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maddpopcorn · 4 years

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It’s Okay || pjm

Pairing: Maine Coon!Hybrid!Jimin x Male!Reader

Request: hiii can i request a jimin x male reader fic? maybe an angst/comfort hybrid au where jimin is a homeless hybrid who escaped from his abuser owner and is now trying to survive in the streets. the reader would find him and try to help him, but since jimin is scared and doesn’t trust humans, it’s a bit harder than he expected.. (i’d prefer a series but you can make it a one-shot or drabble or whatev boils your noodles lol) thank you in advance and have a nice day!

Summary: When walking down your normal road, you spy a long, fluffy tail. And when it connects to a bruised and bloodied up hybrid who immediately hisses at you, you find yourself trying everything in your power to bring him home….even if you have to suffer a couple of scratches along the way.

Warnings: Angst, lots of angst, burning of the skin with cigarettes, mentions of starving from neglect/punishment, punching, slight mentions blood and cleaning the wound, night terrors

A/N: Wow, you were my first request! I am so sorry it took long. However, I enjoyed writing this piece a lot so I hope you enjoy it, too! If people like this so much, perhaps I could make a second part (I already have one hybrid series I’m planning on making so it might be too much to make this into a series :)) Also, forgive me if there are any mistakes!

Jimin hates being a hybrid. No, scratch that. He despises it. He despises himself. Because of his nature, he’s immediately treated with little to no respect by most humans in society. He’s treated like he’s some type of scum on the bottom of their shoes.

Which isn’t true at all but who will ever listen to him, right? He is just a mangy good for nothing hybrid, after all.

He despises humans. After all of this time observing them, after experiencing them first hand, he has deemed them greedy, selfish and just evil.

They are all evil.

Without his permission, tears well up in his eyes, and he hastily wipes them away out of habit in fear of being caught. He blinks and then dryly chuckles, looking down at his burnt scars that dotted his arms. Who is going to burn their cigarettes into his now dry and cracked skin? Who is going to punch their frustrations out on him again?

No one, right?

He escaped them.

Sighing in relief and with a smile, you wave bye to the last customer that walks out of the coffee shop. Immediately, your smile drops.

“Holy hell, today was busier than a fucking highway,” you groan, shoulders drooping dramatically. You let the broom slide in your hand until only the tips of your fingers are barely holding it up.

“Yeah, why do these people need all of this coffee on a Friday afternoon anyway?” Yoongi complains, dropping his head on the counter, his recently dyed mint hair covering his eyes. “It’s like they’re addicted or something. Damn.”

“Takes one to know one, Yoongles,” you tease, holding the broom properly again and resuming sweeping.

Huffing at your joke, he stretches, popping several bones in the process (that you may or may not be worried about).“Yeah but unlike them, I know my limits.”

“Hah, funniest joke of the year. Yeah, right, dude.”

He reels back like he has touched fire and gasps. “Wha-excuse me, mister but I know my limits.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“Ye-”

“Yoongi-” you stop sweeping, putting your hand on your hip. “-you drank 5 cups of coffee in one sitting during exam week. And then, the next week, you kept chugging energy drinks like they were nothing so you could finish your ‘precious song’.” One by one, you start listing off all the times he has drank too much coffee and energy drinks. His body deflates with each jab at his pride until he’s crumbling in on himself.

It’s a hot minute before any of you say anything, quietly cleaning up the shop so that you could finally go home.

“Fuck off, pretty boy,” he finally says, middle finger in the air and face heating up.

You bark out a laugh. “So you finally admit that I’m pretty, huh? Jin owes me $5.”

“You fucking-”

“Don’t forget, 8 o’clock tonight, my apartment. Don’t be late like last time, brat,” Yoongi scolds, adjusting his glasses. You throw your hands up, a cheeky smirk on your face.

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You wave bye to your coworker as you exit the coffee shop. Humming to yourself, you begin your journey on your normal path to home. Mentally checking off your to-do list before you have to get ready for the annual hangout you and your friends have every week, you spot in the corner of your eye a fluffy, blonde blob. You turn your head, fully stopping and squinting.

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, creeping up on the blob. It grows until it stops at a…

“Holy shit!” You yell, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth in disbelief.

A hybrid. A cat hybrid, to be specific, is laying on the dirty and wet ground of the alley way. His eyes are closed, and you timidly squat down near him to examine him. Matted blonde hair sticks to his face with what you can only assume is sweat and dirt which is also smudging across his face. His lips are forming a pout and he moves a bit, making you jump back in surprise. When he stays still after, you continue your examination. His skin looks dry and his cheeks are sunken in. Trailing your eyes down his form, you notice how worn and ragged his clothes truly are. And how big they look on him. Your eyebrows furrow at his state. Someone did a beating on this poor guy.

He whimpers in his sleep and without thinking, you do something stupid. Something incredibly stupid.

You reach your hand out towards him, to pet him or give him comfort, not really controlling your urges to get close. And that’s when you instantly regret it. His eyes snap open, and you yelp in pain as his claws swipe into your skin. Recoiling back, you immediately grasp your now bleeding arm, eyes glued to it. Three deep scratches litter your arm and blood starts to come to the surface.

Even if you’re the one that got scratched, you apologize.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, letting out a shuddering breath. “I should’ve given you your space. I’m sorry.”

“Leave me alone!” He hisses, shuffling far away from you. Growling, his entire body shakes as flashes upon flashes come back to him. Pupils reducing to slits and ears flattening against his head, he swipes at you again,

You mentally slap yourself in the face. Of course he would scratch you. You invaded his personal space and reminded him of his abusers. You scared him. You back up, giving the hybrid one last glance, guilt racking every bone in your body for scaring the hybrid before you walk away.

He doesn’t meet your eyes.

You rush home, your makeshift bandage from the napkins in your pocket soaked in blood. He got you deep. But it wasn’t his fault. It was yours.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you repeat to yourself. “How could you be so fucking stupid?”

Someone holds the door open for you as you slide past them, muttering a quick thanks.

“Hi, Mrs. Hags. Bye, Mrs. Hags,” you yell out to the landlady, rushing past people into the elevator of your complex.

“Bye, dearie,” she calls out. “Odd fellow, he is. Isn’t that right, Mr. Whiskers?”

Her cat only yawns in response and she immediately coos, getting right back to her knitting.

Stomping your foot impatiently, you give an awkward smile to the other tenants present in the elevator. They smile back, weird looks on their faces as they realize you’re holding your bleeding arm and you silently wish that the elevator would hurry the hell up. Sighing in relief as the elevators dings, you squeeze through the opening doors.

“Odd fellow,” One whispers out.

“Yeah, very odd,” Another whispers back.

Fumbling with your keys to your door, you curse in frustration as you drop them. Picking them up, you unlock your door after what seemed like forever. Finally, practically throwing open your door, you race to your bathroom, not caring as your door slams behind you. Dropping everything, you quickly get the first aid kit out.

“Fuck,” you hiss in pain as the alcohol seeps into your wound. Tears fall from your eyes from the burning sensation. “Ah, I’m melting, I’m melting…fuck, I’m dumb.”

After 10 minutes of grueling pain, you look at your newly bandaged arm. That was so stupid of you. How could you just invade his space like that? As you focus on your arm, dumb thoughts running through your head, your phone rings, snapping you out of your thoughts. Fishing it out of your pocket, you groan again when you realize it’s Yoongi. You still had time to get there, two hours really, so why was he calling you?

“Hello?”

“Y/N, wanted to let you know that Joon got the stomach bug so the hangout is cancelled. Hobi and I are taking care of him.”

You can hear groans of pain in the background and Hoseok teasing. “Quit being a baby, Joonie. It’s a mere stomach bug.”

“Feels like I’m dying, Hobi,” he groans dramatically.

“Sounds like you have a handful, Yoongles,” you chuckle, putting up the alcohol and first aid kit.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“Okay, thanks for telling me. I hope Joon gets better. I have some stuff to do so I have to go.”

