#it hurts in a straight line from my second toe and my fourth toe on my left foot up to my knee on both sides of the bones in my leg not good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewhitejournal · 3 years

Text

“The Intern” Part Five

Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader Series

(not my gif)

hello everyone! thank you all so much for the recent support on my work, you have no idea how much it keeps me going. i love you all and i hope you enjoy the latest installment of ‘the intern’ :)

content warnings: cursing, pain, blood, injury

Darkness was all that you felt; was it possible to feel the darkness? You’d expected it to be lonely and cold, this unconscious state you knew was inevitable. You expected dark and you got it. But it was nice, in a weird way. If you could remember what it was like in the womb, you’d think it’d be something like this.

Your subconscious whispered to you to stay, and you admitted, it made a good argument. Your brain filled your vision with the perfect life that you could live if you never woke up. Everything was perfect; it was like a fairytale. You were a part of the team and together with Aaron, Jack loved you, and you lived in bliss. No one you ever cared about was ever in pain again, and there was never any sadness or anger. It was just peace.

Logic piped up, telling your subconscious that what it was thinking was completely unrealistic. You knew it was true, but could it hurt, be like this forever? To just sleep, and be inside your mind for eternity?

But then, if not you, you thought, who would love Aaron with everything in them? Who would hold Jack close and read him a story? Who would the girls pick as their fourth musketeer on a night out, and who would the boys mess with?

If you did stay, you’d never get to actually be with anyone. As much as it would be nice to live in ignorant bliss, it wouldn’t be real. Real was what mattered.

But you were so weak. Your brain was active as ever as if you were still conscious, but your body was so still it could be considered lifeless. You tried to pull yourself out of it, maybe twitch a finger or toe, but nothing ever worked. You wondered if anyone even noticed you were trying. You hoped they did.

Every once in a while, your ears would tune into the real world. Mostly, you heard the machines you must’ve been hooked up to. Sometimes it was voices, those of distant hospital staff and sometimes you heard some of the team in the room with you, but you could never chalk that up to your imagination or not.

“Do you think she can hear us?” It sounded like Penelope. Of course, she’d have made it here, you’d expected nothing less from your favorite technical analyst.

“Studies show patients in an unconscious state are still aware of all of their senses, just unable to physically react, so it’s entirely possible.” That was definitely Reid.

The voice you assumed to be Penelope’s grew closer. “Well, (Y/N), if you can hear me, we love you and we’re here for you! I mean, Hotch never leaves your side-“

Someone cleared their throat next to you, probably Aaron. You laughed to yourself. Suddenly, someone gasped.

“Did you hear that? Was that her?” Did you laugh out loud? Vaguely, you felt a hand on your left arm.

“I think she laughed! I mean, it was quiet, but that’s what it sounded like.” Reid spoke up, an excited tinge to his voice, like when he talked about something he was passionate over. You tried moving your hand, and it must’ve worked at least a little bit because you felt someone grab it and squeeze.

“(Y/N)?” That had to be Aaron, whispering to you. You imagined them all looking expectantly at you. Was this even real? Your brain had tricked you before into thinking Hotch was with you, or maybe it hadn’t. You didn’t know what was real and what was what you wanted to be real.

You tried opening your eyes, and succeeded, to some extent. Your vision was blurry, but sure enough, the aforementioned technical analyst and SSA’s were there with you. It looked like Derek was there, too. You blinked several times, trying to fully regain your vision. The lights were so bright; it made it even harder to see.

“C’mon, (Y/N), open those eyes.” That was Derek’s voice, and all the sounds you’d heard before had started to become clearer. You could smell the sterile smell of a hospital and Aaron’s piney and minty cologne next to you. You will yourself to the full capacity of your energy, which wasn’t much, to open your eyes all the way.

You looked around at all the faces in the room, and they were all smiling at you. Your eyes landed on Aaron’s face last, and you think you smiled at him. You tried to, anyway; his hand was holding yours and he squeezed it.

“(Y/N)! You’re awake!”, Garcia exclaimed, throwing herself on top of you. Suddenly, pain shot throughout your entire body, and you groaned. She pulled away immediately, flashing you an apologetic look. You just chuckled lightly, but it turned into a very raspy cough. Aaron was quick to grab a cup of water with a straw that must’ve been sitting on your bedside table. He held the straw steady and put it as close to you as he could without hitting you with it. You gladly sipped from it, your lips lightly touching his fingertips.

God, you were so grateful for him. You didn’t even care what the team was thinking right now; they’d do it for you, right? Truthfully, you were in denial about whatever it was the two of you had. It didn’t matter, whatever the team or the bureau might think about it, whatever it was. You cared about and were kind to each other, and that’s what mattered.

“I’m gonna call the rest of them and let them know you’re awake, (Y/L/N).”, Morgan said with a smile, stepping out of the room and dialing on his phone. After you’d drunk almost the entire cup, he softly pulled it away, setting it back down.

“What happened?”, you whispered. Aaron lightly rubbed your arm.

“What do you remember?”, he asked you softly. It hurt to think about; the pain was nothing like you’d ever felt before. Even now, your leg was pulsing and felt like someone was twisting a knife in it. You remembered you’d called him Aaron for the first time to his face, which was a slip-up in itself. You hoped he either forgot or didn’t mind. It was unprofessional of you.

“He s-shot me in the leg…” Your eyes fell to your leg for the first time. It was covered with a blanket and felt tight; it was in a cast, you assumed. “The last thing I remember was you carrying me out of the house…”, you whispered, looking into his eyes. You were afraid your voice would crack if you spoke. Tears welled in your eyes.

Penelope sat on the bed, placing a hand on your good leg’s knee. She reassured you, telling you it was okay. Reid walked up to the foot of the bed, resting his hand on your ankle, but only for a second. You knew he wasn’t a touchy person, so this surprised you.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry, I should’ve never left you alone.”, Aaron muttered, his dark eyebrows knit together on his forehead, lips in a straight line. It was his apologetic face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his eyes were a little misty, too.

“Hotch, it wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known he would be there. You probably saved my life.”, you said in a low voice, your ability to speak coming back ever so slowly. He chuckled deeply.

“I definitely saved your life, (Y/L/N).” You gave him a weak smile, then turned to look at the others.

“How long was I out?” Garcia and Reid exchanged a look, and you saw Aaron motion them out of the room out of the corner of your eye. They followed his instructions promptly. Your attention turned back to him.

“Hotch? How long was I out?” Your tone was more stern; your gut had a weird feeling like something was going on, and you didn’t like it. He took a deep breath, sighing when he exhaled. His eyes met yours.

“Four days.” You were in shock; it took your breath away and your eyes grew wider. You were speechless.

“Are you kidding?”, you asked him. His expression never faltered. You couldn’t believe it had been that long, there was no way it was true.

“I wish I was, (Y/N),” He held your left hand between the two of his. “I was going to wait until you’d healed to bring it up, but you know that your internship lasted only a week, right?”, he continued. You were starting to get infuriated; not at him or the team or anyone in particular. Maybe the unsub, if the feelings had to be directed to someone. You’d been comatose for the remainder of your internship. Your mind flooded with everything you might have missed and your vision clouded with anger and maybe a few tears.

Aaron’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. He said your name, and your eyes met his. Suddenly, his phone started ringing. He gave you an apologetic look and said he had to take it, answering the phone and stepping outside of the room. You were alone with your thoughts, and they all consisted of one main theme: ‘What now?’

What would happen, now that your internship was over? Would you just go back to your normal life and pretend like you hadn’t just met the best people of your entire life? Like you hadn’t met Aaron?

You heard him having a heated discussion; his voice was urgent, but you could tell he was trying to keep it lowered. You listened in as best you could, worried that something might be wrong.

“...didn’t plan on this to happen, Haley.”, he paused as she spoke. “I understand that but-“ His hand was in a fist at his side, his body was angled away from you but you could only imagine the emotions on his face. “She’s a member of my team, it’s no different than if it were Morgan or Reid.” His tone was stern, that you could tell. His knuckles were turning white, thumb anxiously rubbing over his fingers. “Haley, listen to-“ He pulled the phone away from his face and looked at the screen; the call had ended. He scoffed, shoving it back into his pocket, running his hand through his hair.

“Hotch?”, you softly asked him, and he turned to face you. For just a split second, the look on his face conveyed one clear emotion: anger. He was pissed, to put it plainly. But he looked in your eyes, and his face that could’ve been mistaken for stone softened, along with those amber-brown eyes.

“(Y/N), sorry, that was nothing.” He strode back into the room and returned to his seat at your bedside. You gave him a weak smile and a look that told him you knew he was lying.

“I might not be a profiler, but I’m not stupid, Aaron.”, you retorted, using his first name; this time, it was entirely intentional. This was a test to the waters, the two of you alone with a personal and intimate atmosphere. You looked him in the eyes and you swore his pupils dilated and his irises grew a shade darker, twinkling in the fluorescent overhead lights. His lips parted slightly like he was shocked, but he quickly worked to cover it, clearing his throat. You knew, though.

“Haley called me. She’s upset that we stayed longer than I’d estimated.” The ‘boss’, serious tone returned to his voice. You frowned a little at him, knowing full well you’d have been back sooner if not for your rookie mistake. You knew you shouldn’t have gone in alone, but you did, for whatever reason.

“That’s not your fault. You know that right?”, you tried reassuring him, but you knew that deep down inside him, it wouldn’t work. He’d beat himself up for disappointing Haley. Nonetheless, he flashed you a little smile, trying to reassure you that your efforts had worked.

“I know. I need to tell the nurse you’re awake so they can discharge you.” He squeezed your hand one last time before leaving the room. You watched him walk away, thoughts about anything and everything clouding your mind. Just then, Garcia and Reid came back in, holding cups of coffee. Garcia sat down in the other chair that was in the room, and Spencer leaned against the wall, sipping his coffee.

“Did he tell you the good news?” Garcia half-whispered, but not before looking around to see if Aaron was in the vicinity. Your brows knit together on your forehead. Before you could ask what she meant, he returned with a nurse.

“Hello, Miss (Y/L/N), you look great! I just have to take a couple of your vitals and check you out and then you should be good to go.” She flashed you a bright smile and you couldn’t help but feel elated. You were ready to get the hell out of there.

The team left her to do what she needed to do, and within the hour, you were cleared to leave. Garcia helped you change into some sweats, which you were grateful for; your sore stitches and clunky cast made it hard to do simple maneuvers, which was inconvenient, to say the least.

Those of you that were at the hospital loaded into an SUV and headed to the airport. Aaron had already gathered and brought your things to the hospital; he’d done this at one of the points Morgan made him go back to the hotel room and get some rest.

The four of you boarded the jet, which was a task for you; your crutches and cast weren’t exactly stair-friendly. You’d never used a pair before either, so it was hard to work out the mechanics. You felt so pitiful, like a hurt little puppy that nobody could do anything for.

Hotch helped you out of the passenger seat of the SUV, and you managed the ‘walk’ over to the jet without any complications, but you let out a defeated sigh when you reached the bottom of the staircase. The two of you were the last to board. Aaron had been silently refusing to leave your side, so he stopped behind you when you quit moving. He looked you up and down, watching to see what you were going to do next.

Right as you were about to attempt the ascent, you heard Hotch put both his and your duffle bags down, and he laid a hand on your shoulder, and you turned to face him. He just gave you a look, silently asking if you wanted his help. You sighed, nodding. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. His big, strong hands supported you as he took the crutches out from under your arms.

He scooped you up into his arms like it was nothing and started walking up the stairs, careful of your leg. Everyone looked up at you when you entered the cabin, and you knew you had to be blushing. Aaron gently sat you down on the couch and left to get his and your things. Emily, Garcia, and JJ gave you a knowing and teasing look. You just narrowed your eyes at them, shaking your head. They dropped it, for the time being, snickering to themselves. You rolled your eyes at them, a smile growing on your face.

Hotch boarded the jet with his arms full, and you felt a twinge in your chest. You felt bad, like a burden on him. But you knew that he wanted to help, and you also knew there was no way you could talk him out of it. He did feel guilty, after all; he didn’t say that, but he didn’t need to.

Everyone was settled in after an hour or so had passed, more than ready to return to Quantico. You had both legs on the couch, your back leaning against the arm of the couch and the wall. Hotch sat in the chair across from you, filing reports. You tried to casually watch the way his hand and the pen glided across the paper with ease; he could probably do this with his eyes closed by now. The wedding band on his finger caught the light from the small overhead light he was using to see. Your mind inevitably wandered to Haley, more specifically, the “conversation” they’d had earlier. To say it was a conversation was a courtesy to the Hotchners’.

Your mind was plagued with negative thoughts; you’d thought the two of them had a picture-perfect life. They had a beautiful house, an amazing little son, and each other, which you may even say envied you the most about the whole thing. Why couldn’t she see he was doing everything he could? Or did she, and just didn’t care?

“What’s on your mind, (Y/L/N)?” You heard Hotch ask you from across from you, his vision never breaking away from the paper he was writing on. You just hummed inquisitively, but only to stall until you came up with a good excuse, because you’d heard every word he’d said like he was in your thoughts. Which he was, but that’s beside the point.

You sighed, finding a good alternative after a moment of thinking. “That good news I keep hearing so much about.” You waited a moment to look over at him, and when you did, he had stopped writing. You heard him mumble something that sounded like he had regretted telling Garcia first. You laughed internally.

“Well, I was going to wait until we got back to Quantico…”, he trailed off, making eye contact with you, a smile playing on his lips and showing fully in his dark, onyx eyes. You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, a smirk forming on your lips.

“Are you interested in being a new agent trainee with the bureau?”, he asked you in a low voice. Your eyes widened to farther lengths than you thought they ever could, your hand covering your mouth in surprise and shock. You were speechless, so you nodded enthusiastically. He laughed that little laugh you’d grown to love.

“Hotch, I- thank you. I won’t let you down, thank you so much!” You tried to contain yourself in the small space you were in, but your colleagues knew this moment was coming and celebrated silently with you. The real party would happen when you landed.

‘I won’t let you down…’ The words played again in his head.

‘I know you won’t, (Y/N).’

And for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner smiled a real, genuine, big smile. Because you were the new agent trainee now. Sure, he’d have to do a lot of paperwork and make some phone calls but he didn’t care. It would all be worth it to see your face every day.

taglist:

@dilaudidwinchester

@awriterincrime

@art-and-thoughts

@royallybookish

@bihoeofmanyfandoms

@hopelesslylosttheway

@moonshinerbynight

@uwu-sebastianstan

@mac99martin

@laycblack

@ajeff855

@reidspurplescarfs

155 notes · View notes

teamhappyme · 3 years

Text

my world is grey without you

pairing: nick amaro x reader

warnings: tissues. this is not happy.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is pure sadness. i am so sorry, it is all hurt and the smallest pin point of comfort. my first nick amaro fic, and it’s gonna be ~heartbreaking~ but this idea has been in my head for weeks. hope you enjoy some of the pain im serving.

****

You think Mother Nature must be in tune to your emotions, when you wake up that early May morning. The clouds were grey, rain pouring from the sky, collecting in puddles on the cracked sidewalks of New York City. If you had to describe to someone how you were feeling today, you would just tell them to look outside. You felt as gloomy as it was in the city today.

Normally, your walk to the coffee shop was bright and full of sunshine, especially during spring. The flowers were starting to bloom, the sun was staying out longer, and the weather finally started to reach past sixty degrees. Instead it was filled with droopy tulips and black umbrellas covering everyone’s faces.

You got your usual order, and one black coffee to go, hailing a cab across town to your destination. You planned on walking yesterday; the half hour walk would help clear your head and calm your nerves. But today, it would only leave you wet and cold.

Once you pulled up to the brick apartment building, you paid the driver and quickly ran up the stoop and into the entrance. You buzzed apartment 3G, and after a few seconds, you were let in. You rode the elevator up to the third floor, your foot tapping against the linoleum floor the entire time.

You stepped out and took a right down the hall, stopping at the fourth door on the left. After three knocks, the door swung open, and there stood the man of the hour.

“Hey, Nick.” you gave him a small smile, lifting the black coffee you got for him on your way here. “I know it’s early, but I figured this may help you with any last minute packing.”

“I,” he started, running a hand through his hair, “what are you doing here?”

“What, you think you can just leave without a proper send off from your partner? Besides, I’ve owed you this coffee for three years. I had to pay up before you left.”

That got a smile out of him, as he reached for the coffee, and opened the door up a little wider.

“Come on in,” the foyer of Nick Amaro’s apartment usually greeted you with an onslaught of pictures of Zara and Gil, accompanied by many drawings and art projects from the young girl. Now on his last morning here, the walls were stark white, void of anyone ever living here.

“I can’t believe you got this place packed up so fast. It took us a whole day just to get that giant brown couch into the apartment.” You said, as your eyes looked over what was once the living room.

“Well, that’s what movers are for.” He followed in behind you, taking in the apartment he called home for the last two years. He moved in to the first place he could find, not wanting to spend another minute thinking about living without his baby girl. “I would offer you a seat, but my furniture is in a u-haul, probably crossing Kansas right about now.”

You smiled, as you crossed your ankles and sat criss cross applesauce on the hardwood floor. “That’s alright. I prefer the floor anyways, keeps me grounded.”

You were ready for the pointed stare you got from him, only making you laugh harder at your awful pun.

“Three years we’ve been partners, and you still have awful jokes I’ve never heard.”

“Hey, I gotta keep you on your toes, Amaro.” he sat down next to you, leaning back on his hands and crossing one foot over the other. You knew there wasn’t much time before he had to head to the airport; you purposely gave yourself a small window to minimize the hurt. “How long do I have you for until you head for the sunshine?”

He looked down at his watch, letting out a small sigh as he checked the time. “My cab will be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Alright. Then we have twenty minutes to make the best cop movie script out of our careers together.”

And for the next twenty minutes, you remembered almost every moment you spent with Detective Nick Amaro. From the first day you met, which had a rocky start, to the day he turned in his papers to be with his kids. There were stories of stakeouts that always included pizza and blaring rock music to keep you awake, monday morning bets on who would be in the precinct last, and endless amounts of coffee runs to keep the other person going.

There was a lot of trust built between the two of you over the last three years. Nick had been through hell and back in the time you were partnered together, and there was no choice but to trust each other. At work, he needed somebody he could trust without any doubt, and you made it so easy for him. The kindness and empathy you treated him with from the beginning, even when he didn’t deserve it, made a difference in his life. There was no one else he’d trust with his life more than you.

After some time, you two were in sync with one another. You always knew what the other person needed, whether that was a coffee, space, or comfort, the two of you knew what to do. It made work that much easier, it made the bad days that much better, when you didn’t have to tell them how you were feeling; they just knew.

You had just finished the story about your first undercover op together, when his phone lit up.

“My ride is five minutes out.” he said, the trip down memory lane coming to an end. Your smile morphed from a shiny grin, into a small close mouthed line. It was time to say goodbye.

“I’ll walk you out,” you got out, barely above a whisper, as Nick stood up. He held his hand out to you, helping you onto your feet.

You watched as he grabbed his backpack from his room, patting his pockets to double check he had his phone, wallet, and boarding pass. He took one last look around the place before walking out and closing the door behind him for the last time.

The elevator ride down was quiet, you spent those thirty seconds regulating your breathing and swallowing the growing lump in the back of your throat. This wasn’t about you.

Once the doors opened to the lobby, you felt soft fingers inching their way into your palm, lighty holding you together. You looked over at Nick, slowly, but he was looking straight ahead. You saw the twitch in his jaw, and the bob of his adam’s apple, and you knew he was holding back his own tears.

Moving your hand the slightest bit, your fingers fell into place with his. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, before following him out.

The rain had subsided considerably since you arrived, the downpour now more of a spring mist. You stood at the edge of the sidewalk with him for a few minutes, until he got the notification that the car was only five blocks away.

“Well, are you ready to turn into a Cali boy?” you asked, finally turning to see his face.

“I’m ready for no more New York winters. I am gonna miss just about everything else, though.”

“But you’ll have Zara, and Gil, and that’s all that really matters.” you said with a smile, while gently letting go of his hand. “Besides, I’ll make sure to send you endless videos of me shoveling myself out of my apartment building, just to let you know you made the right decision.”

“Please, please keep that promise and send me those videos. There is nothing more amusing than you swearing at snow.” you rolled your eyes, and nudged his shoulder in annoyance.

Instead of bouncing back off his body, you felt his arm snake around your waist. You leaned into his touch, letting your head rest on his shoulder. You felt the exhale of his breath before you heard it, along with the rapid beating of his heart.

“I’m gonna miss you, you know,” he started, as you focused on the way his fingers were moving up and down along your hip. “I wouldn’t have made it through everything without you.”

“I was your partner,” you said, the past tense already tasting like bile on your tongue. “I would’ve done anything for you. And I know you would’ve done anything for me.” You turned your head the slightest bit, just enough to see his face. “I’m gonna miss you too. More than I already do.”

He looked down at you, his brown eyes full of emotion and tears. His eyes flickered to your lips for the smallest moment, and you nodded, giving in to the moment, and the man you cared so much for.

His lips met yours in a chaste kiss, just long enough for you to remember what it felt like to hold Nick Amaro this close.

He pulled away, gently resting his forehead against your own. You let the moment last as long as it could, before the inevitable beep left Nick’s phone. They were here.

You pulled away from him, your waist growing cold without his arm wrapped around you. There was a beep from a blue car a few cars up, and you let out a sigh.

“Your ride’s here, Cali boy.” you said with a smile, wiping away the stray tear that traced your cheek. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I won’t. Call me, whenever you need me, alright?” you nodded, trying to memorize the smile on his face. He found your hand one last time, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“I will. Now, go, you’re gonna miss your flight if you hit any lunch traffic.” He looked up the street to the cab, before looking back at you.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, and then your lips one last time.

“I’ll see you later, y/n/n.” he said, and you watched him walk down the streets of New York City for the last time.

But you knew you would cross paths with Nick Amaro again one day.

****

tags: @hurricanejjareau @qvid-pro-qvo @crazyshannonigans

#nick amaro x reader #nick amaro fanfiction #nick amaro fic #nick amaro #law and order: svu fanfiction #law and order svu fanfiction #law and order svu #jules writes shit ??

48 notes · View notes

everybodyscupoftea · 3 years

Text

break my face

college isaac x reader

you just want to go ice skating with your boyfriend but for some reason he doesn’t want to

(warnings: cursing, some drinking, lightly edited)

“We have to go,” you announced yourself, shoving the brightly colored paper you’d picked up at the coffee shop into his face.

Isaac blinked a few times, gently pulling your hand away from his face so he could read. You waited patiently, maybe bouncing on your toes a bit, as he read. Leaning back in his desk chair, he nodded, “I’ve never been, but could be fun.”

Your jaw dropped, “Never?”

Amused, Isaac responded, “Never,” and pulled the to-go cup out of your hand for a sip. There was no time to warn him that it was pretty much straight espresso and he gagged, “What the fuck?”

“I had a really big Materials exam today so I didn’t get much sleep last night. But that doesn’t matter, ice skating is what’s important right now.”

Isaac chuckled, “Well, ice skating can most definitely be discussed after a nap, no?”

“Well,” you didn’t really have any arguments and a nap sounded fantastic, so after a few seconds, you dropped your booksack, “I guess it can wait.”

What your sleep deprived brain hadn’t realized at the time was the clear deflection. He “accidentally” let you sleep through the night, his apology being his Venmo to cover the espresso shots you never got to drink.

The second time you brought it up, while the two of you were studying in your kitchen, he shrugged, looking over at his laptop. You knew the screen had gone dark ages before, so you weren’t entirely sure what he was looking at, so after a few seconds you nudged his arm, “Skating?”

“I don’t know. Was thinking of picking up extra shifts with winter break coming, Friday nights are pretty much always open, so.”

“One Friday,” you tried to bargain, “you could even work a Saturday morning to make up for it since you normally take weekends off.”

He shrugged noncommittally and answered, “We’ll have to see. I need to talk to my boss anyway.”

The third time you brought it up, Isaac was more firm about his no. Both of you were sitting on the couch, watching Narnia, when you sighed, “I know they’ve been living in constant fear of the White Witch, but I bet ice skating on the frozen river would’ve been so fun.”

He shrugged, hardly paying attention, “I guess. I mean I’ve never seen the appeal.”

“That’s because you’ve never been,” you responded, playfully nudging his leg with your foot.

Grabbing your foot, he shook it gently, “Yeah, and I don’t plan on going either.”

Your heart dropped and you could hear the hurt bleeding through your tone, “Why not?”

“I won’t be good at it, and I don’t really want to do something I’m not good at. Especially in public where I could make a fool of myself.”

Narrowing your eyes, you huffed, “Even if I told you I’m a very inexperienced skater?”

“Especially then.”

“Good thing I’m not. We go skating every winter at home, I know how to hold my own.”

Isaac shrugged again, clearly ready to drop the subject, “I’m sure your roommate would go if you really wanted to.”

Finally dropping the subject, you muttered, hurt, “I wanted to go with you, but whatever.”

If you held a tiny grudge about it, well that was no one’s business but your own. Sure you were pouting and barely responding to his texts, but Isaac picked up so many shifts that there wasn’t much opportunity to see him anyway.

The weeks passed quickly and suddenly, winter break was upon the two of you. Your roommate packed her stuff and you drove her to the airport the first Monday, giving her a long hug goodbye. She squeezed your shoulders tight, “Ask him again.”

“Why? So he can say no again?”

She laughed, “You know that boy can’t say no to you.”

“Well that’s certainly not true, he’s done it three times.”

“Fourth time’s the charm,” she tried, smiling sheepishly.

You sighed, “Yeah that’s not how it works and we both know it.”

“Try.” She gave you one last hug and turned to get in line for security. You were absolutely going to miss her while she was gone, having opted to stay at school for the break since Isaac was too.

Hours later, when she landed back in Arizona, you got one last text from her on the subject.

Ask again

So, pouring yourself a hefty glass of wine to cope with being shut down a fourth time, you called him, half expecting him to not pick up. To your shock, he did, sounding absolutely exhausted.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he muttered, yawning at the end.

“Hey, bub. How’s it going?”

“Tired from work. We’ve been pretty busy.”

You could help but tease, “Well you have been picking up a ton of shifts, you only have yourself to blame.”

“That’s true. I took the weekend off.”

“Can we hang out?” your voice was more timid than you would’ve liked it to be, “I miss you. I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”

He paused, longer than you were comfortable with before answering, “I’d like that, yeah. Movie night?”

“Sure. Friday?”

“Friday.”

And with that, you settled in to catch up. You really did miss his voice. It was nice, and eventually you found the bottom of the glass, tucking your phone between your ear and shoulder, you poured yourself another.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, a sudden rustling in the background as he shifted around.

