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tobiosmilktea · 3 years

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amor vincit omnia — akaashi keiji

↪︎ O2. I CHOOSE YOU

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a/n: i absolutely hated rewriting this chapter after it glitched out the first time 😔

since the beginning of your first year of university, you and the rest of your lovely friends had been eating in the library, specifically the large round table secluded and at the very corner for every meal without fail, and nobody really cared to stop you guys for two reasons. For one, no one really goes into that corner of the library that only collected dust, and two, you guys were there so often that you all befriended all the librarians to the point they stopped coming by to tell you guys to leave and eat in the canteen instead.

you were placed between daichi and kiyoko, counting the seconds by as they worked diligently in silence, munching on their lunch in the process. daichi tapped on the keys on his laptop rather quickly, the impact of each click being unnecessarily loud while kiyoko was cross-referencing documents and highlighting lines of never ending texts in a nice muted green color. tsukishima, on the other hand, was too preoccupied reading his book. eyes completely glued to the novel resting in his hands as he readjusted his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. sugawara was out and about somewhere in the sea of towering bookshelves to find a book to read, mentioning something along the lines of—and you quote, ‘something to quench his thirst for entertainment.’

it was honestly just his fancy way of saying that he was bored out of his goddamn mind. perhaps you were the same, eyes wandering your surroundings for something, just something to capture your attention for a few moments. it wasn’t at all difficult, actually, considering how pretty your university was.

higashi university had always been your dream college. not just by its blatant aestheticism, but the academia as well. with tanaka and nishinoya being your main friend group during your high school days, it feels rather refreshing being surrounded by other incredibly smart individuals than constant brain rot.

(no offense to tanaka and nishinoya, you loved them to pieces)

and as your mind began to wander, so did your gaze. from admiring the library’s interior to looking out the window, your lips slightly curved down into a frown.

it was only noon and the clouds were already darkening the sun’s piercing rays that usually shone through the large domed windows of the library. it was going to rain soon and for a couple hours as well.

it’s quite peculiar to think about now after you received that damned chain letter. earlier this morning, while shoving on your wool sweater and trousers, that even the weather app on your phone didn’t show any signs of inclement weather until an hour after you texted your group chat in an awkward panic.

you didn’t really pine yourself to be so superstitious. if anything, you were the complete opposite, and yet, here you were worrying over the sound of rumbling thunder in the distance.

tsukishima lifted his gaze from the words printed on his novel as he pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. he flickered a look at you, a smirk appearing on his visage the moment he noticed the way you stared at a single drop of rain on the window, flowing down rather slowly.

that stupid letter of yours was still in your hand as well. he watched you fiddle with the corners, careful not to mess with the mahogany red wax stamp that sealed the envelope.

“have you thought about which poor, unfortunate soul you’re going to give it to?” he asked, smirk still annoyingly evident. this was the third time he asked you this question in a span of three hours.

you flicked your eyes towards him coolly before it fell onto the letter in your hands. "ask that question again and i’ll be sure to send it your way, tsukishima.”

“i’d like to see you try, honestly.” he muses, “your best bet is probably slipping it into one of your professor’s inboxes. maybe professor oshiro, by chance?”

“please,” you snort, “she only gave me one failing grade that i eventually made up in the end.”

“just give it to a random stranger,” daichi cuts in, eyes still glued to his laptop as he typed his fingers away. dark circles dusting his eyes like a dark shadow. law school was certainly doing its works on the likes of poor, poor sawamura daichi.

he shrugs, evidentially fatigued when he meets your eye.

“that way your grades won’t have to potentially deal with the consequences if your professor finds out.”

you nod, humming in response. that would be terrible.

sugawara then emerges from the maze of bookshelves, holding up a book towards you with a smile on his face. “found one,” he beams, tossing it atop the messy table.

you reach for the book as sugawara pulls out his chair whilst he mutters something to his daichi about his whereabouts.

“wuthering heights?” you say the title aloud and capture kiyoko’s attention along with it.

“yeah. have you guys read it?” the silver-haired boy asks. he takes your opinions quite seriously knowing how much of an avid reader you and kiyoko were. whenever he needed book recommendations or opinions, he would always go to you two.

you nod, “i quite liked it.”

“some parts tend to be slow, though.” adds in kiyoko, taking the novel from your hands and flipping through the pages briefly before slipping back over towards sugawara. “it should keep you occupied for a few days.”

you chuckle slightly, giving her a look. “you forget how slow suga is at reading. the few days it takes us to finish a book is a good month for him.”

offense coated sugawara’s expression as he lets out a scoff in retaliation. “don’t you have a chain letter to give to someone?”

“she’s stalling,” tsukishima teases.

“am not!”

“then want to go give it to a random stranger then?”

your brows draw together, “right now?”

tsukishima nods as he stuffs his belongings back into his bag. “i’ll come with you for shits and giggles.”

a sigh escapes you, rolling your eyes as you take a look at the letter one last time and wanting to laugh at yourself for doing all this. a full chain letter from front to back, with the first quarter of it is you viciously apologizing that you had to do this in neat cursive handwriting, all written in fifteen minutes.

you gave in.

“fine,” you huff as you grab your own bag as well.

“good luck,” kiyoko muses up at you as you squeeze past her.

tsukishima waits for you until you’re by his side, strides shorter than usual just to match your pace as you two navigate through the labyrinthine arrays of bookshelves. the letter was in your hand, all small and discrete for a quick and easy delivery to an unsuspecting victim. your palm perspired slightly as you kept your eyes open, scanning for an easy person as you were aware of the possible repercussions.

you could easily get in trouble for doing something this childish, but you were in too deep already.

“hurry up and find someone, we’re almost at the entrance already.” tsukishima hisses in a harsh whisper.

“i’m working on it!” you hiss back.

“working on what?” a familiar voice asks then, capturing both you and tsukishima’s attention, whipping your heads towards the owner.

kuroo combed his freehand through his hair while he had two textbooks tucked under his other arm. he gave you a smile.

you never really got close with kuroo despite meeting him at nationals a few years back. despite only talking a few times due to him being good friends with tsukishima, you knew he was nice, incredibly smart in the sciences, and yet oddly awkward for someone as good looking as he.

not him, you thought to yourself, too nice.

“a little project,” the blond immediately answers just like that. “our majors tend to overlap sometimes, so we decided to partner up.”

“nice, i’m here with my friends to study as well.” kuroo states, causing your eyes to scan behind them for any evidence of their rambunctious selves.

like kuroo, you weren’t close with any of them either. if anything, they were just mere acquaintances on the precipice of becoming strangers. regardless, they all seemed quite nice too from your lack of interaction with them.

tsukishima says something in response then, igniting a short little catch-up conversation with an old high school friend as you lay distracted. your eyes flicked down to a study table in front of you, one of the chairs just a foot shy from you had a satchel hanging off of its side. the brown leather flap was wide open with its owner nowhere in sight as you gave your surroundings a once over.

carefully, you made your way over the table, pretending as if you were taking something out of your bag as kuroo was being distracted by the blond. neither of them were looking at you fortunately. as you placed your bag back over your shoulder, you slipped the letter right into the open satchel right at the same time–the envelope falling and disappearing into the depths of the bag.

“i’ve got to get to my next lecture,” you say to the two men, giving tsukishima a sly wink that it was a job well done. “i’ll see you guys around.”

checkmate.

fun facts! —

after kiyoko graduated and moved to tokyo, (y/n) and kiyoko kept in touch by sending each other cute handwritten letters

no one really is aware of that area in the back of the library since no one goes in that section often (this is uhh,, an important detail for later 😳)

taglist: (comment or send an ask to be added!)

@channiechanchan @elianetsantana @suhkusa @agaashesmilktea @dwcljh @duhsies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @kitsunetea @morpheus-rex @noeminemi @ntimacy @kurokenchan @kittyddandnyla @amboisez @komouri @stargirlara @itsmeaudrieee @immxnty @spicyshinsou @bombardia @yammerss @crescenttooru @tadashi-simp @sunanyaa @saikishairclip @marvel-ing-at-it-all @seijqhigh @normalisthenewnorm @allielozoya @peteunderoos @inflxxtions @peg-legz4 @kawafika @apollochjld @bap-kingdom @yongboxerrr @kenssister @galacticyoongs

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #akaashi scenarios #akaashi imagines #akaashi smau #akaashi fluff

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anika-ann · 4 years

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A Matter of Trust

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 5470 (oops)

Summary: You and Steve get to go to a mission together after a while; free drinks, partying, dressing-up nicely, stealing blueprints, the usual. You might even enjoy this as a couple.

Or… not really. Of course something would go awry. What else did you expect when wearing these killer heels anyway?

A/N: Written for or @wkemeup’s 4k writing challenge; congratulations! Well-deserved, no arguing here; shall the number continue to grow ;) Thank you for letting me participate!

Prompt: “Get in the closet, now!” (bold in the text)

Warnings: suggestive language, mentions of a kink, objectification, gun violence (brief), swearing (always), attempt at humour, fluff…?

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In your whole history as an operative of S.H.I.E.L.D. slash Avenger, time had never dragged so slowly as it did at this party.

Not even Steve’s presence cheered you up, mostly because he was busying himself with being everyone’s company but yours despite you two coming here together. For a mission. To work, you reminded yourself.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been there for the plan-making which had resulted in mutual agreement of Steve falling into the role of an honourable man whose infamous good nature prevented him from saying no to anyone who asked for a moment with him even if it meant leaving you alone. Which you supposedly mind, because you were here with him only to sneak in here and possibly get your five minutes of glory if he stood by your side long enough

And that was only an act for people who would have noticed you had arrived together.

For the others, you simply attended the party – a known cover-up for a place of business in arms-deal among the powerful men of the underground world – to have fun and seduce some rich businessman.

Sipping from the very same glass of champagne you had helped yourself with about an hour ago, you scanned the room in the search for the big boss. No, not Steve, but the man of the hour, the one whose blueprints you were meant to steal. The blueprints of a potentially large bomb that could kill tens of thousands if it went kaboom and released the nanoparticles of a dangerous virus to the air.

Lovely. Someone clearly had too much time on their hands coming up with crap like that only to make your life miserable.

“What’s a gorgeous lady like yourself doing at this party alone?” a velvety voice interrupted your dark musing and you vainly tried to cover the shudder running down your spine, cursing at the heat curling in your stomach.

Was this how he was talking to all the women who were throwing themselves at him tonight? Probably.

Had you been through that before? Yes.

Had you expected it to happen tonight? Sadly, yeah.

Was it bothering you? Hell the fuck yeah, even if you knew it shouldn’t and that it didn’t mean anything but Steve doing his job right.

You cursed mentally at your weakness and sighed out loud, spinning around to face the man.

“Waiting for a bulky blond supersoldier to come save her, naturally,” you hissed back, hating yourself for letting your jealously get the better of you.

Steve had never ever made you as much as doubt that you were the one for him, but that green bitch of an emotion still intruded on you tonight. You blamed the upcoming visit from aunt flow and the rush of hormones arriving with it and the fact you were itching to leave and go home just for getting rid of those ridiculously high heels alone.

You usually enjoyed wearing high heels, they gave you confidence as gazes of many men and women followed you, but the stilettos you had got chosen tonight could be used as murder weapon.

Ha, maybe you could try and sell them here, you’d make a fortune!

A frown appeared on Steve’s face, one of curiosity, regret and surprise when he registered your irritated tone.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded quietly, whispering to your ear intimately, only making the situation worse.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me, Captain Rogers. You’ll blow it.”

His eyebrow jumped ridiculously high and you realized what you said; you groaned both at his cheekiness and your stupidity.

“Blow our cover. Get your mind out of the gutter…” you muttered, putting some distance between the two of you for the sake of the cover.

“Maybe I’m feeling a bit reckless tonight,” he hummed back, his large palm resting on your lower back and you had to take a moment to swallow the blissful groan at his gesture. You loved his hands and the heels were not only killing your feet, but also you back, and the warmth radiating from his skin felt like heaven. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“You could have asked through the comm.”

“I wanted to check up on you personally. So?” he insisted and you couldn’t but sigh again, finishing your glass of champagne when you spotted Wagner, aka your target. You stepped away from Steve.

“Just tired. Want this to be over with. Go mingle, Steven.”

Pausing when you took a note of the harshness in your tone, you found his concerned gaze over your shoulder, whispering as softly as you could: “Thank you for your concern… Captain.”

You caught a glimpse of his discreet lopsided smile before turning away fully.

As you walked into the crowd, your long crimson dress curled around your feet with every step due to the provocative – read practical – slit ending mid-thigh. You hoped that the memory of watching you go would occupy his brain for some time while he talked to the flocks of both male and female admirers.

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Two hours. It took you another two hours to ensure you’d be safe sneaking into the Wagner’s office slash bedroom.

Of course his bureau would be his bedroom; men like him knew nothing about good old sleep hygiene, because the thought of their money distracted them from the evil they were doing to the world and had them sleeping like babies.

Using the key-card you had snatched about three minutes ago, you easily entered the over-decorated room.

Looks like someone’s compensating for something, you noted mentally, not losing any time and activating the no-prints mode on your gloves; one of the perks of working with Tony Stark. You were wearing the nanotech the whole evening and no one had a clue, because the particles were imitating your skin. You’d leave a print on the glass of champagne if you wanted; if you planned on rummaging someone else’s office, leaving a trace was a different case and you wouldn’t take any risks.

