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spacedikut · 4 years ago

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the very insecure dr reid ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: “Could you write another fic about early Spence where he’s all insecure” combined with another request :) 5730 words

a/n: title taken from s1e5!! i wrote this months ago aka before i decided to try to make my fics gender neutral and i tried to make the appropriate changes but im also a dumbass so! yeah!

masterlist

Spencer is a man of science, if you didn’t already know.

This means he doesn’t spend his time fretting over what isn’t there, what doesn’t have facts and evidence to back it up. Of course, he dabbles in reading conspiracy theories and enjoys learning about various religions and things of that sort, but these are to expand his already infinite knowledge, not because he particularly believes in them.

The first time he believed there was some kind of God was when you kissed him.

It was after the case where both Elle and Spencer were trapped on a train with a paranoid schizophrenic – he still remembers how you reacted when he agreed to being sent in, how you tried to keep it light-hearted but pulled him aside to solemnly tell him you didn’t think you’d be able to live without him (if you do something rash and stupid, Spencer, I swear to God-). You threatened to nipple cripple him if he did die, and it was weirdly motivating.

After he was checked over, and teased Elle about saving her life, you came crashing into him with an audible oof and a whisper of, “God you smell so good I’m so glad you’re okay don’t ever do that again.” It was probably the adrenaline, the near-death experience high, but instead of gently pushing you away like he’d do with anyone else, he discovers your waist has a wonderful dip that his arms fit perfectly into as he tugs you close.

He’s hugged people before, obviously, but it’s always different with you.

You must think so, too, because when you pull away just enough that you’re still in his arms but can clearly see his face, you take a minuscule intake of breath that Spencer wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t, you know, Spencer.

A strand of Spencer’s hair falls from where it was tucked, falling into his line of sight. Without hesitation you’re pushing it back, fingertips brushing against Spencer’s cheek as you fold the hair back behind his ear. Your eyes meet when there’s no obstruction, electricity crackling in Spencer’s ears when he realises there’s nothing between you, nothing stopping you, and there’s something about the lack of space between you and how he holds you that just makes you ask-

“Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?”

Immediately, Spencer thinks yes. Not because he doesn’t want you to (he couldn’t think of anything better to do, to be honest), or because of where you are (although, knowing the whole team is not far away does make him feel a little funny), it’s because he’s him. Gangly, awkward, with very sweaty hands that feel at home on your body, and you don’t want to kiss that. You can’t want to.

Yet, he shakes his head, and finds himself copying you when you lean in and close your eyes.

It’s short, sweet, and somewhat weird. He thinks he blacks out, loses himself in your lips despite it happening so quickly.

When you pull back, Spencer’s eyes remain closed for a good few seconds before he’s brought back to Earth. And he doesn’t know what to say - pretty people don’t just… kiss him. They certainly don’t ask if they can kiss him, then follow through, and… stare at him like that.

“Has anyone seen Reid? Y/L/N?”

Whatever was supposed to happen after, whether it was good or bad, you’ll never know. Hotch’s footsteps are thundering towards you and, despite your daze, you step away from Spencer just as he spots you.

The second time he believed there was a God, he asked you on a date. And you said yes.

Neither of you mention the kiss. In your defence, he supposes, it happened merely an hour ago – everyone’s rushing to get back to Quantico so no one’s had time to make any kind of small talk, let alone have the talk after a kiss.

Elle gives Spencer a look of confusion when she slides past him, moving into the jet as he hovers in the entryway. He’s obviously waiting for someone, passing out tight lipped smiles to the team when they all squeeze past. Spencer isn’t a big guy, but it’s bizarre for him to be standing there like that, swaying like the palm tree he is – he’s usually setting up for yet another game of chess with Gideon at this moment.

Then you shuffle on, faltering when you catch him waiting for you but smile nonetheless. He straightens, hands remaining in his pockets when his mouth opens to speak. You interrupt him (before he can make a fool of himself, thank God).

“Wanna sit together?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. He nods and follows you like the lost puppy he is.

The second you invite him to sit next to you instead of opposite he wants to pull you tight into his side, but that seems like too much. He’s not Derek, for Heaven’s sake, and you’re not Garcia – all you’ve done is kiss once and really, when he thinks about it, you were probably on an adrenaline high too, so it might’ve been a heat of the moment thing. It happens, Spencer’s read about it, and although it would break his heart that it meant nothing, it’s likely. Oh, it’s so likely.

Spencer might be the first one on the team to cry on the BAU jet.

Halfway home, the team is lost in their own pass-times to notice when you bookmark your page and place your book on the table.

“Spence,” You whisper, testing if he’s awake.

He is. He hasn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep, no matter how hard he tries. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry if what I did earlier- you know-“ You gesture vaguely in the air, completely oblivious to the fact Spencer is very familiar with what happened earlier because he can’t stop replaying it, “-If that made you uncomfortable. Or if I forced you, or-“

“Would it be weird if I asked you on a date when we land?”

The grin you send him shoots straight to his heart, eyes crinkling with laughter at his echo of the words you used earlier. If you notice you don’t mention it, but his hands can’t stop fidgeting under the table, slick with sweat.

“It’d only be weird if you don’t kiss me after.” You say.

His brows furrow, a small incredulous laugh leaving him. “What? Why?”

“We’ve already had our first kiss, so it’s out of the way.”

“Are you saying… You want to kiss me again?”

You thought that was obvious from when you kissed him earlier, but you’re happy to remind him. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

“Okay,” He says, bashfully, with a lick of his lips. “I can- I can arrange that.”

This time, when you turn back to your book, your head finds his shoulder and Spencer thinks his it has turned to gold, blessed by being touched by you. Would it be too much if, the second you get back to base, he writes about this moment in great detail to his mother?

+++

All of that leads to now, where The Date is in three days.

He plans to take you to his favourite book café, a place you’ve always wanted to go but never had the chance to, and he was so, so excited. Any time he gets to spend with you is cherished and means more to him than it does to you, because to him it’s an excuse for you to give him more reasons to fall in love with you. And he does - fall in love - every single day.

Was is the important word here. He’s not excited anymore.

It’s terrifying how quick the tides can change.

Just this morning, he was glancing with child-like excitement at the outfit he’s already chosen for the date. You brought him some coffee, whispering an endearing, “Three days!” as you did, and, according to Derek, Spencer’s love eyes (what the hell does that mean) were so big even Derek fell in love with you for a second.

Now, Spencer’s not territorial, but that comment stuck with him. Maybe that’s why he’s here now.

He has to cancel the date.

It pains him – God, does it pain him – but he has to. He can’t go on that date with you. He can’t… put you through that. Make you spend time with him and have to let him down gently, slowly, like you’re talking down a temper tantrum. He can’t then pretend everything’s okay in front of the team. He won’t be able to pretend, because he’s liked you for months.

He won’t force you to go on that date with him. You deserve better than that, and better than him.

That’s what it comes down to: you deserve better than him.

It started that morning with Derek, as previously mentioned. Then the team was whisked away on a case, and the detectives were all over you. JJ, too, but they were too intimidated by Elle and Morgan, who just laughed at their attempts to impress you. It was borderline inappropriate, but you were too concerned with the victims and finding a serial killer to pay some officers and detectives you’ll never see again any attention.

Spencer noticed, though. And he couldn’t concentrate.

The detectives are dressed too well – by that, he means the suits and the Rolex watches are way above their paygrade – and they keep emphasising how good looking you and JJ are and how lucky the BAU is to have such dolls working on the team. What is this, the 40s? Who calls anyone doll anymore? And, yes, the team is very lucky to have you and JJ, but because you’re both great minds and wildly intelligent people that, yes, are also very gorgeous, but your looks aren’t all you have to offer, thank you very much.

There’s a detective approaching you, again, as you stand by the water cooler.

Spencer frantically looks around, trying to find a member of the team. “Morgan!” He weakly calls, because Spencer won’t scare him off. Maybe Morgan can chase them away like they’re stray cats, with his big muscles and scary eyebrows. Or Elle, who earlier merely lifted an eyebrow and the officers scattered like cockroaches.

All he catches of the conversation between you and the model/detective at the cooler is, “I appreciate it, but no thank you,” and that’s all he needs to hear.

He should’ve known someone would eventually make a move. You’ve said no, clearly, and Spencer doesn’t understand why. I mean, yes, he knows why – you have a prior engagement – but the detective… As much as he’s kind of a dick, he complements you better than Spencer does. Physically.

And there starts the spiral.

There must be something in the water, because every officer and detective and everyone in between is in peak physical condition with dashing looks to boot. They’re all straight out of a magazine, as if the popular kids from Spencer’s high school graduated and followed him here to remind him he is incredibly unworthy of you.

Spencer is lanky, unlike the broad men and curvaceous women here, and slicks his hair to the side rather than up like the others. He wears sweater vests, not blazers, and he’s so skinny that his trousers always look like hand-me-downs – nothing is fitted, like so many outfits are here.

They’re all everything Spencer is not. And Spencer is realising, quite quickly, that they’re the better ones – and that’s what you deserve. Better. The best.

It gets worse when they deliver the profile.

He finds his spot next to you, gives you a tight lipped smile, then looks at the outfits of his team compared to his own. Both Hotch and Morgan wear dark suits, well-proportioned and sophisticated in a way that Spencer is sure isn’t even in his calibre. Elle wears a deep green t-shirt, tucked into her tight black pants, and looks wonderfully intimidating with her double gun holster wrapped around her shoulders.

And you. You.

You wear a white shirt tucked into nicely tailored trousers, hair effortlessly styled with a pen tucked behind your ear. You all look like FBI agents. Intimidating. Prepared. Put-together.

Spencer… looks like he’s still in high school. He threatens no one, intimidates no one, and definitely does not make anyone feel inferior with his masculinity. He’s not an alpha male, is what he’s trying to say, and for each person he encounters in this wretched police department he feels himself shrinking.

So when they give the profile, he tries to say as little as possible. Tries to attract as little attention as possible, so when Hotch says his usual, “Thank you.” He can slip away unnoticed and hide from the superior beings.

It works, given everyone is too busy trying to save lives. Except you notice, and Spencer has to pretend he’s okay when you find him at the evidence board and tell him you’re excited for the date. He wants to believe you, truly does, but no matter how hard he digs into his brain to find a part of him that can fathom you see him as a better option than literally anyone else, it doesn’t exist.

You don’t seem to notice. He tells himself he’s glad, but there’s no denying the disappointment.

+++

Hotch calls it a night when the clock nears midnight. He says the team should get as much rest as possible and come in with fresh eyes tomorrow – despite this, the team knows most if not all of them will get little to no sleep, given that they’ll all be going over everything they’ve got so far in their hotel rooms.

You slink up to Spencer, a pep in your step even though you’re running on pure caffeine and nothing else. It’s then Spencer realises he has to do it now, because if he does it in the police department then he’ll be called unprofessional, but if he waits any longer than that he’ll be cutting too close and that’s a bad look.

“Y/N,” He says, coming to a stop before the elevators, allowing the rest of the team to head up. “I need to say something.”

You nod with a smile, covering a cute yawn when he takes a couple seconds to gather his thoughts.

You’re not sure what he’s gonna say, but you assume it’ll be to do with the date. Maybe a change of time, or a change of venue – he did mention the library café can get super busy on weekends – or, worst case scenario, the date will have to be postponed for whatever reason. And none are particularly bad, because you’re excited and just want to be with Spencer – it doesn’t matter if it’s not when he originally planned or where he originally planned.

But Spencer has always unwittingly been full of surprises.

“We can’t go on that date.”

Instantly you ask, “Why not?”

“Well-“ He seems caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you to question the sudden change of heart, “It’s complicated-“

“I’ve got time.”

“We should go to sleep-“

“Is it your mother?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Of course you look empathetic when you consider his mother might need him – a stab to the start. Add in the flicker of concern in your eyes – two stabs to the heart. “It’s not her. It’s- it’s nothing. Just, can we cancel?”

“And reschedule?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment is clear on your face and makes Spencer feel so guilty, but not guilty enough to take it back. You’re not disappointed that you’re missing out on dating him, you’re frustrated that you’ve been building up to having plans on the weekend and they’ve suddenly been cancelled without reason. By Spencer, of all people. In a couple months’ time you’ll thank him, when you’re dating some bodybuilder who can grow a mean beard. You’ll thank him for not making you go on that date with him and forcing you to tell him you’re just not my type, Spence, and making everything awkward.

He can’t look at you. Maybe that’s why he misses the genuine sadness, the sudden glassiness of your eyes that humiliates you enough to make you angry. His words have ignited a fire in your chest that burns through your body like you’re made of gasoline, and you wish you could turn your thoughts off so you don’t start questioning how long he’s been wanting to reject you, if he even wanted to date you in the first place, how embarrassing it is to have been so openly eager when, apparently, he was very much not.

“I’m sorry.” He says, like it’ll do anything. He still can’t look at you and he feels like a coward.

“Yeah.” You sniffle.

He decides to take the stairs. You head for the bar, just for one drink.

+++

The following day, when an officer tries to talk to you, you blatantly ignore him. You tell him that unless it’s work-related, you’re really not interested, and word spreads quick that your pleasantries have died out and you’re not in the mood to tolerate creepy compliments.

There’s a permanent frown on your face that haunts Spencer the entire day. He knows exactly what’s going on – it’s his fault, after all – and he finds himself simultaneously avoiding you whilst witnessing your downcast mood.

Morgan starts investigating not long after you barely react to his terrible joke. He makes them for you, because you either choke on laughter or throw your pen at him, but this time it was like you weren’t even in the room. When Morgan poked you and asked if you heard him, your lacklustre reply was, “Hm? Yeah, good one.”

Morgan perches on the desk Spencer’s using. “You got any idea what’s going on with Y/N?”

“They’re mad at me.”

“You’re the reason they’re like this?”

Spencer doesn’t physically react, just says, as casually as possible, “Unless another person asked them on a date then cancelled without reason, then yes. It’s my fault.”

There’s no point in lying. Especially to Derek. Spencer doesn’t know how you’ll go about explaining your sudden poor mood, if you’ll curse his very existence or lie about it, but Spencer’s never been a good liar and the sooner everyone knows it’s his fault and he sucks, the better.

Morgan leans forward, attempting to make eye contact with the doctor who very much does not want to. “There’s a story there.”

“Obviously.”

“…You wanna go ahead and explain it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright,” Derek shrugs, “You stir in your sadness and continue being a sourpuss, I’ll go check up on Y/N and find out what really happened.”

Derek’s barely moved off the table when Spencer stops him, voice small like a child, “Wait, Morgan, I-“

You walk past then, too focused on a suspect list faxed in by Garcia to pay attention to anyone else. Spencer’s eyes follow you the whole time, and the look in Spencer’s twinkling eyes make Morgan slump back onto the table in realisation.

“Why’d you cancel, Reid?”

“I had to.”

“You had other plans?”

Spencer chews his bottom lip. “No. But I… I couldn’t take them on a date.”

Derek waits for him to elaborate.

“Have you seen the kind of guys hitting on them?” Spencer asks, scooting his chair closer so no one can eavesdrop. “They’re all… They’re- they’re like you, Morgan. All cool and put-together and actually look their age, for one, and I’m not that. I could never be that – and that’s what Y/N wants-“

“Have you asked them that?”

“No. But I’m a profiler, in case you forgot, and I think it makes sense that these big-shouldered, super muscly guys are all over-“

“But you haven’t actually asked them what they want.”

“No.” Spencer sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“That’s your first, and most vital, mistake, my man.”

Spencer purses his lips, catching you watching him over Derek’s shoulder. You immediately look away, shooting off to the evidence room as an escape, and Spencer’s cheeks burn with guilt and embarrassment.

He can’t believe he thought he had a chance with you.

“I feel like this should be obvious, Genius, but Y/N said yes to a date with you, then turned down every offer that came from someone that wasn’t you-“

“That’s because they already made plans with me and they’d feel terrible if they had to cancel for another, better offer. I made it easier for them.”

Derek gives him such an incredulous look Spencer wonders if he should burn his PhDs. “Are you serious?”

The crestfallen expression on Spencer’s face is enough of an answer.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“C’mon,” Derek tugs Spencer up from his chair. “I need to show your dumb ass something.”

All that’s missing is classic spy music when Derek and Spencer sneak into the conference room the BAU is using. Only Hotch is in there, scribbling something down, barely glancing up when the two agents creep in like they’re on a mission.

Spencer doesn’t say anything until Derek reaches for your bag. “Whoa- Morgan-“

“Relax.”

Spencer just stares, brows halfway down his face, and watches silently.

“That’s they’re journal, Morgan, you can’t just read it-“

“It’s not, pretty boy.”

Hotch watches the interaction, mildly confused, then nods to himself when he realises what Morgan’s holding.

Morgan splays the journal on the table in front of them, flipping through pages with precision like it’s his notebook and not yours. When he lands on his desired page, it’s slid towards Spencer.

He reads it.

The Doctor Spencer Reid cheat sheet. (Because I do not have an eidetic memory and feel bad whenever I forget something he tells me)

He’s too stumped by the words cheat sheet to look further, so Derek does it for him, flipping to the next page where very basic information about Spencer sits – full name, date of birth, hometown. As he looks to the page next to it, he realises it’s full of his favourite things – favourite coffee, favourite candy (which has multiple answers, by the way), even favourite pair of socks. Like a switch has been flipped, Spencer comes to life, frantically switching between pages that are overflowing with facts and tidbits about him, from his favourite monologue from his favourite film to his favourite shelf in his apartment. All things he’s told you either in passing or when he’s confided in you at random times, you’ve taken note. You’ve listened, and for some reason you’ve written it all down so you’d never forget.

“What…What is this?”

“It’s everything there is to know about you, Reid.” Derek watches as Spencer slips through the rest of the book, filled with random to-do lists and phone numbers of various people, looking for the same information about the rest of the team. “There’s only one for you, you know. And if you ask me it’s a little creepy, but it’s saved our asses when it’s come to buying gifts for you a good few times.” He slaps a hand on his friend’s shoulder, smirking at how Spencer’s awe-filled eyes never leave the pages before him. “They care about you a lot, Reid. More than you think. So…”

“I need to talk to them.”

“Yes, idiot, you do.”

+++

That night, Elle and Derek invite you to join them for some drinks at the bar, promising they won’t let it escalate to arm wrestling and childish bets like they always do. Even though they make a compelling argument, add on that you’re stressed and upset and really, really want to forget emotions exist more than anything else, you’re half tempted to accept and lose yourself in some cocktails.

Then you spot Spencer talking in hushed tones with Gideon and everything comes flooding back. So you tell Elle to have a drink for you, please don’t make a ruckus when she gets back to your shared room, and bid them adieu.

In your room, you distract yourself by renting one of your favourite movies. It’s overpriced, and a part of you wants to look over the case files again, but being sad and burnt out won’t lead to any good outcomes.

It’s a futile attempt at switching your brain off so you don’t have to think about how excited you were for the date. You’ve had twenty-four hours to get over it, but every time you see him you’re thrown back into the bitterness you feel – bitter that you fooled yourself into thinking it’d work out, bitter that your hopes were so high, bitter that you let your feelings for Spencer become such a big part of your life.

You’re lying on your scratchy hotel bed, thinking about Spencer and how he’s going to be complaining to Morgan about said scratchy beds, when there’s a knock at your door.

Naturally, you assume its Elle. She reminds you so much of your older sister who used to slide you some money so you’d stay up late into the night and quietly let her back into the house after she’s sneaked off to go to a party – except Elle is probably swaying outside your hotel room after losing her keycard rather than swaying on your doorstep.

So when you open the door, teasing quip ready, you legitimately choke when you’re faced with a fidgety Spencer Reid.

He tries to ignore how the way your face drops when you realise it’s him feels like a punch to the gut.

“Hey-“

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You-what-“ He’s never seen you so flustered. “Are you lost?”

Just in case, Spencer leans back to check the number beside your door is in fact 208. It is, and he turns back to you, “Please don’t slam the door in my face.”

It slips out. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your pretty face.”

You’re humiliated that he has this effect on you, the ability to obliterate all your filters and common sense just by existing. But the look on his face alleviates the want to jump out of the window – his mouth opens, twitching into the smallest, most bashful smile before it falls and morphs back into disbelief. You just… You just called his face pretty, a word that makes some feel emasculated but no, never with you. You compliment people and mean it, which makes Spencer’s guilt worsen and the urge to tell you he loves you with his entire heart more intense.

You speak at the same time.

“Why are you-“

“I wanted to-“

You roll your lips together, holding back a smile, and nod for him to go on. He does the same, so you shake your head with a, “I was just asking why you’re here.”

He holds up a finger, signalling one moment, and opens his satchel to start rummaging in it. “I know this is a complete invasion of privacy, and theft, really, but Morgan showed me it and I just- Why do you have this?”

You gasp.

In his hand is the journal you’ve been working on since a month into your employment at the BAU. The gifted notebook was initially used to jot down any bits of advice your superiors gave you (on your first day, Elle gave you a list she lovingly titled “If I wasn’t an FBI agent I’d sock these people in the mouths”) but, before you knew it, it had an entirely different purpose.