You hummed, “Nope. Drank a lot of wine though.”

He laughed and your stomach warmed, maybe partially from the wine but mostly from his laugh, “Want me to bring over some food? I’ve had beef stew in the crockpot all day and I’d really love to eat it with you if I could.”

“You never have to ask to come over,” you reminded him, leaning your hip against the counter as you took another sip of wine.

Isaac made a pleased noise, “Give me 20 minutes to pack some up and I’ll be right over.”

“Stay on the phone?” you asked, not quite wanting to let him go.

“I’ll be there faster if you let me hang up.”

Pouting, you answered, slight whine in your voice, “Fine, see you in 20.”

“Bye sweetheart, I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too.”

You hung up, his laughter echoing through the phone at your put out tone.

True to his word, he was knocking at your apartment door exactly 20 minutes after hanging up. While waiting, you’d found the bottom of your second glass, and in your state of lowered self control, threw yourself into his arms, despite the very large tupperware of beef stew. Isaac’s noise of surprise was muffled by your hair, and took a giant step backward to keep his balance, almost slamming into the door across the hall. You beamed, backing away, and pulled him by his elbow into your apartment.

He set the stew down on the counter and pulled you into a better hug, kissing your forehead, lips quirked up into a smile. You swayed a little, his grip tightening to keep you in place, “Why don’t you go sit and I’ll serve it up, yeah?”

So you did as he said, collapsing onto your side of the couch without much poise and waited eagerly. Isaac was a great cook, something you’d learned early on in your relationship. He wasn’t very forthcoming about it, but you knew it had something to do with his childhood and not having much family around.

Before long, he was handing you a bowl, sitting on the other end of the couch, with far more care than you did. You turned the TV on and started the show the two of you had been watching together before he’d suddenly gone MIA on you. Isaac sighed, “Man it’s been a while, huh? Kinda need a recap.”

You hummed, “Should be one before the episode. Should’ve come around more and you wouldn’t have forgotten.”

He avoided the questioning look in your eyes, “Had some stuff I had to take care of.”

“For sure, it’s not really my business,” you tried to reassure, but you know your smile fell a little flat.

Isaac sighed again and dug his legs under yours, and you sank down a little further, accidentally digging your toes into his hip. He yelped, startling you, and a bit of stew sloshed over the side of your bowl.

Rubbing his side, Isaac accidentally lifted his shirt a little and you saw a giant, green bruise spread across his hip bone. Horrified, you sat up and discarded the bowl, leaning forward to see better. Before you could reach out, he jerked the shirt back down, cheeks flushed red.

“What the fuck was that?” you demanded, concern thick in your tone.

“Nothing,” he deflected, “work accident.”

“The fuck are you doing that’s so strenuous at the library?”

“Maybe it was at the gym.”

“Maybe? Do you not remember how you got a giant bruise?”

His face was pleading with you to drop it, and since you were already feeling off balanced around him because of the ice skating avoidance issue, you did. You weren’t happy about the sudden influx of secrets he was apparently keeping from you, but if he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t push.

Uneasily, you picked the bowl back up where you’d set it down and hit play on the TV. Isaac never fully relaxed for the rest of the night, and when you asked if he wanted to stay, he begged off, leaving you feeling even more like shit than you had before he came over.

Friday rolled around, and Isaac showed up not dressed for movie night. You furrowed your eyebrows at his scarf and nice coat and jeans, “Why aren’t you in sweats?”

He smiled a bit shyly, “I kinda thought we could do something else tonight.”

“Date night?” you asked, eagerly. It had been a while since the two of you had properly gone out between his work and all of your projects.

“Yep,” he popped the p, “so if you want to get dressed, wear something warm.”

You nodded eagerly and went to get dressed. While picking a sweater, you got a text from your roommate.

How are things with Isaac?

The timing was a bit strange, you hadn’t heard from her in a while, but you responded anyway.

Good I think. Some awkwardness the other night but date night tonight

You were brushing your hair out when her response came in.

Good, have fun!

Isaac was pacing when you walked into the living room and straightened up, coming to a stop when he saw you. Holding your hand out for him, you let him lead you to the door, grabbing your keys off the shelf by the door on the way out.

His truck was parked not far from your door and he held the door open for you before jogging around to get in himself and crank it up. You weren’t really paying attention to where he was going, more focused on queuing up songs, and when he parked and you finally looked around, you almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

“Are we,” you paused, “I thought.”

Isaac smiled gently, “I know how much you wanted to come, so.”

“You said no.”

“Well, I changed my mind, I am capable of it sometimes.”

Laughing, you said, “I mean, you avoided me for a while after I brought it up the third time.”

“Yeah, about that,” he rubbed his forehead sheepishly, “I was pretty busy getting your roommate and Scott to teach me how to skate. You said you were pretty good and I just wanted to be able to keep up. I mean, I know it probably won’t be as much fun as if it were with someone-”

You cut off his rambling, putting a finger over his lips, “It’ll be the best time because it’s with you.”

He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your fingertip, “Let’s go then.”

“Let’s go,” you cheered, “you have to show me what you’ve learned.”

You hadn’t noticed him grab your skates out of the backseat as well as another pair and he smiled, “Yeah, got yours a few days ago when I came over for stew.”

“You didn’t leave with them?” you asked, unsure.

“You were pretty gone when I left, so yeah, I just walked right out.”

Cheeks heating, you shrugged, “Whoops. Whose are those?”

“Scott’s. He’s letting me borrow them for the night.”

“Nice of him,” you commented, lacing your fingers through his.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy sometimes. I think he just wants me to make a fool out of myself.”

“Maybe. Have you had a rough go?”

Isaac snorted, “You saw the giant bruise on my hip.”

“Oh my god,” you sat down on a bench to switch your shoes and tried not to laugh at him.

He nodded, kicking his boots off, “Yeah, you can laugh. I’m sure it won’t go much better tonight.”

“Doubt it,” you answered confidently, and finished lacing them up, “you’ve got me with you this time, it’s going to be great.” Before he could respond, you knelt down in front of him to do his laces and continued, “Plus, you’re good at literally everything you do, so I highly doubt you’re as bad as you seem to think.”

Isaac stood when you finished tying his skates and helped you up, “You might be giving me too much credit.”

And you were. Isaac wasn’t the worst, but he wasn’t very good. After his third almost slip in just as many minutes, you stopped to take his hand, “You have to relax, bub.”

“I’m trying, sweetheart,” he responded through gritted teeth.

“You are the opposite of relaxed.”

Skating ahead, you turned to face him and grabbed both of his hands in yours. You slowed down, skating backwards at a pace slow enough that you weren’t dragging him, and he improved a little.

“See,” you told him, grinning proudly, “you’re doing so much better.”

You really wanted to watch him, but every few seconds, you had to glance over your shoulder to make sure you weren’t going to run into someone. The outdoor rink was crowded every Friday night, especially now that the semester was over.

“So,” Isaac started, seeming to get into a bit of a groove, “can you forgive me for being a dick?”

“I think I can. But could you just, I don’t know, keep me in the loop. I love surprises as much as anyone, but I don’t necessarily like getting the cold shoulder for the sake of one.”

He snorted, “Fair enough.”

“I am glad you changed your mind though, don’t get me wrong there.” “I bet.”

And with his words you paused, turning around to skate next to him, his hand still gripping yours tightly, but not needing you for balance as much as before.

It was cold, and after half an hour of lazy circles, Isaac motioned toward the little table selling hot chocolate, “Want some?”

“I’d love some,” you answered eagerly, already pulling him over. Isaac wasn’t expecting your sudden change of direction and almost wiped out, but you managed to keep him up.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, eyes wide.

“Sorry, sorry,” you giggled, “forgot.”

You could tell he was happy to finally put his shoes back on and be off the ice, but you were thrilled he’d actually done it with you. Isaac wrapped an arm around your shoulder and led you to the hot chocolate table, and you couldn’t help but ask, “Same time next week.”

“Good try, sweetheart.”

“Hey,” you protested, “practice makes perfect.”

“Lucky for me, I’m perfect at a plenty reasonable number of things already, no need to add ice skating to the list.”

Rolling your eyes, you shoved him gently away, “Okay, pack it up Mr. Wickham.”

Isaac held a hand to his heart dramatically, “How dare you, we both know I’m Mr. Darcy.”

“Sure, on your best days, but on average you’re Mr. Bingley and there’s no arguing that.” Isaac didn’t say anything else, just bent down and kissed your forehead, smiling widely. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, “What?”

“Nothing,” he answered, “I just love you is all.”

You softened and let him put his arm back around you, “Well, I love you too.”

day one of @obxmermaid‘s holiday challenge: ice skating

#isaac lahey #isaac x reader #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey fanfiction #isaac lahey fic #college isaac #obxmermaidholiday

47 notes · View notes

allsassnoclass · 3 years

Text

Bedroom Activities

Michael thinks that Calum’s bed is his favorite location in the entire house.

Or: Michael comes out to Calum.

An extra scene in the Puzzle Pieces universe

Read on AO3

Michael thinks that Calum’s bed is his favorite location in the entire house.

The bed itself is nothing special. He has the same mattress as Michael, and it’s not like his room has a better collection of band posters tacked up or smells less like teenage boy or anything like that. Ashton seems to be the same quality of roommate as Luke, so for all intents and purposes Michael should like his bed best because it’s his own space. As much as he loves his friends, sometimes he needs a moment to himself to decompress.

Calum has always been his space, too, though, so relocating to his bed as much as Liz will allow feels a little bit like wrapping himself in a childhood blanket, except with significantly more making out.

They do other stuff on Calum’s bed, too. They watch movies, have pillow fights, play guitar, laze around and talk, and take naps even though Michael is confined to his own bed at night. (Joke’s on Liz, because half the time he falls asleep cuddling Luke instead because they’re all so fucking clingy.) Still, making out with Calum is quickly becoming one of Michael’s favorite recreational activities. He loves how it feels to have Calum pressed against him, the gentle slide of their lips and playful nips that leave his lips swollen and tingly afterwards, and the way that Calum’s hair is the perfect length for him to bury his fingers in. He loves how Calum tastes and the noises that he makes. He loves that they can laugh about it when one of them does something weird, and he loves the way Calum’s lips feel against his neck (he thought getting a hickey might tickle more, but it just feels really fucking good).

They haven’t gone any further, interrupted a few too many times or the kisses naturally dying out first. Michael is glad for it. They haven’t tried talking about sex yet, so he hasn’t had a chance to tell Calum that it’s going to take a second to mentally prepare himself. He absolutely is ready to do whatever will make Calum happy, but he can’t quite picture himself touching his dick yet. It’s probably a good idea for him to figure that out first.

He sighs against Calum’s mouth, boneless against the mattress and enjoying the feel of his hands on Calum’s body, one nestled in his hair and the other sliding up his spine under his shirt. Calum’s skin is always warm, and kissing him and touching him always makes Michael’s cheeks flush and lights a bonfire in his gut. Calum is propped above him, forearms bracketing his head and thigh bumping against Michael’s knee where he has it bent. Sometimes their hips brush together, and Michael represses a jolt every time.

They’re both getting hard, but that doesn’t really mean anything. They’re teenage boys. It doesn’t take that much, as weird as it makes Michael feel sometimes.

Calum shifts, moving one of his hands to Michael’s side. Michael adjusts the angle of the kiss and scratches a little at Calum’s scalp, eliciting one of those soft whines from him that are completely involuntary. It always gives Michael a power rush to know that he’s the one making Calum feel that good.

Calum’s hips brush his again, but he gives up the fight of holding himself up and lets them stay there. The new closeness is nice in some ways, because Calum is a gentle and familiar weight, but there are those little subconscious hip movements that make Michael’s toes curl and his gut clench. Calum’s hand moves under his shirt where it has rucked up a bit, warm and comforting.

Calum does that thing with his tongue that drives Michael absolutely crazy, and it takes him a moment to realize that Calum’s hand is not only under his shirt, but also sneaking under the waistband of his boxers. The panic is immediate and all-encompassing, and Michael is pushing him off and saying “wait, stop, stop,” before he realizes that he’s broken the kiss.

“What?” Calum asks, breathless. He looks like an absolute vision, eyes blown and lips red and hair mussed. “Are you okay? Mikey?”

Michael can’t exactly say no, because nothing even happened and he thought he would’ve been okay with it even if it did, so he curls away, which is the wrong choice because now Calum is going to know that something is wrong.

“Michael?” And yeah, that’s the tone Calum uses when he’s panicking, so Michael needs to say something before this gets out of hand.

“I don’t want to have sex with you!” he blurts. He closes his eyes and braces himself for… something. Not quite rejection, because Calum is one of his soulmates, but maybe an end to this aspect of them, the head-over-heels-in-love part. Maybe Calum needs someone who wants the same type of satisfaction as him, and Michael is going to go back to being his best friend.

“Oh,” Calum says after a beat. “That’s okay. We don’t have to right--”

“Ever,” Michael says. “I don’t want to have sex with you, ever.”

The silence stretches on for longer this time. Michael holds his breath for as long as he can.

“Oh,” Calum says again, poorly-disguised hurt lacing his words.

“Not you, specifically,” he says. “If I have sex with someone, it’s going to be you. When I have sex with someone, I mean. I know that like, eventually it’ll probably happen, and I thought I’d be fine with it, but…”

“I don’t understand,” Calum says. “Michael, what are you saying?”

He grabs Michael’s shoulder and pulls him onto his back again, forcing Michael to uncurl and expose himself to the world. He sits up and adjusts his shirt, fiddling with the hem. Now that he thinks about it, it’s probably one of Luke’s shirts, because he doesn’t put away his laundry and this one doesn’t sit on Michael in the familiar way his own shirts do.

“Michael?” Calum asks.

Right. Calum. Explaining the sex freakout.

“I’m asexual,” he says. “I don’t, like, feel attraction that way.”

He chances a glance at Calum. His brow is furrowed, cheeks still red and eyes dark.

“But you were hard.”

“I don’t feel attraction. I can still get aroused. I don’t know, it’s weird to think about, so I haven’t been.”

Calum nods slowly.

“You’re not attracted to… anyone? Are you just saying this because you’re straight and trying to let me down easy?”

“No,” Michael says. “What the fuck, Cal? I’ve really never looked at someone and thought that I wanted to fuck them; it’s not personal.”

“Do you still love me?”

“What?” Michael asks. “Of course. I love you more than anything.”

Calum nods.

“Okay,” Calum says. “I love you, you love me, we’re just not going to have sex. Right?”

“I mean--” Michael blinks. He expected a bit more resistance. “We can still have sex. I’m just not ready yet.”

“No, Mikey. I don’t want to do this if you’re not going to like it. I can jerk off a lot, or something.”

“But I want to,” Michael says, and it’s true. He wants to do it at least once, simply to see what all the fuss is about. “Everything else that we’ve done has felt really good, so that probably will, too, but there’s a weird mental block, like a disconnect. I don’t know. I always expect it to feel kind of neutral, not good, so when it does it throws me off, and it’s you so it’s that much more, but I do want to. I like making you feel good, and you make me feel good, too. I want to have sex with you, but… eventually, not now.”

“Are you sure?” Calum asks.

“Yeah,” Michael says. He wrings his hands together, suddenly nervous again. “I don’t know how long it’ll take, though. I thought I’d be ready whenever, but earlier I thought you were going for my underwear and panicked.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“Hey, no,” Michael says, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “You didn’t know. I didn’t know. It’s fine, but no hands under pants for a while, okay?”

“Of course,” Calum says. He squeezes his hand. Michael gives him a small smile. “Anything you want.”

Michael’s throat closes a little, and he blinks to be sure he’s not about to start crying. He’s never found a four-leaf clover, but somehow he was lucky enough to end up with the best soulmate ever anyway.

“I want a cuddle,” he says. “Also, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Calum says fondly, reaching up to brush Michael’s fringe out of his eyes, then cup his cheek. “Is there anything else I should know now, though? Can I still touch you everywhere else?”

“Yes,” Michael says. “I love it when you touch me, which you could be doing if we were cuddling right now.”

“Patience,” Calum says, but he’s already pulling Michael down and arranging them on the bed. Michael ends up half on top of him, nosing at his neck, and he sighs happily. Calum’s hand runs up and down his spine in a long, soothing line.

“Was the kissing okay?” Calum asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Michael sighs.

“You sure? You don’t have to just say that. We can stop if you don’t like it.”

“Don’t you dare,” he says. “I told you, everything we’ve done so far has felt really fucking good. Kissing you is like, my favorite thing. Let’s keep doing it forever.”

“Alright,” Calum says, then plants one on the top of his head. “I like that idea.”

Michael hums and presses closer. Calum exhales slowly. Michael has been in this situation enough that he knows they’ll both be asleep soon, heartbeats synched up like every other aspect of their lives.

“Are you really okay with it?” Michael asks.

“Of course,” Calum says. “I love you, Michael. I’d give up my right arm for you if I could figure out a way to still play bass.”

“Yeah, if you lost an arm we’d have to replace you, and that’s just too much work.”

“Glad that’s what’s keeping you from sacrificing my arm.”

“No, I also like your arm. I like all of you.”

“Yeah?”

“Every last centimeter.”

“We can never let Luke and Ashton hear us say stuff like this,” Calum says. “They already think we’re gross.”

“They’re just jealous,” Michael snorts. “Who wouldn’t be?”

Calum hums.

“Maybe they should get together,” he says. “Then they wouldn’t be third and fourth wheeling all the time.”

Michael almost brings up Luke’s crush on Ashton, but he was told that in confidence, and if Luke hasn’t told Calum himself by now then there’s probably a reason.

“We need them to stay single to appeal to our audience, remember?” Michael jokes instead. Now that it’s been announced that they’ll be touring with One Direction, Ashton has fallen down a rabbit hole of research on strategies and theories for how to market a boyband. He says it’s because he wants to be sure no one tries stuff like that with them, but Michael thinks they’re too punk-rock for that.

“We’ll see,” Calum says. “I’m sure the ladies will like us for more than our sex appeal.”

He goes back to rubbing Michael’s back, and Michael settles. The mood has shifted enough that Michael feels safe tangling their legs until the two of them are completely intertwined with the type of closeness that Michael craves. If he could, he would have Calum absorb him so they could be one person in moments like this.

They probably have responsibilities that someone will come yell at them to do soon, but he doesn’t really care. He’s in Calum’s bed, and he’s got Calum under him, and it’s a familiar position that he wants to find himself in as much as possible. Calum’s content sigh makes Michael think he’s not the only one with that thought.

Calum’s bed is definitely his favorite place in the house, but maybe it’s not the bed itself. Maybe it’s the boy it belongs to and the arms he constantly finds himself surrounded by.

Nah, that’s too cheesy. If anyone asks, it’s still the bed, even if Michael knows better.

#my writing #malum #5sos fanfic #soulmate colors au

13 notes · View notes

brighterthanghosts · 3 years

Text

Meant for Romance

Word count: 1,893

Part 1/1

Pairing: Taishiro (past Koumi)

Read below the cut or on ao3

Summary: “So let me get this straight,” Miyako says, swiftly biting into her toast. “You got sloppy drunk on a Tuesday and hooked up with your hot best friend. He let you sleep in his bed overnight and brought you breakfast.”

“And now you’re here, having breakfast with me,” Miyako says with a bored sigh, “When you could be having a coffee-flavored makeout sesh with your hot best friend.”

Heavily implied nsfw. Lots of awkward. Humor maybe? Largely fueled by too much coffee at 4 a.m.

So warm.

Koushiro doesn’t remember ever feeling so cozy in his life. He knows he needs to get up soon — the morning sun on the other side of his eyelids beckons him to start the day. But sleep is still within his grasp, and his pillow smells so nice, like sage and bergamot and mint. He recognizes that scent, though he can’t quite place it, but his brain supplies him with hot breaths on his neck and a husky coo of his name.

Koushiro shivers, pulls the cotton sheet under his chin, and revels in the way it drags across his skin. His skin. All of his skin.

Eyes snapping open, Koushiro jolts up. The sheet, having fallen to the tops of his thighs, answers his first question, but — Where the hell am I?

He remembers Mimi, her pretty hair pulled back, making her deep-set frown stand out even more. She told him it wasn’t working out, that there’s someone else, that this just wasn’t doing it for her anymore. I wasn’t doing it for her at all.

He remembers calling Taichi, desperate and agonizing. Taichi saying he’d be there in 30 minutes. Taichi hailing down a cab to take them to a bar where “the drinks are cheap and totally worth it.” Taichi making him feel better instantly with big grins and fond laughter because that’s what friends do.

Spotting his clothes loosely folded on the desk chair across from the bed, Koushiro moves hastily and slips his underwear on, left foot then right foot. He knows he told Taichi about the breakup. Well, it wasn’t really a breakup, considering he and Mimi had never put a label to what they were doing, which wasn’t much.

Koushiro was busy, and Mimi was needy. She needed things from him that he couldn’t give. They’d tried to engage in sexual activities exactly twice, and neither time could Koushiro perform. It was something that embarrassed him to no end because he liked Mimi and he thought she was cute, but for the entire 8 months they were seeing each other, his body just wouldn’t respond.

Taichi spent most of that conversation listening, Koushiro realizes now, and he never poked fun or judged him. He loves that about Taichi. He’s working on the fourth button of his white dress shirt when his eyes dart to a Polaroid photo propped up on the desk. In the bottom right-hand corner reads ‘The Yagamis 2002.’ Nonononono.

And it hits him like a bullet train. Rough hands, harsh lips. Hips colliding, hot with need. Smooth, sun-kissed skin everywhere. Taichi over him, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“Fuck,” Koushiro stutters, palms suddenly clamy. He’s got both legs in his pants, pulling them up in one swoop, and he hears the door unlock. Fuck.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Taichi says, smiling. At least, Koushiro suspects he’s smiling, but he doesn’t want to know. He can’t bring himself to look at his friend. He hears a rustle of plastic and something heavy hitting the table, but his mind can only focus on slipping on his socks at light speed.

“Sorry to leave you alone,” Taichi sounds sincere. It makes Koushiro feel worse. “I didn’t have much in the fridge, so I ran to the convenience store down the street. I grabbed that bottled Oolong you like. I hope eggs and — you’re leaving?”

“Sorry, Taichi-san. I have to go.” And Koushiro is out the door, leaving Taichi to stand alone in his little apartment.

***

He’s not sure where he’s going, not exactly paying attention, but he spots a park and some familiar treelines, and he manages to make it to a door, knocking furiously.

A beat passes, and he knocks again.

“Jesus, what!?” Miyako says, whipping the door open and looking like she just rolled out of bed. She eyes Koushiro, his tousled hair, frazzled expression, and haphazard outfit.

“Either you’ve met a very unfriendly tornado, or you’re doing the walk of shame,” she says, causing Koushiro to flush from the neck up. “Ah. Walk of shame, huh? Come in.”

The next 20 minutes are filled with Miyako filling her toaster and putting on a pot of coffee while Koushiro relays the previous night’s events with record speed. He’s beet red.

“So let me get this straight,” Miyako says, swiftly biting into her toast. “You got sloppy drunk on a Tuesday and hooked up with your hot best friend. He let you sleep in his bed overnight and brought you breakfast.”

She pauses to look directly into his soul, and Koushiro would like nothing more than to simply pass away.

“And you panicked.” Miyako’s tone is pointed, but when she doesn’t immediately continue, Koushiro opens his mouth to reply in uncoordinated hand gestures and wordless exasperation. He nods instead.

“And now you’re here, having breakfast with me,” Miyako says with a bored sigh, “When you could be having a coffee-flavored makeout sesh with your hot best friend.”

“It’s not like that!” Koushiro defends. Taichi was his very first friend and probably his closest friend — there was no way he could jeopardize that. His failed attempt at a relationship with Mimi was proof enough that Koushiro isn’t meant for romantic endeavors of any kind.

“I just got out of a relationship!” Koushiro pleads, but Miyako’s expression is solid. She’s not buying this for a moment. Softer, Koushiro says, “And Taichi is my friend. I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“He obviously didn’t mind,” Miyako, says, annoyed and unimpressed with Koushiro’s half-hearted explanation. Koushiro grunts and looks down at the kitchen counter — he’s not entirely sure he believes himself. Miyako sighs again, this time with a hint of sincere tiredness woven in, and saunters toward her bedroom. “Tragic.”

***

The drive to the office is mostly silent, except for Miyako’s intermittent humming to whatever song is playing on the radio. Koushiro can’t make out any of the words over the sound of his heart thrumming like an upright bass in his ears. Miyako doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s times like this when he truly appreciates her — hiring Miyako as his assistant director was one of his best decisions. She always sorts him out when he gets too caught up in the details. Which is probably why he randomly showed up at her home this morning.

They’re walking into the building, and Miyako greets the receptionist quickly, shielding Koushiro from anyone passing through. He looks a mess, he knows, and Miyako’s being kind by attempting to uphold his reputation. She walks him all the way to his office, reminding him to pull the curtain over the glass windows by his door. She says to find her when he’s done.

It was also Miyako who mothered him into keeping spare clothes at the office after one too many all-nighters. “You look like a trash panda, honestly.”

The morning goes as usual, answering emails, IMing Miyako about the slides for their monthly report. He doesn’t notice when noon rolls around. He doesn’t pay attention when his office door opens, or when the sound of rustling plastic makes its second appearance today.

“Koushiro,” comes a soft voice. Koushiro’s fingers hover above his keyboard and a shiver runs down his spine. “Koushiro,” Taichi says again.

He knows he needs to respond but he can’t pull himself away from his safety net just yet. His fingers touch down on the keyboard again, and he exhales shakily.

“Hello, Taichi-san.”

“I was worried you didn’t eat, so I brought you lunch,” Taichi says quietly. It’s unlike him, and it breaks Koushiro’s heart. He knows he’s being selfish. He knows he should acknowledge his friend, but —

“Koushiro, please,” Taichi says, voice sadder now, a tinge of anguish in that last word. “Can we please talk?”

Koushiro freezes again. He’s so utterly fucked and completely inexperienced in all aspects of what’s sure to unfold here. But Taichi sounds hurt, and he doesn’t want to be someone who hurts Taichi.

He swivels around in his chair, facing Taichi on the sofa but looking at the ground where the toe of his shoe meets the wood floor. He wants to say something, taps his foot a few times, and finally looks up.

“Taichi-san, I —”

“What the fuck?”

“Huh?” Koushiro says, caught off guard. Mimi is storming into his office, face fire-engine red.

“You cheated on me?!” She squawks.

“Excuse me?” Koushiro musters because this is his ex, and his mother taught him to mind his manners, but he feels offended.

“Sora heard from Yamato that you slept with someone last night!” Mimi is causing a scene. A few of Koushiro’s colleagues have poked their heads into the hallway outside Koushiro’s office.

