#I just can’t get over the fact that it’s a silly little briefcase | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatsmyline-pb · 3 years

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Saw this for the first time today and just about died. Then this happened:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32013415

(Edit: a big thanks to @stevieshelby for a much better quality picture.)

Alfie Solomons does not run. Ever. Men who run, in his opinion, are silly and weak; either running from or to something and either way showing far too much desperation in doing so. Alfie is a firm believer in acting with as little urgency as possible.

He knows, of course, that most people running are doing so for the sake of exercise. But it’s a bloody foolish way to achieve fitness, if you ask him. Likely does more harm than good, slamming your joints together against hard pavement. Swimming is a much more sensible form of exercise.

Point is, Alfie doesn’t run.

—

Leave it to Tommy Shelby to ruin Alfie’s first true holiday in years. It’s summer and it’s Margate and Alfie is altogether content to let work fade into oblivion and get some much-needed rest. But of course, he can’t get one fucking moments peace before the little prick is calling him, demanding that they meet, that it’s urgent, cannot be discussed over the phone, and what’s Alfie’s rental address, he’ll be there first thing in the morning.

And mornings, right, mornings are sacred to Alfie, especially when on holiday. He likes to take his fucking time, stretch languidly while the last remnants of sleep slip away, stay in bed however long he pleases and not leave a moment sooner. And then, when he deems himself ready to rise, make his way to the terrace with coffee and biscuits and a book and cigar. Greet the day with leisurely intent.

And fuck if he’s gonna let Tommy interfere with that pleasure. So the next day he goes about his morning just as he normally would, and when Tommy pulls up in his sleek Royce he’s just opened his book and taken his first sip of coffee.

“Just come on up, for fucks sake,” he hollers down when Tommy knocks on the front door. Moments later Tommy is standing in front of him, looking incredulous. Or really, looking entirely impassive, if you don’t know him. But Alfie does, so, yes, it’s definitely incredulity swimming behind those flat eyes.

Thing is, another part of Alfie’s morning routine is not getting dressed. Dressing really defeats the point of lounging around, doesn’t it? It’s boxers and a loose robe for him, and there’s nothing like the feeling of the warm morning sun on your bare chest, is there?

“You forget I was coming, Alfie?”

“Naw mate, how could I? Been anxious for my groceries, haven’t I?” He’d texted Tommy as soon as they’d hung up last night, Be a dear and stop by Kosher Kingdom before you leave, followed by a rather extensive grocery list. Just to be a prick, really; hadn’t expected any follow-through. But Tommy’s holding a grocery bag.

“Those ‘em?” He asks and grabs it from him. Tommy pays this no heed.

“You didn't think a business meeting warranted, I don’t know, putting some trousers on? Maybe a shirt?”

“Business meeting? Naw. I’m on fucking holiday, ain’t I?” He says it into the bag, busy shuffling through the contents. Only half his requests are in there. “Where are my bourekas?” He asks, looking up.

Tommy glares at him and pulls out a cigarette. His eyes flit unwittingly over Alfie’s bare torso as he lights it. Alfie suppresses a smug grin.

Could be that not wanting to disrupt his normal routine isn't the only reason Alfie declined to dress for Tommy’s visit. Could be, yeah, that they’ve been in business together for seven months and those seven months have felt like a fucking eternity, all of them spent with Alfie not so secretly lusting after Tommy and Tommy, cunt that he is, determinedly ignoring his advances (even though Alfie is damn sure his desires are reciprocated). So yeah, he stayed half-naked to make a point about holidays and respect and all that, but also to taunt Tommy.

Rather transparent. Could be he’s getting a bit desperate.

“So what’s this big emergency, then? You finally set the factory on fire smoking those godforsaken fags? Tear a hole in that favorite suit of yours, hmm? Someone finally snap and off Arthur? Out with it, treacle.”

Tommy sighs as he slides into the seat opposite Alfie. “How’s it you’re even more fucking irritating on holiday, Alfie?”

Alfie just smiles.

“Alright,” Tommy says, pulling some papers from his briefcase and onto the table. He launches into a story, and Alfie immediately forgets to listen. Thing is, there’s a lot going on in Margate in the summer, even this early in the day. Folks are up and about and Alfie can’t help it if he’s an avid people-watcher. Not really in the headspace for business, is he?

Alfie’s somehow getting away with not paying attention to Tommy when the group of runners pound by. They look equally smug and miserable and he can’t help but mutter, “Ridiculous fucking hobby.”

This stops Tommy mid-sentence. “You hear a word I just fucking said, Alfie?”

Alfie nods. “Yeah, mate, sure. Something about a shipment and a fuck up.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrow. He looks from Alfie to the runners and to Alfie again. It’s a long, heavy silence. Long enough that Alfie grabs the grocery bag again and begins pawing through it. He can practically feel the annoyance radiating off Tommy.

“You remember when you set me up with that cousin of yours?” Tommy asks, an eternity later.

Alfie can’t help it, he breaks into a toothy grin. He remembers it. Often and fondly. It’s not every day Tommy is in need of a last-minute date for an important business dinner and turns to Alfie for help. And really, Tommy should have known better. Of course, Alfie was going to hire an escort to accompany him, paying her extra to pretend to be his cousin. Of course, he was going to relish the opportunity to fuck with the great Tommy Shelby, delight in the knowledge of him prancing proudly around London with a high-end prostitute on his arm.

Hadn’t expected him to ever find out, at least not until a few years later when he’d randomly decide to let his duplicity slip. Hadn’t anticipated that there’d be an adversary present at the dinner who knew just who his ‘cousin’ was, did little to hide it and, in fact, outed Tommy on spot. Alfie can’t quite regret this, though. Would never have gotten to see his cheeks flushed so darkly, red with rage and embarrassment, the next day, would he have? It made the fist to the face and ensuing month of stony silence entirely worth it.

“Course I remember, treacle. One of my finer moments. Really though, you were rather ungrateful, weren’t you? Just trying to give a mate a pleasurable night and all I get in return is a black eye and broken nose.”

Tommy is looking at him with that look of his, the one that means there’s a scheme brewing and you’d best brace yourself.

“Tell you what, Alfie,” Tommy says, leaning forward and stamping out his cigarette. “You make it to the pier and back in under a minute, and I’ll return the favor.”

“What, you’re gonna hire me an escort?” Alfie asks, amused.

“No.” His eyes bore into Alfie, the blues in them much darker than usual. His meaning, suddenly obvious, clicks.

There’s not many things that can stun Alfie into silence. He blinks stupidly at Tommy for a few beats, then leans back, dragging his hand over his beard.

“Let me get this straight. I go for a quick jog and we fuck?”

“Think it’ll have to be more of a sprint, Alfie.”

Tommy knows Alfie’s feelings about running. Knows them because Alfie had told him, can never keep his fucking mouth shut and stop the landslide of damning information that falls out.

A run for a fuck. It’s tempting, for sure. But Alfie has his pride. There’s lots of things he’d do for a fuck, but running definitely ain’t one of them, no matter how desperately he wants it.

“Naw mate. Don’t feel like getting dressed, quite yet.” Tommy quirks an eyebrow.

“Didn’t say anything about getting dressed, did I?”

Alfie laughs at this. Of course, it’s his unkempt appearance that Tommy thinks adds an extra punch of humiliation to this bargain. But Alfie could give a fuck, and Tommy should really know better. He’d meet the Queen in his boxers and robe, head held high, wouldn’t he? But running? No.

“Tommy, sweetie, it’s not going to happen. Now, isn’t there some world-ending urgent reason you are here?”

Tommy shrugs and starts over.

Alfie listens. Or tries to. Tommy himself proves to be the distraction this time. First, he takes off his suit jacket, and fucking well he should, he’s got too many layers for this heat, so that’s just fine.

Then he starts to roll his shirt sleeves upwards. Not in the messy, rushed way that Alfie shoves his own up, but slowly, methodically, one careful fold over another. It takes a tedious amount of time for his forearms to emerge and Alfie tracks the progress hungrily. He’s always had a weakness for those arms, which Tommy, of course, well knows. Another stupid thing he’d let slip. But no matter, they’re just arms, after all.

The lazy recline against his seatback is definitely unexpected. So unlike Tommy, to don a posture of such ease. Yet it suits him, stretches his body out more fully, allows Alfie a more substantial view. And there’s the leg too, that has slid out as result, and is now pressing firmly against Alfie’s own, calf to calf. It’s not moving or anything, so, really, it’s no big deal.

Tommy keeps talking and Alfie keeps listening. Problem is, Tommy’s doing this thing, and it’s definitely the most distracting of all the things. He keeps slipping his eyes from Alfie’s face, raking them over his body, slow and deliberate, licking his lips as he does. And that, well that is just fucking sinful and cruel and underhanded and right up Alfie’s alley.

A run for a fuck. It’s ludicrous, yet…

The leg next to his gives a forceful nudge.

“Asked you a question, Alfie.” There’s a drop of sweat running down Tommy’s throat, spilling onto his clavicle. When had Tommy undone the top two buttons of his shirt?

Maybe, maybe, just one, short run won’t kill him. He clears his throat.

“A minute, you say?” Tommy blinks, then nods, trying and failing to keep his lips from twitching upwards. The hair on his forehead has begun to curl slightly in the humidity. Alfie wants to run his hand through it, brush it away, feel how soft it must be.

“Fuck it. Where are my goddamn trainers, then?”

—

Alfie runs like the wind, or so he’d like to think. It’s not far in that he first considers, with slight panic, that this distance might not be doable in under a minute, not for an avid non-runner, such as himself. But there’s no fucking way he’s not getting his reward for this ridiculous exercise in humiliation.

He picks up his pace, stiffens his hands, pumps his arms with vigor. He runs like the devil’s chasing him and there’s a naked Tommy Shelby jumping and cheering his name at the finish line. He can only imagine what he looks like, face set with anguished determination, robe billowing behind him.

Tommy’s holding in laughter, eyes brimming with tears, when he heaves to a stop beside him, gasping violently, his hands on his knees. He’d silence him with a righteous punch to the dick if he could only catch his breath.

“Well?” He asks, a moment later. Tommy holds out his phone to him.

“Minute three seconds,” he says.

“Fuck off,” Alfie breaths, but the timer indeed reads as Tommy says. Three fucking seconds. “This goddamn robe, too much resistance.”

Tommy laughs. “Nah, I must have hit the start a bit too soon,” he says, and closes the distance between them, wrapping an arm around Alfie’s waist and kissing him vigorously.

—

And so that’s how Alfie finally managed to get Tommy Shelby into his bed. Still fucking hates running. Hates it with unyielding passion and will never partake again. But, he figures, just that once, it had been worth it.

#Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #Tommy/Alfie #tommy x alfie #fanfic #ao3 #oneshot #Peaky Blinders #Tom Hardy

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thathopelessromantic · 3 years

Text

your hand in mine

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Rating: Teen+ (for blood/injuries and minor language) Pairing: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yagi Toshinori | All Might (EraserMight) Note: Part of the EMMB 2021

The difference a year makes

A developing relationship told in seasons

AO3: (X) Companion Playlist: (X)

Summer

My love, he caught me crying Freedom can die so hard When you have a broken heart -God in Jeans, Ryan Beatty

Shouta is determined to ignore the sounds coming through the adjoining wall to his apartment. But it’s hard. There was an adjustment period to living in the apartments on campus, to stay close to the students in case of another attack. In his old apartment, the hours he kept were so erratic he rarely, if ever, ran into his neighbors. Now he knows all of them, some to a degree he never needed to know a coworker. And aside from the occasional hero work, they kept essentially the same hours. So even through the walls of the apartment, there’s usually the buzz of life around him – friends and co-workers settling down after a long day, cooking, cleaning. There was an adjustment period to being so aware of the people around him, but he thought he had well…adjusted.

He’s reconsidering that position now.

He’d like to blame it on the neighbor in question. Yagi, All Might, made so much noise as All Might, announcing his every arrival and departure with a booming voice or the crushing of some man-made structure not meant to withstand the superpowered strength of a 225 kg giant using it as a landing pad or springboard. But Yagi Toshinori as himself, at least while alone, seemed to make up for all the noise he made as his alter ego by being eerily quiet. Shouta had gotten so accustomed to hearing silence from the apartment to his right he thought it was empty. Originally, he thought it just made sense for All Might to take it for show like all the other teachers, but actually spend his time at his real home, some lavish penthouse in the Might Tower or something equally as ridiculous and extravagant. Though now that he was retired, and essentially quirkless, that trip from Tokyo to Musutafu was probably a little harder to manage every morning. Still, it seemed silly for the previous number one hero to be slumming it in glorified student dorms with the rest of them.

But Shouta was wrong about that fact too, just as he had been with many of his assumptions about the old hero. He had spent the last few months reassessing most of his assumptions about All Might, but he tended to fall back into old habits without evidence to the contrary. When a violent crash came from the otherwise silent apartment a few weeks prior, he rushed in, assuming an intruder. Instead he found Yagi in the middle of a starkly decorated living room amongst the splintered pieces of a coffee table he had fallen through. Yagi had insisted it was an accident, and an unusual one at that, and begged him to leave the subject. Shouta agreed with little argument, helping him clean up the mess, and going back to his apartment without much fuss. But he before he even realized it, Shouta found himself listening for signs of life in the adjacent apartment after that.

Occasionally he could pick up the sound of running water or the quiet beep of an oven timer or microwave. Very rarely, a quiet radio or TV station would drift through the walls. Most of the sounds would easily get lost in the bustle of every day life between a dozen or so heroes coming and going, or could have been mistaken for someone else’s noise, so it wasn’t a surprise that Shouta had missed the fact that it came from All Might’s apartment. But once he knew to listen for it, he couldn’t seem to stop listening for it.

It wasn’t…worry, exactly, that had him keeping tabs on Yagi, but he couldn’t find another word for it. He just couldn’t stop wondering how long Yagi had lived there before he realized. Couldn’t stop thinking about how dark, how cold, how empty the apartment was when he burst in before. Shouta wouldn’t have thought he ever considered what All Might’s house might have looked like until he saw how the retired hero was living and it struck him distinctly as wrong.

The coughing he hears tonight cuts over the quiet music Yagi has playing and he wonders if he normally plays it to cover the sound of his coughs before he banishes the thought from his mind. He has a week’s worth of lessons to plan still and papers to grade and what Yagi chooses to do in his own apartment is none of his business. And he is an adult who is perfectly capable of taking care of himself and doesn’t need Shouta of all people fretting over him. But all of Shouta’s logical reasons for why he should ignore the sounds coming through their shared wall can’t seem to stop him from hesitating at every harsh sound, from looking to the door and considering going over every time a coughing fit lasts more than a minute or so.

Eventually, Yagi seems to settle for the night and the coughing fits interrupt the slow music less and less. Finally able to focus on his work instead of his neighbor, Shouta lets the quiet sounds from his apartment fade into the chorus of background noise. So when, almost an hour later, there’s a new coughing fit followed by a large crack of something on the other side of the wall, Shouta is on his feet and moving to the door before he realizes what he’s doing.

He freezes in the hallway, staring at the closed door of Yagi’s apartment. No one else came to investigate the sounds, which seems strange to Shouta. It seems…impossible that no one else heard that and he knows for a fact their other neighbors on this floor are not particularly good at minding their business. But no one else comes to see what’s happening, so Shouta stands in the hall staring at the door feeling torn between an obligation to check on Yagi and a nervous, clawing sensation that makes him want to turn and never step foot back inside All Might’s apartment.

The coughing and some other muffled sounds continue through the door and eventually Shouta’s sense of obligation to help wins out because he knocks on the door, calling for All Might. No one answers.

Shouta knocks again, harder, but still after a few minutes he gets no response. Finally, he tries the handle.

The door swings open easily, unlocked.

Shouta has a lecture building in his head on the basic safety of locking your doors as he steps through the doorway. Like the last time, All Might’s apartment is dark. There’s a single pair of shoes in the entrance way that leads to the empty kitchen. The table pushed to the side of the room is identical to the one in Shouta’s apartment, but whereas his is covered in bills and homework in need of grading, All Might’s is empty. Only a single chair sits at the table meant to seat four.

Shouta steps through the kitchen into the living room, calling for All Might. He can hear someone coughing, and swearing as he gets close enough to make out the muffled talking, but still no one replies. The table Yagi had fallen through weeks before still hasn’t been replaced, so the only thing in the living room now is a large couch that looks virtually unused and Yagi’s briefcase on the floor besides it. Moonlight pours into the room from the glass balcony doors painting the room a cold blue despite the summer heat. Shouta can almost imagine the room, cold and dusty, the single piece of furniture covered in a sheet, it’s previous occupant gone, without enough of a fingerprint to even be forgotten within the space.

Shouta shakes the thought from his head and moves further into the apartment. Finally, down the hall to the two bedrooms, he sees light seeping into the hallway from the open bathroom door.

“All Might? It’s Aizawa. I heard a crash. I was just coming to-” Shouta feels the words catch in his throat as he takes in the sight before him. The laminate countertop and sink basin are broken in half, and water soaks the floor of the bathroom from a burst pipe under the sink. There is no mirror on the wall above the sink, which strikes Shouta as odd in the moment, though it is perhaps the least weird thing happening in the bathroom in that moment. All Might…Yagi stands in the middle of the room, the bottom of his pants are soaked with water. His hands, clutched in fists at his sides, are bloody, though if its from breaking the skin against the sink or from wiping at the blood dripping from his mouth, Shouta isn’t sure. The blood there is smeared across the bottom half of his face, the deep red staining his clenched teeth and seeping through the cracks in thin, dry lips that hold back his coughs. There’s a furious, wild look in his eye as the curses Yagi was spewing die on his lips and Shouta isn’t sure if he looks more ready to yell or cry.

But through all of that, it’s the bright red, gnarled scar on the side of Yagi’s chest that seems to be eating him from the inside that makes Shouta take a step back in shock. Yagi’s baggy clothes hid most of his form like this, even with his more updated wardrobe fitting him better. But the crater in his chest mangles his form. Even if he was standing up straight, if he even can fully stand straight with that much scar tissue stretched across his torso, it was obvious the scar had made his chest uneven, like it was slowly collapsing into itself, ribs and organs giving way to nothingness.

How many years had he lived like this? How many years had he worked like this?

“Aizawa,” Yagi grinds out hoarsely, the single word sounding like gravel in his abused throat.

It pulls Shouta out of his shock regardless, and he takes a few steps closer, as if they could both forget his broken composure. “I’m sorry for coming in unannounced. I heard the…crash. But there was no answer and your door was unlocked.”

Yagi stares at him for a long time and Shouta isn’t sure if it is because he doesn’t know what else to say, or just that he can’t bring himself to say anything else.

“Can I…help with anything?” Shouta finally asks.

Yagi pops his jaw a few times before he tries to speak again. “If you could…call someone…about the water…”

“Of course,” Shouta starts to pull out his cell, hoping he remembered to keep the stupid thing charged for once, when Yagi starts to speak again.

“Could you also…grab some towels…and a…a change of clothes?”

Shouta looks up but Yagi isn’t looking at him anymore. Just staring hard at the wall in front of him as if it had personally caused all of this. Shouta looks down again at the slowly-flooding room and wonders if Yagi even owns enough towels to make a difference.

“In the closet in the bedroom?” Shouta guesses.

Yagi nods once, stiffly.

Shouta takes the opportunity to flee for a moment gratefully. He calls Nezu and the maintenance number they had all been given when they moved in as he goes to the bedroom to rummage through the closet. He doesn’t turn the light on in the bedroom, he’s not sure why he doesn’t want to, maybe just to afford Yagi even a sliver more of privacy after tonight. But it doesn’t make a difference. The moon is full tonight and enough light comes through the open window to show that nothing is in the room except for an unnaturally large bed, the dark plain sheets slipping to the ground, and a bedside table covered in enough pill bottles to fill a small pharmacy.

There are only two more full-sized towels in the closet and a single hand towel, so Shouta just grabs all three. He’s not sure the clothes matter that much, so he just grabs the first pair of pants he sees that don’t look like slacks and a t-shirt.

He returns to the bathroom. The water is still steadily pouring in and there is no way the three thin towels will make much of a difference, if any. Still, Yagi takes them from him, dropping the two full-sized towels onto the ground. He uses the hand towel to wipe off his arms and chest first, though dry it doesn’t do much to help the blood that seems to be everywhere.