“Yeah, right. Bye, Y/N-Namjoon, did you just hit me with a pillow?”

You can hear Namjoon yelling “Cuddles, now!” before Yoongi hangs up, eliciting a belly laugh out of you. How Yoongi and Hoseok put up with their boyfriend, you have no clue but more power to them. Staring back at your arm, you nod as you come up with a plan to win the hybrid over. Or at least apologize to him. You roll up your other sleeve, making your way over to your kitchen. You’ve got work to do.

It’s a couple of hours later when Jimin finally retreats from his hidey hole to see a brown paper bag with a note attached to it. An amazing smell wafts through the air that makes his stomach growl in hunger. He slowly crawls forward, tail swishing in curiosity, and snatches the note from the bag.

I’m sorry about today. Please enjoy your dinner.

P.S, I hear Maine Coons like this fish, assuming you are one. Enjoy :)

-Y/N (The guy who is really sorry about invading your personal space)

He hisses in disgust, shifting backward from the paper bag. The note flies from his grasp and lands in a puddle, immediately getting soaked from the dirty water. What if you poisoned it? Or laced it with something? Are you working for…her? Are you going to take him back? It’s not like he’s never had the wonderful pleasure of starving before. She would make sure of that. He can deal with it. He has done it plenty of times, one more can’t hurt…right?

He sits there, just glaring holes at the bag as rain drops hit him, trying so hard to ignore everything. The smell, the wonderful smell. He clenches his teeth so hard he’s afraid he’ll break them as another sharp pain shoots through his stomach, accompanied by a familiar grumbling. He tries to ignore it. He tries to focus on something else. Perhaps the way his bones are shivering from the rain will do? No, that makes it worse. Makes him want whatever is in the bag even more. It seems warm. Warm enough to make him warm. He wants it. He needs it. So much.

Ignore it.

Ignore. It.

But, a guy can only take so much.

The smell surrounding him in mockery and the nagging pain finally makes Jimin grab the bag, fishing out the food and digging in, without sparing it a second glance. He’ll worry about the consequences later.

He almost moans from the taste he thought he had forgotten long ago. The fish is still warm, kept in a container that keeps the temperature insulated and whatever soup you got (or made, he can care less) goes perfectly with it.

In a matter of minutes, the fish is finished, and Jimin is gulping down the remaining soup. He pulls back, licking his lips and sighs in satisfaction. His stomach is warm from the soup. He’s not shivering that much from the rain anymore. He actually feels…cozy and it’s incredibly weird to him. Something foreign almost. He places the bowl back into the bag and crawls back into his hiding place. Curling up, yawning, he thinks of you and quietly mumbles a thank you before falling fast asleep.

It is a couple of days later when you return, bandage wrapped around your arm. Jimin growls in annoyance and begrudgingly relief. You seem..okay from his scratch.

Stupid human can’t follow a stupid task.

“I come bearing a peace offering,” you smile, holding out two bags.

Jimin’s eyes study the bags and then trail up your hand and to your arm. Annoyingly, in his opinion, guilt racks up. You notice his eyes glued to your arm and you wave your hand.

“Don’t worry about. My friend Jin said it would be fine.”

You lock eyes for a mere second before he’s immediately spitting back, “Like I care.”

He averts his eyes, letting out a loud huff. You sit down, slowly sliding one bag towards him. He views the action from the corner of his eyes. What are you doing? He turns his head just a bit to get a better view and his eyes widen.

“What are you doing?” he practically screeches as you pull out your lunch for the day.

“Taking my lunch break. What else?” you tease, waving the take out container in your hand. “Would you care to join me?”

“No.”

You shrug your shoulders and open your container. “Suit yourself, buddy.”

You begin eating and Jimin rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and looking away. Again, he repeats the same mantra from last time.

Ignore it.

His stomach rumbles and if you heard it, you make no move to comment and instead, continue to happily eat.

“Wow, this chicken is to die for. Compliments to the chef,” you groan, giving a chef’s kiss. “Sure you don’t want any?”

He knows what your game is. You’re just trying to rile him up to eat the food so that you can do whatever you want with him. No, not this time. It won’t work. After you leave, he’ll throw the food away. He is sure of it.

“I am positive I don’t want your shitty food,” he snaps.

You wince, putting a hand to your chest. “Ouch buddy, that hurt.”

“Not your fucking buddy either,” he growls in annoyance.

“Just slash at my feelings, why don’t yah?”

“Gladly.”

That is his last and final word. You finish your lunch, taking one glance at the hybrid and leave. Jimin sits there and makes a move to throw out the food. He hesitantly reaches out but backs away. His eyebrows furrow at his dilemma. On one hand, should he waste food like that? That would be wrong of him. On another, did you poison the food this time? Can he really trust that you didn’t?

He lasts a total of five minutes before he’s digging into the food. Maybe, just maybe, you’re a decent human. Just maybe.

It takes you weeks to earn the still nameless hybrid’s trust. Even then, it was only a small amount. At least you could sit closer together and talk about random things. That’s why it surprises you when he meekly asks if he can go with you this time.

You widen your eyes at his request. “What?”

“When you leave, can I go with you? Y/N, please?” His ears are flattened against his head and his tail is curled around his waist.

“I don’t even know your name-”

“Jimin. It’s um, Jimin.” He blurts out. He clears his throat, face flushed, eyes looking at every thing but you.

“Jimin…” you whisper, the name so foreign on your tongue. “Pretty name. What made you want to come with me?”

“I…” he didn’t expect that question. “I don’t know. You just seem…comforting, I guess? I don’t know, it was stupid. I’m sorry-”

You cut him off. “Shh, it’s not stupid. I’m glad that I seem comforting to you. My answer is yes, you can come home with me.”

His eyes widen and it’s the first time you have ever seen him smile that wide before. You hope you’ll see that smile even more in the future.

“And this is your room!” You gesture with your arm. “I had to quickly clean it since I honestly didn’t think you would come with me so forgive me if it’s still a bit dusty.” You walk in but he doesn’t follow. You turn around towards him, cocking your head. “Jimin?”

Jimin can’t say anything. This is all for him? But, he didn’t do anything to deserve it. He didn’t please you. He didn’t let you use him as a personal punching bag for your frustrations. This is a trick. It has to be. No one is this kind to a stranger, especially a hybrid. A hybrid who hurt you. For fuck’s sake, he scratched you. Yeah, he wanted to come home with you and yeah, he did say you were comforting but he expected that you would make him share the same room or something. He didn’t know what to expect. Just not this.

“Jimin?” Your soothing voice lures him out of his mess he calls his thoughts.

“I-I can’t accept this room, Y/N.”

You must’ve pulled a face or something because Jimin is immediately tense, ready to dash right back out on to the streets.

“Why?” is the only thing you ask.

“What?”

“Why can’t you accept the room?”

He wraps his arms around himself, his tail joining them. “Never had this before. This much kindness thrown at me. Expected to..pay you in return.”

“It’s yours now, Jimin. No payment needed.”

“Why are you so kind to me?”

His question throws you off-guard and it takes you a minute to answer. You brush the lint off of his comforter. “Because you deserve it. I can only assume you’ve been through hell and back. Why not live the rest of your life peacefully?”

“Thank you.”

With that, you smile and leave him be in his new room. A couple of hours later, he joins you for dinner. Whatever you made smells heavenly. Quietly sitting down, he watches as you put the pot on the table in between you two. The bowls are already set and you serve him first before serving yourself. He mutters a “thank you”.

“Dig in, Jimin. I hope you’ll like it. New recipe I’m trying out,” you hum, taking a spoon full of the stew and blowing on it. He waits until you take a bite first. You smile in satisfaction as the spicy fish stew came out perfectly. Just the right amount of spice. He should’ve known better, really. You never wanted to hurt him in the first place but old habits die hard and he finds himself gauging your reaction to the food. You didn’t trick him before, you didn’t poison him at all, so why should this meal be different? Maybe it’s because he’s on your turf now. He waits and when he deems the food is safe enough to eat since you aren’t spasming out of control from poison or getting sleepy from a sedative, he digs in.

