little movement around him and brought it to an extremely painful point with astonishing precision when he had found enough 'evidence' for his thesis. The professor was not a man of many words. It was all the more impressive or even more terrifying to see how he managed to completely overthrow a normally stable framework of convictions with just one simple sentence. Edward gently shook his head. That still didn't explain why he'd ended up in bed with the dark man of all people. As always, his inner voice seemed to know better. This way of seeing through and breaking a human mind was simply remarkable. So remarkable that at some point the tinkerer felt a real attraction in Jonathan's vicinity. The Master of Fear was like a polarizing magnet, which initially pushed everything away until he gradually opened. The force changed suddenly and an infinitely strong suction was created, from which at a certain point there was simply no more escape. The Riddler began to shiver slightly. Why did he worry so much about this one night? It was just sex. No more and no less. They had released the very high pressure between them together and in the morning would pretend nothing had happened. A sharp stab went through his heart. Just sex. Presumably he was of no use for anything else. At that moment, self-doubts took over again. Nobody lasted long at his side and it was only a matter of time before someone tried to successfully push him out of the life. Sooner or later his name spread an unwanted chaos - not only because as a criminal he had the reputation of attracting as much attention as possible and had to stage himself again and again to keep his image. His world was a very fragile object that could break like glass at any time and who was willing to endure these constantly changing emotional states? Edward felt the first tears flow from his eyes. This loneliness ate away at him and knowing that he might have bridged this one night with purely physical love only made it worse in the end. Jonathan would kindly expel him from his apartment tomorrow. Just like everyone else before. The younger one had no hope that the professor was different from all the countless disappointments in his life. A low sob came from his dry throat. Still, there was this minimal possibility that the former psychiatrist might really take him for who he was: loud, disorganized, highly dramatic and far too insecure to make important decisions himself.

The tinkerer didn't like to say it out loud, but forbidden feelings had long been involved when he met the sinister man. The desire was so dragging that he made up some absurd lies just to finally be able to see Scarecrow again. Jonathan was humanly difficult to reach when it was not about his work and every small step towards a friendly basis was worth jumping out of pure joy. This also included completely unimportant, superficial arguments. The brown-haired man never shared his views with other villains because he felt it was a waste of time. Only Edward had this unique privilege to fight him mentally. So was it reprehensible to think about whether they might have a future together? The younger one relaxed a little. It made no sense to philosophize about it at the moment. He would have to wait until morning, which would most likely keep him awake for the entire night. The tinkerer moved his hips a little, feeling the tell-tale wet stain on the bed sheet. He surely had to apologize in the morning for the dried, white remains of his endless lust. Jonathan had insisted on wearing a condom during intercourse, which the younger one had basically not expected otherwise from the Master of Fear. The professor might be many things, but there was one thing he wasn't: reckless. It was also more or less known in the underground that the Riddler had phases in which he frequently changed his nocturnal company in bed. A small smile fell on his lips. Joker had been hit more than once in his ugly face for his often stupid comments about this behaviour of the other rouge and none of the other criminals had ever thought of defending the clown against the Riddler. Presumably half of the villains weren't interested in the black-haired man's private life or they just enjoyed watching the mad prince suffer. Joker was even more hated than the Dark Knight himself and that should mean something. Nevertheless, these completely exaggerated statements hit the younger man again and again at his sore spot. His ego. Was that why Jonathan had preferred to sleep with him in a sheltered way? What was the likelihood that the former psychiatrist would even label him as a male whore, like Joker or sometimes even Twoface? Ridiculous. It was so ridiculous. Why was the inventor thinking about it right now? Probably the older one just wanted to make sure that they both felt good the first time and that there weren't any nasty surprises in the morning.

Perhaps the professor had a well-kept secret that the tinkerer did not know yet. Edward closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn't imagine that Scarecrow had ever had anything like a committed relationship with anyone at all. Jonathan had been noticeably insecure that night. He seemed familiar with the theory of intercourse, but the practice was still visibly different from the myriad tips in the factual textbooks in his library. The gaunt man had once casually mentioned that he had grown up in a very religious environment. So there was a good chance that the explanation beyond the fact of the reproductive instinct never took place. So how was the grim psychiatrist supposed to know that sex was fun, that it relaxed the body, loosened internal blockages and ultimately calmed troubled minds? The Riddler consciously wanted to exclude the romantic aspect for himself for many people. Physical love was one thing and after all these years he had become convinced that he would never get beyond it. An old sock will find an old shoe. Just not in his case. The Riddler did not know what to do now. According to the beating clock in the corridor, it was just two in the morning, so at least four hours before the elder would wake up from his peaceful slumber. Far too much time to think or more, to overthink. Before Edward could decide on anything, he felt the previously rigid body move behind him. Jonathan snuggled down close to his body, the bare skin rubbing lightly against each other. The tinkerer held his breath abruptly. After a while, the brown-haired man's thin arm wrapped itself around his trembling abdomen, gently pulling him against the bony chest of the former psychiatrist. The thin man's cool breath brushed his sensitive neck. Small bite marks adorned the reddened skin. The younger one slowly broke out of his stiffness and began to breathe again, his hand carefully placed on the narrow wrist above his kidney. He flushed slightly and felt the professor's scarred chest rise and fall evenly. This led the inventor to slowly close his eyes. He concentrated entirely on the man behind him, shuddering again and again when his breath brushed the hair on the back of his neck. The older man's bony fingers caressed the pale skin gently, leaving a pleasant tingling sensation. Out of nowhere Edward heard the scratchy voice of the Master of Fear: "Please try to sleep, Edward. You are not alone and I will also be there tomorrow when you wake up. You can trust me. I'm not leaving.” That was all the younger one needed. Someone or better something in his head flicked a switch that otherwise could only be thrown through physical satisfaction. The tiredness overwhelmed him, as well as the strange warmth and the feeling of being safe. He no longer noticed how Jonathan breathed a gentle kiss on the back of his head, just wandered into a relaxed and long-awaited sleep.