Uncaring of Shouta standing there, Yagi undoes the belt that keeps his jeans on his body and they drop to join the already-soaked towels and the stained lump between his legs Shouta thinks might have been his shirt. Yagi steps out of them, gingerly walking through the water until he joins Shouta in the hallway. He drops the hand towel to the ground, mopping up what water had already begun to leak out of the room. Shouta doesn’t mean to stare, but like every other part of him, Yagi’s legs are unbearably thin, nothing but skin and bone and scar tissue, the pale pink and white lines crisscrossing over his calves and thighs like a roadmap.

Yagi holds out a hand for the clothes. Shouta realizes his mistake in not looking carefully a moment later as he pulls on the jeans and dark t-shirt obviously meant for All Might’s pre-retirement body. Shouta feels an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Yagi barely blinks at the ill-fitting clothes. He wraps a fist around the waist band of the pants to keep them up and shuffles past Shouta into the dark living room.

Shouta follows hesitantly behind him. “Nezu said he would be here soon,” Shouta says as Yagi falls miserably onto the couch. He drops his head to rest on the back of the couch and sighs, exhausted. Despite his open, splayed position, Yagi’s body is still tense, coiled tight like he’s ready for a fight at any moment.

“Can I do anything else?” Shouta asks.

Yagi licks his lips. “A glass of water would be appreciated.”

Shouta nods, heading into the kitchen. He turns the light on above the stove for something to see by, but he worries the overhead light would be too harsh in this odd darkness. He finds a glass easily enough, Yagi only has things in two cupboards. He opens the fridge, but it’s empty. Not empty like Shouta’s is “empty,” as in home to just a water pitcher, some old condiments, and his latest package of jelly pouches, but completely and entirely empty. Shouta closes and opens the door again as if it would change the contents of the fridge. He opens the freezer above, just to check, but expecting more of the same. There Yagi has an ice pack and ice tray with two ice cubes left.

Shouta fills the glass at the sink and returns to the living room. Yagi’s position hasn’t changed at all, though he turns his head to watch Shouta reenter the room. He sits up to accept the glass once Shouta is closer, and at that distance Shouta can see there are cuts across his knuckles. They don’t seem to be actively bleeding any more, but they’re not a pretty sight regardless.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

Yagi takes a drink before he answers Shouta. “Under the sink in the kitchen.”

Shouta turns back around to retrieve it. He also finds a dry dish cloth in a drawer that he dampens at the sink. He’s wringing the towel out when there’s a quiet knock at the door before it swings open. Nezu stands on the other side with a plumber.

Shouta bows his head in hello. “Principal.”

“Aizawa-sensei!” Nezu replies brightly. “Thank you for being such a dutiful neighbor and checking on All Might.”

Shouta follows Nezu and the plumber back into the living room. The small principal shows the plumber to the bathroom, waving off Shouta’s offer to show them the way, before he returns and stops at the couch. His head just barely rises above Yagi’s knee as he looks at him in concern.

“How are you, Toshinori?”

Shouta freezes at the familiarity in his tone. Yagi’s expression changes ever so slightly as he looks down at Nezu.

“I’ve survived much worse than this, old friend.”

Nezu laughs off the comment, good naturedly, but the laugh sounds hollow even to Shouta. “Yes, well I suppose that’s true.” Nezu reaches over and pats Yagi’s knee. “I’ll let Aizawa-sensei here clean you up a little while I look at the damage, hm?”

He scurries off back down the hall before either hero can argue. That had been Shouta’s plan, even before Nezu announced it, but now he hesitates, frozen and staring at the old hero before him. The towel he brought drips slowly but steadily down his hand and onto the floor. He’s not sure Yagi wants his help, and normally he would prioritize the man’s injuries over his personal hang-ups in the moment, but he already feels as if he’s intruded too much into the man’s space, into his privacy.

So Yagi breaks the silence, holding out a bloodied hand towards him. “I can clean up the blood,” he offers.

“I’m not worried about a little blood,” Shouta snaps, unthinkingly. Irritated back into movement, he sets the first aid kit on the ground besides the couch and grabs Yagi’s outstretched hand. Mindful of the open wounds, he wipes at the blood furthest away first, where it dripped past his hand and down his wrist before drying in dark, cracking trails.

Yagi’s eyes glint for a moment and Shouta thinks he almost looks amused.

Shouta has to rinse out the towel twice before he’s finished with both of Yagi’s hands. The wounds on his left knuckles started bleeding again as he washed his hands, but thankfully it was a slow, sluggish bleed that didn’t go far. Satisfied with his work there, Shouta starts to drop the towel but Yagi’s hand darts out catching it before it can hit the floor. Shouta stops, surprised by the quick movement, as Yagi looks for the cleanest spot on the towel before wiping at his own face.

Shouta watches for a moment before he remembers himself and busies himself with going through the first aid kit. In comparison to the rest of Yagi’s apartment, it’s surprisingly well stocked. Yagi drops the bloodied towel uncaringly onto the couch cushion besides him as Shouta pulls out some antibiotic ointment, a gauze wrap, and some clasps.

When he looks up, Yagi is watching him curiously, like he’s still trying to figure out Shouta’s bizarre behavior. And there’s still blood around his mouth. Shouta sets the supplies aside, picking the towel back up. He steps between Yagi’s long legs, carefully holding his chin in place.

“You could just tell me I missed a spot,” Yagi reminds him quietly as Shouta wipes gently around his mouth.

“This is just more efficient,” Shouta says harshly. He tries to look only at the bottom half of Yagi’s face where there’s still blood, but he can feel his bright eyes boring into him.

Finally, Yagi says, “You haven’t asked.”

Shouta’s hand clenches around his chin, a reflex, a flinch, before he forces himself to relax. He looks up finally meeting Yagi’s eyes. The bright blue sears him in the dark. “It’s none of my business.”

“You can ask, Aizawa.” Yagi replies and it’s the use of his name that gets him. They’re All Might and Eraserhead to each other. Co-workers. That’s all they were supposed to be, ever. But Shouta’s aware Yagi’s slowly become Yagi more than he is All Might to him, and even if he leaves now, doesn’t ask any more, insists on knowing nothing else, he now knows something big about All Might that he imagines very few know. He can’t unlearn this secret, so he might as well have the whole story.

“What happened…to your side?”

“My first fight with All For One was six years ago,” Yagi starts and it takes all of Shouta’s self control not to react. Six years. “I crushed his head and damaged his body, originally I believe to an extent that he could not recover, though, obviously, I was wrong.” Yagi makes an odd, self-deprecating smile. “In return, after the fight I lost my stomach and part of my left lung, among some other irreparable damage to my respiratory system. I could still fight, but I was weakened considerably…it limited the amount of time I could use my quirk. And eventually left me like this.”

“…Why?” Shouta isn’t entirely sure what he’s asking until Yagi tilts his head and looks at him as if the answer is the most obvious one in the world.

“I’m…I was a hero. It was my job. I couldn’t retire yet.”

Shouta feels some kind of emotion welling up in his chest, choking him, as he looks at the weathered hands he’s bandaging and thinks of all they’ve done. All they did while withstanding this immense pain and loss. But he doesn’t know how to articulate that. Doesn’t know how to say thank you in a way that matters, in a way that he’ll even believe. So instead he says, “You’re an idiot.”

Yagi’s head drops back against the couch and he laughs. Not the same, booming laugh of All Might, but something somehow familiar and comforting all the same.

“Thank you, Aizawa,” Yagi says.

Shouta isn’t sure exactly what Yagi is thanking him for, but he can’t quite bring himself to ask.

Fall

Please don’t be afraid I will always be here I will cry your tears Share your sweet, sad fears Please don’t look away Take my hand in your hand Come and rest my dear I will always be here -Always Be Here, Ha Jin

Eri clutches tightly to Shouta, one small hand twisted in the capture weapon around his neck while the other holds the front of his jumpsuit. Her head is tucked against his shoulder, hiding her face from the world, but even through the layers of his clothes he can feel how she’s burning up. Her quirk had started acting up the night before, after a nightmare she hasn’t wanted to talk about. Shouta was able to stop it quickly enough, thankfully, but she’s been sick since he woke her from the nightmare and he’s running out of ideas for what to do.

She’s so impossibly light in his arms, and clutches so desperately to him, he can’t help but wonder how many times she had actually been held and cared for like a young child should be before she came to live with him. If she had been comforted at all the last time she was sick like this. And the thought makes him hold her a little tighter, a little closer to him.

He felt a little bad to disturb her when he picked her up and carried her from bed, but he needed help. And he couldn’t leave her alone. The hallway is quiet, most of his coworkers taking advantage of the last few hours of their weekend to relax, so he realizes it might be a long shot for someone to be home to help, but he knocks on Yagi’s door anyways.

It only takes a moment before Yagi answers. His bright greeting trails off when he sees Eri, Shouta’s own haggard appearance probably not helping matters.

“Hello, Aizawa, little Eri-chan,” Yagi says quietly.

Eri twists in his arms and for a moment, Shouta is worried this was a terrible idea. When they first met, Yagi’s size and appearance had made Eri a little nervous. She’s gotten better with him, and with people all around, but even when she hasn’t been battling a fever and a nightmare, she has bad days when everything is too strange or just too much for her to handle. But instead of getting more upset, Eri turns just enough to peek up at Yagi from behind a thick curtain of hair. She waves meekly to him once.

“She’s been sick since last night, and nothing I’ve done has gotten her fever down,” Shouta says instead of a greeting. “Could you look after her for a little while I get Recov-”

Before Shouta can finish his question, Eri’s arms tighten around him and she shakes her head, kicking weakly against him.

Yagi smiles softly, stepping back to open the door wider. “Why don’t you both come in, and I’ll see if I can’t get ahold of Recovery Girl another way.”

Yagi leads them through the kitchen to the living room. There’s an old standing record player pushed against the wall playing something soft and low. The rest of Yagi’s décor has been updated, as well. There’s a new table in the middle of the room with a cup of tea and some papers, as well as a thick book full of brightly colored tabs. The couch, where he gestures for Shouta to sit with Eri, now has a shocking number of pillows piled on it and a few brightly colored blankets thrown over the back. Yagi makes sure they’re both comfortable, or as comfortable as they can be, before he goes to call Recovery Girl. Shouta can just barely make out the low timbre of his voice in the other room as he talks.

“Yagi is going to get a doctor to come check on you, but she’s a friend, nothing to be afraid of.” Shouta tells Eri quietly, brushing back her hair. It’s damp with sweat and sticks to her in messy clumps. “Do you remember Recovery Girl?”

After a moment, Eri nods against him.

Yagi returns before Shouta can ask something else, his phone pressed against his chest as he crouches down besides the couch. He looks between them.

“Recovery Girl wanted to know if there was anything else besides her fever?”

“Her quirk started up after a nightmare, that’s when it started. And she hasn’t been able to keep anything down.”

As Shouta finishes talking, Eri signs to him. Pressed against Shouta as she is, it takes him a moment to realize what she’s trying to do.

Almost immediately after they were (pretty) sure they weren’t going to lose their jobs at U.A., Hizashi pitched a fit that sign language was still not a required part of the curriculum for hero students, protesting and appealing to school boards and other pro heroes until things changed and people saw the sense in heroes being able to communicate, not only silently with themselves if there was a need, but with any deaf, hard of hearing, or nonverbal civilians a hero might interact with during a job, and hero programs across the country slowly began adding it to the curriculum.

Shortly after Eri came to live with him fulltime, they began to teach her sign language as well, not only so that she might be able to communicate with Hizashi no matter what, but also because they quickly realized sometimes she had bad days and talking, holding full conversations was just too much for her to handle. Even just simple signs like “yes,” “no,” “food,” and “drink,” made navigating those bad days a thousand times easier.

Shouta tilts his head as she signs again, hoping to see enough of the movement to interpret for Yagi when he picks the phone back up and says, “She says her chest hurts. Aizawa said it started after a nightmare that triggered her quirk and that she hasn’t been able to keep anything down.”

Shouta blinks a few times in surprise, but Yagi doesn’t acknowledge him. He nods a few times while Recovery Girl talks on the other end. Eventually, he thanks her and ends the call.

“Recovery Girl said to try and make her as comfortable as possible, and to try and get some food into her, but I don’t have any medicine safe enough for someone so young, so she’ll bring some by soon.”

“Thank you.”

Yagi smiles softly at Shouta’s quiet thanks. He rises to his feet, muttering mostly to himself, a habit Shouta is sure he’s picked up from Midoriya, about what he has on hand to help Eri feel better. He leans down to brush a comforting hand over Eri’s head. His hand is giant against her tiny body, but she leans into the touch rather than shying away. Yagi hesitates, and for a moment, Shouta thinks he’s going to get a similar, gentle touch before Yagi steps away, promising to return in a moment.

Shouta repositions himself on the couch so they can recline, but Eri still refuses to let go of him, and eventually he has to accept letting Yagi take care of them. Yagi helps replace a cooling patch on Eri’s forehead, wiping down her face and neck with a soft washcloth as best he can. He asks Eri a few times if she wants something to eat, or if anything sounds good to her, but her sleepy, subdued signing in reply doesn’t give him much of an answer. Yagi, thankfully, takes it all in stride, running another gentle hand over her back.

“That’s alright. I happen to be an expert now at making yummy things, even when food doesn’t sound good. Do you trust me?”

And for the first time in almost two days, Shouta hears Eri’s quiet voice again in a soft “yes.”

Yagi shares a triumphant smile with Shouta before he offers a pinky to Eri. “I’ll cook you something that makes you feel better in no time, okay?”

Eri reaches out to complete the pinky-promise, her tiny finger barely able to bend around his.

Shouta doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up again. He’s disoriented for a moment, trying to remember where he is and why he isn’t in his own home. He’s used to dozing off in random places, stealing a few minutes of sleep where he can, but falling deeply, completely asleep in somewhere other than home feels...wrong. The quiet record still playing in the corner is what brings him back. Yagi’s apartment. Eri isn’t lying against his chest any more, but when he sits up, looking for her, he sees Yagi on the opposite end of the couch, the small girl cradled against his chest, fast asleep. His eyes are closed, but he rubs slow circles over her back, humming quietly along with the music, so Shouta knows he’s awake.

“How is she?”

To his credit, Yagi doesn’t startle at Shouta’s sudden question. “A little cooler.” He nods to a bowl on the table. “She managed to keep down about half a serving of porridge and some water. Chiyo…Recovery Girl just left a little while ago.”

“You could have woken me.”

“You looked like you could use some rest. I’m sure you’ve been up with her the whole time.”

Shouta doesn’t bother to acknowledge that, he’s right, of course. “I didn’t know you knew sign.”

Yagi looks away, considering. “When I was still…new, I was trying to help a young woman who was trapped, but she was deaf and couldn’t understand me, barely recognized me. I think I scared her more than I helped her at first,” he admits with a laugh. “I realized there was something I had overlooked in my drive to help people, people I had overlooked, and I wanted to rectify that.” He finally turns to look at Shouta. “I’m not fluent, I let my skills…atrophy a little these last few years, and even before I didn’t dedicate as much time as I could have. But parts of the body, pain or injuries, those were important for me to learn…and easier to remember.”

“…if you ever wanted to brush up on your skills, I could help you.”

Yagi laughs quietly. “Always the sensei, Aizawa.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I appreciate the offer. I would love to work on it more with you.”

Shouta doesn’t know why the word choice makes him feel suddenly flustered, but he has to look away, willing his quirk not to activate at his strange embarrassment.

“You’re good with her,” he says, changing the subject instead of acknowledging it.

Yagi doesn’t reply for a while and when Shouta looks to him again, he could swear it looks like the other man is blushing. Yagi’s expression is incredibly fond as he looks down at the sleeping girl, thankfully undisturbed by their conversation.

“I was worried I frightened her.”

“You did, at first.” Shouta confirms. There’s no point in beating around the bush. “She just needed time to get to know you better. To know she could trust you.”

Shouta isn’t oblivious to how easily his statement could be applied to himself and his relationship with Yagi. If Yagi’s expression is anything to go by, he’s also aware of the similarities between them, but he has the decency not to call him out on it.

Winter

I was a wolf, dear, apart from the pack But you answered my call in the dead of the night And told me you had my back, oh I can’t do this alone anymore Cause I’m not good on my own anymore -I Was An Island, Allison Weiss

“You know more about Midoriya’s quirk than you’re letting on.”

It’s an accusation. For that matter, it’s an accusation based on little more than a hunch. But the way Yagi freezes up, immediately, tensed like he’s deciding between fight or flight right there just about confirms all of Shouta’s suspicions. Or, at least, most of them.

“Ai-Aizawa, I didn’t see you there…” Yagi mumbles, slowly turning to face him.

Shouta crosses his arms and waits.

“Was there a…question?” Yagi asks eventually, when he can’t seem to take squirming under Shouta’s intense glare any longer.

“What is going on with Midoriya’s quirk?”

Yagi glances at something behind Shouta’s head, as if looking for an escape, but Shouta could definitely catch him if he tried to make a break for it past him, and he knows no one followed them into the lounge. Yagi wrings his hands nervously in front of him. Shouta knows he wants to go check on Midoriya, but he’s hoping that sense of urgency will speed up this conversation. It’s been a long time coming now, and Shouta is getting some answers.

“I can assure you, Aizawa, I didn’t know young Midoriya’s quirk could…or would produce something like that.”

Shouta leans against a desk. “I’m not buying it. You know something.”

Finally, Yagi seems to grow tired of being on the opposite side of the interrogation because there’s a fire in his eyes that hasn’t been there in a while, that Shouta realizes he…missed seeing there, as Yagi advances on him across the room.

“Where was this concern for him when his quirk was going out of control during the lesson today?”

Shouta brushes off the accusation. The second time Midoriya’s quirk had acted up, it was Yagi, after all, who insisted they let the students keep going. “We both know his explanation about power just overwhelming him is bullshit. We’ve seen what happens to Midoriya’s body when his quirk is overpowered and it’s not whatever that was.”

Yagi’s hands clench in fists at his sides and he looks away from Shouta, clenching his jaw. He reminds Shouta a little of the Yagi from a few months ago, the wild-eyed frustration welling up inside him to a breaking point. He’s just missing the blood and flooding bathroom.

Some part of Shouta feels a little guilty, intentionally pushing Yagi near to a breaking point, but this has been going on for far too long. Shouta had been prepared to send Midoriya home from day one, and from day one Midoriya, and Yagi, had been trying to convince him not to.

“Could it be you see the potential in Midoriya, as well?” All Might had asked Shouta after the first class training exercise, when Midoriya proved he could use his quirk without completely incapacitating himself for the rest of the fight. Shouta had wanted to brush the comment off, but the ‘as well’ echoed around in his head for days. How did All Might know anything about this one, random, incoming first-year? And why was he so invested in him? Why did he care about Shouta seeing his potential?

After that, it was impossible to miss the odd behavior between the two. They were constantly together, darting around corners and whispering in the backs of rooms, having lunch together when Midoriya should have been spending more time socializing with his classmates.

Even the other teachers began to notice something. He still remembers the first time someone had joked during a night out about the two being related. Yagi had almost choked on his drink, while Hizashi laughed, drunkenly, gleefully telling them about the conversation he had overheard from students that Todoroki apparently once accused Midoriya of being All Might’s secret lovechild.

If it was one or the other – some odd behavior or similar quirks – Shouta thinks he would be able to brush it off, put it out of his mind, but too many things keep adding up to there being a connection between the two of them. He just can’t, for the life of him, figure out what that connection is.

“I can’t help if I don’t know the whole story,” Shouta finally changes tactics, hoping he can appeal to some part of Yagi. “You’re both keeping secrets, badly, but Midoriya has been struggling with his quirk since he started at U.A. If there’s something about his quirk…” Shouta sighs, frustrated. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Silence stretches on between them. Shouta is starting to brainstorm a new approach when Yagi seems to deflate in front of him, body sagging against the desks beside them. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends of his bangs in a nervous tick.

Finally, finally, he says, “What happened at the training exercise today was a surprise to me too. I didn’t know it could happen…I…I have a theory, now, but until it happened today, I never even would have thought it was possible.”

Shouta lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relieved. “I can work with a theory.”