Wow.

You’re an amazing cook.

It doesn’t take Jimin even 5 minutes to finish his bowl and your heart aches just a little at the mere thought of him being hungry ever again.

“Must’ve been good?” You tease light-heartedly. Jimin nods, licking his lips clean. “Want a second bowl?”

His eyes widen at the aspect and you only take his bowl to fill it up again. Jimin wastes no time finishing the second one. He feels all warm, fuzzy even and he looks down at his stomach in confusion. This is a familiar feeling. A feeling he had on the day you two met. It takes him a good solid minute, weighing the pros and cons of asking you if you had made that soup. Would you think it was weird if he told you he had remembered the fuzzy feeling? Would you think it was weird if he told you that that was the only time he had ever felt close to home? Finally, he concludes that either way, he needs to know because he cannot stand the stupid curiosity that’s nagging him.

“I..I have a question,” Jimin mumbles.

You nod, gulping down the remaining water from your cup. “Shoot.”

He looks around the room as he hesitantly asks, “Did, did you..you know, that soup..”

“Soup? What soup?”

“You know, that soup.”

“I’m not following, Jiminie?”

His face heats up at your nickname for him but you don’t seem to realize that you even said it in the first place. He finally blurts out, “The one that you gave me the first time we met! Did you cook it?”

“Oh.”

“I just,” he continues. “It was the only time I ever felt..I don’t know. Nevermind- it’s stupid.”

“Yes.”

“What?” Did you actually think it was-

“Yes, I made it. I wanted you to have a homemade meal. And I was apologizing to you so I thought it would be a bit more..special I guess.”

“Thank you..”

You both clean the dishes, wash up and head to bed. Jimin is finally alone to just process everything. This could be a home for him. He lays down, relishing in the softness of the bed. He wraps himself with the comforter. It smells so nice and it feels so warm and so..homey. Yawning, he doesn’t notice the smile creeping up on his face as he closes his eyes, sleep taking over.

A couple of weeks have passed and having Jimin around is such a delight. Not having to come home to an empty apartment feels so much better. He helps you clean, he accompanies you when you’re watching something on the tv. He lets you ramble about your day at the coffee shop. It takes Jimin a while to grow used to being here. And not everything is so pleasant. Countless of times, Jimin has woken up from night terrors, from flashbacks of that place. And this time isn’t any different.

It’s around 4 in the morning when Jimin wakes up, his eyes flying open from the nightmare. Gasping for air, he looks around. Everything seems so hazy, so dark. All he can remember is him screaming for you.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. You’re not going to give him away, right? Right?

You weren’t anywhere in sight and he could feel himself panicking. He rapidly jumps up, trying to find the light switch or the curtains or something to give light. To give him hope that you hadn’t sneakily sold him back to her. He trips over something and reaches out his hand, grasping a cloth and pulling it down with him. Moon light floods the room and he curls up, sobbing and shaking. His heart is racing and he silently begs for you to appear.

You jolt awake at the loud “thunk” coming from somewhere in your apartment. You jump up, grabbing your baseball bat and tip toe out of your room. Hearing whimpers from Jimin’s room, you drop the bat and rush in.

“Jimin, oh my god, are you okay?” you ask alarmed, freeing him. He’s shaking all over, eyes closed and arms wrapped around himself.

“Please tell me I’m not there again. I don’t wanna go back. Please, please please..” He repeatedly mumbles. “I’m a good boy. I’ll be a better boy, I promise. Please, just don’t take me there.”

Without thinking, you wrap your arms around him, rocking him back and forth. “I promise on everything holy that I will never leave you. I will never let you go back there, Jimin.”

He sobs into your shoulder, gripping tightly at your t-shirt. His tail wraps around you, and you stroke his head.

“Shh, I’ve got you. You’re here, you’re home. It’s okay, you’re safe. I promise,” you whisper. After a long time, Jimin grounds himself and he pulls back to see you, worry filling your eyes and tears at the brim of them.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, diving right back into your arms. You only rub his back in soothing motions.

That was the first night ever that he had asked you to stay in his room.

The next morning while you’re making a delicious breakfast for the both of you, he stalks into the kitchen. You hum a little at his presence, asking him if he is okay. He hums in agreement and stares at you. You, already used to him just staring at you, studying your movements, continue cooking. He walks up behind you, ears pinned back, arms opening up.

He back hugs you.

You’re startled for a moment and it makes him hesitate to tighten his grip but when you don’t move away, just slightly humming as you continue to cook, he smiles, ever so slightly, tautening his hold.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he murmurs into your back, so quietly that you have a hard time hearing him. But you hear him. He buries his head into your back, inhaling your comforting scent. “Thank you.”

That’s when you realize that the future for the both of you would be much brighter from here on.

#bts #bts jimin #bts jimin x reader #bts jimin x male reader #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts yoongi #bts hybrid fic #bts hybrid x reader #bts x reader #bts namjoon #bts hoseok #bts hybrid x male reader #bts x male reader

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fallout4reactsblog · 3 years

Note

companions react to news of the institute christmas party courser revolution and the fact that the institute is now apparently populated entirely by festive rogue coursers in elf costumes and also what ramifications this has on the politics of the commonwealth as a whole. father's drowned corpse, still in his silly santa hat, is now impaled on the antlers of the fake reindeer on the sleigh prop by the institute's metaphorical front door as a warning and a symbol of their casting off chains.

Cait: “You have to at least give them some points for creativity.”

Cait pulls a face, but says, “I guess.”

“Come on, Cait. You could at least admit it’s a little funny. I’d have paid good money to be a fly on the wall that day.”

“It’s fucked up, is what it is. How are you so calm?”

“How are you so stressed?” They lean back in their chair, folding their arms contentedly. “They basically did our job for us. No more Institute.”

She sighs. “You’re nuts.”

“Maybe. I guess all we can do is wait and see what happens, huh? Maybe they’ll retreat to their underground hidey-hole and leave the Commonwealth alone.”

“Not countin’ on it.”

“You can be as pessimistic as you like. The way I see it, this is a good thing both ways. Either the Institute collapses without strict management- which would be good- the coursers decide they don’t believe in what the Institute was doing before and stop- also good- or we go in there and only have to kill half of what was there. A win-win-win situation.”

She shakes her head. “Whatever you say. I’m not buyin’ it.”

Curie: “The absurdity of the situation is certainly not lost on me, Madam/Monsieur, but surely there are still, ah, consequences for this?”

“Oh, sure, yeah, definitely. I mean, they’ve basically got my son on a pike on the CIT lawn. But, you know, don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things, as the old saying goes.”

“I... do not think this is a ‘petty thing’ anymore.”

They wave a hand dismissively. “We’ll wait for the dust to settle, then go check it out. Until then, I’m not jumping to any conclusions.”

“I am merely saying that, given the evidence, this seems quite disastrous, especially in terms of political instability.”

“Ah, who cares about politics? Unless they or someone else starts a war, it’ll be fine. Let ‘em live a little. Everybody’s gotta have a rebellious teenager phase at some point.”

Curie wasn’t sure this counted as being a rebellious teen, but if that was what brought sole comfort, she would let them have it.

Danse: Listening Post Bravo is quiet. That’s how he likes it, and how it’s going to stay.

Courser uprising. Of course, it was a courser uprising. What else could it have been? Those things are killing machines; death is everything they were designed for, and now they’ve taken the reigns and can do as they see fit across the Commonwealth with no masters to keep them in check.

He pulls himself a little tighter into his corner. God, what a mess. This is over. They needed to go back to DC and forget they had ever heard of the Institute. Tactical retreat. If Arthur wasn’t so far on his warpath, he might have even suggested it, but he was six feet deep in his “now’s the time to strike” speech with no sign of stopping to think about the hole he was digging.