It started when you witnessed Derek stumble when asked Spencer’s favourite colour, to which he said no one remembers stuff like that! Aptly followed by Spencer reeling off everyone’s preferred colours (even delving into second favourites and favoured colour schemes) and you realised then that… Spencer’s whole life, he’s remembered so much about the people around him and very rarely have they returned the favour. So, in an attempt to build friendship and because you had the fattest crush on him already, you started the Spencer Reid cheat sheet.

You didn’t think he’d ever see it, even if it’s always used by the team on various occasions. It was the team’s little secret, bar Spencer, that assisted in nearly every decision made on Spencer’s behalf – what to order from restaurants, drinks, birthday and holiday gifts, how to comfort him when he’s stressed or upset.

The responses vary. Derek thinks it’s weird, as did Elle at first, but JJ and Garcia insist its sweet and, really, no matter what they think they’ve all come running to you when time has called for it.

“How… Did you steal it?”

“Yes,” He tells you, guiltily, “I had to read it – it’s incredibly accurate, by the way.”

You don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.

“So… Why?”

“I don’t know,” You say, a bold-faced lie and Spencer can tell, but he lets you continue, “You remember everything about everyone else, so I wanted to… do the same for you, I guess.”

“I have an eidetic memory.”

You airily laugh – does he think you forgot that? “I know that. Doesn’t it get tiring recalling all this information about your friends and not having it reciprocated?”

He clicks his tongue at that, eyes falling back to the notebook in his hands that he fiddles with while he thinks. It is tiring, he supposes, but that’s how it’s always been. He remembers everything, the people around him just… don’t. He realised at a young age that he’ll often have to remind himself that friendship isn’t measured by what they remember, but by other ways – like this. You, with your unassuming journal that is full of things Spencer assumed no one would ever care to remember.

You, with your tensed jaw and fluttering eyes because you’re embarrassed.

You, who’s done quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him, and it’s been happening for years right under his nose.

You, who he cancelled a date with because he was so sure you were dating him out of pity, out of obligation after he asked and you felt forced to say yes, but now he realises you care about him just as much as he cares for you.

Touched feels like an understatement.

“Y/N…”

“If you find it weird, I’ll burn it the second we get home. Pretend it never happened, we can… discuss a restraining order if we must-“

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Oh.”

He smiles at you, hands tight on the book in his hands, smiles so big that his eyes crinkle and his teeth show and he looks gorgeous. It tugs directly on your heart strings and just for a second you forget that he cancelled your date, forget that you’ve been pining for years, and bask in the warmth that radiates from him.

“This is… Insane, really.” He laughs, “But also so… so cool. I don’t deserve this, at all, and to think we could’ve gone on a date but I chickened out-“

“What?”

He shrugs with faux-nonchalance. “The-um- the reason I took back the date was because I think you deserve so much better than me. In a, you deserve someone like all the police officers down at the PD, kind of way. I don’t want a pity date-“

You scoff, then with an indignant, “Come in here,” You grab Spencer’s satchel and tug him into your hotel room, closing the door with a forceful push as he turns to face you.

With your hands on your hips, you stare him down with furrowed brows and a look that screams really? “Is that really what you think, Spence? It was a pity date?”

“Well, yeah,” He tells you. The conviction in his voice is so strong that, if you weren’t this riled up, you’d probably tear up at how sure he sounds.

You give another scoff. “Not only am I offended you think I’d do that to anyone, but I’m also mad that you don’t see how I look at you! Spencer, I’ve been into you since I started working here-“ His mouth falls open. You’re exasperated. “-and the notes were a way to get to know you, yes, but they were also because I couldn’t stop watching you and had to play it off like I was doing it for a reason. You’re my favourite, Spencer.”

His heart aches a little, full of such a tenderness he’s never quite felt before. He feels loved, and so, so touched that someone would put so much effort into getting to know him and… years. Literal years you’ve liked him, and he’s been blind to it.

“I like you a lot.” You’re breathless after your little speech, “And if you still don’t want that date, that’s okay. But I like you, Spence, I really like you.”

Your gaze never wavers. Spencer wants to scoop you up and place kisses all over. For the first time in a while, he feels worthy. Like what you’re saying isn’t being said for the sake of it, because you’re his friend and you have to support him, but because it’s what you genuinely think and feel and Spencer might be in love.

He swallows deeply before speaking.

“I really like you, too, Y/N. And I’m-I’m sorry that I cancelled the date and- I should’ve talked to you, maybe, before doing it, but… We’re here now, right?”

“You want to have a date right now?”

Thumbing through the book, he says, “Actually, there’s some blanks in here I’d like to fill, if you’re not busy…”

You’re very clearly on board with the suggestion, basically skipping to your bed, plopping down and patting the space beside you with a grin. “I’m not busy at all, Doctor Reid. Tell me everything I don’t already know.”

So he does, thigh pressed against yours and blush on his cheeks when you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

The night is spent giggling over the most random information you’ve gathered, correcting only one mistake (his favourite socks change every week, not your fault), and adding onto the already plentiful fact file.

And the date that weekend happens, ending in a sweet kiss on your doorstep that leaves you both with shy smiles and thundering hearts.

It’s the first date of many, followed by the creation of a new journal full of all there is to know about your and Spencer’s relationship.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @jasongideonapologist @gublertoon @averyhotchner

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #i tried to write the first half in the past tense but i got confused so sorry if the tenses r weird

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hyunjilicious · 4 years ago

Text

3:11am [captain syverson]

Summary: you’re just an army medic so in order to have your voice heard you need to go straight to the captain with your ideas, right? And what better way to do it, if not at 3:11am in his room? (SMUT) 4.3k

Warnings: daddy kink, size kink, unprotected sex, Sy is a little bit of ass, dirty talk, manhandling, a tad bit of humiliation/degradation.. :) I didn’t go too far.

Feedback makes my day! Maybe tell me what you thought? Please? :)

Danger loomed at every corner. And you couldn't have been oblivious to it. Every one was either panicked or enraged, both emotions driven by the ongoing terror forced upon your group as you have been caught in the crossfire. The conflict you found yourselves stuck in was generations old, and the fact that you had hidden eyes, watching your moves from every shadow, was as unsettling as it could be.

You crossed the camp on high alert, even if those were supposed to be safe grounds. Laughter was audible from the tents nearby, yet the fear never left your bones. Palms cold but still damp with nervous sweat, you counted the steps you had to take until you reached your destination. Ever since you left your designated bunk, you've been picturing the stairs that led down to Captain Syverson room, and now they were mere meters in front of you, but you still felt like you couldn't breathe.

Even when you reached the door, you still couldn't swallow the lump in your throat. And the fact that it was unlocked, made you all the more nervous.

You didn't want to knock. The lights were all off, and you were afraid the sound would draw unnecessary attention. So, going against your gut, you slowly pushed the door open, cautiously stepping inside.

Dead silence.

Only a pair of red glowing numbers were visible in the thick darkness, showing you just how late and unacceptable it was for you to be there. 3:11 am. Not only should you have been asleep for hours, but you were also pretty sure that if you were to be awake, the bunk was the place where you should be counting the sheep until you dozed off.

From memory, you turned to the left, picturing inside your mind where the door that led to the hallway was supposed to be. You probably managed to get about two steps in before, from the suffocating darkness to your left, a loud clattering noise was heard, before a pair of strong arms restrained you.

Only a gasp managed to escape your lips before your mouth was forced shut by a hand, aggressively making it impossible for you to make any sound. Realising kicking and squirming in this person's hold would be of absolutely no use, you raised your left leg in the air, gathering momentum for a strategic hit. But the blow was never delivered.

"Shh!!!"

Despite threatening and capable of making anybody's blood run cold, that southern accent was impossible to mistake.

"Don't fucking move" he said again.

With your brain soaked in adrenaline, obeying his command sounded near impossible. You fidgeted against his rock hard chest, and all it did for you was get him to tighten his hold.

"I don't know if your eyes got accustomed to the dark yet" captain Syverson said through gritted teeth, "But at about 2 o'clock, MacGregor is sleeping. If you wake him up, we're both dead"

You swallowed the information with difficulty, but it relaxed you to some extent. However, despite calming down and not showing any signs of wanting to put up a fight anymore, Sy didn't let you go.

Instead, with high precision, he dragged you through the darkness, and across the room, right where you were initially planning to go. Clutching the hand that was still roughly pressing down against your lips, you stumbled obediently in every direction he dragged you to. When you reached a plain black door, he opened it with maximal caution, and pushed you inside, before turning around to close it in the same silent manner.

You stumbled a few steps forward before regaining your balance as your knees have probably never been weaker. Struggling to catch your breath, you saw Sy turn and face you, the coldest of death stares plastered on his blue eyes.

"The fuck you doin' here, hm?" he growled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I-" you said, squinting in the neon light of the tiny room, "I have an idea for the crew, it's-"

"Don't fucking care what idea you got, darlin'" he shook his head, taking another step in your direction, "Do you even know what time it is?"

"Late" you sighed, stating the obvious.

"Damn right it's late" he nodded, "What I wanna know now is why you were stupid enough to sneak all the way over here, when you know-"

"No one saw me, Sy" you exclaimed.

A grin tilted the corner of his lips upwards, "I fucking saw you"

"Yeah but-" you stopped to frown as confusion hit you, "How did you see me?"

"Listen here, little girl" he taunted, each word more threatening as he started to close the distance that was keeping you apart, "You're a doctor, not a soldier, fixing our shit is none of your business. Two, you don't report to me-" he said, nodding his head to the side, "And three, I'm sure no idea was too urgent that you couldn't wait until the morning"

Calling you out like that was completely unnecessary. You had been lying to yourself, claiming the reason for your late night visit was purely selfless, however when you heard the words come out of his mouth, you realised just how strongly you had been bulshitting yourself.

"Fine-" you huffed with annoyance, getting ready to walk past him, "You want me to leave? I'll leave"

"Nuh-uh" he shook his head, grabbing you by the forearm. He didn't move any other muscle of his body and continued talking without turning to look at you, "You're a smart woman, tell me why you're really here"

"Because I wanna help!" you rolled your eyes - a lie you almost believed yourself.

"Try again, doll" he commanded, tightening his grip. The fact that you felt a bruise already forming riled you up, but it wasn't enough to get you to cooperate in the way he wanted you to.

Once you realised what he was waiting to hear, you shook your head in disbelief, "You got no class!"

After spitting the anger filled words in his direction, you tried to free your arm, and walk away, but he wasn't having it.

"Well-" Sy took a deep breath, harshly spinning you around and slamming you face first against his desk, "If you had any, you wouldn't be here now, would you?"

Knees weak under his heavy presence, you gathered all your strength into your arms, planting your palms against the metal surface of the desk in order to push yourself up.

All it took him to cancel your intentions was an effortless shove against your upper back. He got you back down in under a second with a loud thud, but this time he bent down too, towering above you.

"Now that you saw your antics don't work with me-" he growled directly into your ear, his thick beard tickling the skin of your neck. Sy lodged his hand into your hair, curling his fingers around your roots and forcing your head back, "Mind telling me why you're really here? We can do this until the morning, I ain't tired"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you huffed through gritted teeth.

"What? Seeing you squirming under me with absolutely no say in what's about to happen to that sweet little pussy of yours? Yes, very much so"

"Fuck you"

"Isn't that why you came here?" Sy taunted.

He grunted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Try again"

This time, he didn't pull your hair anymore, and the sting you expected to reach your scalp never came. However, he bucked his hips into yours, pressing your body even harder against the desk. With every time and every way his body brushed against yours, the pain between your legs grew stronger and stronger. But still, you didn't want to word your need, instead just settled for milking every last drop of this unexpected turn of events. About 15 minutes before, when you had just left your room, you weren't sure you would even get to talk to him, let alone end up in this situation. Under him. His cock shamelessly pressing up against your ass, as every word that came out of his mouth only managed to make you crave him more.

"Are gonna tell me, hm?" he moaned into your ear, the weight of his body on top of yours becoming difficult to bear. "Or am I gonna have to force the words out of you?"

The way he talked, honey sweet yet goosebumps worthy, his tone managed to crack your self control. Against your better judgement, you breathed out slowly, the pleasure in the back of your throat materialising into the softest of whimpers.

"Oh" Sy grinned, his right hand groping its way down your body, "Can't hide it anymore, can you?"

If until now you did a fairly bad job at hiding your true emotions, when he grabbed a handful of your ass, his fingers threatening to leave purple bruises, you dropped the facade all together.

"Fuck" you moaned, forehead pressed against the desk as you arched your body back, harder against his palm.

"That's my girl" he laughed.

Much to your dismay, after his deep amused tone reached your ears, he pulled away. Upset at the sudden loss of contact, you choked back a whine, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder.

Even with the lights turned on, he was facing away from the source, so that soft shadows contoured his features perfectly. His eyes hooded with greed looked down at you, and as soon as he saw the hungry expression on your face, his lips curled into a devious smile. "No, sweetheart. Face the wall", he said, nodding his head.

Reluctantly, you did so. Delectable anticipation washed over you when his calloused hands grabbed your waist. It was only for a minute, though. He roughly pulled you back until your hips passed the edge of the desk. You didn't get a chance to put two and two together before Sy forced your pants open, and pulled them down your legs, along with your underwear in under a moment.

Flushed with embarrassment at the full, sudden exposure, you clamped your thighs together.

Without a word, he lodged his boot between your feet, forcing your legs open. "This could've been avoided" he stated, "But I don't think you wanted that. I think you wanted the slut fucked out of you"

"Come on…" you pleaded, lodging your teeth deep into your bottom lip.

Your entire body fired up when his bare fingers connected to your opening. He moved agonisingly slow, teasing his way along your lips, intentionally applying the perfect amount of pressure to have you crying for more.

"You know you're gonna have to do so much fucking better than that, don't you?" Sy chuckled, dipping his fingers into your wetness. "I know you can beg."

"Fucking hell-" you cried, squirming under his influence, "Please"

"No, baby. Tell me, use your words. I wanna hear you tell me how to fuck you. And don't bother holding back 'cause you know I won't"

"Come on, Sy-" you whined, trying your best to grind down against his fingers, "You know I want- I want you-"

A rough slap that echoed around the room attacked your ass, delightful pain propagating in waves across your whole body. You let out a tortured yelp, but it wasn't enough to impress.

"You already made a mess on my fingers. You're dripping wet, love. Why try to hide just how big of a slut you are?"

"I'm a slut-" you panted, breathing heavily through every word, "I'm a slut, please, I need you"

Another blow. This time, his palm landed on already inflamed skin, doubling the pain that fueled your pleasure.

"Need me to what, baby girl?"

"I need you to fuck me" you whimpered, tears running down your cheeks. Digging your nails into the underside of the edge of his desk, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to concentrate around the ecstasy he had running through your veins. "I need your cock, Sy, please. I fucking need you really bad right now, please. I'll do anything you want"

"All you need to do, pet, is learn your place" Syverson said, greedily caressing your ass. "Did you come here just to get that cunt used?"

"Yes" you nodded, not even remembering that in the beginning, you really did have something important to talk to him about. "Yes, I only wanted your cock. Please fuck me, I promise I'll be good forever"

"My good slut forever?" he questioned, the perverted enthusiasm audible in his tone.

As he spoke, Sy slid his middle finger inside your pussy. "Is that all you want, whore? To be my property?"

"Yeah…"

"You want me to own you?" he taunted, sliding another finger into your pussy, just for the sake of pushing your buttons, "Want me to use your whore body for my pleasure whenever I feel like it?"

A rush of electricity coursed through you.

"That's all I want, Sy" you whispered.

"Are you sure, baby girl?" he taunted, bending down.

His immense frame hovered above your shivering body, his haunting presence enough to get you drunk on the ecstasy of what was to come.

You swallowed thickly, pained tears stinging your eyes. Cupping his cheek over your shoulder, your words came out as a ghostly whisper, "Please-" you breathed out, "I need you now, Sy. I wanted you since I met you back home, you know that. Please, I can't wait any longer"

His daunting chuckle sent shivers all over your body. He pushed himself off of you, but his breath still tickled the back of your neck. It was enough for you to know that you were to remain in place and wait for his next move.

"Of course you can wait, angel" he said, moments before the metallic clank of his belt being unbuckled fueled your senses, "You're lucky I don't want you to"

You released a weak chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief at the way he managed to carry the situation. Your shoulders were dangerously tense as you waited. For anything. For him to say or do something, but he forced you to sit and boil in anticipation. But the build-up was worth the frustration, as when you felt his touch against your pussy, adrenaline started to pump through your veins.

"You know how long I thought about fucking you like this?" Sy asked.

It was then that you realised it wasn't his finger probing your folds, but the tip of his cock. Slick and solid against your pussy, he expertly teased all your right spots.

"You flaunt this fucking tight ass all day long, panting in the heat, sweat dripping down your tits-" Sy exclaimed, his need and hunger for you audible through every word, "and now you're telling me-"

He paused to bend down above you, hands planted on the desk on either side of your shoulders as he spoke lewdly in your ear, "And now you're telling me I got you naked and whimperin', beggin' me to empty my balls inside your pussy?"

Refusing to use your words, you settled for a better answer - the only answer your dazed mind was able to give. Arching your back as you moaned his name, you pushed your ass back, his massive cock inching inside your pussy.

Syverson grunted, low and guttural, pleasure erupting from the depths of his throat. Goosebumps arose across your body.

"Fuck me, Sy-" you cried, your voice breathy and seductive, "Rough me up, come on"

And he did. You managed to push all his buttons and get him to lose the self control he tries so hard to put on display. He did an excellent job, judging by how hard his cock was when he slammed his hips into yours. Your walls spread beyond what you ever thought would be pleasurable, yet he had you crying out his name as your eyes rolled back.

His immense hands held your hips with damaging force, planting bruises all of your skin. Not that you had any choice, but you let yourself go limp, and allowed him to manhandle your frame to his will. With ever powerful thrusts of his body against yours, the desk underneath you rocked, slamming into the wall, making a sound loud and obnoxious enough to awake just about anyone who was sleeping there.

But you didn't care. And neither did Sy.

The only thing you had on your mind was the killed ecstasy he fucked into you, his cock slamming balls deep into your aching pussy. You rolled your head, whined and dug your nails into your palms, in what was probably the most pathetic attempt to keep yourself grounded.

Syverson wasn't far behind. His breathing aggravated, turned into guttural groans that made the hairs on your body stand up.

"Fucking hell" he cursed, his fingers sinking deeper into your flesh as he picked up his pace, "FUCK"

You moaned, a wave of pleasure coursing through you, "Harder please"

Those words went against all your senses, against the pain you felt between your legs, the strain on your back or the lack of air in your lungs. But you wanted more. Needed more.

With one long, hard thrust, Sy pushed his cock all the way inside your pussy, his balls pressing against your clit, "Wouldn't wanna break you, little girl"

The teasing side of you awoke. You pushed yourself up and threw your hair back so that you could turn and look at him over your shoulder, "You couldn't if you tried"

His whole frame darkened. Not just the look in his eyes. He now seemed taller, more dangerous and menacing as your words tickled his lust. Syverson shook his head, and in one swift motion, lodged his hand in your hair pulling you all the way up with your back against his chest.

"I don't want you talking to me like that," he groaned.

If you hadn't felt his cock twitch, fear would have definitely enveloped you.

"You're in no place to undermine me, ok?" he growled, voice deep, ringing against your ear, "You're so small and powerless. It's fucking clear I call the shots. Be a good little girl and don't piss me off" he threatened, his free hand wrapping itself around your neck.

"Or what?" you whispered.

"You're a soldier, right?" Sy laughed, "Wouldn't it be a shame if for a few days you wouldn't be able to walk straight. Or sit down?"

You swallowed thickly, his words turning you own even more as your pussy clenched around his cock just thinking about it, "Sounds more like an offer than a punishment"

Sy took his sweet time answering. Before he opened his mouth to speak, his hand traveled down your body, all the way over to your clit, where he began to apply pressure in the form of experienced, delicate circles.

You whimpered in return and only then did he answer. "Turns out you're a bigger slut than I thought, but don't think it will take me long to have you crying and begging"

You nodded yes. He never asked any kind of question, so you had no idea why you responded that way, you just did, and Sy took it as his cue to resume his work.

This time, he held you against his body. With each thrust, the tip of his cock applied more and more pressure to your sweet and overly sensitive spots, braiding pain into the pleasure he created for you.

But it was what you wanted. How you wanted it. Because it was a matter of time until he had you moaning and crying, expressing the pure ecstasy that was surging through your body. You were approaching your high at such a dangerous speed that the strain in your back was no longer of importance, and the force with which Sy pulled at the roots of your hair, wasn't even passing the threshold of discomfort anymore.

All your thoughts had been flooded by his breathing, low and guttural, against your temple. The simple fact that his pleasure was audible in his tone, aggravated your arousal. You've never in your life been so eager to please someone. But now, you were beaming proudly, your stomach in knots.

You came soon after that. The orgasm came down crushing on you, blurring your thoughts completely. Your muscles spammed uncontrollably, and the cries that escaped your lips were sure to wake up everyone in the compound. But neither you, nor Sy cared.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" you panted, seconds before your eyes rolled back in pleasure, your body remaining weak and consumed in his hold.

"Come on, darling" Sy chuckled, readjusting his hold around your body, pressing you even harder against his chest, "Daddy's gotta finish too. Otherwise we did this for nothing"

"Yes" you moaned.