#DC #Batman #Jonathan Crane #Edward Nygma #Scriddler #Riddlecrow #Scarecrow #Riddler #Pre-Arkham

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niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian · 4 years

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Writing Prompt (ignore me if you got this one already): Maddie giving Sonic a bath?

Another Maddie and Sonic prompt! I always love writing these two. I’ve seen a few stories similar to this one, but I’ll take a shot at it.

“Sonic?”

Maddie walked slowly through the hallway of the first floor of the house, listening hard for any signs slight creaks or feet pattering.

“Sonic! You better not be tracking mud through this house mister!” She yelled throughout the house as she looked in the hallway closet.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she went back down to the first floor only to stop on seeing a small clumps of dried mud on one the steps.

‘Oh great, I just mopped this floor yesterday.’ She rubbed her face as she continued down the stairs.

She whipped her head towards the sound of the front door opening, hearing Tom’s voice entering the room.

“Hello? I’m home!”

“Hey babe, I’m over here.” She called out tiredly.

He paused as he hung up his coat, hearing the weariness in his wife’s voice. “You alright?”

“Yeah everything’s good.” He stared at Maddie for a few seconds before he took off his hat and made his over towards her, hugging her.

“Hmm you sure? You sound like you ran a marathon without having the insane smell of rancid body odor.”

She rolled her eyes and punched him in the shoulder as they released from the hug. "It kinda feels like that now, I'm trying to look for you-know-who."

He gave her a questionable look. "Is it Ozzie? Cause I think he's out in the backyard."

"Not him, Sonic."

"Uh-oh, what'd he do this time?"

"You'll see why once you see how Ozzie looks." She moves slightly, motioning him towards the back door.

Tom walks hesitantly towards the window of the door and looks out. "Oh dear god in heaven."

The bottom half of the retriever’s body was covered in mud, which has since completely dried up. He started wagging his tail fiercely as he saw his owner through the window and jumped against the door.

"No jumping Ozzie, get down." The dog obeyed and walked away as Tom made his way back towards his wife.

"Who's that chocolate lab in the backyard?"

"Oh very funny."

"What on earth were they up to out there?"

She let out a breath as she shook her head. "I honestly don't know, apparently he thought it was a good idea to hook the hose up to the sprinkler since it was getting pretty warm out, but Ozzie followed him out, grabbed the hose from him and the rest is history."

He whistled while looking down, slightly chuckling from the described events. "Well that explains everything, so where is the main suspect?"

"That's exactly why I sound like I run a marathon, I found him completely covered in mud trying to wrestle the hose from Ozzie's mouth. Once I told him he needed a bath, he took off like a cat with it's hide on fire and I’ve been looking for him ever since."

Maddie crossed her arms as she leaned against the counter. "I think he's still somewhere in the house, I don't know where he would go if he was still filthy."

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "I mean he was pretty filthy before he came to live with us, heck he barely wears any clothes."

"Oh my, That's....not the point I'm trying to make Tom. I just don't want him and Ozzie tracking mud throughout the house."

"Well then I guess Oz needs to stay outside and have his bath out there. I call dibs on that job."

"Wait, why are you calling ‘dibs’ on that one?”

“I think it’s fair since I wasn’t here to witness the events, I get to choose which one to take care of.”

“That’s not even close to being fair!”

“It is for me.” He ducked his head she swiped her hand at his shoulder.

“Tom! I’m being serious!”

“Yeah me too, last time I tried to give him a bath, I couldn't find him for almost two hours.”

"Oh great, could you at least help me find him? I don't want to keep looking that long."

He placed his chin in his hand and gave him a questioning look. "Hmmm I don't know, I'm putting my life on the line here for you.

Maddie grabbed his tie and tugged it, pulling him closer to her. "How about if you help me with this and you might get a certain reward once the task is done?" She whispers seductively as she lowers her eyes.

Tom blushes slightly as he tilts his head in interest. "Are we both thinking of the same reward here or is it something that could be food related?"

"Well there could be some food involved if you help me out." She gave him a wink as she walked away.

"Oh hell yeah this is so happening." He rushed after her as he loosened his tie from his neck.

=======

'What the heck were they talking about? What's so important about eating food in the tub?'

Sonic listened from the very cramped kitchen cupboard as he heard the couple walk away, moving slightly to regain feeling in his legs that fell asleep.