Well, Arthur could do what he wanted. Danse has had enough of this, enough of the goddamn Commonwealth, enough of the synths, enough of it all. This was his home, now, and he was going to sit here and plant potatoes and forget anything that happened outside. Especially the fact that coursers even existed and could, presumably, come knocking on his door at any moment.

He was going to make an effort to forget that first.

Deacon: He lets out a long, low, whistle, then turns to Dez. “We should’ve thought of that one first, Boss. It’s genius.”

“It’s madness.” Desdemona pinches the bridge of her nose. “But I suppose it works in our favor, at least for now. There should be chaos in the Institute right about now.”

“Other synths probably saw the carnage.” Glory pipes up. “They might be getting some similar ideas. This could be our moment.”

“Who would’ve predicted this, though?” Deacon grins. “It’s so out there that I can’t even be surprised that it happened. I mean, tell me “Holiday Office Party Leads to Destruction of Commonwealth Boogeyman” doesn’t sound like a headline you’d see in the Publick these days. It’s the perfect brand of Commonwealth crazy.”

“The Brotherhood is going to want to get on this,” Carrington says, shooting a glare Deacon’s direction. “We need to act before they can get there.”

“I’ve reached out to our man on the inside,” Deacon replies, glaring back. “But until we hear back, we might as well enjoy the show.”

Dez shakes her head. “I suppose so.”

Gage: “Honestly? Can’t blame ‘em. That holiday party sounds like an actual nightmare. I’d kill someone if they stuck elf ears on me, too.”

“Damn. There go my plans for next Christmas.”

Sole’s tone is dry enough he can’t tell if they’re joking. “I’m serious, Overboss. You even look at me with a costume-”

“I value my life, thanks.”

“Just providin’ fair warning. I don’t think any of the others would take kindly to it, either.”

They shake their head. “Mason wouldn’t mind. He practically dresses up in a costume every day.”

“Are you shitting me? He’d be the one that hated it the most.”

“Absolutely not. Mags would hate it the most.”

He thinks about it a moment, then replies, “Fair point, but what about Nisha?”

Sole sucks in a tense breath. “Oh, that’d be a mess. A bloody, ugly mess. Moral of the story: no holiday parties.”

“Good advice.”

Hancock: “I mean, good for them?” He stares at the ceiling, still a little baffled. “I guess?”

“But what does this mean, John?” Fahrenheit lights up a cigarette across from him.

“Well, we’ll be fine. I have that on good authority. Everybody else...” He makes a face.

“Exactly. No one knows.”

“No one even knew this was an option.” Smoke hisses between his teeth. “I mean, it’s fitting that they’d go up in smoke because of their own arrogance, but still.”

“People are losing it.”

He snorts. “Think of the Brotherhood. They must be havin’ a real heyday over there. But us? We’ll be fine. That’s what matters, right?”

“That’s what matters.”

MacCready: “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

Sole shrugs. “Then don’t say anything. I’m still not sure how I feel about it myself.”

“This is a good thing, right?” He looks to them for some explanation. “Right?”

“It’s too early to say, yet.”

“’Too early to say’? It’s a courser uprising for crying out loud. Forget what I said. This is bad.”

“Could turn out to be good, though.”

“Okay, it could, but...” he shakes his head. “What the heck. You’re right. We’ll see.”

Still, it’s a messed-up way to go. The only thing worse than being killed by a courser, he imagines, is being killed by a courser dressed up as a holiday elf.

Nick: He blinks slowly, purses his lips, then carefully folds his newspaper and puts it to the side.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know. Crazy, huh?” Sole pops the cap off a Nuka-Cola and takes a seat on his desk. “All it took was a Christmas party.”

“I gotta say, this wasn’t among the ways I thought the Institute would go. Up in a firey ball, sure, but at the hands of killing machines dressed as Santa’s elves?”

“That’s what makes it so great! No one saw this coming, the Institute least of all, I assume. Can you imagine the mess that must be happening at Boston Airport right now? The Brotherhood is shitting their pants as we speak.”

He just shakes his head. “We can close that case, I guess. I’m not sure if I should be happy for them or horrified at the circumstances. Still, we should be careful; it’ll be hard to know what a change in leadership means for us.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll give ‘em credit for creativity, though.”

Piper: This is the best thing to happen all year.

For once, papers are flying off the shelves. She’s selling copies right off the press, selling them before they’re even printed. She’s on backorder for the story of the festive courser rebellion, which she’d heard all the details about from a Diamond City guard wearing suspiciously Deacon-like sunglasses. But forget him.

People have traveled to get here and get their hands on the Publick. There’s someone from Bunker Hill sitting next to someone from Cambridge next to someone who said they came from the Glowing Sea, of all places. The caps she’s making is more than she could have ever imagined, and she’s glad she faced sleep deprivation to make this one a Publick Occurrences exclusive. It’s been well worth it so far. Nat doesn’t even have to stand on the street to hawk the paper, people are coming right up to her door and knocking, no joke.

She knew the war would be profitable, but it’s made even better by the way it all went down. A holiday party gone wrong is the perfect headline, and if she could find a courser, she’d kiss them for their genius. Because this is the best thing to happen to her since she not-so-subtly implied McDonough was a synth.

Bless the coursers of the Institute for their impeccable sense of style.

Preston: “I have to say, I didn’t expect to be crossing ‘take care of the Institute’ off of my to-do list so quickly.”

Sole cocks their head to the side. “I mean, it’s not gone yet. Just... under new management.”

“New management, new threat in my opinion. You can’t really believe everything is going to stay the same after this. The Institute is going to change in at least a couple of ways.”

“Fair.” They lean up against the workbench. “Kinda crazy how it all went down, though.”

He chuckles. “I’d call that an understatement, General. No one could’ve seen this one coming. Trigger-happy Brotherhood goes on the warpath? I thought we might see that one, but blowing up from the inside?” He shakes his head. “That’s a new one.”

“They kinda had it coming, though. Who thought making killing machines play Barbie was a good idea?”

“Someone who came to regret it, no doubt.”

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bioticgoddess · 5 years

Text

Songbirds and Baby Bats (X)

(Guess who’s back...)

Series Summary: Jason Todd returns from the dead and, after the events of Under the Red Hood,he goes from Gotham to Bludhaven in search of himself…and an old friend. But getting your life back is never easy and Black Mask has enlisted the aid of Gotham’s other Crime Families as well as a few ghosts of Batman’s past. He’s coming for the Red Hood and everyone of his allies.

(I don’t own the pictures of cd828studios‘s Ian Lang as Red Hood. I own nothing. Except Wren/Amy and my OCs.

Also: Go support the kickstarter! DOOO EEEEEET.... https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1109643588/red-hood-the-fan-series-season-2/description) And now to the story...

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Part X

“I brought presents,” Red Hood chuckled, nodding at a second rucksack on the roof. He’d tucked it neatly between a set of steam vents. The questionable hidey-hole kept the back up supplies and small arsenal he’d brought safely out of sight. It wasn’t how he’d planned to get the others out of the apartment and across to the roof. But it had worked and at least they could fight with with what could theoretically be accounted for as home field advantage.

“You raided my safe house,” Nightwing’s voice was devoid of emotion, eyes narrowed and brows thin. The domino mask showed more of the thinly veiled irritation than expected.

One of the bullets from Slade’s own side arm whizzed past. Interrupting what had otherwise promised to be a proper brotherly debate. An argument much like the one they once had over a bedroom in Wayne Manor. “Well time to go,” Jason countered abruptly as Wren scooped up the rucksack and darted past them towards the far side of the roof.

They could hear the cord bend as Dustan ran along it. “Oh right,” Wren grinned, fishing a shuriken from the bag. Her fingers grazing the pouches of what had been her old utility bet. Flipping it across the back of her fingers, she cast a quick look over her shoulder behind them. “One, two, three,” each count felt like an eternity as the assassins made their way across the city ravine between buildings. A flick of her wrist, and the shuriken flew. It sliced through the line just ahead of Dustan.