“Did you know about this? Who is she?”

She’s addressing Taichi now, who sinks deeper into the sofa and looks like he might combust, and Koushiro’s blood is boiling. He stands, moving into her line of vision.

“Mimi-san, I hardly think anything I did last night could be considered cheating as we never defined the exclusivity of our relationship and you said there was someone else.” Koushiro says with as much confidence as he can. “I think that gives me the right to do as I want.”

Mimi stomps her foot and raises her arms, ready to shout a thousand expletives, but Miyako is through the door and in Mimi’s face like a forcefield.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Izumi Corporation. My name is Inoue Miyako, and I’m the lead director of team shut down. As in, I’m shutting this down immediately,” Miyako says, straight faced and with her kindest customer service voice. The first-floor security guard stands just outside Koushiro’s office, already escorting Mimi out. Miyako follows after them, stopping in the doorframe. “Thank you for your visit to Izumi Corp! Have a nice day!”

She smiles and waves, and Koushiro feels like he can breathe again. He has know idea what just happened, and his head is pounding. Miyako’s smile falls, eyebrows pull together, and from the doorway, she points her finger at Koushiro and yells, “I expect a raise!”

She shuts his curtains, slams the door behind her and disappears after that. Koushiro’s mind would normally leave the train station in 50 directions at once, but he’s just stunned. He turns, hoping to find Advil in his desk drawer, and — Taichi!

“Taichi-san, I’m so sorry,” Koushiro turns around to face him, and it’s all he can do because Taichi doesn’t deserve any of this. Taichi is looking at him unexpectedly, reaches a hand up to scratch at the nape of his neck and smiles slightly.

“So,” Taichi says and pauses, looking at the table, “lunch?”

Koushiro stares in awe. Taichi smiles and after a beat, looks up and says, “And maybe we can start this day over?”

They spend the rest of the afternoon talking, and Koushiro apologizes with his entire being. For the event with Mimi. For leaving him. For being so cold. Taichi reassures every “I’m sorry.” Taichi says it’s okay because he doesn’t expect the world Koushiro. Taichi is his best friend. Taichi would like to try last night again. Today, preferably, with less alcohol, but he isn’t pushing.

They weathered a year’s worth of drama in a single day. Koushiro is still breathing, and Taichi still smiles at him like Koushiro is the sun. And maybe Koushiro is meant for romance.

#taishiro #taishirou #Taichi is so good #Koushiro needs to lighten up #digimon #excuse my 4 am trash

9 notes · View notes

jungshookz · 5 years

Note

ballet!jimin's harsh voice but gentle touch when he's telling u off for performing with an injury but bandaging u up and snapping at the others because his sTAR WAS HURT AND CRYING im sOFT

→ pairing: park jimin x reader

→ genre: balletteacher!jimin x ballerina!y/n au, fluff!!!! the fluffiest fluff!!! idk jimin just really cares about y/n okAY

→ wordcount: 2.5k

→ note: i keep starting off with baby drabbles and then the baby drabbles eventually turn into fAT drabbles so here u go.,., y/n is a big dum-dum for not telling jimin about her sprained ankle and he wants to kiss the bruise on her knee but that’s probably not a good idea

(gif isn’t mine!) (okay but this gif is literally so perfect for this au)

»»————-　♡　————-««

long story short

you managed to sprain your ankle after trying to do a grand jeté and now you’re trying to pretend like your foot is completely fine

(a grand jeté is a move where ur supposed to spring from one foot and land on the other while keeping one leg forwArd of your body and the other leg stretched backwards while in the air)

((u would not recommend doing it and u give it -2/10 gold stars))

it’s just that you have this innate, almost animalistic need to impress jimin and the other week you snuck a glance at the syllabus and you saw ‘grand jeté’ scribbled at the bottom of the page

and ya know what

you want to be one of the first people in the class to learn how to do it!! even though you’ve never attempted it before but

now is a good time to start learning!

you came in super early today to practice this stuPid move

it’s literally just a jump from point a to point b so you don’t understand why-

“shit!” you gasp when you feel a sharp pain shOOt up your foot the moment you land and you immediately crumple to the ground with a loud fLOP

O W

“oh my god, ow-” you hiss and rub at your sore ankle that’s beginning to turn red

you try flexing your foot and you let out a whimper when you feel another zap of pain

okay

you know what

it’s not a big deal

class starts in… ten minutes, so maybe you can hobble to the vending machine and use a can of soda as a makeshift ice pack

yes

also you should probably hide in the bathroom while icing your ankle because there’s no way in hell you’re going to let jimin see you like this

you’re already sure he hates you and you are not going to give him another reason to keep hating you

“that was quite a tumble, y/l/n. maybe if you kept your leg straighter, you wouldn’t have landed so harshly.” you immediately freeze upon hearing the voice of your sworn enemy

seulgi

you whip around to look over your shoulder “…seulgi! i… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“it’d be a shame if you hurt your foot… you won’t be able to participate in class… you won’t be able to show us your amazing dance moves…” seulgi sighs and drops her bag on the side

you narrow your eyes at her

something’s coming

“oh! and you won’t be able to suck up to mr. park like a little teacher’s pet.”

there it is

you have literally never done anything to seulgi but she hates you because she fully believes that you’re jimin’s favourite student which yOU know is not true

it’s just because she wants to be jimin’s favourite student which is understandable but

you don’t get why she has to be so mean to you all the time

“says you.” you can’t help but roll your eyes after you turn back around to check on your foot

you give it another little flex and curse quietly

you definitely sprained it

you gooFball

you shouldn’t have attempted a grand jeté without jimin’s guidance!!!

“sorry, did you just say something?”

“i said i’m fine, seulgi.” you force a smile onto your face “but thank you for your concern.” you push yourself up off the ground and biTe back a hiss of pain when you get back up onto your feet

okay okay oKAy

just smile through the pain

do noT give seulgi the pleasure of knowing that your foot is all kinds of fucked up right now

if you don’t think about your foot, you should be fine

you only have to get through an hour and a half of rigorous dancing and then you can hobble to the drug store and get yourself some ointment and a bandage and hopefully your foot will get better over the weekend

and with this distraction you officially have… one minute left til class starts

the rest of the girls have already filed into the room and everyone’s either stretching on the barre or putting their pointe shoes on

“alright, ladies!” you jump when jimin claps his hands together as he steps into the studio “put on your best performance smiles because i want to see everyone do a triple-turn pirouette since we spent all of last week working on them!”

“oh, jesus.” you mutter to yourself and you ignore the way seulgi crosses her arms and smirks at you

it’s not just one pirouette that you have to do

it’s a triple-turn pirouette

you have to spin around three damn times!!!!

your foot isn’t even going to let you spin onE time!!

it can’t get any worse than this

“we’re going to have everyone up here one by one so that i can clearly pick out whatever mistakes will be made.”

…okay, it turns out it actually can get worse than this

everyone moves to gets in a line at the back of the room

“alright, so…” jimin pauses for a second and raises his brow when he notices you.,. hobble? to your spot

you turn around and stand in third position with your hands behind your back and clear your throat

“let’s get started! don’t let me down, please.”

“don’t let him down, y/l/n.” seulgi nudges your side with her elbow and you resist the urge to shoVe your elbow right into her face

“why don’t you focus less on me and more on the fact that you’re in fourth position instead of third?” you mutter and seulgi immediately looks down at her feet before shifting her feet

curse you and your attention to detail

“answer me this - how should one hold their arms during a pirouette?” jimin snaps and holds his clipboard against his chest before raising his brow at poor ailee

she looks like she’s about to start crying and honEstly you would probably start crying too

“um, you… they should be curved… and…”

“incorrect.” jimin blinks “i can’t tell if you’re kidding me or not. they should be straight out in front of your chest with your palms inward and your thumbs aligned. get out of my classroom and come back when you’re ready - next!”

ailee literally whimpers before ducking down and sprinting out of the classroom

oh goD

you’ve never been kicked out of the classroom before and you sure as hell don’t want to start now

you swallow thickly when you take a peek at how many girls are left until it’s your turn

four more including seulgi

you’ve seen seulgi do a triple-turn pirouette before and even though she does it beautifully you still hAte her guts

you grimace when you move up the line but you let out a small breath

smile through the pain

your ankle feels like it’s on FIRE

“seulgi? you’re up.” jimin taps his pen against his clipboard before gesturing for her to come

seulgi doesn’t say a word as she steps over to the middle of the room

a bright smile adorns her face as she spins one, two, and three times

goddamnit

how are you supposed to go on after seulgi????

“good.” jimin nods in affirmation “back of the line so that you can show the class again after everyone’s done.”

“yes, mr. park.” seulgi smiles sweetly and bats her lashes at him before veering off to the back of the line

“good luck, y/n.” she doesn’t hesitate to flash a smug little smirk in your direction as she steps past you

“y/n, your turn.” jimin hums and you offer him a meek smile

okay

here we go

don’t think about your foot

just think about the triple turn

you clear your throat again as you get into position

the first step to the turn is a plié

you stand with your feet flat against the floor

you bend your knees outward and keep your legs straight

so far so good

you lift your back heel off the ground slightly to prepare to turn and press your lips together to hide a wince when you feel more pressure on your front (very VERY spRAined) foot

“make sure your weight is centred over the ball of your foot so as not to disrupt your alignment.” jimin reminds you gently and you nod

“yes, mr. park.” you let out a breath to prepare yourself for the oncoming onslaught of PAIN

you give yourself a mental countdown before lifting your back leg and initiating your turn

you lift your back leg up and place your foot above the knee of your straight leg with your toe pointed towards the ground and you turn once

oh gOD

you unintentionally let out a gasp after completing the first turn because jesus fuCK that hurts!

your sprained foot is literally carrying the weight of your entire body and you want to: dIE

okay, second turn, here we go!

you remember to keep your back straight and your arms in a circle in front of you as you turn

you also remind yourself to focus on spotting so that you won’t lose your balance

you keep your head straight and level as you turn the second time

don’t think about your foot don’t think about your foo-

j-jESUS chRIST have MERCY

you get halfway through the final turn before your foot gives in and you find yourself tumbling to the ground

your knee hits the ground with a loud smAck that seems to bounce off the walls of the room and you let out a groan of pain

well, this is great!

now you have a fucked up ankle anD a bruised and bLeeding knee!

“christ, y/n, are you okay??” your name slips out of jimin’s mouth as he drops to his knees and sets his clipboard down with a clatter

seulgi raises her hand high up into the air and clears her throat “mr. park, can i just say how truly admirable it is that y/n wanted to get up there and show you her triple- well, her double-pirouette even though she sprained her ankle at the beginning of class?”

jimin looks up at her and immediately knits his brows together

“you knew a fellow classmate was injured and you didn’t inform me?” he practically growls at her and she shrinks back in fear

“i-“ seulgi pauses and her face flames up immediately “i-i mean, yes, but that’s only because i… i didn’t want…”

you literally aren’t even paying attention to the fact that seulgi is getting toasted and roasted by jimin because you are in sO much pain

you let out a sob and feel a hot tear roll down the side of your face as you lie on your back clutching your knee to your chest

oh grEAT

and now you’re crying!!!

jimin looks down at you in alarm before glancing over at the other girls who look absolutely traumatised

“everyone out of the classroom! go and practice your turns in room b.”

you’re not particularly sure what’s going on right now

everyone left the room five minutes ago and jimin hasn’t said a word to you

you stopped crying as soon as everyone left upon realising that you are now alone with jimin

he doesn’t say anything as he pulls the first aid kit out to get the ointment and the bandages

he doesn’t say anything as he sits down across from you and pulls your foot up gently so it’s sitting on his lap

you’re sitting up while leaning back on your palms and you chew on your bottom lip nervously

he helps unravel the ribbon around your ankle before slipping your pointe shoe off and setting it aside

you feel like you should at least say somEthing

“mr. park? i’m sorry for not telling-“

“how could you be so irresponsible?” jimin interrupts you and glances up at you for a second before looking back down at your foot

you feel your cheeks heat up with shame

“i just didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.” you murmur and twiddle with the edge of your chiffon skirt

“i could never be disappointed in you.” jimin mutters in response as he carefully pins the bandage in place

he pauses for a second because he definitely wasn’t supposed to say that out loUd

“you have to let me know the next time you’re hurt, okay?” he sets your foot aside and scoots closer til he’s practically sitting with your legs on either side of him

and now your cheeks are heating up for a different reason

and then you realise he’s only done that because your knee is still bruised and bleeding

“yes, mr. park.”

“how did you hurt yourself?” he rips open a little antiseptic pad package with his teeth and that..,,. shouldn’t be hot,.., but it was kinda hot.,,.

“i was… trying to do a grand jeté and i guess i landed weirdly on my ankle…” you breathe out

your heart is beating a little harder now because jimin’s face is only a couple inches away from yours

he’s so pretty

:-(

“but i haven’t taught how to do a grand jeté yet?” jimin raises a brow as he wipes up the dried blood

you twitch at the slight sting of it

“i saw it on your clipboard and i wanted to teach myself how to do it to impress you.” you admit shamefully and divert your gaze immediately when you feel jimin freeze

“are you serious?”

“…ya”

jimin snorts

gOD

you are so CUTE

his heart skip a beat at your confession

it’s so cute!!!! you did it to impress him!!!!!! him!!!! even though you obviously hurt yourself doing it but still!! you did it for hiM!!!

a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he shakes his head

“you really are something, you know that?” he laughs lightly as he smooths the bandaid over your cut

you can’t help but let out a little huff “…is that a good thing?”

jimin looks over at you and he just wants to kith the pout off your adorable faCE

he resists the urge to lean down and press a kiss over your knee and instead gives it a little pat before reaching over a tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear

“miss y/l/n - it’s a very good thing.”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

drabble tag

2K notes · View notes

yastaghr · 4 years

Text

Grey 17

Summary: Berry finds his datemates a little too late. Blue gets inducted into the revolution, and his HP is discovered.

Warnings: Blood, Aftermath of Torture, Major Character Death

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555439/chapters/64110841

It had been two days since Berry had last seen or heard from his datemates. To say he was worried would be an understatement. In a place as small as the Underground it was almost impossible not to run into people on a regular basis, especially if you were dating them. Plus there were the phone calls. Berry was used to calling his girlfriends every night that he wasn’t sleeping with them. So for him not to hear from them in two days was unthinkable. He had to find them!

He regretted not searching for them sooner when he found them. The state they were in… he would remember it for the rest of his life. They were missing all of the toes on both of their feet, and the raw patches had been burned. Their legs had been fileted. The places where the strips of flesh were missing had been salted. They went all the way up to their underwear. At least whoever did this hadn’t hurt them there. Their stomachs, though, were apparently fair game. It had been sliced up in a grid pattern that would make healing much, much harder. Their arms had words carved into them deep; “slut”, “creep”, and “shithead” were the only three he could make out around the blood. Their faces, though, were easy to read. They had the word “freak” carved from cheekbone to cheekbone. Spike’s glasses were embedded into gaping holes where her eyes had once been, and TNT’s gills had been cut off completely.

Berry took in all of that in a handful of seconds. That was all he had before his magic rebelled and forced him to throw up everything he had eaten that day. The mess merged with the blood on the floor of the room to form a sickening tye-dye effect. He threw up again when he realised just how much blood there was.

By the time he had gathered himself enough to act it was too late. Berry unbent just in time to see the two monsters he loved the most, the two monsters who had pulled him out of his depression and saved his life, he saw those two monsters turn to dust. He gaped, unable to believe it. This couldn’t be real, right? They hadn’t just turned to dust. This was all just a big misunderstanding. He would wake up any minute now to Spike’s snores and TNT’s fond exasperation at those snores. Then he and TNT would tickle Spike mercilessly until she was fully awake. They’d all laugh and get out of bed and… and…

Berry shuddered when he looked back down and saw the blood. That was wrong, wasn’t it? Even if this was just a dream, he shouldn’t leave the floor looking this messy. He should at least try to clean it up, so he did.

That was how Stretch found him when he came back to gloat over their bodies. Seeing someone stuck in a cleaning fit was very familiar. Maybe he should have questioned it more, but, to him, it wasn’t out of the ordinary.

=====

Blue insisted on making sure that Scales was settled comfortably before letting them talk about anything else. It was hard for him to do; he wasn’t used to asserting himself like that. He managed it, though. It helped that he could put on his “doctor” voice. It also helped to know that these people were willing to be kind to him, even after knowing he’d been raped. That felt so alien to him that he didn’t really know what to do with it. The only thing he could do was hope it would last.

When Scales was safely set up in one of the beds down here in this hidden lab (who knew that there was a lab underneath the lab? He didn’t.), Blue gulped and faced the others. He could still feel the fire in his belly from hearing about what the King did here. He found the Royals so- so frustrating! Every decision that his Queen had ever made had hurt him. Her rules had ruined his life. Her refusal to pay for the damages of the accident had cost him his father. Her appointees to the Royal Guard had used their authority to rape him. Her arrogance had stopped him from saving thousands of lives. Why couldn’t they just be helpful? Was it really that hard?

“underfell to blue, can you hear me?” The words weren’t what smashed him out of his internal fit of fury. It was the poke that accompanied them. He definitely overreacted by flinching back and shaking with fear. Red looked at him with confusion, then shook it off. “i dunno where you went just then, bud, but scales wants to tell us her plan now. you good with that?”

Blue nodded slowly. He was just glad that Red wasn’t mad at him for overreacting. Stretch hated it when Blue overreacted in public.

Scales, propped up with more pillows than should rightly have been down here, coughed. “Well, three of you know the general plan for the revolution. Everyone hates the King, so it’ll be easy to convince them to stay home if we use Metta’s channel. The guards are already on our side, so it won’t be hard to get into the castle. The only part that we hadn’t worked out before was how we were going to subdue him long enough to shove him in the Void. I think Blue might be our answer to that.”

Blue’s head slowly tilted as he tried to figure out what she meant. Just the idea that there could even be a revolution was hard for him to grasp.

Fortunately, it wasn’t only Blue that was listening to Scales. “YOU MEAN THAT, IF WE SNEAK HIM INTO THE CASTLE, HE CAN SEDATE THE KING AND PUT HIM IN A COMA, RIGHT? HAVE YOU CHECKED HIM TO SEE IF HE’S UP FOR IT?”

Blue stiffened in real fear. “NO, NO, NO, PLEASE DON’T-” He was too late. His stats popped up for all of them to see.

“Blue - Underswap Sans” “The easiest friend you ever made. Rulebreaker for 17 years.”

1 LV 0.568 / 0.713 HP 90 / 90 MP

AT: 1 (-25) DF: 1 (0) EXP: 0 NEXT: 10

WEAPON: None (Healer!) ARMOUR: None

GOLD: 0

Silence reigned for several seconds as Blue started to tremble. They had seen. They had seen. They had seen they had seen they had seen they had-

The feeling of fear that overwhelmed him ran into the one obstacle he didn’t expect, although he probably should have, given that it had happened earlier. Three sets of arms wrapped around him in a hug. Three voices tried to sooth him. Eventually, a fourth voice broke through the bedlam due to sheer volume. “BLUE, WHY DO YOU HAVE SO LITTLE HP? THE ONLY MONSTER I KNOW HAS HAD LESS THAN 10 TOTAL HP IS RED, AND THAT WAS WHEN HE FIRST FELL DOWN HERE INTO THE UNDERGROUND. HOW DID YOU SURVIVE WITH LESS THAN ONE?”

Blue gulped. “I… REMEMBER HOW I SAID I WAS RAPED A LOT? I NEVER REALLY… GOT THE QUALITY OF MEDICAL CARE I SHOULD HAVE, SO I DIDN’T REALLY HEAL UP VERY WELL. IT’S… BEEN GOING DOWN LATELY, TOO,” ever since Stretch found out about his prostitution, actually, “BUT IT WAS AT 0.498 THE LAST TIME I CHECKED, SO IT’S… ACTUALLY GONE UP?”

Seven eyes stared at him. Red’s eyes were the most angry looking. Blue quaked before them. “lemme get this straight. a maximum of about seven tenths of a hp point is an improvement for you?”

Blue nodded, thinking through his next words carefully. “I’M JUST… WEAK. LIFE HAS BEEN HARD, AND I’VE TRIED MY HARDEST, BUT IT WAS HARD TO TAKE CARE OF MY LITTLE BROTHER ALL ON MY OWN. I TRIED TO RAISE HIM RIGHT, BUT, AS THINGS GOT HARDER… I STARTED TO LOSE HOPE. I WAS DETERMINED TO KEEP GOING FOR HIM, BUT… I GAVE UP HAVING ANY HOPES OF MY OWN WHEN THE QUEEN REFUSED TO SIGN THE LICENSE OF A FORMER PROSTITUTE.”

Red burst out laughing. Scales and Edge gave him an unamused stare. Felldyne looked like she wasn’t that far behind Red in the laughing department, and it was she who spoke. “Seriously? Even Fellgore didn’t care about me, and I did that to pay for my own house so I didn’t have to live with Gerson. Is that seriously why she refused to sign your license?”

Blue, blinking at her, nodded. “...ALMOST ENTIRELY, YES. SHE DIDN’T LIKE THAT I BROKE CURFEW AS A CHILD AT THE HOSPITAL, EITHER.”

Felldyne did chuckle then. “Sheesh, no wonder you hate her. If I were Empress I’d make you the Lead Healer in an instant. You helped Scales, you hate the Royal Family, and you’ve got enough spunk to compliment someone who could kill you with a sneeze. Definitely leadership quality. You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a job, would you? Once we pull this coop off I’m the next in line.”

Before Blue could jump on this opportunity, Red threw it away for him. “come on, dyne. he’s got a brother waiting for him back home. i know i’d give anything to get back to my bro if i lost him.”

Blue became aware of the way Felldyne was studying him. He shivered under that stare and the thought of going back to life with his… well, he couldn’t deny it anymore, could he? His abusive brother. He didn’t want to burden them with his problems, though. Not before he earned the right to call them friends. He had to help. “SO, WHAT’S THE PLAN ONCE I SEDATE YOUR KING? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH HIM?”

The others reluctantly (and not so reluctantly) accepted this change of subject. “WE’RE GOING TO SHOVE HIM INTO THE VOID, THE ULTIMATE PRISON SPACE WHERE NOT EVEN LIGHT CAN ESCAPE. IT’S WHERE THE KING SHOVED MY FATHER WHEN HE REFUSED TO LET HIM TAKE RED AND ME AWAY FROM HIM.”

Blue shivered. He knew who dwelled in the Void from back home, and he knew why. After all, he was the one who put River there. “ARE YOU SURE THERE ISN’T ANY OTHER WAY?”

They all nodded, but Red nodded more vigorously than the others. “that bastard has too much damned lv to put in a prison - he’ll just punch through the walls. can’t kill him neither, not without going lv crazy. no, we need to send him somewhere he can never get out.”

Blue sighed. “ALRIGHT. IF THAT’S THE ONLY WAY… I’LL HELP YOU WITH THE SEDATION AND ANY HEALING, NOT WITH ANYTHING ELSE. I’D ONLY GET IN THE WAY.”

#fellcest #underswap sans #underfell sans #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #grey fanfic #underswap alphys #underswap undyne #underfell alphys #underfell undyne #yastaghr

8 notes · View notes

romansleftshoulderpad · 5 years

Text

Chapter Five - Origins

The Echo in the Mirror

Words: 2,503

Ship: None

Warnings: Alcohol mention, mentions of underage drinking (no-one gets drunk), Body mutation, panic attack, sex jokes

Tags: @fandermom @patchworkofstars @poisonedapples @hogwarts-my-love @opaque-puppet @omni-hamiltrash @darling-elm @jynxlovesluck @madly-handsome @strickenwithclairvoyance @limitededitionsanderssidesblog @ab-artist @sometimeswritingsometimesdying @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @because-were-fam-ily @gattonero17 @analogical-mess @joaniejustwokeup @whycantihavemorethan32characters

---

If there was one thing the Dormir cousins were famous for, it was parties. So, it was no surprise that Remy’s Halloween party was one of the biggest events of the year. It was also very exclusive, you had to know the right people to get in. Any regular student would have dropped everything for a chance to go. Anyone except for Logan Hamilton, who had barely spoken to Roman or Virgil in days.

It was Wednesday, October 30th and the lunch bell had just rung. “You can’t keep ignoring me forever, Logan,” Virgil said. Logan only walked away, giving him a silent message. “That’s a very rude hand gesture!” he yelled.

Virgil sighed, falling against the wall as Logan walked away. He felt a hand on his shoulder and didn’t even bother to look up. He already knew there was a fifty percent chance of it being Roman (and the other fifty percent chance of it being Remy). “He’ll be back eventually,” Roman said. “We just need to talk to him.”

“I’m trying but he’s impossible to talk to when he’s angry. We’ve really fucked up.”

“Maybe we can get Patton to talk to him.”

Virgil laughed. “You think he’d listen to Patton?”

“What’s wrong with Patton?”

“Nothing,” Virgil said. “To us.”

“To us?”

“You’re pretty oblivious, Princey.”

“Oblivious,” Roman repeated. “Are you saying Logan has a crush on me and therefore won’t talk to Patton?”

Virgil pulled himself from the wall and took Roman’s hand as they walked down the hall. “First of all, you wish Logan had a crush on you. I think you’re just looking for an excuse to change your name to Roman Hamilton.”

“Imagine marrying Logan Hamilton. I could never,” Roman teased.

“Shut up you’re getting off-topic.”

“Weirdly defensive about marrying Logan,” he teased, bumping into Virgil’s side with a laugh. He felt pain in his hand as Virgil’s fists grew tighter. “Ow. Ow. Ow. Okay, okay I take it back.”

“Even if I did have a crush on Logan, he’s straight,” Virgil said. “And you’re getting off-topic. He’s not listening to me, he’s obviously not going to listen to you, and Patton isn’t even in the same room as the table.”

“And, again, what’s wrong with Patton and why am I oblivious?”

“Logan doesn’t exactly, uh, like Patton. And if you haven’t been able to notice that, you certainly have your head in the clouds.”

“I’m king of the clouds.”

“You’re not even a prince, Duke.”

“Touché.”

“I’ll send him a text,” Virgil said. “I just... hope he’ll respond.”

“You guys have been best friends since- what? Seventh grade?” Roman squeezed Virgil’s hand and leaned into him. “He’ll come around.”

Virgil leaned into the touch, both their heads pressed together as they turned a corner towards the school cafeteria. “This is worse than any fight we’ve ever had. I don’t know what to do.”

Roman stopped dead in his tracks. He took Virgil by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. (He still had to grow used to the fact that Virgil was now taller than him. The growth spurt he had hit during his sophomore year was still a surprise.) “Everything is going to be fine,” he said. “You know how I know it will be? Because if Hamilton thinks he can hurt my second best friend then I’m going to kick his ass with my new weird crazy powers.”