“I think it was someone else’s quirk.”

What?

If Midoriya had a quirk like Monoma and could somehow “borrow” other’s abilities, it could maybe explain similarities between his quirk and All Might’s power before he retired, but no one in either of the hero course classes had a quirk anything like what Midoriya had displayed today. There was no way he could have borrowed that from anyone recently. And before now, Shouta would have been out of other explanations past that. Now, he thinks about the Nomus they’ve interacted with, the…monsters made up of different quirks, and of Shirakumo and Kurogiri. And he feels a little sick to his stomach at the possible implications.

“What? How would Midoriya have someone else’s quirk? Whose quirk would he have?”

Yagi makes a complicated expression. “Someone from a long time ago.” He says.

Shouta isn’t sure if he wants to pull out his own hair or shake the older man for such an unbelievably unhelp answer.

“Yagi,” Shouta hasn’t figured out what he even wants to say yet, but just his name is enough to finally make Yagi look at him.

“Young Midoirya’s quirk is registered as ‘Super-Power’ in public records, but the true name of his quirk is ‘One for All.’ It’s a quirk that can be cultivated and passed on to someone else. And it was my quirk until I gave it to him when he was fourteen.”

Shouta is half convinced he’s in a dream. “You…gave him your quirk?”

Yagi nods. “Just as my master gave it to me before I started at U.A.”

“So before…”

“Midoriya was quirkless.”

Well that at least explained a few of his, and Bakugo’s, weird behaviors at the beginning of the year. Not everything, by any means, but enough.

Shouta realizes this is another secret he can’t unlearn, only this is one he walked into knowingly. He knew he was pushing for something serious, something to be guarded the same way Yagi hid his injury. It was the only thing that made sense, the pieces fall into place perfectly, filling all the holes in his and Midoriya’s pasts.

Shouta hates to ask the next question, he’s not sure it’s entirely relevant, but he needs all the information he can get to start making sense of things. Yagi seems to know what he wants to ask next, however, because he offers more information before Shouta can figure out how to word what he wants to say next.

“I was also quirkless before being given One for All,” Yagi admits. “I think it’s partially what enamored me to Midoriya. I saw something of myself in the young boy.”

And that’s perhaps the least surprising thing Shouta’s heard today. You’d have to be oblivious to miss the similarities between the two, even with their quirk taken out of the equation.

“So you knew what would happen to him until he gained control?”

Yagi grimaces at the question, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Not exactly. The quirk naturally has an effect on the body, because you aren’t born with adaptations to it, but it is also just a lot to handle. If you aren’t properly trained and prepared for it, it could, theoretically…blow the user’s body apart from the inside. But after my training, I had no problem accessing one hundred percent of the power. Meanwhile…well, you’ve seen what happens to young Midoriya when he uses one hundred percent, even now.”

Shouta closes his eyes for a moment and takes a few deep, calming breaths. There is still so much more information he needs about Yagi and Midoriya and their quirk, now is not the time for him to blow up over that particular detail. Later, definitely, but not now.

When he opens his eyes again, Yagi is glancing nervously between him and the clock on the wall. “Aizawa,” he says, and it half sounds like a plea. “I know you must have more questions, but-”

“You want to go check on Midoriya.” Obviously. “I’m coming with you.”

Yagi gives a wryly smile. “I thought as much.”

He leads Shouta to a private office down the hall. The door opens to reveal Midoriya and Bakugo waiting for them. Bakugo’s presence is a surprise, but if he shares the same feeling he doesn’t show it. Midoriya, on the other hand, jumps to his feet when he sees the two teachers, looking between them nervously until Yagi holds up a pacifying hand.

“It’s alright, young Midoriya. Aizawa knows now.”

Midoriya continues to react to things in ways that confuse Shouta, rather than relaxing or appearing relieved, he makes a complicated expression, wringing his hands together nervously as he retakes his seat.

Bakugo scoffs, slouching even further in his seat.

“I’m surprised it took you two dumbasses this long to ask for his help. Obviously you were hopeless on your own.”

“Yes, well…” Yagi trails off with an awkward cough, a bright blush high on his cheeks as he fusses with something on the other side of the room.

Shouta sees the two boys exchange a look on the couch, and it’s obvious if they didn’t already know, they definitely now know that Yagi was not the one doing any asking.

It feels like hours have passed by the time they dismiss the boys back to the dorms. Shouta’s head is still spinning with all the new information he learned, and all the theories about the quirk and how it’s developing. He’s a little in awe of, and a little frightened for, Midoriya if he is already unlocking more of One for All than All Might ever did. He can’t even imagine how strong of a hero he might become, but it’s obvious, now, what a toll that kind of power, that kind of secret, took on Yagi and he’s concerned about how it might, or might already be, affecting Midoriya.

It’s quiet between them for a long time after the students have left while they both dwell on everything that had been discussed tonight.

Finally, Shouta breaks the silence. “I know you had no reason to trust me with a huge secret about yourself, but you could have come up with some kind of…lie about Midoriya, so I could have helped you both earlier.”

Yagi laughs humorlessly besides him. “I still don’t think I could have come up with a convincing enough lie, or one that you wouldn’t have seen through immediately.” He looks down at his hands. “Even then, I don’t know if I could have brought myself to come to you for help.’

Shouta’s first instinct is to ask why, but he’s not an idiot. He’s well aware he didn’t make the start of the year easy for Midoriya or Yagi.

“I know that’s shameful,” Yagi continues, quieter. “To have too much pride to ask you for help with a student-”

“Yagi,” Shouta interrupts, seriously. “There’s a lot you handled…badly, or just plain wrong, with Midoriya. But I was an asshole to you when we started working together. I made snap judgements about you. And, frankly, teaching is hard. I was clueless when I first started. I should have tried to help you more.” Shouta sighs, taking a deep breath. This apology has been a long time coming, but still it’s hard to get it all out at once. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you in the beginning, and…I’m sorry for making this harder for the both you without realizing it.”

Yagi stares at him, astonished. Obviously when this revelation first happened in the teacher’s lounge, the last thing he ever anticipated happening was Shouta apologizing. But it needed to happen the same as this secret needed to come out. They were supposed to be partners when it came to teaching this class, and it would just keep getting harder to do that with so much unsaid between them.

“I…Thank, thank you.”

Shouta has to look away, he can’t bring himself to see whatever expression accompanies such raw emotion. And he forces down the guilt that wonders why such a simple apology brings about such a reaction. It won’t do him any good to dwell on the past, he just has to do better in the future. They both do.

“What’s important now is that going forward we’ll figure these things out, together.”

Yagi nods, sounding more than a little mystified as he agrees, “Together.”

Spring

Oh, be here when I sleep When I dream, when the devils meet Oh, be here when I wake up When I wake up, when I wake up Whatever makes you stay Whatever makes yu smile Whatever makes you come and be with me a while -Whatever Makes You Mine, John Van Deusen

Shouta has every intention of going straight for his own dorm and passing out after his patrol. It’s late enough that Eri should be asleep and he doesn’t need to wake her just to carry her a few feet down the hall to her own room in his apartment. But as he’s swinging by the building, he can’t help but notice the light is still on in Toshinori’s room. Surprised that Toshinori would still be awake at this hour, Shouta drops down onto his balcony, peering in through the glass door. The small living room is dark and he can only make out the faintest shapes with the campus lights behind him. Shouta debates with himself for a moment before he lets himself in through the sliding door.

Eri’s coloring books and crayons are spread out across the small coffee table besides what Shouta is pretty sure are Toshinori’s unfinished grades. Part of him wishes Toshinori would encourage Eri to clean up after herself a little more, but he knows that’s a losing battle with Toshinori. They both like to see the young girl more comfortable in her living spaces, and Toshinori is too soft on her to impart any real discipline. And when Shouta thinks of the first time he saw Toshinori’s apartment, the cold, empty space that barely seemed worthy of being called a home, he understands why Toshinori waves him off of trying to clean up. “I like the mess,” Toshinori admitted once with a laugh. “It makes it feel lived in.”

Shouta leaves the mess in the living room as it is and goes to the spare room first. Eri is fast asleep in the extra bed. Even just a twin mattress seems giant with the small girl curled up near the top of it, surrounded on all sides by pillows and stuffed animals. He recognizes a few she must have brought with her from his apartment, but the rest are ones just for Toshinori’s. The night light Toshinori got for the nights she stays over casts small stars across the room. A few of them shine against her pale hair.

Closing the door quietly behind him, Shouta continues down the hall towards Toshinori’s room. The door is cracked, an open invitation for Eri to come in if she needs something, and it leaves a sliver of light across the hallway floor. Shouta knocks on the open door, but Toshinori never replies. Confused, Shouta pushes the door open the rest of the way.

He finds Toshinori sleeping more soundly than he’s ever known the ex-hero to be in the time they’ve known each other. He's sprawled on top of the duvet, head below the pillows and one foot hanging off the bed. In a loose t-shirt and faded blue jeans, it doesn’t look remotely comfortable, and yet he looks so peaceful, Shouta is hesitant to wake him. For once his sleep doesn’t seem to be interrupted by wracking coughs or twisted nightmares.

Shouta rummages, as politely as possible, through the closet for a blanket. He drapes it carefully over Toshinori, making sure it falls over the foot hanging off the bed, and around his bare arms. Shouta swears it seems like his hands are moving on their own as he brushes Toshinori’s wild bangs away from his face.

The man beneath him stirs, and Shouta freezes, hand still curled to tuck Toshinori’s bangs behind his ear. Bright blue eyes blink open, but there’s something unfamiliar and hazy as they flit over Shouta’s face. A slow smile spills across Toshinori’s lips and it’s the softest smile Shouta’s ever seen on him.

“Shouta!” Toshinori says in a sleepy whisper that makes something in Shouta’s chest squeeze. Toshinori must still be asleep. That didn’t explain everything perhaps, like the use of his given name or that dreamy smile, but God it certainly left fewer questions for all of that than if he was awake. “What are you doing here?”

“Just giving you another blanket. Go back to sleep.” Shouta snaps quickly, pulling his hands back.

Toshinori catches his wrist before he can move too far. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he says with another one of those gut-twisting smiles. “You should rest too.”

Toshinori shifts on the mattress, not that there wasn’t already plenty of room - the bed was unreasonably large even if Toshinori’s unreasonably long body didn’t fit quite right - and tugs gently on his arm. Shouta had every intention of arguing with him on the matter, so he has absolutely no idea what possesses him to listen to Toshinori and lie down besides him.

Satisfied, and perhaps even a little smug, Toshinori pulls part of the blanket to drape over Shouta’s shoulders as well.

“Okay, go back to sleep now.” Shouta insists stiffly, already making a plan of escape for once Toshinori is unconscious again.

Instead, Toshinori reaches out, cradling Shouta’s face in one of his large hands. Shouta feels his entire body freeze, he’s not even entirely sure he’s breathing, as Toshinori touches him ever so gently. A thumb runs carefully under his eye, as if Toshinori could sweep away the bags there with a single touch.

“I know this is just a dream,” Toshinori says softly, his fingers feather light as they trace over Shouta’s skin. “But I hope the real you can feel just a little more rested for it.”

“I’m…I’m sure I will.” Shouta swallows thickly. “So don’t worry so much and sleep.”

Toshinori finally, finally, takes his hand back and Shouta can breathe a little easier. He snuggles deeper into the blanket, closing his eyes.

“Good night, Shouta.”

Shouta doesn’t dare speak again until he knows he is fully asleep. Carefully extracting himself from the blanket, he folds it back over the sleeping man on the bed.

“Good night, Toshinori.”

Shouta moves on autopilot back to his own dorm, not even fully sure of the path he takes or who he might have passed on the way. His mind is still in Toshinori’s room, in bed beside him. He lied to Toshinori. There’s absolutely no way the “real him” was getting any rest tonight. Not with the memory of his gentle touch and soft smile still fresh in his memory.

Shouta only just barely registers the whistle from behind him as he unlocks his door. Turning around, he finds Hizashi standing in his open doorway across the hall. With a teasing grin, Hizashi makes a show of looking at his (watch-less) wrist to check the time and whistling again. Hizashi is far too…awake for someone in a robe and bunny slippers at three in the morning, Shouta decides.

“Coming home so late, Shou? And in the same jumpsuit from yesterday? What were you up to, hm?”

“I’m always in the same jumpsuit.” Shouta mutters, already regretting acknowledging him.

Hizashi slides up next to him, leaning against the wall to look him in the eye. “And the late hour? The sneaking in?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Shouta still curses the day Kayama taught him that.

“I work late hours. And not all of us can make as much as noise as you do.” Shouta pushes open his door and takes a step in, hoping, despite what all prior experience has taught him, that Hizashi will take a hint.

“But you weren’t still working, were you? You were with a certain someone-”

“Go to bed, Mic.” Shouta interrupts as he feels his quirk activate, shutting his door before the blond can push any further. He can hear Hizashi’s laughter even through the closed door.

He waves at his face, willing the heat to leave his cheeks and for his stupid quirk to deactivate and stop giving him away with glowing eyes and floating hair like some damn anime character. How could he be more embarrassed being caught coming home from, what, tucking Toshinori into bed, than he would have been from an actual walk of shame?

Summer

I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well I just want to learn how, somehow, to be loved mysel Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss I will love you without any strings attached -Two, Sleeping at Last

The evening air is cooling down, a reprieve from the last few sweltering summer days as Shouta steps outside the dorm. He isn’t sure when he got so good at understanding Toshinori or predicting his behavior, but he already knows where to find him when he realizes the old hero is missing after the class dinner. And sure enough, he finds him on the bench outside the dorm. The setting sun sets his light hair aglow.

Toshinori seems to hear him coming because he turns around to watch Shouta before he says anything.

“It’s not that cold out tonight, Aizawa-sensei,” Toshinori says instead of a greeting. “You can’t scold me for being out in the cold this time.”

Shouta rolls his eyes at the accusation as he approaches the bench. “Not everything out of my mouth is a scolding.”

Toshinori stares hard at him for a moment, and Shouta can’t meet his eyes when Toshinori replies, strangely quiet, with “I know.”

Toshinori shifts further down the bench, making room for Shouta to sit besides him. Silence settles between them as they sit together, watching the vibrant pink of the sky slowly be overtaken with a pale violet.

“The first time I found you out here, you told me you had decided to live again,” Shouta says, breaking the quiet between them.

“Why are you bringing that up again?” Toshinori asks, almost in a whine, turning away from Shouta for a moment as if embarrassed. It feels so long ago that they had that conversation, when they agreed to train Eri together, though its become more like co-parenting, and when they both truly bared some of their souls to each other, but Shouta remembers it all so clearly. Especially Toshinori’s first confession.

He’d seen the hints of it before, the emptiness of Toshinori’s apartment, his baggy clothes that didn’t fit his new life, the causal dismissals of himself and his health. But that confession brought all those strange quirks about the number one hero into jarring clarity, painting a coherent picture of the life he had that Shouta was willfully ignorant of before. His new dedication to life is so obvious in comparison. The person on the bench besides him is not the same one Shouta started working with a year ago.

“You seem just as serious now,” he admits. “I’m wondering what other new revelations you’ve come to.”

Shouta doesn’t expect Toshinori to reply at all, let alone clue him in on any of those new revelations if he has come to them. Toshinori doesn’t owe him anything, let alone an insight to his most intimate thoughts, but after a long moment, Toshinori takes a deep breath as if preparing for a large declaration.

Instead he looks down at his hands and says softly, “I’ve been thinking about a lot recently but I’m still confused and torn about most of it.” Toshinori pauses for a moment and Shouta knows there is so much more that isn’t being said. But he doesn’t know how to help Toshinori say it, if that’s even what he really needs from him, so he just reaches for him instead. His hand against Toshinori’s is dwarfed in a way he doesn’t think he will ever get used to. But even bony and thin as they are now, the skin scarred and knuckles crooked from repeated breaks, not unlike his student’s, those hands still feel safe to Shouta. Those hands helped him carry the weight of the world for all those years and they show the strain that weight left on him. But they are still gentle. Their touch is soft enough to wipe the tears from Eri’s cheeks after her latest nightmare. Their touch is tender enough to ruffle their students’ hair and send their worries away without leaving behind any of that weight.

Toshinori’s hands are safe, and Shouta can’t help but wonder who held them when he was young and helped make them that way. Who taught him to use such strength and gentleness in tandem.

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” Shouta finally says. “I know sometimes it feels like we have to, when the students are counting on us, nothing feels more like a failure than having to admit you don’t know, but you don’t have to have all the answers. Especially not right now, not here with me.”

Toshinori looks up from their hands. His expression is raw and open, but also incredibly soft and fond, and Shouta doesn’t feel capable enough to be on the receiving end of such a look.

“I’m still confused and torn,” Toshinori starts again, softer this time. “But one thing that I know for sure, is I’m tired of listening to my anxieties and worries. I’m tired of doing my best to ignore all the things I’ve wanted. I’ve decided I want to just follow my heart, but to do that I will have to be a little selfish, so…I’m sorry.”

Shouta thinks if anyone deserves a chance to be selfish, if anyone has earned that, it’s Toshinori. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Yagi. You can be a little selfish sometimes.”

“Then…can I love you, Shouta?”

#bnha #mha #erasermight #emmb2021 #embb2021 #aizawa shouta #yagi toshinori #all might #fic #rita writes #fluff #hurt/comfort #6.29.21

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years

Text

between us - final chapter

The one where Aaron hurts you, but he knows just how to heal you.

When Hotch comes home one day and takes out his frustrations on you, you’re sent spiraling into a depressive state that you were all too familiarized with. But as your boss and closest friend, he’s the only one who knows how to take care of you during a relapse. His efforts to fix the situation end up awakening a different side of him, a side that might just be precisely what you��ve been missing in a time like that.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist. PLEASE CHECK THEM.

A/N for this chapter: we’ve reached the end, you guys! I don’t know if I’m ever writing for Hotch again, since I don’t really think anyone even read this series, but sharing it with the world was very important to me, since the whole story was so personal. If you do end up reading it and reaching the final chapter, I hope it resonated with you somehow. Thanks for reading!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Three months passed in the blink of an eye and the well I had hid in for so long was nowhere to be found. Between Penelope’s ever-present banter, Rossi’s pasta nights and overall, the support of my friends - that made the BAU seem more like a family than a job - I was feeling better than I had felt in years.

But of course, most of my progress was to be thanked to a certain SSA Aaron Hotchner - and Jack had a big part in it, too. Both had welcomed me not only into their home, but into their lives, to a point where it was hard to remember what Friday nights used to look like away from them, without pizzas and Disney movies. I never went back to living in my apartment. Aaron never mentioned it, and apart from the two visits we had made right after I moved in with them, to gather more of my clothing I’d left behind, I hadn’t even been there in a while.

In fact, I had been gathering the courage to talk about it with my boyfriend for the last week or so. I knew we’d need to have this conversation eventually, and when the opportunity arose via us wrapping up a case that was supposed to last all weekend, leaving Jack with his aunt while we could have the house to ourselves, I knew it was now or never.

“I still can’t believe we were able to solve this before Sunday,” Aaron said, that cute tiny smile on his lips as he opened the door to his house.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It still feels weird not going to pick Jack up, though.” My boyfriend nodded, turning around to face him after he’d dropped his briefcase over the sofa.

“I know. But it’s already too late to wake him and Jessica up just to bring him home. We’ll get him in the morning.” I nodded, mostly because this was perfect for my intentions for the evening, but still, I missed the little guy.

“Aaron,” I started when he opened the fridge in search of something we could eat. He hummed to let me know he was listening, but despite the fact that I wanted to start talking while he was otherwise occupied with other stuff, just so I wouldn’t have to deal with the added weight of his impenetrable eyes on my figure, the words didn’t leave my mouth fast enough. Obviously, he took notice, which only made him immediately turn around to look at me, where I was sitting by the breakfast table, trying not to look incredibly guilty as I met his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” It was hard not to giggle at how quickly he went into dad mode at the prospect of any trouble. It helped to clear the air and release some of the tension I had accumulated in my body.

“Nothing’s wrong, silly. I just have something I need to talk to you about.” He nodded, opting to reheat some leftover pasta I had made a few nights before we left over trying to create something from scratch this late in the evening.