As he moved, his elbow hit against a pot making a loud clanging noise. He winced as he kept still and listened for any incoming sounds.

After a few minutes, he heard the faucet turn on in the bathroom upstairs. "Oh geez, she's really serious this time." He whispered to himself as he slowly pushed the door open and crawled out on his hands and knees as he looked around the kitchen.

"I can’t believe she’s still looking for me. Usually Tom would just give up at this point." He mutters as he walks over to a nearby mirror.

His azul blue fur was almost completely covered in a dark brown color, splotches of mud were splattered all over his face and torso and his red sneakers looked more like short, brown boots.

'Oh man, that hose really did a number on me.' He winced as he tried to pick at the dry mud stuck in his arm fur. "Oh great not only is it not coming off, it's starting to itch." He growled as he started to scratch his face.

He tiptoed out of the kitchen and in front of the staircase, listening to the cabinets being opened and closed. ‘I know I heard Tom's voice out here, I wonder where he went? Maybe he's with Ozzie outside, he was pretty filthy out there...well no thanks to-.' He pauses as he hears the bathroom door open and sees the light pour into the hallway.

He quickly ducks as he goes to hide behind the wall, peeking his eyes around the corner and watching Maddie’s shadow on the wall.

“You going somewhere?”

He lets out a little gasp as he slowly turns his head and sees Tom standing right behind him, looking down at him while his hands on his hips and a amused look on his face.

“Uh.....no?” He said sheepishly as he stood up straight and faced him.

“Hmm, if that’s the case then why are you hiding from Maddie after she said you needed to take a bath?”

He shrugged his shoulders as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “I....just...don’t feel like taking one?”

Tom gave an unamused look before lowered himself onto one knee. “Listen bud, I’ve been in the same boat before when I was younger.”

“Rolling in mud?”

“Uh no, not wanting to take baths.”

“Oh”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to take one since I still felt ‘clean’ even after a few weeks of not bathing, but my parents were starting to notice that I hadn’t been smelling clean as usual and it got to the point where they stood outside the bathroom door and would checked if I washed throughly.”

The teen’s eyes widened in shock as he listened to the story. ‘I don’t even want to know where they checked’.

“But it’s also important that you do bathe on average, do you realize how many germs you have on your body right now from all that mud?”

He rubbed his fingers against his palms as he thought about that last statement. ‘I mean, he kinda has a point with the whole germs thing, but how much on average does he mean?’

Meanwhile, Tom continued to wait for the hedgehog to give him a answer, only to not receive one seeing that he still thinking about it. Knowing he wasn’t going to get one soon, he simply grabbed Sonic around his torso and stood up, holding him away at arms length.

Alarmed by the sudden motion, he grabbed onto Tom’s arms and looked at him, confused. “What? Wait where we going?”

“Where do you think?” He said with an exasperated tone as he made his way up the steps.

Alarm bells went off in his head as he tried to pry the hands holding him loose, kicking his legs in the process. “Wait! I haven’t made up my mind yet!”

“Well I’m making it for you, you were thinking about that way too long.” He held him farther away from him to avoid being kicked by the flailing feet.

“But you never gave me a chance to say my part on this!” He voice rose in pitch as he continued to struggle his way out of the firm grip.

Stopping at the top of the steps, Tom held Sonic closer so he had direct eye contact. “So what’s your say on it then?” He replies nonchalantly with a blank face.

‘Oh he is not buying this.’ He dropped his arms as his eyes darted around the room. “That I....am.......not...umm...going to-.” He stopped abruptly as Tom continued towards the bathroom.

“Tom! Stop! You’re violating my rights of free speech!”

He let out a laugh as he made his way to the door leading to the bathroom. “Violating- it’s a bath, it’s not your voting rights.”

“It’s still my rights!” He yelled as grabbed onto the doorframe, holding onto it tightly. Tom sighed heavily as he stopped and continued to hold him.

“Sonic, let go.”

“No.”

“Seriously? Come on, just let go.”

“No!” He continued to hold on as he felt Tom trying to pull him away from the frame.

Maddie sat on the edge of the tub as she watched the two of them, she let out a small laugh as she turned off the faucet and continued to watch the current predicament.

Tom struggled to pry the hedgehog off the door frame as he tried move his arms to avoid be kicked. He glances back to see his wife, looking at him with a wide smile on her face.

“I could use some help over here.”

“Oh but it looks like you’re doing a great job with this.” She said with fake sweetness in her voice. He glared back at her before turning back towards the stubborn hedgehog.

“Ok I’m giving you one last chance to let go NOW.”

He lets out a ‘hmm-mmm’ noise as he continues to hang on.

“Alright, time to bring out the big guns.” He adjusts Sonic’s body to one arm and uses the other hand to tickle his side and under his arm.

Sonic lets out a high pitched laugh as he kicked his legs and lowered one arm to grab Tom’s hand, loosening his grip.

As soon as he lowered his arm, Tom gave one final tug and wrapped his arms around him, pinning him to his chest. “Gotcha!” He hissed as he felt Sonic’s head quills poke into his chest as he wiggled to get out the unwanted bear hug.