Systematically starting on the right from the door and working your way through everything that looked even remotely like a possible hideout, you didn’t forget to gingerly place your palm over the wall-length closet so Friday could run scans.

God, you loved that Tony Stark was on the side of the angels despite not quite being one himself; according to him at least.

“No signs of anything else than overpriced shirts, tuxedos and sets for dom-sub play,” the AI announced, barely audible, and you cringed. Not what you needed to know. “Cuffs are men’s size. Dominatrix set for a wom-“

“Enough, enough! Gee, Friday…” you muttered under your breath, not liking the visual of Wagner in the middle of enjoying-

Gross.

“No need for that much detail…”

Shaking your head, you moved onto the desk; an obvious, perhaps too obvious choice, which was why you wouldn’t place your bet on it. But hey, you could never be sure enough until you checked.

The sudden noise on your right had you drawing your gun at instant, your pulse skyrocketing.

The first thing you saw was a large frame of the newcomer and neatly combed blond hair. Your shoulders slumped.

Steve raised his hands as he moved from the doorway to stand inside, his face visibly relaxing at the sight of you searching another man’s desk.

The door clicked shut behind him and you forced yourself to breathe in, shoving your gun back to the holster placed on your covered thigh.

“Jesus, Steve!” you whisper-yelled exasperatedly and resumed your inspection, paying him no mind anymore. You had more important things to do at the moment; not that you wouldn’t do him; Steve in a tux was sight to behold, like hold onto THAT, literally get your hands on it, but you were here for a job.

“You weren’t responding!” Steve replied in the same manner, causing you to freeze.

He had been trying to contact you? And you couldn’t hear him? But-

“Oh,” you let out intelligently, doing the math easily. “He must have some sort of a jammer in here, makes sense.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I’m fine,” you stated, shutting one drawer, opening another. “How did you even ge– never mind. You should go-“

“Don’t wanna cloooose my eyeees!”

The distant howl-like shout from the hall turned your blood into ice, your eyes widening.

You had studied Wagner the whole evening; you’d recognize his voice anywhere, even when he was singing ‘I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing’ out of tune.

“-before THAT happens! Shit!”

As you pulled out your phone, the live-feed from the camera in the hall offered you a marvellous view.

Two gorilla-men were dragging Wagner towards his room as his feet barely kept him standing. Gorilla number three was walking behind them just in case that their boss’ face decided to meet the floor despite the support offered to him.

Shit, shit, SHIT-

Closing the drawer you were currently scouring, lips pressed into a tight line, you eyed Steve; he was already bracing himself for the fight, caught in the middle of the process of discarding the jacket to have wider range of movements.

You whined internally – firstly, what a sight, it would always make you weak in knees no matter what. Secondly, if this was to end in a fight, the chances were that you’d make it out without the plans and you had spent the night in those killer heels for nothing.

Oh no, you don’t-

“Cause I’d miss ya’ BABY—I don’t wanna miss a THIIIIING!”

Scanning the room once more, your mind running hundred miles a minute, your gaze fell on the huge-ass closet of which contents you had learned more than you’d like to.

Your lips parted in surprise at the plan forming in your own head.

This is a terrible idea.

It’s yours!

Exactly.

Yeah, okay, fair enough-

NO TIME TO COME UP WITH A BETTER ONE-

Steve was kind enough to follow when you grabbed his arm and pulled him from his spot in the middle of the room, though he did shoot you an utterly confused look.

You met his eyes and gulped when the singing approached the room way too quickly to your liking.

“STILL MISS YA’ BABY–“

“I need you to trust me now,” you pleaded in hushed tone, seeing Steve’s pupils go wide, covering the somewhat always warm blue of his irises.

“With what?”

Well, he asked for it.

“Get in the closet, now!”

A second of shocked silence followed your request before his brain made the connection and a scowl twisted his handsome face.

“What? No! I’m not leaving you alone to face them!” he raised his voice minutely and you covered his mouth to remind him that there were ears present, inching closer with each second passing.

“DON’T WANNA FAAAAALL ASLEEEEEEP-!”

“That’s exactly what you’ll do! That’s easier to play off.”

Steve very much not agreed if his eyes flashing with anger were anything to go by. His hand pushed yours away as he towered over you.

“I’m not leaving-“

“Look at the gorillas, Steve!” you shoved the phone to his face, unlocking the closet and throwing its door open. “One word from them to the rest of security and we’re screwed. Get in!”

Something between a whine, a groan and a growl – neither of those sounds sexy given the circumstances – escaped his lips and you assumed he had to admit to himself that you were right.

Taking a mental note of his resistance diminishing, you easily pushed him towards the limited dark space.

“CAUSE EEEEEVEN WHEN I DREAM OF YOOOOOOOU- THE SWEETEST DREAM WILL NEEEVER DOOOOOO-“

“We can still play it off toge-“ he tried to protest one more time but you pushed against his chest adamantly.

“And say what? This isn’t what it looks like? We just happened to choose your office to get freaky? I’ll handle it. Trust me.”

Steve gave you his unfairly disarming pleading look, his puppy eyesTM, but backed into the closet without another word, clutching his previously stripped jacket to his chest, because he did trust you.

Fingers on the handle, you hesitated when you realized what could ruin the charade you came up with and planned on pulling off.

Swallowing hard at the terrible idea, you gave Steve a tiny encouraging smile as you drew your gun and three knives from your leg holster/sheath and pressed it to his hands.

“Hold these for me.”

Swiftly closing the door, the last thing you saw was the horror on his face.

As the door swung open and you spun on your heels, he had no chance to react.

The loud song which had been reaching your ears for seemingly endless time died on Wagner’s lips and the third extra gorilla of a man behind him instantly pulled out his gun.

And aimed it right at your face. While you had nothing to defend yourself but your bare hands.

Yay.

“Who are you?!” he thundered and like a charm, Wagner stood straight so the other two guards could have you at gunpoint as well.

Yet, what sent an unpleasant shiver through you was Wagner’s sleazy eyes travelling from your killer heels to your ankles, up to your partly exposed thigh, your waist and finally settling on your cleavage, not bothering to make it higher to look into your eyes.

So. He’s a pig. Shocker.

For once, you were grateful. Not that he was supposed to know that.

A sweet innocent smile spread on your lips as you eyed the weapons with what seemed to be almost a satisfaction, you hoped.

“A government agent, of course,” you said, voice pitched just a bit higher than usual. You felt a bit sorry for Steve at the moment; you were well-aware of nearly giving him a heart attack by saying that. “I work with Captain America.” Scratch the ‘nearly’. Poor Steve’s heart. “I was given the task to scour this place… very… thoroughly.”

Your tone husky now, your teeth bit down on your lower lip, your eyes watching Wagner with faked interest. He hypnotized your red lips before shaking his head as if snapping from a haze.

“They told me you’ve been a bad, bad man. I kept my eye on you all evening,” you admitted, not even having to lie.

The following smile you sent his direction was perhaps too predatory, but that could work. For him anyway.

“Who do you work for?!”

The guards were not as easily fooled as their drunk boss apparently; then again, you hadn’t expected them to.

“Oh. A.R.M.O.R. America-Related Manpower Operatives and Reinforcements.” God bless their hearts if they were going to buy that, seeing you were obviously trying to imitate the SHIEILD acronym. Very poorly. Playing it up, you let a giggle escape you before your expression turned serious, guilty even. “Oh. Probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s only my first time, you see. I finished my training few days ago.”

“Mm… look at ‘dat…” Wagner drawled and nope, it had nothing on the way Steve spoke when his accent peeked through while he was drunk on Asgardian liquor or lust alone.

Not relevant.

Wagner waved off his guard dogs, gesturing to one of them to approach you. “Why don’t we search you first?”

“Make it quick. I have…” you let your eyes trail over Wagner’s body, licking your lips when visibly lingering on his crotch, “more important tasks at hand. I came here for a mission. I’d like it to… finish.”

Two men instantly went to inspect you, patting you from the back, from the front, up and down, way longer and more thoroughly than necessary.

And they found what they were looking for.

One large palm harshly slipped between your thighs and you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to throw up at the pawing.

Gorilla One’s head snapping up to you, he pulled out the only weapon left on you, handing it to his boss and Gorilla Two grabbed your wrists and locked it behind your back, causing you to nearly hiss in pain.

“Oops,” you shrugged instead, burning gaze locked onto the man who was holding both your weapon and your life in his hands.

Your heart was beating frantically in anticipation, your confidence wavering as Wagner inspected the knife.

A slow smile spread on his face, his left eyebrow rising and then he finally, finally burst out laughing.

A confused ‘what’ sounded from behind you as the man’s utterly smashed boss howled in hysterical laughter.

“This—this is GOL-DEN!” he choked out, tossing the item to the very man who had handed it to him.

“It’s a stage-prop,” Gorilla One sighed.

And that it was. Thank you, Natasha Romanoff.

“Oh. So it’s fake.”

“Told you I have more important things at hand… so if—my hands could find some release please…” you asked sweetly over your shoulder. The very next second, you remembered just what was in the closet; and you weren’t thinking Steve. So you switched tactics. “That’s an order, actually. Let. Me. Go.”

“What the agent said, Greg,” Wagner beckoned, still chuckling, a new twinkle appearing in his eye, his face free of mistrust. Gorilla Two, Greg apparently, released your hands with reluctance. You didn’t bother thanking him. “And let her work. Off you go.”

When the gorillas wavered for few moments, you felt your impatience grow along with the pain shooting up your calves. Damn heels.

“Have you not heard your superior? Do I need to teach you some discipline?”

Wagner licked his lips, taking two wobbly steps towards you. It seemed to seal the deal for the guards, because they left the room.

“Someone went out of their way to get you… Must be my birthday then,” he grinned sleazily, his fingers twitching as if he craved to touch you, his hands stopping few inches from your hip. “I’m all yours, agent. Why don’t you go on with the… thorough inspection?”

Straightening your posture, chin stuck up, you nodded curtly.

“Of course. Sir, I’ll have to ask you to raise your hands to your head. Don’t move otherwise. I’m gonna feel for weapons now.”

“Yes, madam,” he responded breathlessly, but the second you started the process, his hand landed on your hip.

You stopped in your search, locking serious gaze with him. His pupils were blown, eyes dark with lust. His fingers squeezed, his gaze flickering to your mouth as you stood nearly chest to chest.

“Sir, this is highly inappropriate. I’m gonna have to ask you-“

His palm slid to your bottom, fingers digging into the flesh.

You narrowed your eyes, not even having to pretend you didn’t like that. You slapped his hand away, earning a sly grin. He didn’t try again immediately, which you were endlessly grateful for. Instead, he obediently raised his arms so he looked ready to be either searched or crucified.

Oh, you’d gladly.

“Sorry, Agent, I couldn’t help myself. What is such… pretty face like yourself doing in business like this?” he questioned in a husky voice and at that moment, you knew that your time spent around Tony Stark had taken its toll on you, because you simply couldn’t resist that pass.

“Stealing intel from pricks like you,” you mumbled under your breath, giving him just enough time to realize something was wrong.

A fraction of second later, the edge of your hand hit his throat, bruising his larynx and causing him to release a shocked huff of air. Kicking his knee next, your elbow met his face. A choked groan escaped his lips and you prayed to god he didn’t truly find his voice to call the guards.

You elbowed him in his right temple for a good measure, incapacitating his other knee so he nearly sunk to the floor. You slipped around him in one swift movement; your arm sneaked around his throat and cut out his airways.

Too stunned, he barely fought you and you felt all tension leave his muscles in no time.

Wagner’s body hit the ground as he slipped through your hands despite your best efforts. You winced at the thud shaking the floor; you quickly giggled loudly, playing it off as a drunken fun-time shenanigans. Just in case the guards were still at the door.

Satisfied and relieved when no one burst in with guns blazing, you walked to the closet, losing those damned stilettos on the way.

As soon as you unlocked the closet, Steve nearly hit you with the door when abruptly leaving the limited space. His eyes scanned you head to toe to find any sign of an injury, the flames in his glare fading only a bit when he found none.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” he whisper-yelled and despite the circumstances, you couldn’t but giggle, this time from honest amusement as he proved your earlier thoughts right.

There we go…

“Worked, didn’t it? Now help me since you’re here, he’s fucking heavy…”

Steve gave you an incredulous look, one promising a storm coming once you had the time for it, but he went to pick Wagner’s body up without protest.

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Steve was kind enough to have you use the bathroom first, so by the time he emerged – around half past three a.m. – you were already tucked in bed, waiting for him. His feet shuffled against the floor and he seemed utterly spent, as if he had been fighting an army from space.

You had both left the party unharmed; then again, you could imagine that socializing the way he had had to could be as tiring as an alien invasion itself. Also, he had been the one leave Wagner office-bedroom through the window, while you simply walked out of the room, winking at the guards who had indeed stayed by the door.

Steve slipped under the covers and turned off the bedside lamp, the warm light replaced by inviting darkness. Your eyelids felt heavy after the long night and you couldn’t wait to enter the blissful land of sleep.

Having Steve’s arms around you, a pleasant habit of his, you knew you’d be out in no time, but you made the effort to shift further into his embrace, sighing in content and murmuring ‘goodnight’.

Already halfway out as soon as you closed your eyes, you still registered his arm winding tighter around your waist, his nose pressed to your nape. A deep inhale, then another, warm breath and his lips inching closer with each second.

Pulled out of your slumber, limbs already heavy and yet floaty, half-hearted question left your lips.