“Tell me.” He was stirring the pot where the pasta had been deposited as he waited for me to begin, but I knew his concentration was completely focused on me. I had to recognize how incredible he was, not only as a boyfriend, but also as a profiler. It was clear that he was aware of how much easier it would be for me to open up if he had the premise of another task in his mind, keeping his eyes away from me.

“My landlord called me this week.” And there it went. All pretense was suddenly dropped as his head immediately whipped up to stare at me with a frown on his handsome face, clenching the pot with much more strength than it was really necessary.. “My lease is about to end, I have to sign the renewal soon. I figured it’s the perfect time to talk about me returning to my apartment.”

At first, he didn’t say anything, simply stared back at me with unreadable eyes. And then we smelled something funny. “Oh my God, Aaron, stir the pot and lower the heat!” I directed after finally realising what was going on. I jumped out of the chair to help him, but by the time I had made my way around the counter and inside the kitchen, the situation had been diffused and the pasta was done. “Is it still edible?” I joked, peering up from his side to check if there was still some salvaged part of the food, but it looked mostly alright. Maybe only the bottom part was burnt.

He didn’t answer me, not even offering a chuckle to lighten up the mood. But he did plate up the now warm pasta, picking up both dishes and walking to the table without a single glance at me. It was clear he was deep in his thoughts, so I figured it’d be best to allow him time to get to any conclusions he might reach by himself, opting to simply follow him and take my place where he laid my plate, silently starting to eat while keeping an eye on him.

It was only after my second bite of food that he said something, and it wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.

“Aren’t you happy here?” The question caught me so by surprise that I dropped my fork against the plate, immediately flinching from the loud sound that echoed around the empty living room in the middle of the night.

“Of course I am, Aaron.” I didn’t understand how he could for even a minute doubt that. Didn’t he see how much better I was? How he had managed to help me get back to normal?

“Then why do you want to leave?” If the other question took me by surprise, this one completely astounded me. I couldn’t even offer an immediate answer, because I was in no way prepared for it.

Finally, I settled for, “I never said I wanted to leave, honey. It’s just that I figured it’s a natural evolution for our situation. I’m better now, and I have my own apartment. Why should I stay here?” It was like he had barely heard me, by the way he immediately countered my question with one of his own.

Aaron’s P.O.V.

“Well, do you want to?” She looked lost, her mouth opening a few times before she settled on what she wanted to say.

“Want to what?” She looked so confused, fidgeting with the edge of her skirt while she bit her lip. I had to lean down and deposit a quick kiss on her mouth, not only because I always wanted to kiss her, but also because I knew it helped her relax. When I saw her shoulders relax, I covered her hands with mine, pulling them up on the table so I could keep holding them more comfortably.

“Do you want to stay here?” I finally clarified, watching attentively for her reactions. At first, she looked surprised, her mouth falling open and her eyes widening at my question, but in seconds she gathered her thoughts and bit her lips, avoiding my eyes before nodding, a sheepish smile on her lips.

A huge grin immediately appeared on my face, as I watched her come to senses with what I had just asked. When she finally found enough courage in herself to look up at me again, I threw myself at her, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this happy. Watching Y/N come back to her natural state was already relieving, as it was to have her around all the time, especially when it came to help me take care of Jack, but to know that she wanted to be here indefinitely, that she had agreed to live with us? I was over the moon.

When we separated to catch our breaths, she was flushed again, and it was clear she was trying very hard to keep her eyes on mine.

“What?” I asked, certain I had a goofy smile on my face. She bit her lip once more, making me groan. “Stop that, pretty girl,” I teased, pulling her bottom lip from its confine. She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “Now tell, me, what is it that you want?”

The atmosphere of the room had changed, it was clear now. Whereas it had felt cold only a few minutes ago, when I thought she wanted to leave me, it felt absurdly hot out of nowhere, and I had half a mind to rip her dress off of her. So when she answered me with a soft, “You,” I knew exactly what she meant.

I immediately stood up from my chair, reaching out to help her leave hers too, but instead of walking hand in hand towards our room - it was our room, now, I reminded myself with a smile - I couldn’t deal with the prospect of spending another second separated from her skin, so I took her in my embrace, kissing her in celebration of the next steps in our relationship we were taking together, tonight.

We made out like two teenagers right there, in the middle of my living room, and when the fire that was growing inside of me rose up to my head, I found myself pulling on her dress and taking it off her body, not caring to notice where it ended up. The second her skin became available to me, I lost the last of the control I was still trying to keep, and pulled her by her ass to wrap her legs around me so I could at least take her to our bedroom before I had my way with her, like I’d been dreaming to do for so long.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

As soon as Aaron carefully laid me down on his bed I was already sitting up, reaching for his shirt. I’d been dreaming about this for so long, long before he ever showed any interest in me. Of course, back then it made me embarrassed - I never thought I’d be the girl with a crush on her boss - but after we came clear about our feelings, the only reason why I didn’t immediately jump his bones was because he wanted to wait for me to get better. And which person wouldn’t melt with that?

Only now that waiting time was over, I couldn’t get him undressed fast enough. It was nice to see him with a teasing smile, looking down at me with that mischievous glint in his eye as he realized just how much I wanted him, when in our day-to-day life outside this house he was always so serious.

“Someone’s eager,” he jested, and I stuck my tongue out at him.

“I expected you to be too, or should I be worried about you not being attracted to me?” The question was made in all good humour, but Aaron clearly did not appreciate it. His smile immediately dropped, and before I could say anything to make it better, he was crawling up on the bed, making himself at home between my legs.

“Don’t even joke about this,” he whispered, dark eyes studying mine just like he did whenever we were alone before he captured my lips in a deep kiss that was equal parts possession and affection. “Do you feel this?” He pressed himself against me, and I could feel exactly what he was referring to. “I’m always so hard around you, sweetheart. You have no idea how difficult it has been to live with you and not be able to touch you like I’ve been dreaming of.”

His words made me whine, clutching his back so he’d lay more of his weight on me. For someone who was as quiet as Aaron usually was, I wasn’t expecting him to be so comfortable in sharing his desires with me, but it only made me appreciate it even more.

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? And you’re not doing a good job of taking advantage of this opportunity at all.” He smirked teasingly at me, getting out of the bed to take off his clothes until all he had on was his boxers. Then he was back between my legs, pressing his hardness against me with even more fervor as he devoured my lips once more.

Aaron’s P.O.V.

“I’ll show you how well I can take advantage of you, little girl.” She whined once more, making me chuckle as I slowly left her lips to continue pressing kisses on her jaw, until I was sucking on her pulse point, marking her as mine. I’d never been one for leaving bruises before, too worried about the consequences came the morning time, but in that moment I’d damn all the consequences just to have her, own her, make sure she’d never forget how it felt to be together like this for the first time.

I didn’t want to have to learn how to be without her again. She was a part of me now, a part of my life and I liked it better with her around. I liked me better with her around. So I made sure to make the most out of this opportunity, when I finally had her exactly where I wanted, to imprint her taste in my mouth, memorize the smell of her skin.

As I kissed every inch of skin my lips could meet, she danced underneath me, desperately trying to create some friction between us, in that wet heat I could hardly wait to encounter again. So I granted it to her, rubbing my clothed cock on her pussy as hard as I could while ripping off her bra, exposing her beautiful breasts to me for the first time.

My mouth watered at the sight, and I immediately enclosed one pebbled nipple with my lips, circling it with my tongue before sucking on it lightly. At her pleased gasp, accompanied by one of her hands, which she tangled in my hair, I doubled my efforts, sucking a bit harder, until I heard her moaning sweetly above me.

The sound went straight to my crotch, and I lifted myself off one breast to stare up at her, take in the beauty that was seeing her like this, slightly out of breath, her lips bruised from my nibbling.

“You’re perfect,” I let her know, and when she smiled I leaned down to give the other breast the same treatment. God, she tasted sweet. If her skin was this delicious, I could only imagine how delightful it would be to bury my face in between her thighs, drinking in her essence.

But I wouldn’t have to imagine it much longer. Slowly, determined to kiss each inch of skin along the way, I created a pathway of kisses and bruises down her stomach, appreciating the shiver that went up her spine at the feeling of my nose caressing her lower belly.

“You’re so beautiful, love,” I insisted in reminding her, knowing how hard it was for her to believe me - or anyone else - when it came to her qualities, but she needed to learn about her own beauty. I’d teach her to recognize it.

“Aaron, please…” Now, I’d heard a lot of sexy things in my life - most of them from her own lips, ever since we’d started dating - but nothing had ever come near the sound of her begging me to give her some release. It made me lose my infamous control, it turned me into that same man I’d become when I had her over my lap, writhing with the need to feel my touch on her skin.

“That’s not how you call me, is it, sweetheart?” I asked, looking up at her from my spot between her thighs, while I sensuously kissed the soft skin there. Her eyes sparkled with understanding, and while she tried to control the instinctual need to raise her hips to try and get me to touch her where she really needed, she finally said the words I’d been dying to hear again.

“Please, daddy, I need you.” That was all I needed to plunge into her waiting heat. Just like I’d anticipated, she tasted heavenly. Syrupy sweet and incredibly addicting. I wanted to bathe in her essence, drown in it.

It didn’t help my animalistic instincts that every swipe of my tongue over her little clit elicited the most musical moans from her perfect lips, which only served to further incentive me to bury my tongue as far as it could go inside of her weeping hole. My nose was the one massaging her nub while I struggled to get every drop of wetness I could collect, further aided by my head’s movements as I enthusiastically moved around, eating her out hungrily.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Aaron was so starved for my cunt that all of a sudden, his hands came up to grab the cheeks of my ass, helping him better angle my body to how he desired to be able to fully appreciate his meal. It was dirty and sinful, but it was exactly what I needed after so many nights dreaming about his touch on me.

I was so wet I could feel it dripping from my lower lips, smearing my thighs and tarnishing the duvet underneath me. It didn’t seem like he minded, though. It was more for him to lap, and I had to grab the covers to try to keep my mind from going insane.

“Daddy…” I moaned, desperate for release as my whole body trembled underneath him. Aaron didn’t even look up, still too busy with my pussy, and I had to say it out loud so I could get his permission. “Wanna cum.”

That made him look up at me, but only his gaze went up to meet mine, his face remaining buried against me, never stopping his incessant licking. “Come on, love. Come for me.” As always, I followed his order without any amount of hesitation.

It wasn’t like I could control it, anyway. My body didn’t belong to me anymore, it was his, his to take, to care for, to love and to deal with, when necessary. And I trusted him to take good care of it.

So far, so good. He finally came up for air as my muscles relaxed, making me fall slack against the sweat-drenched mattress. Kissing his way up my body, he kissed me on the lips with fervor when our lips finally met, his long fingers immediately finding their way inside of my still sensitive cunt.

“Daddy…” I whined, feeling too raw yet to be able to deal with any part of him inside of me, but he was having none of it. Although he immediately retreated the finger, it was only to slap my pussy so I’d stop trying to close my legs around him, conceding all the access to my body once again.

As soon as my legs fell open, he was pushing it inside of me again, only this time there were two of them. Despite how wet I was, the thickness was already far more than I was used to, but the stretch felt wonderful, making me feel full like I couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

Over me, I heard Aaron curse, prompting me to open my eyes again (when had I even closed them?) only to find him focused where his fingers were carefully exploring. “You’re so tight, sweetheart. How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”

The question made me giggle, knowing he didn’t really need an answer. But the truth was, it’d been over a year. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had sex with my ex, and since it had been a while before we broke up, I knew Aaron would really need the time to prep me up to take him.

Just the memory of how his cock felt underneath me, straining in his trousers when he had me over his lap, had a new wave of wetness flooring from within me. My boyfriend sucked in a breath, clearly hypnotized by the way the added lubricant helped him ease his digits in.

Aaron’s P.O.V.

I was transfixed, completely in love with the way her pussy gripped my fingers every time I pulled them back only to push in again. Although it didn’t help my growing need to repeat the action with my cock, it did fill me with some kind of satisfaction by itself. I was the one doing this to her, I was the one giving her this pleasure. She was creaming around my fingers.

So I kept on my shallow thrusts until I could see it wasn’t enough for her. I saw it in the way she pushed back to meet my digits. I saw it in the whines she was emitting, which only served to make me even harder for her. Finally, she was the one who broke me out of my reverie, downright begging me, “Please, Aaron, please. I wanna cum around your cock. Please.”

Who could possibly deny such a request? I recognized that I was known for my control, but I still had needs, like any person. And right then, all I needed was her. So I pulled away, just enough so that I was able to pull my boxers down and wrap my hand around my member, trying to relieve some of the tension.

The vision before me more than helped. It was better than porn, certainly better than anything my mind could create, seeing Y/N like that, completely naked, heaving and wet because of me.

I knew birth control wasn’t a concern, so I just leaned over her again, rubbing the head of my cock on her clit and appreciating the desperate moan that resonated around the room before I dragged it down and pushed in.

Immediately, the feeling of tightness and warmth made me gasp, and I almost lost my balance and fell on top of her body, but her own hands flew up to hold me by my hips, freezing me in place. She didn’t say anything, but from her whimper, it was clear that she was in pain, so as much as I was trembling with the urge to push all the way inside of her, I breathed deeply and rested my forehead on hers.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. I know it hurts, I’m going slowly, okay? Give you time to get used to it.” She nodded, eyes squeezed shut while I delivered quick kisses all over her face. I tried to pull back slightly and push in only a little bit further, and she seemed to adjust to that, her hands coming around my torso to hug me to her.

“Slowly,” she repeated in a whisper, still not opening her eyes.

“Slowly,” I agreed, kissing her temple and keeping up with the ritual of sliding back and pushing in again, until I was able to bottom out. “Fuck, daddy!” The whiny tone of her voice only added to my arousal, and I exchanged my kisses for little bites all over her neck.

“Does it feel good, baby? Can I move?” I asked, fascinated by the taste of her sweat on my tongue. I wanted to lap it up, just like I had done to her wetness minutes before, but the ache in my groin reminded me there were more pressing urges to be fulfilled now.

“Yes, Yes! Please, move!” That was all I was waiting for to start thrusting in and out of her. It was an incredible feeling. It’d been so long since I’d felt this connected to someone. It felt amazing. She felt amazing. Such a strong feeling of belonging, of true love coursed through my body that all I wanted to do was to kiss the breathing air out of her lungs.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I held on Aaron’s body like it was my lifeboat, and in many ways, I supposed he was precisely that. He’d been patient when I needed, firm when I desired it and now he was filling me in ways I’d never felt before.

It was such an overwhelming feeling, to be this connected to someone. The thought prompted me to finally open my eyes, only to find his already fixed on mine. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and I felt my heart grow twice its size before I pulled him to meet my lips again.

“So are you,” I mumbled against his mouth, and he chuckled breathlessly, still fucking me deeply against the mattress, prompting me to run my nails over his back, making him curse. Believe me, there was nothing hotter than hearing Aaron Hotcher curse while being balls deep into you.

“I don’t ever want to leave you,” he confessed, and I knew he was referring to the act we were currently partaking in, but I couldn’t help but to run my fingers through his hair, softly responding, “Then don’t.”

The mood suddenly changed, and so did his thrusts. They became slower, but more meaningful, somehow. His forehead fell to mine, his lips but an inch from mine when he answered, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t.”

I knew we’d still have so much to overcome, so much to fight for, but the fact was that we’d be doing it together. I knew that now, as I felt him move inside of me, bringing me to new heights of pleasure, his hands finding mine and holding them by my side, in bed. This, right here, wouldn’t solve everything, but it brought me a sense of belonging I’d never been able to experience before.

And at the end of the day, I knew that all I wanted was to belong to Aaron for the rest of my life.

#aaron hotchner smut #smut #aaron hotchner #my series #criminal minds fics #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner reader #aaron hotchner reader insert #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch smut

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veggietales-shitposts · 3 years

Text

documenting Larry and Archibald’s relationship in every episode (1990′s)

Episode 1: “Where’s God When I’m S-Scared” (1993) - in the first-ever Silly Songs with Larry, Archibald interrupts Larry’s water buffalo song because it’s “too silly” and gets very passionate and up in his face about it. imo I think Archibald just can’t handle his feelings for this silly little cucumber and that’s his way of dealing with it.

- Larry and Archibald star alongside each other in Daniel and the Lion’s Den, where Larry plays Daniel and Archibald plays King Darius. King Darius is very fond of Daniel and proudly promotes him to be his husband second in command. King Daniel also expresses deep concern for Daniel after he is thrown into the lion’s den. I know they are both playing roles here but I don’t think the acting was that hard imo I really think this was the beginning of their relationship.

Episode 2: “God Wants Me to Forgive Them” (1994) - this episode was kinda bad and really hard to watch but here we go - Bob and Larry recall that one summer (many years ago, clearly before the first episode took place) when they owned a boat and gave people tours. Archibald (who was apparently a millionaire) was on the tour along with his wife (we’ll talk about that later). Larry crashes the boat because he’s gay and can’t drive and Archibald’s wife complains that it ruined their vacation (possibly honeymoon??). Everyone eventually forgives Larry, and Archibald is the first to claim “we still like you Larry”. - I’m pretty sure Archibald and his wife are now divorced because we never really see her in any other episodes. I think that’s also why Archibald is no longer a millionaire.

Episode 3: “Are You My Neighbor?” (1995) - In The Story of Flibber-o-loo, Larry gets shoved into the sand by the scallions. The mayor (Archibald) walks by with the doctor (Archibald’s ex-wife) and instead of stopping to help Larry they SING AND DANCE WITH EACH OTHER!? the drama!!! - this whole episode just really drives home the point of “God made everyone special” and “love your neighbor, even if they are different” so uh. yeah there’s that

Episode 4: “Rack, Shack, & Benny” (1995) - Archibald is not in this one but Larry is very silly and gay and it’s a great episode just in general

Episode 5: “Dave and the Giant Pickle” (1996) - In Silly Songs with Larry, Archibald plays the role of Larry’s therapist while Larry sings about his lips

Episode 6: “The Toy that Saved Christmas” (1996) - cute Christmas episode but nothing gay happens, moving on

Episode 7: “Silly Sing-Along” (1997) - just a sing-along of all the songs that have happened in episodes up to this point. while we don’t really establish any new relationships here I have a feeling it might set the stage for episode 11 (we’ll talk about that later)

Episode 8: “Larryboy! & the Fib from Outer Space!” (1997) - this is the first time we see Archibald playing the role of Larry’s butler, Alfred, but it’s never really established why Larry even has a butler in the first place. I mean is Larry even rich? I think it makes sense for Larryboy to have a behind-the-scenes assistant when he’s being a superhero, but a full-time, live-in butler? Personally I think it’s just a cover up for the fact that they are literally just living together. There is even a scene where Larry and Alfred are sitting next to each other on the couch playing Candy Land. Who plays board games with their butler? While sitting next to them? On the couch? - Alfred and Larry share their first fight as a couple in this episode, when Larry is supposed to be out looking for space aliens and he can’t find any and wants to give up and come home. Alfred insists there are aliens and Larry must keep looking to protect Bumblyburg, but Larry doesn’t listen and comes home - Of course the aliens attack, so Larry goes out to fight the alien only to find that Alfred has tricked out his ride “in his spare time” (a labor of love) - Alfred accidentally pulls the plug out of his computer, cutting off communication between him and Larry right before Larry is about to be eaten by the alien. Alfred becomes very emotional, screaming at his computer to reboot, but the information loads just in time to save Larry

Episode 9: “Josh and the Big Wall!” (1997) - Archibald once again interrupts Silly Songs with Larry, this time to criticize Larry’s cebu song because apparently a good old fashioned projector slideshow is not enough of a “multimedia event”. Larry is used to Archibald’s antics at this point because they live together now, ignores his interrogations, and continues the show. - Larry plays the role of Josh, and Archibald plays a commander of the Lord’s army who appears to Josh in the middle of the night. Josh falls facedown in front of the angel. There are definitely some...expressions exchanged here I mean wow like I know they are supposed to be acting in this one but again I think some of those expressions were genuine - my headcannon for this episode is also that it was performed/filmed “live.” In the beginning of the episode, Junior Asparagus helps Bob introduce the show because Larry was “tired” from the last show and they were letting him sleep in. But instead of saying “roll film,” Bob tells Junior to close his eyes and use his imagination and I think this is when they bring in the set and perform it like a play. So the expressions exchanged between Larry and Archibald are seen in real time, and Larry’s reaction to Archibald is genuine because he is actually seeing him dressed in armor, literally shining from the stage lighting instead of a special effect being added later for video. I also like to imagine that they didn’t have a dress rehearsal so they were both seeing each other in full costume/lighting for the first time.