“And what powers are those?”

“I’ll figure it out, okay? Now, c’mon, either Logan is going to come back and we can sort out this spirit situation. Or- Or- we forget about Logan for one night and I show you and Patton how to have a good time.”

“But what about-“

“Shhh.” Roman placed a finger over Virgil’s lips. “It’s a Remy Dormir party. We’re going to get drunk off our asses and have a great time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

It was Thursday, October 31, nearly 7:00 O’clock at night. When Roman had arrived Remy was busy locking the last of the bedroom and office doors, any room that would give him a death sentence if it were trashed.

“I brought drinks,” he announced, holding two plastic bags in his hands. Patton and Emile exchanged a glance, staring at Roman with quirked eyebrows. “Relax.” He pulled a bottle out from the bag. “It’s Sprite.”

“Ro, I’m glad you’re here,” Remy said, sliding three stacks of paper plates across the counter. “I need you guys to open these.”

“Great to see you too, Rem.”

“The pleasure is all yours I’m sure. Hey, hand me that pumpkin, will ya? Thanks, babe.”

“I’m pretty sure you call me that more than your own boyfriend.”

“Everyone else is ‘Babe’,” Remy explained, “Emile is ‘baby.’”

Emile blushed, his face redder than his Steven Universe shirt. “Reeeeemmmyyyy.”

“Save that for the bedroom, baby,” Remy teased.

Roman shoved a finger in his mouth and gagged. “You two are disgusting.”

Remy raised an eyebrow and threw a tape dispenser at Roman’s head. “Oh, please, like you haven’t jerked it to m-“

“OKAY! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he yelled, face bright red. He turned towards Patton and Emile. “Pro tip: Never fucking tell Remy about a crush.”

“I’d consider it a close matter,” he said, failing to hide a laugh. “Aww, c’mon it was years ago.”

“And yet, you’re still an asshole about it.”

“You act like you still have feelings.”

“You act like I won’t shake you off this damn ladder.”

“Ouch. Someone’s got a sore spot.”

“Ladder,” Roman warned. There was a knock on the door but it swung open before anyone could answer it.

“Sup, bitches! I brought beers!” Narcissa yelled. She wore all black with a leather jacket that could rival Remy’s own and a floppy witch hat that still had a price tag on the side. Her long black hair and choppy bangs framed her face nicely. She had a diamond stud in her nose and wore glittery purple eyeshadow.

“Eww.”

“Oh. Duke is here.”

“Ah. Draco can go fuck herself.”

The two stood silent, staring each other down for a total of five seconds before laughing and pulling each other into a hug. “Virgil pulled into the driveway a few seconds after me. He’ll be here in a few-“

“Sup, motherfuckers!”

“He’s here,” she deadpanned.

“Virgil! Virgil, look!” Roman said, smiling like a puppy. “It’s Narcissa.”

“Aww, it’s my chorus baby,” she cooed, ruffling Virgil’s hair. “We miss you.”

“Stop, stop, I spent an hour making this look perfect,” Virgil said. He was dressed head to toe in regal vampire gear with fake blood on his lips and chin.

“Lookin’ sharp, bloodsucker,” Roman complimented.

“Blood isn’t the only thing I suck,” he said with a wink. “Oh! Patton, you made it!”

“I did!” Patton said. “Any luck with, uh, you know who?”

Remy gasped as he jumped off the ladder. “Did someone take my title of You Know Who?!”

“That’s offensive to Lord Voldemort,” Narcissa said.

“Suck my dick, babe.”

“Only if you suck mine.”

“I haven’t had any luck,” Virgil said, taking a seat next to Patton. “I know he needs space, but I don’t know what to do. Our time is running out.”

“Emile,” Patton blurted out. “We could, uh, use Emile if Logan won’t agree.”

Virgil knitted his eyebrows together, glancing up and down at Patton as he wiggled in his seat. “You don’t sound too sure of yourself. Besides, replacing Logan would only make things worse.”

“You said yourself that we’re running out of time.”

“Patton, I-“

A voice escaped Patton’s throat, low and gravely, nothing like the young boy’s own. It said, “We only have tonight, Fear. What are you so afraid of?” Patton slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Your face is turning green.”

“Your arms are turning violet.”

“Princey,” Virgil called, “can we see you real quick?”

“Yeah, what’s- Oh fuck.”

“Oh fuck indeed,” Virgil growled. He grabbed Patton and Roman’s hands and pulled them into the bathroom.

It’s Thursday, October 31, nearly 7:45 at night when Logan finds himself pacing in his bedroom, his eyes going up and down trying to reread a text Virgil had sent hours ago. He couldn’t think of a response.

Logan, we need to talk.

I’m so sorry about what happened at Patton’s house and I’m worried that I'll never get to apologize enough. I know you and Roman don’t always get along, but he really does care about you. The two of us have been fighting trying to figure out what’s best for you but that’s a choice only you can make. We’ll be at Remy’s house tonight and I really hope I can see you there and properly make amends.

We found a way to summon the fourth spirit. His name is Knowledge and I can think of no one more deserving than you of that power. But above all, I want my best friend back. So, please, talk to me.

Logan practically had the message memorized by now. He paced back and forth watching time move forward as his battery drained. Should he stay angry at Virgil and Roman for trying to make this choice without him? Should he forgive them? Should he accept this power? “Feelings,” he mumbled, “the bane of my existence.

Then his phone rang. His texts disappeared as a picture of Roman in a prince costume from behind the scenes of his last play took their place. Why was Roman calling? His finger hovered over the answer button before he finally gave in and clicked it.

“You have three seconds to explai-“

“Logan! Logan, oh thank fairy godmother you answered! We need your help!”

“Is this some sort of trap?”

“No! No, seriously, Virgil and Patton are here with me! We- We don’t know what’s going on! Patton has like- like scales or something! And Virgil looks like he barely escaped the Wonka factory!”

“Roman, your eyes,” he could hear Patton saying. “They’re red.”

“Logan! Just, please, we’re at Remy’s house! Get here as fast as you ca-” The line went dead. The clocks around him slowed, time never fully halting. The room began to dim.

“Roman?” Logan asked, frantically trying to call him back. Every attempt failed. His heart was pounding in his chest. He was having a panic attack but he didn’t even have the time to pull himself out of it. He ran for his bedroom door, trying to pull it open but the handle wouldn’t budge.

“You are not needed there. Not yet,” a voice spoke.

Logan’s eyes welled with tears as he frantically pulled at the door handle. “LET ME OUT!” he screamed. “ROMAN NEEDS ME! LET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“No one can hear you now, Logan Zander Hamilton,” the voice said. “We have temporarily pulled apart from the known universe. There is no one outside that door. It’s only you and me. I suggest we have a little chat.”

Logan pressed his back against the door and fell to the ground, hugging his knees. “My- My friends,” he choked out. “They need me. They need me!”

“We need you, Logan Zander Hamilton,” he said, almost perfectly mimicking Virgil’s voice. Almost, yet too robotic. He wasn’t as caring and compassionate as Virgil always was. He appeared as a reflection in the mirror, a perfect doppelgänger to Logan but with something cold and robotic in his eyes. He looked like a man but he could not pass as human. “My friends and yours are now one.” He pressed his hand against the glass and walked through as easily as someone would walk through a wall of gelatin. And with that, the mirror seemed to bounce back as easily as gelatin without so much as a crack to prove that he had broken through. As he stepped closer, Logan could see how inhuman his eyes were. He was the cosmos hidden inside of a human shell. “Join me- Join us- and learn the secrets of your existence.”

“If- If I do this,” he asked, trying to wipe away the last of his tears, “will I be able to save my friends?”

“With the power of knowledge, you can save humankind.”

“They aren’t human, are they? Not anymore, at least. They’ve been... infected.”

“How observant of you.”

“I don’t need to save humankind,” he said, “I just need to save them.”

“Any panic or pain they are experiencing now is only at the cost of summoning me,” Knowledge said. “Whether aware or not, they have brought me to you. Neither I nor them will be at rest until I have a vessel.”

“For Virgil,” Logan said, “and for Roman. And Patton.” He stuck out his hand towards Knowledge. “I’ll do it.”

Knowledge took Logan’s hand. His human shell melted away and Logan found himself being blinded by the pure light in front of him. He expected to choke and cry in pain as Virgil and Roman had done. Instead, he found warmth traveling from his fingertips through his veins and arteries. He found warmth traveling through him in all directions. His head felt light and his chest felt full of the purest air.

Logan woke up from his bed. He slid on his glasses and looked at his reflection in his phone’s camera. His eyes held pools of stars. He was the cosmos inside of a human shell. He felt enlightened.

Logan put his phone in the pocket of his jeans, grabbed a jacket, and ran out of his house as fast as his legs would take him. When he got to Remy’s house his heart was pounding in the best possible way. He walked in, dodging students as he made his way towards the bathroom.

“LOGAN!” Virgil yelled, smiling brightly as the lights around them flickered with electricity.

“Maybe don’t destroy the lights here,” Logan teased. “You guys summoned a spirit. How the hell did you do that?”

“I, uh, think that was my fault,” Patton said meekly.

“It was Morality who started it,” Virgil corrected. “Not Patton.”

“Is there any difference?” Patton asked.

“Yes,” Logan said. “And no matter what, we must remember that there are differences between us and the spirits using us for personal gain.”

“Woah,” Roman whispered, leaning close to Logan. “Your eyes look wicked right now.”

“You accepted his powers,” Virgil said in disbelief. He smiled brightly, pulling Logan into a hug. “We’re superheroes!”

“We haven’t done anything heroic,” Logan said. “Being superhuman does not automatically make one a hero.”

“Be gay, fight crime,” Roman announced. Virgil shot him a look. “That’s going to be my motto. I’m copyrighting it as we speak.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Logan said with a laugh.

“That’s Logan’s way of saying ‘I love you.’”

“No, it’s just my way of calling you a nerd.”

There was an annoyed knock at the door. “Can you guys have your orgy somewhere else? You’ve been in there for nearly an hour,” Remy yelled.

The three of them laughed, their skin and faces slowly returning to normal. “Well, my friends,” Roman said. “Welcome to the rest of our lives.”

#sanders sides fic

113 notes · View notes

gustafsnightangel · 4 years

Text

On Pointe Chapter 2

She was stretched out alone on the floor when Gustaf came into the studio. A leg out either side of her and her chest flat to the floor. He glanced at her and felt his heart plummet. How the fuck was he going to get through this.

“Good morning.” He said quietly not really wanting to disturb her routine. He was less anxious today but still equally as nervous.

“Good morning. Ready?” She asked and sat up from the lateral split she was in and continued to stretch.

“As I’ll ever be.” He chuckled and slipped on the shoes Aidan had given him.

“Come and stretch out.” She said patting the floor in front of her. “Don’t dance cold. It will be the biggest mistake you’ll ever make.”

She looked at the arched eyebrow as he sat down and smiled.

“Believe me you only pull your groin muscle once to never ever want to do it again.” She said honestly. “And I have it on good authority that it’s worse for guys.”

“It is. Been there before, don’t plan to revisit it anytime soon.” He smiled shyly.

He folded himself up and sat across from her. They went through a group of warmup stretches at her instruction. He snuck glimpses of her as she stretched. The more he watched her move the more he wanted to get his hands on that petite frame and rock her world. And he tried desperately to wipe those thoughts from his head as he needed to focus.

“The first few lessons will be pretty mundane, but we have to get through them to get to the good stuff you’ll actually need.” She said and he felt his heart leap as she locked eyes with him. Stormy blue grey looked back.

“I’m in your hands.” He said and couldn’t help but smile at the shy smile she gave him at his comment. Did she feel the energy between them or was it just his wishful thinking and vivid imagination he thought?

Not yet you’re not she dreamed wistfully but give me time. Yeah right, like it’s going to happen, she thought bitterly. “Stand up.” She directed.

He did and had to stifle a groan looking down at the raven haired beauty sitting on the floor looking up at him.

“Did you read the books Aidan gave you?” She asked.

“Yes, I’ve been rereading them to stay focused.” He said. It also took his mind off of the gorgeous little thing at his feet.

“So first position.” She started and his feet tried to go to where they were supposed to illustrated in the book.

He felt her hands on top of his feet and then her thumbs indicate where he needed to move them to.

“Your weight should be evenly distributed.”

“That’s murder on your knees.” He said once she’d pushed his feet out.

“Rotate your pelvis if your knees are hurting.” She said.

“What do you mean?” He didn’t understand. This really was a new language.

“You’re currently leaned over looking at your feet. Spine straight, shoulders back, pelvis in.” She instructed and stood in one fluid motion.

She was so tiny compared to his towering frame, he thought, and had an air of fragility about her. She moved behind him and he felt those slender hands gently grip his shoulders. Her grip was gentle but he could feel the strength and power under it.

“These back.” She said softly and guided his shoulders so he wasn’t slumped. “And down.”

“Straighten your spine.” She ran a hand down the length of his spine resting it at his lower back. The muscle that kissed her fingers through his shirt sent thrills through her body.

Gustaf knew she was instructing but she had an erotic touch all the same.

“Pelvis should be aligned too, not tucked under, not sticking out. Once everything is where it should be your knees will feel better.”

“They do already.“ He said softly and didn’t want her hand to leave his lower back where it was resting.

“Now for arms, because you’re going to fall over otherwise.” She said. “Arms are your balance.”

She gripped him under the biceps near the elbow and urged him to lift them to where they needed to be. Her hands on his bare skin shot fire to his belly. That intensified as she moved to position his wrists, slender fingers spread over his as she positioned his hands.

“Think of it like you’re holding a beach ball. This will also help keep your shoulders where they need to be.” She said and gently swiped her and across them again and watched as he released them.

“Don’t tense.” She instructed and he had to consciously remind himself drop his shoulders.

“Dancing is mechanical, body mechanics. Things need to be aligned or held a certain way for it to work effectively. That’s something I can’t teach you in the time we have.” She said and came around to the front to face him. “Just trust me and know it’s done for a reason because it works.”

His gaze was intense she thought and those eyes held hers. He was not only soaking in everything she said he was pulling her in under his spell.

“Feel better?” She asked and he nodded not quite ready to trust his voice.

“Good.” She dropped to the floor and they went over second position. She needed to look down at his feet and not at those eyes that spoke so much.

“Second position is the same thing really but there’s more space between your heels. They should be hip width apart.”

She looked up to see him looking down at her, a slight smile on those lips she wanted to kiss.

“Stand up straight. Eyes front. If your eyes are down looking at your feet, you’ll fall down when we go to move.” She said and smiled when his head snapped up to look forward.

He contained the grin. She had caught him staring at her, and he found he didn’t give a shit. He wanted to look at her, wanted her to know he was looking at her, and he felt less anxious if he did.

“Ok relax.” She said and he took a step back.

She watched him bend his legs and shake the stiffness out at the newness of what his muscles had to learn.

“You’re going to feel this tomorrow.” She said gently. “If you have a tub in your room I suggest you soak in it each night for the next week or so.”

“Will it be that bad?” He asked, his voice was a low rumble which she found comforting.

She shrugged. “I don’t know it’s different for everyone. You’ll feel it in your lower back and hamstrings for sure. You’re using muscles in a different way so the body will rebel for a while until it gets used to it.”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before tearing her eyes from his and continuing.

“Third, fourth, and fifth positions are harder.” She said and effortlessly went into third position.

“You made that look like a cake walk.” He chuckled stepping toward her.

“For me it is.” She smiled and bit her lip again. “But I have a few years on you.” In more ways than one she thought. Stop flirting she cursed inwardly he doesn’t see you that way.

“So, left foot toes that way.” She said pointing. “And right foot toes that way.” She said pointing in the opposite direction and then sat at his feet. “Ankle bones together.”

“There should be no gap between your feet.” She said and corrected him. She could feel him wobble. “Stand up straight, eyes front.” She smirked and heard his chastisement at himself for not remembering.

She stood and repositioned his arms and the wobble subsided.

“Wow.” He said quietly as the wobble stabilized.

“Arms are as important as feet.” She said gently.

“A great teacher is important too.” He broke out of the position and looked at her.

“You won’t be saying that tomorrow morning when you wake up and your legs ache.” She chuckled.

Problem was he was already aching. For her. But he thought best not to mention that on the first day.

“Fourth is similar.” She continued and sat at his feet once again.

“If this hurts too much tell me and we’ll ease you into it. This can hurt your knees and ankles a bit when you first start.”

“It’s fine for now.” He said and couldn’t help but look at her sitting there. Long slender legs stretched out either side of her, intent fingers resting on his feet. He felt his mind slip to fantasies of this gorgeous little thing kneeling before him as he took her.

“Go into third for me and hold it there.” He snapped out of it and did as she asked feeling her fingers on his feet correcting him again.

“Bring this foot forward slightly and to the left.” She guided him to where she wanted his foot.

“Take a look at where your feet are a moment.” She said and he looked down to see his front foot not quite aligned, and this tiny woman staring up at him. He had to stifle the groan.

“Your foot isn’t in line with the other one, see?” She pointed and moved slightly so he had a full view. “When it’s aligned with the back foot.” She pushed his front foot to where it needed to be, seeing the slight wince she backed off. “We call this turn out.” She let it go and his foot seemed to spring back to where it was originally without his consent.

“Stand up straight, eyes front.” She reminded him and he did as he was asked as she stood in front of him.

“Arms are here.” She said softly and moved them to where she wanted them.

She looked down and he almost had it.

“It’s almost there for someone starting as an adult. You only get good turn out if you’ve trained your joints from an early age, or you’re a freak of nature.” She said and heard the low chuckle.

“Which one are you?” His tone was one that turned her brain to mush.

“Both.” She breathed softly.

She could hear him breathe, smell the scent of him and almost went weak at the knees. The heat radiating off him made her want to curl up on his lap and snuggle the day away with those arms around her. She snapped out of it when he took a step back, not able to hold it any longer.

“We can try fifth but it may hurt.” She said composing herself.

Where did your mind go just now lovely lady he wondered? He saw her zone out for a moment then reign it in.

“How old were you when you stared?” He asked gently.

“Two. My mother was a dancer so it was destined for me I guess.” She shrugged.

“Fifth is fourth but feet together.” She continued as if he hadn’t asked the question. Painful memory there he thought.

He got into fourth and with a gentle nudge of her foot he was in fifth.

“Arms here.” She said quietly as she placed them where they needed to be.

She could feel his breath on the top of her head and secretly wished he would just wrap her in his arms. She liked the feel of them under her fingers and secretly wondered how they’d feel around her. He was fit and honed, strong but not buff strong like most stars did just for show. Defined, honed, he worked at it.

“Relax your shoulders.” She said softly.

“Sorry.” He muttered.

“Don’t worry, I still have to remind myself not to do that when I’m stressed.” She said still feeling the anxiety roll off him again in waves.

He held it for as long as he could before taking a step back and shaking his legs out.

“Walk a little. It’ll help.” She said and walked to the chair where her water was.

Aidan stuck his head in to see how things were going and then disappeared apparently happy with Everly’s report. Gustaf just sent him a happy smile and a wave. He was in good hands but she was right. He was going to feel this tomorrow. His knees were already starting to stiffen.

“Alright lets get to the good stuff.” She said and walked to the barre.

“This is your new best friend.” She said patting the barre. “Barre, Gustaf. Gustaf, Barre.” She smiled at his chuckle as she introduced the barre to him.

“You can death grip the barre and you won’t break anything. My fingers not so much. Also you’ll need more than a 100 pound weakling to support you and help you balance for the next few weeks.”

“This is where feet and arm positions and movement will come together.” She continued. “You learn it here first.” She said tapping the barre. “Then we move it out there.” She pointed to the vast openness of the dance floor.

“We’ll go though the basics with the feet positions we’ve learned today and see how we go.” She positioned his hand on the barre.

“Your hand should be lightly sitting on the barre as opposed to a death grip but if you’re going to over balance or fall, grip away.”

This was where it started to fall apart for him. The two left feet had decided to pay a visit, the anxiety that he’d kept in check decided to surface, and the self doubt he had overcome year ago clawed it’s way back to the surface.

She could see him struggle. It was a lot to take in on the first day but they had to hit it hard and fast. Six months wasn’t a long time to learn what he had to learn before filming.

She stopped when she saw his frustration with himself get the better of him. The anxiety starting to overwhelm him.

“Stop a moment.” She said gently and placed her hand over his at the barre. “Grab a drink, walk a little, come back when you’re ready to go again.”

His eyes snapped to hers as her touch startled him. He didn’t want her to let go. Her touch gave him a sense of calm.

“You can’t learn it all in a day Gustaf.” She said softly, reading him like a book. “Just like I can’t teach you thirty years of dancing in six months.”

“I feel a little stupid.” He chuckled nervously, his heart was pounding, he was only holding onto his composure by a thread. “Get a little frustrated with myself that I can’t do it.”

“You shouldn’t. Dancing at this level is like learning a new language. You have to learn the basics before you can do anything else. You’re not stupid, far from it actually, so you shouldn’t feel like you are. You’re doing fine.”

He nodded. He gripped the barre and leaned in closer to her.

“Thank you.” He murmured and softly kissed her temple and lingered a little too long. “The last thing I want to do is fuck this up.” And he meant it in more ways than one.

“I’ll be the first to tell you.” She said softly suddenly not quite sure of herself at his kiss.

He walked out to stretch his legs and have a bathroom break. What the fuck you idiot, he mouthed in the mirror in the men’s room. Had he just blown his chance with her? He paced the bathroom, anxiety flooding out of him, scrubbing his hands over his head. What the fuck was he thinking kissing her? He stared himself down in the mirror and mentally kicked his own ass at his stupidity.

He came back into the room around twenty minutes later to music and Everly in full solo. He sat and watched. The intense focus she had and the effortless movement captivated him.

He watched her feet and tried to pick the positions each time she landed or changed as she moved. Saw how she held her arms, the seamlessness of one movement into the other. She made it look as easy as breathing.

He watched as she fumbled, cursed, and picked it up after walking a few steps. He could watch her for hours.

His kiss had caught her off guard, dancing had helped clear her mind of it. She tried not to read too much into it, like the way his scruff tickled her skin, those lips so tender against hers. She stumbled on a step and cursed.

“Not helping.” She mumbled to herself hands on her hips. Picking up the bar in the music she started again.

It could have simply been a thank you for the break. The guy was stressed, nervous, and anxious all rolled in together and probably just needed some time to collect himself.

She would have to keep an eye on that and make sure he had regular breaks. She sometimes forgot that people weren’t like her and could go for the entire day without stopping.

Letting her mind run away with it wasn’t the best plan either. It was a simple thank you, nothing more she told herself. Don’t get your hopes up and your heart broken.

She stopped and from where he sat he could see she was barely out of breath. That calm control she had was incredible. Laser focus, control, no fear. Absolutely no fear.

“That was amazing.” He said gently.

“Oh sorry I didn’t realize you were back or I would have stopped.” She said and walked over to her water.

“I don’t mind. I know you probably have a million things to practice instead of teaching this fool how to not step on his own toes.” He said and went to stand near her.

“I can practice while I teach, in the breaks at least. Ready?” She asked keeping it short, not daring to make eye contact.

“Sure am.” Fuck he thought. He’d blown it.

“Ok so let’s stick with first and second positions for the rest of today. Once you feel comfortable with those we can move on.” She said.

She faced him so he could mirror what she was doing. He still got frustrated with himself, the anxiety had finally consumed him. At one point she stopped him again and let his brain catch up.

“Take a breath.” She said gently. “From here.” She said and placed her hand on his abdomen. Solid muscle greeted her.

He closed his eyes and looked to the ceiling for a few reasons. Her hand on his abs was the first, not getting a boner because her hand was on his abs the second, containing the panic attack was the third, and breathing to lessen the frustration of his feet not wanting to do as they were told was the last on his shopping list of emotions.

“Better?” She asked.

“Yep.” He said and breathed out slowly.

Her hand slipped away and he suddenly felt very alone.

“It’ll get better.” She said softly watching him. “First days are always hard.”

That’s not all that’s hard he thought.

“Yeah.” He sighed out.

“Let’s call it a day.” She said gently. “I think I’ve beaten you up enough.” She smirked and it got the chuckle she was after.

“Cool down.” She said and pointed to the floor.

They stretched out and he settled again. He just had to get his head around it all, dancing and his sudden feelings for her.

“See you tomorrow?” She asked as she stood.

“Of course.” He went to stand but she gestured him to stay on the floor.

“Stay and finish cooling down. I need to move and warm up for rehearsal.” She chuckled.

“Can I watch?” He asked and saw her hesitate.

“Sure. But it’s nothing special. No sit.” She laughed and waved him back down. “I’ll warm up around you.”

He watched in wonderment as she stretched at the barre. That lithe body bending and contorting in ways that made his head hurt. She had zoned him out, to her, he was just a body sitting on the floor.

She started the music from earlier and set herself. She had to get him out of her mind.

He saw the breath that calmed her, the one that settled her mind, and the one that set her focus. He would make it a point to ask her how she did that so quickly.

She danced around him and he was sure his mouth was gaping open. Graceful, beautiful, strong. The music changed and her hands rested at his shoulders as she continued. He straightened remembering to be strong for her to lean on.

“Relax.” She breathed in his ear as she did a full penche.

Her hand at his shoulder, her breath ticking his ear. She intoxicated him. Every word, every look, every touch.

The music changed again and she stopped.

“You’re incredible.” He said getting to his feet.

“Practice.” She said breathing heavy.

“You make it look so easy.” He said standing next to her.

“Practice.” She said again chuckling. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yes you will.” He said collecting his coat. “Thank you.” He said as she went to leave. “For keeping me focused, talking me off a ledge.” He looked at her and those grey eyes found his.

“That’s what I’m here for. You’ll be fine. First day remember.” She said gently. “I have to go. Tomorrow, same time.”

“I’ll be here.” He said and watched her go.

The following day he was warming up before she walked in. He wasn’t going to fuck up her schedule by being late. It was also the one thing Aidan had insisted on, don’t mess with the schedule.

He watched her enter in a whirl. She was running late and it had flustered her.

“I’m so sorry, our class ran over.” She said tossing her bag on the chair harshly and shucking her coat.

She grabbed her slippers and sat in front of him with a flop. He watched her jam her feet in them and hurry to lace them. Deft as her fingers were they were shaking slightly. He placed his hand over hers and she jolted looking at him.

“Take a breath.” He said softly returning the favor she’d given him yesterday. She blew a breath out and smiled. “It’s fine. Class is more important right now. I know you have a production coming up and this takes up time you don’t really have.”