“That wasn’t fair! You can’t use someone’s weakness like that!”

"You should've let go when you had the chance, It’s not my fault that you’re ticklish there.” He walked closer to Maddie, who stood up and held her arms out.

He passed Sonic over to her, who has since given up on trying to get away and limply dangled as he was placed in her arms. “Your package was delivered as promised ma’am. I’m hoping there will be a tip involved?” He bowed as he put on a fake cockney accent and looked up at her expectantly.

She giggled as she adjusts her hold on the grumpy teen. “Oh you’ll definitely get more than a tip when we’re done with this.”

He gave a self victory pose as he quickly brushes off the dried mud off his uniform. “Yes! Love you honey!” He gives her a quick peck on the cheek as he rushes out the bathroom door and closes it behind him.

Sonic gave Maddie a look of confusion as he placed him down on the toilet cover and helped take off his shoes while he took off his gloves. “So, what do you guys even do in the bath with food anyway?”

He saw her eyes widen slightly before her face became neutral. “I'll tell you when you’re older.” She said in a serious tone.

“Uh, ok then?”

=======

“Alright, go on in.” She ushered Sonic into the bath as she got out bottles of body wash and shampoo.

“Ok.” He goes to put his foot in the tub, only to lift it out and face her. “Maddie, I can take the bath by myself.”

She raises her eyebrow at him. “Yes normally I would but since you kept trying to hide from me earlier, I feel it be best if I helped you this time. To make sure you completely clean.”

‘I had a feeling she wouldn’t leave me be after all that. Worth a shot I guess.’ He sighs in defeat and quickly placed his foot in the tub, only to feel his foot slip against the smooth floor and fall in head first with a splash. Maddie gasped as he leaned over the side, coughing slightly.

She pats his back lightly as he continued to cough. “Oh my gosh, you alright?”

He coughed once more before nodding. “Yeah, ugh some of it got up my nose.”

“Did you bump your head?”

“Uh no, I don’t think so.”

Giving a sigh of relief, She got on her knees as she poured some shampoo on a washcloth. “Well at least it’ll be easier to scrub all that mud off now.”

She started to scrub his head with the cloth as he splashed water on his arms. “Goodness, do you realize how much grass and twigs are in your quills?”

“Hmm no, I was too busy try not to drown via water hose from a golden retriever mastermind.”

“Oh, well you really have quite a bit just just nesting in there, there’s enough to build a bird’s nest in there.”

“What? I was just in the grass, how’d I get that much?”

“I have no idea sweetie, that’s exactly the reason why you needed a bath. You would have tracked all this stuff into your bed and heaven forbid if you had any insects on you.”

He freezes up and cringes at the thought of those creepy crawlers in his room, let alone his bed. “Oh god.”

“Exactly.” She removes the last of the debris and rinses some water on his head. She pours more shampoo in her hands and starts to scrub behind his ears.

Pausing from scrubbing his feet, he lets out a soft purring noise as he closes his eyes and leans into the touch. He starts to smile as she also scrubs underneath his chin.

‘Oh my god he’s like a little kitten.’ She bites back a laugh as she continued to wash around his face.

After making sure no more dirt was on him, she rinsed him off with the showerhead, got up and grabbed a towel while Sonic unplugged the drain. "How do you feel now after getting rid of all that mud?"

"A little cold, but refreshed! I kinda smell like apples or something."

"Green apple, it's a good scent to have after a nice bath." She held up the towel in front him as he got out and wrapped it around him, the towel being so big it managed to cover his whole body, including his head and eyes.

He lifts part of the towel off his face as she helps him dry off. "Hey Maddie?"

"Yes?"

She continues to dry off his head until she notices his hands were starting to wring together, making her stop and remove the towel from his eyes, looking fully at him.

"I...*sigh* I'm sorry I gave you a hard time earlier about...all of this. I'm sorry for being stubborn and not listening to you and...wait that's the same thing. What I mean to say is that I'm sorry-oh geez I already said that..um I just wanted to say-." He felt a hand gently lift his head up and saw Maddie smiling at him.

"Apology accepted, your just lucky you're too darn cute for me to be mad at you." She teased as she nuzzled his nose with his.

He lets out a giggle, blushing as she pulled away and helped dry off his arms. "I'm not that cute. I'm probably handsome than most kids, but not cute."

She stops and looks up at the ceiling as she ponders for a second. "Hmm you know what? You're right, you're not cute at all."

Taken aback, he looks up at her shocked at the blunt response. "Wh-what?"

"Nope, not even close."

'Why'd she say it like that?' He blinks as he feels a pout forming on his face.

"You...are....adorable!" She ends the statement by grabbing the unsuspecting teen and hugging him tightly with the towel protecting her from being poked by the quills, earning a grunt of surprise and discomfort from him.

"Ack! Maddie! Your hugging me too tight! I can't breathe!" He cries out as he tries to get out of the death hug.

"How are you talking if you can't breathe right now?" She starts to loosen the hug but still holding him.

He gets his arms free and pushes his hands against her shoulders, trying to make space. "I......don't know?" He makes a confused face as she starts to laugh as she hugs him tight again. "Aww even your confusion is adorable."