“You ‘kay?”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, his foot wedging between yours to pull you impossibly closer, his exhale long and wavering.

The tremble in it alarmed you, urging you to check up on his expression, on him. Willing your body to move, your heart skipped a startled beat when he wouldn’t let you turn around.

“That didn’t sound-“

His fingers wormed its way under your side laid on the mattress, flexing on the flesh of your waist.

“I’m fine….” Bullshit. “It’s just… you have no idea how hard it was to stay put while listening to all that, do you?”

Eyelashes fluttering in surprise, you took in his words, the subtle taste of fear in them, concern for how your abrupt plan could have easily go awry.

You allowed yourself a few moments before responding, forcing your memories, the images of you helplessly lying pinned to the ground after you saw a building explode – a building with Steve still in it – out of your mind.

“I… I think I can imagine. I’m sorry. I came up with an idea and thought it was for the best,” you whispered.

Honestly, you were still convinced that it had been the best thing to do given the circumstances, but that was momentarily beside the point.

“You literally told him you worked with me. I swear to God- I–“

Hearing the shift in his voice, a different emotion interfering – the pure horror, laced with exasperation – you softened your next words even further, running your fingertips over the back of his hand coaxingly.

Without any real hope, you attempted to turn in his firm embrace; this time, he reluctantly let you, your palms instantly trapping his miserable face.

“Hey. Hey, Steve, it’s fine. We handled it. We’re good. I just remembered Friday told me that he was a kinky bastard-“ Steve nudged you at the word and you fought hard the eye-roll he had coming at that “-and decided to use it.”

“You gave me your weapons and went against him empty-handed– never ever do that again,” he demanded, voice equally pleading and firm. You couldn’t help but nudge him back, because in your line of work, promising that technically equalled lying. “If there is any other option.”

You sighed, understanding all too well how he was feeling, willing to promise the latter to ease his mind. And to erase the worried wrinkles on his forehead. You kissed him there, the tension resolving under your loving gesture.

“Noted. I didn’t do that to get off, to have a high.“ Unlike some people, who seemed to do that sometimes. "I promise.”

“I know you didn’t,” Steve said, having the decency to add an edge of guilt to his voice, your verbal call for hypocrisy not going unnoticed. He kissed your left collarbone, tender and greedy, his lips sliding an inch lower to faintly feel your heartbeat and lingering.

“You know me well,“ you stated, running your fingers through his still damp locks, musing. "It’s… nice. Not as scary as I expected once.”

“Thanks…?” he murmured against your skin unsurely and you chuckled, a tired but oh so content sound.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, heavy-lidded eyes boring into yours, finding your lips with his to deliver a lazy but heartfelt kiss, one you felt reaching your very soul.

Shifting so your head was tucked under his chin, you nestled into the most comfortable position possible and Steve hummed into your hair, once more pulling your body against his, not an inch of space left between you. You melted into his warmth and finally, you felt his muscles fully relax as well.

As you once more walked the fine line of dozing off, a sudden thought caused you to snap your eyes open, your heart skipping a curious beat.

“Steve?” An absent hum was his only response, but encouraged by any reaction at all, you continued, knowing that you wouldn’t fall asleep without having the answer. “When you said it was hard… you weren’t referring to a… certain situation of yours, right? … or were you?”

Even with his body turning rigid, a rock-solid prove he was fully awake, he put effort into sounding sleepy.

“Just go to sleep, woman.”

“…were you?! Do you want me to… do some thorough inspection of y-“ you teased, fascinated, never finishing your thought as Steve’s large palm covered your mouth.

You resisted the urge to release the surprised laugh bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t that you thought Steve’s desire was ridiculous; you were just that amazed that it never came up; a true wonder given your line of work.

Momentarily incapacitated, you didn’t speak, but grazed your teeth over his palm so he would release you.

“Hush!”

“ ’khay-“ You muttered and he removed his palm, sleepy blue watching you in warning. You strained your neck to kiss the previously teased skin of his hand. “We’ll explore that another time. I’m beat. Still love you. Goodnight.”

With that, you curled back into his body, feeling the wide expand of his chest followed by an exasperated puff.

“Goodnight, you maniac. I love you too.”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Pins and needles in your toes ripped you harshly from the dreamland and you groaned quietly, rescuing your foot from the vice created by Steve’s own.

Shared sleep was blissful, releasing endorphins, the feelings of comfort and safety it provided irreplaceable and all that, but having your limb pinned to the mattress by a supersoldier was no joke.

You checked the clock on the nightstand; 8:27 AM. Sparing a glance at the man sleeping beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist, palm sprawled over our abdomen, you smiled despite the early hour.

Any other morning, you would have shaken off the cramp and scooted over to get even closer to Steve; however, determined to do something nice for him and make sure he was alright with what he had clearly considered an irresponsible stunt of yours yesterday, you thanked heavens for the unexpected get-up call and planned on wiggling out of Steve’s grasp.

“Where ya’ goin’?” he mumbled sleepily, the inches you had managed to put between your bodies erased as his arm pulled you back, his nose nuzzling your hair with a sigh.

“Bathroom,” you lied easily, lightly patting his forearm. “We’ve barely slept for five hours. You still have thirty minutes till your usual start of the post-mission day, you crazy-ass lark. I’ll be right back.”

“Mm-hmm… I’ll be waitin’.”

Chuckling silently, you freed yourself fully, this time without his protests.

“I’m sure you will, Steve,” you whispered, your smile widening when only ten seconds later, your words were followed by his quiet snort.

Grabbing one of Steve’s hoodies thrown over the backrest of a chair and sliding into it, you made your way to the communal kitchen instead. Your mission was to make Steve breakfast, secretly hoping you could talk him into skipping the usual run today and actually spending a day in bed. You thwarted big bad’s plans yesterday, for god’s sake, you both deserved a break…

As a reminder of the past events, a bruise the size of a boot on your thigh – which you didn’t remember getting – stared accusingly at you when you passed a mirror. You inconspicuously pulled the hem of Steve’s hoodie an inch lower in attempt to cover it. Vainly.

Rolling your eyes, you wondered just how nice you needed to be today; Steve had seemed more freaked out than anything else; nevertheless, the anger could come today and you rather if it didn’t.

Deciding pancakes, eggs and bacon were a safe bet, you hummed and opened the fridge.

It was the exact moment something caught you eye, a change in decorum; right above your head on the top of the fridge.

A big fat zero stared at you from the sign you had got Steve a while ago, a memorandum of your first first-hand experience of his utter recklessness on missions. Ever since then, you and the rest of the team made sure to have the board up-to-date, sometimes proudly and sometimes regretfully rewriting the number of ‘days without Steve doing stupid life-threatening shit’.

Now there was a zero. Your jaw went slack, your heartbeat skyrocketing.

It was not the only change on the sign.

Someone, and you had a very good idea who that might be (hint: he was sleeping in your bed), plastered your name over Steve’s.

Your smile froze on your lips and at that moment, you could have been knocked out with a feather.

Unbelievable.

Un-fucking-believable.

Shutting the fridge with a loud thud, bottles in its door clinking, you strode back to your shared room, sputtering curses.

The audacity of him!

When had he even- how had he done– all night— you had woken up before him-!

Forget pancakes, eggs and bacon; snark was on the menu today.

“STEVEEEEEN!”

You heard his laughter before you even reached the bedroom.

Looking at the bright sight of things, Steve being a little shit was a positive shift from his late-night anxiety. A brief smile crossed over your face before you stormed into the room, finding the blond culprit muffling his chuckles in a pillow.

Your pillow.

Jumping to the bed, you grabbed his own and opted to show him just how stupid you could get.

Because trying to take down a supersoldier in a pillow fight? The zero might have to stay on the board for one extra day.

As Steve’s carefree laughter echoed within the walls of your bedroom, filling you with pure joy, you decided you could live with that.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

If you’d like to know the origin of the board, I kindly point you towards my S.R. masterlist, specifically to Challenge Accepted…? Fair warning: it has more drama than this one.

Thank you for reading! ❤️

#kas4kwc #writing challenge #steve rogers x reader #marvel #fanfiction #mcu #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers reader insert #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #captain america imagine #avengers #avenger reader

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heartsunholy-a · 5 years

Note

☪ five times our muses almost hold hands, and the one time they do. (MORRIS/BETTY ENJOY)

Five Times Drabbles // Selectively Accepting // @tomorrcwsnews

Aka: Morris yanks Betty around by her wrist a lot and they end up protecting each other a lot more than either of them will ever admit

She can barely see where she’s going - which, admittedly, makes everything worse since she’s only lived in Manhattan for a week or two. But she knows the way to the butcher’s, at least. Problem is, she’s carrying too many packages. Chic said he would take them when he finished his shift but the butcher was close enough to her school that Betty figured she’d lighten her brother’s load - as much as a 12-year-old girl could. But the stack of groceries in her arms makes it difficult to navigate the busy Manhattan sidewalks.

It’s all a blur. The noise of a trolley car rings in her ears as an unseen hand reaches for Betty’s wrist and yanks her backwards, away from the curb. Her groceries fly everywhere but she’s safe. Still a little dazed, she moves to gather her belongings, sparring a look up at her savior. A boy, roughly her age. He makes no move to help gather her things and perhaps Betty’s confusion looks like something more ungrateful to him.

“I saved ya from being tomorrow’s headline. ‘Girl Crushed By Trolley.’ Yer welcome, by the way.”

Betty huffs in annoyance and brushes the dirt from her skirts as she stands with the stack of groceries back in her arms. Just as precariously stacked as before. She’s mostly annoyed he didn’t give her a chance to thank him in her own time - she would’ve. He was right, she very nearly could’ve been hurt. Instead, not appreciating his attitude, the Brooklyn-born blonde peeks around her belongings to shoot the boy a sugary sweet smile. “My hero,” she coos, insincerity dripping from her words. He scoffs and turns on his heel, clearly no longer interested in her thanks.

She misses Brooklyn.

ii.

Hiram Lodge is kind to them but Betty wonders if it’s only because of her friendship with Veronica. She had been friends with the heiress practically since moving to Manhattan and she sometimes forgets how powerful and wealthy the Lodges truly are. With Hal Cooper laid up with a leg injury he got at his construction job, Betty’s connection to the Lodges has been invaluable. She and Chic need jobs of their own and Hiram will ensure they find decent work.

He’s offering Chic a distribution job, showing him around the World’s distribution center, introducing him to Mr. Wiesel. Betty’s left to her own devices. Hiram’s already promised to introduce her to THE William Randolph Hearst, to be a secretary or maybe a columnist herself! So the blonde thumbs through a stack of papers, bound and ready to distribute. Well…if she tied them back up, what was the harm in taking just one to read for now?

She unties a bundle and moves to grab the paper on top when a warm, rough hand slams atop her own and Betty glances up. There’s…something familiar about this boy.

“And whaddya think you’re doin’, Blonde?”

…Oh god.

“Baking a cake, what does it look like I’m doing?” She’s not winning herself or Chic any favors with her sarcastic retort, but Betty swears she can hear her brother, Hiram, and Mr. Wiesel laughing in the background, so she doubts anyone else has heard her.

“It looks like you’re tryina steal from us,” he presses, hand still warm atop Betty’s but his gaze icy cold.

“Steal a paper, are you kidding? Do I look like I can’t afford a dime for a paper?” She’s no heiress like Veronica but her family is doing okay. Or at least had been but with Betty and her brother joining their sister in the workforce, they’d be fine again soon enough.

“Then cough it up. Put ya money where ya mouth is.”

“Ah! Betty dear, I see you’ve already met one of Chic’s potential work mates!” There’s something sly in Hiram Lodge’s smile and Betty’s cheeks burn at the implication. “Chic, my boy! This young man is Morris Delancy. He and his brother Oscar run most of the day to day operations here. And Wiesel, good man, this is Miss Betty Cooper, Chic’s youngest sister and my Veronica’s best friend.”

Betty uses the distraction to slip her hand out from Morris’s hold - with her paper clutched victoriously in her grasp. She turns back to Morris, that same sweet smile in place from years before. “Thank you for the paper, Morris. It was really very sweet of you to offer.” Her smile grows smug as Hiram escorts the Coopers to the New York Journal’s offices, away from the seething Morris.

iii.

Chic doesn’t take the job at the distribution center, instead opting for a security officer position at City Hall. But Betty finds herself back at the distribution center before she knows it. She’s chasing a story, with dreams of writing something other than a vaudeville review. The trolley workers are striking and she’s trying to get a quote from the Delancys, about rumors that they were paid to harass the strikers. As per usual, there are raised voices and arguing - Betty’s never seen eye to eye with the Delancey brothers - but Morris cuts himself off when his attention is stolen by a more pressing matter.

Rough fingers curl around Betty’s wrist, tugging her into the nearest alley. His other hand clamps against her mouth when she starts to protest. Only then does the blonde hear the noises from further down the block. She tries to plead with her eyes, assuring him that she’ll stay silent. Morris seems to get the message as he lifts his hand from her mouth. Betty peers around the corner, taking in the shadows. She’s only heard whispers and rumors like he’s some sort of boogeyman but she knows what’s going on. Snyder the Spider taking in an unsuspecting victim to the Refuge.

It’s sometime later when the sounds die down and Snyder doesn’t appear to be nearing their location. Morris’s grip on her wrist is loose, calloused fingertips barely brushing against her skin. He doesn’t protest when she pulls her hand out of his hold entirely.