“You wanna hand me that,” Nightwing asked, sliding over a steam vent. With a grin, he held out his hand for the rucksack. One of his bird-shaped shuriken flew past, driving itself into the vent he was mean to barrel roll over. It was not a good day. To top it off, as the trio moved over and around the roof, the weapons from their stolen utility belts flew past.

Looping the trio of belts over her arm, Wren pulled them free and passed him the bag. Her old apparatus had been less elegant. A utility belt with thigh holsters and pouches. Snapping the main belt around her waist as she slid behind cover, Wren chuckled. Fastening the other buckles in place, she elbowed the Red Hood playfully. “Thanks for these,” she tapped the fully loaded pouches. Jason hadn’t just raided Dick’s supplies, he’d armed his friends (and himself) for bear.

Across the way, behind another vent, Dick was fastening his own gear in place. It was his generation-one escrima sticks, harness, and utility belt. The design was based on his old Robin gear, save for the holsters he’d cobbled together for the escrima sticks. Those were modified from a design he’d seen in an old Kung Fu movie. Leave it to Dick Grayson to find inspiration in a campy film. Fully loaded utility belt and back up weapons in place, he sent the backpack - whose remaining contents were exclusively ammo for Red Hood – flying across the open space between their covers. Two more shuriken, both carved to look like birds, nicked the heavy canvas bag.

All they lacked were the tasers that both Nightwing and Wren carried – the ones in his regular escrima sticks and those in her gauntlets. Wren caught the now lighter bag as Jason popped up, both side arms in hand, “Stay down babe,” and let a series of rounds fly over the top of the HVAC unit that he and Wren had ducked behind. He was pointed to their 6-o’clock, engaging Deathstroke as the the orange and black clad assassin tucked in beside a curved vent.

Rolling her eyes, she looked across to Nightwing. Deliberately, he set a hand mirror against the corner of a pallet fillet with construction materials. Glancing at it, the veteran could see Dustan’s approach. He was more heavily armored than his lithe frame and build had suspected. The wisp of a man was creeping down the center approach. They weren’t sure if it was a conscious choice or part of a plan with Slade to try and flank the trio. No, to flank JASON. He cursed softly, slipping a trio of shuriken between the fingers of his right hand. Wren followed his lead, two kunai coming out of a pouch on her right leg.

He flashed the countdown on his left hand, eyes flitting between the mirror and his friends. 3 – 2 – 1, zero.

The second his fist was up they sprang out of their respective hiding places. Momentum and years of practice sending the weapons flying through the air as they changed positions. Now Wren, when she PK rolled to the far side of the HVAC unit he’d been behind, had eyes on Dustan. They heard someone cry out in pain and, eyes on a mirror she pulled from her belt, Wren grinned – one of her kunai stuck out the man’s thigh. It had sunk in half way up the blade and, reflexively she gave a thumbs up to the boys.

Resetting, her flitting between the mirror and the two former Robins, it was Wren’s turn for the countdown. Throwing weapons in hand, even Jason shifted along his established firing line – keeping his back to the others. 3 – 2 – 1. Zero.

They didn’t swap places with the throw. Not exactly. It was the start of their retreat to the roof’s edge fifty feet away. They needed to clear the heavy machines and construction supplies on the rooftop. Sending Dustan off balance, trying to evade the hail of shuriken and kunai, gave them a chance to move to the next cover points. Jason’s suppressing fire was keeping Deathstroke from making much ground towards them – right until he ran out of ammo. “Shit,” he cursed as Wren and Nightwing slid into their new cover positions.

That was his queue. Jason plucked a trio of smoke pellets from one of the utility pockets in his jacket and sent them flying. It was a like a cascade, each one hitting the ground a few seconds after the others until all three burst, sending up a wall of smoke that overwhelmed the rooftop. It startled their captors and would be killers, neither was prepared for the smoke. Not the way Jason employed it. He’d used several different chemical compositions in his smoke pellets. They yielded a cloud of smoke that cartoonishly heavy and seemed to have a bluish-gray tint to it.

As Slade and Dustan coughed heavily, still trying to close in on the vigilantes, the distinct explosions from grappling guns echoed around them. Even with the smoke blinding them, the two assassins knew their prey was being drawn across the sky - hands wrapped tightly around their escape tools.

Jason took up the rear guard, letting a half-length develop between himself and the others. He needed the lead time right now, if anything happened. He was sure they were being tracked by the other two. It’s what he’d do. Knew it was what Dustan - the Intermediary - would absolutely do. It was part of how he’d earned his reputation as one of Ra’s most reliant weapons. That was it. They’d been thinking about Dustan backwards the entire time! He wasn’t a member of the league, he was a weapon, a tool, not a person. “Slade’s more human than that...virus,” he snorted.

As their feet finally hit the steel garters of what happened to be the same building where Barbara’s tirade had nearly killed him. Skidding along one of the support beams, he hooked an arm around Amy’s waist, “You okay?”

“Nothing a hot bath and some yoga won’t fix,” she winked. The way yoga rolled off her tongue, the curl off her lips, it sent a shiver up Jason’s spine. Behind his helmet a giddy grin spread, ear to ear. Moments like this made their fight – Bruce’s goddamned Crusade – worth fighting. He squeezed the Irish woman in a sidelong hug, forgetting the weight of their current situation.

Then Dick groaned, the eye roll audible with every syllable, “Could you two, y’know, do this later? Maybe after we deal with the assassins trying to turn us into a paycheck? I’d really like to maybe survive long enough to, oh, see sunrise.” He was leaning heavily against one of the upright garters, muscle fatigue catching up with him. The hours spent in Deathstroke and Dunstan's custody felt like days thanks to how they’d been restrained. Their patrols beforehand hadn’t been particularly gentle and, to top it off, the sun was starting to rise. They had precious little time to get to shelter or deal with two assassins. Neither seemed particularly likely in their current state

“I hate it when you’re right,” Jason hissed through his voice modulator. Bless Dick Grayson’s heart. It sucked that his warning came too late.

Dustan came from above, the flats of his heavily booted feet slamming into Jason’s chest and sending

him flying backwards off the garter. It was like a bad flashback. At least this time he didn’t fall half as far he could have. His back hit a completed level of floor several dozen feet below. Pulling Amy with him, they twisted and he did manage to landed in a way that this chest cushioned her fall. Both of them gasped hard, roping apart quickly as the assassin fell heavily between them. If they hadn't done so, it was a certainty that the weight and force of his body would would have snapped bones and crushed organs. Neither wanted to experience that.

It wasn't looking good. They were all three tired and hurt. Well, Jason was hurting not so much hurt. The impact had, however, knocked out the sensors in his helmet’s HUD. Rolling onto his knees and popping back up, faster than he should have, he yanked off his helmet. The motion practically tore the secondary mask off his face. Chucking the dead red egg aside he received a momentary sensory overload. He could hear the clash above him of Slade’s sword edge against Dick’s escrima sticks. Heard Amy call out to him at the same time he heard the clasp sheathing one of Dustan's co-opted shuriken come undone.

Ducking, he spun on his heels and slammed the back of his right forearm into the other man’s midsection. The sharp weapon clattering to the concrete. At the same time, as he rose, he brought his left knee up and drove it hard into the assassin's face. It caught him in the left cheekbone and jaw. There was a soft crunch but not enough to make Jason believe he’d done any more than crack of partially fracture the man’s skull.

When the now injured attacker stumbled back, one hand cupped over the side of his face, Jason finished wheeling around and dropped into a defensive position. Arms raised, he stood ready to take whatever attempt at any sort of brawl that Dustan thought might stand up to him. Come hell or high water he was gonna put this kid down. He didn’t care. He’d gone after two of the people that Jason considered off limits. One more than the other but all the same. No one got to kill the other Robins except for him; if it came to it. “Well, what are you waiting for,” he grumbled, jaw set.