Episode 10: “Madame Blueberry” (1998) - oh shit y’all, this is where it happens! SILLY SONGS WITH LARRY IS CANCELLED!! I am so glad I watched every episode in order because the tension, the DRAMA, everything leading up to this moment!!! - Larry is literally all dressed up, set ready and everything when Archibald interrupts his segment, letting him know *in front of everyone* that it has been cancelled, in part due to what happened last time. Archibald even leaves poor Larry in a freaking bear trap for crying out loud, replacing his segment with Love Songs with Mr. Lunt which has some serious 80′s vibes

Episode 11: “Silly Sing-Along 2: The End of Silliness?” (1998) - alright here we go folks the climax of the season - the episode opens with Larry sitting at a diner during a storm, having nightmares recalling Archibald’s criticism of Larry’s cebu song and cancellation of Silly Songs with Larry. The server notices Larry crying and asks him what’s the matter. Larry replays the cebu song on the jukebox and then cries about it to the server. - Archibald enters wearing a trenchcoat that hides his face and carrying a briefcase. He is followed by his ex-wife. Archibald turns around, keeping his face hidden, and sees Larry crying but Larry does not notice him. - the server, unable to cheer Larry up, asks him again what’s wrong and Archibald finally reveals himself. Archibald and Larry share some very dramatic looks. Archibald plays the clip of him cancelling Silly Songs with Larry, followed by Love Songs with Mr. Lunt. - Archibald admits fault for Larry’s disposition while also trying to explain himself. He then reveals what’s in the briefcase: a petition from Larry’s fans to bring back Silly Songs with Larry. Archibald, overcome with feelings for Larry, hops up onto the counter to passionately declare his feelings reinstate Silly Songs with Larry. Once again the expressions exchanged between these two are just priceless.

Episode 12: “Larryboy and the Rumor Weed” (1999) - In the season finale of the millennium, Larry and Archibald are now back together, as Archibald once again plays Larryboy’s husband “live-in butler,” Alfred. But the drama is not over yet! - After Larryboy defeats a bandit, Larry invites Alfred out on a date for pizza to celebrate. Alfred says he would love to, but politely declines as he will be volunteering at the local elementary school the following morning. Larry smiles wistfully at the thought of his husband helping out at the school and they share a tender exchange of “goodnights”. - The evil rumor weed overhears this exchange and becomes jealous of their gay happiness and decides to start a rumor that Alfred is a dangerous homosexual robot - Larry and Alfred, blissfully unaware of this rumor, are seen gardening together the following morning. When they find out about the weeds (still unaware of the rumor), Alfred is very excited to help Larry because it involves gardening. You can also see some drawings of the background of their house and one of them is a rainbow. - Larryboy goes underground to fight the mother weed and loses contact with Alfred. They both freak out and Alfred goes to save his husband on his gay little European scooter. - Alfred is attacked by an angry mob because he’s a dangerous homosexual robot and seized by the rumor weed, who then turns into a flower after the townspeople decide he is not dangerous, but actually a nice man. Larryboy crawls out of the sewer and reunites with his love for all to see.

for the early 2000′s episodes click here

#gonna keep updating this as I watch all of the episodes in order #veggietales #larry the cucumber #archibald asparagus #larry x archie

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seancekitsch · 4 years

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Strictly Confectional.

a/n: part whatever of the prize buck series, slight spoilers of tua season 2 so you HAVE been warned but like if youve read the comics nbd, smut warnings, klaus being sorta dominant for once, slight sensory deprivation kink, unprotected norty bits (wrap it up folx), canon drug references, rehab references, drug use, cursing, the title of this fic is from a lemon demon song which warrants its own warning, my usual run of the mill warnings etc.

Halloween is a fucking ordeal when you work at an occult shop and date a personified ouija board, and that’s putting it lightly. Even more of an ordeal considering Klaus decides to go cold turkey for the holiday week without warning you. Of course it was easy to figure out what was going on. The his and her’s morning joints you typically had resting on the windowsill became yours and yours joints. He had exactly one beer since last saturday, and halloween was still a day away. It was starting to get a little spooky. Your boss Margie hated Klaus on a regular day, claiming he threw off the vibes her store was supposed to give off. She was a highly superstitious woman and you wouldn't put it past her to actually notice if Klaus agitated any of the spirits that were probably attached to the things you sell. Realistically, Klaus’ presence did in fact stir up the spirits in her store. Lots of victorian era mourning hair bracelets and taxidermy probably made before your birth would do that. He always claimed the store was extremely loud, but still liked to visit you when your boss was running errands because you were there, and he can't help that he gets bored easily. Klaus’ being there never went unnoticed by your boss, even if he was gone by the time she came back. But this whole cold turkey thing was new for him. Even Diego and Ben said he had only tried to do this one other time, and it was during the apocalypse that never happened that you still think might have been a case of mass hallucination. You weren't sure what his reasoning for it was, since he was just sober enough to conjure Ben any time enough for you to see him and speak to him, even if he was a glowing blue apparition that you compared to the Tupac hologram from Coachella that only appeared for a few minutes. This week was a lot of Klaus having the usual headaches and shaking that come with coming off alcohol, but probably heightened because you know the ghosts don't just shut up when he wants them to. He hasn't been sleeping well unless spooned by you and hushed to sleep with the cool beginnings of fall air blowing through the window.

Friday morning you get your first cryptic answer as to what's been going on with him.

“The veil is thinner on Saturday, I want to try something I haven't been able to do since the sixties,” is the only explanation he’ll give as he kisses your fingertips and holds the door open for you at the shop. Of course, it has something to do with the sixties. Normally you wouldn't pay much attention to his family’s antics because you knew something was going on there that probably didn't concern you, the exception being that time he pulled you back to the sixties briefly and you were handed a briefcase meant for an old man before ending up back at home. You still aren't sure how you made it back to your shift at work that day but Margie hasn’t looked at you the same since. She probably thinks you're a freak like your partner. Which, fair.

His answer doesn't give you that much clarification, but it's better than nothing which is usually what he gives you in warning for his ideas. But anything testing the limits of his powers is usually good for the both of you, because it's a testament to growth and confidence just as much as the pieces of furniture you're slowly accumulating. Sure, there are still bad days. There are still terrible days for the both of you. The more he learns to control his abilities and the more furnished your apartment becomes, it's almost more like you're becoming real functioning people and you can consider yourselves part of that human race you've heard so much about.

Your shift at work is… different. Friday is typically a slow day, but the holiday weekend packs your store in a way you can barely keep up with. The quiet baroque music generally wafting through the air is interrupted by quiet “ewwws” and “what is that?”s from people who normally wouldn't be setting foot in a store like this being dragged in by their spookier friends. You've sold hundreds more than you usually would, but the quiet almost holy spell of the place is broken today. At least the day passes quickly with all the sales you make.

You can feel Klaus coming before he even presses his face into the glass window, smushing his lips and cheek into the glass like one of those slugs in an aquarium. Maybe there is something to be said about the veil being thin and all that. When his tongue darts out to join the rest of his face on the cold surface, you giggle, but then begin to wonder if you're getting a taste of what all the ghosts see when he tries to get in contact with them. He pulls back and waves before putting a hand on the door, a silent question of if it's safe to enter. You shake your head no because your boss is in the back room, but he only has to wait ten more minutes.

Those ten minutes pass slower than the entire shift before that. Just knowing he’s outside has you almost itching for his touch. Since when were you so needy that ten minutes felt like torture? Blame it on the fucking veil or whatever. Your hands are clammy by the time you clock out and bid Margie goodbye,while she reminds you to show up at work in costume tomorrow. Only she doesn't know you fully plan to come dressed in one of your partner’s silly superhero outfits from when he was a teenager.

Klaus is all too happy to kiss you open mouthed the second your figure is out of your workplace, and you willingly ignore that it's the same mouth he just smeared all over the side of a storefront because you're all too happy to kiss him back. One thing about his little cold turkey experiment that you’ve been loving is how potent his sex drive has become. His hands grip your hips like a vice as you continue kissing on the short three block walk and up the flight of stairs to your apartment and travel down to your thighs as you fumble with the keys in the dark of the setting sun not facing the only window in the building that faces the front door of your apartment. It's always a testament to your will when he gets like this as there's nothing you'd like better than to just ride him on the steps in front of your door, but there's just something about doing it in the privacy of your apartment that you like better.

But it's seconds before you feel the key sink into the hole and the tell tale click of everything being pushed into place, and the door gives way almost not soon enough for the two of you to clumsily barrel through it. Now Klaus under normal circumstances is a sexual being, but this cold turkey sobriety and focus is new, and makes you feel wanted- maybe loved- in a way you've never felt before in your life. It's not just that he wants to get off, he wants you. He wants to get off with and for you. Specifically you. Which is the sexiest feeling in the world, you've decided.

You barely put your bag down before he's pulling your coat from your shoulders behind you and growling in your ear.

“Now we’re trying something new tonight, okay baby?” you barely get out an affirmative nod before he finishes, “good, just trust me, I've got you in safe hands.”

You let him take the lead as he strips you bare in the middle of the studio apartment, which feels much bigger than usual, maybe because he’s still fully clothed. His movements are greedy, hands sparing no touch on even an inch of your skin, grabbing and caressing as if it was his property, which in a way, you'd be glad to grant him ownership. He takes control of you, your body not moving in any direction he does not will himself.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers as his hands find their way to your chest, and you do. You hear him sigh, and maybe a breath of “that's right” as his hand slides up to touch your face, making sure you listen to directions as well as he wants you to. You can hear him start to breathe a little heavier as he presses his leather clad crotch into your ass. He chuckles as you return the pressure, wiggling your hips a little to entice him, before he spins you around and presses your hand into the buttons that hold his pants up on his bony hips. Your eyes are still closed, that’s good, he thinks as he rewards you with a kiss. Your hands make quick work of the buttons, despite your impaired senses, and he shimmies the pants to his ankles, where his boots prevent them from falling any further.

“Wait a tic- wait, just…” he trails off and falters a little, you notice, before commanding you again, “stand there and touch yourself. I gotta get these boots off but if you open your eyes it'll ruin what I have planned for us.”

You comply and focus on the smells and sounds of the room as you part your legs a little further and trail your fingers down. There's a heady scent in the air from stale weed smoked this morning and the sickening sweetness of the strawberry hookah set out and packed for tonight, which now would probably be left to the wayside, you note, as you feel wetness collect on your fingertips even at first contact. You focus on the sound of his laces as they smack the hardwood floor as your middle finger rubs slow calculated tight circles on your clit. You don't dare pick up the pace or try to touch yourself in earnest at first, unsure of his intentions for the night as a soft sigh of a moan leaves your parted lips. You hear a loud dull thud, and then another. He must be done, you think, as your fingers pick up the speed, just a little, just enough to make you whine at your own actions. And he is, his boots are discarded near the door, but this isn't a view he's going to give up that easily. Its not every day someone is obeying his commands, fucking themselves and whimpering his name uninhibited like this. He smiles as he watches, and you can feel his eyes on you. You wonder what you must look like, shameless, wanton, on display for him. But then you feel a hand wrap around the wrist of the hand that's between your legs and he pulls it away from your body. Then the chill of the fall air hitting your wet fingers, then his wet mouth engulfs them, sucking. The action sending shockwaves up your arm to the joint of your shoulder, the entire arm pliant for him to use as he wishes. This is what being with Klaus does to you. Your body instinctively wants him to use it. Once he's content with licking every drop of you off your fingers, he moves your hand from his mouth to on his shoulders, and surges up to gather you in his arms, yours moving to grab him and stabilize yourself in return. He carries you to what you assume is your bed and settles you on his naked lap, his hard cock finding shelter between your thighs. He kisses you hard and deep, focusing on his tongue greeting yours, then pushing it out of his way as he explores your mouth. You've been so good, keeping your eyes shut for this long, and tells you so as he grinds up, the head of his cock just barely brushing against where you want him most.

His hips rock up and down, up and down, tantalizing and teasing you. Your moans and keens whenever he happens to hit the mark are music to his ears, something he holds so incredibly dear to him. Even with your eyes closed, when he looks up at them he can still see the love behind them. It's an acceptance he’s been struggling to find in modern times, until you. It’s the full trust you give him with your body and mind. He remembers every scrap and detail you’ve given him since he first tucked you into bed that day in the clinic, and hoards it like treasure. The way you’ve slowly opened up to him like dropping a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow, your willingness to work to give him what you can. You’re guarded for a lot of the reasons he’s so open. But you make the choice to be open to him, and he’s thankful. And as he shifts your bodies to thrust inside you, as your mouth falls open into an ‘o’ shape, he decides he wants to take everything you’ll give him, bask in the affection you readily shine on him, as long as you’ll shine on him. Tonight he wants to impress you.

You’re being so good, really so good. You haven’t opened your eyes once, not even to peek. You’ve just held on tight and let Klaus take the lead. It’s kind of kinky; really. Letting him be in control, losing one of your senses, blindly kissing the parts of skin you can reach, which you think is his chest and shoulder. Even as he shifts you, holding your legs now as he shifts the position a little more. It’s not uncomfortable, but never a position you’ve been in before. You can tell by the way your thigh muscles quietly burn that you’re pretzeled up in his lap, with him thrusting deeply up into you.

The way his thrusts hit inside you is delicious, each time he bottoms out earns him another moan falling from your lips against his skin, always vocal for him. This time your moans are uncontrollable, the way he controls the action is undeniably sexy and undeniably the Klaus of it all, the way he can toe the line between gentle and rough, the care he puts into every motion. He makes sure to use his entire body to get you off, and tonight he’s really trying to go above and beyond.

“Okay-“ a moan from deep in his throat, “open your eyes. Don't scream!”

The first thing you see is the blank white smoothness of the wall, specifically where it kisses the ceiling. At just above eye level. Your head has to be, what, inches from the ceiling? and. wait. What?

If you weren’t clinging to him for dear life, you certainly were now. He hisses then groans at the feeling of your nails digging into him, sure to leave shallow little crescent moon marks on the tops of his biceps. The ceilings are tall enough that Klaus can stand on top of it without his head brushing the ceiling, and you were somehow floating right up there.

Immediately Klaus sees the panic that crosses your features and shushes you, comforting, but not unlike how someone tries to calm a child or a pet.

“Hey, look! I haven’t levitated since 1963. I thought it would be a nice surprise, I can stop if you need, we can lay down,” Ever the sweet man, he’s instantly trying to make sure this is okay or if he’s crossed a line. But you shake your head no. Honestly, fucking freaky at first, but then its fucking freaky, and you are down with it. Up with it.

“No, no... I like this. Do your worst.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he leans back, bringing you with him. Now you can sit up, and give your body a little bit more space than he had been giving it before. You figure you could ride him like this and push against the ceiling for support, which actually, was Klaus’ whole idea behind this. Great minds think alike or whatever. So as he keeps thrusting you start to shift your hips back to meet his. It’s weird not having anything below you for leverage for your legs, but maybe if he does this again you can figure something out.

Instead it’s this steady grind, him up, you down. Now its less of an honest to god fuck and more of a writhing midair to make each other come.Instead of his worst like you’d asked, its incredibly intimate in a way you usually aren’t. But that's enough for the both of you. The ceiling does wonders to help your arms press you down into his pelvis, rocking yourself up and down on him while your legs dangled. You were honestly impressed by the way he was able to keep himself so horizontal. Maybe his being trained in combat as a teen gave him core muscles you didn't realize he had. All of these thoughts of muscles are quickly swallowed by Klaus, Klaus, and nothing but the way Klaus was making you feel at this very moment.

If any one would have seen the two of you climax, which happened at the same time for once in the hundreds of times now that you'd fornicated, one would have seen from the top of your window two legs go rigid before two bodies floated down back to where human bodies should be with surprising grace, the owners of those bodies kissing everywhere one each other that they could reach. He kissed your neck, your chest, your face, long strong fingers brushing your hair soothingly as his back hit the mattress. He slides out of you unceremoniously, at which you pout at the loss of him, but only to shift and tuck you into his side as his arms still cradled you close.

“So, as lovely and thrilling as that was, why did the veil or whatever need to be thin for you to do that?”

“Well, it didn’t, but I wanted us to get in the holiday spirit a little more, like that scene in Poltergeist.” He punctuates the sentence with a kiss to your temple as he slides off the bed, and gingerly walks over to the kitchen. He’s turning on the stove, then using tongs to place a coal onto the heat.

“If I torch this for hookah, will you take this bowl with me?” as if everything that just happened was commonplace. An everyday occurrence.

All you can do is nod.

#klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves smut #klaus hargreeves fanfic #my work #prize buck series

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pretend-writer · 4 years

Text

Kids Of The Future (Chapter 3)

(gif cred: @beth-cassidy)

Mini-Series

Summary: After time traveling from the apocalypse in 2019, a surprise waits for Diego and Y/N as they arrive at Dallas, Texas circa 1960.

Pairing: Hargreeves x sibling!reader, Diego Hargreeves x reader

Word Count: 2.2k words

Warning: mention of violence, mention of sex

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

A few weeks passed by and we find Vanya, shopping at our local store with a lady and a boy. I tried waving at her but she gave me a weird look instead.

Eventually down the line, we found out that she had amnesia. She'd had gotten hit by a car, losing her memory which made her not recognize me at all.

We then found Luther at a bar, Diego and I happened to find him there one night when we had one of our friends from the Karate Dojo babysit Belinda. We were having our little date night and of course, they ruin a heartwarming reunion by bickering like a married couple despite not seeing each other for three years.

Five appeared out out of nowhere; as usual. He said he had been trying to find us for years. I'd say he did a shitty job considering that Diego and I found everyone else first except for Klaus. Our favorite cult leader reunited with Allison before any of us found each other.

'How did you manage to drop us off at different timelines?' Allison placed her finger on her temple, trying to make sense in all of this.

'Better question; Why did you two decide to make this love ring?' Luther joked, looking around the Karate Gym. He was the curious one that wanted to see what our Dojo looked like and he was here to make fun of it. Great.

'Okay, Bartender shut it.' Diego hissed at Luther. I never understood how they could go back to arguing even after years of being apart.

Five rolled his eyes, 'Anyways. Now that I've finally found you guys, I-'

'I found you actually.' I commented, grinning as I corrected Five.

'Okay fine! You found me, you genius of a sister. Why don't you find us a way to get back to 2019 then?'

'Three years apart and you're still a dick.' I flicked Five in the forehead.

Klaus laughed, clapping his hands. 'Ahaha, Good one Y/N!'

Vanya looked around the room as everyone else joined Klaus for a laugh. With a confused look on her face, she raised her hand. 'Can I ask a question?'

'Does it involve us getting back home?' Five asked.

'No.'

Five sighed, 'What?'

'We are siblings right?' Vanya scratched her head, looking directly at me as if she was judging me. I could tell what she was implying, causing me to blush a little.

'Okay, for your information, we aren't biologically related. We didn't even have time to act as siblings, Reginald made sure we didn't have a life.' Diego defended himself, squinting his eyes at Vanya.

'But still.' Klaus commented.

'Luther, Allison, don't act like this doesn't involve you guys too.' I practically threw them under the bus, I hated being the center of attention.

'You two have a kid together- a kid!' Luther face palmed, shaking his head.

'It's not our child!' Diego and I said in sync, we should've definitely braced for these comments before this family meeting.

Vanya cocked her head, 'Why did you guys name her Belinda?'

'Wow, more questions.' Five said sarcastically.

Biting my lip, I tried to ease my nerves. I was a little shy about talking to my child in front of my siblings. 'Uhm, her nickname is Bel and I thought it'd be right to make her name similar to Ben. A bit cheesy yeah but I really miss him and it's a cute name so.'

Allison and Vanya awed, Klaus making a sour face as he turned around to face no one. Perhaps talking to his ghost friend that he always argued with.

'What? What are you so butthurt about Klaus?'

Quickly turning back around, he flashed a fake smile. 'Nothing, nothing. So lovely you two. Congrats on the real fake kid you two had.'