"Ow! Maddie! What is with everyone and wanting to hug me so much today?" She pulled back again, looking at him with mock serious expression.

"You can never have too many hugs in one day young man, well that and also one other thing." Before he could ask, she started to pepper small kisses all over his face and forehead.

He squinted his eyes shut as he moved his head from side to side, trying not to smile at the sudden affection.

"I saw that."

His ear twitches at her voice and peeks an eye at her. "Saw what?"

"Don't think I can't see you trying not to smile." She smirked playfully at him while poking his nose. "You don't want to admit it, but you know that you're adorable too."

"No I'm not! Your kisses just feel really weird on my face."

"They feel weird?"

"Yeah...they just do."

"But you were trying not to smile though, that must mean that you actually liked them?"

"Nope! I don't think that at all." He shut his eyes and turned his head away from her dramatically, crossing his arms.

"Oh, well I can think of one more thing that proves that you are completely adorable."

"What?" He says in a whining manner as he braces for her answer.

"Your laugh." She then starts to blow raspberries on his cheeks.

"Mahha-ddie! Stohop!" He struggled to keep a straight face as he let out a few giggles.

"Oh but you're smiling and laughing now, that's usually a sign if you really happy about something."

"Nohoho ihiht doesn't!" He places his hands on her face to push her away and pants as he grins victoriously at her. "Ha! Now you can't give me anymore kisses!"

She jerks her head away from his hands and narrows her eyes at him, who is still has his arms out. "Oh you think you're safe from that?"

His face drops as she quickly digs her fingers in his armpits and lets out a high shriek. "GAH! AHAHAH! MAHADIE NOHOHO!"

"What was that? I can't hear you, you're laughing way too much." She adjusts herself and sits on the floor crisscross, still tickling the squirming hedgehog.

"DOHOHNT TIHICKLE ME!"

"Really? Ok then I guess I'll go back to this then." She proceeded to blow raspberries in his neck while still wiggling her fingers under his arms.

"HAHAHA! NOHOHO! STOP IT! MOM STOP!"

Maddie halts her fingers and freezes as she hears Sonic, still laughing and panting as he sat in her lap. 'Did he just...?'

"Sonic?" He looks up at her, still giggling softly. "Did...you just call me mom?"

His breathing hitches as she sees his eyes widen and looks forward, away from her gaze. "I...uh...I don't know, I might have said it....I'm sorry." His voice lowers to a whisper as he looks down at his hands. 'Oh no, is she mad that I called her that? I didn't mean to, it just came out that way! Oh man this is so awkward-. '

He flinches as he feels her arms wrap around him again, this time softly. "It's ok sweetheart, you can call me mom if that's what you feel comfortable with. I'm not mad, just took me by surprise that's all."

Feeling the tension lift off his shoulders, he wrapped his arms over hers and they continued to sit together the bathroom floor.

"Wait, does this mean I have to call Tom 'dad' now?"

He hears her laugh as she releases him from the embrace. "Well, you don't have to, it's completely up to you. Besides it might make him feel more old if you do."

"Hmm, I'll think about it then." He jumps slightly at the sound of Ozzie's barking and Tom shouting coming from downstairs.

"Oh dear, we better go see if he needs help."

He wraps his arms around her neck as she got up. "Knowing him, he probably does."

She shakes head as she gives him a final kiss on the forehead, putting the towel in the clothes bin and carrying him out of the bathroom.

As she walked down the stairs, she could hear scuffling coming from the living room and turned the corner to see Tom trying to dry off/wrestle Ozzie on the floor.

"Uh Tom? You need any help?" He glanced up to see the two of the looking amused at him.

"Heh, no I'm doing great with this big guy. He just needs to keep still for more than 10 seconds!" He said, falling on his stomach as Ozzie ran away and started to roll over all over the carpet.

Maddie makes an exaggerated face at Sonic, who muffles a laugh behind his hand. She places him on the floor as she makes her way over to Tom. "Well, I completed my task, but it seems like you still having trouble with yours."

Tom brushes off his partially wet shirt as he gets up. "Yeah, luckily this wasn't a contest, though I did hear a lot of laughter up there. What were you guys talking about?"

Maddie zips her lips closed as she glances over at Sonic on the couch, who mimics her as he crosses his legs on the seat, smiling widely at her. "It's nothing to worry about."

"I hope you guys aren't thinking about keeping secrets from me." He places an arm around her shoulders as she looks up at him.

"Either you can know what we were talking about or you don't get your reward tonight." She replies firmly, crossing her arms.

His head jerked as she finished, seeing her expression and backs down, raising his arms up in surrender. "Alright, alright you win this round."

"You bet I do." She kisses him firmly on the lips as she walks away. Tom sighs contentedly as she walks away, with Sonic clearing his throat getting his attention.

"Sooo I'm still confused on what eating food in the bath means. Is it something just adults are allowed to do?"

Tom blinks at him before walking over and clasping a hand on his shoulder. "You'll understand once you get married, get a job and have less time to enjoy certain things." He struts away while clapping his hands and bolting up the stairs.