“Still doesn’t make it right.” She said tying the knot in the ribbon and tucking the ends back in on themselves.

“Everly.” He said and she looked into those Nordic blue eyes and was lost. “It’s fine.” He squeezed her hand tenderly and let her finish getting her slippers on.

“Thank you.” She said quietly. “How are you feeling after yesterday?” She asked as he watched her deftly lace the other slipper. It was all muscle memory she’d done it enough times.

“A little stiff and sore but I’m good.” He said stretching out some more.

“The soak in the tub helped.” He chuckled and she nodded.

“Good.” She said and she stretched out.

He stood up and offered her a hand. She took it tentatively, his large hand enveloping hers. His touch sent an unexpected jolt through her.

“Shall we?” She smiled and started toward the barre. He gestured a hand to lead on. He was like no one else she had ever met. She didn’t quite know how to respond to him.

They went through most of the of what they had covered yesterday. He tried to keep his frustration down but after an hour of battling his own stupid feet he was tense and his anxiety had surfaced again. He tried breathing through it but it just wasn’t happening.

“Keep going.“ She said gently and she moved behind him.

He ground his teeth and kept going even though he was messing it all up.

“Breathe.” She said softly and her hand reached around and pressed where it had yesterday. “From here. To here.”

He shoved the erotic feelings aside and got his breathing under control focusing on her hand. That petite slender hand he wished would drift a little lower.

“Relax you’re shoulders.” Her hands moved to brush across his shoulders and down his arms taking all the tension with it.

“Straighten your spine.” Her hand ran the length of his spine and rested at the small of his back. He could feel the warmth of her palm through his shirt and it focused him.

“You’re doing fine.” She said and he snorted. “You are. Second day remember.”

He fumbled, stopped, and sighed. “I always forget that one.”

“Stop a moment.” She said, he did but she kept her hand where it was at the small of his back.

“Choreography is like a script. Arm and feet positions are it’s words.” She said quietly still behind him.

“How do you learn your script for a film?” She asked.

“By reading it, acting it out over and over again until it sticks.” He answered and saw where she was going with it.

“Dance is the same. Repetition. You learn where your feet and arms need to be, essentially what the words are in a script. Then you learn where they all connect together, to create you’re lines, then flow from one to the other to create your scenes. You can’t have one without the other and you can’t jump to scenes without learning your lines.”

“Start again.” She said softly and he started from the beginning.

“It takes time Gustaf. Dance takes a little more time to make it flow as well as words do from a script because you’re learning the alphabet again, be patient with yourself. You’re teaching your body something new.”

He kept going even through the mistakes. She corrected him as they went. Her hands guiding his arms, her feet occasionally moving his with her own. When she wasn’t correcting him her hand barely left his lower back.

As he progressed her corrections got less. He seemed to settle with her hand there. It grounded him, she grounded him.

“Better.” She said finally and her hand dropped away leaving him feeling suddenly very alone.

“Felt better.” He said honestly.

“Time and repetition.” She said and came to stand in front of him again.

“I’ll be doing them in my sleep.” He chuckled.

“I do.” She laughed.

“Well that’s understandable, you breathe it.” He smiled.

She shrugged. “Breathe it, eat it, sleep it.” She chuckled.

“Let’s look at third through fifth. We’ll go slow, they’re a little trickier.” She said and saw his shoulders rise as he tensed. She would deal with those in a moment.

They went through the sequence and he stood just trying to mirror her. He felt the frustration come and tried to will it away.

“Breathe.” She said softly. “One step at a time. Let’s break it down, third position.”

They went through it a dozen times then did fourth and fifth positions.

“Want to try the whole sequence again?” She asked.

“Yes.” He said and willed his limbs to cooperate.

He mirrored her again and after many missed steps and fumbles she stood behind him.

“Breathe from here.” Her hand rested on his abs.

“Relax you’re shoulders.” Her hands brushed across them and down his arms.

“Straighten your spine.” Her hand rested at the small of his back and he settled.

She saw a pattern developing. She’d use it to get him through this but damn it if she didn’t want to let her fingers roam. They ached to touch him.

By the end of their lesson he was sure of two things, he was almost through the sequence with minimal mistakes, and wanted this woman like his next breath.

“Really good. Want to try all five and see how you go?”

“Sure.” He shrugged.

She stayed where she was hoping the hand at his back helped. He took it really slowly but he got through with only a few mistakes and fumbles.

“Progress.” She said gently. “Forward progress. Feel good?” She asked.

“Yeah, feels good.” He smiled.

“For just two days you’re doing great.” She smiled at him.

“I have to confess.” He said leaning in slightly. “I have a really good teacher.” He whispered and winked at her.

“Well to be honest, you’re making it pretty easy for me.” She said and nearly melted at his feet when he winked at her.

“Good.” He nodded. “I’m still scared I’m going to crush your toes.” He mumbled and she chuckled.

“I have more of a chance at doing that to you than you do to me. I’ll explain more when we get to that.” She said at his quizzical look.

“Cool down.” She instructed. “How you feeling?” She asked as they sat.

“Not bad.”

“Soak again tonight.”

“Oh I will be.” He chuckled. “I try and do the same thing when we have weapons training.”

She nodded. “Dancing is a similar thing to swordplay when you think about it. And I should have put that together much earlier.” She smiled rolling her eyes at herself for not connecting the dots.

“Well shit I didn’t even think about that until now.” He laughed.

They stretched in silence for a moment. Until she rose to warm up and dance again.

“Can I stay?” He asked and fidgeted with his fingers in his lap.

“Sure of you want.” She said and moved to turn on the music. She smiled to herself and chewed on her bottom lip. This was a habit she could get used to, but wouldn’t. He’s not staying, she repeated in her head. Don’t get attached.

It was the same as yesterday and his eyes followed her intently drinking her in. He stayed seated hoping she would lean on him like yesterday. She did and his heart melted.

Those slender hands rested lightly on his shoulders and he felt her lean in as she executed the arabesque, her mouth dangerously close to his cheek. His heart tripped over itself when she was this close.

He was learning all the names for each move and would try to pick them out as she did them.

He smiled as the music changed and she stopped. He was hoping this would become a habit for her, for them.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked and she nodded as she slammed down the water.

“I’ll try not to be late this time.” She said and smiled at him from under her lashes.

“I can always practice until you get here.” He said and stood.

“There’s always practice.” She said smiling and headed for the door. “Bye.”

He liked it when she smiled. It lit up her face and brightened his day.

“Bye.” He said and watched her disappear to rehearsal.

He wanted to go watch the rehearsal but thought it best to wait until they were in tech. He didn’t want to be a distraction and he wanted to ask her first.

#gustaf skarsgard #all the feels #On Pointe Ch 2

6 notes · View notes

janeofcakes · 4 years

Text

KYFC..: Chapter 14

Hello, my friends! It’s been a whirlwind of a week. My days were all screwed up and everything went so quickly - meetings, cataloging and the lot. Even my daughter (7) has noticed how quickly time goes now. Friday was the last day of school and we are now in talks here because parental units want to see schoolwork and schedule continue while the childrens want them to end. They actually sat down together in a secret conference and wrote out their ”demands”. You say cute, I say eek!

But enough about that, the bout with the Ravens is finally upon us! Instead of my usual snarky teasing, I know how disappointed you are (Ha!), I wanted to define a few terms again and explain one or two things.

Pack - the largest group of blockers from both teams skating within ten feet of each other.

Blocker - a skater who tries to prevent the jammer from skating around the track and scoring points.

Jammer - the skater who skates around the track and aims to pass all of the blockers on the opposite team. A point is scored for each opposing team blocker the jammer passes.

Lead jammer - the jammer who breaks through the pack first (no points are scored on the initial break through. The lead jammer controls the jam and can call it off at any time, unless in the penalty box.

Not a term here, but when I refer to a triangle formation it is made of of three blockers. One faces the jammer and is the head, or top, of the triangle. The two remaining blockers stand side by side, facing the head of the triangle and facing away from the jammer. The head has a hand one of of each of their shoulders and they each have a hand on her shoulders. This keep the triangle tight and steady. The head shouts commands to the other two blockers because she can best see the jammer.

I hope that all makes sense. Off we go!

---

To tell the truth, I am getting away with murder. It is impossible to never tell the truth, but the reality is I’m getting away with murder. --Papa Roach, Getting Away with Murder

“Watch out for 32. She hits hard and she has your number,” Sherlock’s eyes are narrow slits when he looks to Harry in the tight huddle they form with Hella, Groot, Smacks and The Woman just outside the track.

“No shit. She’s been hittin’ my ass every jam. I’m working on a bruise bigger than the fucking space needle,” Harry hisses angrily, annoyance and adrenaline rolling off her in waves.

Sherlock stares at her coolly. He runs a few scenarios in his mind palace as she continues to curse in a steady stream, becoming more and more creative as she goes. A second later and his eyes are focused again.

“What can I do about this fuckstick? It’s like I have target on my back,” Harry complains. “How the fuck do I stop her riding my ass?”

“Can’t really blame her, love,” Clara Hell on Wheels teases with a flirtatious grin and a glance at HardOn’s posterior.

“She always takes turns tightly and comes in on the left,” Sherlock tells her. “Visibly brace yourself for the hit she wants you to expect and then make her miss. Hella and Smacks will pick her up. Groot, work on their blockers so The Woman can get through.” He looks around the circle at the face of each skater, the calm that only a plan can bring in his eyes. Each of their expressions changes in turn to reflect steady certainty where there had been chaos.

“Right. The left,” HardOn furrows her brow as she pictures what her coach has described. “That’ll work.”

“Ready then, ladies?” The Woman asks with a broad grin on her blood red lips.

“You bet your ass,” Hella replies, holding out her hand in the center of their circle. Everyone, including Sherlock, covers her hand and each of theirs in turn.

“For Rock City,” Groot says solemnly.

“And glory,” Smacks adds.

They all raise their hands collectively in a gesture of power, their faces already in triumph as if by the power of Greyskull, they have the power! Their hands drop with the kind of assertiveness held only by a true badass who knows no one can fuck with her turf. The Woman twirls her head toward the track dramatically in invitation to the others to join her. They each nod, steel in their eyes and tenacity on their faces as all five women skate onto the track and get into position while Sherlock remains on the sideline. He cannot resist a quick look to John, who is across the track standing in the aisle with spectators all around. He looks inconspicuous enough, but can hear most of what the other team is saying. It is perfectly legal as far as the official rules go, but the two men have to watch carefully that they do not do anything that looks even remotely like signaling. Any cheating results in disqualification and Rock City is still undefeated at this point, which is difficult, but not unheard of.

“Ten seconds!” the timer shouts and all ten women on the track bend their knees and straighten their spines. The whole stadium vibrates with energy, fans for both teams stomping and shouting. The whistle blows as the timer drops her arm from where it was held aloft and the track springs to life.

The Woman plunges her lanky body into the triangle of Ravens blockers nearly slipping between them right off the line, but the skater acting as the head of the trio closes the gap and prevents her escape from the pack. Face to face, they snarl at each other as The Woman gives a good push and then hops to the right on her toe stops, lunging forward and pumping her legs. Not to be undone, the trio moves with her, still in triangle formation. They tighten the iron grip on one another’s shoulders to stay together as they move. The skater closest to the outer side of the track shoves The Woman with her ass in an attempt to knock her out of bounds. The Woman sees it instantly and twirls to keep her skates inside the line, circumnavigating around that ass and cutting to the left, only to meet the fourth blocker in the pack. Hungry to break through, she continues to hop and push at the blockers.

Meanwhile, HardOn and company have formed an unbreakable wall for #32. She shifts this way and that, snapping her teeth as she bites at the air in an intimidating effort. Hella barks orders at HardOn, Smacks and Groot so they stay in her way.

“In! In! Out, out, out!”

“I’m going around!” Groot shouts.

“Go, go, go!” Hella answers and the three maintain the wall while Groot skates away from the pack and all the way around the track. When she rejoins, it is with the other group of women where she slams into one. With a satisfied gleam in her eye, Groot knocks her on her ass and shoves toward a second skater. The Woman takes the opportunity to follow behind Groot and dart around the whole group. The fourth blocker lunges to pick her up and misses, leaving The Woman to glide away free and clear, blowing a kiss as she goes and earning lead jammer. One of the trio lashes out at Groot in frustration, dropping her to her knees and drawing a penalty. She heads for the box as The Woman weaves her way around her own teammates and the opposing team with such grace and skill, earning four more points for Rock City.

Finally, #32 breaks free from her own wall of blockers and skates away furiously. Suddenly unoccupied, Smacks throws a skillful shot at the trio of Ravens readying to block out The Woman and creating enough of a scuffle that The Woman weaves between them all a second time. Groot forms up with Hella and HardOn readying for another attack by 32, who started building speed as soon as she broke away from the pack.

“HardOn, look out!” Smacks shouts just before 32 slams into her as hard as she can.

The warning was meant to help, but only succeeds in startling HardOn and increasing the effect of the hit. Her eyes wide in terror, HardOn flies right off her skates. It happens in a split-second, but the scene plays out in slow-motion for everyone in the stadium. HardOn hovers in mid-air with a curse on her lips before slamming right into Smacks, normal speed returning as 32 spirals into the mix. They skid out of bounds in a tangle of limbs and loud grunts, Smacks on the bottom and taking the full force of the other two skaters. Her scream echoes through the stadium at impact and she clutches at her calf as soon as they come to a stop.

Whistles blow loudly, three in rapid succession, as Sherlock rushes onto the track. In spite of being closer, somehow John gets there first. He calls for his bag and begins assessing the damage. Sherlock squats next to him.

“Fracture?” he asks in a serious tone.

“Yes,” John nods. His lips press into a thin line, his brows drawing together in concentration.

“How bad?” Sherlock can’t keep his voice from trembling, his genuine fear for Smacks threatening to surface.

“Not good. It’s near the knee,” John glances up when Trixie sets the medical bag next to them. “Ta.”

Sherlock releases a harsh breath through his nose as he turns to the side and motions for a stretcher. Every skater in the stadium, on and off the track, is down on one knee in solidarity. Smacks is biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. She holds her breath and then inhales sharply as John continues examining her leg while he asks questions. She bites back a cry and squirms, which only seems to increase her pain.

“It hurts here?” John asks with raised brows and she nods.

“John?” Sherlock fixes him with a steel gaze.

“Her ankle may be broken too,” he replies after gently squeezing one last time. “I need an x-ray. Could be sprained, but I’d say broken.”

Two men place a stretcher next to the fallen skater and unbuckle its straps.

“You have an ambulance on standby, yeah?” he asks them.

“Yes, sir,” the one with plugs in his stretched earlobes answers.

“Good. I want to take her straight to the closest ER. If her tibia is broken the way I think it is, she’ll need surgery,” John’s voice is crisp. He is in full-on doctor mode, his orders for the two men clear and concise.

“Surgery?!” Smacks queries in a hushed voice that sounds like a gasp.

“Don’t worry, Janine,” John’s eyes soften as he turns them toward her. His face relaxes and his body language is open, honest and comforting. “I’ll see you through it every step. You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

She can only nod a pained grimace and then let her mouth fall open in a silent scream as pain racks her body. At John’s advice, she tries to keep her body limp as he and the two men lift her onto the stretcher and strap her in. She still bites off moans with every movement and looks more than a little grateful once secure. John turns to Sherlock while she is being wheeled away.

“I’ll phone you as soon as I know anything concrete,” he promises.

Sherlock nods, giving John’s arm a tight squeeze as he pushes him off the track and towards the exit. John understands, gives Sherlock a tight smile and jogs after Smacks.

***

The rest of the bout goes without a hitch. Rock City wins by fifteen points. Sherlock receives a call from John just after his celebratory remarks in the locker room. He confirms an oblique fracture of the tibia, just under the knee and a stable fracture of the fibula where it meets the talus. Both require surgery and John will stay at the hospital until Smacks is resting comfortably. Sherlock gives the news to the team once everyone is on the bus for the hotel.

“Fuck me,” HardOn breathes an astonished whisper. “That shoulda been me.”

Hella finds her hand and holds it tightly, a misty look in her eyes as she lays her head on HardOn’s shoulder. The bus is quiet, every skater exhausted, and in a haze of worry and regret. Watching them from his seat at the front, Sherlock straightens his spine and calls out so all can hear.

“Janine is in the best care with John. Concern for her is admirable. It’s what a team is, but we have nothing to fear,” his words float over every skater and he can already see them perking up.

“You best your ass, Coach,” HardOn answers boisterously, Hella raising her head again with a grin. “Ph.D.’s the best of the best. We don’t keep him on just for his body, after all.”

“Not that it isn’t reason enough,” The Woman leers and the bus erupts into laughter.

Sherlock eases back into his seat, listening as the ladies crack jokes and bolster one another. A small smile of pride tugs at his lips. Despite the accidents and obstacles, the ladies are a team above all else. They band together on and off the track like a family. The smile grows as Sherlock’s words from their first bout emerge from a corner of his mind palace; the ladies never cease to amaze him.

Upon their arrival at the hotel, the ladies head up to their rooms to stow their gear and meet back in the bar for a drink or two.

“To Smacks,” Trixie raises a glass. “To the surgeons and steady hands. To a speedy recovery.”

“Hear, hear,” The Woman declares. Every skater echoes her words and they all down a shot. Sherlock taps his empty glass on the table thoughtfully.

“Coach?” Trixie asks in a quiet voice. He turns his gaze on the acting captain and straightens his spine.

“Make sure they’re all in their rooms by midnight. We have to be at the airport at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Will do,” she promises and adds with a wink. “I’ll see to Harry personally.”

Sherlock cannot stop a quiet huff of mirth and he pats her shoulder in thanks as he rises.

“I’m going to the hospital,” he informs the cheerful team in a loud voice.

“Tell Smacks we’re thinking of her,” Trixie gives him a nudge and meets his eyes.

“I will,” he assures. He nods at each of them in turn and hastens out of the bar.

Sherlock spends the cab ride telling Greg about the bout and Smacks’ injury. He scrubs a hand through his curls as they discuss it at length, as well as #32’s apparent personal vendetta against HardOn.

“It was no accident, Greg. That woman was on Harry’s case from the moment it started,” he says with certainty. “She was the target. If she had impacted the track with that force, she would have broken more than two bones. Janine was in both the right and wrong place.”

His leg bounces restlessly on the seat, the only outlet for his agitation.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” Greg’s voice is full of shocked disbelief. “Do you think Harry will be targeted again?”

“Yes, definitely,” he replies. “They will not stop until they succeed.”

“But why would someone on the Ravens help James Moriarty?” Greg asks. “Assuming you still think he’s responsible after this.”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock ignores the comment, “but I intend to find out.”

“Sherlock, don’t do anything foolish,” Greg cautions. “Where are you?”

“On my way to the hospital,” his response is quiet, but books no argument.

“Good. Yes. Stay with John and stay out of trouble. We’ll figure this out when you get home,” Greg says with a hint of that GM instruction in his tone.

Sherlock sighs and rolls his eyes at Greg’s big-brother overtones. The call ends just as the cab pulls up to the hospital. Sherlock pays the driver and walks swiftly into the building. He makes a few polite inquiries into John and Janine’s whereabouts, resisting the urge to snap at every person in his way. Taking a quick detour to stop at the hospital coffee shop, he ultimately pushes into the day of surgery waiting room. John is alone, save a couple mumbling in low tones to one another in the corner.

“John,” he says quietly as he approaches the doctor. John looks up and Sherlock offers one of the two coffee cups in his hands. “Just the way you like it.”

“Thanks,” a smile plays at the side of his mouth and he takes the cup.

Sherlock sits next to him and they both sip their coffees. He tries to read John in sideways glances. He looks tired, but not worried or frazzled. Assured of Janine’s condition, Sherlock allows himself to relax further and take a moment to observe John. It is quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes; watching John. John’s face is all soft lines and dimples. His eyes are the color of the ocean, clear blue like a sunny day with expressive specks of midnight. His cheeks grow a most delightful shade of pink while Sherlock watches him. He finally stops his observations when John clears his throat and sits up straight in his chair. A bit not good, he supposes.

“Janine is in surgery?” he asks in spite of its obvious answer.

“Yep. They’re setting the tibia and repairing the ankle. Should be finished in an hour or so,” John turns his head to face him. “Did we win the match-up?”

“We did,” Sherlock nods, admiring the brilliant smile his answer receives. His stomach does a flip.

“That’s good. The record stands,” John replies. “Janine was fretting on the way here.”

“Harry delivered an ass-kicker of a hit to 32,” Sherlock adds, his eyes sparkling with mirth, “and wasn’t called for it.”

“Janine will like hearing that,” John grins. They both chuckle quietly, an edge of tiredness to the sound. John sighs and looks at Sherlock, leaning his temple against the wall. “It’s going to be at least two or three hours before I’ll be able to see her, depending on how quickly she wakes from anesthesia. You don’t have to stay.”

“You don’t have to stay alone,” Sherlock replies in a quiet tone, not to disturb the couple. John lifts his head to look at him fully. They can both feel exhaustion ebbing and flowing from the other like the tide.

“You and the ladies are leaving tomorrow morning,” John reminds him.

“Irrelevant,” Sherlock waves him off.

“Sherlock, you have to be there by nine,” John argues, trying to make him see reason.

“I want to stay, John,” Sherlock snaps in an angry and too loud voice. He glances toward the room’s other two occupants and they avert their eyes when he catches them staring. Sherlock shifts his body to look at John and effectively turns his back on them. When he faces him, John appears very unamused to say the least.

“I want to stay with you,” Sherlock continues in a calmer voice.

John’s face goes all soft and he tilts his head. Though he says nothing at first, he places a gentle hand on Sherlock’s. It is warm and feels like home.

“There’s nothing I’d love more, but it’s already so late and getting the ladies through an airport is like herding cats,” John laughs when Sherlock cracks a smile. “That’s what you Americans call it, yeah?”

“It’ll be fine,” Sherlock protests while nodding in answer to the question. “They aren’t juvenile delinquents.”

“I don’t know,” John responds in mock skepticism. “I’m not so sure about Harry.”

Sherlock bursts out laughing, much to his own surprise. Not missing that fact, John starts in too and they both descend into quiet giggles when the receptionist gives them a stern look.

“It’ll be fine,” Sherlock repeats in a whisper. “Clara will help keep her on track. She’ll follow her anywhere.”

“True enough. They’re rather adorable that way,” John’s eyes twinkle.

“Don’t tell them you said that,” Sherlock chuckles darkly.

“Well, I don’t have a death wish now, do I?” John raises a knowing brow.

The giggles begin anew and only slow when Sherlock realizes John’s hand is still on his. He looks down at it solemnly and then meets John’s eyes again. He sees all the blues of the sea and his mind begins to catalog them all. He sees pure and utter fondness and friendship. He sees his future.

Sherlock turns his hands under John’s and twines their fingers together as he lifts them to his lips, pressing a kiss to John’s knuckles. The doctor lets out a breath and bites his lower lip. Sherlock’s eyes track every movement. He mirrors the action and then slowly, deliberately glides his tongue across his own upper lip, knowing his teasing has John’s full attention. He raises his eyes only after John’s breathless gasp reaches his ears. They stare at one another for a full minute before John clears his throat and breaks the spell. Sherlock lowers their hands, but does not let go.

“I wish you could come back with us,” he mutters.

“If all goes well, we’ll be able to follow in 24 hours. It won’t be long,” John reassures him.

Sherlock gives him a small smile and squeezes his hand. The corners of John’s mouth turn up. Sherlock feels… He feels happy and contented. His only source of disquiet is that John will not be with them on the plane. Janine may need him, but it still feels wrong. He does not want to leave John here.

“It’ll be fine, Sherlock. We’ll be fine,” John tells him and Sherlock looks at him thoughtfully.

“I would like to,” Sherlock murmurs into the space between them.

“What?” John’s brow knits in confusion.

“What we talked about before,” he clarifies. “To date. If you are amenable, that is.”

John’s brows rise to his hairline and his lips stretch into a beautiful grin. God, those lips. Sherlock wants to nibble and lick them until John is boneless, completely undone, taken apart piece by gorgeous piece. He wants to feel them move against his own mouth and his neck and his shoulder. He wants to see them wrapped around his rock hard cock.

Sherlock visibly jumps at the thought, startled by his raw desire for John. He jerks his hand away without meaning to and the doctor’s smile is gone when he looks at him.

“Hey, no, I want that. I want to date,” John says, his brows knitted in concern now. He nearly misses the tiny nod Sherlock gives him. John hesitates for a second before covering Sherlock’s hand with his again. An electric shock shoots up Sherlock’s arm at the touch, though he keeps himself from jumping this time. John is smiling now. A glorious, brilliant smile. “I’d absolutely love it.”

A wide grin instantly spreads across the coach’s face. Given the fact that John said he had never loved anyone he dated in the past, using the word so freely now and in this context makes Sherlock’s heart swell. He should not dare to hope; John truly cannot promise their relationship will be any different. Even so, Sherlock cannot help himself because maybe, just maybe it means John will realize his true feelings for him.

“I’d love that too,” Sherlock whispers as he rests his forehead against John’s.

---

Oh my god. Action-packed (I hope all the derby action was understandable), another injury (the plot thickens), and then a tender moment for our leading men. Awwwww. I know what you’re saying: Jane, this fucking chapter has it all! What is in store for Rock City? (Defeat? Glory?) What is in store for our intrepid duo? (Danger? Romance?) Only time will tell, my friends. Oh, to know the inner workings of The Mind of Jane. ‘Tis a scary place.

As always, I hope this has brought you all some distraction and solace. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading with me, loving these two idiots with me, and sharing this with me in these uncertain times. I love you all. Jane

@zentris @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @tooolforthissh--stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedsstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow @one-thousand-splendid-stars @irina12maria

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the list. My apologies to anyone I have neglected to this point. I pledge to do better.

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #sherlock roller derby #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #johnlock au

8 notes · View notes

noodlecupcakeswritings · 4 years

Text

Mad Love - Chapter 11 ( The final Gotham fic)

After Gotham was cut out off from the mainland, Emerald starts to learn that three’s a crowd and Jeremiah soon shows his true colours. Will she stick around like she did with Jerome or will she finally get some sense to leave and reunite with her true love.

The fourth and final instalment in my Gotham/Emerald series.