The way he forced his cock in and out of your sensitive and overly-used cunt brought tears to your eyes. You knew he was close when he slowed down his pace, now his thrusts becoming deeper and less regulated. Each slam of his hips into yours rocked your whole frame, until your toes barely reached the ground. Sy held you up into his massive arms, guiding and handling your body to fit his needs perfectly.

And it fucking worked because in a matter of seconds, he lost control, aggressively riding his high until there was no amount of cum to be released. When he pulled out, panting and exhausted, he moved to the side, planting his hands on the edge of the desk to catch his breath.

Determined to not piss him off anymore, you gathered yourself much faster than him, ready to dress yourself back up and bolt.

"What are you doing?" Sy asked, looking at you over his shoulder with confusion in his eyes.

"I'm- uh, I was gonna-" you mumbled, pointing to the door but he stopped you.

"Hop on" he said.

He pointed to the desk, and although unsure, you did as he told you. You barely managed to stay awake while he was in the small bathroom attached to his room, but when he returned and placed a damp washcloth between your legs, your mind buzzed awake.

"I hurt you" he said, massaging your thighs as he softly cleaned you up, "I got-"

"No, it's fine" you stopped him, "I'm just exhausted and probably very sore, god, but I'm good"

Sy just nodded, something obviously still bothering him. But he didn’t say anything, and instead, proceeded to clean you up, ending with a gentle kiss against your sensitive opening.

You hissed unconsciously, but then ended up smiling widely, amused with your own reactions. Sy helped you off the desk and guided you to his bed, his hand on your ass as you leaned into his side for support.

“It hurts, right?”

“I’m just sore, it’s fine” you tried to dismiss his concerns, but he wasn’t having it.

Sy grabbed your face into his hands and forced you to look into his eyes, “It’s gotta, darling, you understand that”

You shook your head, smiling, but he wasn’t waiting for your approval.

“Come on” he said, guiding you to lay down, “We have about 2 hours of sleep left, and god knows, you’re gonna need them”

“Fuck yes” you sighed, plopping down next to him.

Although every fiber of your body begged for closeness, you stopped yourself, afraid to not cross any lines. But, much to your surprise, Syverson didn’t waste a second before pulling you into his arms and tucking your head in the crook of his neck. It gave you a sense of security you never felt before in your life - the way his heart beat against your skin. He fell asleep with his arms fastened around your frame, tightening his hold every time you tried to move.

It was just a matter of seconds until you both drifted off. Considering your whereabouts and the circumstances you’ve lived though, it was safe to say this was probably the best night’s sleep you had gotten in months. That was why, when you were pulled awake by him getting ready around the room, you were so disappointed.

“Is it 6 already?” you mumbled, rolling over only to land face first into his pillow.

“Go back to sleep, darling,” Sy said, fastening his belt, “Got some paperwork to do. I’ll cover for you and then I’ll come back with coffee in about 2 hours or so, how’s that sound, hm?”

“Mmm” you moaned, “Perfect”

The last thing you heard was Sy chuckling at himself, and then, you fell back asleep. You had no idea how much time passed until a loud, redundant noise woke you up. It took you about a few seconds to realise what it actually was that you were hearing.

“Y/n?” a grave male voice echoed from behind the door, “You in there?”

After that, he knocked a few times more, before starting to repeatedly slam his fist into the door.

“It’s open, what the fuck-” you groaned, not even standing up from the bed.

Instantly, the door flew open, Sgm. MacGregor bursting into the room, features ablaze with pure anger.

Your face fell.

“Sergeant, I-” you tried to speak, hurrying to find a way to explain what exactly it was that you were doing naked, in a room other than yours, when in fact you should have already been on post for god knows how many hours.

“Don’t even wanna hear it” he groaned, waving towards you, “This is about Captain Syverson”

“What-?” you muttered, “What happ-”

“Shot” he said bluntly, “3 times. You need to move. Now”

#captain syverson #captain syverson imagine #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill smut #henry cavill #captain syverson smut #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fics #henry cavill writing #herny cavill x you #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia

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angxlyxn · 4 years ago

Text

doll - villain! izuku x f. reader

summary: it’s certainly been a few years since you’ve seen izuku, and he’s planning the make the most out of your time together now that you’re back with each other.

warnings: NONCON, bondage, blood, kidnapping, there is a knife, slight voyeurism(?)

important: all characters are over the age of eighteen.

a/n: wow this piece took me over two months to write, it literally took me forever i’m so unbelievably glad that it’s finished. i’m not entirely happy with it, especially the beginning part because i wrote it two months ago when i didn’t really know how to write fanfiction? but it’s okay, um the concepts are there so enjoy ig.

word count: ~5.3k

The first thing that you noticed upon waking up was the methodical dripping of water above you. Each droplet was landing just shy of your face, the cold water splashing up against your features. Cold. That seemed to be the word of the day. Beneath you, there was a slab of freezing cement, its moist chill seeping off of it and onto your shaking frame.

You raised your heavy head, matted hair falling in front of your face as a sharp, immobilizing pain shot through your skull. You moved the tangled locks from your vision, your hand landing on the back of your head in the process. When you brought your fingers back around, they were slick with a sticky crimson substance. As you stared at your fingers, dumbstruck and utterly confused at the...liquid that was coating them, you grew acutely aware of a dull clinking ringing out with each of your movements, and noticed a pair of shackles that were wrapped around each of your wrists. You tugged a bit on the chains, lurching your body away from the wall that you were attached to as you tried to decipher the situation that you were in right now, to no avail, of course. This was far too sudden and much too confusing to understand. How did you even get...wherever you were in the first place? Why were you here?

Your ears rang out, an amalgamation of horrible chiming sounds flooding your mind. You tried, and failed to recall the events that had led up to you finding yourself in this revolting state, much to your chagrin.

“Oh, you’re finally awake!” A cheery voice rang out, the words disproportionately buoyant in comparison to the bleak environment that surrounded you. You looked up, vision blurring as you turned your head in the direction of the effervescent voice.

You nearly gasped as you caught sight of the figure in front of you, your eyes scanning frantically over his disheveled green locks, his pale skin standing out in contrast to the visible blush lining his freckled cheeks.

“M-Midoriya?” You responded, your voice uneven, your horribly shaky pronunciation reflecting your bodily state perfectly.

“Izuku,” he corrected. He pushed himself off of the wall he was leaning on, slowly making his way towards your trembling form. You hadn’t seen the green-haired boy since he had disappeared entirely from your life, on that fateful day back in junior-high. You had honestly thought he had offed himself or something after Bakugou had told him those horrible things, and you had mourned for days, for months, for years over the loss of your childhood friend. You and Izuku had always been close, and you assumed that it was your shared weakness that had brought you together. While he was born quirkless, you were born with a quirk that might as well have been non-existent. An empathic quirk was what they had called it, one that gave you the ability to absorb others’ emotions and relieve them of their feelings, while you would be able to take on their sensitivities in exchange for the relief that you gave them. You had always seen it as useless, everyone had. And a few people, including your own parents, had always found a way to make it clear to you that you were just this. Useless.

However, you had still made it into UA, on account of nothing more than your grades, of course. People had marvelled at your acceptance, talking about how progressive it was of UA to let in someone as weak as you, even though you had only made it into general studies. It wasn’t like you really wanted to work in heroics anyways, but still, it had hurt a bit when you had to bid farewell to some of your friends from middle school, who were pursuing the hero path. By friends, of course, you meant Katsuki. As strange as it was, you, Midoriya, and him had always been together, well, in your own ways. You really had no idea why Izuku was still latched on to the ill-tempered blonde, and at times wished he would just let go of his hold on the boy. Countless times you had told him to just stop making contact with Katsuki, as their time together never seemed to end well, but he wouldn’t ever take heed of your advice. You couldn’t help but wonder if there was some sort of unspoken competition between them, besides their constant debate over Izuku’s quirklessness, which admittedly led to most of the dissents. It was weird. They were always at each other’s throats, and almost every time they fought you would be there, if only to defend Midoriya. You were protective over him- anyone would be after witnessing the torment that he so frequently endured from Katsuki and others.

So when the news had come that he was declared missing, you were in absolute pieces. When your mother had come into your room to tell you that this, you swore you felt your heart shatter then and there. Nothing could keep you from blaming yourself. No matter how much others tried to tell you otherwise, whether it be therapists, friends, parents, or even Katsuki himself, you just couldn’t believe them. You should’ve done more to help the green-haired boy, you should’ve helped him. You could’ve stood up to Bakugou more, or done anything at all to aid him. You always had seen yourself as selfish, which was why it was such a surprise when the king of ego himself told you otherwise.

You remembered it clearly: You were nearing the end of your first semester at UA, still completely distraught about Izuku’s disappearance. A stern knocking had rang through your apartment, causing you to look up from your stack of textbooks with weary eyes. You pushed yourself off of the couch, making your way to the door and flinging it open, squinting as your eyes met the slouching form of the person in front of you. He wasted no time, just walking into your apartment with a confident, yet defensive stride. Immediately, the person, who you now recognized to be Katsuki, had made a beeline to your couch, and was sitting upon the charcoal-colored cushions that adorned it. You just started at him, mouth slightly agape as he looked back at you, gaze perfervid and intense.

“Well, get over here,” He had spat, gesturing for you to join him on the couch. You hurriedly did as he asked, his eyes following your form as you made your way over to him. He had let out a short breath, his eyelids falling slightly downwards as he looked at your unkempt appearance. After a few moments of silence, he spoke. “It’s not your fault, you know. That damn nerd shouldn’t have done this. It’s his fault, you hear me?” He had said, voice as gravelly as ever. However, it seemed that there was a bit of… something else behind his words, like a small piece of his defensive front was crumbling away in front of your very eyes.

“I- I don’t-” You responded in a frail voice.

“Everyone else- they don’t think so either. I hate to admit it but, you… fuck. You’re a good person, Y/n.” Your shoulders jerked upwards a bit at his use of your first name. “You can’t feel guilty for what that fucking extra did.”

You stayed silent, eyebrows furrowing gently at his conciliatory words.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, barely audible. He looked back up to you. “I just…” You could tell that he was moving to say something, his gaze downcast and contemplative. He looked back up at you, his eyes landing on your face. “I…” You leaned slightly towards him, urging him to speak. You had never seen Katsuki so… quiet. He was quite literally speechless, the environment around you two extremely tense due to his wordlessness. He shifted his eyes, looking over your frame intently. His gaze caught on the area near your clavicle, and before you could say anything about his strange behavior, he spoke once more.

“Your collar,” he grunted. You looked down at yourself, staring at your crumpled uniform that you hadn’t changed out of in days. You raised your eyes back up to him, sending him a questioning glance. “It..” he said, clenching his hands a bit as his eyes still stayed trained on your collarbone.

He reached out two tentative hands, taking your shirt collar between his slender fingers. You remember your complete state of shock as he had adjusted your shirt, snapping the top few buttons into place and smoothing down the fabric. After he had finished, it was like he had snapped out of some sort of stupor, jumping away from you and retracting his hand into his chest. He had left a bit after that, a light blush still coating your cheeks long after he made his departure.

As weird as it sounds, that was the beginning of your relationship with Katsuki. You grew to like each other, him growing somewhat emotionally dependent on you while you relied on him to keep your more self-destructive tendencies in check. The two of you really were a sight, though. The soft, gentle curve of your features in contrast to Bakugou’s angular ones was enough to garner a few stares, and if that weren’t enough, there were the differentiations in mannerisms and personality to set you apart even further. But you supposed that opposites do in fact attract, at least in your case.

Goodness, before you even had time to register what was happening your thoughts had drifted over to the blonde, which wasn’t really an uncommon occurrence. You could only hope that he thought about you as much as you thought about him. Of course you two were dating and all, so it was only natural that he should, but still, you couldn’t help but feel just a bit of anxiety about not actually being wanted or needed by the boy. As much as he would reassure you that he did need you, that he loved you, part of you just couldn’t believe him. A bit of you always had a feeling that he would leave you, just as Izuku did. Maybe you were just insecure, but still. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted someone stronger, or better than yourself. You hadn’t ever been surprised when others wanted someone else.

You weren’t ever surprised when you were second choice.

On that note, you brought yourself back to reality, the sound of water dripping from the ceiling still grating against your ears. You refocused your eyes, which had glazed over during your train of thought, only for your now active gaze to land on a person who happened to be situated directly in front of you. You groggily looked up once more, your worried eyes meeting the face of Izuku, who looked oddly infatuated with you. Why, you did not know. All you were able to register was how his doting eyes were dancing over your whole frame, making you squirm a bit in your spot.

“Mi- I mean..Izu-Izuku…” you mumbled as you looked up at him, pushing yourself up so that you were nearly face to face with the green-haired boy. “Wh-What’s going on, I.. don’t understand…”

“Oh doll,” he said, the pet name rolling off of his tongue in a sickeningly sweet manner. “I just helped you do a little relocation, that’s all! I know you’re probably scared, and confused, but don’t worry! I’m not here to hurt you, understand?” He said, reaching a hand out to caress your cheek gently. You drew away from him sharply at the feeling of his calloused fingers against your skin, instinctively bringing your hands up to your face.

“Hey, don’t flinch away from me now, come on! We’re friends, aren’t we?” He said, his tone growing bitter as he spat out the last sentence.

“I...guess,” you mumbled, still too disoriented to make a coherent sentence. “But why.. The chains..?” Izuku looked slightly taken aback at your query, rising up from his kneeled position, and instead settling for standing in front of you.

“Just a precaution,” he said, his tone infantilizing. “I can’t have you two running away now,” he finished, smiling.

“T-two?” You asked, attempting to search his eyes. His green orbs were full of adoration towards you, but his pupils seemed to swirl with a bit of malice as he continued to stare at you. He hummed in response to your question, bringing his hand up to your cold cheek. He gently pressed his fingers into your skin and manually shifted your head to the left, your eyes drifting towards the other side of the room.

Low and behold, there was indeed another person. And the venomous look on his face accompanied by a mess of ash blonde hair was enough to tell you who this second person was. His frame was wrapped in restraints, his arms suspended above his head and his clenching fists encircled by thick shackles. He kicked and struggled against the chains, the clinking sound of them ringing out across the room like a series of cathedral bells.

“Katsuki!” You yelped, the word ripping from your lips as you began to pull against the chains binding your own body, feverishly pushing yourself to try and reach your lover. Izuku leapt towards you before you could really go anywhere, latching himself onto your shoulder and pulling you backwards.

“Now puppy, don’t get aggressive!” He said in a tone that was far too sweet and much too jubilant. He rubbed his palm against your shoulder as though he were coaxing a child, nestling his chin against your cheek as he did so, all the while looking at Bakugou with hazy eyes.

“No!” You cried. “I don’t know what you’re planning right now, but you left us for years and now you-you’re back, and you haven’t explained anything and I just can’t trust you an-and why are we in chains? And for fuck’s sake get off of me, at least until you explain yourself!” You punctuated your sentence with a shove to his shoulder, a twinge of guilt pumping through your veins as you did so.

He fell backwards a bit, his gaze downturned and his face darkened. His eyes swirled with animosity as he stared down at the floor with furrowed brows, his fists clenching a releasing a few times over.

“Please,” you said, your voice softer. “Explain. You just... left. I need to know why.”

He continued to stare down at the floor with an uncomfortable amount of determination, green eyes scanning the tile before slowly beginning to lift back up to meet your unsteady gaze. His face was serious as he bored his eyes into yours, his pupils full of pure animosity. A few moments of silence passed, and then he began to laugh.

He was laughing.

His green eyes glinted with jubilance as he looked at you through the dark shadow clouding his face, his hand coming up to rake through the mop of green tufts on his head.

“Why?” He said between giggles. “I think you know the answer to that one, love!” He said, still chuckling. You looked at him wildly, gaze skittish and horrified.

You began to speak, raising your trembling voice over his laughter. “Izu, you don’t understand, we thought that you ki-”

“Killed myself?” He said, his laughter dying down. He clicked his tongue before continuing, nuzzling himself back into your shoulder, the action earning a few muffled screams from the blonde restrained at the other end of the room. “You’ve got it all wrong puppy! I would never dare leave you like that, doll. I just saw an opportunity and took it. You would’ve done the same darling, I know you would’ve. Although, I think if you did leave me like that, I would kill myself.” He remarked, his voice far too exuberant for the weighty contention. You shivered as you slipped out of his grip, pushing your arms out in front of you to try and hinder the touches of the sensitive boy.

“No, Izuku this is weird, I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. Th- This isn’t you. And we were never t..together, so I don’t understand why you're touching me and calling me these names and I- I still don’t know what you mean by this ‘opportunity’, or why the hell you’ve kidnapped me and Katsu, and I’m bleeding-”

Midoriya hummed, the warm sound cutting you off. “Ah-ah! You’re talkative today, huh? So many questions!” He said in a lilting voice. “Why don’t we ask Katsu what he thinks about everything!” The boy continued, his use of your nickname for the blonde making you cringe. “He always was more articulate than you.”

He heaved himself off of the floor next to you, making his way over to an erratic Bakugou. The chains above his head rattled as he kicked against the restraints, the gag shoved into his mouth growing damp as he relentlessly screamed into it.

As he approached Katsuki, Izuku whipped a knife out of his pocket, the blade flicking out as he continued to walk towards him. You gasped at this, yelling out as the greenette continued to walk away from you.

“No, Izuku don’t hurt him! Leave him alone!” You screamed, tugging on your chains once more and pushing yourself towards the unstable boy. Much to your terror, Izuku disregarded your words, instead moving to stand behind Bakugou. He threaded his hand through the taller boy’s locks, grasping onto them and pulling backwards as he pointed his knife at his neck.

“Izuku, sto- aUGH!” You yelped in anguish as you reached out towards the pair, only to fall forward and hit your already sensitive head against the unforgiving pavement. You looked up helplessly as he flicked the knife between his pinky and ring finger, using the digits that were previously holding the blade to untie the cloth that sat in the boy’s mouth.

Immediately, he began to scream, as expected. “You damn extra! What the hell are you trying to do! I always knew you were fucking weird, but you really are an absolute fucking creep! You know, you shoulda just killed yourself, got it?”

“Katsuki! No, you’re going to make him mad or-“ You were cut off once again by a shrill laughter, the horrible sound grinding against your ears.

“You always were so straight-forward Kacchan! Still haven’t lost your fire after all these years have you!” He said, his speech diluted with giggles.

“Stop laughing and let us go you little fucker!” He growled in response.

Midoriya hummed before continuing. “No, no no! N/n over there has something I want, and I don’t plan on letting you two free until I get it,” He returned in a crazed voice.

“Huh? What the hel-“

“What do you want,” you began, your voice ragged. “I’ll give you whatever you need just- at least let him go.” Bakugou looked at you in disbelief, yet he stayed silent as his eyes desperately searched your face. Izuku made a show of looking over at you, turning his gaze towards your kneeling figure as a nefarious grin spread across his face, his eyes shining dangerously as he looked down at your vulnerable form.

“Hmm...interesting proposition, but unfortunately Kacchan over here is essential to the whole thing! But I will take you up on your offer to take whatever I need, although I was going to do that anyways,” He said as he stuffed the cloth back into the blonde’s mouth. He peeled himself off of Katsuki, and with a flick of his wrist, the blade that he was grasping was closed.

“Alright then doll, let’s have some fun hm?” The chartreuse-headed boy had begun to stroll towards you, his leisurely pace matching the speed at which he had begun to unbutton the clasps that held his silken vest together. Your eyes widened exponentially as you realized what was happening, and you began to scramble backwards, pushing yourself towards the other end of the room as far as you could go. You knew that your struggles would be in vain, but you still inched away from him, covering your chest in hopes that what you thought was happening wouldn’t be the case. The cold chains cut into your wrists as you strained against them, the harsh metal not allowing you to move further than a few feet away from the approaching boy. Yet you still struggled, kicking and yelling as he undid the top two buttons on his shirt, the collar falling open and revealing his delicate clavicle. You still tried to push away from him, your efforts fruitless.

A harsh pain shot through your ankle as Izuku clamped his booted foot around it, effectively stilling your leg and keeping you in place. He hopped down onto you, pressing his thighs into yours as he straddled your waist. Nimble hands glided over your shirt, easing the buttons out of their holes and pulling the button-up off of your torso. At this point you had given up on screaming, settling for mumbling out hysterical pleas and whimpers, your palms uselessly pushing against Izuku’s chest. Bakugou’s screams were white noise to your ears, the horrible ringing in your skull blocking out everything else and making you feel as though you were underwater, eyes glazing over as the world around you grew faded.

A sharp tug on your hair brought you back from your moment of disassociation, the hand pulling against your locks belonging to none other than Midoriya himself.

“Come on darling, pay attention to me! No one likes a dumb, quiet doll!” He whined as he slipped a hand under the waistband of your skirt, pulling the fabric off of your hips and exposing your lacy undergarments. From there the green-haired boy wasted no time, running his hands over your soft stomach and marveling at the way his fingers left little indents in the skin whenever he pressed down. Little mumbles floated from his mouth, the way they used to do when you were kids and he would rant to you about heroes or something of the sort. It was almost enough to make you nostalgic, if your brain hadn’t caught on to the words that let you know he was talking about you. His eyes shimmered as they caught onto the terrified expression on your face, his arousal growing as he looked upon the vulnerable state he had managed to put you in.