“Um…Thanks. For that,” she murmurs, gaze flickering back to the street just in case Snyder was about to show up again.

Morris nods and it’s the most civilly they’ve spoken since they’ve met. “Yeah, well. Shoulda been home anyway, Blondie. Next time, I might not be here t’ save ya.”

Maybe it’s because she’s seen someone far scarier tonight, but there’s less malice in his voice than usual.

iv.

The newsies are striking and it’s Betty’s chance to get a real story published!

When the newsies successfully stop scabs from delivering the papers in their places, Morris and Oscar try and muscle them all out. Betty has no problems going toe to toe with them. She doesn’t mind being the thorn in their side if it gets her the story - especially not when they treat other kids like crap. They don’t really hit the girls back, just sort of cart them off to the side, but Betty contents herself to being a distraction, for some of the other boys to get somewhere safe.

Then the bulls arrive. And relief lasts for only a second before a nightstick swings back and strikes Romeo’s face. And then chaos returns, a hundredfold.

The next time Morris scoops Betty up, he doesn’t try to carry her to the circulation gate. He moves to an alley, a side street. A way out. And when he sets her down and Betty tries to rush past him, he stands his ground.

“For a smart girl, you’re really fuckin’ dumb. It’s suicide, goin’ back there!” His voice is loud but not louder than the heartbeat thumping in Betty’s ears.

“They need me! Not everyone’s a selfish prick like you!” She struggles, hands pressed against his chest, knees lifting but he stands strong, even when she can tell her blows are substantial.

One of Morris’s hands lifts - not to push Betty back, but to hold her in place. His hand around her wrist causes her to freeze. She’s confused and angry and the battle rages on behind them and she just wants to help, hates hearing the way the newsies are crying out, she needs to help!

“Cooper.”

It’s the first time Betty can ever remember Morris calling her by name. And there’s something urgent, almost pleading in his voice. “It’s gonna get ugly. You don’t wanna go back there. Use that big ol’ brain o’ yours and do the smart thing.”

Oscar approaches, corralling Katherine and Veronica - but he appears less like he’s shoving them and more like he’s guiding them. Veronica, with one hand twined in Katherine’s, reaches for Betty’s.

They’ll regroup. They’ll find the newsies who’ve already escaped. Snyder and Pulitzer may have won a battle but they haven’t won the war. Katherine and Betty have their articles to finish, after all.

Morris lets go of her wrist, his face unreadable, and he watches for a moment as the girls - hands clutching each other’s desperately - flee into the night. Betty swears his eyes haunt her dreams for the following nights as much as the fight does.

“Honestly Delancy, what would you ever do without me?”

“Stop havin’ so many damn headaches a day, pro’ly.”

She chuckles but doesn’t stop her work, wrapping cloth around bruised and bleeding knuckles. She hasn’t asked what Morris was doing before she found him, resting in an alley on her route home from the Journal’s offices. She’s learned the hard way she doesn’t always want to know the nitty gritty details of Morris’s life. Not like he’ll tell her anyway. They may have formed some sort of tentative truce now that the strike’s over but she knows the Delancey brothers don’t trust a nosy reporter as far as they can throw her. (And Betty wagers they could probably throw her a fair distance.)

But she can’t leave him like this, struggling to bind his injuries with his non-dominant hand. So she takes his wounded hand and rests it in her lap, her fingers working to tie her handkerchief as a makeshift bandage. The banter is short-lived for once and a silence falls over the pair as the blonde continues her work. Once completed, Betty pats his palm gingerly with her fingertips, as if to punctuate the end of her work. “There. That should hold for the night, at least.”

He curls his fingers experimentally but doesn’t remove his hand from her lap. Betty pretends not to notice.

“…Why?” Morris finally speaks up, gaze aimed at his bound hand and ignoring the blonde beside him. His question’s so quiet Betty barely hears it.

She too is silent for a long moment, only shrugging in reply at first. “I don’t hate you, you know. You and Oscar seem to think I do but…I don’t.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he grumbles and Betty finds herself chuckling softly.

“I mean, you’re an absolute prick, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not gonna just let you bleed out on the street. No one deserves that.” He falls silent and Betty risks a glance in his direction. Something she can’t quite name worms its way into her chest and she hates it but she doesn’t ignore it. Instead, she pats his palm once more before standing up. “…G’night, Morris.”

She almost swears she hears a “G’night, Cooper” as she returns on her path home.

vi.

She really hates having to do this. But the headlines had all been talking about the borough-wide streetlight repairs being done and she knows it’ll be dark on her walk home tonight. Chic’s home with the flu, meaning he can’t pick her up from the Journal’s offices. She doesn’t want to bother her father - he’s still easing back into work after his leg had healed and walking across town and back wouldn’t be good for him.

She leaves the offices while it’s still light and tries to rush to the World’s distribution center. She figures there still oughta be some of the newsies around getting their pay. Maybe she can ask one of them to escort her home. But when she arrives, all she sees is Morris, stacking empty crates. None of her friends, not even Oscar or Wiesel, though Betty figures they’re inside.

Shit. She glances at the horizon, watches the sky turn dark. She could probably make it to the Tribune to see if Darcy was still there, but…

“Hey! Beat it, Blondie. Ya ain’t got nothin’ better t’ do than hang out around here? All ya newsie pals ‘re gone.”

…Great. So much for getting away without dealing with Morris.

Betty sighs, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Don’t worry about it, okay? I was just trying to see if Jack or Davey or someone was still around and could walk me home. You know, since the lights are down and all?” Her gaze refocuses on the sky, trying to calculate how dark it would be by the time she walked somewhere else to find an escort home. “But forget it, I’ll go back to the Journal and-”

When Betty turns back around, words died in her throat at the sight of Morris’s outstretched hand and expectant stare. “…Are you serious?” she questions, skepticism all but dripping from her tone.

“D’ya see anyone else around here? C’mon Cooper, the sooner I get ya home, the sooner I can go t’ bed. You ain’t the only one who had a long da-”

It’s Morris’s turn to go speechless when Betty takes his hand, fingers lacing between his. Her smile is a little too smug to be aimed at someone doing her a favor. But Morris deserves it. He doesn’t really retaliate, only scoffing. He tugs on her hand, urging her to walk. And she does, falling in step beside the boy.

It’s dark enough to mask any heat that dusts Betty’s cheeks, allowing her to focus on the warmth of Morris’s hand in hers.

#messages #tomorrcwsnews #betty cooper » ic #connection » i know my skull bustin' arm could use a day of rest (morris delancey)#((hey hi uh?????? im fucked up????? these two got me fucked up????))#ship » i don't trust you but i want to ; please don't let me fall (betty and morris)#misc » i wanna scream 'i love you' from the top of my lungs (save tag)

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mascaracoffee · 6 years

Text

B.S. (Betrayal and Sabotage) ~Fred Weasley Imagine~

Fred Weasley x OFC (Elara Cross) Angst

"Eternal glory! That's what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament, but to do this, that student must survive three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks." Dumbledore’s words rang clear in Elara Cross’ mind, the words survive and extremely dangerous clearer than the rest. While the words were offputting to Elara, her boyfriend, a particular ginger with a knack for trouble, was starry-eyed in awe at the idea. Desperate to keep her boyfriend safe, Elara is driven to acts of Betrayal and Sabotage.

The Great Hall was a bustle of excited activity, a stark contrast to the dark, dreary sky outside, as potential champions stepped forward to enter their name in the goblet of fire. The goblet was ablaze with flames of blue, greedily lapping up the parchment the student’s fed it. My mind too was a blaze of confusion; each flame a different thought, a different possibility.

I spotted Hermione sitting off to the side, the usual book in her lap. I moved to sit beside her, scrubbing my face in worry. Hermione shot me a questioning look, a look that made the right pocket of my robes seem increasingly heavy. I only responded with a stiff nod.

Guilt riddled through, this was wrong all so wrong. A tournament putting student’s lives at risk for fame and money, the latter of course which had caught the attention of my boyfriend and his twin. Money they could use to open up their beloved joke shop. The reason the two had come to me begging for help with an aging potion. A potion that would, hopefully, get the pair across Dumbledore’s age line that encircled the goblet. A potion, I knew that if I had refused to help with meant the two would attempt it themselves and potentially have disastrous results. I had agreed to make the aging potion for their safety. Everything I had done was for their, his safety.

Damn those Weasley boys and their knack for getting into sticky situations, damn them for pursuing their dreams so fearlessly regardless of the dangers, and damn me for loving them, especially Fred Weasley.

“Well I’m certainly glad Madam Pomfrey was able to fix your hair” I giggled ruffling my fingers through Fred’s fiery locks as we settled at a table in the Gryffindor common room, flicking my wand at the radio to turn to it on low. The twin’s attempt to enter the Triwizard tournament had left them both with heads full of fluffly white hair and Merlin worthy beards to match. “You know I’m quite fond of gingers.”

“Well if anything” Fred smirked stretching his long limbs high above him and interlocking his fingers “You got to see how devilishly good looking I’ll be even in my old age. Still the better looking twin, eh?” He finished with a wink.

“Hmm” I began tapping my finger against my chin “I don’t know. George’s beard was quite lovely.” Fred’s face showed a mask of horror and shock before lunging at me.

“You little minx!”

A joyous shriek barely left my mouth as Fred launched at me his limber fingers curling into my side as I erupted into laughter. The impact of Fred’s pounce knocked me backward along with the chair I had been sitting in. Fred braced our impact keeping me from knocking my head on the stone floor before resuming his attack on my sensitive sides, burying his face into the crook of my neck. Our laughter mixed together creating a joyous melody, to hear it was to smile.

We gained the attention of the others in the common room, some rolling their eyes at our antics, others giggling. Fred and I were an unusual couple according to the halls of Hogwarts, he the notorious quidditch playing prankster I the studious bookworm. Two halves so very different, yet fit each other perfectly.

“Ok, Ok” I gasped through laughs “I give!”

I could feel Fred smirk against my throat before peppering a few kisses into my skin and offering a victorious smirk as he sat back up offering me his hand to pull me back up. I glanced around my curls a mess, cheeks flushed as I bowed my head in embarrassment, many of the other Gryffindor’s had left due to our shenanigans.

I cleared my throat, combing my fingers through my curls in an attempt to tame the stray pieces before turning to the table “Lets finish this Charms essay, yeah?”

Fred let out an overdramatic groan before agreeing, reaching down for his bag. I had already flipped to the marked page of the oversized leather-bound book and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, a pot of ink and the peacock feather quill Fred had bought me last Christmas.

“What’s this?” Fred questioned.

I chuckled under my breath scratching down the first line of my paper. Our usual study dates were littered with multiple occasions of Fred looking to distract me to prevent us from actually doing any work.

“It's not going to work Freddie” I mused “We really need to finish this paper befo-“

My words were cut short as I looked to see Fred holding an empty flask.

Oh no, it must have fallen out of my robes when Fred knocked us to the ground! Think, girl, think!

“Mummy fly dust,” I said smoothly before turning back to my paper “I needed it for the aging potion.”

My stomach lurched and my throat tasted of acid at how easily the lie slid between my lips. The first lie I had ever told Fred.

“No” Fred’s voice was lack of any usual amusement or the ghost laughter as he shook his head, he was serious. “I was the one to sneak into Snape’s storage room and get the ingredients, remember? Mummy fly dust wasn’t one of them.”

I bit my lip, my brain scrambling to come up with a suitable answer. A suitable lie.

“Elara, answer me.”

But I had no answer. I was too prideful and ashamed to answer with the truth. The pit of my stomach began to form a large hole. I wish it would it swallow me up and when I wake up in the morning this entire year would be a dream, a normal school year with no Triwizard tournament.

Fred kneeled beside me, grabbing my hands and forcing me to look at him. Seeing Fred Weasley with a serious look on his face was bizarre. Like Hermione failing an exam, or like myself, the clever, top marks student, making a potions “mistake”, bizarre.

“Please tell me you didn’t..” Fred’s face was bewildered “You didn’t intentionally do this, did you?”

The desperate tone in his voice broke me. I bowed my head using my dark curls to hide my face as more tears appeared. He was going to be furious and hurt. I doubt I would be able to get him to see the situation as I did.

“I didn’t want you to enter” I admitted as Fred stood to his feet turning his back on me, his frame tense. “People die in this tournament Fred! I didn’t want to lose you. There was a chance the potion would have worked and would have been chosen and..”

“So you screwed with the potion?”

I nodded.

“Do you not see what George and I were doing it for?” Fred boomed, standing to his full height a passionate fire in his eyes. “A thousand Galleons Elara! Enough to help open up the shop. Did that ever occur to you?”

“Of course it did!” I retorted back standing to my feet although it had little impact compared to Fred’s tall stature “But I would rather you be here, alive, than dead with a joke shop! Please don’t be angry with me Freddie please” my tone pleading as I reached for his hand, desperate for some form of contact.

“I have every right to be angry with you Elara!”

I could practically see the steam pouring out of Fred’s ears, his face matching the color of his hair.

“I know but” I sighed yanking my hands through my hair “Think of it from where I’m standing! I didn’t want to risk you getting hurt or worse!”

“Didn’t want to risk it?” he spat “That wasn’t up to you! It was my decision!”

“ I was just looking out for the two of you,” I whispered

“Well, I don’t need my girlfriend trying to protect me a’right? I am a bloody grown man I can make my own decisions and take care of myself. But you take the chance away from too, didn’t you? Smart little Elara is always right, best let her make all the decisions for everyone cause she knows everything” he growled mockingly. “You should have just stayed focused on your books!”