Dragging the back of his left arm across his mouth, Ra’s’ pet smeared the rivulet’s of blood that trickled down from his nose and mouth. The hit from Red Hood had managed to do some damage, more perhaps than either man realized. They both heard the electric charges in the gloves hum to life as Dustan clicked them on. The blood stained toothy grin cracking across his face sent a momentary chill down Jason’s spice. Voice devoid of emotion, he answered, “You are no longer protected dead little bird.”

The exchanged blows, Jason determined to stay out of any potential grapples while electricity arced and cracked off of them. The hair on his neck and face standing at attention every time the strikes came too close or he was unable to push his defense out in time. Even by Dick’s standards the battle was balletic.

Strangely, however, Deathstroke was retreating. He’d seen both Wren and Red Hood hit the concrete and witness the chance missed that Dustan had once had to kill them both. Then another when the Red Hood had smashed his knee into the other man’s face. Chuckling to himself and kicking Nightwing’s legs out from under him, he sheathed his sword. “Perhaps another time boy wonder. I’ll call us even and you can keep your head.”

Winded, Dick shouted, “You’re not getting away!”

“Don’t test your luck child.” The barrel of his hand gun pointed between Nightwing’s eyes. Deathstroke backed along their current combat platform - a steel framed grate. Eyes fixed on the younger vigilante, crouched and sucking in breaths heavily, “We’ll settle this another time.” His voice was heavy and warning.

A sickening crack reached their ears. Nightwing broke eye contact and looked down to the floor. Jason was on his back, Dustan straddling him. The two where fighting for position and the control of the other man’s arms. Amy was half a dozen feet away and moving slowly from where she’d landed earlier to get back on her feet. “Shit. Deathstroke, I-” The orange and black clad man was long gone when he returned his attention to the spot across from him. “Dammit.”

The gloves grazed Jason’s cheek and he yowled. He’d have to have words with Wren later about the voltage and simultaneously be thankful for the foresight he’d had to put electrical resistance in his gear. A thing his squishy flesh lacked, entirely. It hurt, burning and shocking his system. He felt muscles seize and his body go tense.

“I always complete my contracts,” Dustan hissed down at him, bloody spittle spraying the side of Jason’s face as he turned aside.

Teeth gritted, watching him from the corner of his eyes, Jason taunted, “First time for everything.”

Thunk-kunk.

“Feck off,” Wren heaved as the assassin reared up. Her last two kunai were half buried in his unprotected sides. She’d hit the ground wrong when she drove out of the way of his drop. While she’d been spared the blunt force trauma, she’d smacked the side of her head into a trough of other construction supplies hard enough to see stars. They’d all had it happen in the field before, however, this had been her first time. It had taken her longer than expected to recover, let alone get a good line of sight on what was otherwise an easier target.

After all, anything engaged in hand-to-hand with the boys was something she and Barbara had often considered stationary targets. Even the current Robin, Tim Drake, had developed the bad habit of trying to out-grapple an opponent. This time the daze, however, had nearly gotten Jason killed. As Dustan turned away from the other vigilante, irreverently and enraged, he found and tore the knives from his flesh. “I knew I should have killed you you mewling wretch!”

That was his last mistake.

Back turned to Jason, visibly unaware of Dick’s current combat situation, and his attention laser focused on Amy he charged the woman. All he cared about was the stumbling and unbalanced woman trying keep out of his reach. Mid charge, he crumbled to his knees. It was eerily reminiscent of Owen Selkirk’s assassination. This time, however, there was no follow up shot. Instead, Dustan reached up to the hole blow in his chest.

Wren had backed into a support beam. The same panic from that night weeks ago bubbled up to her as she watched their would be killer bleed. Her eyes were fixed on his blood soaked hands, her kunai falling from them to the concrete as he tried to stop up the wound. She missed Jason’s own Dunstan's head until it moved sharply to the side and crack.

“What the hell just happened,” demanded Dick as he finally finished the climb from his bizarre fight with Deathstroke. He’d just given up and something about that was fishy. Right now, however, he needed to take care of his family. He resisted the urge to rip Jason a new one for snapping the remaining assassin's neck. It had been, at minimum, overkill considering the chest wound. Something he was starting to suspect that Deathstroke had done. Wouldn’t have been the first time their long time adversary had done something like that instead of killing one of them.

Crouching beside the one corpse they had, he relieved it of their looted gear. In the process, he could see Jason out of his peripheral vision The resurrected Robin had crossed to Amy. They were speaking soft and furtive, as he checked her neck and head for any visible injury. “I’m sorry,” was the only full sentence he heard.

“We need go go,” Dick warned, carefully peeling the electrified gauntlets form their dead assassin’s hands. “Security or cops will be on the way.”

An explosion pierced the night, practically punctuating Grayson’s observation. None of them needed to look behind them to know Deathstroke had just sanitized the safe house and Dustan occupied. Probably took out the whole floor in the process.

Extricating himself from Wren’s side, Jason walked over to his derelict helmet. Fixing this was going to be a pain, but it’d keep him busy. “Let’s go then,” he grumbled, everything hurt and he wanted a bath and sleep. Silent nods and the soft explosions of the grappling guns was enough to communicate agreement. They weren’t finished with this, even if The Intermediary now lay dead in a Bludhaven construction site.

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Twenty-Five: Pyramid ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, bullying ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

There’s a reason Sasuke’s become the sort of kid who would rather play by himself.

It seems that every time he comes to enjoy something, another kid has to come along and just...ruin it! If he finds a bird to watch while out on the playground, another noisy child shows up and scares it away. If he’s reading a book, someone will pester him and ruin his concentration. And if he’s playing make-believe, other kids interrupt with their own imaginings, and suddenly his are all for naught.

It’s meant often just retreating into the corner during free time. If everyone else is going to be so obnoxious...then he’ll just hide from them. Problem solved!

Today of all days, he’s found a hidey hole among some bushes in the playground. Safe from prying eyes, he’s taken to silently miming with the new stuffed dinosaur his mother got him for his birthday. Mr. Roary is an excellent conversationalist. Meaning...he doesn’t talk at all. He just sits and exists quietly. Cutely.

Just beyond his hideaway is the sand box. Not most kids’ favorite, as the little granules tend to get in their clothes and start itching. But apparently, someone else is trying to make due with everyone else’s avoidance.

Peering up as he hears footsteps, Sasuke can just make out someone poking about nervously. They seem to circle a bit before settling on a place in the sand, fetching a few of the designated toys for the pit: a shovel, a bucket, and a little flagpole. Surely here, in the corner of the playground, mostly tucked out of sight and in the sand, they’ll be safe...right?

...wrong.

For about five minutes, his companion - they look like a girl? - plays uninterrupted. She’s currently shoveling up sand into the bucket, and dutifully dumping it into a pile. Soon enough, she has a rather impressive cone! Though...he wonders if maybe she intends more for it to be a pyramid…? They’ve been looking at notable places around the world in class lately, and Egypt was one of them. Is that what she’s trying to do?

“What the heck are you doing?”

Both the girl and Sasuke jolt, caught off-guard by the appearance of several older kids also out on break. They gather in a semicircle around the sandbox.

“U...um…”

“Is that just a pile of sand? How lame! What’s the point, huh?”

Almost cowering behind her creation, she seems to struggle to find an answer. “I...I-I just…”

“Piling up dirt is what babies do - are you a baby? Huh?”

From his hiding spot, Sasuke scowls. Who the heck are these guys? Why can’t they just leave her alone?

“N-no!”

“You gonna cry? Ya big baby!” A chorus of laughter rings out, the girl’s shoulders quaking in what’s obviously both fear and embarrassment.

“C’mon, kick it over!”

“N-no, w-wait -!”

They ignore her, one boy shoving her away as the others all kick and punt at the mountain of sand. It flies everywhere, including out of the sandbox and into the grass.