You decided to plead with him one last time, hoping that maybe a few tears and stutters would make him stop. “Izuku, p-please, sto-p,” you said, a few of your salty teardrops rolling down into your mouth as you spoke. He just grinned at you, eyebrows turning downwards as one of his hands drifted to his visible erection. The screams of Bakugou and your own cries muddled together in your ears as he slipped his belt off and hurriedly took out his cock, palming it rather roughly as he looked down at your limp form, sadism shining in his green orbs as he did so. He didn’t do anything to prepare you, instead leaving you to stare up at him through eyes clouded with tears, watching and waiting on the inevitable to happen. And it happened. Before you could even register it, he had pulled your panties aside, shoving his length in and eliciting a tearful cry from you. Katsuki screamed in sync with you, his smothered shouts ragged and uneven as he looked at the scene before him. Midoriya rutted into you, his thrust holding far too much power as he penetrated your dry insides, your hands clenching and another scream falling out of your mouth as the uncomfortable pain spread through your lower abdomen. You looked over his shoulder at Katsuki, a fresh batch of tears spilling from your eyes as you looked at him. The blonde looked utterly desperate, hot tears rolling down his reddened cheeks as muffled screams continued to rip from his throat. Despite your pleadings and Bakugou’s impotent threats, Midoriya continued to thrust into you, the force of his length pouring on and on and causing choked sobs to gush out of you, the pitiful sounds falling on deaf ears.

“Agh, doll, you’re so tight~! Did Kacchan seriously never take care of you?” He mused. In truth, he never had. But that was your fault, really. You had said you wanted to wait, and that you didn’t want to run the risk of any accidents happening. Part of that was truthful, but you were also just...scared. Scared of what could happen. And every time that you would even begin to consider having the ash blonde take you, the voice of Izuku himself always seemed to take over, and you would always begin to imagine how worried he would be for you, and how he would disapprove. Of course he wouldn’t have ever told you these things, he never was very assertive, and you really had no reason to believe that he would control you like that, but part of your desperate self just wanted to hold onto him when he was presumed to be dead, and still would allow his voice to run through your mind whenever you made decisions and such. In truth you shouldn’t have let your perception of him control your life, but you really couldn’t help it.

You just had missed him...that was all.

Now you regretted all those months that you spent thinking about him, the sleepless nights where you couldn’t get your mind off of the boy. In any case, it seems that even he didn’t care about whether you stayed pure as he ruthlessly fucked you. You felt a bit of blood fall from your abused cunt from the friction, a sick glee filling him up as the crimson fluid lubed up his length. He was your first, he was the first one to ravage you and have a piece of you and you would always remember him as long as you lived. He was going to make sure of that.

“Nghh- doll,” he began, his voice lewd and uneven, his sultry tone matching the lust in his half-lidded eyes perfectly. “You’re just so p-perfect, I don’t- ah! Don’t know w-hy I didn’t take you sooner!” He said between groans. You weren’t sure whether he was talking kidnapping you or fucking you, but at this point you didn’t care. At the moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to think or care about anything. Your mind was too far gone for that, your body drowning in both ecstasy and pain. Izuku latched his mouth onto your exposed collarbone, biting and licking at it until dark purple splotches littered your silky skin. Bakugou’s smothered screams began to die out, fading from your ears as your mind grew fuzzy, your thoughts fixating only on the pressure that was steadily heightening in your core. A particularly loud howl erupted from his throat, causing the green-haired boy to dig his teeth further into you. He bit down with a huge force, his sharp canines digging into the skin on your clavicle yet again. A bit of blood poured from where he had bitten, the fluid dripping down your chest as he raised his head up from your torso. You didn’t miss the subtle way that his lips quirked upwards, malice swirling in his telling green orbs. He leaned down once again, a yelp falling from your trembling lips as he swiped his warm tongue against the wound. He drew his appendage back into his mouth, licking his lips and spreading the blood onto the blush pink area around his maw. “Agh~ You taste so wonderful, d-doll!” He groaned, causing you to shutter. His thrusts grew in pace as he threw his head back, pain shooting through you as they became harder and faster. He cut into you with each stroke, an involuntary moan leaving your mouth as he heightened his pace. He smiled down at you as the sound fell from your lips. The grin was childish, his lips quirking upwards in a way that looked far too innocent compared to your current situation.

Everything grew dimmer and dimmer as you approached your climax. Izuku seemed to be nearing his too, if the uneven jolts of his body and loud groans were any indication of such. The pressure built even more as you tried to keep it down, the continuous stimulation proving to be far too much for your inexperienced body. With one final stroke you tipped over the edge, cunt growing hot and fluttery as you convulsed around Izuku’s length. He pulled out of you right before his own climax, settling for releasing himself all over your creamy thighs. You continued to cry through it all, hot tears pouring down your face and reddening your already flushed cheeks.

You heard Katsuki scream out roughly from beside you. The sound was muted. You felt as though you had been shoved under water, a thick blanket of silence coating your ears as you laid on the rough cement, body heaving and broken.

You felt so confused and so hopeless, the world felt utterly despaired.

The only clarity that came to you presented itself in the form of Izuku’s manic laughter, the horribly shrill giggles pouring over your limp frame. A click of a belt and the green-haired boy was put back together, sweat gleaming on his flushed cheeks and hair splayed about his head like a halo. Although, he was no angel. Not in the slightest.

You coughed as tremors overtook your body. You just felt so goddamn pathetic.

That was all that you were.

You faintly felt the sensation of arms hooking underneath your own, strong hands pulling you towards a wall and propping you up against it. You were facing Katsuki now, and you were finally given a good look at his face.

He didn’t even look like himself anymore. You had never seen him show so much raw emotion before in your entire life. He was despondent, his wrists limp and his mouth quiet. The gag on his face was damp with tears and spit, his jaw hanging slack as a few stray teardrops fell from his reddened eyes. Nothing about him even looked human.

And yet still, you could hear Izuku laughing. He approached the boy with heavy footfalls, boots clicking against the floor until he stood before him. One of his hands shot out and harshly gripped the blonde’s jaw, the other moving to undo the gag. The cloth hung loosely around his neck after he had taken it off, but Katsuki did not even spare a word. His gaze was weathered as he glared into Izuku’s gleeful eyes, crimson hues staying trained on the boy even as Midoriya turned towards you and began to speak.

“Well that was fun, wasn’t it doll! I can’t believe that I was your first!” He said, his voice still enthusiastic, albeit breathy. “I’m never, ever letting you leave after that! Ah, you’re just so perfect!” You just stared at him with as much resentment as you could muster. “And initially the plan was to kill Kacchan over here, but I think I’ll keep him too!” You perked up at the mention of the blonde, lips parting and eyes growing more defensive and you stared at the boy. “I think he’ll be able to help us in the future, hm? It’ll be fun, I promise!” He said, voice exhaustingly juvenile.

“We’ll be just like one big happy family!”

573 notes · View notes

fictionalsownme · 4 years ago

Text

drivers license (hawks x you)

summary: you and hawks broke it off a month ago, but your heart aches for him every single day. In one last attempt to get over him, you invite him over to come get the last of his stuff. 2k word count. enjoy!

warnings: lots of angst, ending is bittersweet/open ended. no pronouns used for reader, mostly for practice so editing is light ^^". swearing, arguing, mutually responsible break up. starts with a bit of a text wall about your broken heart :,I

You saw him everywhere. In the empty couch cushions. In the bare shoe rack. In the dusty balcony railing. In your cold hands. In the cold sheets.

You mourned him like the deceased. Seeing his smile on the news was like seeing a ghost. But you knew he lived, every single day. He woke up every morning. He went to work. He went home. He was out there somewhere, even now, living his life alone. Just as you were. It was an obvious truth, but one you couldn’t fucking bear.

Sometimes you wondered if he thought of the last year like you did. If he stayed awake, freezing to the bone, burning in the darkness of the room you used to share.

Sometimes you’d convince yourself, of course. Of course he does. He told me he loved me. A month is nothing compared to the year we spent together. When you found these thoughts getting too loud, the urge to reach out almost too much, reality would fucking crush you. A new video with a fan would pop up online, or he’d do an interview on TV, or go to some stupid televised event. And there he’d be. Glowing.

You knew he was always stone in public, but if he loved you as much as he’d always told you, the pain would show, wouldn’t it? He’d be falling apart at the seams, like you were. His eyes would be swollen, his throat would be sore, he’d frown just once. But he was as he always was. Smug, beautiful, perfect.

You’d think this would help you move on. It didn’t. Seeing him fine made you question everything. It was obvious he didn’t love you anymore, but did he ever at all?

The past month had been agony whenever you were alone with your thoughts. You just wanted to forget him, to forget all this pain. If he didn’t love you anymore, you were determined to find some reprieve of your own. To move on.

The first step seemed to be getting the last of his things out and away. One of his hero jackets, his sweatpants, his reusable water bottle, all of it. Everything you’d clung to when things got too tough. You’d have to see him one last time, but you were determined to find closure. To say goodbye. To his things, and to him.

——

You agonized over the text forever. At one point it was a lengthy paragraph, at another, just a single word. After what felt like hours, you settled on something simple and polite, sending it before you could question the words again.

You left some things here. Come get them?

You clutched your phone to your chest while you waited for his response, curled up on the couch. With your gaze up at the ceiling, you lost track of time. You cringed when you felt your phone vibrate.

sure thing kid be there after shift

You dragged your hands down your face and took a shaky breath. You were terrified. That despite how many times you dried your eyes, he’d know you’d been crying. That despite how many times you washed his clothes, he’d know you’d been clutching them in your sleep. That he’d know just how broken he had left you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to get up, so you waited for him there on the couch. The sun was starting to set when you heard a knock at your balcony door. You lifted your head from it’s position over the back of the arm rest and met his eyes.

He stood on the other side of the glass, his hands in his pockets. His feathers twitched when your eyes met, but his face was blank… stoic.

You swallowed hard, throat feeling raw and dry. “It’s open!” Your voice cracked as it left your sore throat. You screwed up your lips at the sound. Hawks shuffled with his feet for a moment before sliding the door open.

He stepped in, seeming for once uncomfortable. He was in his hero uniform, looking exactly as you thought he would. You could almost feel his warmth from there.

“Um.” You sat up, giving an awkward sniff. “Your stuff, it’s-- It’s over here.” You pulled yourself up from the couch.

“Tttthanks…”

You couldn’t stop yourself from a dry laugh as you scooped the plastic bag of his things from by the front door. “It’s not like you to be so awkward, Hawks.” You extended it to him. “Something throwing you off?”

Smiling with him in your sights felt so familiar and sore. One of his classic smirks broke out on his lips, but it was paired with a heavy sigh. “C’mon, kid, don’t do me like that.”

“Like what?”

He sighed again. Then a soft, “Don’t be mean.”

Your smile dropped, heart sinking as you looked away. All at once the air changed, and everything was serious. Everything was raw.

He’d failed to take the bag from you, so it rubbed against the skin of your arm as you hugged yourself. You stayed quiet.

“You’re really ready for me to take everything?”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t look him in the eyes. He’d know the truth if you did. Not even a little. Despite your best efforts, your breath grew shaky. You knew he noticed.

“Yeah. Don’t blame you, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck in a motion that made your heart pang. “Alright, kid. Whatever you want.” Your gaze moved on it’s own when you saw movement near the bookshelf by your TV.

A feather. Untucking itself from between two paperbacks. You audibly gasped as it flew towards you, stopping in front of your nose. Hawks plucked it from the air and twirled it in his fingers.

“Have…” Raspy and trembling. You tried again. “Have you been listening to me?”

“No. Just listening for louder stuff. Screams, glass breaking. Stuff like that.”

“Why?” You knew you sounded hurt, heartbroken, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“You gave back your necklace. And I couldn’t be here myself… so…”

You looked at him. From his creased brow, to the fidgeting with the feather in his fingers. He stared down at it. His feet shuffled. He swallowed.

“S… Stop it.” You managed. You took a step away.

“What?”

“You, you don’t get to do that, Keigo.” The use of his name made him flinch, but he didn’t look at you. He looked like a scorned kid.

“I was only listening for sounds for danger. Most of the time I’m not close enough to your place to hear quiet sounds if I wanted.”

“No. Not that. Why… Why are you upset? That’s not fair.”

He rolled his eyes before meeting your gaze. “Jesus, kid. You dumped me after a year and I’m not allowed to need a minute to adjust?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. You took another step away. “No! You- you didn’t love me.”

“What? Do you seriously fucking think that? You left me!” You hated when he yelled at you, even now.

“You, you—,” you sniffed as tears started rolling their way down your cheeks. Hawks was fierce, stern. His eyes glowed in the orange light of the setting sun. Completely beautiful. “You gave up on us! You didn’t want me anymore! You said so- you said the night everything happened!”

“What the fuck! When—”

“ And then! And then! We broke and you left and you were fine! I see you all the time, Keigo! Online, on TV, on the news, and you’re always so fine! You smile and you laugh and I’m stuck here and I’m always crying and so alone—!”

“Hold the fuck on!” You broke down into sobs, giving him a chance to speak as you rubbed endlessly at your eyes. “You seriously think just because I don’t break down in front of cameras that I’m not fucking destroyed over you!”

“You’re not—!”

“And the night I left, I left to cool off and you told me not to come back! That’s on you, kid! Don’t start shifting blame just because you can’t stand’ you shut the door on me!”

You opened your mouth to speak again, but he kept going.

“And seriously, kid! A year wasn’t long enough for you to get that I’m a fucking machine in front of the cameras? All I do in public is puke up the words they fed me, do the things they taught me! You know that!”

“Of course I do!” You hiccupped a sob. “But I was all alone, and- and, all I saw was you, and even as I fell completely apart, you were smiling! Do you have a-any idea what that’s like?! What else can I assume, when I feel so completely like nothing, and you’re so beautiful, but that you meant all those horrible fucking things you said to me! And that maybe you never loved me at all!”

He was quiet, but his chest was rising and falling with adrenaline. He seemed to not know what to say, so you waited. You wiped your eyes until they were surely red.

“Do you really think I never loved you, kid? That I don’t now?”

You gave a wry laugh. “Clearly you don’t remember the things you said to me.”

“I… No, I don’t. But you know what I do remember? I remember realizing I’d fucked up. I remember seeing your face, seeing I’d hurt you. And I remember kissing you and apologizing. And I remember telling you I needed a second and going for a flight. I remember being midair, reading the text that you sent me. Kid, you left me.”

He was crying now. He let the tears fall unacknowledged. Like maybe if he ignored them, they weren’t really there to betray his feelings,

“I-I know I got a lot of issues kid, but you know it too. And you know I was working on them, getting better. I’ve fucked up so many times, but you told me you’d always be there to help. Fuck, babe, we were supposed to be there for each other!”

You sobbed. You wanted to run away, to storm off. Maybe if this wasn’t happening at your place, you would’ve.

“I’m sorry, Keigo. I am. But you gave up on us too! You know I run away sometimes, but you let me! Not once did you even ask me to stay. Why… why didn’t you?”

He blinked at you, cheeks still wet with neglected tears. “I don’t know.” He shrugged, seeming so worn down. You believed him. He didn't know.

You sniffed and forced your hands away from your eyes. The plastic bag slid down from the bend of your elbow and you began to fiddle with the material of the handles. Though your lip refused to stop quivering. “So what happens now?”

You could feel his eyes on you.

“... Let’s try again.”

You met his gaze with a start. “Keigo, I—”

“Just hear me out, dove.” You did, watching his expression go equal parts loving and full of pain. “It’s obvious we’re still sore, but… I didn’t want to break up. It sounds like you didn’t either. Let’s take some time, take a break, feel better. And once we’re ready, come with me to dinner. It doesn’t have to be anything beyond dinner if you want, but… let’s just take it one step at a time, you know?”

When he took a step closer this time, you didn’t take one back.

You gut twisted. You missed him so much, but the things he’d said, and these past few weeks, they still hurt to think about. Keigo still hurt to think about. It sounded like he felt the same way.

While you thought, Keigo had snuck up on you. He threaded his fingers through yours and you flinched at the warmth of his hands. While you sucked in a shaky breath, his other hand sat the bag on the floor. He moved slow, like he was scared you’d run away.

“Keigo.” Your tears started up fresh. Your forehead pressed gently against his chest. The fur of his jacket tickled your cheek.

“I know, baby. I know.”

You swallowed hard as he wrapped his arms around you, your fingers pulling on his hero shirt.

“You don’t have to decide now. We’ve been through a fuckin’ lot. I know you’re still feeling a little raw. Take your time. I will, too. And then… just some dinner. See if we can make this mess make sense.” He laughed a little at that, but you knew he was still crying fresh tears.

You laughed too. Maybe, with some time, you could manage some dinner.

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playwright-fate · 4 years ago

Text

give me comfort, give me edge

Anders/f!Hawke (Valia Hawke)

1435 words

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries

fluff

Hawke asks Anders to move in. Her timing is a little weird though.

READ IT ON AO3

“It hurts,” Valia groaned as he eased her down on the cold, hard floor of her hallway.

Oranna and Bodahn hurried towards them as they heard the door bursting open. She, let out a shriek at the view of Hawke’s bloodied body. Bodahn, swore. “Messere! What happened?”

“A Coterie ambush as we were coming home.” Anders had carried her away from the fight, which had erupted a few streets from there. Her friends were probably still fighting out there as he had brought her to safety.

She was severely wounded.

Anders sent Oranna and Bodahn looking for poultices and water basins and then kneeled down next to her, roaming his hands above her to check for all the injuries he could not see. She had been thrown against a wall by a mage. Among other things.

“It fucking hurts,” she groaned again.

“I know, love. Hang on. It will get better, I promise.”

Her eyes were starting to close. “Sleep. I wanna sleep,”

He jerked her awake with his magic. “Don’t.”

“Hey stop!” she cried out in surprise. She hated when he did that. The sensation was irking. “That’s not fair. Lemme sleep…” She tried to push away his hands but could barely move her arm.

“No, I can’t let you do that. You have to stay with me.” Her pulse was weakening. “Focus, Hawke. Sleeping is bad right now. It’s very bad.”

“Of course you’re the one saying that.”

“What do you mean?” He said distractedly, anything to keep her talking and not passing out. If she lost consciousness now, he wasn’t sure he would be able to bring her back.

“You never sleep.”

“That’s not true. I slept here yesterday. And I’ll stay and sleep here tonight if you behave.”

She snorted but hissed right after. The pain came in waves, and sometimes it was almost unbearable. And her eyelids were so very heavy. Sleeping felt like such a good idea right now. “Can’t stay awake,” she mumbled as her eyes closed again, “just a minute, Anders.”

He used the same magic trick as before, and she grunted loudly. “Maker’s balls, you’re annoying.”

“I’m keeping you alive, that’s what I am. You have to stay with me, love.” He cupped her face. His hands shook. “Please.” The adrenalin of the fight was wearing out and all the focus it gave him with it. Now he felt drained and afraid, the idea of Hawke dying poisoning his thoughts, which should have only been focused on healing her wounds. It distracted him. Slowed him down.

She must have caught something in his eyes then as she softened slightly under his gaze. “Ok, ok. You win, I’ll try. Tell me a story.”

“When you want to fall asleep? No way.” The hand focusing back on her chest found a punctured lung, the one on her abdomen found a worrying gash in her small intestine. He had to work quickly to stop the bleeding and cauterise and heal everything. She was losing too much blood and her breathing was shallower by the minute. “You tell me a story.”

She threw him the most annoyed stare she could muster. It probably looked more like a strange kind of smoldering look as her eyes kept trying to close.

“You’re kidding me, right?” she rasped, wincing with pain, “everything freaking hurts. I can’t talk. You talk.”

“You’re doing very well right now.”

There was a moment of silence and he almost used his magic again to make sure she wasn’t falling asleep, but she stopped him with a weak push of her right arm. “Hey! Don’t! I’m here, I’m here. I hate that trick. It makes my bones buzz. It hurts.”

“Sorry, love. I had to.”

A small silence again. He looked at her face. Her eyes were half-open, but he could see she was looking at him.

“You said you’d stay…” she breathed.

“I will.”

“But did you mean… sleep here or sleep here,” she tried to say it with a smirk but the result was probably terrible. Not to mention her attempt to wiggle her brows, which was so invisible that Anders entirely missed it.

He shot her an incredulous glare. “You’re emptying your blood on my hands and you’re asking me about having sex tonight?”

She tried to nod.

“Maker’s Breath, Hawke, you’re impossible.” He shook his head. “Believe me, the most action you’ll get tonight if I can heal you properly by then is a bath and a good night’s sleep. And that’s the best-case scenario for you right now," he warned her, "you won’t be able to do much more than this tonight. Nor any night in the near future,” he added quickly as he saw her about to say something.

“Is that a challenge?”

“No. You’re almost half-dead, Hawke.”

“Well, that’s probably the rudest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And mind you, I’ve heard a lot of rude things in my life. Plus it still means I’m almost half alive, right?” She tried to say it with a grin, but it only made her cough. She could now barely speak without gasping for air, a rasp accompanying her every word.

But Anders still chuckled at that, his tension easing a little. She was still there, she was still talking nonsense. That was a good sign. Or so he hoped. He had to do something about that lung real quick, though.