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it. It really helps me out as a writer, lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist as well :)

Warnings: Language, Emerald’s being a big dumb dumb still. Not really any Jeremiah in this chapter (perhaps that's a good thing)

Chapter 11

Emerald’s P.O.V

A few months later

Jeremiah was pulling off heist after heist and somehow all of them were going well. Even with that bat freak on the streets now. The three of us somehow made a good team. I had yet to face Jeremiah's wrath but Ecco had a few times now. I’d managed to stay on his good side, and I planned on keeping it that way. This heist tonight was no exception. I was the lookout. I was sat on the roof currently, walkie talkie in hand whilst I waited for trouble to show up. Whether it be the bat freak or the cops first was anybody’s guess. Jeremiah and Ecco were inside stealing more stuff. Jeremiah said all this stuff we were stealing would be apart of his grander plan. And god knows what that was. Cops I would see a mile off, so I wasn’t too worried about them. This guy who dressed up as a bat though? He had a habit of sneaking around and sticking his nose in when it wasn’t wanted.

I pressed the button on the radio before speaking into it, “are you guys almost done?” “Patience,” came Ecco’s voice in a slightly taunting manner. I rolled my eyes, “just hurry up.” As the conversation ended arose another problem. They’d tripped the alarm system. The whole place lit up and the alarm wailed out to the rest of Gotham. Fuck. Now we definitely didn’t have a lot of time. I got to my feet, ready to go the second I saw headlights or anything suspicious. I looked down, waiting for them to come out so I knew when to make a bolt to the fire exit. The front doors flung open and they both ran to the car. I headed to the fire exit and climbed down as quick as I could. I heard the car engine start and knew I needed to move faster. I skipped a few rungs on the ladder down and finally my feet touched the floor. I turned in the direction of the car but with a squeal of the tires they took off without me. I felt panic fill me, they’d left me here. Ecco threw the walkie talkie out the window so I couldn’t even demand them to turn the car around.

And just my luck, the cops had shown up. Double fuck. I wasn’t about to get myself shot so I wasn’t going to try and run for it. I begrudgingly raised my hands in surrender, waiting for one of them to cuff me. A young, broad shouldered male cuffed my wrists behind my back and began to lead me over to one of the cars. Jim Gordon stood there, gloating. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you ever again Emerald. Its like you’d done a vanishing act,” he spoke. “Maybe I’ll do another one for ya in a sec. Hopefully that moustache of yours will too,” I smirked. Jim seemed a little annoyed my comment and motioned to the cop to put me in the car. I sat in the back and was taken straight to the GCPD. I was then led into an interrogation room and cuffed to the table. Jim entered the room a little later with a case file in hand as well as his partner Harvey Bullock. They sat down opposite me, Jim opening the case file. “Before we start, can I get a latte?” I asked innocently.

Neither of them responded to my comment. I rolled my eyes, they both really needed to work on their sense of humour. “So, where have you been for the last five years? There was no way out of Gotham so it's not like you took an extra-long vacation,” Bullock asked. “I’ve been around. You guys just haven’t been looking hard enough. Besides it’s not like I was doing anything bad in that time. You would have known about it otherwise.” “You broke Jeremiah Valeska out of Arkham,” Jim chimed in as if that was an argument against what I had said. “Well technically I didn’t. I was just the gateway driver. Ecco was the one who did all the work. But I hadn't done anything illegal before that in those five years. If your looking to arrest someone then maybe you should question Oswald and Nygma. There was an attempted kidnaping a few years ago, armed as well.”

“Then you should have reported it after it happened,” Bullock spoke. Touché. “Whatever happens between you and Nygma is your business,” Jim added. I refrained from glaring at Jim and sat back in my chair, making myself comfortable. They were gonna grill me all night at this rate. “So, are you gonna tell us what you were doing at Laffco? Why would you be at a toy factory that’s been closed for two years at this time of night?” I shrugged, glancing down at my nails, “beats me. I just go along with the plan. You want answers I’d recommend talking to Mr J.” I knew Jeremiah hated being referred to by his birth name now. Whilst I did it internally, externally I would refer to him as ‘Mr J’. It was better than calling him ‘puddin’ like Ecco did. “And where would we find him?” Jim pressed.

“Well, I can’t tell you that,” I started. “Then you’ll go straight to Arkham.” “If you’d let me finish Jimmy that would be appreciated. The three of us made an emergency pact, one of us goes down the other two immediately ditch current headquarters. So really I can’t tell you because they could be anywhere right now.” “As if you could come up with something so smart,” Harvey sneered. “I amaze myself sometimes too. I hope this buildings defences are good, they should be here soon.” “I don’t need to be a shrink to tell you your delusional Emerald.” I glared at Harvey for that one. Jeremiah wouldn’t just leave me here, I'd been nothing but loyal to him. I done everything he'd asked of me without question or hesitation. I couldn’t think of a reason why he would leave me here.

“Well if you aren’t going to talk we'll just send you straight to Arkham,” Jim warned. “I hope they put chocolates on my pillow,” I smirked. They weren’t getting anything out of me and they knew it. No matter what technique they used I wasn't saying a word. Harvey left the room to start the transfer process. “Your sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? Last chance,” Jim offered. “Nope, nothing at all.” Jim closed the case file and detached my cuffs from the table. He led me out of the room and into a holding cell whilst I waited for my chauffeur to Arkham.

The transfer was quick and easy. I had no reason to kick up a fuss. Jeremiah would get me out when he could, when the heat died down a little. I was assigned a cell, clothes and pills. I looked down at the small pot of pills and refused them. The nurse shot the orderlies a look, one that said I was being difficult. Looks like I was spending the night in solitary confinement instead. At least that room was comfier.

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

Within the week I was assigned a doctor and ‘treatment’ began. The shrink wasn't bad, she seemed generally interested in helping not that I needed help. Some of the inmates were people I recognised, which meant I had a few people to talk to during free hours. At least the place had somewhat improved since the last time I was here. Then again anything beat the way Doctor Strange had run this place. I sat back in my chair opposite my doctor, the sooner this our was over the better. I had a game of go fish to play with Jonathan Crane. “Emerald the only way we're going to be able to help you is if you cooperate. If you could just answer some of my questions,” my doctor spoke. I looked at her clearly bored, “there isn’t much point.” “Why not?” “I won’t be here much longer.”

She sighed, “I don’t think Jeremiah is coming to break you out.” I glared at her, “he will. I’m sick of everyone telling me otherwise.” “He left you at the scene of the crime. I believe you were bait Emerald. I know it’s not what you want to hear or believe but perhaps when you do it will make things easier for you.” “I wasn’t bait. He wouldn’t do that to me.” “Wouldn’t he?” “You don’t know what he's like, you've never even met him. Perhaps it’s in your best interest to keep your mouth shut about our relationship.” “And what about your relationship with his brother Jerome? Is that something you'd like to talk about?” “Would you like your eyes gouged out?”

She didn’t seem phased by my threat but she also didn’t press me any further. “Let me ask you this instead then, do you want to get better? Do you want to be considered sane again?” She asked. I shrugged, “It’s not something I think about. I mean there was a time I was considered sane by society’s standards but I mean that’s not gonna happen again.” I was referring to the time I was living with Oswald and Ed, I hadn’t committed any crimes then, I hadn’t done anything unsavoury by society’s standards. “And were you happy then?” She asked. “Yes.” I had been happy, there was no denying that. We'd all been happy, but Ed had ruined all that by running off with someone who looked like his dead ex.

“And are you happy now?” My doctor continued. I hesitated before answering, “yes.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure. Jeremiah and I are happy together." She noted something down on her pad, probably something we could ‘revisit’ later. Not if she wanted to keep her eyes. We were happy, he hadn't done anything to hurt me and I hadn't done anything to set him off. I was happy, happy to be alive still. One toe out of line and I had no doubt he’d kill me so it was in my best interest to keep him happy.

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld @belathora

#Gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham fanfiction #Gotham feels #Gotham Angst #gotham fic #gotham fluff #gotham smut #jeremiah valeska fic #jeremiah valeska smut #jeremiah valeska fanfic #jeremiah valeska fanfiction #jeremiah valeska #jeremiah valeska fluff #jeremiah valeska feels #jeremiah valeska angst #jeremiah valeskaxoc #cameron monaghan

13 notes · View notes

sevi007 · 4 years

Link

Rated: T (dips a toe into M? Maybe?)

Pairing: Eva/Sparda

Word Count: 5701

Tags: Romance, Massage, Flirting, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff...

Summary:

The veil between the human world and Hell is starting to thin, old seals cracking and barely holding up. Sparda is determined to be once again the shield of humanity and works tirelessly to find a solution - even at the cost of his own health, it seems. Eva is having absolutely none of that and intervenes. If he cannot take care of himself like he should, then she will.

Story to read here:

On the fourth night of his return from his latest trip, Eva couldn’t take it anymore.

The past days, she had done everything in her power to stomp down the worry which had started to creep up on her every time she noted that she still hadn’t seen Sparda really leave his work to eat, much less to sleep. She had rarely ever seen him outside of his study at all, and if, then only because he had left the room to grab some resource he needed before he was right back at it.

It was not the distance between them that worried her. She did not have to miss him – he was right there, always in reach for her, always ready to pause long enough to give her a tired smile, or pull her in for a quick kiss which he seemed to long for just as much as she did.

What had her bite her tongue so as not to say something, fear gripping her heart, was the dark circles starting to shimmer under his eyes, the way he seemed to sag just slightly instead of standing tall, and gaze becoming unfocused more and more often.

No matter how she tried to push it away at first, worry churned in her gut, niggled at her mind and left her feeling cold. His limitations were different, he had assured her as much often enough, endurance far beyond anything a human could even imagine.

Different, but not endless, she reminded herself, on that fourth night, standing in the hallway in the dark in front of the study, dim light from within signalling it was occupied again. He’s not immune to exhaustion either. .

If he was not going to take care of himself, she would have to do it for him.

With that thought she straightened and slipped into the dimly lit room.

She found him exactly where she had expected him; sitting in front of the enormous desk he preferred to work at, bent low over an array of papers, notes and open books strewn over its surface. The singular desk lamp provided just enough light to illuminate the lines of his frown, the haphazard way some strands of hair fell all around his face – ran his hand through it again while thinking, she observed – and the straight, hard line of his shoulders.

Right as she approached, he let himself fall against the backrest hard enough to make the wood groan under his weight, one hand coming up to pinch the bride of his nose with a sigh.

The sight along squeezed her heart, unpleasant and harsh, and she paused briefly in her approach, wavering. She couldn’t help him in his work that much she knew. Unravelling seals between entire realms, more and more demons crossing the borders, possibly enemies of old rising again – all of that was far out of her league. She could barely grasp the sheer enormous concept of it, sometimes! If anything, she would be more nuisance than help in this fight, should it be picked up again where it had been left off two thousand years ago.

She knew all of that.

But still.

Eva took in the proud man slumped in his chair, emitting annoyance and exhaustion in equal parts like a fire would emit heat.

Still. At least let me support him where I can.

Fairly sure he had sensed her ever since she approached down the hallway, Eva still took the time to clear her throat lightly, announcing herself a heartbeat before she was in reach of him. The moment her hands settled on his shoulders, stroking forwards and down until she was hugging him from behind, Sparda sighed deeply, some of the tension leaking from his frame as he tilted his head back against her shoulder. “Eva.”

Pressing a greeting kiss against his temple she asked lowly, “Made some progress yet?”

“Not enough,” the sigh which followed tickled her ear where he had turned and nuzzled against her, the gentle sensation a harsh contrast to the disappointment in his voice. “Not nearly enough.”

She had suspected as much but hearing it out loud still sent a wave of cold surging through her. The papers and notes strewn haphazardly before her made little sense to her, even those in tongues she could read, yet together they spoke of how much he had tried. How much had failed.

“If I cannot find a way to reinforce the seals again…,” Sparda trailed off without naming the consequences. Even without him saying it, it stood in the room, made shadows loom higher and temperatures drop.

It was instinct which made Eva tighten her grip around him, breathing him in and hold on tight, as if it would change a single thing. He did much the same, hand coming up to pull her closer, breath hitching as he held her.

They stayed like that for what could have been seconds or hours both, before Eva drew a deep, fortifying breath, carefully untangling herself from the embrace. Lamenting about the future would not get them anywhere; and it wasn’t what she had come to do here, anyway. “You need to rest, dear.”

There was the softness of adoring fondness in his gaze as he looked at her, yet he shook his head still, as she had suspected he would. A vague gesture encompassed the entirety of the workload before him. “This needs to be done.”

“Yes it does. But you won’t be any good for anything if you work yourself into the ground.” Moving around the chair swiftly, Eva slipped into his lap without any resistance whatsoever, effectively blocking his way towards the desk altogether. Of course he could have lifted her off with a single hand if he wanted to; she was only counting on the fact here that he wouldn’t simply dismiss her like that.

Sparda knew that just as well. He didn’t try to fight her, made room for her by leaning against the backrest again. Even the stubborn set of his jaw couldn’t quite cover just how ready he really was to give in. Reaching out with both hands, Eva tried to smooth out the harsh lines of it, thumbs digging in slightly to coax him into loosening his jaw and stop him from grinding his teeth. “Let’s not think about tomorrow, not about what-ifs and responsibilities. Just for this one night, rest, Sparda. A night of sleep and tomorrow, your work will provide results for sure.”

For a second, he wavered. Maybe pride would not let him give in so easily, maybe it was his sense of duty. Then he sighed, seeming to sag even further into her. A weak smile tugged at his lips. “You’re right. Of course you are.”

Relief flooded her like a wave cresting, and Eva let out a shuddering breath. She hadn’t been sure how convincing she would be. Laughing with the lightness of it, she teased, “Oh, I know. I’m just glad you agree.”

“I know better than to argue with you. And besides…” his smile grew, still tired, still timid in comparison, but warm no less as he brushed a strand of hair out of her face, so tender it felt like a whisper, “… I missed having you sleep next to me.”

“Me, too. I barely slept without you there,” and worrying about you the whole time, she didn’t say, but was fairly sure he heard nonetheless. She pushed to her feet, taking hold of the hand still resting against her cheek with both of hers and holding on, so that he couldn’t possibly back out again of his promise. “Come on. Let’s make up for some of that lost time, at least.”

Sparda’s smile curled wider while he let her tug him to his feet – only to fall in a wince as he stood, carefully rolling his shoulders and neck with a hiss. Eva was there in an instant, hands fluttering over his shoulders, fussing, “Alright?”

“I’m starting to remember why desk work was never my favourite…”

It was said as a joke, dry and curt, but Eva couldn’t really laugh at it. “Sore?

“Mh,” another careful move, another wince. “There is a difference between swinging a sword and a pen, and I’m more used to the former.”

Seeing him lean towards the stroke of her hands over whatever bit of skin she could reach, eyes fluttering closed briefly in clear pleasure, an idea started to form in Eva’s mind. She had wanted him to relax and rest, and she had wanted to help him in doing so. Maybe she actually could, she thought, excitement bubbling up inside her.

Giddy with the possibilities, she rose to the tip of her toes, pressing a quick kiss to Sparda’s cheek. “I’ve got an idea.”

One eyebrow arched at her, some of his old humour flickering over his face. “Ah. Should I be worried?”

“Maybe,” she only thrilled as his smile deepened, laughing. “To the bedroom with you. Shoo, go on. I will join you in a second.”

The sly humour only became more prominent on his expression. He wanted to ask, she knew, but he let her have her fun; made a show of shooting her a suspicious look over his shoulder when he turned to follow her instructions but didn’t pressure it.

Making sure he was well on his way to the bedroom – and not about to go back to work as soon as she turned her back – Eva darted off down the hallway to the bathroom, her goal clear in her mind.

It did not take her long to locate the small bottles of massage oil she was looking for. It was not unusual for him to rub her shoulders whenever she got tense, and the half-empty state of one of them as well as the fact that they were stashed where they could be easily grabbed only emphasized that.

Sniffing at both of the oils quickly, she settled on the one which had little smell altogether, but would warm up when applied; while the other one, flowery and aromatic, was her personal favourite, it very likely would only serve to overwhelm Sparda’s sharp sense of smell. The last thing she wanted!

Cleaning up and putting back what she didn’t need, Eva clutched the oil she had chosen tightly to her chest, careful not to drop it in her rush to the bedroom.

Sparda had settled on the edge of the bed, chin resting on his fist and gaze distant, waiting. When Eva entered his gaze found hers immediately and he stood with a smile, hand reaching for her in a silent invitation.

She wanted to follow it; she would follow it, just not in the way he probably expected. Keeping her distance was difficult, every instinct telling her to step into his embrace as fast as she could, but she withstood, making a twirling motion with her finger and directing, “Okay, shirt off, and then lay on the bed face down.”

He stopped, arm slowly lowering again when he realized she wouldn’t immediately join him, puzzlement furrowing his brow. “What for?”

Of course he would prod until he understood what was going on. It was alright. She might have very well been the only person he took any orders from, yet ordering him around was not what she intended in the slightest, here. She was taking care of him, not making him do things against his will. “I’m going to give you a massage so you will be sure to get a good night’s sleep. How does that sound to you?”

Instead of clearing things up, the explanation only seemed to stump him further. Sparda blinked slowly, once, twice, eyebrows reaching his hairline. Something very akin to wariness flicked over his expression as he cleared his throat. “Eva, that is… very kind of you…”

“… but not necessary?” She knew she had taken the words right out of his mouth when he rubbed his chin, shrugging. She sighed, crossing her arms. “Sparda, how many times have you massaged my shoulders already when I spent too much time reading in the same position?”

Another slow blink. “Hm.”

“A few times,” she surmised. “Was it necessary every single time?”

“Of course. You were in pain.”

“And you are not, right now?” She could actually pinpoint the exact moment when she had him; the second his eyes darted away from hers, ever so briefly, before snapping back. Yet he didn’t seem to waver on his opinion, not giving her any hint that he was going to give in.

Oh for the lord of… stupid, noble, selfless man. Her heart lurched, frustration and affection rushing through her both at once. Eva shook her head, her posture softening when she crossed the distance over to him, reaching so she could cradle his face in her hands. He leaned down just enough so she could, comfortably, so he was not as unswayable on this as he seemed.

“You,” she murmured, shaking her head fondly, “are such an utter dolt sometimes, you know that?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, followed by amusement, and he laughed quietly, leaning further into her. “I’m hearing that for the first time right now.”

“My bad, I should have told you sooner,” laughing at him when he raised his eyebrows in consternation, she paused, before adding much more sternly, “Care to tell me why I can’t take care of the man I love?”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to! That’s the whole point!” Leaning in until they were forehead to forehead, she searched for his gaze, held it. Tried to make him see. “I always want to take care of you, make sure you’re alright. Most of the time, I can’t do anything to make it easier for you… but this time, I can help you. Even if it’s just a little bit.”

He hadn’t protested yet, hadn’t tried to persuade her to let it go. Surely, that was a good sign? Her thumb swiped over his cheek, her nose nudged his. Imploring, pleading. “Let me, Sparda. Please?”

Something in his calm expression cracked at the last word, and he sighed deeply, fondly. “… I simply cannot say No to you. Fine.”

It took all her willpower not to actually whoop in triumph when he stepped away from her, even if Eva immediately felt cold with the distance between them. She watched as he reached down and tugged the white shirt he was wearing up and over his head in one fluid motion, not even bothering to turn away from her.

Because that was something they could do now - admire each other openly with looks and touches and words alike, instead of averting their gaze quickly in fear of getting caught, or keeping their distances so as not to touch. It had taken them long enough to get to this point, and it was still so new that it was simply exhilarating.

Or maybe it would always be just as amazing as the first time. Only time could tell.

And because she could, now, Eva whistled lowly, jokingly, at the nicely toned upper body revealed to her gaze, laughing when Sparda rolled his eyes at her fondly even though he was smiling himself. She could have sworn he flexed his muscles just a bit more than necessary when he chucked the shirt over his shoulder and neatly onto the nearby chair without even turning around to look, the show-off.

Once he had flopped, face first, onto the bed and shuffled until his head was resting on his crossed arms, everything else stretched out leisurely, Eva crawled onto the bed herself and, without missing a beat, swung her leg over him so she sat astride his hips. She shifted a bit, testing, before she asked, “Comfortable?”

“Mh-m,” the answer was almost lost in the back of his hands.

“Tell me when I get too heavy up here.”

She could feel him laugh, low and rumbling, and that was actually quite a nice feeling, she decided. Point one in favour of doing this again in the future. “Eva, I can hardly feel you. You’re light as a feather.”

“You sure know how to make a lady feel good about herself.” Popping open the bottle of oil in time with his amused huff, she poured a small amount of it onto her palms. The bottle was banished to the nightstand for now, just in arm’s reach, and she rubbed her hands together, feeling strangely giddy with the job she had in front of her. “Ready?”

“Do be gentle with me,” the lilt of his voice gave away Sparda’s smile even when she couldn’t see his face, and she blew out a breath to cover her own laugh. As if he would ever believe that she would hurt him. Or could, for that matter.

And yet when she lay his hands on his shoulders, not even pressing yet, simply resting there, she felt a tension there far beyond hurting, knotted muscles. He was tensing up as if to prepare himself for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet, bracing himself.

It made her heart twist painfully, and she gently stroked over his shoulders, willing him to relax, to trust. “Shhhh, dear. It’s just me. Just me.”

A shuddered breath, and Sparda nodded, jerkily. Some of the tension leaked out of his frame, and Eva dared to breathe again. Now, she could really start her work.

And she did, fingers rubbing gently in, instead of simply stroking over the skin.

The amount of resistance she was met with made her splutter, smile dripping off her face immediately. “What the… Sparda, what did you do?”

“Pardon?”

“This can’t possibly be healthy! I thought you heal from everything!”

“I heal from wounds and illnesses. Things that need to be repaired and knitted back up. I have found sore muscles apparently don’t fall into that category,” Sparda tried to turn, making her yelp as she overbalanced, and immediately settled back down when she pushed against him in warning. Still, he tried to turn his head to see what she was doing, surprise clear in his voice. “Why? Is it that worrisome?”

“Look forward, you’re twisting your neck up – and worrisome is one way to say it. Some of these knots feel like they’ve been there for a few centuries!” His quiet, perplexed laughter shook her through and she smiled back out of reflex at the sound, even while frowning and digging in harder. Her thumbs alone couldn’t do anything against what could only be called cords of steel making up the entirety of his shoulders and upper back, so she resorted to bringing the balls of her hands into it, putting her weight into each push. “Really now, when was the last time someone gave you a massage?”

“I can’t-…” he interrupted himself briefly, breath hitching when she dug her thumb in in a circular motion against a hard muscle under his shoulder blade. He fairly melted beneath her once it started loosening. “…-can’t recall a single instance of that ever happening.”

“No?”

The shock lacing her voice was not even faked for the sake of humour. If that was true, then it was not only a grave oversight, but very nearly a crime in her books, Eva decided. He absolutely deserved to be pampered and taken care of in any capacity. And anyway, this was also fun, or at least she thought so. Seeing him feel good because of something she had done for him – and so simple at that! – made pride and affection bubble in her chest.

Clucking her tongue, she redoubled her efforts, bending to press a kiss to a knob of his spine in between. Hoping it would convey a We should have done this before as well as a soft I love you. The oil left on her lips was absolutely worth it in exchange for the purring sigh he emitted at the contact. “Well, now you’ve done it. I’m going to give you so many massages from now on, you’re going to get sick and tired of them.”

Some of the tension she had so diligently worked out returned, a deep breath raising her entire weight an inch into the air where she sat astride him. For a second she thought he would protest, readying herself already to counter it with something along the lines of oh no mister, I will take care of you, just you watch me – then he sagged again with a deep sigh that edged into defeated fondness. “I… wouldn’t grow tired of it, if you did.”

She gaped at him, halting in her movements for a beat, before she laughed brightly, thrilled. “That good, yes?”

“Mmmmm,” turning his head slightly, Sparda smiled, gaze heavy and warm. “You missed your calling as a masseuse, it seems.”

“Flatterer.”

But even as she said it, teasing and fond both, Eva couldn’t help but preen a little. Hearing she was doing such a good job to the point of him agreeing to do it again… it certainly didn’t hurt her confidence. Still grinning, she reached to get more oil, determined to make this as good as she possibly could.

A pattern developed after that, her work almost feeling like a trance. Broad strokes all up and down his shoulders and back to find the muscles which had twisted and knotted up unpleasantly, then switching to hard pressure and rubs until they eased out. Once she was sure everything was sleek and relaxed again, she would stroke with her finger tips, nearly tickling, comforting the reddened skin and listening to him purr loudly in contentment, before then repeating the whole thing all over again.

Every now and then, Sparda’s breath caught, or he hissed when she first started on another knot. Every time it started relaxing again, he would groan, sometimes close to a growling moan, and stretch and shift beneath her. Mixed in with his constant purring, it became sort of like a soothing melody accompanying her work, further making her feel as if in a trancelike state.

It was… nice. More than nice, if Eva was honest, subtly shifting her weight now and then while internally laughing at herself.

Around the time she was very nearly finished, his entire shoulders and upper back done and her hands currently working along the small of his back, it occurred to Eva that Sparda was getting restless; hips shifting enough he almost had her loose her balance once or twice, arms moving about with little sense and tucking a pillow closer to himself so he could hide his face in it.

Restlessness was the exact opposite of what the massage was supposed to do, and it had her frowning. It was as if he was keeping himself constantly moving to distract himself. Was he still being stubborn about sleeping instead of working?

Tapping her fingers rapidly against his back to garner his attention, she almost had to laugh when he twitched so wildly it almost threw her off.

“Eva?” Even his voice anything but relaxed, straining and gravely instead.

“It’s alright if you fall asleep during this, you know,” she told him, amused. “That would actually be a huge compliment.”

He shifted, shoulders tensing briefly – she smacked him lightly for it, no ruining my work – before he grumbled something that sounded very close to a petulant, “Don’t want to sleep.”

“Oh? What do you want to do, then?”

If he was going to say work, she would absolutely pummel him with a pillow, Eva decided, getting back to digging her thumbs along his spine and pushing up slowly.

There was a strained quality to the silence that enveloped them then, seeming to tighten to the point of near-snapping the longer it went on. It actually made her feel a flicker of worry, had her pausing her ministrations. “Sparda?”

The sheets rustled beneath as he stretched, one long, sinuous movement, and turned his head to the side to the point where he could glance at her. The one eye she could make out from underneath tousled white was burning bright, a crackling electric blue, and his voice hoarse as he growled out, “I want to ravish you.”

Oh.

Oh, well.

Well that would be a huge compliment, too, a little, very unhelpful part of her mind that hadn’t immediately stuttered to a halt informed her cheekily.

She just knew she had to be gaping at him when he released a sound somewhere between laugh and growl, drawing her attention back to him. “You have no idea what you do to me, have you?”

“It’s…” just a massage, had been on her tongue, but she swallowed it. The moment it had crossed her mind, she had to admit that she might actually understand it. Not only because the proceedings were slowly but surely starting to affect her as well, slow, sweet arousal pooling low in her belly like finest, heated honey with every hitching breath, every punched out groan and minute shift of his hips between her thighs. But also because he had never experienced something like it before, if his words were to be taken at face-value, and the intimacy of it, the physicality mixed with unwavering affection and care, might have actually resulted in an outcome he simply hadn’t seen coming when agreeing to this.