My bottom lip quivered and my eyes burned at his accusatory tone. Fred’s long legs carried him back to the table. He grabbed his belongings and shoved them into his bag hastily mumbling under his breath. I timidly walked to him reaching for his tense shoulder.

“Don’t!” he spat jerking from my touch, a rough sigh scratching past his lips. “Just don’t touch me. I can’t even bear to look at you right now.”

My heart felt as it had been shattered in my chest, the pieces falling into the gaping hole in my stomach. I had never heard these words pass Fred’s lips before, maybe some harsh words towards the Slytherins but never something so hurtful let alone directed at me.

“You destroyed my dreams El, my future. How am I supposed to put up with that? If Dumbledore’s age line had worked that would have been one thing, chalk it up to at least Georgie and I tried. But you, you made sure we didn’t stand a chance at all!”

“You can still open up a shop-“ I whimpered my voice sounding like a child’s.

“Doesn’t matter” Fred shook his head a new sobering mood flooding his face “Money isn’t an easy thing for us” he shook his head glumly “ not like it is for you.”

“Fred I’m sorry!”

“That’s the thing isn’t it?” He glanced at me, his gaze icy cold. “You’re not. You know exactly what you were doing and what the outcome would be. You knew how badly George and I wanted this and you pissed away our opportunity. You made sure we didn’t stand a chance!”

Slinging his bag to his shoulder Fred readied to enter the doorway for the boy's dorm.

“Freddie please, can’t we talk about this” I begged reaching for him and barely touching his wrist.

“There’s nothing left to say.” Fred shook his head again staring at the ground “I can’t talk about it anymore. Not with you.”

He swiftly turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory. I rushed after him, desperate to try and make things right. However, as I made it to the fifth step, the stairs retreated creating a steep, slippery slope. I scrambled on my feet before finally falling to my knees and sliding back down to the landing.

I chocked for air as a sob erupted through my body barely making it to the couch as I buried my face in my hands. All the tension and stress of the day had reached its breaking point. I had never seen Fred that upset and to have it directed at me made me feel so much worse.

Blindly, I managed to climb the stairs to my dorm and fell into my bed, Charms essay be damned. My body was so incredibly sore. The tension and worry I had been enduring all day had left my bones weighing tons, muscles aching, eyes burning.

It had been weeks.

The morning following the fight I entered the Great Hall to see Freddie conversing with George and Lee with a mouthful of bacon. I took my seat beside him and went to press a kiss to Fred’s cheek only to have him turn his head away nonchalantly. I frowned but turned to my plate trying to play it off the hurt. I ate quietly.

The air was awkward and tense; no doubt Fred had told George and Lee about my sabotage of the potion. The twins didn’t even acknowledge me, as I glanced at Lee he gave me a tight, thin lip smile before turning back to his oatmeal and toast. My insides were a bundle of electricity and apprehension. Slyly, I slipped my hand from my lap and inched it closer to Fred’s hand that was resting on his thigh. As my fingers brushed his skin he pulled back and stood up along with George before leaving without a second glance.

Then the pranks came.

At first, they were simple and I welcomed them as some sort of connection to Fred, as a sign that he wasn’t mad at me, he still didn’t speak or even look at me for that matter. I treasured the pranks all the more. I could handle my normal cobalt ink being replaced with disappearing ink or my essays coming up missing, replaced with illogical writings and rants and even my quill becoming jinxed to start writing absurdity on its own during class. Things began to accelerate as the pranks began to interfere with my grades.

My curls were tied back into a bun, stray pieces springing loose here and there as my eyes studied intently over the potions book page. A perfect Draught of Living Death simmering before me as I measured out the last of my materials.

I frowned as I came to my last ingredient. My powdered root of asphodel looked considerably dark and especially clumpy. Come to think of it, my entire canister of powdered root looked darker and lumpy. It was this time I missed having the twins and Lee by myside. At least then I could ask their opinion, that is if they were talking to me and not seated at the furthest table from me.

“Awaiting for the potion to make itself Miss Cross?” came Snape’s dark, snarky voice.

“Erm no sir-“

Flustered by the sudden scrutiny I added the root to the cauldron.

A loud boom echoed through the dungeon of the castle, an ominous, thick cloud of black encased the classroom along with the contents of my potion scorching and covering me in soot and ash. I coughed, eager to clear my lungs and throat of the grainy coal. My body shook, shock racking my frame as adrenaline coursed through me at the sudden explosion.

Snape’s expression was less than pleased, sporting a scowl as he gripped my upper arm and pulled me from my seat, his fingers digging in further into my arm than I would like. Keeping his eyes locked with mine, Snape snatched my jar of potion ingredients and took a sniff.

“Puruvian darkness powder” he sneered. “Do you take me for a fool Miss Cross?”

“N-no sir” I answered in a scratchy voice, tears pooling in my eyes at the ruined potion, embarrassment and no-doubt harsh punishment I was to receive.

“Or are you that much of a naïve, arrogant, blithering embosil that you think it unwise to check your ingredients before adding them to a potion? Its healing you pursue is it not?”

I fought past my clenching throat to nod and answer “Yes sir”

“Then might I suggest checking ingredients before you end up killing someone rather than healing them.” Snape sneered released his bruising grip with a push, my feet stumbling on themselves as the potion’s master stalked over me. I felt a painful stab in my heart at his words. A loud screech filled the room. With an overturned chair at his feet, Fred stood his face reddening as he stared down Snape, George holding a firm grip on his twin. Snape returned Fred ’s gaze.

“100 points from Gryffindor, Miss Cross detention for the next week starting tonight, as well as a failure for this portion of the course.”

My throat constricted uncomfortably, I couldn’t fail this potion. It was worth so much of my grade!

“B-but professor” I stuttered desperately.

“Silence” Snape retorted harshly.

I swallowed hard, my vision blurred as tears flooded my eyes. The classroom was quiet as my classmates stared back at me. As I caught a pair of familiar brown orbs, the dam broke. I quickly grabbed my bag and ran out of the classroom, ignoring Snape’s angry barks to come back.

My chest heaved as I finally made it to the door, the path seeming so long from my seat near the front of the class, before I was stopped by Peeves. As I attempted to step around him, the poltergeist blocked my path.

“Peeves please” I begged through a whisper, keeping my head tucked down.

“Oooh, Miss Cross’ feeling cranky. What is it this time, my fine Criss-Crossy friend? A B on a paper? Second in your class? Fighting with Weasley?” He sang making my cheeks burn under the dark ash.

I felt my lips fall into a deeper frown at the mention of Fred.

“Oh, Miss Criss-Cross looks a little under the weather” Peeves sang before snapping his fingers, a clap of thunder erupted as a dark cloud formed above my head before the rain began to pour down, drenching my form. “Now no one can tell Criss-Cross’ tears from the rain!” he continued to cackle as the rain and my tears smeared the ash.

I ducked away and took off down the hall, climbing the staircase back to Gryffindor common room. I still had three classes scheduled for the day but I felt no desire to attend them nor to feel the stares I knew were bound to be awaiting me. After scrubbing myself clean I fell into my bed desperate for the peace of sleep. I had always been happy at Hogwarts, my adventures with the twins keeping my heart light and joyous. But now, I felt so alone, left with only my books which proved to be poor sources of happiness by themselves.

As my body hit the mattress, a pop was heard before a putrid smell burned my nostrils. I jumped up and covered my mouth desperate to keep the bile at bay as the stench invaded my senses. Pulling up my mattress, I discovered the evidence of a dungbomb. My eyes burned, but I felt as if there were no tears left to spill. After today, the pranks only seemed to remind me of my failures. My failure at potions, my failure with Fred. I wondered how much longer this could possibly continue, or better yet, how much longer I could take it.

Christmas eve came quickly bringing with it the Yule Ball. In lieu of the gown and heels, I decided to spend the evening with Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing. Since the fight with Fred, I had spent the allotment of my free time with her, learning all I could about healing.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go down to the ball dear?” Madam Pomfrey asked for the tenth time that evening, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I’m sure” I smiled softly, tapping my wand at the roll of bandages watching as it intricately wrapped around the first year's ankle, as she glared humorously at the high heels in her lap.

Most of the night had been filled with twisted ankles and stepped on toes, hair disasters and last-ditch attempt to lose weight. But nothing too extreme, allowing for Madam Pomfrey to let me take the lead and retiring early for the night.

Two hours into the ball, the traffic through the wing had slowed down and I began the task of cleaning and putting away supplies. I was humming softly along with the band playing in the great hall, their music filling every corner of Hogwarts. Behind me, I heard the door open.

“Twisted ankle or stepped on toes?” I asked as I counted out varies supplies.

“How about a broken heart?”

I turned around at the familiar voice, feeling my heart clench at the sight. A tall lanky figure dressed in navy dress robes, complimented with shaggy red hair and warm brown eyes that were pooled with a sadness I had never seen before.

“Got another dung bomb do you?” I quipped turning my back to him to hide my tears.

“El” Fred spoke softly, the warmth of his chest comfortably radiating onto my back. “I’m so sorry about that. I-“

“forget it” I moved away from him to begin making up a bed “shouldn’t you be at the ball?”

“I left once I noticed you weren’t there.” He said softly, walking to the opposite side of the bed. “What’s the point if my best girl isn’t there?” he attempted a smile, only to result in a twitch of the lip.

I scoffed fluffing up the pillow and tucking the loose ends of the sheets in.

“Elara please” Fred spoke in a pleading tone catching my wrist in his hand. “I’m sorry. Please, talk to me!”

“You’ve had plenty of chances to talk Fredrick Gideon Weasley!” I barked yanking my hand away, our eyes meeting “But instead you decided to pull pranks.”

My chest was heaving, tears tickling “Over and over, prank after prank.” My voice cracked, I turned away from him covering my face. “Why? Why do that to me?”

A rush of mint and spices fogged my senses as Fred wrapped his arms around me, a comfort I had missed in these long weeks apart.

“I didn’t know what to say” he whispered softly into my hair. “I thought I could use the pranks to bug you until you finally spoke to me again. I never wanted any of this to happen, especially being away from you this long.”

I took a few deep breaths to steady my breathing, relishing the warmth of Fred’s body before he pulled away.

“Are you done here?” he asked brown eyes looking over the empty wing.

“I would imagine so.” I mused glancing at the bare beds. “Why?”

Fred offered out his hand “Do you trust me?”

I studied the thin, long fingers and lines of his palm in thought. Gingerly, I placed my hand in his before we took off through the hallways of Hogwarts ending up on the astronomy tower. I gasped as I took in the view before me. Against the black sky, were twinkling stars dancing with falling snowflakes, the image being mirrored off the Black Lake. Even in the tall tower, the music of the ball could still be heard.

“Dance with me”

“Fred” I blushed madly “I’m not dressed to dance! I’m in my jumper and-“

“I don’t care” he smiled “you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

I blushed madly, gently taking Fred’s hand as he pulled me gently by the waist. A deep rumble reverberated through his chest as he hummed along to the music.

We gently swayed together, the ginger being much more limber and poised on his feet than I would have expected. I was surprised when Fred spun me around, bringing me back close to his frame. I rested my head gently on Fred’s chest feeling his cheek rest atop my head.

“I guess this is why I could never find out who you were going to the ball with.” Fred chuckled. “I was planning to hex the bloke and have Lee and Georgie throw ‘im into the broom closet with some redcaps.”

“Oh Merlin” I playfully groaned at his antics.

“I suspected Merlin would have been your first choice, given as how you talk about him all the time” The ginger rolled his eyes

I giggled snuggling further into his chest. “If I wasn’t going with you, I didn’t want to go. Was afraid I would see you snogging some girl in the corner.”

Fred hummed “Sorry, but my lips have become spoiled to you sweetness” Fred laughed pressing a warm kiss to my cheeks, my nose and the corner of my lips earning a hearty giggle. When I opened my eyes to meet Fred’s gaze I was met with a look of adoration.

“I want to thank you,” Fred said softly “After watching the first task, “ Fred shook his head “You did me and George a favor” he chucked “We not TriWizard material.” He smirked coyly “We’re more lovers than fighters I s’pose.”

“Still” I mumbled, “I had no business interfering the way I did.” I pulled my head away to look at him, our eyes meeting, ready to give a proper apology. “Fred I am so-“

Fred hushed me, pulling me back to his chest. “Let’s not talk about that now. What’s done is done. Can we both agree to forgive each other? Start anew?”

“I like the sound of that. I really missed you Freddie” I whispered, as a chilling wind pushed forth snowflakes to swirl around our frames creating goosebumps beneath my jumper.

“Here” Fred shrugged out of his navy robes and wrapped the billowing material around me before pulling me into his arms again. I hummed feeling myself fall into a lull of comfort surrounded by Fred’s warmth and smell. The tall ginger looked down at me with a smile, running his hands along my arms vigorously to create friction.

“Let's get you in front of a fire, aye? I think I’ve got some chocolate frogs stowed away. I’m willing to share!” Fred winked.

I hummed, appearing to be weighting my options. “I think I want somethig sweeter.”

I stood on my toes and pulled the towering, suprised Weasley closer to my height. I pressed our lips together , temporarily losing myself in the feel of warm skin and chapped lips. The clock tower bellowed in the distance as I pulled away staring up into adoring chocolate eyes. I smiled feeling the familiar swirl of school-girl gidiness I had always felt since my first encounter with the Weasley’s on the Hogwarts express. The hopeful smile Fred gave me destroyed my fears, we would be ok.