“So. You’ll–you’ll take the bath with me at least?”

“And bathe in your blood? No. I’ll clean your wounds, love. Then put you to bed.”

“You’re no fun.”

It seemed to him than her tone and voice were getting weaker. “No, I told you before, the only thing I am tonight is keeping you alive.”

“That joke sucks.”

“Good, because it’s not a joke.”

There was a pause again. She sighed in pain when he added more pressure on her abdomen.

“And you’ll come to bed with me?”

“Yes. To sleep.”

Another pause.

“Hmm, that’s good too.”

Her voice was barely audible now. Anders turned to her in alarm. Her eyes were closed again. He shook her, but she only grunted feebly in response.

Maker, he was losing her!

“Hawke!” He shook her again, maybe a bit too strongly this time, but she remained unresponsive. “Valia!”

There was a slight spasm. Her eyelids quivered. “Hmm, you’ll stay in the morning then?” She murmured weakly, half coming back under his frantic gaze.

In his panic, he had forgotten about her last words. “What?!”

“Will–will you stay in the morning?”

“Of course I’ll stay. But you stay with me now.”

“Last time… last time you didn’t stay.”

Something clenched deep inside him. “And… and you’d like me to stay?” That really wasn’t the time to discuss this.

“Yes,” she breathed, “You can stay all the time. I would like you to stay all the time.”

A home. He would have a real home. He could have a real home. With her.

“Hawke,” his voice wavered a little as her eyes were slowly opening again, as he saw her trying to fight the deceptive lull of sleep, “are you–are you emptying your blood on my hands, propositioning me,” he inhaled deeply, “and asking me to move in all in one night?”

This will be a disaster.

Her nod was almost imperceptible. “We could take a cat. I’m sure Byron would get used to him quickly.”

Anders chuckled. Her eyes had a glassiness he did not like. He should be scrambling to heal her. But his thoughts were all over the place. “You don’t even like cats.”

“Not true. Never had one, that’s all. We could call him Ser Pounce-A-Little. In tribute as much as in hopeful prayer. Less mischief, maybe.”

He shook his head, looking at her fondly. “Would you tell the world, the knight-commander, that you love an apostate and you will stand beside him?”

This will be a disaster.

“Do you want me to go write it with my own blood on her doorstep? Help me up.”

Anders laughed this time, and he cradled her face and kissed her bloody mouth, right here and then before resting his forehead against hers, forgetting everything for a moment. Even the idea of death.

She gave him a weak, wicked smile in response. “If that’s how you treat all your patients, you can stay at the clinic though.”

It was surreal to feel so happy and afraid at the same time. She might die. They might live together.

He smiled back and went back to tending to her wounds. “I’ll move in, then.”

#dragon age #anders x hawke #anders x f!hawke #anders x femhawke #anders #handers #my writing

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howtosingit · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: i’m gonna be the man that wakes up next to you

“You’re cute when you're half asleep.” * TK Strand loves waking up next to his favorite person.

1.9K | Also on AO3

A/N: I woke up this morning with a lot of thoughts and just had to write this.

-----

TK wakes up naturally, opening his eyes slowly to find shards of light pouring in through the gaps in their curtains. It’s such a rare occurrence, to not be jolted awake by an alarm, that it takes him a minute to make sense of his surroundings.

Not that there’s much to take in. He’s managed to wrap himself around Carlos like a koala, his entire body pressed along his boyfriend’s backside. In his sightline, ridiculously wide shoulders block his view of anything else in the room, the sculpted planes of Carlos’s upper back shifting slightly as he breathes gently. TK leans forward just a bit, enough to press his lips to the soft skin at the base of Carlos’s neck, where his spine juts out just a little. It’s one of his favorite things in the entire world, a secret spot only he gets to know intimately.

After a moment, he realizes that his right arm is wrapped around his boyfriend, shoved under his arm so that his hand can rest against Carlos’s firm chest. He briefly closes his eyes, focusing on the way his hand moves up and down as the chest expands and contracts, his fingers just grazing the nipple near Carlos’s heart. A small smile takes over his face as he takes stock of their positions, noting all of the places where their bodies connect. It almost seems like he’s tried to melt into Carlos during the night, unsurprised that he would seek him out for comfort.

That’s just what Carlos is to him: comfort, solace, his home.

A year ago, that thought would have sent him into a panic so quickly that he would have flung himself away from the man in front of him, possibly even fallen out of the bed from the force of it. A year ago, his fear would have swallowed him entirely, and he would have ran, mindless of the destruction left behind. A year ago, he would’ve felt lost, with no home to safeguard him.

But that was a year ago; today, there is no such fear.

A year ago.

His heart pounds in his chest as he suddenly remembers, with a burst of overwhelming clarity, why neither of them have set an alarm for this morning. With each of them working crazy schedules, there is hardly ever a morning where one of them doesn’t have to be up before the crack of dawn. Early on, when they were still figuring out how to make their relationship work, Carlos would tell him that he didn’t have to stay over the night before his early APD shifts.

“I don’t want my alarm to wake you up on days when you get to sleep in, you need the rest,” he’d said, his adorable eyebrows furrowed with concern. TK had just smiled, wrapping his arms around him and pressing their noses together to steady him.

“Getting to sleep next to you is worth a million alarms, Carlos,” he’d replied, a fiercely protective fire roaring to life in his chest as his boyfriend’s warm, brown eyes began to shine. “Besides, if I’m not here, who will you kiss before heading out the door?”

Carlos had laughed, enthusiastically agreeing with his counterargument, and that was that.

Now, the alarms are just part of their morning routine. When Carlos has to go in early, his alarm wakes TK up for just a moment, and he’ll lay in bed listening to Carlos get ready for work. Then, right before he heads out the door, his boyfriend will come back to the bed, place his hands on either side of TK’s head, and lean down for a parting kiss.

“Be safe,” TK will say when they separate, his eyes still closed in preparation for his quick return to sleep.

“Always,” Carlos will respond, pressing a second kiss to TK’s forehead. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” TK will mumble, already rolling to grab Carlos’s pillow to clutch to his chest. Sometimes, he’ll feel the drag of his boyfriend’s fingertips along his arm as he rises again from the bed, finally heading off to work.

On mornings where TK is the one to get up early, he’s less composed. For one thing, he likes to ignore his (many) alarms, and it’s usually Carlos who ends up rolling over him to silence his phone on the bedside table. It happens so often that it’s almost a choreographed dance at this point. Carlos will stretch his torso over him, reaching out towards the phone, and TK, who is always basically awake at this point, will take advantage of their positions to wrap his arms around his boyfriend, pulling him down on top of him. Carlos will puff out a breath, the air breezing past TK’s ear, as he adjusts his body so as not to crush TK completely under him.

“You have to get up, babe,” Carlos will say, his voice light as he presses his face into TK’s neck. TK will whine in response, trying to pull him even closer.

“You’re cute when you're half asleep,” Carlos has said on more than one occasion, and TK will open one eye when he feels Carlos pull back to find him staring down at him, the softest expression taking over his face.

“Liar, I’m cute all the time,” TK will sometimes respond, watching how Carlos’s lips pull up into a smile, his eyes crinkling with happiness.

“Of course, you’re right, my mistake,” Carlos will admit, shifting to drag his fingers through TK’s hair in apology. “But you know,” he’ll go on, leaning down again to nearly press their lips together, “you’re the cutest when you’re in uniform, which you should be putting on right now.”

TK will groan, rolling his eyes as he turns away from his boyfriend, feeling how Carlos’s lips, so close to claiming his own, will press against his cheek instead, his amused smile obvious even out of TK’s sight.

Carlos will eventually pull him out of bed and towards the shower, where he’ll run his fingers through TK’s hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo and then conditioner. Some mornings, TK will run his hands down his lover’s chest, watching how the hair there darkens under the stream of warm water, the sight causing a fierce hunger to pool in his stomach. He’ll drop down to his knees, right in front of the man of his dreams, and show him just how much it means to have him by his side every day of his life.

Carlos never does get to go back to sleep when TK works an early shift, but he knows that his boyfriend, a morning person if there ever was one, doesn’t mind it one bit.

TK is pulled from his memories of the past year when the muscular body in front of him shifts. He watches as Carlos turns his head towards him, his eyes still closed, a soft smile on his face as he lets out an audible sigh. The light from the gaps in the curtains shed just enough light on him, and TK feels his breath stutter at the angelic sight of Carlos’s face, his skin golden and glowing.

A whole entire year with this perfect, wonderful man. He can’t quite believe it.

TK leans forward, running his fingers along the delicate, yet strong, features of Carlos’s face, feeling the firmness of his jaw, the solidness of him next to him. Carlos, clearly on his way to consciousness, rolls over so that they are now chest-to-chest, reaching down to adjust the thin sheet covering each of their naked bodies from the waist down. When he’s satisfied, his hand drags up the side of TK’s body, stopping to rest at the dip between his hips and his ribs. TK’s heart pounds loudly, a common reaction to Carlos’s touch, but he makes no move to change the energy between them, allowing his love time to naturally awaken, the way he deserves to on his day off.

The early morning light on Carlos’s cheek reminds TK of a similar moment exactly one year ago today, each of them laying under the odd green and blue lights weaving through the Austin sky.

He remembers that day so vividly, from their Boba date to the flipped bus to Carlos pressing a gentle kiss to his neck in the doorway of the fire station. There’s no way he’ll ever be able to forget it, that moment when every fear that was eating away at him was silenced. That very moment when he was finally certain about the man that he was, the man that he wanted to become, and the man he wanted to join him on that journey.

He remembers their conversation on top of the Camaro, in the middle of nowhere, under the most beautiful, bizarre light show Mother Nature could provide. He remembers telling Carlos that they were a good team, and he remembers Carlos agreeing with him. He remembers unleashing months and months of fears and sorrows and regrets and apologies, the words pouring through him naturally, without any doubts that they should be shared.

He wasn’t scared of rejection, of being left behind or tossed aside. The only thing he was truly scared of was missing out on what was right in front of him.

“This, right here, it’s just you and me now,” Carlos had said, pulling him close and linking their fingers together tightly, refusing to let go. “It’s not Alex, or anything that happened after him. It’s not that misguided dinner, or you getting arrested. It’s not you getting shot, or me scared to death that you wouldn’t wake up. It’s not any of that. It’s just you and me, right here and now, and whatever we decide to make of it moving forward.”

Carlos’s eyelids flutter, his lips twisting as his body finally begins to wake up and TK hears those words in his mind, clear as day. He scoots forward, just enough to touch the tips of their noses together. Carlos’s grip tightens on his hip, but TK can’t be bothered to look away from his beautiful face, watching as his favorite pair of eyes finally make their first appearance of the day, their gaze soft as the pupils adjust to the lighting in the room. TK’s puffs out a breath, the familiar brown irises holding him in their powerful, loving grip.

“Good morning, baby,” he whispers, and even though he can’t see it so close up, Carlos’s responding smile is clear as his whole face shifts to express it, his eyes softening to allow those signature crinkles to form.

TK thinks about the past year; the early mornings, the shower sex, the forehead kisses. He thinks about all of the laughs and tears, the accidents and fights. He thinks about the steady touches and bright smiles, the unwavering presence by his side when he needs it.

He thinks about how, when those alarms pull him from sleep, it truly doesn’t matter, because no dream can hold a candle to the real thing. Nothing will ever come close to the love that they have, the relationship they’ve built together.

Nothing will ever comfort him more than the home that he’s found in Carlos.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos fanfic #911 lone star #tk strand #carlos reyes #I wrote a thing #my tarlos one-shot collection

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arotechno · 4 years ago

Text

The Heartless: Chapter 1

Read on Inkitt

(A/N: HOOOO boy here we go, after five years of staring down the barrel of this thing it’s finally done! Important question: does it matter to y’all if I don’t post the text of the chapter directly below the cut in the future and just link to Inkitt? I ask because formatting for tumblr was beyond annoying and I’m not looking forward to doing it for like 20 more chapters. But if it’s necessary for accessibility reasons, I’m willing to do it.)

Chapter I: in which the story begins

When the winter first melted into spring, Basil and I crept to the edge of the woods behind our houses to pick wildflowers in the meadow. It was still too early for raspberries; in the summer, we’d fill our baskets and our stomachs with them until our mouths were stained red with juices. Our mothers would bake pies in the afternoon and we’d eat them in the evening, cleaning every last scrap from our supper plates with the promise of a sweet dessert. Now, the earth was still cool beneath our bare feet, our toes wiggling in the soft dirt. Once we’d filled our fists with flowers, we settled in the tall grass and began weaving together goldenrod, daisies, and violets into flower crowns and daisy chains.

Basil presented his work and beamed at me, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun with the back of his hand. “Take it, I want you to wear it,” he urged, thrusting the flower crown into my lap.

“But you worked so hard on it,” I replied.

He shrugged and brushed the dirt from his tanned knees. “I want you to have it,” he insisted, reaching forward and taking the crown from my lap to place it gently on my head.

I stared down at my own work in my hands; it was not nearly as beautiful as the one Basil had made. Some of the stems had split, and many of the flowers had lost some of their leaves and petals. I didn’t have the same steady hands that he did.

“In that case, I want you to have mine, too,” I decided, pressing the crown onto Basil’s head as a couple more leaves fluttered to the ground.

Basil grinned a mile wide, practically radiating sunshine with every inch of his being. “Now we match,” he beamed.

A peaceful silence fell over the meadow. Behind us, the trees rustled in the woods. Insects hovered in the grass, hopping from flower to flower; Basil jumped when a bee buzzed past his face to land in the flowering raspberry bushes that bordered the tree line.

“We’ll be friends forever, right, Basil?” I asked after a while, sheepishly adjusting my flower crown.

"Of course we will,” he responded. “Even when we’re old!”

“How old? Like, eighteen? That’s super old!”

Basil laughed. “Yeah! Eighteen and then even older!”

I smiled hopefully. “And we can still make flower crowns like this?”

“Ace, when we’re eighteen, I’ll still make you all the flower crowns you want,” Basil decreed with a grin. “That’s a promise.”

* * *

The warmth of the sun and Basil’s innocent smile faded as I woke up to last night’s rain dripping down on me from the cracks in the ceiling above. Bertrand stood over me, jostling me awake with one hand while the other held a vial of another one of his concoctions. I assumed I had fallen asleep after supper, because the dishes remained untouched by the washbasin and twilight was just pouring in through the window.

“Drink up,” Bertrand commanded in that voice of his that just begged to be disobeyed, holding the potion in front of me expectantly as if to remind me of the curse that filled the vacant space within me. He stared at me with piercing eyes over the top of his dull gray beard, swishing the vial back and forth for emphasis.

I grabbed it from his wrinkly hand and sloshed the red liquid around in disgust before shutting my eyes and downing it in one gulp, just to appease him. Even so, I could not resist the urge to lay a hand against my chest, but still I felt nothing. Shaking my head, I rose from my cot and pushed past Bertrand, grabbing my bow and arrow off the hook by the door and slinging it over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Bertrand called after me.

“Out,” I answered, already halfway out the rickety wooden door.

“It’s past nightfall, Ace, it’s dangerous out there!”

But I was already gone, walking away from the old house as the door slammed shut behind me with a satisfying thud.

Over the seven years I’d spent under Bertrand’s leaky roof, I had slowly become disillusioned with the idea of ever finding a potion strong enough to light a fire in my ribcage. Bertrand had tested a lot of his spells on me throughout my life, but the love potion had always proven to be the least effective.

But I suppose that is to be expected when you do not have a heart.

The Village of the Heartless was smaller than the town where I grew up. A single dirt road ran from the village gates to the top of the hill, through the neighborhood before coming to a stop at the edge of the woods that surrounded the kingdom of Amistadia. We were a close-knit community, learning to provide and look out for each other through thick and thin, through every harsh winter and plentiful spring.

Bertrand’s house stood at the edge of the village, where the hill dropped off toward the gates below. At the base of the hill stood a large, sturdy oak tree where I perched some nights with my bow and arrow on the lookout for trouble.

Nights in the Village of the Heartless were always dark, as we could never afford enough oil to keep all of the town’s lamps lit, but they weren’t always quiet. Kids from neighboring towns sometimes wandered the area at night, brandishing knives in their grimy hands, looking to stir up trouble. Tonight was no exception; as I neared the village limits, I caught a glimpse of a pair of boys making their way down the road, and a thrill shot up my spine. I climbed swiftly up the oak tree and perched in the shadow of its lush, leafy branches, fingers itching for my bow.

The pair dragged a child behind them by the arm, yanking her across the dirt with them as they cackled and cheered triumphantly at their prized catch. The girl held tightly to a canvas sack, trying fruitlessly to pull away from her captors.

“Get away, get away!” she shrieked, dodging a blow as she fell to the ground, clutching the bag to her torso desperately.

“What’s the matter, little runt?” one of the assailants sneered. “You’re not afraid of a couple of kids, are you?”

“I just wanted something to eat!” the girl cried out as a likely filthy knife narrowly missed her cheek.

If I had been in my right mind, I would have simply shot the pair of boys in the shoulder, snatched up the child, and run away, but Basil’s face kept flashing in my mind; an anger was boiling in my gut that demanded confrontation.

“Hey, ugly!” I shouted, pulling back an arrow and pointing it in their direction.

The kid with the knife froze, eyes darting up to my place on the tree branch. I was yards away, but I could see the glint of light from the last of the setting sun on the knife as his fist tightened around it. His partner, as well as the child still laying on the ground with the sack clutched to her chest, stared wide-eyed as he

“Who’re you talking to?” he grumbled.

“Doesn’t matter,” I quipped, hopping down from my perch and tightening my grip on the arrow. “Just let the kid go.”

“Why should I?” he retorted, nonetheless taking a step back when he saw the arrow aimed directly at his head. “Y-You’re not really going to shoot that.”

“How do you know?”

The other kid called out, “Hey, let’s just get out of here.” He was ignored.

Pointing to the little girl, Knife Boy puffed out his chest and continued, “There’s no way you’re really worried about her. You Heartless are all the same; you don’t feel a damned thing. No way you’d go out of your way to save her.”

I allowed myself a bitter, self-indulgent smirk, too brief to be seen in the thick darkness. “If that’s what you believe, that I am entirely emotionless, then wouldn’t it also stand to reason that I would feel no remorse about ending your sorry life right here and now?” I drew my bowstring further; the wood audibly creaked. “If that’s the case, then it would seem you had better start running.”

Knife Boy froze, taking a few steps back before he and his friend took off running in the direction they came. “Cursed bastards!” he yelled over his shoulder as he hopped the gate and disappeared. Once they were out of sight, I let my arms drop to my side and slung my bow back over my shoulder. I felt my brow furrow in frustration; life in the village had become so mundane that I was almost hoping for a fight. I quickly stifled that selfish thought, pushing it to the far recesses of my mind; the girl, who had stayed completely still on the ground throughout the whole ordeal, now scrambled to her feet, still clutching the bag in her white-knuckled hands. Now, no longer squinting through the dark, I recognized her immediately.

“That was awesome! How did you know what to say?” she beamed, slinging the canvas sack over her shoulder and wiping the dirt from a pair of ratty pants that fell three inches from her ankles.

"Petra, you’re the one who I keep hearing has been stealing food from the neighboring villages?” I asked her, and her expression soured immediately at having been caught.

“Yeah, that was me,” Petra admitted under her breath. Then, scrambling to justify herself, she added, “But I only do it because there’s not enough food in the village and I gotta eat something!”

I nodded, mulling it over. “Sure, now I suppose I can’t blame you for that, but stealing is wrong. You’re plenty old enough to know that.”

“Of course, I know that, but I needed food!”

“Fine, I get it, I get it,” I sighed. “Just don’t make this a habit, got it? I promised Annie I would keep you out of trouble.”

Petra pouted. “Fine,” she mumbled. I started back up the hill, with Petra trotting silently alongside me.

At thirteen years old, Petra had been living in the Village of the Heartless since she was a baby—which was still longer than I’d been in town—left outside the home of one of the village women, Annie, in the middle of the night. I’d met her several years ago, and she quickly became enthralled with my stories of life outside the village. Annie was dead several months now, leaving Petra to fend mostly for herself, though the community kept a watchful eye over her (Not watchful enough, I thought ruefully).

“You didn’t tell me how you knew what to say to that kid,” she urged, struggling to keep up with my strides.

“I used to spend time around those kinds of people a lot when I was a kid,” I explained, deciding to humor her. “I’ve learned how to turn their own words against them by now.”

I did not tell her that had I learned how to do so sooner, things may have turned out a lot differently.

* * *

I eventually sent Petra home with a warning that I’d be watching to make sure she didn’t get into any more trouble. When I crossed the threshold back into Bertrand’s musty old house, the palm of his hand came down hard across my face, leaving a sharp stinging sensation behind on my skin.

“What on earth was that for?” I yelped. Bertrand grabbed me by the wrist and dropped me into one of the rickety dining chairs in the center of the room, bearded face practically sparking with rage.

“You must not keep doing that!” he scolded.

“Doing what?” I asked innocently.

“Getting into confrontations with… hooligans! What else?”

“I did what I had to—”

“Don’t think I wasn’t watching, Ace! I could see the entire ordeal from the window!”

“Well maybe if you’d actually done something to help instead of just watching—”

“Unlike you, Ace, I value my life and am not going to get myself killed just to feel like the hero!”