Affection and understanding bloom in her chest at the thought, and she impulsively leaned down for another kiss to his back that had him breathe out deeply, slowly, his eye fluttering closed briefly.

It made him look almost pained, for a moment, but most of all it made him look exhausted. And that was what snapped Eva back out of her surprise and the arousal coiling low in her belly for good – all this talk aside, he was still tired. And even if he was temptation incarnate right now – as always? a tiny voice supplied - she was not yet so lust-addled that she wouldn’t take care of him first, before letting any ravishing take place.

This was about making Sparda feel good and relax him until he could rest, after all, not working him up and exerting him even more.

And she knew, suddenly and clear, that he knew it as well. His words were certainly no empty promise – oh they weren’t - the want and intent there, yet he had made no move to let actions follow them as he usually would. It was enough to tell her he was aware of the fact that he was, indeed, too tired for whatever had just crossed his mind, no matter how much he wanted to.

Suddenly the whole thing was almost hilarious to her, and she actually laughed; not unkindly, and not at him. Maybe a bit at the both of them.

God, we’re like teenagers all over again, aren’t we?

With a last tender stroke down the length of his back, feeling him sigh, she pushed herself up, scooting forward (forget about the oil staining her pants, who cared right then) until she could bend low and kiss him, a light thing he accepted and responded to readily. She stayed close even after pulling back, murmuring gently, “Let’s save that for tomorrow, hmmm? When you’re not so likely to fall asleep on me in the middle of it.”

“Mmmh,” his hand slipped free from under his chin, capturing her hand closest to him. He nuzzled into the palm of it, leaving a kiss there before releasing her again. Blue eyes like sheer banked fire blinked up at her, heavy-lidded and sleepy. “Such good arguments, my lady. Very well.”

“Smart man,” she praised while she moved back again, laughing when he snorted loudly. “Now let me finish up here, okay?”

There was no answer, apart from him shifting his hips (she imagined it might be to take the pressure off, and flushed at the thought) and burying his face in the pillow again, anticipation radiating off of him in waves. It made her laughter ring out like bells in the room. Oh, how glad she was she had suggested this in the first place! She only wished she had done so sooner. Taking care of him was exhilarating.

The final movements of the massage she had in mind was actually something she had seen and picked up from a professional once and felt confident it would prove as a perfect culmination; slow, swiping strokes down the length of the back, left and right of the spine. Circles outwards, down the sides, then back up the middle of the back. The same straight path from before retraced, up all the way to the shoulders, shifting into little circling motions over the shoulders outwards. Minimal pressure behind it all the whole time. Rinse and repeat a few times.

By the forth pass, Sparda’s breath had evened out he could have very well been asleep, relaxed to the point of being utterly limp.

Considering her work done, Eva scooted carefully to the side until she kneeled beside him on the mattress, hands held up into the air so she wouldn’t accidentally smear the sheets and blankets.

“Be right back.” She kept her voice down to a whisper, just in case he had really fallen asleep.

A hum robbed her of that notion; still awake, though sounding as if he would drift off any second now. He didn’t even as much as twitch when she got up and left the room. It nearly made her skip in joy, congratulating herself on a job well done.

A quick run to the bathroom later, any residual oil washed off from hands and face, Eva felt about ready to sleep, herself. Contentment and tiredness settled in her limbs, making her feel comfortably heavy and sleepy by the time she returned to the bedroom.

In the middle of a good stretch, she paused in the doorway, taking in the sight before her with a smile.

Sparda had rolled over onto his back while she was gone, laying there all sprawled and loose-limbed. His left arm was stretched to her side of the bed, just right for her to slip into his embrace, the right arm flopped over his eyes. Still his chest rose and fell so evenly, anyone could have thought him sleeping.

And yet he must have heard her return, for he raised his arm just enough to blink at her from under it. When she didn’t move immediately, he made a low sound in his throat, flapping his left hand against the mattress in a universal gesture of invitation. He looked close to pouting at not having her close, eyes imploring even through the tiredness.

The love which had bubbled up in her chest, almost choking her, over spilled, bright and golden, and Eva was across the room in two strides, readily crawling into his arms as fast as she could, all while laughing brightly. Immediately she was tugged closer, Sparda rolling over and all but wrapping himself around her entire form, face coming to rest in the crook of her neck with a satisfied kind of huff.

Eva wrapped her limbs around him as well, couldn’t get close enough while she grinned into his tousled hair, loving the tickle of it on her face. “We will do that again. Relaxed looks way too good on you.”

She had expected an imitated agreement; he had seemed taken with it enough, earlier. Instead she was surprised by the feel of him taking a deep, nearly shuddering breath, arms tightening around her while he murmured into her skin, “I love you.”

Oh. Oh that was not fair, not when she was already all soft and sappy with love for him. She would cry if this kept going and it would be all his fault. Hugging him ever tighter, she breathed him in, voice brimming with emotions. “I love you, too.”

A hum rumbled through her, and a kiss was pressed against her skin. His lips tickled against her as he murmured, “Sleep.”

“Yes, you should,” she agreed, running a hand through his hair affectionately.

Strangely enough, he laughed at that, low and warm and utterly content. Before she could ask what was so funny, he suddenly nipped at her pulse point, hard and just right, making her jump and yelp in surprise as heat pierced through her. “I meant you should sleep, Eva. After all…”

Suddenly he was hovering over her, having pushed himself up onto his elbow so seamlessly she hadn’t even noticed it. The heat in his gaze when he smirked down at her, leaning in until his hot breath hit her lips, had her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth, heartbeat picking up dramatically while she froze under him despite herself, half-perplexed, half-anticipatory.

“… you should be well rested when I make good on my promise to ravish you.”

Maybe laughing was not the most appropriate response to that, no matter how fond and thrilled and slightly breathless it was; yet Eva couldn’t help it, despite – or maybe because of - the excited shiver running through her. Luckily, Sparda seemed to be of the same mind, chuckle warm and fond when he smiled in response.

Linking her arms behind his neck and one leg over his thigh, Eva pulled him in close so his weight blanketed her again, just like it should be. Nudging the tip of his nose with hers, she murmured, “Looking forward to it.”

He was still smiling when he followed her pull readily; they both were. It made the soft kiss they shared a bit awkward, enough to make them breath laughter into it, but neither seemed to mind too much, both quite happy with how things were.

And when Sparda’s breaths, tickling and warm against her neck, shifted into the deep, calm pattern of sleep not too long after, Eva wrapped herself all the more tightly around him, determined to let him have his peace for a few hours, to keep him safe and sound in any way she could.

The world could have its protector back tomorrow.

Right then, he was all hers.

#eva/sparda #eva x sparda #my writing #dmc #devil may cry #fanfic #I DID IT

21 notes · View notes

avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

Mine

Mine: A Black Widow Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count: 1872

Warnings: Smut (F|F, BDSM, D/S, Domme!Nat, Sub!Reader, Toys, crops, bondage, anal play, anal plug, forced orgasm, safewording, sub drop, aftercare)

Synopsis: After subbing for Natasha you experience a subdrop.

Mine

Your knees burn and your thighs ache. You’re not even sure how long you’ve been kneeling on the rug with your head lowered, in only your panties. Time is relative and when pain and desire are involved. Right now you have both in abundance. The thin lace of your boy leg panties are soaked through and your legs are beginning to tremble. You’re not even sure if that’s from the searing ache in them or the burning anticipation for what is coming. So you wait.

There is a click as the door opens. The sound of heels on the hardwood floor and then the door closing again. You don’t risk looking up. Punishment has its uses, but it’s more fun when you’re being rewarded.

The toes of her boots fall into your line of vision. Pointed and black and shiny enough to see your face in it. A shiver runs through you and you have to actively fight the urge to look up.

“Look at me, printsessa.” Natasha says, a slight purr to her voice.

“Yes, Mistress.” You say and slowly raise your eyes taking her in. Her boots are thigh high and where they end, fishnet stocking start. She’s wearing them on a garter attached to a black latex corset. She holds a riding crop in her left hand and she taps it on her knee. Her nails are cut short but painted a dark red and her makeup and hair are immaculate. You know when this is done, they will remain that way, whereas yours which you spent an hour perfecting will have run.

“Such a good girl.” She says, running your finger along your jaw. “You remember your safe words?”

“Yes, mistress.” You say. “If you ask and I am fine I must answer with green. If I am uncomfortable and just need you to back off without stopping I say amber. If I need you to stop I say red.”

“Good girl. Moyá khoróshaya.” Natasha says. “And if you are gagged?”

You shiver again and hold out your hands pumping your fists. “Good girl.”

She runs the crop up your chest and under your chin, tilting your head back so you can look into the green of her eyes. “You may call me Natalia along with Mistress if you wish. But if I allow you to come tonight you shall only say my name. I will not be happy if you thank anyone else.”

You swallow to alleviate the dryness of your mouth, and your tongue travels over your lips. “Yes, Natalia.”

She steps away from you and you drop your eyes again. She walks to the dresser where she arranged her toys for tonight. When she returns she stands in front of you. “Chin up, printsessa.” She says.

You raise your chin and she closes a steel collar around your throat. Locking it in place. She hangs the key around her neck and smiles at you as she attaches a leash to the hoop at the front of the collar. “Who do you belong to?”

“You, Natalia.” You reply.

She leans down and brings her lips to your ear. “That’s right. You’re mine.” She whispers. She brings her lips to yours, the kiss starts softly but soon becomes harsh. She bites at your bottom lip.

She straightens up and tugs at your leash. You stand, almost wanting to sigh in relief at being able to get off your knees. She leads you to the bed and pushes you so you’re bent over it. You stand bent as she returns to the dresser. She returns and runs a thick leather strap down your spine and then cracks it over your ass cheeks. You yelp and fall forward as a sharp sting blossoms on your cheeks and send a burn out through you.

Natasha pushes your legs wider and pulls your panties down to your knees. “Fuck, my bad girl. How are you this wet already?” Natasha asks. She runs her finger up your slicked folds and sucks on her finger. It sends a buzz through your body and you squirm a little. That earns you another strike with the strap. This time the leather lands on your thighs and strikes your pussy. You cry out with the pain and tears prick your eyes. “Such a little slut. That’s not even for me is it? You’d just let anyone fuck you right now and thank them.” She seethes.

“No, Natalia. I swear. It’s just for you.” You babble.

She strikes you again on the cheeks. It’s not as hard as previously but it pushes the heat from the burn out through you and causes your cunt to clench, making you even wetter. Natasha strikes you two more times over the ass and the tears break and run down your cheeks.

“Do I need to remind you who you belong to?” She asks, shoving two of her fingers into your cunt and twisting her hand.

You let out a low moan, clenching around her digits. “No, Natalia. I am yours. I swear. I’d never let anyone else touch me.”

Natasha curls her fingers and twists her wrist again before pulling her fingers out. You feel the cold trickle of lube between your ass cheeks. You swallow and push your knees against the bed to brace yourself. She spreads the lube over your asshole with her fingers, probing them in and out a little. “Now relax little one.” She purrs. The cool steel of a plug pushes against your asshole and she slowly eases in.

You bite your bottom lip at the pinch and stretch of the plug, whimpering just a little. When it’s snuggly inside of you, you let out a sharp breath.

“Good girl.” She purrs, tugging on the leash. You stand up and she moves in front of you. “Oh no, printsessa.” She coos, wiping the tears off your face. “Perhaps now you know not to be such a slut.”

Her words go straight to your cunt and you resist the urge to squeeze your legs together. “I’m sorry, Natalia.”

Natasha climbs up on the bed and unsnaps her garters. She works her panties off and then yanks on the leash. “Enough talk. Put that mouth to good use.”

You crouch down between her legs and she pulls you hard so you face is pressing against her cunt. You suck on her folds and lap your tongue over them. She starts rolling her hips against your face and you nip at her clit. You tease at her entrance with your fingers and push two inside of her. Slowly you fuck her with them, curling them inside her and drawing out her fluids, so they coat my tongue. You drink them down hungrily, feeding your own arousal so it begins to drip down your leg.

Gradually you bring her to orgasm using your lips and tongue to suck and bite and lick at her clit and your fingers to stroke over her g-spot. When she comes her legs snap closed on your head and she digs her heel into your back as she arches up. You feel her cunt tighten and flutter around your fingers with it. You stroke her through it, letting her ride it out, then look up at her feeling pleased with yourself.

She sits up panting a little and pulls your leash. “Good, girl. That mouth is good for something.” She says. She guides you up onto the mattress and shackles one of your arms to the bedpost with a leather cuff. You lie on your back and she repeats on your other wrist. She moves down your body trailing her fingertips over your skin, making you break out in goosebumps.

She removes your panties and cuffs your ankles to the bottom of the bed so you lay splayed out in front of her, helpless to stop her from doing anything she wanted. Trusting she would never push you further than you could take. She gets up and picks up the riding crop before returning to you. She runs the tip of the crop up your skin, sending a shiver through you. She starts tapping the crop on your skin. The rhythmic tap, just teasing you makes your nipples hardened. It doesn’t escape her notice. She taps one, using just a little force, not so it hurts, but with your nipples as hard as they are it sends a wave a pleasure through you. You moan and arch up, your hands gripping at the rope that binds you to the bed. She runs the crop down your stomach and over your bare pussy. She taps it on your clit. You moan but your body shivers, knowing that pain is very close. The crop sweeps over your hips and she snaps it on the side of your ass. The sting is sharp and you cry out.

“Quiet now, princess. I will gag you.” She says, sliding the crop back to your pussy.

“I’m sorry, mistress.” You say, squirming.

“Mmm… you will be.” She says and strikes you with the crop on your clit. The sudden assault stings and the sting doesn’t fade. She hits you again in the same place.

“Please, Natalia.” You beg, both wanting her to stop and not wanting it too. She runs the crop up and down your skin again before hitting you once more.

She moves away and puts the crop down picking up both a clear pyrex dildo and the magic wand vibrator. She comes to the bed, plugging in the wand before kneeling beside you.

“This will happen until you safeword or pass out.” She says lubing up both devices. “Don’t go further than you can handle. You know I won’t be mad at you for using the words.”

“Yes, Natalia.” You whisper, your body already buzzing in anticipation.

The vibrator is pressed against your clit and turned on. The buzz is loud and intense. With your clit already swollen and aching you are brought to the edge of orgasm almost immediately.

“Oh fuck, Natalia.” You whimper.

She pushes the dildo inside of you and starts working your g-spot. You come almost immediately, it’s intense and you jerk your bonds as you try to escape it. It doesn’t stop though. A second hits almost immediately, the way Natasha working your g-spot makes you gush for her and your legs tremble and jerk in their bonds. You can’t keep quiet, moaning and screaming as a third orgasm hits. Then a fourth. You start repeating her name as dehydration kicks in, your voice becoming raw. Soon you lose count. It’s like the only feeling you’ve ever had is that complete loss of control as your body spasms and shakes with orgasm after orgasm. It becomes too much. No longer something you want. You hate it. It’s a form of torture that you need to escape. You let her continue though, wanting to be good for her and take as much as you can.

“Red. Red, Natalia.” You croak when it becomes too much.

She stops immediately and pulls the toys away from you smiling. She crawls up to you and strokes your hair as she looks down in your eyes. “That’s it. You’ve done so well, my love.” She coos, running her fingers through your hair. She gently eases the plug from your ass, the burn returns at its widest but it’s brief. You whine and she kisses you softly before moving to unfasten your restraints. “I’m so proud of you.”

You start shivering as your internal body temperature starts to drop. “Nat. I’m cold.”

“Okay, my love.” She says, unbuckling your ankles. She wraps you in a blanket and you snuggle against her but it doesn’t seem to help. “Shh… I’m right here. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You stop when I tell you to. But not everyone gets that.” You say. “What’s wrong with me I want what people are supposed to hate?” You’re not even sure where that comes from and it brings with tears with it. You start sobbing against her, your whole body trembling.

“It’s okay, let it out. I’m right here.” She says, holding you and kissing your brow. “There’s nothing wrong with you, mishka. This is a game. That’s all and you know you’re safe. If it wasn’t a game you wouldn’t like it. You have all the control.”

She holds you as you cry and rubs her hands up and down your back and arms in an attempt to warm you up. She starts to sing, it’s in Russian and you have no idea what she’s saying but it helps to relax you and you slowly regain control.

“Shall I run a bath, mishka?” Natasha asks. “Make you some tea?”

You nod without saying anything and she bundles you up before getting out of bed. “I’ll be back in a minute. You’re safe and I’m not leaving you. Do you want some painkillers?”

“Yes please.” You whisper. As she moves to leave, you reach out and take her hand. She looks down at you, her eyes soft. “I love you, Tasha.”

“I love you too.” She says and leans down to kiss you. “You’re mine, my love. But I am yours just as much. Now, sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

You snuggle up under the blankets, your body slowly starting to relax. You aren’t quite okay yet. These drops are not common and they can take a little coming up from, but you know you will be. Natasha always makes sure of that.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #femslash saturday #reader insert #smut #mine

403 notes · View notes

lupizora · 5 years

Text

Forgive Me (Not)

I started this fic to sort out my feelings for the Traitor!Uraraka theory and it spiraled from there. Can’t say if this is strictly platonic or not so I put it down as both. The M rating for this fic is just to be safe! I tried to portray some strong negative emotions and didn’t want to catch anyone unprepared for what’s to come. ^^”

Genre: Heavy Angst / Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Kacchako/Gen

Rating: M

Word Count: 4821

Summary: They were two broken people standing at the edge of the unknown together.

When Bakugou emerged into consciousness, the knocking wasn’t what first got his attention. The soft shuffle of the curtains did. He hated this new oversensitivity. If only for a moment, his mind would return to the League’s gloomy bar; restrains digging at his shoulders; the faint smell of smoke and spilled alcohol assaulting his lungs with each breath. Three months later and it would always destroy his mood. After seeing the time was twelve minutes past four in the morning, a wave of anger washed over him too.

Who the fuck? He thought, throwing the covers aside.

The silhouette outside his window was too short to be his redhead neighbor. Bakugou tugged the sliding door open. Cold air rushed in the room with an evening fury befitting the beginning of winter, and the curtains parted to reveal Uraraka.

She took a step back, her eyes wide. “I… um… I’m really sorry, Bakugou! It was a mistake. I… I-I’ll leave now!” Turning around, she tried to walk away with the elegance of a robot.

“Take responsibility first, you moron.” He sighed, following her out on the balcony. “What are ya doing here?”

The freezing tiles nipped at his bare feet and he winced. Nothing he couldn't endure as long as it led to the bottom of this awakening. However, Uraraka made no attempt to face him as seconds came and passed. His toes were half-numb by that point, so Bakugou focused on her back instead. She wore their gym uniform and had her hair tied into a messy ponytail. This get-up was usually reserved for joining his combat training, and she hadn't been sporting it earlier.

“I messed up is all,” she finally said. “Thought it was Deku’s.”

“Deku’s room isn’t on this floor,” he said. “You know that already from following the nerd like a lost puppy all the time. So do me a favor and cut the crap.”

Maybe someone else would have had the patience to hear her out. It had been the day of Sir Nighteye’s funeral, after all. To brighten up the mood, the class had declared a movie night. They were all laughing by the time Bakugou returned to his room with Uraraka being her usual bubbly self. Even if it had been an act, she wouldn’t come to him for emotional support. He wasn’t her friend.

“It was an honest mistake. I’m sorry if I bothered you,” she said. Her tone wasn’t apologetic at all.

Dread dropped like a stone in Bakugou’s stomach. He suspected foul play but the League was on the run. They wouldn’t dare to infiltrate the school. His mind reminded him of a different scenario; one he had been contemplating over for the past few months.

On the third morning of his house arrest, after his big fight with Deku, Bakugou had been prepping for his chores when he heard voices coming from Aizawa’s room. Overcome by curiosity, he pressed his back against the wall and glanced inside. The laptop’s monitor illuminated two figures, leaving the rest of the room shrouded in darkness. Finding his homeroom teacher still awake wasn’t as surprising as Present Mic being there. He never visited this early.

“There is nothing unusual so far,” Aizawa said.

Present Mic yawned, stretching his back against the chair. “Everything is too quiet for my taste. Think they got scared, Eraser?”

“Or maybe they are laying low like the rest of the League.” He dragged a hand across his face with a groan. “I don’t want to suspect my students, Mic. They are all promising kids.”

“They also love getting into trouble. Picking a fight right under your nose, who would have thought! Must have been quite the show.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter. We don’t have room for slip-ups like that anymore. Everyone’s eyes are on us and we haven’t made any progress in locating the traitor. It was your idea so concentrate.”

Traitor.

The word caught Bakugou’s attention hook, line, and sinker. The teachers were suspecting one of them to be leaking information to the Villains. He edged closer to the door so he wouldn’t miss a thing.

“Yes, sir! Anyway, the problem children and the other four are not on the list.” Present Mic mumbled a couple of names, scratching them off the file in his lap. “Come to think of it, most of your girls have stealthy Quirks. Hagakure is invisible. Asui can climb walls. Jirou can hear through walls.”

“The conference hall is sound-proof and an invisible person would be too obvious for a mastermind like All for One.”

“Just because it’s obvious, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t consider it. Although, if we absolutely have to think outside the box…” His pen stopped mid-air. “I’d say Uraraka.”

“Why?” Aizawa asked with a perplexed tone.

“It wouldn’t cross your mind, right? She looks innocent enough. But you know how the saying goes: Don’t judge a book by its cover. Of all the kids, she’s the only one with a clear motive.”

“Lots of Pros are doing it for the money, and as far as I know, we already have a decent arrangement with her parents over the tuition.”

“Relax, it was only a guess.” Present Mic raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. “You are right though. Having to suspect every one of these little listeners sucks!”

Bakugou decided he had heard enough. Without a sound, he returned to sorting the cleaning supplies and feigned ignorance when Present Mic left for class. An unpleasant feeling spread inside his chest; the same thought circling at the back of his mind.

Was it really possible?

All this time, Bakugou hadn’t had the chance to voice his concerns. Major events had followed one another in an endless cycle of trouble and danger—everyone too busy to catch a breath, more so worry about inside affairs. Currently, this night was proving to be an unprecedented opportunity. One he wasn’t willing to miss. If Uraraka wouldn’t give him some straight answers, he would force them out by any means necessary.

“You know. Something has been bothering me for a while.” Keeping his hands leisurely in his pockets, Bakugou approached Uraraka. “During Kamino, you said to Kirishima and the other idiots that I’d feel disgraced if they came to help me.”

“I did.”

“How did you know that?”

Her shoulders tensed but she chuckled. “You aren’t very subtle about your dislikes.”

“You also said I’m scared of Deku after the end of the term.” Her words back then had cut straight through his walls of denial to the core of his issue with the nerd. No one—not even himself—had been really aware of it. “That was awfully perceptive of you.”

“You were on such bad terms when you’re supposed to be childhood friends. Can you blame my curiosity?”

“It felt more than simple curiosity. It’s like you were dissecting me to find what makes me tick.”

Uraraka turned around just as he stopped two steps away. “Deku does it too. Haven’t seen you confront him about it.”

Grabbing the veranda’s railing, Bakugou trapped her between his arms. “Deku has been studying me for years—a lost cause really. But you had no reason to do that.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t suit your personality.”

“That's ridiculous!” She said, flustered. “C’ mon, you were so cool in our fight, Bakugou. Like a completely different person! I’d be blind if I didn’t wanna learn what sort of hero you want to be.”

“And what’s the final call?” he asked.

“You’re so arrogant that you’d look to satisfy your needs before anyone else’s.”

“Like you then? You’re in the money, aren’t you?”

“To help my parents.” Her brow furrowed in worry as if someone had presented her with a truth she didn’t want to hear. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Facepalm also said we are the same. Shackled by society’s expectations so we can’t do what we want. I wonder how he figured it out from a photo of the award ceremony.”

“What are you getting at?”

He leaned closer, leveling his gaze with hers. “You’re the mole, right?”

Lowering her head, Uraraka covered her face. Snuffles escaped from behind her hands. It caught him off guard, and Bakugou let go of the railing. For once he wanted to be wrong in his deduction. Learning about All Might’s secret had been enough of a blow. If the traitor turned out to be one of them, the class’ morale would plummet. He hated nothing more than to be responsible for it again.

But his half-baked apology died in his throat when it became apparent that Uraraka wasn’t bawling her eyes out.

She was laughing.

“I didn’t think it’d be that easy.” Uraraka climbed on the railing. Keeping her balance atop the metal bar, she shot him an icy glare. “Yes, it is me. What’re you gonna do about it?” She declared and dropped into the void below.

Bakugou jumped after her. His mind was blank, feeling nothing but the wild beating of his heart. The wind rushed past him. Aided by gravity, his body seemed eager to meet the ground. The fourth floor wasn’t such a great distance to cross. He propelled himself forward anyway and collided with Uraraka, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Their entangled bodies touched the ground without any rattling of bones or pain. Before Bakugou could get past the disorientating sensation of gravity returning, Uraraka elbowed him in the neck. Pain erupted in his gut from the follow-up knee. He tried to pin her down, but she slipped away like an eel.

“Come back here!” he growled.

Her laugh echoed all around them as she provoked him to follow. Uraraka dashed into the surrounding trees with Bakugou in tow. Leaves and branches crunched beneath his feet, splinters digging into his bare soles. Bakugou ignored the pain and kept running. Despite the cold, he was already drenched in sweat.

Uraraka maneuvered around the trees with ease; her back always a couple of steps ahead—taunting him. Oh, how much Bakugou wanted to grab her by the shirt and smash her face onto the ground. He could reach her; his hands had warmed up sufficiently from all the running. But he didn’t want a drone to alert the teachers like in his fight with Deku. So they continued their little chase, getting further and further away from the dorms. The white clouds escaping Bakugou’s mouth got more frequent as he strained himself to keep a good pace. By the looks of it, Uraraka also had trouble doing the same. Her ragged breath was the only sound resonating in the forest.

This pocket of darkness and silence didn’t last for long. Uraraka broke through the vegetation into an open area covered with concrete. Streetlamps illuminated the place as if it was some kind of boxing ring. Bakugou could faintly see the shape of a large wall up ahead. According to his calculations, they were close to either mock city A or mock city B. Drones were bound to be lurking there for sure.

This needs to end here.

Igniting his Quirk just enough to not arouse suspicion, Bakugou leaped over Uraraka. She didn’t stop, her eyes following his trajectory.