“S-stop it!”

“Hey!”

All eyes turn to the bushes. “...who said that?” one bully demands.

“Leave her alone, right now!”

“Get outta there!” another kid shouts, all three turning to face the disembodied voice.

With a leap, Sasuke does just that, hollering and brandishing a stick. “Get away, you jerks!”

“Hey -!”

“He’s got a stick, what -?”

“We’re gonna tell on you!”

Ignoring the threats, Sasuke waves the limb around, still yelling. Clearly confused and more shocked than scared, the trio take off, still claiming they’re going to tattle on him. Still, Sasuke never actually hits them, only making a big show before stomping a foot. “And stay away!” he shouts after them, tossing his makeshift weapon back into the bushes before fetching Mr. Roary.

The girl just stares at him, clearly both perplexed, and yet thankful. “T...thank you…?” At least he wasn’t yelling at her, but that was scary!

Sasuke gives a curt nod. “...sorry about your pyramid…”

“...it’s okay…” She looks sadly to the demolished sandbox. “I-it would be gone by tomorrow, anyway…”

“Still, they didn’t have to do it now,” Sasuke insists, plopping down beside her. “...wanna make another one?”

She perks up. “You...you w-want to…?”

“Sure.” He likes her so far - she seems quiet, like him. Maybe she’ll actually be fun to play with...not like the other kids. “Is there another shovel?”

“I think so…” She rummages around in the toy chest, finding just that and handing it to him. Together, they start stockpiling more sand into the bucket, taking turns to dump it into a new, even bigger cone! Er...pyramid.

And then trouble comes back. This time...with a teacher.

The trio all hide behind the woman, who folds her arms. “Someone tells me you were holding a stick like a weapon, young man,” she notes, perking a brow.

“They started it!” Sasuke rebukes, scrambling to stand up in front of their creation. “They were being mean, and tore down her pyramid! So I scared ‘em off...but I didn’t hit ‘em!”

She blinks, then glances behind him. “...is that true, Hinata?”

Well, he knows her name now. She hesitates, obviously afraid of making things worse. “It...i-it’s true. They came and knocked it down...Sasuke make them leave. But he didn’t h-hit them, honest! He just w-waved it around and scared them, to make them go away!”

The teacher heaves a sigh. “...all right, I’ll let it slide this time. But you can’t always resort to that kind of behavior, young man. And I’m going to need to tell your parents when they come pick you up today.”

“...okay.” Pouting, he manages a glare at the bullies, who do the same as the adult turns her back.

It’s clearly not over...but at least they leave for now.

Hinata’s head ducks shyly as Sasuke sits back down. “You...y-you didn’t have to do that…”

“Well, somebody have to make them stop. They can’t just do that, it’s not fair! You gotta stand up to mean people sometimes, Hinata. Otherwise they’ll walk all over you!”

“I know...m-my father says the same thing. I’m just...too s-scared…”

Watching her nitpick her fingers for a moment, Sasuke sighs. “...well, then I’ll just have to stand up for you.”

“...eh?!”

“Cuz we’re friends now,” he declares without warning. “And that’s what friends do.”

Slowly, Hinata’s expression brightens, posture straightening. After a blink, she flushes pink and nods. “M...mhm!”

“C’mon, let’s make another pyramid. Put the flag at the top of the big one!”

“O-okay!”

Wow, this is the earliest I've posted in...a long time! Huzzah! This prompt stumped me for a bit, I'll admit - not really much about pyramids to associate with SH, lol - but then this idea hit me! It turned out a little short, but...well, it's a pretty simple concept. Hopefully the cute made up for it! That'll do it for today, tho! Thanks so much for reading n_n

#uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #sasuhina #bullying //#best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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jestbee · 7 years

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June 26: Ships that pass in the night (Chapter Six)

#my fics #phanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #phanfic #phanfic fluff #dan and phil #dnp #fedij #fic #fic a day #fic every day #fic every day in june #fic project #fic prompt #phan #phandom #phanfic au #prompt fic

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nanf1c · 7 years

Text

The Magnus Babe

For you desperate malec fans, this got out of hand and i apologize. Away i go in my hidey hole! Enjoy!

“Alright, what are we dealing with?”

Alec’s voice boomed over the meeting room as he looks over files on his touch screen.

Jace looked up from the tablet containing the layout of Pandemonium. “Looks like we are going to Magnus Bane’s club for the trade,” he says as he looks back down flipping through pictures. He clicked a button and it sent a picture of Magnus up to the big screen for everyone to see.

“More like Magnus Babe,” Izzy mutters as she stares at the beautiful man sitting amongst men and women enjoying drinks and music.

Still not looking up from the files, Alec shakes his head slightly and says with a stern voice, “Focus Izzy. We aren’t going for fun.” He puts down the tablet to look at Izzy to make sure his point is coming across. “This is business,” he says as he turns to the big screen to see what they are dealing with, “not…” he breaks off looking at the picture. His eyes widen slightly, his mouth agape, trying to understand how someone could be so beautiful. “…pleasure,” he finishes, still staring at the picture.

Izzy is unable to suppress the laugh escaping through her ruby red lips and turns it into a cough, trying to hide her grin.

Alec is stuck staring at the picture of Magnus and has managed to close his mouth at his sister’s laugh. Jace doesn’t seem to notice and continues with the plan.

“So we will trade the necklace for information from Magnus, but make sure to get information from him first before giving to necklace. He could just take it and leave and we can’t have that. We need all the information on how to wake Jocelyn up,” he ends with a soft look at Clary sitting on the table.

Her eyes soften when they meet his and she sends him a grateful smile.

Alec shakes his head back into focus and clears his throat. “Right-ahem, sounds good. Let’s get going,” he says before briskly walking away to collect his weapons and rune his arrows.

Izzy’s eyes follow her brother before she decides to get up and follow him while Clary and Jace start talking to each other.

She sees Alec collect himself before he runes his arrows. She joins him at the weapons table with a grin.

“So all business and no pleasure big brother?” she asks as she takes a fascination to the weapons, picking each one up carefully before deciding on a small seraph blade and her whip.

He sends her a glare but doesn’t stop looking over his arrows. “Yes, Izzy. When has it ever been the other way?” he asks annoyingly.

“That’s my point Alec,” she says with a pointed look as she sets her hands on the table. “When was the last time you had fun?” He’s about to retort about how Shadowhunters aren’t allowed to have fun while working before she holds up her hand to cut him off. “When was the last time you even smiled? Alec you can’t keep bottling things up. One day it’s going to become too much and you’re going to explode, and not in the fun kind of way.”

Alec knows his sister means well, but he doesn’t have the luxury of putting himself first. As the eldest, it was his responsibility to look after his family.

He lowers his head and shakes it before placing his arrows together in a pile before he runes his bow. “I’m fine Izzy,” he tries to convince her. “Just because you don’t see me smile doesn’t mean that I don’t ever smile.”

She crosses her arms and sticks her hip out, quirking her brow to give him a knowing look.

Her eyes soften and so does her voice. “I worry about you Alec.”

Alec stops what he is doing to look up at the sincerity in her eyes. He sighs and shakes his head before moving around the table, taking her in his arms. She wraps her arms around his waist tightly and lays her head on his chest.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he says into her hair. “I’m okay Iz.” He leans back to look at her and gives her a soft smile.

Izzy sighs, giving in. “Fine,” she says as she releases him and starts to leave. Before she disappears around the corner, she turns back to him. “But I think you would be more than okay if you let loose and enjoyed yourself around a certain someone tonight,” she says suggestively before sending him a wink, laughing as blush traitorously crawls up his face.

He rolls his eyes and grabs his bow and arrows before following after her.