I couldn’t help but bristle at his comment. Something in my soul shattered, and I sprung to my feet, the wooden chair tipping backward onto the stone floor behind me with a loud clatter that would have rang through the eaves had I not immediately erupted into theatrics.

“What do you mean you value your life? All you do is sit around making futile potion after potion and you still think it’ll work next time!” I clenched my fists at my sides, willing the confrontational energy in my veins to burn out before it swallowed me whole. “So maybe I need to tell off some asshole every once in a while to finally feel like I’m doing something meaningful. So you can keep pouring bile down my throat all you want, but I can assure you it’ll never make me happy!”

Bertrand’s face fell, and I knew deep down that I had hurt him, but I could not bring myself to feel guilty. He had it coming, I thought, stalking across the room to my cot by the window. I sat down on the thin mattress, kicked off my boots, and pulled my knees up to my chest.

“Ace—” Bertrand, having followed me, reached out a hand as if to lay it on my shoulder, but I flinched away from the touch and he retracted the appendage as if he had been burned.

“Don’t touch me,” I muttered, directing my gaze out the window at the dark, lonely night creeping across the landscape. “Just leave me alone.”

With a sigh, Bertrand retreated from my bedside, retiring to his back potion room to conjure his demons away, and I sat back against the wall, longing for home and the warm voices of my parents.

That night, I dreamt of Knife Boy, and his words reminded me of Carita, the girl who kissed me under an oak tree when we were younger and told me I was weird for flinching

Next chapter releases 7/25!

#The Heartless #aro #aromantic #aro writing #aro writers #writing #writeblr #aspec writing #aspec writers #op

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janekfan · 4 years ago

Text

Acceptance

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163367

“Jon’s hiding something.”

“Tim.” Martin was tired. And sad. And worried. Because he had the very same thought every time he caught a glimpse of the Archivist slipping between shadows in the stacks; furtive, haunted, hunted.

“You know I’m right.” He didn’t look up from the worn surface of his desk, tracing a stray mark with the pad of his finger, not even expending energy enough to pretend he had any interest in working. “He’s. He’s a monster, Martin.”

“Tim!”

“You know it, well as I do. This is all his fault.” His voice was made of raw edges, filled with grief and pain and sorrow. “Stay. Martin, promise me.” Eyes hollow in his scarred, handsome face, he looked up at Martin through dark lashes. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Martin had to look away, the weight of Tim’s gaze smothering and awful and full of hurt and anger and barely simmering rage. “He’s our friend. Even if he’s. Forgotten it a little.” Tim went back to his aimless pattern making.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Martin made sure to knock and knock gently. The few times he’d gotten even a partially clear look at his face it had been lined in pain, lips pressed into a thin, controlled line. It was clear he was purposely avoiding his eyes.

“Tea, Jon?” He heard him shift, a weary scraping of his soles sliding on the dusty floor, the light from the tiny desk lamp barely illuminating the space around it, let alone the rest of the office.

“Ah, y’yes. Pl’please.” Shaking hands materialized out of the dim, gripping the mug and holding it like a lifeline, flinching when the hot liquid sloshed over his fingers. “Thank you, Martin.” Thin and thready, Jon sounded exhausted and knowing he slept poorly at even the best of times, must have been getting even less sleep since the Prentiss incident.

“Jon?” Martin smiled a bit when he heard the sounds of him sipping the tea, a sigh of some unidentifiable emotion but he wanted to believe there was warmth in it. “When’s the last time you went home?”

Jon had taken his mandatory time off.

He had.

Thirty days of leave.

But it did not stop him from exploring the tunnels beneath the archives, even though exploring was a generous term for it. Wandering was more apt a description, and he’d paid something of a price, as fate would have it, because his hip ached badly where the worms had burrowed so deep and no amount of stretching or physical therapy or pain medication seemed able to touch it. He winced inwardly at Martin’s open worry and trepidation. He’s not been kind to any of his assistants, certainly didn’t deserve this attention or care when he was barely able to look after himself. At the Institute he’s kept how much the pain is affecting him as hidden as possible, mostly by avoiding everyone which he knew made him look more suspicious. Tim already made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him or his histrionics and no good would come from trying to gain sympathy for something that was his fault to begin with. He was already a nuisance forced upon them, been so from day one. But if he could pretend to be normal, just. Go back to that normal because right now the tightening in his chest, the embarrassment, the urge to hide away, was only making things worse.

He was making things worse.

He didn’t mention the aching loneliness or the fear. How he jumped at every shadow and woke from the screams of his coworkers he failed over and over again to protect in his nightmares. Or how he kept a CO2 canister by the bed just in case. Even if they were gone. Just in case. Jon didn’t talk about his nightly excursions in that twisting, winding, changing place because he would have to admit that despite how it hurt, he had to push himself to the point of breaking to get his overactive mind to quiet even the smallest amount. Grant him even the smallest respite.

So, no. He didn’t want Martin’s concern except that he very much did, felt like he was starving for someone to notice him, how much he hurt, how much he was struggling to keep his unraveling threads together.

“Jon?” Worry. And the sense of shame he felt at hiding how much he’s healed wrong or scarred too deep or how the phantom sensation of the worms kept him awake. And how could he tell him that he feared to sleep alone? That his flat was both too familiar and horribly alien all at once, full of shadows coiling, branching, twining, crawling, spiraling.

The safest thing to do for all of them was to push him away.

“I was home for nearly a month, Martin.” Dry. Sardonic. It was easy to act irritated and tired and bothered even when his heart was pounding a too-fast tattoo against his breastbone, surely leaving bruises behind. If Martin came any closer he would hear it.

Martin saw straight through his poor attempt at deflection, saw the same pain echoed just behind his eyes that he saw in Tim. This would either go well or he would never be able to show his face again but he needed to try, Jon deserved that much.

“How can I help?” As soft as he could make it, sitting down on a box crammed full of statements so Jon didn’t have to crane his neck, so he didn’t seem so intimidating. “I want to help.” He smiled, hands relaxed on his knees and watched as Jon turned his face up to meet him like a withered plant kept too long in the dark when it reencountered the sun, hungry and reaching. Undone by a few kind words, before his expression closed off. As if he remembered this was something he wasn’t supposed to have.

Point of no return.

“Would you. Would you consider coming home with me?” Jon inhaled a sharp, short breath. Held it. “Just for a night! Just so. I’d like to help if I can, somehow.” He chuckled, trying to ease the tension practically thrumming through the man’s bones like an audible hum of electricity. “I’m a decent cook?” Jon exhaled slowly. Want, exhausting and desperate, in the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Yes.” Bare more than a ragged fragment of a whisper and before he could rescind that delicate consent, Martin was rambling about how lovely it would be to have company. Just nonsense, in the hope that Jon wouldn’t realize what he’d done and change his mind. It was already far beyond quitting time and Martin said he’d return to collect him once he’d gotten his coat, allowing him a little space to gather his thoughts, securing a nod of assent before heading quickly off.

Jon was standing when he returned, thin jacket hardly enough to protect him from the damp chill outside, and Martin wrapped his own scarf around his neck, heart melting when his lashes fluttered in contentment as he buried his nose into the well worn yarn. Swaying and unsteady on his feet, his stiff posture would be night imperceptible if you weren’t watching for it. But Martin was always watching. Knew his injuries were bothering him and that, at this point, whatever pain he had was most likely permanent.

He wondered if he had a cane. It would certainly help.

Jon stopped short before he left his office and Martin worried he was changing his mind, watching him tilt his head like a bird, listening, breath even and slow and quiet.

“Has.” He wet his lips as the word caught in his throat. “Tim?” Ah, that was the hangup, then.

“Gone home long before us.” He felt for him, for that fear and worry of facing down his past mistakes. He’d made himself a convenient target with his suspicions of them and the anxiety blooming in him cut deep.

He stood as close to Martin without touching him as he could, blaming the number of other patrons riding the train at this hour though truthfully they were nowhere near them. He had no choice, that’s all. He could stand even if he wanted desperately to sit down and rest his aching leg, refusing to even glance at the empty priority seating so close to him and instead burying his face in Martin’s scarf, closing his eyes and breathing through the hot flash that often accompanied these spells, the almost feverish chills. When the train lurched to a stop he stumbled into Martin, who caught him with an inquiring look.

“Just tired.” He offered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile before leading the way through the doors, holding himself stiff in an attempt to keep the pain at bay.

Martin was a good cook.

“Since I was mainly existing on take away and cup noodles, it’s been nice to make my own meals again.” He said by way of explanation, dishing up a healthy portion for Jon who tried not to worry about finishing it, not having had much of an appetite lately. But it’s good, and warm, and Martin doesn’t say anything about what he had to leave behind, passing him a cup of tea prepared just the way he liked it.

It warmed him up from the inside out.

It made him want to cook for Martin sometime.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Jon was on the couch with numerous blankets and pillows, dressed in Martin’s spare sleepwear, an oversized and soft tee that hung off his shoulder and drawstring pajama pants.

“This is perfect, Martin. Thank you.” He wished he could convey the true depth of it with just that, and as always, found himself sorely lacking but Martin just smiled bright, instructing him to wake him if he needed anything before bidding him good night. Surprisingly, Jon was already having trouble staying awake once he was settled into the cushions despite the overall ache. If he breathed slow and focused on the breath cycling through his body, into his blood, traveling along roadways mapped with veins and arteries and--

Agony.

Oh god, where was he? And why did it hurt?

All up his back and down his leg, his leg. Burning, blazing, blistering. Incandescent and stealing. Stealing.

Stealing.

Dark. Pitch black. Like the tunnels.

Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet or they'll hear you, see you, get you, take you and make you Not.

Winding, weaving, wandering. Lost, lost, lost.

The worms. Thoughts clicking into place when he managed to claw his way back to the surface of this roiling ocean of misery. Arm flailing to the side where he kept the canister but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t there and somebody must have taken it.

And his hip. Pulsing, throbbing, pounding through the whole of him and he had to be dying. Trapped in the tunnels and being eaten by worms.

He very nearly screams when something touches his arm, eyes flying open to realize that he can see. See. Shapes. Colors. Coalescing into Martin’s familiar face, worry splashed over it like his perfect freckles.

“Jon?” His voice is trembling, hand on his shoulder, gentle, a touchstone. “Jon, what’s wrong?” And stupid, stupid, stupid him clenches his teeth and grinds out a denial.

“N’nothing.” The fingers against his skin, his skin, Martin is touching his skin and he can’t focus. They tremble. Because he’s lying. Because Jon has always been and always will be a liar and all he wants to be is normal.

“Jon, is it.” His wide eyed stare flicks down and back to his. “Is it your leg?” How does he know. Of course he knows. Sometimes he thinks Martin knows him better than he’s ever known himself. That he might be the only person who ever has and he realizes he has a white knuckle grip on his thigh, trying to claw his way inside and rip out the hurting, as if it could ever be that simple. It’s spasming, twisted, he can’t stretch out the muscle and it’s so very painful and instinctively he knows it’s from the train and the walk, all longer than he was used to. And why does he keep doing this to himself?

He can’t slow his breathing, almost hyperventilating, chest heaving, eyes limned in tears and he thought he could pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it really did. That he was being dramatic and he didn’t want Martin to see how much of a wreck he is and regret inviting him into his home, sharing it with a nuisance, a burden, a bother.

“Jon.” There’s sorrow there. Pity. He’s pitying him and that’s the final straw that makes the tears fall hard and fast and Martin offers his hand and he grabs it like it’s his last connection to this physical realm because it hurts so badly he can’t barely breathe. “Can I help?” But there is no help. He’s beyond all and any and to let someone help him is to be vulnerable and Jon doesn’t like to be vulnerable, he can’t be.

But he hurts so badly and he wants to trust Martin, believe that he can make this awful reality even the tiniest bit better. And he wants him to know it.

So he nods. Almost hysterically because it feels like losing his mind and Martin’s hand in his is the only thing keeping him here.

“P’please.” A gasping whisper, begging. And Martin, beautiful, kind, patient Martin, cups his face and thumbs away his tears, palm so cool against his feverish skin.

“Okay, you are okay. I’m going to help.” Jon closes his eyes against a promise too good to be true. And when Martin removes his hands, his connection, he sobs and Martin soothes, digging his strong fingers into the rigid block of agony. “Hush, shh, I’ve got you, this will help, I promise.” Jon latches onto his words, tries to lose himself in them, clasping his own hands over his mouth to stifle his whining. When Martin straightens his leg it’s like a hot poker is jammed into his hip socket and he can’t help the low groan at the back of his throat. He’s never hurt like this, he’s sure. He’d have remembered. “Good, good. You’re doing so well, Jon. Breathe, shh, just like that.” Jon soaks up the praise like parched earth, and winds his fingers into the blankets at his side, as everything begins to relax, as Martin smooths warmth along the worst of the ache. Just an ache. Bearable now. Bearable. Just an ache and he sobs in relief. Martin disappears and reappears in the same moment, a bottle of paracetamol in his hand and a half glass of water. To appease, Jon takes a double dose even though they pale in comparison to the complete prescription of muscle relaxers minus one he had in his medicine cabinet at home and watched Martin keep his worry to himself.

“M’sorry. Martin.” He’s out of breath. Panting like he’d run a marathon and every part of him resonating with the aftermath of pushing himself too far. He studied Martin’s face. Waiting for derision or contempt or more pity to show itself. For him to say he needs to quit the job even though he’s quite sure he actually can’t.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Jon.” Calm and quiet and he passes him a cool flannel so he can wash his face and it is blissful. “I promise, nothing at all.” That can’t possibly be true. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the walk.”

“It wasn’t that far.” Martin didn’t argue and Jon was grateful, refolding the cloth so he could press it against his eyes and let it absorb his tears of frustration and shame.

“I’ve got some dry clothes you can change into.” He heard Martin get up, calling from the other room. “The bed is big enough for two, if you don’t mind, I don’t.” Jon sat up, shaky, lightheaded, keeping his bad leg purposefully straight because he was afraid of what would happen if he bent it again. And Martin handed him another set of soft things, gathering up the spare bedclothes and spiriting them away while he changed. God he was dizzy. “Bed?” He blinked slowly, tired, certain he couldn’t stand on his own, and swallowed around the clot of emotion in his throat.

“Would y’you.” He looked down at his trembling hands, clasped them together in an attempt to stop them. “I don’t. C’can’t. Stand.” He could barely hear himself. Humiliation, hot and coursing through his blood. This was foolish. Couldn’t even--

“Of course.” Easy as that. As though it was that simple. And he supposed it was. When he let himself think about it. Martin took most of his weight, could’ve probably carried him outright, but as it was, just supported him as he hobbled forward, going so far as to lift his leg into the bed before flopping onto his side of the mattress and turning over to face him.

“I had. A. It was a nightmare.”

“The worms?”

“How did you know?” Martin shrugged.

“I have them too.” Jon chuffed a laugh in commiseration and saw Martin return it in a grin before letting himself fall back into the dark.

Martin watched as Jon slept deeply, breath even and slow and so peaceful in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Lips slightly parted and fingers curled loosely against his throat, the lines of pain usually carving their jagged way down his face had smoothed out and his cheek was so humanly smushed into Martin’s extra pillow.

“Mmmorning.” The way he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of an uncoordinated hand made his heart beat faster. And when his tired brown eyes rolled back beneath those dark fluttering lashes, black as ink, Martin remembered just how smitten he truly was. Deciding to let Jon get a few more moments of hardwon rest, he eased out of bed to go start breakfast, tucking the quilt over narrow shoulders.

Just when Martin was wondering if Jon might need some help maneuvering out of bed, quiet, uneven steps and the squeak of a chair moving across the floor drew his attention. A low, drawn out groan drifted from where his head was pillowed on folded arms and it seemed that one Jonathan Sims, was not a morning person. Still dressed in Martin’s oversized clothes, he could see the smooth skin of a shoulder blade when he placed his tea next to him, interpreting the grumbling as a garbled thank you. Two slices of toast with marmalade later and halfway through a second cup of strong tea, Jon seemed at least aware, sitting up and sipping on his mug.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Pretty good.” He glanced shyly over the rim and back down again. “Thank you, Martin.” So soft, and Martin felt himself blush.

“You’re welcome, Jon.” Anytime. Always.

Jon was adjusting his collar and examining the purple bruises under his eyes in the hall mirror when Marin cleared his throat behind him.

“It was. Uh, my mum’s.” He held it out, worried he was overstepping in offering up a cane, not to mention one decorated in muted autumnal flowers. They were nearly the same height, in that Jon was a head shorter than Martin. For a full count he was stunned and Martin feared he’d made a grave miscalculation, pushed too hard, too soon. But Jon reached back, curling his fingers around the handle and taking a deep breath.

“Lovely pattern.” Martin grinned and Jon took an experimental step forward, steadier than he’d been since before Prentiss. “Shall we?”

#TMAHCWeek #TMAHC #Jonmartin #pining #ableism #internalized ableism #self worth issues #Hurt/comfort #exhaustion #chronic pain #cane user jon sims #the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #martin blackwood

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rons-hermiones · 3 years ago

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Eighteen

“It’s him.” Harry says for the second time in such a brief amount of time as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

Ron stands from his own bed and hurriedly makes his way to his friend, desperate for answers.

“Was she there? Did you see Hermione?” He asks before he can help it, mentally kicking himself for not checking to see if Harry’s alright. “Are you alright mate?” He hopes it doesn’t sound like an afterthought.

Harry waves him off, moving to swing his legs off the bed, “Hermione was there.” He admits after catching his breath for a moment.

“And?” Ron asked impatiently.

The chosen one shakes his head frantically from side to side, “he got angry with her. Really angry. I-” he pauses, “I felt it.”

“Why? Why was he angry?” Ron’s becoming panicked as well, his hands roughly grasp Harry’s shoulders as he rocks him back and forth.

The dark haired boy closes his eyes as an attempt to remember, “half blood,” he breathes, “she called him a half blood.”

And they both know Hermione’s the last person to have problems with such a thing, after all, Harry is one himself. It’s Voldemort who’d snap at such a statement.

“Blimey.” Ron says, hands slipping and going slack from their place on Harry.

They fall into a tense silence. The pair of them are breathing roughly as the consequences their best friend must’ve paid for such a thing. Harry, though, looks as if he wants to say more.

“Ron.” He starts rather shakily.

With round petrified eyes, the ginger looks to him, already afraid of what’s to come.

“She tried,” Harry pauses to clear his throat, “Hermione, she spoke to me.” It comes out more even than before.

“What?” He asks bewildered, unsure what else to say.

The Boy-Who-Lived, exhales, trying to calm himself down before speaking. “This thing between me and him, whatever it is, it works both ways.” It’s hard to explain something you don’t understand yourself.

“Meaning?” Ron’s voice doesn’t sound like his own.

“I didn’t even mean to,” he begins but Ron still looks puzzled. “Tap into his mind I mean, it was a theory really. Earlier when it happened, I was just concentrating so hard on Hermione about what he wants from her and suddenly I was there like I was in the room. I thought maybe if I tried again, it might work.”

“And it did.” Ron breathed, sounding hopeful, thinking that this could be a good thing, maybe Harry could figure out where she was.

“Ron listen,” the chosen one begins, seeming to have caught his friend's train of thoughts, “it was hard enough the first time, when it was an accident. It was near impossible the second time, Vol-” he pauses, “he could sense it, he tried blocking me.”

“So you can fight it.” The ginger argues, “wouldn’t be the first time, right?”

“I’m not an expert, I’m not even a legilimen. I only got through cause he was caught off guard, I doubt he’d let it happen again.” Potter was skirting around the real reason he wasn’t willing to try reaching out again. He wanted to spare the other boy the details.

“He wouldn’t expect you to do it again so soon,”

“Ron-”

“Maybe if Dumbledore or someone like Snape,”

“Ron!” Harry snapped, finally shutting him up.

Wide blue eyes meant guilt ridden green ones.

“Hermione, she paid for what I did. He didn’t like that I did it, made it worse when she figured it out and tried to take advantage of it.”

There’s a tense silence for a moment as Ron stumbles back and begins pacing the expanse of his room. “Paid for it?” His voice is shaking.

Harry sighs, “sometimes it’s like I’m in the room watching, but sometimes, sometimes it’s like I’m him,” their eyes meet before The-Boy-Who-Lived looks away in shame, “this time I was seeing it from his eyes. I could feel him, he was angry, more angry than I’ve ever felt, even before Hermione said something.”

“What did she say?” Ron asks desperately.

“She called out my name, said she didn’t know where she was then, Ron,” he paused nervously, “She said your name, told me to tell you something, she never got to say what.”

Tears stung the corners of Weasley’s eyes.

“It was so blurry but it was like I was him and one minute he was reeling from what she had said, the next thing I know, he was looking down at his foot. When things focused again Hermione was in a ball, crying in pain. That’s when I lost it.”

Tugging roughly at his hair, Ron flopped back onto his bed, resisting the urge to punch something. Instead, he buried his face in his hands trying to think of something, anything, to prevent him from being irrational.

“There’s one more thing.” Harry says quietly, barely audible.

His blue eyes snap from where they were buried in his palms, pleading his friend to finish.

“He said if it happened again, that someone was going to die.”

Fuck.

...