The moment his bare feet skidded on the concrete in front of her, Uraraka threw a left hook. Bakugou blocked it. He redirected the right one coming his way too. She had such an intense look on her face. Part of him, the rational one always working in the background during fights, noticed her flawless technique. Months of work paying off at the worst possible scenario.

There was something odd though. Sure, Uraraka aimed for his knees or his stomach—spots that would give her the advantage—but made no attempt to use her Quirk. It was as if this was a deliberate physical brawl and for one, Bakugou didn’t mind not using his Quirk. It would keep unwanted attention away.

“Why so cautious, Bakugou?” she asked. “Don’t you want to revenge? Come at me with all you got!”

Bakugou smacked an open palm on her collarbone. Instead of backpedaling out of breath, Uraraka pounced with a war cry. Wrapping her legs around his arm and shoulder, she dragged him to the ground. His back felt most of the impact. Bakugou didn’t let that stop him. Releasing his hand with an explosion, he elbowed Uraraka in the ribs. She had enough spark left to kick him. Bakugou allowed the leg to strike, using it to pull Uraraka under him.

His hands closed around her throat. The muscles in his forearms strained as Bakugou tightened his hold. Her pulse was beating wildly under his fingers, struggling to bring blood to her brain. Uraraka clawed at his hands. The choking sounds were replaced by a piercing whine. Bakugou barely felt her body contorting under him. He could blow her head to bits. Splatter blood all over the pavement. A single explosion was all he needed. That’s how frail human bodies were, even for a girl of her tenacity.

No.

Bakugou wouldn’t give Uraraka the benefit of a quick death. He’d watch as her walnut doe eyes grow unfocused and empty, life slipping out of them. He’d listen for the final breath when it escaped her cherry lips. He’d feel her heartbeat stopping while her rosy cheeks lose their color. Already Uraraka’s movements had gotten slower. She didn’t apply the same force as before. Disheveled hair fanned behind her head like a broken halo. And, to Bakugou’s surprise, Uraraka caressed his cheek; finger pads scraping roughly against his skin.

“Do it,” she mouthed.

A cold weight dropped in his chest as if someone had sucker-punched him there.

“Why did I have to be the reason for All Might’s end?”

Bakugou had screamed that at the top of his lungs while the stench of smoke and nitroglycerin still lingered in the air. His voice was echoing when Deku had lowered his fists, shocked. Bakugou couldn’t bear that expression and had continued to shout his frustration at the road beneath his feet.

Why am I remembering this now?

And then it hit him.

Oh.

His fingers relaxed their hold.

Uraraka coughed violently. Confusion flashed across her eyes as she watched him stand. Bakugou didn’t make it to ten steps before he heard the shuffling of her clothes.

“What…” Her voice cracked on the first word, volume lowering while she struggled to continue. “Are you… doing?”

“I can’t give you what you want.”

“Why?” She shouted—raw and strained like a raging tiger.

“I’m not a judge, nor an executioner. And definitely not your damn emotional punching bag!”

“So Deku wasn’t yours?”

Bakugou clenched his fists so tight he might as well had stopped his blood circulation. Releasing his fingers, he let a couple of small explosions sparkle in his palms like firecrackers. “I don’t try to repeat my mistakes,” he said.

“That’s rich!” Uraraka sneered. “You can sort your problems through violence and I can’t? Is this some kinda privilege only the brightest of our class have?”

“What’s happening right now and that situation are nothing alike!”

“Because it wasn’t your fault?” Uraraka whispered. “I didn’t want any of this, Bakugou. But my parents’ lives were in danger.”

It puzzled him because of a conversation he had happened to overhear a while ago. “Your parents don’t live here,” he said.

“They came to Tokyo once. To congratulate me after the Sports Festival and reassure me that I did my best in my fight against you and that they are oh so proud of me.”

Her laugh was hollow and emotionless, chilling Bakugou to the bone. He never thought Uraraka was even able to sound like that when she competed with Kirishima for the title of 1-A’s Sunshine.

He turned around to find her kneeling on the ground.

“But it was exactly that fight that caught Sensei’s eye,” she said with a sad smile, not meeting his gaze. “My parents had left for the station, and I had barely closed the front door when Mr. Kurogiri appeared behind me. The hallway was pitch black as if light couldn’t reach past his Warping. Had a rough idea where was his body from USJ but before I could do anything, he transported me to Sensei’s headquarters. He...” Uraraka rubbed her thumbs over the rest of her finger pads, struggling to find the right words to describe All For One.

“It’s okay,” Bakugou huffed and took a seat in front of her. “He has that effect on people.”

The bastard was a hundred years old and had survived against an All Might in his prime. If anything, All for One’s aura alone could bring grown-ass Heroes to their knees. Someone losing his words at his presence would be the least he could do.

“He congratulated me for my strategy and bravery. Said we could both gain from each other if I worked for him. I refused and Sensei… he… he smiled.” Her words came out strained as she seemed to relieve the memory. “Before I knew it, I was inside the Central train station. My parents stood at the platform, laughing about something I couldn’t hear from the noise of the crowd.” She sniffed. “A warp gate opened over their heads. It was a blind spot. The cameras would never see the gun that appeared through the gate. I tried to shout, warn my parents but instead, I started puking some sort of stinky mud and returned to Sensei.”

She didn’t have to say anything else. It was plain as day what was her answer to his proposal the second time around.

“What did he ask you to do?” he asked.

“The first part of the deal was gathering intel about U.A. and their plans. I couldn’t get inside the conference room no matter how much I tried. Thought it’d be easier to remember the layout of the teachers’ lounge and sneak in when they weren’t there.”

“That’s why you asked Present Mic to help you with your English homework so much.” It had been her go-to excuse whenever she was late for practice.

Uraraka nodded. “Lots of important documents were in their desks. If anyone saw me, I’d say I forgot something. I had timed-out every route to the office perfectly so it happened only a bunch of times.”

Bakugou shifted his position. This cold and calculating Uraraka didn’t sit right with him. “And what was the other part of the deal?”

“I had to keep an eye on you—the League’s most fitting candidate. Sensei said it shouldn’t be hard. Our fight had made me interesting in your eyes.”

Part of Bakugou wanted to deny this statement, but deep down even he could see a slimmer of truth. Uraraka had entered his life like a storm after the Festival. His failed internship with Best Jeanist was still fresh on his mind, so her approach had left him hesitant at first. She was Deku’s friend so why couldn’t she ask him to be her sparring partner? Having overheard Uraraka's reason to learn martial arts though, Bakugou had given her the benefit of the doubt. He also couldn’t wait to see how much she could grow. Their sparring sessions had been challenging and exciting since Uraraka always had a new trick up her sleeve. Over time, this change of pace had maybe lowered his defenses. It hadn’t brought them any closer though or so he told himself again and again and again. But Bakugou couldn’t prevent the sting of betrayal from piercing his heart anyway.

“You stuck to me like glue for the whole damn semester because of some psycho’s sick pet project. Great. Just fucking great.” Bakugou smiled, despite the disgust and horror tingling in his chest. “And when I was ready, you called the dogs to come and fetch me!”

“The only thing I knew was that someone would come and get you off the Camp. But they kidnapped Ms. Pixie Bob too.” Uraraka fisted the fabric of her pants to stop her hands from shaking. “And I couldn’t do anything about it! Just watch and hope no one dies! Yes, you were my mission, Bakugou. But somewhere along the line, I found more people to care about along with my parents. More people to lose, including you. That’s why said that to Kirishima. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt!”

“There are Villains, Uraraka. Hurting people is what they do best.”

“Mr.Nighteye thought so too,” she said. “He became conscious as I was taking him to safety. He couldn’t control his Quirk and saw my future. He warned me that I won’t be able to save anyone if I continue down this path. For a moment, I thought about dropping him. He wouldn’t expose me if he was dead. I would just weep and blame myself for not being quick enough to the other Heroes. Easy peasy.” She sniffled, tears shining in her eyes. “Guess he didn’t remember a thing in the end. And I… I was relieved for a while. But today, when I saw his face again, everything flooded back and I couldn’t take it anymore...”

“So you came to me. The one guy ready to beat you bloody for what you’ve done.”

She chuckled softly. “I thought you’ll understand. What I didn’t expect was the great Bakugou Katsuki going easy on me.”

“That’s what you call this?” Bakugou scoffed. “Hate to break it to you, Round Face, but I didn’t wanna get in trouble for your sorry ass.”

Her posture seemed to shrink. “Then what I’m supposed to do?”

Bakugou placed his hands on her shoulders.

The trembling stopped as Uraraka lifted her head. She clenched her hands into fists, anticipating his next move. For what Bakugou had in mind to work, she needed to stand still. So he cupped her infuriating round face.

Uraraka stared back with wide eyes, seemingly out of breath.

Bakugou head-butted her.

Rivulets of pain ran along his forehead from the point of impact. Uraraka’s skin was warm against his own as if she had a fever. White spots were dancing across her face like a myriad of stars. When the image cleared up, he noticed how a few golden specks adorned her hazel eyes.

“What’s wrong with you?” Uraraka shoved him and folded in two, holding her forehead.

Bakugou mouthed the question and anger flared in his chest. ”What’s wrong with you? Weren’t you the one who refused to back down in our fight no matter what?” For once, he managed to keep his tone down and still sound angry enough to consider it shouting. “Didn’t you go through all this shit to keep your parents safe? You wanna be a Hero, right? Then face your problems head-on!”

“You are one to talk,” she said. “Mr. I-can't-understand-emotions.”

“You woke me up in the middle of the night for this shit. Don’t sass me, okay?” he said. “Look, all I’m saying is that every fucking idiot in this class is gonna support you. They are persistent like that.”

“Why would they? I hurt them! Put everyone in danger! And you got kidnapped because-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“But-“

“The info you gave them would be useless if I didn’t act that way in the first place!” Admitting this shocked him, but he didn't stop. “I realized it during the press conference. Those leeches used my behavior to bring U.A. down. Facepalm tried to use that as a way to convince me too. I was never going to join their stupid clique. Our goals were different. But it made me think.” Bakugou stared at his hands. “All my life everyone told me that my Quirk is a Hero’s one. I never doubted that fact even when I all I could do was destroying. But the Quirk itself isn’t what makes someone a Hero. It’s how and for what purpose you use it. I wouldn’t have learned that if things had stayed the same.”

Uraraka grabbed his wrists, forcing his attention on her. “You would! There are other ways to learn that without almost dying!” Her hold got weaker. “I can’t… forgive myself for doing this to you.”

Bakugou stared back. Tears dropped on their joined hands like the beginning of a summer storm. “I can’t forgive you, Uraraka,” he said.

Her head shot up as if he had slapped her, the soft edges of her face twisting into a sorrowful expression. “I understand,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” he grumbled. “You’re my rival, dammit! You shouldn’t let those weirdos that call themselves Villains give you value. That asshole sure talks big for with a hand on his face!”

“Technically, I was under Sensei’s orders.”

“All the more reason to not give a shit now! He is behind bars, leaving Facepalm in charge.”

It wasn’t as simple as he was making it sound. Shigaraki was dangerous with or without his teacher around. For one, he was still on the loose even after attacking an armored convoy and two, his twisted drive to take down All Might still haunted Bakugou’s nightmares.

Uraraka closed her eyes. “It’s not that easy.”

“Yeah. But if there is hope for a bastard like me, there is hope for you too.” He stood up, dragging her along. “C’ mon, we gotta tell the teachers.”

“No, we can’t!” She shook her head, vigorously. “What if Sensei has more moles inside U.A.?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Aizawa would rather die than work for scum like All for One and you know it. If he can defend the most-fitting-to-be-a-Villain on national TV, he can listen to what you have to say.”

Uraraka rubbed her neck; blue imprints from his fingers had already formed against her pale skin. “What about you, Bakugou? Why help someone that hurt you?”

Sure, saving people without any rewards was more of Deku’s style. Bakugou had never considered another person’s feelings until he had to go through All Might’s retirement. Still, he wasn’t angry at her anymore. He was angry at those fuckers for their underhanded methods and having the nerve to use her family like this, but not at Uraraka.

“The number Hero wins and rescues,” he said. “Can’t be slacking here if that’s my goal, right?”

Color returned to her cheeks and Uraraka hummed in agreement.

They used the road to return in the dorms.

By the time Bakugou could see 1-A's Height Alliance building, his body was showing signs of their fight. Pain pooled around his ankles and forearms in constant subdued drumming. Resisting the urge to wince whenever gravels dug into the bare soles of his feet, Bakugou kept Uraraka in his line of vision. Just to make sure she won’t disappear. He was definitely not paying attention to how she clenched and unclenched her hands in front of her.

The cold marble steps of the entrance and the relief they offered didn’t last long. Bakugou and Uraraka crossed the lounge in silence. Up ahead, a blue light glowed from underneath the closed door of Aizawa’s room—signaling their teacher was still awake.

Bakugou raised his hand to knock.

“Wait,” Uraraka said.

A bruise had started taking shape on her forehead. It diverted Bakugou’s attention, making him wonder for a moment if they should put ice on it. Then he caught her uncertain stare.

“Told you there is nothing to worry,” he said. “Don't run on me.”

“That's not it.” Her voice remained steady for the first time that night. “Can you come with me?”

“Why?”

“I don't know if I can do this again." She looked down. "Would you mind lending me some of your strength?”

The universe sure liked laughing at his face in the most ironic ways. She had held onto this secret for so long and after so many hardships while he was still trying to fill in the gaps of his shattered pride and arrogance with more meaningful things. Bakugou wished to have a word with the one responsible for his fate and blast their face to smithereens.

“Fine,” he said. “But only because I wanna see this to the end.”

Uraraka smiled, brightening the room as if the sun had decided to rise early. “Can I hold your hand?”

“If you ask me another damn thing, I'm throwing you inside without a word.”

Bakugou clasped her hand and allowed her to lace their fingers. The contact made him hyper-aware of her slight trembling but he didn’t comment on it.

Uraraka took a deep breath, restoring her game-on face. Yeah, it pissed him off at how lightly she believed in her own strength.

He knocked, letting the chips fall where they may.

They were two broken people standing at the edge of the unknown together, and damn if they wouldn’t try their hardest to set this right.

#bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #bnha fic #bnha fanfiction #bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #fanfic #wolfswriting #kacchako #angst #hurt/comfort #traitor uraraka #traitor au #wolfsstuff

25 notes · View notes

mintchocolateleaves · 5 years

Text

On The Fantasies of Moonlight (2/3)

Summary: Aoko deserves someone who won’t lie to her, who won’t be selfish with her. And Kaito…? Kaito is selfish.

A/N: So. I finished part two. I don’t know if I’ll manage to finish the fic within part three, or whether I’ll need to add a fourth part into it, but I doubt you guys mind either way. Please enjoy!

[Part One]

Kaito wakes up to a dry mouth and the tingling of regret on his tongue.

He’d made a mistake last night, drinking as much as he had, toeing the line and then vaulting across it without a thought as to why he’d not crossed it in the first place. Admitting the truth to Aoko, giving in when he’s capable of being a stubborn force to be reckoned with, was…

He shouldn’t have let himself do it.

But he had, and now, he is lying, staring up at his ceilings and counting cracks in the paint. He needs to repaint the ceiling, something a little softer in colour from white, a beige or some natural pastel brown, maybe. He doesn’t know what colour, but he needs something new.

Confessing to Aoko was a mistake.

Not because it made her feel happy, gosh, her happiness is never a mistake, even if it tears him apart too, but because he knows it will lead to his own downfall. Because now, he knows what Aoko’s lips taste like, knows how soft they are, apart from the edges, where she’s bitten into them when she was younger, the skin a little tougher.

“I’m fucked,” Kaito mumbles to himself, throwing his arm up and covering his eyes. The cracks in his ceiling reminds him too much of the cracks in himself. “I’m well and truly fucked.”

His phone buzzes beside him, and he knows without answering that it’s her, that she’s phoning to talk about his answer yesterday, to see if he’d been serious or not. To hear him say he was.

Because they’re not fools, neither of them. Aoko may not know when he’s lying to her, he’s good enough that sometimes it borders on saddening, but she would know on this. She’d see it in his eyes, somehow.

Aoko may not know some parts of him, but she does know most of him. She knows parts of him that Kaito’s tried to hide away, sees the emotions he hides away whether he wants her to or not.

She sees him, even when Kaito wants to hide away.

He literally needs to become someone else if he doesn’t want her to see him.

Maybe that’s a plan for how to deal with this, to dress up in a separate identity for the foreseeable future, until Aoko forgets about their conversation, and become someone else. Even if it’s just for a single day he could–

No.

Becoming someone else is one step closer to KID, and isn’t that the one thing he’s trying to move on from?

He doesn’t regret those days, of course not, he’d grown from them, learnt to deal with loss and use up the endless energy that had swam inside him ever since his father had passed away, but they’re over with. Kaito can’t fall back on them every time life becomes a little… uncomfortable.

Because he is uncomfortable.

About all of this. He’s uncomfortable with lying to the one person he wants by his side the most, with denying them both what they want because of a decision he’d made eight years ago and has had to live with since.

He’ll cope, because who is Kaito not to? He’s survived bullets and evil organisations, so he should be able to survive this, even if this hurts more than a bullet.

Fuck.

Kaito pushes himself out of bed, leaves his phone unanswered on his bedside table, and heads out of his bedroom.

He’s always been good at dealing with thing when he’s got a plan, but Kaito’s best work comes when he’s improvising, and he thinks, faintly, that maybe he should follow as such with this whole… situation.

So Kaito opens his bedroom door and decides that improve will be his plan moving forwards. He figures things can’t get much worse than they already are now.

Things get worse than they already are now.

Not really, but well, there’s a banging at Kaito’s door about two hours later and Kaito knows that opening the door will make things worse. In like, a – she’s going to murder me for not answering her calls – way.

He lowers the paintbrush he’d been using, wipes a smidge of paint from his fingertips against his shirt, and heads towards his door. The door is locked, the chain on the latch, and part of him is surprised he’d even bothered. Maybe as a precaution in case Aoko tried to force her way inside with the key he’d given her years ago.

Who knows?

Kaito doubts that Aoko’s ever actually used the key he’s given to her. They usually congregate at her house rather than his apartment. She’s probably only been her three or four times. Maybe because unlike him, she’s always been one for respecting boundaries.

He unlatches the door, opens his door and quirks an eyebrow.

Aoko, understandably so, stands in front of him, cheeks red and flushed. For a moment, he thinks it’s the result of embarrassment. But then he realises that she’s breathing heavily too.

She’d probably been in a rush to get here.

“Do you know,” Aoko says, after a moment, as he watches her try to catch her breath. “That I’d forgotten which of these buildings you were in, and which floor, because you’re always breaking into mine.”

Kaito’s answering grin is sardonic. He says, “Would’ve thought you’d realise it was building fourteen, apartment twelve. The numbers are very easy to remember.”

Kaito is not ashamed to admit that he’d pushed for the apartment when he’d realised the numbering system. He’d been adamant, once he’d realised the irony of KID living in the numbered apartment: B1412.

Is it pushing things, and his own ego to be living in 1412, maybe? But it’s something that leaves Kaito snickering every so often.

“Fanboy,” Aoko says after a second, and her lip curls as she says it, as if being a KID fanboy is something the be revered. Well, frankly, Kaito likes his fans. They’d always been so much fun during his heists. He’d even got them to help him, that one time, and that’d been amusing, mainly because they’d not realised until he’d left with the gemstone.

“Guilty,” Kaito says, raising his hands. And then, after a second more of watching her, he adds. “What’re you doing here, Aoko?”

Aoko flushes and lifts a hand up to poke him in the chest. He tilts back on the back of his feet, then adjusting his balance to bounce back.

“You didn’t answer my calls,” she says, after a second. It’s difficult to tell if she’s more upset or angry at the lack of response. Kaito doesn’t really want to hear either emotion, so he tries to ignore them, to forget they were there in the first place. “You’re ignoring me.”

“I wouldn’t have opened my door to you if I were ignoring you.” Kaito says after a second. He debates whether to wave her into the house – that means then, they’re sort of required to talk – but Aoko doesn’t give him the time to debate, walks in before he can conclude which.

“It would seem not,” Aoko says after a second. She kicks her shoes off, replaces them with a pair of slippers she’d brought with her – Kaito doesn’t have a spare pair, and Aoko knows him well enough to know he wouldn’t pick them up – “but my phone calls…?”

“I must have left my phone in my bedroom this morning,” Kaito lies, and then, because the one thing he doesn’t want to do is lie, that’s the whole point of this entire situation, he sighs. “I did leave it in my room.”

“You answered me yesterday,” Aoko says, and Kaito isn’t so stupid as to simply forget that. He knows that he did. It sucked, being open with his feelings. “But you weren’t happy about me forcing you too. I guessed that you were avoiding me because of it.”

Kaito pulls a face.

Don’t lie, his subconscious warns him, waving a finger at his nose. Kaito kind of wants to kick his subconscious for telling him what to do, even if it, kind of right in what it’s saying.

“That’s why I left it in my room.”

Aoko reels back, and Kaito aches at the hurt in her eyes. He follows her into his sitting room, leaves her there for a second to process his words, and heads into his kitchen.

He returns with two glasses of aloe-vera juice, placing the glasses on the small table by his couch. And then, instead of sitting, he heads towards the canvas he’s been working on, to the easel that keeps it propped up away from the floor.

“Sorry,” Kaito says, “I didn’t want to lie to you about it.”

Aoko sighs, and he can feel her gaze watching his back, even as he picks back up his brush, glancing at the paint palette that’s gone forgotten on the table. He grabs the palette too.

“Why didn’t you want to answer me?” Aoko’s always been someone to go straight for the jugular, and that doesn’t stop just because the answer has been torn from his throat. “You said something about us ruining each other, but I don’t understand.”

Kaito grimaces.

He takes a moment to try and find the right words, something to make her understand, something that means he doesn’t need to vocalise what he’s truly hiding but comes up short.

He focuses on his painting instead, adds some more black onto the canvas, silhouetting ravens against a background of bright, pastel colours.

“Kaito,” Aoko continues. And then, because he doesn’t respond, her voice sharpens. “Don’t I deserve an answer?”

“I gave you an answer,” Kaito responds, and he turns, eyes wild, paintbrush sending a violent line of paint across the canvas, as he faces her. He supposes that he’s snarling, turning to a defensive sort of answer. “I gave you your answer yesterday, when you forced it out of me.”

Aoko’s brow furrow, pulling down into a glare. She says, “Exactly! I had to force it out of you.”

Kaito tightens his lips.

“I had to force the words from your lips when we were both drunk, Kaito!” She cries, frustration bleeding through her words. “If the answer was yes – purely yes – then you would have just said so months ago. But you didn’t and don’t I deserve to know why you made me wait so long?”

Because – because of so many reasons –

Kaito should have to explain himself to her. He doesn’t have to explain everything, because the truth hurts and it’ll tear them apart, whether he approaches it kindly or not.

Because – because how does he explain that Aoko probably thinks he’s selfish, but really, he’s saving himself the devastation when her proclamations of love turn sour, curdling.

“How could I give you the answer, Aoko?” Kaito says, and for a moment, there is heat in his voice, but then, everything goes cold. Not a cruel coldness – an apathetic chill that rises up and leaves him feeling empty. “You hate me. I love you, but how can I say yes to you, when you hate me?”

And there’s his real reason.

How can he admit Aoko’s confession when she hates him as much as she loves him? Because she’s said, time and time again how much she hates KID, how the thief seemed to steal her father from her, how people she works with chides her family for never being able to solve the case.

How can he accept her confession, when her hate for him, is the one reason she became a police office in the first place?

Aoko squints. She says, “If you think I hate you, Kaito, then you’ve really missed the point of my confession.”

Something crawls up his throat, a wail, a sob. Something sad, and Kaito throws the paintbrush onto the table, drops the palette beside it, and takes a step towards her.

His voice is empty when he echoes, “You hate me.”

“No,” Aoko says, firm, and she reaches out to him, pulls him towards her. “I could never hate you, no matter what.”

“You’re a liar too then,” Kaito says, and he doesn’t let himself get emotional enough, tries to push it down, but it simply rises back up again. Misery, he thinks – yesterday he’d thought he was being tortured, his heart being squeezed, but now. Now he feels something worse. “Because you think that’s true.”

“It is true.”

Kaito blinks, closes his eyes for a second and tries to breath. He feels like he’s suffocating instead.

“I’m the one person you hate most in this world, Aoko.” Kaito says, and he doesn’t know why he’s saying it, it’s a confession of the criminal kind, something he’d promised himself he’d never say to anyone. He’s a liar even to himself, it seems.

This is it, huh. He’s coming clean.

She really will hate him after this, and fuck, Kaito’s probably going to have his criminal record placed against his civilian one, in the same file now, isn’t he?

“I don’t–” She’s smart, but even the smartest people overlook things they don’t want to believe. Kaito knows as much. “You’re not–”

“I’ve never once looked for the spare key to your apartment,” Kaito breathes, “I just break in.”

Aoko presses her lips together, shakes her head. “No–”

“I don’t like hearing about your work day, because I don’t like hearing about thieves getting caught.” Kaito continues, and when Aoko lets go of him, tries to step back, he grabs her instead, keeping her in place. “I don’t like the idea of being caught for something.”

“Kaito,” Aoko says, “stop it.”

“I don’t like spending time around the police–”

“Stop it.”

“–because I am a menace to society, and I’ve taken up enough of their time already.”

She shudders, pushes against him. It’s not enough to make him step back, and so Kaito stays, watching her. A quiet whisper, “you’re lying.”

“Not this time,” Kaito says. He grits his teeth, hesitates. “You know I’m not lying.”

She lets out a slightly choked cry. This time, when she pushes, Kaito staggers back. “You – You can’t be him. I, that’s not how this is supposed to work. You’re not the bad guy, you’re not the person I’ve been chasing.”

“Well, I’ve never much been one of the good guys Aoko.”

“This isn’t fair.” Aoko whispers. And she lifts her hand, wipes at her cheeks. Fuck, Kaito’s gone and made her cry, he’s horrible, he’s breaking. “It’s cruel. You’re – you’re cruel.”

She spares him a single look before she rushes out.

The door to his apartment slams shut as leaves, and the sound echoes in Kaito’s ears, over and over again. This is what he’d been scared of, this is the result he’d always been dreading, but knowing was always around the corner.

He sinks into the cushions of his sofa, lost in the middle of his home, and buries his face in his hands. His shoulders shake.

Kaito, shakes.

It’s not fair, Aoko’s right about that much.

[Part Three]

#So the second part to this is here and I am very sorry for the delay but hey! At least it's finally here! Ahahaha #DCMK #Kuroba Kaito #Nakamori Aoko #KaiAo #Magic Kaito #mywriting #Fic: On the Fantasies of Moonlight

33 notes · View notes