The hedgehog furrows his brows as Ozzie comes over to him, still panting from rolling around and places a hand on the dog's head.

"Oz, I feel like being an adult is going to be a really weird experience."

#in case you were wondering Tom and Maddie had definitely had food invovled #maddie wachowski #sonic wachowski #tom wachowski #ozzie (sonic 2020)#sonic movie #sonic fanfic #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #long post #fanfic #fanfiction #asks #asks answered #niyana writes #wachowski family

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

The Crucible (part one)

[UK Tour]

not to be confused with the play The Crucible...this is yet another Carrie AU because i still have ideas, but i swear everything is wrote differently! and Kitty is the good guy (Sue) because Jodie!Howard would NEVER. okay, well, she’s a little mean at first, but she gets better!! also there is Katanna, which kills me to write, but i love imagining Anna as Tommy. and Jane is insane! so...enjoy!

oh also Hans Holbein is the principal lol

Word count: 7380

TW: The r-word is said once, blood, bullying

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-Hail of Stones-

“What can you tell me about Joan Seymour?”

Eighteen year old Katherine Howard leaned back in her chair, arms crossed firmly over her chest, eyes set on the detective in front of her. He was a grizzly man named James Mulaney, with wide shoulders, neatly combed brown hair, and hazel eyes. He looked at Katherine like he wanted to open up her brain and read through all her thoughts and memories.

“What do you want to know?”

“Was she a friend of yours?” Mulaney asked.

“Joan didn’t have friends.” Katherine answered without a beat.

Mulaney quirked a brow. “Really? When I was in school, even the losers had birds of a feather.”

Katherine scoffed at his assumptions and gazed down at the doughnut she had been given when she came in for questioning that morning. She scratched at crusted pieces of glaze with her pointer finger; the paint on the fingernail is vibrant pink and peeling. She had chewed off most of her nails during all the funerals that had filled the past two weeks.

“Joan wasn’t a loser,” She said. “She just didn’t belong.”

“And why is that?” Mulaney pressed.

“It’s not rocket science.” Katherine said. “We are talking about Joan Seymour.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to belong.”

“Everybody wants to belong,” Katherine said. Her dark amber eyes flickered as she lifted her head to stare at Mulaney. “Anybody who tells you they don’t is lying.”

------

The early afternoon was glorious. Sunbeams glinted off dewdrops clinging to blades of emerald green grass and the sky was a clear bright blue for once, letting the sun rain down on the high school campus.

And that was exactly why Miss Aragon’s fourth period gym class was inside.

The sound of splashing echoed loudly throughout the indoor pool, the smell of chlorine thick in the air. Girls donned in black or blue or red one piece swimsuits and black swim caps were wrestling and romping in the water as they waited for the ball to be served so they could continue the game of water volleyball. Miss Aragon, clad in a yellow and black tracksuit and her usual shiny silver whistle, watched over them from the sides of the pool, eyes sharp and focused.

“Come on, ladies!” She shouted. “Let’s try to keep it in the air three times, alright?”

Katherine got into a defensive position, eyes narrowed into slits and hands out. Her sharp-tongued, gremlin-like older cousin, Anne Boleyn, got into the same stance at her side and flashed her a smirk before lunging up to hit the ball that flew over the net. Katherine copied her when it came back over, and this process repeated until a girl on the other side missed and the white ball landed in the water with a loud plop.

“Yeah!!” Anne cheered. She and Katherine locked hands and twirled around in the water, giggling. “We are graduating this year, Miss Ar-a-gon!!”

Katherine leaned her head back and saw Miss Aragon chuckling fondly at their antics. She signaled for the girls to get ready and Katherine and Anne parted, ready to get their team another point.

But they didn’t.

Because the ball was hit far and the girl who was supposed to be occupying the back space was standing at the edge of the pool, dry as can be, and staring dumbly at the ball that splashed below her.

All eyes turned to Joan Seymour, the frog amongst swans.

She was an undernourished, stunted mess of a human being. Lanky and gaunt, with a narrow chest, hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes that were so bright ice blue that they seemed to glow in the overhead light. Her limbs were too long for her thin body, while her body was too thin for her long limbs. She was pale, like she rarely ever went outside during the day and bathed in moonlight instead, and wiry platinum, almost white, blonde hair fell around her lean skull. The black swimsuit she wore did not compliment her frame very well, hugging tightly around pudgy thighs and forearms with tufts of brown pubic hair sticking out from the crotch area, and the lack of protection revealed dozens of cuts and bruises in various stages of healed to prying eyes. There was one in particular on her left shoulder that was crusted in bubbles of dried pus and blood; it made Katherine’s nose curl in disgust when she saw it.

Joan was only 15, Year 11 and two grades below Katherine, but Katherine had known her since Primary School. Everyone did. Everyone knew about Ol’ Prayin’ Joan and her crazy mother. And that made her a target for even the lowest of losers. There’s been years worth of teasing and messing around with this girl. School days full of pinching and tripping and knocking books over. Peanut butter smeared in too-light-to-be-natural hair when she was sleeping in Algebra and inappropriate notes slipped into her binders. Scorpions put into her shoes, thumbtacks poised on her chairs, lunches dumped over her head. Dozens of games created to see who could make Joan cry first or who could make Joan get down on her knees and pray to God or who could dunk Joan underwater the most at summer camp. Slurs and rude nicknames were tossed her way, worms were put in her food, and spit was spat on her as she passed by. People laughed when she presented, people begged the teacher to switch partners when they were put into a group with her, people destroyed her work so she would have nothing to turn in when she got to certain classes.