“Dumbledore told me you know,” Ron breaks the silence that’s been heavy in the hair for a half hour, “about those things,” he drops into a whisper, “horcruxes.”

Harry nodded, then opened his mouth to speak, until the redhead stopped him.

“I don’t think we should talk about it. What’s the use right? Only she knows how to destroy them anyway. I don’t wanna risk You-Know-Who cracking into your head and finding out we all know.” He rumbles.

Ron then notices the look of guilt plastered over his best mate's face at the idea of Voldemort finding out and punishing Hermione for it. Maybe even worse than punishment...

“Out of sight out of mind? That’s what they say innit.” Ron tries to lighten his tone but it’s hard.

Harry speaks after a minute, “yeah, you’re right. Good idea Ron.” He praises weakly, still a little ill at the thought of that playing out.

“I reckon we should go downstairs. They’ve had to have come up with something and we’re no use up here.” Harry can tell Ron’s trying to employ distraction as a tactic to keep his anger and guilt at bay.

Without a word, the chosen one stands, signaling to the door. As the pair venture from the attic, voices float up the steps, confirming the remnants of a plan being formed.

“Weasley you can get ahold of the logs down Gringotts can’t you?” Mad Eyes gruff voice asked Bill.

“Yeah.” He responded.

“I don’t see what that would do.” Molly protested.

“Those goblins down there will do anything for a shiny sickle Molly, but the magic in the building logs every transaction. It isn’t by name, but if there’s a big one we may be able to trace it. Could tell us if the Death Eaters are planning on moving somewhere.” Moody tells the group, “just being cautious!”

At this, Harry and Ron exchange befuddled looks before descending closer to the kitchen, where the noise was coming from.

“Where’s that letter that came for Granger yesterday? We better check it’s not a fake.” Moody said next.

Ron had just about enough. He wouldn’t let them check something so personal.

“You’re one to talk about fakes professor.” His voice broke out angrily, causing all heads to turn.

“Hedwig’s smart enough. She wouldn’t bring us something like that.” Harry justified his voice calmer.

“Oh dears, you’re awake, did you rest? Did the potions help some?” Molly asked fussing over her son and Harry.

The two boys exchanged a quick look. Harry thought it best to not inform them about connecting with Voldemort again. He was worried Dumbledore may not let him try it again or push him too hard. Both would result in pain, especially for Hermione.

“Yeah, it kept us down for a bit.” The chosen one settled for.

The Weasley matriarch offered a weak smile, “good, I’ll prepare you boys something to eat.” Neither had the heart to tell her they weren’t hungry.

Noticing eyes on them, Ron clears his voice, “if we found Dolohov, Lestrange, even any random snatchers, they could lead us to her. To Hermione.” It took all his energy to not let his voice waiver.

Next to him, Harry nodded in agreement.

“Death eaters like Dolohov and Lestrange, they’re not easy to find Ron. We’ve been doing double time since the Department of Mysteries, but we’re no closer than we were.” Kingsley informed quietly from a corner of the room.

“Well we have to start somewhere don’t we?” He retorted.

“We?” Bill repeated with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Ron’s voice rose with anger,” Harry and I are helping anyway we can, with or without the lot of you.”

“Ron,” Molly turned from the stove.

“Mum, this is Hermione, so whatever you’re gonna say, save it. I need to do this,” he pleaded with her before turning to the aurors present, “I’ll do anything.” He states strongly.

Everyone stands silent for a moment until Dumbledore steps forward and eyes him carefully, “you can help by acting as if nothing has happened.” The old man decided.

“What?” Several voices sounded at the same time, those consisting of more than one Weasley, Harry, and even McGonagall.

“The plan right now is for everyone in the room to make everyone believe they are going on as they would. If Voldemort knows we are searching mercilessly for Miss Granger, he’s more susceptible to use her as some sort of leverage over Harry. Panic would only ensure her importance.” Albus looked to Harry, indicating to him about the Horcruxes with a simple look. “Until then, all possible leads will be checked quietly. Any snatchers or death eaters in question will be subtly investigated. From there, we can hopefully get leads on locations that may match what you saw Harry.”

At this, The-Boy-Who-Lived nodded in agreement. He even dared to spare a glance at Ron who appeared red in the face.

“It is my understanding that the Granger’s are to return from France after the New Year. Besides them, no one who is not within the confines of this house is to know of Hermione’s true reason for absence. Not even your classmates at school.” The headmaster looked at the pair of Gryffindors.

“School?” Ron spat, how was he supposed to just return like nothing happened?

“Yes Mr.Weasley. If we are to keep up this guise that nothing has occurred, you are to return to Hogwarts. If anyone asks, Hermione had a family emergency so she’s at her home in London.”

“Rubbish!” Ron exclaimed, stomping out of the room before Dumbledore could go on any further.

Instantly, Harry stumbles after him.

Albus’ lips pulled into a thin line before he turned to Bill, “I feel it’s best that you and your brothers are the ones to inform the Granger’s. I have no doubt both Ron and Harry feel they should deliver the news and you’re the best man to escort them.” It was unsaid, but the Granger’s would be most comfortable with Bill, having met him prior, being on occasion he’d retrieve Hermione to floo.

And to everyone’s shock, Molly simply nodded in agreement, knowing Ron would want it to be this way.

“Perfect,” Dumbledore said, “now shall we discuss current leads in Azkaban?”

Elsewhere, Ron and Harry had stepped outside for a breather. The air had become too stiff at Dumbledore’s plan for them to return to Hogwarts.

Neither has said anything yet, instead just inhaling the cool winter chill, hoping to ease the tension working its way through them.

“Do you reckon they’ll let us go to the Granger’s?” Harry almost whispers.

Ron’s head snaps over to his eyes wide.

“That’s what you want isn’t it?” The chosen one asked. Harry knew he wanted to go, felt it was his duty.

“It’s not really a question Harry, I’m going, you’re going. End of story.” The ginger said surely, “anyway, if they wanna ship our arses back to Hogwarts, then you can bet they won’t say anything about us heading to London.” Ron knew taking Harry to frolic around the city probably wasn’t wise, but he also knew he could use a visit to the Granger home as a bargaining chip to agree to attend school after holiday.

“It’s not a terrible thing you know, going back to Hogwarts.” Harry says, not completely believing the statement himself.

“How’s that?”

“Well surely we’ll have more access to books, for research,” the dark haired boy can’t help but smile at the words, Hermione would be proud, “you’ll also have time to get things sorted, so that way when Hermione comes home you’re set.” He said the second part stiffly.

“Get things sorted? What things?” Ron pushed, the statement bewildering him.

“Well uh,” he gulped, “Lavender.”

Suddenly, Weasley’s entire body tensed, “right, well, I handled that on the train.” He mumbled.

Harry shook his head, “I know how you feel, but Lavender she’s a bit uh, persistent. I just mean now you’ll have the chance to really show her it’s done without Hermione scrutinizing the whole thing.”

Ron pulls his lips into a thin line, Hermione’s disappearance somehow weighing heavier than before, “I still wish she was around though. I’d honestly have her the way things were then not at all.” He admits almost shamefully as he picks on a loose thread on his jumper.

“I know,” Harry agrees softly, “it’s killing both of us that we can’t fix this and get her back, so what I mean is that if you can fix one thing, then do it Ron. For her.”

He nods in agreement, looking at snow topped hills, eyes briefly meeting the worn oak tree. At the sight, a cry builds in this throat, but he soon swallows it.

“For her.” He whispers to no one in particular.

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #hermione granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp #hp fanfic #sixth year

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hit-me-with-a-ladle · 4 years ago

Text

This is Ch.2 for my creepypasta story.

Now this is the second chapter to my story and its description can be found in my blog, i manly update on wattpad does i still will be putting these chapters on tumblr (not as frequently doe :/). so yeah have fun and hope u like it.

A sharp pain was the first thing felt by the girl the moment she woke up from her coma. Laying on a dirty, ruined couch, she put a hand on her head and softly groaned. At that moment she heard the light murmur of male-sounding voices near her and tensed up. She was confused and dazed. She didn't know where she was or why she was there. Not knowing what to say or do she just overheard their conversation, hoping they wouldn't notice she was awake.

" I-I don't know what the-they were thin-king, bringing a young h-human girl to be the next middle-m-man. A-a-are the elite becoming that desper-des-desperate?" One of the men said. He sounded considerably young, around eighteen years old. The boy appeared to have a stutter. His voice was also soft, almost sounding more like a whisper than anything else though still audible. ' What is he talking about?' The girl thought to herself, her train of thought was abruptly stopped by another voice speaking up.

"I don't think it's smart to doubt the elite's decision Toby, even so, she seems to hold some attributes required in a middleman." A monotone voice spoke. A soft "yeah" was soon hear from one of the men and it sounded forced. Then a bone-chilling chuckle came from the same monotone man. "What's so funny?" One of the men spat, their voice was deep and husky. "Well if you must know," The other man said sounding amused "It's kind of funny that out of all of us you should know just how capable she is." He rudely remarked snickering. The other man seemed to growl under his breath "Wasn't she the one that knocked you down and stabbed you in the leg?" The monotone man finally said in a provocative tone.

"Well, now you're just begging me to kick your ass." The irritated man spoke in anger and stood up but promptly cringed from the shooting pain from the injury to his leg and sat down. "I'd like to see you try," The monotone man replayed amused by his comrade's actions. The irritated man was about to say something when another voice spoke up, "Can you guys stop fighting already, I mean there's an unconscious girl in the living room that we have to prepare for her inevitable death." A boy said, he also sounded young similar to the first man, but this time his voice was much louder and sounded naval.

When overhearing what the boy said, she loudly gasped in shock without thinking, that seemed to catch the men's attention and they quickly went quiet. The atmosphere was so tense you could cut it with a knife. An awkward and unbearable silence fell upon everyone. But soon it was ended by the rattling of chairs getting put aside and the pattering of loud footsteps approaching the room she was in. Not knowing what to do, panic was the only thing she could feel at that moment. As she laid there, not moving a muscle the first that spoke was the man in a white mask.

"So now you choose to wake up? Took you long enough." He said to her annoyed, she looked at his masked face and then looked around the room. It seemed to be a log cabin by the walls being constructed from wood, and by the general look of it, it was pretty big. The couch she was on was in a rather rough shape, and right across from it was a scratched up wooden coffee table. Then she noticed one of the men resting on an armchair in a similar state as the couch she was on. He seemed to be looking right at her, though it was hard to tell from the blue mask that covered his face.

"Where am I? And who are you, people?" The girl spoke in a harsh tone trying to seem strong, though, in reality, she was terrified, and the men appeared to notice. "Aren't you a snarky one? But don't try to act tough or else." The man in the feminine mask said boredly. "Now, as for who we are, my name is Timothy Wright, but you will call me Masky." He hardly spoke while pointing to himself. The girl scanned him from head to toe and noticed that one of his legs was wrapped in a now blood-stained bandage. 'Did I hurt him that badly? Well serves him right.' She thought while glaring at him. "That guy over there," He continued and pointing to the tall man sitting on the armchair with his legs crossed, "Is Jack or as he's better known, Eyeless Jack." The man, named Jack nodded his head in her direction. "That shorty over there." This time he pointed to a short boy whit blond hear leaning on the door frame to the room, "Is Benjamin Lawman or Ben Drowned." Ben waved at her and smiled, but the smile was more creepy than anything else. "And lastly," Masky said while pointing to a boy with orange-tinted goggles " That's Tobias Erin Rogers or Ticci Toby." The boy then spoke up, "Ju-just call me T-toby."

"You're in your new home." He emphasised. "Here you will live till the day you die. Now, as for your purpose, you have been assigned the role of a middleman from now on." He said while looking at her dead in the eyes. "You're kidding, right? Is this some sick joke? A middleman? What even is that? You must be insane if you think I'll believe you." She responded hysterically while frowned and glaring at the man even harder than before and crossed her arms. "Oh, but you will, you don't have a chose in the matter." The masked man responded, looking at the girl sternly, he then sighed "I guess I should explain your new job shouldn't I." What he said sounded more like a statement than a question, and he carried on explaining.

"You will be the middleman of this forest," He said while pointing to the windows and sure enough, on the outside, there was a forest ' How didn't I notice that before?' The girl asked herself. "You have the job as negotiator, judge, executioner, errand boy and among some other things. But that won't be as easy as it sounds, because in this forest reside evil monster, creatures, demons, killers and different mythical being. Things that you humans thought were only in legends and tales." He said that as if he'd said it a million time before and continued "Now, we four were ordered," He moved to point around the room, gesturing to the men. "To get you and bring you here. So in the range of the next six months, we can teach you everything you need to know about being a middleman and how to do it right. At the end of those six months, you will go thru a four-stage test that will prove just how much you have learned, but if you were to fail, you will get executed. Do you understand?" He finally finished while looking at her and tilted his head. The girl was baffled and couldn't believe what she heard, better said she didn't want to believe it.

"You can't be serious right? I mean do you expect me to accept everything you just said as fact" The girl protested while immediately standing, "I don't know who you think you are, but I'm certainly not staying here any longer." And as she was about to head for the door, Jack suddenly spoke up. "And where will you go? You don't have any clue where you even are. Do you think you can just go out of this forest like that? Well, I'm sorry for ruining your parade, but that's not going to happen." He responded to her in his usual bored voice that seemed to be laced in a thin veil of sarcasm. 'He has a point,' She thought while looking at him. 'But it can't be that hard to leave a forest, right?' She reassured herself. "Oh, and another thing, this isn't a normal forest. No, it's a portal between the human world and underworld." He smirked through his mask when he noticed the girls face turn pale, "Though it doesn't look like it, you are in a branch of hell, and the only way to get to the human world is by knowing where the portal is, and we certainly won't be telling you of its location anytime soon." He remarked this time in a way that was much more malicious, almost seeming like he wanted to make her mad or provoke her.

But the girl didn't budge 'Is what he's saying true? I hope it's not, but I can't afford not believing him.' Still not moving from the place she was standing, she glanced down, "Why me?" She said, defeated. Those two words seemed to catch the men off gourd. " W-well," The boy named Toby spoke up. "You we-were chosen b-b-by the Elite." He said softly. "Who are the elite? And what do you mean by they "chose me"." The girl was quick to ask. "The El-elite are four o-o-of the strongest creatures in the underworld, they are the on-ones that choose the midd-middlemen for every branch and reg-ion of hell." Toby said, "We were als-also told m-m-many thi-things about you, your n-n-ame, hobbies, what you aspired to b-be, your dark-est secret, and mu-much more." He finished. "Better said we know everything bout you, Y/N." The boy named Ben stated calmly while smiling. Hearing her name come out o his mouth sent shivers down her spine.

The girl collapsed on the couch in defeat and put her arms to her head, 'Is everything that they're saying genuine? It can't be, can it?' She was in a state of dread and didn't want to belive what they were saying. 'I need to calm down, there has to be a way out of here somehow, and I'll find it.' She kept reassuring herself." Now, as I was saying, we four will be teaching you everything you need to know," Masky spoke up again with his hands behind his back." Your room is upstairs to the left. You should get as much sleep as possible we will start training tomorrow at nine-thirty am," He said while looking into the girl's eyes, "Do NOT be late, or else." He finished while going near the front door of the cabin, "Oh, and don't even try to escape, someone will be standing guard to make sure you don't." And with that, he and everyone else left. She was left alone whit her thoughts in the empty cabin,

'I should go and check out my room shouldn't I, maybe I'll find a way out.' and with that, she went upstairs.

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edens-breathless-melodies-moved · 4 years ago

Text

words: 3.8k

pairing: haiba l. x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: cursing

summary: this isn’t how his night was supposed to go.

he was only meant to pick you up from the frat party as a favor for yaku who was too drunk to get you home himself.

it was not supposed to be him carting your drunk ass through downtown tokyo instead of getting you home. (but he wasn’t about to complain getting the chance to be near you more.)

______________________________

“ca-li-fornia girls! we’re undeniable!~”

emerald eyes opened blearily, sleepy pupils trying to focus on the dark ceiling of his bedroom as the sound of his phone ringing woke him up.

groaning and rolling to face the side his phone was on, lev’s eyes slipped closed again as he blindly fumbled around on his nightstand for the buzzing device, quickly growing irritated at its incessant ringing.

cursing under his breath as he continued to blindly flail his hand around for the phone, he sighed when he finally felt it under his fingertips, the phone buzzing once more before finally fallen silent.

grasping it tightly, he rolled onto his back before hovering the phone over his face. lev tiredly tapped the screen with his opposite hand, hissing slightly as the brightness from his lock screen momentarily blinded him.

quick to swipe up and lower the brightness, his eyes eventually adjusted and he cursed again under his breath as he took in the five missed calls from ‘yaku💀’ and the time.

“really? it’s 01:45 in the morning,” he grumbled, unlocking his phone and going to the missed calls. he tapped on yaku’s contact and brought the phone to his ear, tiredly raking long fingers through mussed silver hair. “what could he possibly want at 01:45 in the freaking morning…”

in reality, only a handful of seconds passed, maybe even a minute going by as he waited for yaku to answer. but to lev, it felt like hours had crawled along as he listened to the phone ring.

his eyes slipped close again, and he almost fell back asleep until the sound of yaku accepting his call and the sudden blaring of music brought him back into the land of the living.

startled awake, lev brought a hand up again to lazily scratch his cheek, eyes only barely opened.

“yaku-chan, what’s going on…?” he murmured into the phone, eyebrows scrunching together as he barely picked out the sound of yaku speaking over the loud bass of the music and the distant screech of laughter in the background.

‘is he at a club?’ lev wondered as he barely heard yaku explaining that (y/n)) needed to be picked up from wherever they were at.

at the mention of your name, lev sat up straight in his bed, sharp eyes focused as he suddenly found himself very awake.

“why does she need to be picked up? are you guys okay?” he questioned, twisting his body and throwing his comforter off as he stood up and stretched his long limbs, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

a snort could be heard from the other line, “yeah, yeah. we’re all fine and dandy here, but I think (y/n) has had just a little too much to drink. i know this isn’t her first frat party she’s been too,”

lev hummed quietly to himself. ‘frat party, not a club.’ though he wasn’t so sure that that was any better of a place to be shitfaced at. “but she kinda went overboard with the jungle juice, and i’m pretty sure kuroo challenging her to see who could handle the most shots wasn’t the best idea.”

lev groaned audibly this time, dragging a hand down his face as he walked out of his room and towards the front door, shuffling his shoes on and slipping a hoodie over his head before grabbing his keys and exiting his apartment.

“why would you let her and kuroo do that if you knew her tolerance was shitty to begin with?” he exclaimed exasperatedly as he remotely unlocked his car and climbed in, shivering slightly at the cold october breeze.

lev had known you since his first year of high school, with him being part of the boy’s volleyball club, and you being their cute second-year manager.

he hadn’t meant to develop a crush on you, you were his manager and senpai, after all. but he couldn’t help but become entranced with the way your (e/c) eyes shined like stars whenever he correctly received or blocked the ball during practice matches.

the two of you eventually grew closer, lev keeping his crush on you a secret in fear of ruining his friendship with you.

that didn’t stop the team from finding out and picking on him whenever they got the chance. and though their teasing was almost unbearable sometimes, that didn’t stop him from falling for you any less.

eventually, you graduated, and a year later so did he. you both wound up going to the same university in yokohama. you had already been there a year before you found out lev was going to be attending there as well.

although you majored in pharmaceutical science with a minor in liberal arts, you can only imagine the shock on your face when lev had texted you saying he was majoring in marine and mercantile engineering, but if that didn’t work out, apparently his sister alisa has a backup plan for him.

“i know, right?! it’s kinda crazy for me to believe whenever i say it out loud, too!” he laughed as you stared at him in shock over facetime.

“that’s just… wow.” you said in astonishment, not being able to fully wrap your head around the fact that this giant, volleyball obsessed goon would be majoring in engineering of all things.

“i could’ve sworn you would’ve attempted to go pro, at least…” you muttered more to yourself than anything. you didn’t miss the way lev’s smile drooped at your comment, however, and your face flushed in embarrassment and mortification that you could’ve possibly hurt his feelings.

“n-not that that means you won’t be good at it! you’ve always had good grades at nekoma, and you’re such a creative kid!” you rambled as you attempted to fix your stupid mistake.

your arms stopped flailing around once you heard his laughter waft from the speaker on your phone, and a small blush crept up your cheeks when you saw his lighthearted smile aimed at you again, cat-like eyes shining brightly.

“i know you meant no harm, (y/n)-chan~. and you know i only got good grades cause you helped me study!” you felt your blush grow darker at the cute lilt in his tone whenever he said your name but grinned right back at him.

“exactly! so don’t get too cocky, punk.”

and while you chose to live in one of the campuses dorms, lev settled for a cozy but modern flat about 10 minutes from the school.

(he didn’t have the heart to tell you that his parents weren’t fond of the school’s dorms and instead opted to tell you that he just enjoyed the freedom of being on his own for once when you complained about not dorming near each other.)

you both had grown so much from the volleyball dweebs you were in high school...

snapping out of his trance at the sound of his phone pinging, he brought it away from his ear as he saw that he had received a text from yaku, who was still on the call.