Diego scratches his head and continued, making a joke. 'Anymore questions before we end this interview?'

Klaus raised his hand, 'Are you and Y/N not going to date? I mean you guys are raising a child together right? And I'm sure a lot happens behind closed doors with you two. It's no secret the tensio-'

'Okay, interview over.' I grinned and turned to Five. 'I sort of have an idea of a way to get to 2019.'

'What would that be?'

'The briefcase. I ca-'

Five chuckled, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. 'There's no "I can", Y/N. We're going to get caught because I'm the only one who know the way around The Commission.'

'Let me help, Five. I don't wanna sit around and wait.'

'Well, you have no choice because you're going to have to! I'll set up a trap for The Handler to come, figure out a way for her to come find me. You guys just stay put.'

'You're letting me help, Five.' I stood up and walked toward my small-but-sort-of-older brother. 'My baby may be in danger so now I need to come with you to help you take down The Handler.'

'Are you crazy, stupid or all of the above? This has nothing to do with you and Diego's love child!'

'It has everything to do with her!' I yelled back, 'Diego and I are involved in this crazy bitch's business, now so is Bel and I have to protect her. So let me help you.'

'So you can be a burden? I don't think so.'

'Fi-' before I was able to get another word out of my mouth, Five disappeared; Just how he did every time he was annoyed with an argument. Typical.

Vanya's eyes widened, 'Wow. This family is a little overwhelming.'

'Tell me about it.' Klaus sighed, 'Who wants to get wasted?'

'I'm in!' Allison grinned and eyed the rest of us.

Diego shook his head. 'No, no, no. You know I don't put poison into my body.'

'Come on, I've been stuck here thinking I didn't have a family. The least we can do is keep each other company.' Vanya smiled sweetly. It was so hard to process the sweet Vanya that we knew nearly destroyed the whole planet. Well, she technically did.

'The last time I drank, I-' Luther paused, his face turning red from having a flashback. 'Yeah, no I'm not drinking.'

'Popped your cherry right? We all knew that.' Klaus nudged his brother on his arm, 'Drinks on me! I already have loads to share. Y/N?'

On one hand, I was worried about what might happen to us. Not going back to our timeline scared me a little and I didn't want anything bad happening to Five. But right now, I wanted to forget it for just a moment.

'Spending quality family time? I can't say no to that.' I smiled as Allison, Klaus and Vanya cheered.

Diego leaned over to me with an anxious look on his face. 'Shouldn't we check on Bel?'

'Sarah said she'll look after her. Bel will be fine.'

Diego pov;

I sat on the corner as I watched everyone drinking and dancing in the middle of Allison's salon. Klaus brought so many drinks back and honestly, I was in shock. I couldn't believe Klaus was drinking again, didn't even realize how much he used to drank until now.

Y/N was surprising me as well, given the fact that I've never seen this side of her before. After all of us decided to move out of dad's mansion, we went our separate ways.

Even when we kept in touch every now and then with phone calls, it wasn't like we talked about our nightlife and love life. We simply told each other we were doing good and updated on where we were in our lives. Little did I know Y/N was quite the life of the party.

'Come on, Diego! Come dance with us.' Y/N cheesed, inviting me to come join her and the rest of them.

It was cute seeing her drunk and careless, she was constantly stressed and headstrong about everything around her. Never taking a break or relaxed for that matter, in a way I was glad she had this moment to be free for the night.

'I'm sitting this one out.' I smiled as Y/N pouted, tugging on both my hands, trying to get me to get off of this stool.

'Don't be a party pooper.' Luther gestured to come, 'Gotta let loose brother.'

'See, even Luther agrees.' Klaus laughed.

'Fine, fine.' I rolled my eyes and took Y/N's hand as she pulled me into the middle of the floor. The way she was swaying back and forth, I could tell the alcohol was definitely taking control.

Everyone continued to dance, quite sloppy as they were all drunk from Klaus' alcohol. As Y/N try to twirl, she tripped a little, gasping and giggling to herself.

Grabbing onto her, I furrow my eyebrows. 'Looks like someone drank a little too much.'

'Eh, I'll be fine.'

'Let's just sit for a bit.' I helped her sit down on one of the stools, she didn't fight back and maybe Y/N knew she had to rest also.

'Why are you so sweet to me?'

'Because I care about you.' I smiled at her, enjoying the different, drunk side of Y/N.

She stared at me, her eyes said something but I couldn't quite grasp what she really wanted to tell me.

'What are we doing, Diego?' Y/N scratched her head, chuckled to herself. 'Why do you do all these things with me? All these years... why?'

This had probably been the first time Y/N had been honest with her feelings. Even when we were little kids, she would never talk about herself.

I would never talk about myself either, leaving us to hide our feelings for so long. Despite the two of us having casual sex every now and then, I wasn't fully sure of how Y/N felt about me.

'Just trying to pass by time. You know, taking care of Bel and making sure we get back home with our family.' I bit my tongue, realizing I wasn't being honest with her. Beating around the bush was my forte, It was hard speaking the real truth especially to someone like Y/N. I didn't want to scare her off with how I genuinely felt and lose her.

'Ah, for a second I thought I actually meant something to you. Silly me.'

Y/N said so casually, I didn't think she intentionally said those words either. The alcohol in her system made her blurt out the truth, this time I knew she wasn't lying to me.

Growing up, I knew Y/N and I had special connection. Sneaking around every now and then behind Reginald's back, sharing gifts to one another since our loving father didn't do shit for us. She was someone I appreciated and I knew she was grateful for me too. Never would of thought that those feelings were something far more than friendship.

Y/N's pov;

Biting my bottom lip, I immediately regretted saying what I said. I've never in my life confided to anyone, the one time I did it had to be about my feelings. To the person I loved for a long time.

Just for him to tell me that we were doing what we were supposed to do solely for business.

I was embarrassed, trying so hard to keep my tears in. It was hard since the liquor I shoved down my throat was making my emotions bounce all over the place. Hopefully, Diego would think that it was all drunk talk and not my honest feelings about him.

'I'm going to get some fresh air.' I got off my seat, trying to play it off. Or at least I thought I did.

Diego quickly responded back, 'I'll come with you.'

'No, I want to be alone if that's okay?'

He nodded slowly before I walked through the back door into an alley. A part of me wished Diego came after me but that was just some stupid fairytale bullshit that ran through my mind. Besides, it was clear he didn't feel the same way.

'Just the person I want to see.' The voice startled me, not expecting anyone at this dark alley in the middle of the night. 'Hi, Y/N.'

'Uhm, who are you?' The complete stranger that popped out of nowhere made me completely forget about what just happened, maybe in a way it was a great distraction. Unless they were here to kill me.

'Your brother likes to call me crazy bitch, but I personally thought we were BFFs. Shocking.'

I stared at her, the way she looked didn't ring a bells. 'You're going to have to be more specific than that, miss.'

'The little one, Five's friend.' She smiled, I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or polite.

'Ah, you're The Handler?'

'Sure.' She smiled again, that same expression on her face that seems sincere yet deceiving. It was hard to tell but hearing stories from Five, maybe I couldn't fully trust her.

'Well, you must be mistaken because I'm not sure why you want to see me. If you're looking for Five, I don't-'

'No, I need to see you Y/N Hargreeves.' The Handler pulled out her cigar, this time with a smirk on her face. 'I have a proposition for you.'

#tua fics #the umbrella academy fics #n.8!reader #number eight fic #number eight!reader #diego hargreeves x sibling!reader #diego hargreeves x reader #tua series #the umbrella academy series #diego hargreeves fic #hargreeves x sister!reader

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

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Out Tonight (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

Summary: Barba would never admit to being a RENT geek, but when he gets drunk and no one from the SVU squad is there to see him, he can’t resist the siren call of the karaoke stage. You would never approach a stranger at a bar, but when you hear Barba singing your favorite musical, you gather the courage to ask for a duet.

Rafael Barba x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Dub-con!! Everyone is enthusiastically willing, but also super drunk. So... use your best judgement. (No smut this chapter just some intense kissing)

4,144 words

The thing about Scotch whisky is, it’s a drink meant to be sipped. A.D.A. Rafael Barba drank a Scotch every day, especially after a difficult case. One or two, mulled upon over the course of an hour.

At over 40 percent alcohol by volume, the practical difference between Scotch, the gentleman’s drink favored by lawyers and Wall Street executives, and the tequila swigged by rednecks ripping their shirts off at a dive bar is the speed at which the beverages are consumed.

The thing about being a Scotch drinker is, you’re only ever one particularly bad day and a few extra drams carelessly tipped down the hatch away from getting well and truly shitfaced.

This would never happen to A.D.A. Barba. He had complete control of himself at all times. In the courtroom. In his manner of dress. In his speech. He won cases other prosecutors wouldn’t dare to take on, because he was meticulous. He was relentless. And he never let his guard down.

But on this particular day, nothing was going according to plan. All week, in fact, a case he was certain of had been falling apart piece by piece, slipping through his fingers, until today, a man who made Barba’s stomach sicken walked out of the courtroom a free man.

It was his fault. He got cocky. The victims subjected themselves to retraumatization just to testify on the hope of getting some kind of justice, and it was all for nothing. He let them down. He let the SVU team down. The look on Benson’s face when the foreman delivered the not guilty verdict made Barba want to crawl inside himself.

So he did what he always did on bad days, and went to his favorite bar alone to sit quietly and numb his sorrows over a glass of Macallan.

Except it wasn’t fucking quiet. This was supposed to be a subdued, sophisticated establishment that didn’t draw a big crowd. This was his bar! But for some godawful reason, the new manager had decided—unbeknownst to Barba—to try hosting karaoke night.

Karaoke!

He scowled at the colored stage lights. Glowered at the rambunctious crowds of young people. Seethed at the bad 80’s music and off-key bellowing. He dropped heavily into his usual seat at the bar and exchanged withering looks with the bartender, who slid him his usual drink without needing to be asked. What the hell was happening to his life? Barba began to wonder whether he had anything under control at all, downing the dram in one shot.

As he gasped on the fiery liquid burning down his throat, he gained determination. They were not going to take his bar from him. Not a chance. If these tourists and college kids wanted to have their revelry, they would have to do it with a grumpy old killjoy glowering at them. He ordered another round.

***

An hour and a steep tab later, and Barba was gripping the microphone with sweaty fingers, belting out One Song Glory at the top of his lungs.

He rationalized it as “better bend than break,” but the truth was, he had dreamed of becoming an actor before going to law school to please his mother. His inner theater geek was always waiting to slip out whenever he let his guard down, but since that was never, it was side he rarely indulged. Tonight, his head was spinning, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“One song to redeem this empty life. Time flies—and then no need to endure anymore!”

The wooden bar stool creaked as his weight sank back down on it, and he ordered another drink to question about his life choices. “Will I ever be remembered for anything besides my failures?” he asked the glass. He’d come this far from the poor barrio where he grew up, but every step was a fight. He couldn’t just be good, he had to be better than the privileged WASPs he was competing against. He had to be the best. Every little mistake, every lost trial, could be the end of all he had worked for.

Barba was so busy nursing his latest drink, he almost didn’t notice someone else drunkenly belting a track from RENT. Except, as his head swung up to listen, it wasn’t drunken belting at all. A woman with a low-cut blouse and tight jeans that hugged her curves was singing so seductively, staring right at him. She winked and sweetly begged him to take her out tonight.

No—he was imagining it. He was just drunk, lonely, and pathetic. She was working the crowd, making everyone feel like she was singing just to them. Maybe she was a Broadway performer to have that skill, or at least a master at flirtation. Either way, she was way out of his league. There was no chance she had singled him out.

***

So what if you didn’t know anybody, and it was dangerous to go alone? You were in Manhattan on a Friday night—you were going to go out and have a good time, dammit!

The promise of karaoke drew you into a small but packed bar, and you were a few drinks in when you heard a voice like an angel and a rock-star had a baby singing a song from your favorite musical ever. The voice belonged to a singer wearing old-man suspenders, a pink tie, and a light coating of stubble from not having shaved since morning. He was fashionable, you guessed. Dapper. But it was that expressive voice that mesmerized you. As he sang, your gut was wrenched with the emotional pain woven through each note.

You were smitten. You tried to go talk to him, but the moment the song was over he vanished into the tightly-packed crowd. It was silly. It was far too bold to approach a stranger in the big city, but the warm tipsy feeling in your gut gave you confidence to hatch a plan.

Step one: Locate him from the stage.

Step two: Impress him.

Step three: Bond over mutual love for RENT.

Step four, if you managed to get that far, was a bunch of squiggly question marks and “kiss his face?” hastily scrawled in pencil. It was a long shot, you knew that. You were way too shy, and he was far too handsome not to have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a husband. Frankly, even if he were single, he was way out of your league. But still, the nebulous step four could simply be “Have a fun night with your new karaoke buddy,” and that possibility alone made you feel like glitter was exploding inside of you.

When it was your turn to sing, you found him from your elevated vantage—he was sitting far from the stage, at the end of the bar—and tried to catch his eye. You’d been using Out Tonight as your karaoke icebreaker for years, so you’d gotten good at playing up the sexiness, tossing your hair and biting your lip. Your clumsy ass had even picked up a few dance moves to spice it up, and you gave them your booty-shaking all when you saw him look up at you.

You were glad you’d worn the jeans that made your butt look fantastic, and your sexiest, strappiest sandals (which were actually Tevas with a two-inch wedge heel, purchased from an outdoor gear store). He was watching you with fascination as you pouted the lyric, “don’t forsake me,” at him.

It sent a shiver down your spine to think he might really be looking at you that way.

The moment you got off the stage, you were bombarded by guys offering to buy you a drink, asking for your number. It was discouraging that Sexy Suspenders was not among them. Apparently your sexy routine worked, but entirely missed its intended target. Then again, a man like that probably let women come to him.

Ducking and weaving past your suitors like they were physical obstacles and not people, you reached Suspenders. The bar stool next to him was open, held by a briefcase and folded suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his hair was a little mussed. He appeared to be deep in conversation with his empty glass. You took a step forward to approach him, but an anxious constriction in your chest froze you in place.

Who do you think you are?! A gorgeous, sharp-dressed city guy will never even give you the time of day! Your mother’s nagging voice chimed in to warn you not to talk to strange men in bars when you’re out alone, in New York City, no less. You grimaced at your awesome double-dose of anxiety. He would either laugh in your face, or you were about to get murdered. Hooray!

But there was a loneliness in his demeanor that encouraged you he wouldn’t laugh, and up close, you noticed he was so short you could probably pick him up like a little baby chipmunk if things got out of hand. Ignoring how thick his forearms were, of course. But if he crushed you with those, you would die happy.

***

The next singer on stage had started screeching a rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’ with ten drunk buddies, and Barba was squeezing his eyes closed to try to drown them out, so he was caught completely unaware when a tap on his shoulder startled him.

“Is this seat taken?”

His vision blurred. He had to rub his eyes and look twice to be sure he was seeing who he thought he was seeing. “Mimi!” he blurted. “From the—nice, um—no. No one’s sitting here.”

He moved his belongings to the top of the bar, and you sat on the vacated stool, quite pleased with yourself. The bartender immediately handed you a pink icy cocktail with a slice of lime, and pointed his thumb to someone at the other end of the bar who paid for it. Barba followed his gesture to a very cute guy in his twenties and felt a twinge of double-edged jealousy that the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was most likely about to get up and leave him, and that the drink hadn’t been for him, because frankly, he couldn’t blame you. You did get up, but only to crane your neck to find your benefactor. When you did, you gave the world’s dorkiest thumbs up, while conspicuously putting your hand on Barba’s shoulder.

Barba’s lips spread into a smug bastard what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it smirk as he stared down his attractive rival. His head cocked to the side pleasantly. The other man’s flirtatious gaze fell into an annoyed tick. You sighed with relief as he moved away.

Turning back to Barba, you realized your hand was still on his shoulder and quickly removed it. You inhaled and said, “I heard you singing you were amazing do you want to do a duet together? Can we? I love RENT! I’ve always wanted to do Light My Candle—can we do it together?” in one breath.

Your flurried gush of words nearly knocked him off his stool—he put his hands up defensively and sat wide-eyed, nodding slowly as you went full babbling-nerd on him. You may not have been as suave as he initially thought, and oddly enough, he was okay with that. It was disarming, and your enthusiasm was infectious.

Because his instinct to distance himself from anyone he might risk forming a real emotional connection with wasn’t working at the moment, he grabbed you by the shoulders, locked his piercing eyes with yours, and emphatically answered, “Yes. We must!”

***

Having a karaoke partner is essential for Broadway musical numbers, as most of them are duets—two or more characters interacting with each other as the plot of the show advances. Light My Candle was one of your favorite songs, and snagging the mysterious suspendered singer meant you could finally perform it outside your shower.

It was a bouncy back-and-forth duet that was fun to sing, but you forgot how aggressively flirtatious it was until you had to ask him—you hadn’t even asked his name yet—if you had the best ass below 14th street, and about wax dripping between your… um, fingers. But the way he looked at you made seducing him so natural. You just had no idea if it was part of the performance, or if it was real.

When the song was over, you bounced on your toes, clinging to his arm for balance as you tripped on the stairs down from the stage, squealing, “That was so much fun!” He put his hand around your waist to steady you. It felt like it was made to be there.

His face was flushed red and his eyes sparkled with exhilaration, and he quickly agreed to another duet, though he muttered, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, “Thank god no one from the precinct is here.”

Performing together with a partner always makes you feel a connection—even if it’s just drunken karaoke. When you sang one part of a harmony and he picked up the other part, your voices became two halves of a whole. And with musicals, it’s as much about acting as it is singing. He threw so much emotional intensity into the lyrics, which gave you something to respond to, throwing it back at him in fluid conversation as your voice soared above his and dove beneath it again.

You hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, and you had a feeling he hadn’t, either.

Not that you had any way of knowing, really. You guessed it by the ease in which he embodied Roger’s stubborn refusal to open his heart, by the mournful way he lifted his drinks to his lips like he was toasting at a funeral. His expensive leather briefcase and formal attire, too, suggested a well-paid but dreadfully boring line of work, like a financial manager.

Your guess was dead-on, in truth. Barba was vigilant against dating anyone he met professionally. Even if there had been a secretary or paralegal or two he’d had chemistry with, for the sake of his career, he could not afford to conduct himself in a manner that could raise even the hint of a scandal or ethical conflict in the workplace. And anyone he met outside of the workplace… well, he didn’t. His entire life revolved around his job.

The bartender had just brought a fresh round of drinks, and your head rested on your fist, elbow on the bar. Barba was staring deeply into your soul with those pretty green eyes, trying to figure out how he managed to get you and how he could keep you.

“We should do Another Day next,” you grinned.

“Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my guitar!” He sang in a gritty rock voice, poking at your chest accusingly while holding an air microphone with the other. You forgot to be surreptitious and blatantly checked for a wedding ring.

After Roger’s verse, you sang back Mimi’s part, seductively leaning in closer to him. “There’s only us. There’s only this...” As you leaned closer, his eyelids drooped, and his eyes darkened. “Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.” The smoky smooth molasses of Scotch was strong on his breath. He studied your face hazily, his eyes drawn down to the movement of your lips. There was no mistaking his attraction for a performance now. You sang softer and softer until your forehead was resting against his, your lips almost touching. Then you just breathed.

“No day but today,” he mulled the lyric and the impulsive circumstances that had led him to being with you in that moment. “I should follow that advice more often.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you murmured. “Here I am in the city, having fun,” your voice slowed to a crawl as your eyes flicked up and down his face, “...with a perfect, handsome stranger...”

His tongue ran over his lower lip again as his eyes dropped to your mouth and clouded over with some sultry thought.

You’re not sure which one of you moved first, but in the next moment his lips were melting into yours, desperate and passionate. That tempting tongue of his ran along your lower lip now, sliding easily inside as your mouth parted to invite him within, swirling in heated wet circles around yours. It was heavy with the taste of Scotch and the faint bitterness of coffee, as if that were all he’d eaten that day. You curled your fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth, and his broad arms closed around your back and pulled you off your bar stool onto his lap.