“Merry Christmas Freddie.”

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #hp imagine #george weasley #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley x reader #hogwarts

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besidemethewholedamntime · 6 years

Note

Hello again! ♥ I saw that video with the borking pup (so adorable!!) and thought if you are up for a prompt, could you maybe write a fic where Fitzsimmons adopt/rescue a puppy?? Some sort of stress relief for both of them :) thank you! ♥

here is it finally for you! I hope you like it and it’s everything you want - if it’s not okay please let me know and I’ll write something else!

(Okay, I know the start seems angsty but I promise it’s fluffy Fitzsimmons with a dog, I just find beginnings hard!)

—

Introducing Biscuit

(Read it here on Ao3)

They haven’t been in their new house long when shebrings it up.

It’s quite a sudden longing, perhaps something to dowith just how empty their new houseappears to be with its seemingly endless corridors and bedrooms that theyaren’t quite ready to fill. It’s a longing that keeps her up at night, stomachaching with something that feels like ungratefulness. The guilt eats her alive,keeps her awake into the wee hours of the morning. How can this not be enough?How can simply being here, with Fitz, not be enough for her?

And maybe it’s because she got that glimpse atmotherhood, got a slither of what she could have in the future, that means shewill no longer be satisfied at anything other than that anymore. But theyaren’t ready, not yet. Too much has happened to simply let them dive into theidyllic quaint country life they have penned in for some date in the future.They agreed to take things in steps, and step one was quite simply just movingin.

That was over a month ago, now, and, ever restless,Jemma feels ready to take another one. Which is why, on one sunny as Scotlandcan be June morning, she awakes earlier than normal and makes breakfast beforecarrying it to Fitz in bed.

“Jemma?” He groans when she gently shakes him awakeHis hair is sticking out at odd angles and there are pillow marks on one sideof his face, clearly the mark of a good night’s sleep. Rubbing his eyes, hesits up. “What’s this for?” He narrows his eyes. “What do you want?”

“What? Me? Why would I want anything? Don’t beridiculous. Can’t a wife just make her husband breakfast in bed to be nice?”

Fitz narrows his eyes even more. “Maybe other wives can, but you certainly don’t. Notwithout good reason anyway.”

She gently angles the plate closer to him, hoping thescent of pancakes will distract him. “I’m just being nice. Celebrating the factthat we can have breakfast in bed without the possibility of the world endingin the next five minutes.”

Perhaps that was too low of her to go, because hiseyes soften and he places a hand over hers and oh there’s a familiar sting of tears at the back of her eyes. Themood was meant to be light but now it’s like the clouds have blocked the sunand she’s done with living in the dark.

Coughing, and then smiling, Jemma says, “Well,actually, there was something…”

“Bloody knew it.” Fitz’s triumphant grin parts the cloudsonce more.

Ignoring him, she continues, “How would you feel aboutgetting a dog?”

He looks at her curiously, as if he can’t decide ifshe’s serious or not. “As in a pet or as in one for you to ‘dissect’ for‘science’.” He actually adds in the air quotes, his cheeky grin suggesting he’swaiting for her to bite.

She doesn’t and sighs, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, Fitz,of course I mean a pet.”

“Just making sure. Remember the last time we had a‘pet’.”

“For the last time: it was delivered to the lab likethat!”

“Sure it was, Jemma. Sure it was.”

Throwing her hands up at the age-old argument, shefixes him with a withering look. “We did not kill the cat, Fitz.” A deep breathand a smile. “But anyway, back to the question. How would you feel aboutgetting a dog as a pet?”

“I think that would be a great idea. I’ve alwayswanted a dog, and we’ve definitely got the space for it.” Fitz makes histhinking face whilst chewing on a pancake. “Puppy or rescue?”

“Rescue,” Jemma answers immediately. “I mean it seemsthe right thing to do, doesn’t it?”

He smiles that soft smile that appears to be reservedonly for her. “Absolutely.”

-x-

They spend the hour and a half drive to DogsTrustarguing about what type of dog they’d like to get.

Jemma, balancing several folders on her knee, argues,“I’m just saying I don’t think we necessarily have size limitations if we takeinto account the size of the house, and the land we have is ample enough forexercise.”

Fitz takes his eyes from the road long enough to giveher a look of disbelief. “And all I’m saying is that we have to think of thecosts involved for a larger dog.”

“The adoption fee is £120 regardless of the size ofdog.”

“Yeah, I know that. I meant bigger dog means morefood, bigger bed, some kennels make you pay more for a larger dog. I mean whatif we wanted to go on holiday.”

“We’d figure it out, Fitz.”

He shoots her a short, worried glance. “Well thatdoesn’t sound like the Jemma Simmons I know.”

“Jemma FitzSimmons,actually,” she corrects, ignoring his actual statement.

The thing is, she did construct a cost analysis basedon each potential type of dog they could adopt. She looked at the spreadsheetsand compared them to all of her research on owning a dog and then never lookedat them again. It was one thing to be prepared, it was another thing to try andfit the dog they didn’t even own yet into her own preconceived idea of what itmight be like.

And with all of this starting over, maybe it’s time totry being someone new.

All of a sudden, they’re here and as Jemma looks atthe bright yellow sign and the unassuming building, she feels a nervoustightening in her gut.

Fitz parks up and reaches over to hold her hand.They’ve been in some truly frightening life or death scenarios, and yet this,this level of commitment that they��ve only ever had for each other, seems moreterrifying than anything.

“Well, Jemma Fitzsimmons, let’s go get a dog.”

-x-

“And this is Biscuit,” the volunteer announces,stopping in front of the last glass-fronted kennel in the row.

Jemma doesn’t see her at first, curled as she isamongst the blankets in her bed. When she notices people outside her kennel,she uncurls and runs up towards the door, tail wagging getting progressively fasteruntil it’s really just a white blur.

“Aww, she’s cute,” Fitz smiles, kneeling down on thefloor and talking nonsense to the dog who laps it up.

Jemma has to agree, Biscuit is very adorable. The signon her kennel door proclaims that she’s a Jack Russel and that she’s a year oldand that she likes sleeping and treats and dislikes loud noises. She’scompletely white expect for her ears which are a caramel colour, making themlook as though they’ve been stuck on. Jemma can’t help it, she laughs out loud.

Fitz turns around from his spot on the floor, asseemingly happy as the dog he’s been chatting up. It’s been a while since Jemma’s seen him thishappy, this seemingly carefree. Biscuit has done more for him in two minutesthan she’s been able to do in a month and Jemma’s not even jealous. In fact,she’s rather relieved.

“Biscuit’s taken quite a shine to you there, Mr Fitz,”the volunteer laughs. “Can I assume that you’re both about to ask me to signsome paperwork?”

Jemma brings out her folder from her handbag. There’squestions in here, questions that she thought she needed to have answered toknow that whatever dog would be the right fit for them. She thought she’d needto know why the dog was given up, what were the pervious owners like, how werethey fed, did they like a certain type of lead to be walked on or a certainbowl to eat from. She thought she’d need to know everything in order to helprescue a dog that would become part of their family.

She was wrong. She doesn’t need to know anything of thekind. All she needs to know can be seen in the brightness of Fitz’s smile, thejoy in his voice as he calls Biscuit a smart girl.

Slowly, Jemma slides the folder back into her bag andsmiles to the volunteer.

“Yes, I think that was exactly what I was about todo.”

-x-

They’re sittingin the living room after dinner, mindlessly watching television in a way that’sbecome quite enjoyable. Jemma is researching how to take care of Jack RusselTerriers, and Fitz is doodling designs for a dog crate that’s sturdy butportable.

“Should we change her name?”

Jemma, not really paying attention because she’sengrossed in this article on positive reinforcement training, asks, “Changewhose name?”

“Biscuit’s name. Should we change it?”

She looks up from her laptop and over to Fitz whosepen is paused in mid-air as if the thought has just burst into his brain. Hisexpression of confusion, she imagines, mirrors hers.

“Oh, I don’t know. I know you can change a dog’s nameand it’s relatively easy.”

“Yeah,” he muses, “thought that. I know you can do it,just don’t know if we should.”

This all seems to be getting very deep for a talkabout whether or not to change the name of their new dog. Jemma cocks her headand opens and closes her mouth a few times, doing a remarkable impression of agoldfish. What does she say in this situation? What does she do?

To her utter relief Fitz laughs. “Relax, Jemma. It’sjust about the dog. I promise.”

Ohthank goodness but she doesn’t say that aloud, onlysmiles. “Well, about the dog. I don’t know, I suppose I quite like the nameBiscuit. It’s rather cute, I think.”

“Yeah, it suits her, doesn’t it? And it’s a food. Ilove food.”

Jemma snorts. “You certainly love biscuits.”

“Oh, did you get those Hobnobs ‘cause they were onoffer at Tesco and-”

The odd tangent makes her laugh because it’s so randomand so expected at the same time. “Yes, Fitz. I got you Hobnobs. Both types.”

“You’re the best.” But then his eyes take on that faraway look. “Biscuit Fitzsimmons.” He grins at her. “What do you think?”

There’s a relief deep down in her heart that surelyjust can’t be because their new addition is going to be named after one of hisfavourite foods. “It sounds absolutely perfect.”

-x-

Two weeks after their first visit, and after a homevisit and registering with a vet, finally they are able to pick up their latestaddition.

While Jemma is paying, they bring out Biscuit who runsto Fitz as if she’s seeing her best-friend after an age. Or she tries to run to Fitz – the volunteer hasher on the standard DogsTrust harness and lead and it prohibits Biscuit fromrunning to Fitz as fast as she clearly would have liked.

“Biscuit, heel.” The volunteer commands in a clippedtone and the dog begrudgingly returns to her side. The woman gives Biscuit atreat and then smiles at the both of them. “You’re the Fitzsimmonses here forBiscuit, right?” The dog barks as in agreement and the volunteer laughs.“Clearly I didn’t even need to ask the two of you; this girl’s already made upher mind who she’s going home with.”

“She has that,” Fitz affirms. “So that’s it then? Wecan just take her home now?”

“Yup, you can. Here’s a bag of her stuff from her oldhome, along with things she’s managed to acquire here.” The volunteer handsthem a carrier bag. “You have your folder, right?”

“Yup,” Jemma says, holding out the adoption folder shewas given. “We need to give these details to her new vet.”

“That’s right.” The volunteer hands the lead to Fitz.“Well I suppose it’s time to say goodbye then, girl, isn’t it?” She rubs Biscuit’shead affectionately and then smiles at them once more. “Enjoy your new dog! Anyproblems and please phone us if you have any issues at all.” She glances towhere Fitz has picked up Biscuit who is now licking his face. “Though I feellike you’ll be absolutely fine.”

Jemma thanks her and turns to her husband and her dog,feeling rather like a third wheel on their private moment.

“Well then, I suppose it’s time to go home.”

Biscuit’s ears perk up and Jemma laughs.

“Yes, you’re coming home with us.” She rubs Biscuit’shead and the dog begins to lick her hand in a way that seems to suggest she’seager for Jemma to know that she’s loved too.

The volunteer appears to be right so far. Absolutelyfine.

-x-

The first night cannot exactly be described as ‘absolutelyfine’.

As eager to come home with them as she was, Biscuitappears to have acquired some ‘leaving kennel’ anxiety.

Jemma knew about this. She read about this andprepared for it by setting up Biscuit’s crate in the living room with the TV onlow volume so the poor puppy wouldn’t be in total silence in her first nightalone. She knew that the dog might whine and cry. It just doesn’t make it anyeasier to listen too.

It’s two in the morning and they’re both awake, bothcompletely not enjoying the howls of poor little Biscuit coming up fromdownstairs.

“Jemma,” Fitz whispers, “are you awake?”

“Yes,” she whispers back. “It’s such a shame; I wishthere was something we could do.”

“Are you sure we couldn’t…?”

“You know we can’t, Fitz. All of the websites wereclear on this,” she says, putting to rest once again a question that’s alreadypopped up three times in the period since they’ve left Biscuit on her own.

“I know but she sounds so sad.”

“It’s better for her in the long run.” Jemma wonderswho she’s trying to convince here.

Eventually, she falls asleep, more out of sheerexhaustion than any immunity against the pitiful cries. But a few hours laterthey awaken her again. Fitz is sleeping beside her, clearly having succumbed tosleep the same way as her.

As stealthily as possible, she swings out of bed andtiptoes downstairs. Biscuit, hearing a noise, ramps up the howling.

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s just me,” Jemma soothes,coming into the room. Biscuit is at the door of her crate, tail wagging madly atthe familiar person. When Jemma opens the door, she rushes at her, nuzzlinginto her and making soft noises.

“Oh dear, what a state you’ve gotten yourself into,”Jemma murmurs, feeling the dog quiver beneath her fingers. She sighs, knowingthere’s really only one option for the night.

“Fine,” she relents. “Come on. You can come and sleepin our room. But only for tonight.”

And gathering the dog in her arms, along with some ofher blankets from the kennel, she brings her upstairs and arranges her on ablanket and pillows on the floor at the foot of their bed.

“I’m sorry but I do draw the line at you sleeping onthe bed.”

Finally, Jemma is able to have a blissful sleepunaccompanied by a soundtrack of cries.

In the morning she awakes to a strange weight in themiddle of her and Fitz and finds Biscuit curled up asleep with one of her blankets,snoring softly.