Everyone made fun of Joan Seymour, and if she knew this, she never did anything about it.

Joan lifted her head like an impeded cow and blinked slowly at Miss Aragon, who was frowning pitifully at her. She looked back down at the ball, then the water, and then she took a shuffling step backwards, hugging her arms tightly around herself.

“Do you think she’s retarded?” Maria de Salinas not-quite-whispered to Katherine and her friends. Her golden brown eyes were scrutinizing Joan with great distaste that she didn’t bother hiding on her face. At her side, bleach-haired Bessie Blount giggled softly. Katherine shrugged.

“I bet she is,” Impish Maggie Wyatt said, glancing back at Joan, who was slowly inching further and further away from the edge of the pool. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Does she never take that necklace off?” Bessie said, staring at the silver cross necklace coiled around Joan’s gangly neck.

“Doubt it,” Maria said.

��I bet she thinks she’ll die if she does,” Maggie tittered. “That God will strike her down if she does such a disgraceful thing!” And then she does a dramatic reenactment of what that would probably look like and the group burst into giggles. Miss Aragon glanced at them, eyebrows furrowed.

“Alright, let’s get Joan Seymour in the game.” Their coach announced, much to everyone’s dismay. But nobody looked more dismayed than Joan, who gave Miss Aragon a miserable, fearful look. Miss Aragon frowned at her again. “Sorry, honey. You can’t sit on the sidelines forever.”

Joan stared nervously down at the water, then glanced one last time up at Aragon. When she must have realized that she wasn’t getting out of this, she put on her swim cap and slowly eased herself into the pool, pulling her arms close to her chest and cringing at the temperature. The other girls watched her impatiently.

“Good,” Miss Aragon said, smiling at Joan proudly. “Joan, serve.”

The ball is tossed to the girl and she goggled at it with wide pale blue eyes. Tentatively, she picked it up and held it as if it were a fragile dragon egg.

“Yeah, Joan!” Anne suddenly cheered. “Go, Joan!”

Katherine and her friends glanced at her and then began to mimic her. Joan blinked at them in delight.

“Come on! Do it! Serve it!” Anne encouraged. “Throw it!”

Joan shook herself out, tossed the ball up, and hit it directly into the back of Katherine’s head.

“OW!!” Katherine yelled. She reached around to rub the back of her head and glowered at Joan as giggling exploded around her. “What the hell?” She snapped her head to her cousin. “Oh, hahaha! It’s so funny, Anne!”

Everyone in the pool was laughing, now. Joan watched them in silence for a moment before giggling softly, too, and smiling apologetically. She looked just like a stupidly oblivious bovine.

“You eat shit.” Anne said to her, throwing the ball to Maria.

Like that, Joan shut up. Her smile contorted into a frown in an instant and her eyes lost the slight glow they had before. She lowered her head and didn’t raise it for the rest of the class as she tried to sink into the background.

Katherine’s team ended up losing the game seven to sixteen because the other side kept hitting the ball to Joan, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hit it back or make it over the net. Everyone kept glaring at her and shooting barbed remarks her way each time she missed, and Aragon did her best to ward them off, but not even their coach could catch every insult hurled her way.

“‘Oh, I can’t serve the ball! I can’t serve the ball!’” Maggie cried woefully in an awful imitation of Joan’s voice. She whacked the top of Joan’s head with her knuckles as she waded by. “Serve the ball, stupid!”

Joan flinched back so hard she nearly submerged herself in the water. She backed against the pool’s rough edge, watching everyone climb out from the ladders like a plaintive calf waiting to be herded into the slaughterhouse. Anne wrinkled her nose at her, while Katherine rolled her eyes. The girl was so pitiful that it was just pathetic.

“Come on, Joan,” Miss Aragon said, peering down at the misfit child. There was something in her voice that gave the impression that she spent a lot of time managing this particular student. “Hit the showers.” She tilted her head at her, noticing creases of affliction on Joan’s face. “Is everything alright?”

“M-my stomach…” Joan whispered so quietly Miss Aragon almost didn’t hear her over the sound of chitchat and splashing water. “It hurts…”

Miss Aragon frowned. “I’m sorry, Joan.” She said. “You can go to the nurse after you get changed? I can write you a pass if you’d like.”

Joan shook her head, then slowly walked over to the ladder and squabbled out of the pool. She was shivering instantly from her lack of body fat, despite it being quite warm inside from all insulation, and awkwardly shuffled her way to the locker room.

Lavender and rose-scented steam billowed throughout the showers. White bars of soap were passed between hands and loud conversations were made over the sound of sputtering water from stall to stall. Wet swimsuits were peeled off and replaced with regular school clothes, jewelry, and expensive shoes. Girls pinched and poked one another playfully, but no one dared to touch the gangly, emaciated girl who stepped inside and looked around dumbly.