His skin was burning hot, and waves of heat coursed up through your body like you were both on fire. Your pulse thundered in your ears until it drowned out the off-key music, and each pounding heartbeat sent a corresponding throb to your cunt. Your eyes closed. All that existed was the messy clashing of your teeth and tongues, the woody-sweet scent of his cologne filling your lungs, the heat of his strong hands on your back, and the bulge of his cock twitching beneath you.

When you finally had to come up for air, and hopped back onto your own bar stool, suddenly self-conscious of how pornographic that nearly was, all he had to say was, “I’ve never done that before.”

You blinked. “You’ve never… kissed someone?”

“Not someone I just met in a bar!” his eyebrows shot up and he sounded so utterly scandalized, your euphoric high from kissing him came crashing down. He saw you as some kind of cheap tramp for kissing him. Pretentious asshole. Suddenly you felt like shit.

You turned your attention to the second round of that fruity cocktail that random guy paid for. It turned out to be a pretty tasty drink, so you ordered another. Maybe you should have given that guy a chance.

“So, are you here by yourself?” Barba asked your profile, not bothering to hide the patronizing concern in his tone.

“Yeah,” you said without looking up.

“Jesus. I thought so. That’s really dangerous, you know.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and pivoted away from him further, leaving him confused. So first he implied you’re a slut, and now he was pulling the whole, the city is full of predators, but I’m a Nice Guy—let me walk you home routine. This is what you get for picking a guy based on how good he sings.

“I did not mean to imply that. I only meant that I’m usually more... careful.” Oh. You must have said all of that out loud. Oops. “But you’re right to be suspicious of my intentions. There are… all kinds”— he breathed the word out in a jaded huff—“of tactics predators will use. Manipulations, brute force, drugs, fake personas… And all they have to do is claim consent and half the time the jury believes it even if the physical evidence is horrifying.” He was getting visibly angry thinking about it, his drink dangerously close to spilling as he clenched his fist around it.

You stared at him. “Um.”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “I’m an A.D.A. for Manhattan. Prosecutor. I’m a lawyer,” he clarified when the acronym earned no look of recognition in your eyes. “Lately I’ve been working with the Special Victims Unit, so when I see someone drinking alone late at night, talking to complete strangers,” he gestured at himself. “You have no idea how many sexual assault cases start with this exact scenario.”

“Big-shot lawyer, huh? Sure, now pull the other one.”

“What?” His head cocked at you in utter bewilderment.

“Pull the other… leg. You’re pulling my leg?”

“I know what it means, I’ve just never heard it said by anyone under sixty. Are you secretly an old man?”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re an old man,” you retorted childishly.

His lips folded in on themselves as he tried to keep a straight face. “I don’t know. What can you tell me about the Model T?”

You took a grumpy swig of the fruity strawberry cocktail.

“What was World War II like?”

“So are you really a lawyer, or do you just use that line to pick up chicks?”

“I am, I am!” he laughed. “I can prove it. Let’s see...” he pulled out his phone, brought up a search result for his name, and scrolled through headlines. “DA’s Office Helps NYPD Persecute Immigrant Families,” “Justice at Last for Serial Rapist Victims,” and others rolled across the screen. He narrowed his eyes as his index finger hovered over each one. “Oh, sounds like I’m an idiot in this one,” his mouth twitched into a sardonic smirk, “and I’m a real asshole here… Oh, look, here’s one where I’m the big hero.” He held out his phone so you could see the photo of him in another flashy suit and bold tie, speaking to crowd of reporters in front of the courtroom steps. He looked so sexy in his full three piece suit, and much more severe, his face hard and intelligent. The caption below it praised his victory putting away a notorious rapist, and identified him A.D.A. Rafael Barba.

“Wow. That is you. Who knew I was doing karaoke with such an important guy?” You slung your arm around his shoulders, which were irresponsibly broad and solid. God, being with him felt so right. Casual touches were so comfortable even though you’d just met, and the way he responded, melting under you, sent a wave of heat through your lower back.

He kept flipping through headlines, his brow quirking a little at one, eyes narrowing at the next. Then he saw one that made him stop scrolling. He put the phone down on the bar and scrubbed his hand over his face and hair, blinking back tears suddenly forming. You caught the glowing screen before it automatically locked. The headline was from today. “Local Teacher Found Not Guilty—.”

His head dropped into his arms on the bar. “It was my fault. If I had done something different, been more prepared...” A sad groan emitted from the Barba puddle.

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” you soothed, and rubbed his back sympathetically. “So one guy got acquitted. It happens every day.”

“I know,” he growled. This fact was the opposite of comforting.

“You’re sure he was guilty?”

“He did it. To at least a dozen kids over the last two decades, but no one wanted to testify, or the statute of limitations was up, and then our key witness… There must have been something I could have done, something I didn’t think of. I let him get away with it.” His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into his arms. “I fucked up.”

You kept rubbing circles over his back, whispering soothing words to him. You leaned down and peppered his head with soft kisses. He shifted off the top of the bar and began crying into your chest, his arms wrapping around you like a baby lemur. You held him tight, suddenly understanding that this was the memory he came here to drown. This was why all night you had caught him looking wistful every time the conversation lulled. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “It’s alright. Shh.”

His arms tightened around your waist, then relaxed, tension melting from his body. “This is nice,” he sighed into your shirt, enjoying being snugly pressed against you, surrounded by warmth. “Thank you… this is nice.” He never let anyone comfort him like this. Never let his need for comfort show under his stoic exterior. If his judgment were functioning properly, it would have struck him as a red flag how easily he sought comfort from a stranger that he wouldn’t have accepted from his closest friends, but it felt good to let it out.

Eventually, he remembered his dignity and sat up, drying his eyes on his sleeve and glancing regretfully at the wet splotch he’d made in your shirt.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. He picked up his latest glass of scotch, and swirled its half-empty amber contents before setting it down again. It was possible he had drunk enough.

“It’s OK. You had a bad day.”

His lips tightened at the corners in agreement. “Usually Liv is the only one who tries to cheer me up. So, thanks for…” He closed his eyes and tilted his head. “You’re very nice.”

Your chest fluttered. He was terribly cute, and far too vulnerable for you to be having these lascivious feelings about him.

#Rafael Barba #Rafael Barba x Reader #ada rafael barba #Raúl Esparza #svu fic #female reader #my writing #Headcanoning Barba as good at singing naturally #and is a fan of RENT change my mind #emotional hurt/comfort #sorry about the dubcon everyone but sober Rafa would never sing in public XD

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scintillating-galaxias · 4 years

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simpatico week day 2 - time travel

because we all need a little brainstorm whump in our lives :,) @simpaticoweek

read it here on ao3!

Perceptor wasn’t sure what prompted him to sit with Brainstorm. Hell, he wasn’t sure what prompted him to enter Swerve’s in the first place. Perhaps he’d had enough of the solitude the lab provided. That must be it. His processor needed stimulation, and a loud, busy environment was an obvious solution. Only, he hadn’t expected it to lead to him sitting down across from a morose looking Brainstorm and awkwardly making stilted attempts at conversations.

He said, ‘attempts.’ In reality, he hadn’t tried, too concerned about saying the wrong thing. Brainstorm has been giving him weird looks since he’d sat down with his drink and sipped at it in complete silence, but he hadn’t gotten up and left yet. So... perhaps that was a good sign. Or maybe Brainstorm felt obligated to stay here since Perceptor had sat down. He couldn’t be sure. Social cues didn’t come naturally to him.

Finally, Brainstorm let out a heavy vent, took off his blast mask, and sighed, “What do you want, Perceptor.”

Perceptor tensed. “You looked like you needed some company,” he said stiffly. This was true enough. Everyone kept a wide berth from Brainstorm these days as if his EM field could emit the same poison he’d used on them all those weeks ago. Even now, the nearby tables surrounding where Brainstorm and Perceptor were noticeably empty.

But if Brainstorm was aware of this, he did not seem all that bothered by it. In fact, he didn’t seem aware Perceptor had said anything at all. His optics were unfocused, glazing off to stare at something to the right of Perceptor’s shoulder. Perceptor followed his gaze. Unsurprisingly, it led to where Chromedome and Rewind were curled around each other in a booth. Their drinks were untouched, each of them content to drink in the sight of the other instead.

“You’re thinking about Rewind,” Perceptor quietly guessed.

“Ding, ding, ding,” Brainstorm said. His voice was flat, lifeless without his usual chirpy enthusiasm. “We have a winner.”

Perceptor spent a second too long trying to formulate a response. A brittle smile spread across Brainstorm’s face. “It’s fine,” he said. “You don’t have to pretend to care. You didn’t before, and I don’t know why you’re bothering now.”

Perceptor shuttered his optic. “I’m not pretending,” he said, faintly hurt, but he knew his hurt was unwarranted; he understood the doubtful reaction and couldn’t blame Brainstorm for having it. It wasn’t as though they’d had many positive interactions in the past to say otherwise.

“Hm.” Brainstorm’s mouth twisted in a way that told Perceptor he didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t willing to pursue the topic. “Sure.”

Perceptor resisted fidgeting with his monocle in the awkward wake of silence that followed. Instead, he tentatively asked, “May I ask what it is about Rewind you’re thinking about?”

Brainstorm shot him an unamused look that positively screamed, Seriously? Perceptor’s frame heated up a bit; he’s never been a fantastic conversationalist, but he refused to let it be for lack of trying. So he tilted his helm with a slight flush to his face and waited until Brainstorm sighed and fell back against his seat, helm tipping up to stare listlessly at the ceiling. “What everyone else is thinking about,” he said dully. “The fact that he’s back. His second life. And just… Hah. What’re the chances of that?”

“Almost incalculably small,” Perceptor said quietly. “It’s really quite the marvel.” Brainstorm’s optics dimmed. Perceptor wanted to smack himself. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to aggravate you. I thought I should ask because you seemed upset, is all.”

“I am,” Brainstorm said simply. Perceptor blinked; he’d been expecting another non-answer. But Brainstorm, evidently mistaking his surprise to be towards something else, grimaced. “Well, no. I’m not upset about Rewind coming back. God, no, I’m—I’m glad he’s alive, and I’m glad that Chromedome got a good twist to his story for once. Mech’s had a sad life.” Perceptor did not know much about Chromedome’s past aside from his work with Prowl, so he merely nodded. Brainstorm made a frustrated sound. “This is making me look like a complete aft. Why are you even asking? You don’t care.”

Perceptor’s scope dipped thoughtfully. After a moment, he finally said, “That’s not necessarily true. You are hurting. It’s only right someone should at least ask how you’re doing.”

Brainstorm gave him a long, considering look. Like he was searching for something—No, testing Perceptor for something. Perceptor remained silent, patiently waiting as the orange light of Brainstorm’s optics washed over him.

He seemed to find whatever answer he was looking for, because finally, he warily asked, “You want the short answer or the long answer?”

“Whichever suits you best.”

“Short it is. How am I doing? Fragging terrible. Thanks for asking.” Brainstorm flapped his servo at him. “You can go now.”

Perceptor hummed, but he did not move. “That is to be expected. But I’m afraid I do not know what exactly this has to do with Rewind.”

Rewind’s lively, bright bout of laughter cut across the bar chatter as Chromedome murmured something in his audial. Brainstorm fixed Perceptor with a piercing stare.

“Have you ever loved someone to the point of invention, Perceptor?” he suddenly asked, deadly serious.

Perceptor shook his helm. “No.”

Oh, he loved to invent. That certainly couldn’t be denied. But that wasn’t what Brainstorm asked. He’d asked if Perceptor had created something that had never before existed in the whole grand vastness of the universe, all in the name of love, and for that, Perceptor could not say he had.

“Mm. I don’t blame you.” His wings drooped even further, making him look impossibly small as he fixed his gaze on some unseeable spot on the table. “Did I ever tell you about why I made that briefcase?”

Again, Perceptor said, “No.”

Brainstorm’s face smoothed over into a pensive wistfulness. “All I ever wanted was for Quark to be safe. I loved him, you know. I loved him with everything I had, and I gave everything I had to get that silly old sod back. I was ready to erase the entire concept of my existence so he—and everyone else, I guess, but it started with him—could live. I invented a way, possibly the only way, to inconsequentially time-travel so he could live. Well,” he said, shooting Perceptor a faintly amused glance, “it would’ve been inconsequential.”

“Your work is incredible,” Perceptor blurted. “The designs behind your briefcases are nothing short of ingenious, as are your proofs for the paradox locks, and—” He stopped when he noticed Brainstorm raising an optical ridge at him. This time, Perceptor really did flush shamefully. “I—I apologize. I don’t know what came over me. That was highly inappropriate. Please. Continue.”

Brainstorm gave him a careful look. Then, he chuckled bitterly. “It was incredible,” he corrected. “You and Rodimus destroyed all of it.”

Perceptor cringed. “I… yes, I suppose that is deserved. If it means anything to you, I didn’t particularly want to do it.”

That, at the very least, he could say was true. He couldn’t stand destroying Brainstorm’s beautiful feats of engineering. It’d almost physically hurt, watching the dying sparks the electronics in the briefcases coughed up as the flame fused the lot of it into a twisted, blackened mess. They weren’t just extraordinary pieces of technology he’d destroyed; they were answers to questions he’d had for millennia. They were the definition of a new future of possibilities. And now they were gone.

Guilt twisted around Perceptor’s spark like a tangled net free-floating in an ocean, suffocating and cutting. He should’ve at least tried to argue that it was in their best interest to spare one of them for the sake of science. Rodimus could be reasoned with when it came to these kinds of things. Instead, he’d stood by and watched it all burn, compliant to the end.

“We could build them again,” said Perceptor.

“They wouldn’t like that,” said Brainstorm.

“I know.”

“So why do it? There’s no point in you of all mechs going down with me.”

Perceptor didn’t know.

Brainstorm sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. The point is, it wasn’t enough. I don’t think there ever could have been ‘enough.’ It was bound to happen anyway.” He tipped his helm towards Chromedome and Rewind with age-old yearning burning away at his smile. “I made up a whole new rulebook for the universe to abide by, and it wasn’t enough to get him back. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. I gave Quark everything I had to offer. And now? I’ve got nothing. I’m not allowed in my own lab. Nautica hates me. No one trusts me, and I can’t blame them. My life’s work is a pile of melted circuits. Quark’s still gone, and it was Chromedome who got his conjunx back from the dead.” Brainstorm’s laugh was this horrible, weak little thing that tugged at Perceptor’s spark. “I sometimes wish I’d been left in the past. At least I had something worth living for there.”

Perceptor once believed he knew failure. It’d taken more from him than he thought possible. His friends, his home, his faith. But he’d never seen it take everything but life from someone, scraping out every last thing they had inside them until they were a hollow, bleeding vessel for defeat.

He looked at Brainstorm. Really looked at him. There was something tired worn into his frame, an exhaustion that ran so deep, there was no other way Brainstorm could be perceived. Gone was the puff-chested, bravado-filled Brainstorm Perceptor had somehow managed to convince himself into believing to be callous, distant, and cowardly. He couldn’t believe it to be the same Brainstorm before him. This one, who was once filled with so much devotion and passion, it hurt him to hold it all.

Never, in all of his functioning, had Perceptor been so wholly wrong.

“I’m sorry,” said Perceptor.

“It’s not like it’s your fault,” said Brainstorm.

“No,” said Perceptor. He reached out and grasped Brainstorm’s servo with his own, squeezing it tight. “I’m simply… sorry.”

Brainstorm stared at their linked servos. Then, tentatively, hesitantly, like he’s afraid he’d lose this too, he squeezed back.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Me, too.”

#simpaticoweek2020 #simpatico #tf #mtmte #whump #my writing #maccadam #timelines? i dont know her

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my-happy-little-bean · 4 years

Text

Blossom

pairings: logan/patton (logicality) (because im trash) words: 2776 warnings: swearing, panic attack, implied toxic parental relationship, mention of an implied suicide attempt, fighting summary:

blos·som /ˈbläsəm/

verb - to produce flowers or masses of flowers. - to develop in a promising way

Or: the five times Logan couldn’t see the flowers, and the one time he did.

a/n- hello! i hope you are all doing well during this strange quaran-time! i present to you, my first non-golden slumbers flower-related fic (still logicality tho,,, y'all can rip that pairing out of my dead, cold hands :pp). i had a really strange dream last night that had something to do with this concept and hey, you know what i do with dreams :p

i hope you enjoy it ^v^

read on ao3~

---------

dedicated to the one bit of starlight that always remembers to water my garden

~*~

Logan was halfway up the porch stairs when Patton mentioned the flowers for the first time.

“I’m telling you, Lo!” Patton followed Logan into their new house, carrying boxes behind him. “They were little yellow daffodils, just sprouting behind you as you walked! It was so pretty!”

“Patton, it takes twelve to fifteen weeks for daffodils to bloom after chilling,” Logan said pointedly, setting his own boxes down by an old, tattered couch in the living room. “Besides, even if there were some growing, I would be more concerned that there is something prompting growth underneath our house.”

Patton giggled, putting his boxes down beside Logan’s. He wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist from the back, going on the tips of his toes to kiss the back of his neck.

“Our home,” he murmured in Logan’s skin. Logan smiled.

“Yes,” he said, looking around at their surroundings. “It is...a start.”

“It’ll be more than that soon enough!” Patton chirped, taking Logan’s hand and spinning himself underneath it with a squeal. Logan couldn’t help smile, moving his arm more purposefully to properly spin Patton around until he was standing right in front of him.

“I’m so happy,” Patton said with a sigh and that lopsided smile; the smile that proved to Logan that he could at least feel love.

“I am happy that you are happy, dear.” He pressed his forehead against Patton’s and kissed his nose lightly. “Now, we must continue on, or we will be late to the neighbourhood barbeque Janene invited us to.”

“Janene?”

“Our neighbour, remember?”

Patton made a small ‘ah’ noise and nodded enthusiastically, already skipping past Logan to grab some more boxes outside.

As he watched him go, Logan sighed; he could definitely love. He could love with all of the love the world had to offer him, for as long as they were offering. He could love the softest, most gentle creature he knew; one who moved with such grace and one whose mind and heart and soul was overwhelmingly admirable.

Yes, he could love him.

And he loved him.

“Logan! There’s pink roses on our roof!”

---------

According to Janene, the whole neighbourhood could see the flowers.

It was a special kind of phenomenon that no one outside the small town of Khloris ever noticed. But if you had a house on its terrain, you apparently had flowers growing underneath your feet. Upon mentioning Patton’s observations at the neighbourhood barbeque, Janene had explained the rumours that it was the land’s way of “observing” or “understanding” its habitants. Whatever that meant.

Logan found it borderline infuriating that no one had pursued further research on the matter; that people just walked around their neighbourhoods, complimenting each others’ seemingly magical gardens.

What was even more infuriating was that everyone just...accepted it. Embraced it, even. As if it was normal to hallucinate flowers growing on vines across your windows.

He was still unable to see these flowers, if they even existed. And while he wasn’t keen on keeping a sense of distrust between himself and his partner (he would have stopped playing along if Patton shared his same view) he couldn’t help but remain skeptical.

(He would never admit it to Patton, but the reason he had purchased that rather expensive machine off of Amazon was so he could test the contents of the air in certain areas of the town. It didn’t prove anything abnormal, but it was an interesting experiment.

He read his findings out loud to Patton one night, and Patton listened to every word.

And when Logan left for work the next morning, Patton complimented the chrysanthemums trailing behind him.)

Still, he didn’t have much choice other than to embrace the absurdity floating in their town. Besides, it was mostly harmless. And, more often than not, it served as the backdrop to some of the most joyful moments they had.

“Why, yellow!” Patton exclaimed as he greeted Logan on the steps to their house. “Someone has an extra poppy in their step today, huh?”

“First of all, I believe you mean ‘hello’; the standard greeting which is first exchanged between individuals seeing each other,” Logan hummed. Then, he leaned over to kiss Patton’s cheek. “Second of all...hello, dearest.”

“Hiya!” Patton giggled. Logan watched as the spot he kissed flushed a soft shade of pink. “How was work?”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “It was...very satisfactory.”

“Very satisfactory?” Patton rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet, immediately ecstatic. “Not just satisfactory?”

“Mhm.”

“Ooh that and the yellow poppies behind you! You must have good news!” Patton beamed. “Come, come sit with me! Tell me all about your very satisfactory day!”