-x-

This little dog in such a short space of time becomes everythingto them.

The house never feels empty, not anymore, becauseBiscuit loves exploring almost everywhere she can get into. She loves toexplore the surrounding fields, is especially a fan of the river that bisectsthe woods nearby. It turns out she loves the rain (which is just as well,really, because this is Perth and it’s wet even on sunny days) and jumps inmuddy puddles whenever she can.

But this little dog makes Fitz smile more carefreethan he has in years, He laughs with her, plays fetch and looks back to Jemmaas bright as the sun. This little dog brings out a side in him that she had fearedhad been lost to him forever. A side she thinks he was afraid he’d lostforever.

Biscuit is by all intents and purposes a ‘rescue dog’.All of her records now say that she is. Except Jemma knows that it wasn’t them whorescued Biscuit.

As she launches aball across a field and watches as Fitz races the dog to retrieve it, she knowswithout a doubt that it was really Biscuit who rescued them.

#thefitzsimmonsnetwork #aosficnet2 #fitzsimmons #aos #fitzsimmons fic #fitzsimmons fanfic #fanfic by moi #I hope you like It!

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

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Can You Still Love Me? - Chapter 2: Crushed

2010 - Freshman Year

It was the start of final term of freshman year and Camila Cabello was left with yet another hour of alone time to once again reassess her lack of worth and inability to make friends. She had become content in her loneliness, and only ever held a conversation with another student when she was forced to do group projects. Rather than sitting at a lunch table alone, she spent her lunchtimes in the toilets putting her artistic talents to good use; she may not have been able to do much with a pencil, but hand her a piece of wood and a knife and she could whittle and carve anything her heart desired.

So naturally, carving designs into the wooden stalls had become the norm for the forgotten girl. What had begun as a small pattern now spanned artistically across the cubicle walls, deleting the stupid graffiti that was scrawled in black and red markers and replacing it with wooden swirls. It had now gotten to the point where there was practically no room left for her to continue the extensive design that surrounded her; it was time for her to move on to the next cubicle. Camila had just completed the entire design and was leaving the bathroom to make her way slowly to the next class, when a vaguely familiar green-eyed girl suddenly showed up in front of her with an unfamiliar girl in tow.

Lauren Jauregui had been given the task of escorting the new freshman around the school, but was in sophomore year, making it difficult to coordinate her classes with the new student. She therefore came to the conclusion that it would be a better idea if a fellow freshman would be able to show the girl around rather than herself. Unbeknownst to Camila, Lauren had observed the younger girl enter the bathroom almost every lunch hour throughout the year and had desperately wanted to help the girl make her first friend at the school. She had tried to approach the young Latina herself a few times, but was either distracted by a friend or had scared the girl off before she even got a chance to open her mouth. This time Lauren was determined to ensure that it was going to be different, after all, now she had a valid excuse to make conversation with the shorter brunette. As predicted, the younger girl had locked herself away from the world for yet another hour, and as good timing would have it she appeared from behind the door of her enclosure just as Lauren arrived.

The chocolate-eyed Latina quickly transitioned from shocked to flustered in a matter of seconds as she spotted the two girls bee-lining towards her in a speedy manner. After briefly meeting Lauren’s eyes, she was almost ready to flee the scene already scouring for potential escape routes. Lauren, thinking fast, made a move to bar the girl’s escape with her body in an attempt to keep her attention. Unfortunately, with Camila not being the most coordinated person on the planet, she managed to trip over Lauren’s foot and smack her face into the older girl’s outstretched arm. Luckily Lauren’s reflexes were somewhat better than Camila’s own, and she quickly spun herself around hooking her other arm around the smaller girl’s torso to keep them from both falling. She deftly used their momentum to spin them around in an interlocked dance, her weight counterbalancing that of the younger girl’s, and pulled Camila safely into her chest as their momentum stopped.

Lauren could feel the frantic heartbeat of the smaller girl against her own chest and relished in the warm feeling that the stolen embrace evoked in her. She hadn’t realised that Camila had tightly gripped onto her shirt-front until she felt the material slacken as the wide-eyed girl released her iron grip.

“I – uh… Sorry.” She said rubbing the back of her neck nervously as the younger girl watched her wordlessly. “You’re Camila right?”

She was still met with a stunned silence as the Latina freshman staring steadily at the floor with her cheeks flushed a brilliant red.

“Well, um, I’m Lauren. Uh, Lauren Jauregui that is… I’m one of the sophomores.” She paused for a moment to hastily offer her hand and a nervous smile. Camila’s eyes slowly traveled to the offered hand, before shooting up to meet Lauren’s and quickly back down. She was wringing her hands nervously as Lauren’s hand awkwardly hung between them. It felt as though they were a millions of miles apart rather than a mere two feet.

Lauren’s hand eventually dropped, her disappoint and rejection evident in her features. Her hope momentarily flared back up when the girl opened her mouth, yet it was just as quickly dashed as the words refused to leave her silent lips. Camila’s mouth continued to open and shut like a guppy, yet remained voiceless as Lauren’s attention was sudden diverted to the taller blonde transfer student still standing there awkwardly. Much to her growing embarrassment, the new girl, Dinah Jane Hansen, was watching her failed interaction with Camila with a certain curiosity that was evident from the gleam in her eye. Lauren’s brain tried to get back on track, she was supposed to be helping both girls find friendship in one another, not standing there red-cheeked and flustered trying to salvage her pride.

Camila meanwhile was absolutely mortified that she had ended up in the green-eyed girl’s admittedly warm arms. To add to that, as soon as she saw those emerald eyes blazing with concern and heard that sensual mouth form her name, Camila was reduced to a silently babbling puddle. She was rooted to the spot as Lauren offered her hand out, unable to coerce her body out of “shut down mode” after it had short-circuited due to Lauren’s intimidating presence. She loathed that she was so debilitatingly shy, especially when it came to the incredible, gorgeous girl currently standing before her.

Lauren had turned back to the other girl and they exchanged a few words while Camila’s mind struggled to catch up. They stopped their flow of chatter and the other girl stepped forward toward the flustered and confused Camila.

“Hey Camila right? I’m Dinah Jane, everyone just calls me DJ though. It’s my first day here and because Lauren doesn’t have any of my classes she was hoping – well we kinda both were – that you’d maybe hang for a bit and show me around?” She offered Camila a friendly smile and an adorably dorky wave.

Camila shrunk slightly before returning a small timid smile of her own. Her eyes quickly fluttered toward Lauren, who was watching her with her own small hopeful smile, before instantly snapping away again to stare steadfastly at her own hands. She gave Dinah an imperceptible nod, cursing her inability to act like a normal functioning human. Both girls beamed broadly sharing a look, before focusing back on Camila.

“H-how… How d-do you know who I'm– who I am?” she almost whispered, glancing up at Lauren again, before deciding that it was safer not to focus on her face. She stared at the older girl’s chest before realising to her intense horror, that it seemed as though she were checking her out.

Lauren chuckled lightly, noticing the movement of the young girl’s brown-eyes.

“Maybe you’re not as invisible as you think.”

Camila braved another timid peek up at the older girl; brown eyes slowly meeting green.

Instead of instantly glancing away, she found that she was completely enarmoured with the different shades of green dancing around the pupil of her eye. Camila felt as though she were lost in a rainforest – she could practically feel the warmth of the sun poking through the trees, the mottled leaves appearing iridescent in the light – as she was encapsulated in Lauren’s eyes.

“You– you noticed me?” She stuttered feebly.

“Everyday.” As she responded, their eyes still locked.

“O-oh,” she mumbled dejectedly, her eyes falling away along with her face. Lauren must have thought that she was an absolute worthless loser and took pity on her. Maybe this was some kind of cruel prank where they would humiliate her and tease her about how weird she was. Camila liked to think that Lauren was a nice person, but she had seen those television shows and she knew what often happened to outcasts like herself.

She cast a brief glance over the sophomore girl and couldn’t help but appreciate her stunning beauty. Dark wavy tresses and long lashes framing her pale face and causing her eyes to pop, smooth alabaster skin covered the curves that were beginning to form, bleached white buck teeth that Camila couldn’t help but find adorable which were hidden behind rosy red lips. Any hope that she still clung to for them to be anything more than strangers instantly died at that moment. Lauren sensed the girl’s self-deprecating mood and bent down to meet Camila’s face through the waterfall of brown waves. “And that’s why I want you to be a little less alone…I want you to be happy,” Lauren said quickly.

“Happy?” she mused softly.

“Yeah, you know with friends and movies and sleepovers and– and parties? Do you think that people haven’t noticed the awesome designs in the bathroom? They’re amazing Camz. Someone with that much beauty in their mind should have people to share it with,” Lauren babbled with a conviction that sent Camila’s chest aflutter. Apprehensively her head slowly lifted. Her heart jumped into her throat as she noticed their sudden proximity.

“Camz…” she mumbled softly, her eyes raising once again to meet the two emeralds. “You called me…Camz?”

“I– I’m sorry Cam– I mean Camil– uh… Camila.” Lauren words stumbled over themselves as the smaller girl moved even closer. A frown wrinkled the smaller girl’s brow.

“I’ve kind of never had a nickname before…” She appeared to be calculating something in her head as Lauren watched on in an anxious impatience.

Camila’s face suddenly broke out into a brilliant smile, leaving Lauren completely dazzled.

“I like it.” Camila’s proclamation forced a smile to break out on Lauren’s own face. In their shared moment of mutual appreciation the two girls were unaware that they had drifted closer, now only a hair-breadth away. Floating back into consciousness, Lauren could practically feel the hot breath of the other girl brush across her cheek. She surreptitiously noted the amazing smell of banana, cinnamon and vanilla that seemed to roll off of the other girl. The scent mixed with the girl’s Latina beauty seemed to intrigue her and bewitch her every sense. It seemed as though each were slowly inching forward unconsciously.

They were barely a couple of inches apart and suddenly all Lauren could imagine was the feel of those soft lips on her own. The warm taste of cinnamon on her lips and the sound of that raspy voice forming a delicious moan. The distance between their lips was quickly becoming far too much for her to handle. Just as she was about to move in, their moment was broken by the bell. From the shock of the sound and the close proximity of the two girls, it was without much surprise that Camila’s forehead connected with Lauren’s painfully.

“Sorry! I-I’m SO sorry!” Camila rushed to apologise. Holding her own head, she examined Lauren’s. “Oh no! I’m such an idiot! It’s bruising already. Do you feel concussed? Or dizzy? I’m so – ”

“Camila, if you apologise one more time I swear!” she laughed.

“S-sor… Um… Y-your head. Does it… Does it hurt?”

“Yep.” Camila opened her mouth to once again apologise but Lauren waved it shut. “I’ll survive. What is it with you and apologising anyway? Don’t get me wrong, it’s kinda adorable. But not everything is your fault.”

“I– ”

“Don’t even think about apologising!”

Camila shrugged, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast.

“Look at me.” Lauren said gently lifting Camila’s chin up so they could face each other. “Just because nobody is smart enough or worthy enough to give you their time, does not mean that you are any lesser or less worthy for it. It just means that most people are dumb. Talk to Dinah. Maybe she might surprise you… And maybe you might just surprise yourself.”

Lauren sincerely meant every word and hoped the younger girl would believe even just the tiniest part of it, while Camila swallowed Lauren’s every word and dedicated a chamber for them in her heart.

“Friends?” Camila asked quietly, offering her clammy hand after trying to wipe away the sweat coating it.

“Friends.” Lauren stated, grasping her hand in her own and finding that she was reluctant to let go. She parted ways leaving Camila and Dinah alone together amidst the sea of bustling students.

“What was that?” Dinah asked in a suggestive tone.

“What?” Camila asked, voice sounding as far away as her mind.

“You two totally had… like… wow!” Camila looked at her, head slight cocked and a question burning in her eyes. “Like you guys had full on chemistry!”

“We, uh, h-ha-have…chemistry?” Camila babbled still in a daze.

“Uhhh, yeah!!!” Dinah exclaimed. Camila’s cheek brightened along with her heart. “The amount of moments you guys both had in the span of 5 minutes. I wish I had that many with my imaginary boyfriend! Girl looked like she moving in for the kill.”

“No way. Lauren and I… I’ve never… We’ve never… That was the first time we’ve ever spoken.” He cheeks had reached a whole new shade of red altogether.

“Oh my GOD! You so have it bad for her!” Dinah suddenly exclaimed, which would have made Camila jump if she weren’t in a completely different universe. “Like are you even seeing me right now?!”

Dinah waved her hand in front of Camila’s eyes.“Helloooo. Earth to Camila!”

“Yes! I mean NO!” Camila’s eyes widened. “I mean I can’t love Lauren. Shit! I mean I don’t like Lauren. No. It–we–she… Nothing.”

Dinah just returned a hard stare, the laughter hidden in her knowing smirk and the quirk of her eyebrow. Camila felt an overwhelming panic as it sunk in that this girl – this random person – knew her deepest secret.

“Please…” She begged. “PLEASE don’t tell anyone! Please!”

“Don’t worry Camila, you and I, we were meant to be friends. You’re little crush is safe with me! Besides,” she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “You’re green-eyed friend seemed to be pretty getting cosy with you. If you know what I mean!” She winked and lightly nudged Camila with her elbow.

“She was?”