Joan passed everyone with a lowered head, not daring to look up as she hobbled her way to the showers. She shifted from foot to foot anxiously, white-knuckling a cream towel against her flat bosom. Prying eyes watched her with cruel interest.

A stall opened up and Joan slipped inside. She shed her tight bathing suit, dropping it onto the tile floor with a soggy blop. She grasped the faucet handle and cranked it until the shower head groaned and shot out a torrent of hot water.

Slicking her hands with white soap, Joan began to tentatively scrub her body clean of chlorine. She rubbed her palms down over her flat stomach, sensitive chest, and around her narrow neck. Her nails raked over her breasts; the nipples were dark and dull and warm. An uncomfortable shiver went down her spine when she scratched them. Mama said touching the body like this was wrong, and she could see why. It hurt to put too much pressure on them, like her breasts may burst like balloons if she pressed too hard.

Joan shook herself out, scattering droplets through the shower. She moved her hands down, caressing her waist and lower stomach, where an odd, uncomfortable pressure has built up. She prodded the area gently and winced when bolts of pain lanced through her. She shifted, hunching her shoulders in, and gritted her teeth until it passed.

But it didn’t. Not exactly. The sensation dulled, but she could still feel it churning in her lower belly. Joan frowned, cupping her hands over her abdomen and taking a few deep breaths. Then, slowly, she started cleaning herself again.

Down her stocky legs, over her knobby knees, and in between her flabby thighs. She shuddered, chewed fingernails brushing across her private region, and pulled her hand back quickly.

And saw that her fingers were red.

Joan stared with wide eyes. Red. Blood. On her fingers. Blood.

She extended her other hand and reached down, scooping out another fingerful, just to make sure…

And there it was. Blood. Even more. It was thick and globby and had clotted chunks in it. The smell was sickly sweet. Joan began to tremble.

Her blood. She was bleeding.

Beads of red bubbled out from pale pink vaginal lips like the early blooming of spring flowers. They squeezed free out of the wrinkled, pruned folds, drooling lazily down quivering thighs. Clouds of crimson billowed through the water when the streams hit the tile and ran into the next stall where, unbeknownst to Joan, Maggie was just finishing drying off.

Maggie noticed the river of bloody water with a jolt and reared back into the far corner of her stall. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and stood up on her tippy toes to peer into the neighboring shower compartment, where she saw Joan trembling, gasping, and staring down at her shaking hands, which were stained with blood.

Click, went the pieces in Maggie’s head, and a wicked smile curled on her lips.

Hopping over the reddened Rubicon, Maggie bounded out of the shower and to the locker room, where Katherine, Anne, and her other friends chatted over their prom plans in their bras and underwear. They paused and turned to Maggie when she skidded to a halt in front of them.

“Guys,” Maggie whispered, “Joan’s Aunt Flo is in town.”

The other girl’s eyes lit up.

“Really?” Katherine asked with great interest.

“Yes!” Maggie answered. “She’s, like, freaking out!”

“Oh my god!” Anne shouted in glee.

“Come on!” Maggie urged them.

In a herd of bras and underwear and towels and bobbing breasts, the entire class bustled into the shower area and surrounded the stall where the blood was coming from. There, they found Joan on her knees, gasping and wheezing and panting. Her weird pale eyes were wide and shiny and she was shaking so bad it looked like she was having a seizure. Clouds of blood ripple around her folded legs. Clots are caught in her bush of brown pubic hair and Bessie made a mock throwing up gesture. Joan looked up at all of them in shocked bewilderment.

“Got your period?” Maria called, peering into the stall. They were all standing up on their toes or on stools to peek into the stall.

Joan blinked rapidly, her breath hitching. She lifted her hands slowly, watching them drip blood, and then raised them to the spectators, making a strangled sound of distress. Katherine and Anne exchange looks.

“Uhhhnnnh?” Joan lowed wretchedly. She was like a confused cow calling for help.

She’s fifteen... Katherine was thinking. Surely she knows...

“Know what this is?” Anne asked, waggling a tampon in the air.

“She thinks it’s lipstick!” Bessie giggled. All of their minds flashed back to that story, when Bessie had told them she had walked in on Joan dabbing the tip of a tampon against her lips like she was applying gloss. Bessie said it had been the stupidest, funniest, but also most pitiful thing she had even seen before.

“Plug it up, bitch!” Anne hurled the tampon at Joan and it struck her in the head before falling into the bloody water accumulating throughout the stall. Joan flinched, but didn’t grab it. She just continued to shiver and hyperventilate and make choked, bovine noises. Frustration boiled in Katherine’s veins.

“It’s you period, you stupid cow!” Katherine shouted furiously. “You’re bleeding everywhere! Clean yourself up already!”

They expected Joan to scream, to cry, to gobble helpless pleas to God, but she didn’t. Joan just hunched in on herself and began to shake harder. She didn’t even clasp her hands together like she was praying or anything.

“PER-iod!”

It was impossible to discern who let out the first cry; Katherine thought it may have been Maggie, but it didn’t matter because once was enough.

Everyone began to join in.