Pandemonium was popping with downworlders everywhere, giving them astounded looks at the presence of shadowhunters in a club. Colorful lights danced across peoples gyrating, sweaty bodies. Music loud enough to rattle your bones was met as soon as the doors were opened, and Alec didn’t like it. He observed everyone dancing, laughing and drinking, and he just didn’t get it. He had never been exposed to this kind of environment, so he didn’t know how he should act. This led to him standing in the corner trying to decipher any kind of threat as his siblings and Clary went to find Magnus.

He scans the crowd and comes to a stop when he finds Magnus gliding through the crowd with ease. Necklaces adorned his neck and glimmered in the cascading lights, loosely hanging down to the top of his pants and swinging along with the sway of his hips. His shirt was unbuttoned enough to expose a hard, smooth muscular chest that Alec wouldn’t mind getting to know better with his hands and tongue. His pants were tight, a line of dark glitter ran from his hip to his ankle, flickering in the lights and catching Alec’s eyes.

Magnus turned his attention to someone trying to speak to him, swiftly turning around and facing Alec, allowing him to see the glitter also on his eyes, slight facial hair, spiked hair and lips that Alec really wouldn’t have minded getting to know better.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. What was he doing? He had to focus. He begins to scan the crowd again looking for any threats.

Jace, Izzy and Clary soon join him at the top of the stairs where he is perched after they talk with Magnus. They convince Alec that Magnus gave them all the information he could about the warlock who gave the potion to Jocelyn.

Alec nodded, “Okay, let’s go.” He begins to turn before Izzy grabs his arm. He turns to her, brows furrowed in confusion.

“We did all we can tonight, can’t we just for once stay and enjoy the party for a little big brother?” she asks, pouting her lips.

Alec looks at Jace and Clary who shrug their shoulders. He sighs and looks back at Izzy. “One hour,” he says sternly. Isabelle squeals in glee and claps her hands before dragging her brother into the crowd.

“I’m gonna regret this,” Alec mutters with a sigh. But he knows that if he can do anything to see that gleeful smile on his little sister’s face, then he would do it.

He doesn’t last long on the dance floor, to be honest he really doesn’t last at all. He retreats immediately after one song. There were too many people crowded together, it didn’t make for a good exit in case they needed to make one. Isabelle watched him leave sadly, wishing there was something she could do for her brother.

She turns around in a spin to the music, desperate for a release of the stress lately when Magnus makes his way towards her through the crowd.

He leans into talk into her ear, the music too loud to understand anyone. “My dear, who was just with you?” he asked, his breath scalding her ear.

She grins, forming a plan. “Oh,” she says innocently, “just my brother Alec, why?”

Magnus shrugs. “I like to know the names of beautiful people,” he sends her a sly grin before dancing through the crowd, following Alec toward the corner of the bar.

Alec stands tall above everyone else and uses it to his advantage to keep a watchful eye on his siblings.

He scans the crowd again and spots Magnus again. Unable to keep his eyes off of him, he watches as he weaves through everyone to chat with Izzy. His brow furrows in confusion at what they could be talking about, they just met. As Magnus walks away, he sees Izzy give him a wink. Even more confused now, his heart rate picks up as Magnus makes his way to where Alec was standing by the bar.

He clears his throat, fixes his jacket and runs a quick hand through his hair, taking a deep breath trying to come up with something to say for when he arrives.

Right before Magnus reaches him though, he spots a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. Magnus is about to introduce himself before Alec quickly shoves him behind him, out of the way of the oncoming Circle member and draws his bow. He shoots straight and true through his chest. He falls to the ground, gurgling and trying to shout to his partner.

Alec scans the room quickly and finds another Circle member pushing through the crowd towards them. He quickly draws his seraph blade from his thigh holster, aims, and throws the blade, piercing his chest as he too falls to the ground.

Making sure both men are down, he calms his breathing and runs a hand through his hair before glamouring his bow again. It isn’t until now that he realizes hands are grasping at the back of his shirt. He turns around and is met with glowing cat eyes. Magnus huffs out a breath and grins at him.

“Why thank you,” he says flouring his hand. “Circle members aren’t allowed in my club.” He releases the tight hold on Alec’s shirt and fixes his necklaces before looking back at Alec, his eyes now a smooth brown.

Alec, still gawking at this beautiful man, tries to manifest a comprehensible thought. “Uh-um…” he runs his hand along the back of his neck nervously, “i-it’s my pleasure,” he says before smoothing his hand down his face, breaking eye contact so he can take a much needed deep breath. He looks back at Magnus, who is still smirking at him.

“Oh-um, I’m Alec,” he stutters, holding out his hand to shake.

The corner of Magnus’ lips turn up fondly. He grabs his hand. “Nice to meet you, Alexander,” he says smoothly before pulling Alec’s hand up to kiss the back of it. Alec’s blush deepens. “I’m-”

“You’re Magnus Babe,” Alec cuts in before he can think. Realizing what he said, horror crosses his face. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to explain, but the words are stuck. How do you explain this? Dammit Izzy.

“Shit um, Magnus Bane. You, you’re Magnus Bane,” he says as he begins shaking the warlocks hand and points a finger at him. “Yeah, that’s you-ahem. The powerful warlock who owns the Pandemonium club,” he gestures around them, breaking eye contact to swivel around the room, looking for his siblings. He spots Izzy as she hides her giggle behind her hand and makes a motion to turn back around. ‘Get his number,’ she mouths at him.

He rolls his eyes and tries to conceal his blush before turning back around. Magnus is still trying to hold in his laugh, biting his bottom lip. It was very distracting. He focuses back on his eyes and sighs.

“Sorry, my sister called you that earlier and I guess it just…stuck in my head,” he explains with his hands before looking down, too embarrassed.

He feels a delicate finger tilt his chin up. He looks back at Magnus in surprise as he gingerly slides his hand to Alec’s cheek. Alec is speechless, his heart racing and his palms turning sweaty.

Magnus hums. “I think I need to change my name on my business cards, I like Magnus Babe,” he concludes before letting out a slight laugh at Alec’s facial expression.

Alec releases a breathless laugh and shakes his head fondly before quirking his brow. “It does have a ring to it.”

“Speaking of rings, mind if I get your number?” Magnus asks sliding his hand down Alec’s neck to fix his collar, using it as an excuse to brush up against his cheek again. Alec blushes even more which he didn’t think was possible and releases a beautiful smile stretching across his face.

“Smooth,” he says as Magnus lowers his hands, suddenly missing the warm trials it created on his skin.

“I may have seen your sister tell you to ask me for mine, but seeing as you could barely tell me your name I decided to make it easier for you,” he sways his shoulders with a flirty smile.

Alec huffs a quick laugh before shaking his head and pulling his phone out of his pocket. He hands is over to Magnus, their fingers touching slightly, but it was enough to send shockwaves through both of their arms straight to their hearts.

Magnus smirks as he puts in his number, thumbs gliding over the screen. “I will also save you the trouble of calling or texting me first, so I’ll ask you now. Would you like to go on a date?”

Alec stammers for something to say, amazed that Magnus would want to go out with him. His hand is halfway in his pocket to put his phone back. He opens his mouth and closes it again. He takes a deep breath, looking into Magnus’ eyes, and smiles at his decision.

“Sure, I would love that.”

Magnus hums in delight. “We can manage details later,” he leans in closer and whispers in Alec’s ear, “call me,” before giving him a soft kiss on his cheek. He leans back, knowing the affect he had on Alec as he stands frozen in shock. “Now,” he says as he claps his hands together, “I have to go change my business card,” he says before patting Alec on his shoulder and disappears through the crowd.

Alec is stunned and stood frozen like a dork as Magnus leaves. He reaches up and delicately slides his fingers over the cheek Magnus kissed. He decides Izzy was right, it is good to let go. But he could never admit that to her. He needed to get going, he had a date with Magnus Babe, and a sister to thank for it.

#this was too long #im sorry #i had to #i hope its okay?#tell me your thoughts?#or nah?#pfft i dont care #i do #but i cant come off that way #it makes me vulnerable #malec fanfiction #my fantiction #magnus babe #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #malec

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