Usually, Logan would politely decline, telling him that he had to first shower and prepare dinner as he always did after work. And it was almost second-nature to ignore the ever-growing amount of flower observations from Patton.

But he couldn’t help but oblige upon seeing Patton rush over to their small, wooden porch swing, nearly knocking into his ball of yarn and newest knitting project. That and he did have good news. Very good news, in fact.

“Tell me about your day first,” Logan insisted as he sat down beside him, setting his briefcase at his feet. “I would rather celebrate a mutual achievement than selfishly intrude with my singular one.”

“Intrude?” Patton nudged him lightly. “Well, you’re not being int-rude if you do! So don’t worry about that kind of intrusion-confusion you’re on about, mister!”

“...did you eat the cookies Janene sent us?”

“Several.”

Logan shook his head. “She puts too much chocolate in those, you know. And those pastries surpass the recommended amount of sugar one should digest in a day.”

“I know! ”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh at how starry-eyed his Patton looked. Patton gently rocked the swing back and forth, then lifted his legs to sit cross-legged on the cushions once it gained enough momentum.

“Anyway, my day was alright!” Patton chirped. “Had a breakthrough with a client today! It’s been a slow couple of weeks, but I think things are looking up!”

“That is fantastic news, Patton.” Logan leaned his head against Patton’s shoulder, placing a hand on his thigh and smiling. “You’re doing an exceptional job.”

“Aw, Lo!” Patton giggled again. “You’re gonna make me grow peonies everywhere.”

Second-nature. Logan just chuckled.

“Now! We must celebrate you!” Patton lifted Logan’s head off his shoulder and held his hands into his own. “Tell me everything!”

A pause. Logan felt as if he too was holding his breath.

“Well, do you recall that promotion I recently inquired about at my work?”

Patton’s eyes widened.

“Shut up.”

Logan broke into a wide grin, finally exhaling as he nodded. Patton squealed, practically lunging at Logan to give him a tight hug.

“Shut up shut up shut uppp!!!”

“Do you...actually want me to–”

“No!” Patton gasped, pulling back to hold Logan in front of him by his shoulders. His grin almost hurt to look at. “Never ever ever shut up!”

“Then why did you–”

“I’m excited, you goofball!” Patton brushed the hair out of Logan’s eyes with a small giggle. “Besides, if I’m shushing anything, it’s the guilty feeling in your head that I can hear from a mile away.

(Fuck. He could love him forever.)

“Be proud of yourself, silly.” Patton wrapped Logan into another hug. Despite being shaken around so much, Logan couldn’t help but laugh. “Gosh, you deserve this so so much– I’m so proud of you.”

Logan’s breath hitched.

“You…”

Patton drew himself back ever-so-slightly, leaving a mere inch between him and Logan. He smiled.

“I’m always proud of you, Logan.” He kissed Logan’s nose, sending a rush of warmth throughout his entire being.

He then looked down at the spaces between each wooden plank of the porch and smiled.

“Peonies,” he whispered, resting his forehead against Logan’s. “I’m happy too, Lo. So so so happy.”

---------

“Patton, take a deep breath.”

“He–” Patton gasped, wrapping his arms around himself– “how– I can’t–”

“Patton.” Logan took the phone out of Patton’s hand and held them, squeezing gently. “Patton, let’s sit down, please–”

“Don’t touch me!“ Patton sobbed, pulling his hands back and covering his mouth. Tears rolled down his cheeks and over his hands. He began backing away from Logan. “It’s– I’m a– I’m–”

“Patton–”

“Fuck,” Patton choked out, stumbling past Logan and heading in the direction of their backyard. “I can’t– I need–”

Logan just nodded, carefully catching up to him and clearing out as much clutter as he could so Patton wouldn’t get hurt. He slid open their backyard door for Patton to rush through.

The cool, evening air hit Logan almost sharply, and he hoped that Patton could feel the same thing. He watched from a hesitant distance as Patton fell to his knees on their grass, folding into himself like a ball and clutching at each strand.

(He doesn’t need you to make this worse. "You don’t know how to feel, after all.”)

“Hey,” Logan finally said. He walked over to the grass and sat a comfortable distance away from Patton. “Is this enough space?”

Patton didn’t lift his head, but he nodded. Logan sighed.

“...What happens outside your workplace is not your responsibility.”

Patton let out a huge sob; one that felt like it echoed through the whole neighbourhood.

Fuck. Logan cleared his throat.

“Tell me about the flowers,” he blurted out. Patton lifted his head slightly.

“The–”

“The flowers,” Logan said again, even less sure of himself. “Tell me what they...what they look like to you right now.”

Patton let out a scratchy laugh. “You don’t believe in the stupid flowers.”

Logan’s heart broke.

(He didn’t, but he believed in him.)

“Tell me about them anyway,” he said insistently. “I assume they are in our presence, no?”

Patton sighed and, after seemingly deliberating his offer, sat up; his hands firmly gripping the grass they were sitting on. He looked around him, all spacey in that way that used to scare Logan. (It still does, but he at least knows enough about it that it’s not as worrisome.)

Finally, he spoke up.

“I– I see marigolds,” he whispered. “And– and yellow carnations.”

Logan closed his eyes in thought for a second and then opened them with a sigh.

“My dear,” he whispered, scooting a bit closer to him. “It is normal to feel grief and disappointment. Those are common reactions to a tragic occurrence such as this. I am so deeply sorry that you have to experience this because you do not deserve this, my starlight.”

Patton curled even more into himself.

“But what is important is that he is still here,” Logan continued. “And I am going to be here to assist you with whatever you need in order for you to cope during this difficult time.”

He watched as Patton took a deep breath; the first one in hours. When he exhaled, he felt as if the air around him grew still and less frigid.

“I already know with absolute certainty that I will witness you lift yourself up when we make it through this; stronger than you were ever before.” He moved closer to him again. “You did not fail, no – we are simply just trying again.”

A beat of silence. Patton sniffled. “T-There’s purple hyacinths now.”

Logan sadly smiled. A common one with Patton.

“You do not have to apologize.” He patted the space next to him. “I’m here. And so are you.”

Patton sobbed a bit more, but eventually smiled through his tears and curled up in Logan’s lap. Logan held Patton and leaned over to press a kiss in his hair.

“I got you,” he murmured in his curls. He felt Patton settle into his lap, the tenseness in his shoulders loosening. He ran his hands through his hair, kissing it again and again every few seconds.

“Forever?” He heard Patton mumble. He smiled.

“And a little bit after that,” he whispered back.

And they sat there for a while, underneath the starry skies above them, in what Logan assumed was a sea of yellow and purple flowers. Though, he was never really sure.

Later on, Patton asked him how he knew what each flower meant. And Logan, who would never admit to researching floriography (or to any accomplishment at all), just said it was a coincidence.

---------

Patton rarely got mad; but when he did, Logan could only assume there were petunias everywhere.

“You–”

“Patton, please, not today–”

“NO!” His voice bounced off the walls and hit Logan in the chest. He shut up immediately. “Just...please– please tell me you’re joking.”

Logan averted his glance. “...I had to speak with them.”

“With your parents?! “ Patton screamed. “Who– who haven’t even bothered to call you in the last, what, five years?! “

“Patton, I–”

“You promised you’d never talk to them again,” Patton hissed. “I thought we agreed that– that it’d be wrong to. Because they were miserable people– people who– who made you miserable.”

He stung more than any thorn ever could. Logan tried to imagine some growing through the floors, as if trying to sympathize with what he could be experiencing. Of course he was angry. What Logan did was stupid. And he didn’t even mention the outcome…

“They’re my parents, Patton,” he said instead. He tried to plant his feet to the floor firmly, but Patton’s pacing made him shrivel up where he stood.

“They are not your parents,” Patton snapped. His breathing was sharp and quick. “Parents– parents don’t just tell their kid that they don’t have the capacity to feel– parents don’t kick their kid out of their fucking house and– and abandon them and leave them to be fixed by someone else.”

Logan’s breath hitched.

“I…” He tried not to let it hurt him, but seeing Patton also wince at his own words made him feel somewhat validated in his pain. Still, he stood his ground.

“I did not ask you to fix me,” Logan whispered, just as sharply; as if to get him back.

Stupid.

“Logan.” Patton’s voice was even more troubling when it was quiet. “How could you...”

“It’s true.” (Why was he still talking?!) “I didn’t need you to–”

But he never finished.

Because that’s all it took for Patton to leave.

Patton found Logan outside in their backyard, surrounded by roses.

Roses of every colour; yellow, pink, blue, black, and white. The grass underneath his feet was bright green– in fact, everything around him was bright.

“L-Logan, what–”

And that was when he saw the ring.

“Patton.” It came out as a loud, choked sob.

Patton took a shaky step towards Logan, who shakily got on one knee.

“What are you…”

To his surprise, Logan laughed.

“We– we were never really good at appropriate timing, were we?”

Patton covered his mouth with wide eyes.

“I called my parents,” Logan began shakily, “because I wanted to tell them that I was going to marry you.”

Patton’s breath hitched.

“You were right,” he continued, wiping his eyes. “Parents don’t do any of the things you had mentioned a-and I know I broke that promise we made out of good intent but…” He sighed. “But they are my parents. And I wanted them to be part of this moment.”

He closed his eyes, almost shamefully.

“Ultimately, it was out of spite, wasn’t it?” He laughed quietly. “In the end, I just wanted to prove to them that I could.”

“C-Could what?”

Logan stood up from his place and smiled. “That I could feel.”

A wide grin spread across Patton’s face.

“Oh, Logan…” He sobbed, rushing over to hold Logan’s hands. He giggled as Logan’s glasses fogged up from him crying, and he reached over to take them off, opting to rest them lopsided on his head. Logan laughed again through his tears.

“Patton,” he whispered, looking up in his eyes. “I feel everything with you. I– I feel perfect, unadulterated happiness and love when I am with you. I feel joy, I feel peace, I feel...I feel things that I didn’t even know exist– ”

He held Patton’s hands and took a deep breath.

“I feel everything for– for you.” Logan rested his forehead against Patton’s and broke into laughter as their tears fell to the ground. “I want to feel everything with you– the ups, the downs, everything– for the rest of my life.”

---------

And as Patton kissed him, Logan watched as a rainbow of colours blossomed around their home.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #logan sanders #patton sanders #logan/patton #logicality #logic/morality #flower...AU?#idk what this is #but its sure as hell cute :p #gabbie writes things

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enamoured-x · 4 years

Note

Could you do number 21 - “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” “I wish I could say the same.” from prompt list with Sonny??

*Not my gif

a/n: Ugh, angsty Sonny HURTS. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

You knew what was going to happen when Sonny took on the position as ADA. You knew it was going to be more long hours and canceled dates and dinners. And you were fine with it. You were so proud of Sonny for finally getting to this point. You had been there when he was in night school, bringing him cups and cups of coffee when he was up late studying and always making sure he was well fed in between study sessions and exams. So to see him get to this point was truly amazing and you couldn’t have been happier for him. Even knowing what it meant for your relationship. Even knowing it meant less time with Sonny. At least you still got to see him when he would come home late at night or sometimes you caught him in the morning. There were also the times when you would drop lunch off at the courthouse for him but he could never talk long and most times he was rushing out, food forgotten on his desk just to get soggy and thrown out when he returned hours later.

You were trying, you really were. You tried to work around his taxing schedule, sometimes moving appointments at your job or even moving around the hours you worked to better suit it to his schedule. You were fine with it. Until even the hours he could spend at home were not spent at home at all. They were spent at the office again or at forlini’s with the squad. You tried not to be hurt by the neglect. You tried to be happy that he had his dream job and he was also still close with the squad. But it was hard when in doing all of this, he was pulling away from you. At least that’s what it felt like. Even when he’d crawl in bed at night, you’d get a measly kiss on the forehead and then he’d turn over and fall asleep. Or when you would make dinner, explicitly telling him what time to be home for it, he’d cancel and say he had plans with the squad. Or Amanda. And you wish that didn’t upset you and stir up envy in you.

You were friends with Amanda, sure you weren’t that close but she was Sonny’s co-worker and friend so it was a casual thing. But when Sonny started spending time with her despite you moving around your schedule to spend time with him, well, you were not having it. He’d cancel dinner, letting you know he’d be having dinner with Amanda. Always saying things like “she’s got two mouths to feed, I’m just trying to be a good friend” or “Amanda needs me right now, I can’t leave her alone”. And damn did it hurt hearing all these excuses. You needed Sonny, you and him were a family. But these days it seemed like he was content playing house with her, you weren’t even a thought. Eventually you had enough. And it was your birthday of all days that Sonny chose to keep his notorious streak of bailing on you. The sad part was, you didn’t even think he knew it was your birthday. You woke up to a cold bed and not even a text from him. And here you were, sitting at home watching tv and eating cupcakes your friend bought you, like a damn loser. This wasn’t a birthday party, it was a damn pity party.

Sonny had obviously forgotten about you and your birthday. The clock had read 10pm. You didn’t even know why you still stayed up waiting for him. You knew he had gotten off hours ago, and your heart restricted just thinking about the fact that he was most definitely with Amanda doing god knows what. Over the past few months you’d try to push away the thoughts that would infiltrate your mind, all those what ifs, what if he doesn’t love you anymore? What if he’s cheating on you? What if he’s cheating on you with Amanda? What if he loves her? Those were the worst. And over the past few months, to accompany those what ifs, were doubts. Self doubt, sure. But maybe...maybe yours and Sonny's relationship had run its course. Maybe this was it. And damn did that hurt but it hurt worse to know that Sonny spent his free time with another woman. And in that hurt was also anger. White hot anger that was slowly killing you. Which you were in right now, you were sitting in it. Already done with all that grief. No, now you were just angry. So when he finally walked through that door, the anger was stirring within you, just below the surface.

“Doll? You’re still up?” He asked once he walked in and saw you sitting on the couch. He was still in his suit but his tie was loose around his neck already and a few buttons of his shirt had already been unbuttoned. Whether it was because he really was fucking her or because he got comfortable at her place...well, both ideas pissed you off.

“Yup, still up. Still celebrating.” You said, saluting him with your wine glass. He set down his briefcase and walked over to the couch.

“Celebrating? Celebrating what?” He asked, confusion overtaking his features. Your heart sunk. You knew he forgot but there was still a part of you that hoped he had remembered and had some gift or surprise for you. Not that you needed those things, but it wouldn’t have hurt.

“My birthday.” You said, taking a sip of your wine. You weren’t looking at him anymore, just staring at the tv.

“What?” He asked and then he he mumbled under his breath like he suddenly realized it, “fuck, doll. I’m such an asshole. I totally forgot, I’m so sorry. Fuck.” He sat down on the couch next to you, placing a hand on your thigh. You pushed it off you. He grimaced.

“I swear I didn’t mean to. I got so busy at work and then Amanda offered to cook dinner and I said yes because I thought you were busy with work all day.” You nodded your head at his words. You knew he was with Amanda but it still hurt hearing it.

“Right.” You ran your finger over your wine glass. You honestly didn’t know what to say. Or maybe you did, you just didn’t know where to start.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you, anywhere you wanna go, I’ll take you.” He suggested. He moved his hand to place on your thigh again but he thought better of it and kept them to himself.

“Dinner tomorrow?” You weren’t actually okay with any of this. You also knew the answer to your question because you’d be silly to think he could make time for you.

“Oh, baby, I can’t tomorrow. I promised Amanda I’d go with her to see a play, the girls are staying with the babysitter.” That sounded a lot like a date night. Both of them finally having the time off, the sitter watching the kids. Tears sprang to your eyes. Maybe it wasn’t just anger. Maybe your grief was still very much prevalent.

“Then don’t worry about it. Go on your date and I’ll just have dinner with some girlfriends.” You said and stood up, making your way to the kitchen to put your glass in the skin. You heard him following you.

“Date? Doll, come on. You know me and Amanda are just friends.” You rolled your eyes at that. You set your glass in the sink and then turned around to face Sonny.

“Yeah, just friends. You’re over her house every night, Dominick. You choose to spend your off time with her, rather than your actual girlfriend.” You pointed out. Your words finally coming to you.

He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“She’s having a hard time right now. You don’t understand. She’s a single mom and she needs my help.” You scoffed at the weak excuse.

“She doesn’t need your help, Sonny. Her kids have nothing to do with you going to see a play with her tomorrow night and they don’t have anything to do with you meeting her for drinks or for lunch almost everyday.” You couldn’t believe this was happening, on your birthday of all days.

“I just want to make sure she’s okay and happy–” You had enough.

“Are you sleeping with her?” His brows furrowed and he shook his head.

“Fuck no. How could you ask me that?”

“You spend all your time with her. You cancel plans with me to be with her. So what is it, Sonny? What’s really going on?” You asked, wanting him to give you something. To give you the truth.

“Nothing’s going on! I swear. I can’t believe you’d think I’d actually cheat on you.” He looked angry now but you didn’t care. How could he not see how it looked? How it felt being cast aside for someone else?

“So there’s nothing between you two? Not even a kiss after a few glasses of wine at dinner? Not even a touch of her hand on your thigh?” There had to be something. And you were right once you saw him wince and then sigh. You were sure you were going to start crying any second.

“I...fuck, doll. I don’t want to lie to you. She...she made a pass at me the other night. Tried to kiss me but I pushed her away before she could. I swear I did. She had a little too much to drink and she tried to get handsy but I swear to god I pushed her away, doll. I reminded her I was with you. She backed off and she hasn’t tried anything since.” A tear escaped your eye and trailed down your cheek. Sonny cursed and tried to take you in his arms. You backed away from him though, shaking your head.

“Why the fuck do you think she tried to do that, Dominick? Huh? You had been giving her all the signals. Making her dinner, watching her kids, going out with her. You’ve practically been dating her, just without the intimacy.”

“No. God, no. I was just trying to be a good friend. I–”

“For fucks sake! Stop with the friends bullshit! She tried to make a move on you because she thought you were into her too. Because you entertained her! I… I can’t do this shit anymore, Sonny. If you want to be with her, just say the fucking word. Say it so we can be done with this and I don’t have to stay up late at night wondering if you’ve been fucking her or if you’ve fallen out of love with me and have fallen in love with her.”

He shook his head, tears now filling his eyes as he stepped toward you and grabbed your shoulders.

“You’re the only one I want to be with. I swear to god, doll. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for what it looks like. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Sonny was terrified. He was terrified because he knew where this conversation was going.

“You say that every time you cancel on me to be with her. And guess what? You never make it up to me. I’m...I’m just tired, Sonny. I’m tired of feeling so lonely in this fucking relationship. Is there even love here anymore?” And there it was. The question you had been toying with the past few months. Sonny choked on a sob at your words.

“Doll, doll, don’t say that. There is love. I love you so much. I love you more than I thought I could love someone.” Tears were falling down his cheeks as he grabbed your face in his hands, trying to make you understand what he was saying. By now, you were full on crying too.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” He said, swiping at your tears with his thumbs. Your heart was heavy and you felt your energy slowly leaving your body. You couldn’t do this with him anymore. Because you knew tomorrow would still be the same. Nothing was going to change.

“I wish I could say the same.” You said, and meant it. The start of yours and Sonny’s relationship had been amazing and had been the best year of your life. But now, now you were just miserable and alone and unhappy. Maybe there was still love here, maybe there wasn’t. But you weren’t going to stick around to find out while hurting yourself in the process.

“Baby, please. You love me, I love you. Please. We can get past this, I can do better. I will do better. Just please give me a chance here, doll.” You bit your lip, wishing the tears would stop flowing. If there wasn’t love here anymore, if this had been a long time coming, then why did it still hurt so goddamn much? Why did your heart still ache so deep? Why did some part of you still want to stay? But you couldn’t, you knew you couldn’t.

“I can’t, Sonny. I can’t keep doing this to myself.” You pried his hands away from your face. He shook his head and cried harder, pleading with you.

“Maybe… maybe someday. Maybe never. But maybe… maybe we can try again.” You told him. And with that you left him standing alone in the kitchen. Heading toward your shared room to get what you needed.

You weren’t upset that he wasn’t trying to beg you to stay. Sonny of all people knew when you made a decision you stuck by it. You were serious about this and no amount of persuasion would make you change your mind otherwise. So you left. You left and months later when you ran into Sonny, well, maybe that was the someday you were talking about.

#law and order svu #svu #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x you

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