“Mila, trust me. Your girl, DJ here, knows these things!” Camila’s uneasy look suddenly transformed into a smile as she thought about Lauren returning her feelings. Camila had once again retreated into her fantasy world as Dinah rolled her eyes at the shorter girl. “So smitten!” She muttered, before Camila sent her arm Dinah’s way as they both trudged together to the next class.

Neither Lauren or Camila were to know back then just how important that the day would be to Camila’s entire self-perception, and that their encounter would become the catalyst that forever intertwined their lives. Especially considering Camila and Lauren would not to interact again until her junior year, despite the endless fawning that would be done by Camila over her new first crush.

#UPDATE #series #AU #camren #caminah #laurinah #romance fluff #submission #Can You Still Love Me

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hotarubi-e · 7 years

Text

Keep a steady hand on me

Request: Would you mind doing a fanfiction with our cute little pidge getting some bad stomach flu or something? Poisoning? And the team doesn't believe her (since they might think she's cramping or something) but it's really bad..if you'd like to do a pidge ship you can do whatever! I legit ship everyone with everyone

Summary: After a difficult mission, Pidge enjoys the feast set out for her and the other paladins by the local populace. But when she starts feeling sick and struggling to breathe, it becomes painfully obvious that something is not right. And as the others all think it’s ‘cramps’, Pidge is at serious risk of suffocation at the very least, unless she manages to explain.

It had been a long day, and Pidge was feeling more than a little worse for wear. Called to the bridge early in the morning, the Paladins had been alerted to the dire situation of a planet in a nearby quadrant. From what Pidge had picked up during the short meeting, Allura had hailed the royal family in order to establish a potential allegiance, only to discover the total annihilation of all members of power. Unsurprisingly, the planets occupation by the Galra had been a disturbing turn of events to the Alteans, and they had immediately deployed the lions and their pilots to return the planet to its rightful occupants.

The fight had been long and arduous, but thankfully the casualties had been almost exclusively Galra. But the pain of losing their rulers was still fresh in the resident species’ minds, and as such the presence of the Paladins of Voltron was a cause for celebration - anything, it seemed, to lighten the hearts of those grieving such a monumental loss.

And so the Paladins had obliged, agreeing to stay for a feast and tour of the once royal grounds, begrudgingly allowing the rampant disregard for personal space and rest, purely out of a desire to be kind. Even Keith, Pidge noticed with a grin sardonic and snide, but all at once fond and filled with a sort of familial pride she hadn’t felt in the longest time. He was trying his best to be nice, even if it did result in a look that appeared somewhere between bemused and terrified.

But, at least there was food - even if Pidge was beginning to feel distinctly sick. She didn’t even know what she was eating, and with a quick, bitter stab of her fork and an unhappy rumble of her belly, she swirled the contents of her plate around so that it might smush into a slightly smaller pile of gross. Contrary to her hopes, it failed.

‘You know, I’d love to spend a day with these guys and just like, talk to them about all the cool ingredients they have here,’ at some point during her somewhat dejected manhandling of her dinner, Hunk had sidled up to her and begun to observe her movements, a small glint of worry sparking in his eye. ‘I mean, they have so many interesting tubers and root vegetables - and don’t even get me started on the herb situation - but all they seem to use is that weird gold glow-y stuff and the yellow goo. And man do I not wanna ever see edible goo again,’ he chucked, rubbing a hand over his belly. Pidge grunted and returned to her stabbing.

‘Not like it can be any worse than what Coran made last week..’ she mused, remembering the wriggling brown tentacles of the ‘delicacy’ Coran had tried to feed them less than six days ago with contempt. It had not gone down well, and the mere thought of it was enough to trigger another gurgling rumble in her gut.

‘Oh man, that was nasty!’ Hunk’s face brightened in glee at the memory, and Pidge could only imagine that he was remembering the way Lance had nearly died of fright at the mere sight of the thing. ‘Hey - You okay, Pidge?’ he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her as she stared down into her dinner. ‘you seem kinda off..’

‘Huh? O-oh, yeah.. you know what, I think I’m gonna pass on the whole conversation thing, though, head back over to Green and take a look at her compression panels. I think they were malfunctioning after that last hit I took,’ Pidge dropped her plate by her side, shifting her weight from where she sat to the balls of her feet, standing in a quick jerk that nearly had her toppling.

‘Okay, whatever you say, dude,’ Hunk muttered, but as Pidge retreated into the distant trees in search of Green, he couldn’t quite take his eyes from her back. Something about the way she moved and spoke seemed off to him, and unsettled the nerves around his heart. But if she said she was fine, then fine she would be. Who was he, after all, to distrust the word of his Paladin friend?

Pidge pulled off the maintenance door from beneath Green’s leg, tongue sticking out slightly as she concentrated. She knew she had been unfairly brusque with Hunk before, but something in her gut was making her antsy. Almost as though everything she did, every move she made were dislodging something, shaking it around in her stomach like the cube inside a magic eight ball. She had felt fine earlier, during the fight, but since settling down for the night of festivities, a feeling of ill ease had been growing in her.

It had started as a simple niggling in her gut, a dull ache surrounded by a feeling of disquiet, but over the last twenty minutes, it had grown into a very present sense of nausea. Most annoyingly for Pidge, though, was the tight feeling in her chest and throat, and the way her eyes felt like they were swelling shut.

Grunting, she dropped the maintenance door onto the ground and poked her head inside the crevice, squinting in the relative blackness. She could make out a few flashing lights that definitely should not have been doing that, but as she reached out a hand to test the wiring, a violent pang in her stomach launched her forwards and into the rim of metal running around her chest.

Pidge swore heavily, panting as she fought to regain the wind that had been knocked from her, but it was as though no matter how deep a breath she drew in, no air reached her lungs. Rather, it seemed to stay its course somewhere in her neck, lodging in the centre of her trachea.

Panic bubbled to the surface of her skin, and she dropped down from the hatch onto Green’s foot, just catching herself before hitting the ground.

‘W-what the hell was that..?’ her voice came out vaguely distant, as though it had been trapped somewhere inside of her, cutting it off before it was fully released. Breathing heavy, scared breaths, Pidge scrambled to her feet and ran for the clearing filled with people, doing everything in her power to suppress any further attempts at mutiny from her traitorous stomach.

By the time she finally found Shiro, she was so winded that she had to pause for a moment, clutching his arm to get his attention. And when she had finally regained enough breath to speak, all that came out was a wheeze.

‘Something’s wrong..’ she huffed, staring up into his concern filled eyes.

‘Pidge? What is it? Are you hurt?’

She shook her head, desperately gesturing towards her stomach. But as she did, Shiro’s eyes blew wide and a gentle blush spread like fire across his cheeks. ‘My belly.. it’s cramping like, so much.. I fell of Green’s leg - I never fall off Green. Well, I mean, aside from that time I tried to calibrate her cloaking device and -‘

‘Woah, okay, Pidge, you’re rambling,’ Shiro smiled, raising his hands in what he hoped was a calming display. ‘So, y-you’re, uh.. cramping? I mean.. I don’t really think I’m the best to talk to about this, you know?’ he scratched the back of his neck, nervous. ‘Maybe Allura would be better for this?’

‘Wait - what?’ Pidge’s face scrunched up against Shiro’s words, confusion muddling her mind. But another pang shooting through her stomach was enough to distract her from the nonsensical nature of Shiro’s comment, as she fought to stay on her feet.

‘Pidge?! Pidge, maybe you should sit down. D-do you.. have anything for this?’

‘Why the hell would I have anything for this, when I don’t even know what this is?!’ In the space of seconds, Pidge’s brain went from confused to pissed, and as Shiro just gestured weakly towards her lower half, she realised there would be no pulling the anger back. The man was clearly a moron. ‘Wait.. do you.. think I’m menstruating..?’ she narrowed her eyes, daring Shiro to nod.

The blush that had been subtle at first, seemed to explode like a super nova across Shiro’s face, and with an awkward cough he nodded, confirming Pidge’s worst fears. Of course, any mention of a cramp and that automatically ruled out any and all options but periods. But before she could school Shiro on the error of his ways, another voice drifted into the fray.

‘Hey, Shiro? Is everything okay?’ Keith asked, taking a step towards them from behind the nearest tree. Pidge wouldn’t have been surprised to find that he had been hiding, using the abundant foliage as a cover for his escape.

‘Uh, that’s a little bit of a sensitive topic, Keith,’ Shiro sighed, turning to speak more privately, as though fearful of the repercussions should they be overheard. ‘She’s, uh.. got her time of the month,’

‘Huh? Her what -? Oh. ..Oh! O-okay, yeah.. erm, s-sorry to hear that, Pidge?’

‘Oh my God..’ Pidge lamented, but yet another burst of pain from her belly had her doubling over before she could offer any further comment. She heard Keith wince vaguely from somewhere above.

‘Damn.. that looks.. unpleasant..’

‘…Understatement..’ She breathed, struggling to stay upright as pang after pang of nauseating pain ran through her. To her horror, it was followed shortly by another wave of suffocating tightness in her throat, and gasping for breath, she stared imploringly up into Shiro’s now fearful face. ‘C-castle..’ she winced. ‘y-you gotta get me to t-the castle..’

‘Okay, okay, Pidge, just try to relax, alright? As soon as we get you there, we’ll get Allura and she’ll -‘

‘No!’ Pidge shook her head, desperately trying to convey her meaning as Shiro lifted her from the ground, careful to keep her steady as he carried her through the air. ‘No, you.. you don’t understand, this isn’t..-!’

‘It’s okay, Pidge,’ Keith soothed, jogging by Shiro’s side, following them to the castle ship parked a short distance away in a large, open cleaning. ‘It’ll be alright, trust us - we’ll get you to Allura,’

Pidge tried to reply, to tell them that it wasn’t Allura who could solve her problem, but her trachea was tightening at a terrifying rate, and she knew that no words would escape her throat. So she just lay still against Shiro’s chest, hoping beyond hope that when they finally did find Allura, she would figure it out. And the sooner that happened, the better - Pidge’s eyesight was starting to go black.

She lost time. One moment they were in the forrest, next she was on the ground, fretful hands and despairing faces all swirling above her. The voices belonging to the faces she could see swam in her ears like a kaleidoscope of noise, focusing in and then fading out, but one voice picked up above the others and stuck in her mind, consoling.

‘Guys, I dunno what you think cramps look like, but that’s not it, trust me,’ Lance. The voice belonged to Lance, and with it, bought a clarity to the others as well, honing Pidge’s senses on reality.

‘Then what the hell is this? ..And anyway, how do you know what cramps look like?!’ Keith. Of course - temperamental and fierce, but deep down just concerned and caring.

‘Dude, you know I’ve got a big family - I’ve got a whole bunch of sisters, and literally every week one of ‘em’ll be complaining about being on,’

Pidge heard no reply, and assumed he had shut Keith up. At any other time or place, Pidge would have snickered at that, enjoying the banterous discourse diving the Paladins, but as it was, she found herself incapable of concern. Her stomach was in agony.

With a sharp cry, she rolled to her side, struggling past the swelling in her neck to bring up the vomit that was forcing its way out. She closed her eyes tight against on onslaught, no desire to see the flood splashing mercilessly against the ground.

‘Okay, seriously guys, what the hell is wrong with her?!’ Lance called, his voice a distant anchor that Pidge tried everything to cling onto to, to hold with everything she had. ‘Pidge? Pidge! Answer us, Goddamnit!’

‘Lance, lay off - you gotta give her some air, buddy,’ Shiro. Pidge felt his hands against her throat, one soft and warming, the other metal, cold to the touch and heavy on her skin. ‘Her throat’s swollen. Looks like an allergic reaction - what’s she eaten?’

‘Uh, j-just.. that goo stuff, with the glowing gold topping..’ She felt Hunk more than heard him, but his tight hand on her shoulder seemed to steady her breathes, weak and nauseous as they were.

‘Wait - what?! She ate that?!’

Pidge couldn’t figure out quite why Keith sounded so upset, but it worried her, a low, unhappy keen letting itself from her teeth in response. Shiro shushed her gently, hands rubbing circles, soothing and slow across her gut.

‘What’s wrong with her eating that? Everyone did,’

‘Lance, it’s made of pollen - the locals here eat it as a delicacy, they were telling me all about it earlier. I thought..- I thought they’d have let you all know, I -…’

Shiro’s hands still a second, pulling a whine like thunder from Pidge’s aching chest, and a pant, sharp and agonising soon followed suit. ‘Sorry, Pidge. Keith - why couldn’t Pidge eat the pollen?’

‘..She’s allergic to it, Shiro.. remember? She has hay fever, and I guess.. well maybe seeing as she ingested so much of it, maybe..’

‘Maybe it made her sick..’ Shiro finished for him just as another spill of vomit slid unobstructed from Pidge’s lips. ‘Okay.. okay, Lance, run ahead to the castle, take Hunk with you and set up a healing pod. Keith, go and find Coran and Allura - we need to call this party off and see to Pidge. I’ll get her back onto the ship,’

‘Got it,’

‘Leave it to me,’

‘Yes sir,’

She was hoisted into the air once again, and into Shiro’s chest she shivered, feeling not for the first time thankful for the men around her. Slow and oblivious they may have been, but hearts the size of empires lay behind their ribs, and intentions so good they were blinding.

But best of all, they were always there, just sat waiting to keep Pidge steady, and that was more than she could ever have dared to dream of.

#sickfic #allergies #pollen poisoning?#pidge #pidge gunderson #voltron #voltron legendary defender #lance mcclain #keith kogane #takashi shirogane #hunk garrett #vomiting #no ships

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