“here’s the address of the frat we’re at.” yaku slurred slightly from the opposite end. lev let out another sigh as he put the phone in its holder connected to his dash, putting the address into maps.

another tired sigh escaped his lips as he buckled his seatbelt, seeing that the frat was almost half an hour away, very close to where they all went to high school together.

“okay, okay, i’m on my way. just don’t lose sight of her.” he grumbled as he put the key into the ignition and began backing out of his parking space and turning to leave the development’s parking lot.

another slurred ‘yes sir, i’m 6’5 now! headass,’ rang out from his phone’s speaker before yaku hung up, causing a chuckle to leave lev.

sharp emerald eyes paid attention to the road as he began the drive to downtown tokyo to go pick up the woman he loves, shitfaced out of her mind.

a groan escaped him again as he came to a red light, lightly smacking his forehead against the steering wheel.

this is going to be a very long night.

_________________________

“kurooo, l-let gooo!” you whined as you struggled to remove kuroo’s iron-grip on the waist of your shirt, flailing around to get him off.

a drunken giggle passed his lips as he tugged you back to sit between him and a very sober and very annoyed kenma, who wrapped an arm around your waist as well to keep you locked to the porch’s last step.

“no can do, (y/n)-chan~” kuroo sang as he tightened his grip on you. a weak ‘yeah!’ can be heard from yaku who was slumped against kenma’s legs, holding onto the old setter for dear life as he tried his best to keep the room from spinning.

“you can’t keep running away every time you get wasted, (n/n)-chan,” kenma murmured as he gently rubbed comforting circles into your side to relax you, eyes never leaving the screen of his phone. it was working too, as you began to lean into his side more and relaxed, a content smile on your liquor scented lips.

“besides,” he continued, a small smile on his lips as cat-like eyes watched you from the side, ready to gauge your reaction. “yaku has already called lev. he’s on his way to come pick you up.”

your relaxed frame stiffened at the mention of the tall green-eyed male, and both kuroo and kenma tightened their grip on you in case you tried to pull a fast one and make a run for it.

“you did w h a t?!” you screeched, clawing at kenma’s and kuroo’s arms in an attempt to flee the area before lev had a chance to see you completely blasted. both men grunted as they continued to hold you against them, though a small smile and large smirk were on their faces, respectively.

a quiet chuckle was heard from yaku too, and you stopped struggling against your old classmates as you narrowed (e/c) eyes onto the ashy haired man. “you!” you hissed before picking up your leg to kick the ever-loving shit out of the unsuspecting male.

at least, that would’ve happened if your veins weren’t swimming with questionable amounts of jungle juice and eight shots of silver patron.

instead, your foot merely shoved the poor boy off of kenma’s legs, (who totally didn’t sigh in relief) and caused him to flop on his back onto the cold concrete sidewalk that lead to the house.

a whine left yaku’s lips as he pouted at the abuse, but he made no move to get up from his temporary napping spot.

yaku closed his eyes as he hummed, not seeing the way your (s/c) cheeks flared with color when he said, “oh please, why are you mad at me? it’s about time you confessed to the giant, lord knows you both are too dense to do anything on your own.”

the end of his sentence made your eyebrows scrunch together in drunken confusion, and both kenma and kuroo cursed under their breath at yaku’s idiocy.

‘she doesn’t know he likes her back, dumbass!’ both boys were glaring daggers at yaku’s body on the concrete, who paid them no mind.

“w-what do you mean ‘both of us’?” you slurred confusedly, hands coming up to form the quotation marks.

before any of them had a chance to say anything, the sound of a car turning onto the nearly empty street distracted them all, and your heart started beating faster when you recognized the grey honda civic driving up to you guys.

the car parked right in front of you guys, and the passenger’s side window was rolled down, revealing a very tired pair of green eyes with an equally tired smile to match it.

you swore your heart stopped when those eyes locked with yours, gleaming with amusement and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on because, you know, you’re off the fucking chain, right now.

“hey, (y/n)! wanna go for a ride?”

_______________________

a content sigh left your lips as you happily munched on a hashbrown, eyes closed in bliss as you savored the salty delicacy. lev smiled at you softly from across the table, chin resting in his palm as he watched you basically inhale the food.

you guys were currently sitting at an outside a 24/7 mcdonald’s that had recently been built about 15 minutes away from where you used to go to school.

before you guys stumbled upon it, lev was trying his hardest to keep you from getting in trouble or hurting yourself as you drunkenly pulled him along the semi-empty tokyo streets.

even at 2 am, the city never truly slept, so it was to be expected that random people on the streets would giggle or stare at the sight of a small drunk woman dragging around a man two times her height, ignoring his pleads of “slow down, you’ll hurt yourself!”.

“leeev!” you whined, (e/c) eyes shining with exaggerated tears as you puffed your rosy cheeks out. lev gulped as he stared into your orbs, a small blush coloring his pale cheeks.

god, you’re so fucking cute.

“i’m hungry! and you won’t let me stop anywhere!” lev sighed as you pouted, adorably stomping your foot on the ground. “(y/n)-chan,” he sighed. “it would be best to get you home and get some sleep, we both know you’re gonna need it.”

you hmphed, crossing your arms as you raised an eyebrow at him. “since when we’re you so mature?” you challenged him, and a blank look overtook his face.

there was silence between the two of you as you never broke eye contact. finally, a wide grin stretched across his face, and you felt your heart flutter at the genuine expression.

your cheeks heated up even more without the help of the liquor running through your system as you took in his handsome features, those emerald eyes seeming to peer right into your soul.

“you’re absolutely right!” he chortled, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. lev slung a long arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side as he began walking you down the street.

a small squeak left your lips as you were practically shoved into his side, your right arm automatically coming around to wrap around his waist to steady yourself.

the blush on your face only burned brighter at the close contact, but thankfully, due to his height and the fact that he was looking straight ahead, he couldn’t see the fire pulsing in your cheeks.

and that’s how you both found yourselves at the mcdonald’s. lev continues to smile fondly at you as you ate, even if you were basically devouring the two bags of hashbrown minis and decimating the orange juice. (He offered to buy the food, much to your chagrin.)

it was only when you wiped your mouth free of the evidence from your massacre meal that you looked up and met his eyes.

shock ran down your spine at the pure, unfiltered look of adoration and love that was in his eyes, and that familiar blush made its home on your face again.

lev must’ve seen your eyes widen, but didn’t connect it to being concerned with him, because a small laugh made its way past his lips as he reached across the table and wiped away a stray piece of hashbrown you must’ve missed from the corner of your mouth.

“i’m gonna guess you’re still hungry?” he teased, hand still hovering by your face. you don’t know what it was, maybe the alcohol still buzzing in your system, or maybe it was the warmth in his eyes that made you feel safe, but you just hummed as you nuzzled your face into his palm, a small smile on your lips as you closed your eyes.

emerald eyes widened as you continued to nuzzle your face into his large palm, lips parting in disbelief as his heart ran amok in his chest.

unable to tear his eyes and hand away from you, lev cautiously ran his thumb over your cheek, and your smile grew as you continued to hum at the soothing gesture.

a small smile of his own crossed his lips and lev settled more into his palm as he continued to stroke your cheek. he wanted this moment to last forever, the sight of your blissful face and the softness of your face in his hands was almost too much for his heart to handle.

when he woke up not even two hours ago to pick your drunk ass up, he never imagined it going like this. If only you knew how much he loved you…

the same thought process was running through your head as you felt like you were floating, the warmth from his hand on your cheek sending you into orbit. it would be an injustice to say that you weren’t head over heels for this big goof.

you’ve liked him since he first stepped foot into the gym for practice in your second year, and you’ve loved him since he cried while crushing you into his chest the day you graduated.

your heart swelled at all the happy memories you’ve made with him, and you wanted him to be in your life for as long as he’d let you. suddenly, a brilliant drunk idea popped into your busing mind, and you nearly slapped yourself at your own genius.

just confess already.

sober you is currently rolling in her grave as you open your eyes and locked gazes with the most perfect man you’ve ever seen across from you.

nothing could’ve prepared lev for the words that left your mouth, but his thumb paused on your cheek as his breath caught in his throat.

“i love you, Lev.” that dopey smile still on your plush lips, a faint pinkness on your cheeks that he was almost certain wasn’t from the alcohol that was almost clean from your system.

“wha-” he didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before you cut him off, continuing.

“i’ve liked you since you stumbled into practice one day demanding to be placed on the team,” you giggled, pressing your face further into his frozen hand. “and i’ve loved you since you ruined my makeup at my graduation when you bawled like a baby and refused to let me go.”

another giggle left your lips and lev flushed at the embarrassing memory and looked away to the side, trying not to remember the scolding he got from your mother who had yet to take photos.

“i know i’m not in the best state of mind right now, and i know you might not feel the same about me cause why would you?”

lev whipped his head back to look at you again, shocked that you would say that. his heart throbbed as he saw the sad smile on your face and the tight look on your eyes. why would you ever-

“because i know there are better people out there for you that could make you a million times happier than me, t-that could fit your personality better than i ever could,” tears began forming in your eyes as your lip trembled, but you refused to let them fall.

“but i just wanted to get this off my chest and tell you that i love you so much it hurts, even though i know you don’t love me ba-”

your words never finished because before you knew it, warm, slightly chapped lips were pressed against yours, and a familiar warm hand left your cheek and made its way to the back of your neck to push you more into the kiss.

shocked, you didn’t have time to kiss back before he pulled away, wide eyes staring into sharp emerald, your tears slipping slowly down your cheeks though you didn’t cry.

lev continued to lean across the table as he cupped both of your cold cheeks in his hands, thumbs brushing your skin soothingly as he stared into your eyes, determination shining through them.

“there is no one, and i mean no one, who could possibly compare to you, (y/n).” he declared with such confidence that you couldn’t help but nod dumbly.

“i’ve crushed on you since the first day of practice, and when the team found out they gave me hell every day for it, but i couldn’t bring myself to confess because i didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

the sheepish smile that spread across his face as he continued to look into your eyes made the love in his green orbs so much more tangible it made your heart stutter. “hearing that you love me back after all these years is such a relief, i feel like i could die.”

a small snort made its way past your lips, and lev couldn’t help but chuckle with you.

“please don’t think even for a second that someone could complete me more than you. i’d rather kill myself than chose someone other than you.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from frowning before reaching up and smacking him lightly upside his head, a whine leaving his lips as he pouted at you.

“don’t say stupid shit like that!” you scolded as he brought his face closer to yours. your heart began beating erratically as his face neared yours again, his lips almost brushing yours as his words were whispered against your flesh. “can’t help it if it’s true.”

when his lips pressed against yours again, you were ready this time. you kissed him back in earnest, desperately trying to pour all these years worth of restrained love into it, to make up for the lost time.

lev responds with the same enthusiasm, his left hand trailing down your side before squeezing into your soft waist, startling a gasp out of you.

quickly, his tongue darted into your mouth before tangling with yours. you both fought for dominance, tongues thrashing and slidding against one another as you simply took in the taste of each other.

the need for air became too much and you separated, panting as you tried to regain your breath. lev fell back into his seat as he panted, his eyes never leaving yours.

you both sat there for a minute, trying to regain your bearings. once your breaths evened out, and the color of your cheeks returned to normal, you both busted out laughing as he reached across to intertwine your fingers together, your hand engulfed by his.

“so…” he began, nonchalantly running his thumb over your knuckles as he rested his cheek in his palm again, eyes twinkling in the city lights.

you laughed before mirroring his pose, an impish smile on your lips as you stared at this devastatingly gorgeous man you now got to call yours. “so…” you parroted back.

“together forever?”

a chuckle.

“together forever.”

#✨.sapphire #e.thereal #e.lev #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haiba lev #lev x reader #reader insert #hq #hq x reader #haikyuu lev #haikyuu fluff #fluff #hq kuroo #hq kenma #hq yaku

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buckybeardreams · 3 years ago

Text

Unwanted

Chapters: 6/11

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Harley Keener

Additional Tags: Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Tony Stark, Service Top, Dominant Bottom, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Virgin Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Romantic Soulmates, First Meetings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sappy, Romantic Fluff, Awkwardness, Drinking to Cope, Self-Worth Issues, Insecure Tony Stark, Insecure Steve Rogers, Age Difference, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Bonding, Claiming Bites, Claiming, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Non-Explicit Sex, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Masturbation, Coming Untouched, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Knotting

Series: Part 1 of Second Chances

Summary:

Steve is a soft Alpha and Tony is an in charge kind of Omega with no desire to find a mate. He doesn't want to find his soulmate and when he does meet Steve he's determined to stay away from him.

That is until he realizes just how right they are for each other.

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11

Can also be read here

Words: 2,125

"Can I dry you off?" Steve blurted out.

Tony raised a brow at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Your hair... it's wet," Steve said lamely, touching the end of one of the curls that framed Tony's face.

"Yeah, I guess," Tony said, because he didn't know what else to say to the odd request.

Tony grabbed Steve's hand and tugged him down the hall and into the bathroom. Steve shifted awkwardly on his feet and Tony hopped up on the counter.

"Towels are in there." Tony pointed to a built-in cabinet.

Tony blushed bright red and bit his lip as Steve rubbed a towel over his head. There was something so tender about the way he did it that made Tony feel strange. It was a good kind of strange, but strange nonetheless. When his hair was as dry as it was gonna get Steve set the towel down and they just stared at each other for a moment.

"Thank you," Tony breathed out, feeling all fuzzy inside.

Steve nodded, clearing his throat and blushing.

"Um, yeah, of course."

Tony licked his lips and jumped down and Steve stumbled backwards, caught off guard by how close they suddenly were. Tony just giggled and headed off to raid Brock's closet for dry clothes, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame the mess of curls.

*****

Steve couldn't stop staring at Tony during dinner and Tony kept blushing and squirming which just made Steve blush and squirm too. Brock just rolled his eyes at them.

"I'm glad you both stopped being stupid, but you need to stop being so damn awkward."

Tony narrowed his eyes at him before smiling a little too innocently.

"Would you rather me bend over the table and let him knot me?" Tony asked sweetly, batting his eyes at Brock.

Steve choked on the bite of pasta in his mouth, coughing and pounding his fist on his chest.

"What?" Steve wheezed.

Tony and Brock burst out laughing and Sam reached over to thump Steve's back.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked him.

Steve waved him off.

"Yeah, fine," Steve managed.

That seemed to break the ice at least. Tony and Brock started chatting after that, teasing each other, all laughs and smiles. Steve and Sam were mostly silent, watching their Omegas like they were celestial beings sent down from the heavens to grace them with their presence. When the night ended Steve offered to walk Tony home. Tony just laughed at that.

"Nah, I can get myself home just fine," Tony said, smiling.

He pressed closer, slipped his hand into Steve's back pocket to pluck out his phone and pouted when he realized it was locked.

"0-8-1-0," Steve offered up unprompted.

Tony blinked up at him in surprise before smirking. He added his number and handed the phone back.

"Text me, yeah?" Tony ran his hands up Steve's chest.

Steve couldn't believe his luck. Why someone like Tony wanted someone like him, Steve would never know, but he was thrilled to have the opportunity to prove himself to his Omega.

"Yes, sir," Steve whispered, feeling breathless like Tony had reached inside his lungs and stole the air from him.

Tony giggled and shook his head in amusement, close enough to Steve for his curls to bounce across his chest. Tony leaned his weight against him.

"You can call me Tony."

Steve nodded, hesitating only briefly before running a hand down Tony's spine. Tony shivered, rubbing his face against Steve's pecs which were remarkably soft for how ridiculously defined they were.

"What about pretty Omega? Can I call you that or will you go off about being an independent Omega that doesn't need an Alpha's validation to know you're pretty?"

Tony rolled his eyes, smiling softly.

"Yeah, whatever. I guess I can allow it. As long as you know I don't need your compliments to know just how hot I am."

Steve chuckled.

"You're gorgeous, Tony, but for what it's worth, I love that you know what you want."

"Yeah? Because you like being bossed around?" Tony teased.

Steve blushed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I do," Steve mumbled shyly.

Tony grinned at him, standing up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Text me when you get home, yeah?" Tony said with a smirk.

Steve nodded.

"Yes, si-- Tony."

Tony just shook his head again in amusement, his eyes sparkling.

How did he possibly end up with someone so perfectly suited to him?

It clearly was a match made in the heavens.

"Good boy," Tony purred.

"Can I text you on the way home?" Steve blurted out, blushing bright red when he realized what he'd asked.

Tony raised his brows in surprise.

"Clingy much?" Tony teased.

He regretted it instantly when Steve's face fell.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that--"

Tony cut him off before he could continue to apologize, cupping his cheek and shushing him.

"Hey, no, I was just teasing. You can be clingy. It's cute."

The smile Tony got from that was blinding and his heart fluttered in his chest the whole way home.

*****

They texted back and forth as they headed to their separate locations and Steve told Tony the moment he got home. Tony told Steve when he got home, too, and Steve felt like he was going to melt into a puddle on the floor of his apartment. He was desperately in love with Tony and really that wasn't a shock. That's just the way it was supposed to be with soulmates.

Tony was just as hopelessly lost on Steve, his sweet, blushing Alpha. Tony fell into bed that night with a sigh, a grin on his lips. He just couldn't seem to stop smiling. Unfortunately, his smile did fade when the loneliness kicked in. He spent an hour tossing and turning restlessly before giving in and calling Steve. The phone only rang once before Steve picked up, sounding just as awake as Tony felt.

"Tony?" Steve asked, like he couldn't believe that Tony was really calling him.

There was also a squeak to his voice that made Tony suspicious.

"Why do you sound guilty? What are you doing?" Tony demanded.

Steve stumbled over his words for a moment before managing to form a full sentence.

"I was t-touching myself," Steve confessed, his voice barely audible.

Steve still had a hand wrapped around himself, but the fingers that had been inside of him were now wrapped around his phone.

"Oh really?" Tony said, his voice shifting to teasing, slower, smoother, thick as honey. "You being naughty, Alpha?"

"Um, yes?" Steve squeaked uncertainly.

Tony had never told him he couldn't touch himself, so he hadn't even thought to ask permission first. Tony giggled and Steve loved the sound of it right in his ear. He groaned, his hand squeezing his base, applying pressure to try and find some kind of relief to the sheer amount of horny this Omega was inflicting upon him.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do. I can't sleep anyway, so we're gonna play a game."

Steve was immediately interested, holding his breath as he waited for Tony to continue.

"You like to finger yourself, Steve?"

Steve swallowed hard.

"Y-yes, sir."

"Good, I want you to get your hand off your dick and finger yourself. We're both gonna finger ourselves and come untouched," Tony told him. "Sound good?"

Steve nodded, whimpering.

"Tony, I'm not sure I can come untouched."

Alphas didn't have a g-spot like Omegas did, but this just made Tony coo at him.

"Aw, are you worried that you'll get all frustrated, Alpha?"

Steve whined high in his throat at the thought.

"If you don't get a release, Alpha, that's really not my problem, but if I don't get my release, then we're gonna have a real problem. So why don't you be a good boy and get some fingers inside of you? Open yourself up and make pretty sounds for me to get off on."

Steve moaned at the thought of his Omega getting off on his sounds. He wanted that so badly.

"O-okay, sir."

Tony bit his lip.

"Put me on speaker," Tony instructed, putting his own phone on speaker and setting the phone next to him on the mattress.

He could hear the shuffling as Steve did the same and then he heard the groan when Steve shoved his fingers back inside of himself, one hand holding his cheek, his fingers trying to dig in as far as they could go. Steve really wanted more. It wasn’t nearly enough, but Tony had said to use his fingers. Steve wasn't about to disobey his Omega.

If Tony thought that Steve made pretty sounds, moaning and groaning, whining and whimpering as he got closer to his release but struggled to push himself over the edge, then Steve thought Tony made the prettiest goddamn sounds in the world. Tony whined and whimpered and Steve could hear the rustling of his sheets as he squirmed on the bed, damn near sobbing as he got close.

"Alpha, Alpha, 'm so close, so close," Tony whined.

Steve whined back, sounding distressed because he didn't think he would get a release and the thought of staying frustrated all night, maybe even longer if Tony didn't give him permission to come in the morning, was just too much.

When Tony came though, crying out for his Alpha, it was enough to push Steve over the edge and he lost himself for a blinding moment, pleasure overwhelming him and relief flooding through him. It was when they were coming down from their highs, panting heavily and barely able to talk, that Steve groaned out,

"Fuck, I love you."

There was a beat of silence where Steve realized what he said and Tony's heart froze, before speeding up until he thought it might burst out of his chest.

Tony didn't know if he loved Steve. He knew he should, because they were made for each other. He thought that maybe he did, but it was too soon. He couldn't admit it to himself, let alone to Steve.

"Go to sleep, pretty Alpha. You did so good for me," Tony murmured instead. "You sound so damn pretty when you're all frustrated."

Steve bit his lip.

He wished he hadn't said I love you. Saying it and then having his Omega not say it back dulled his high, brought him back to the ground painfully quick. The sun that had just been shining on him disappeared and the gray crept in around the edges, threatening rainstorms.

"Night, Tony," Steve managed, hanging up and rolling onto his side. He curled in on himself and the tears poured down his cheeks.

Tony swallowed hard, his eyes shutting, sleep evading him as the hours stretched on.

*****

Steve felt like shit when he peeled himself out of bed the next morning. He went through his morning routine, but he might as well have been a zombie. All he could think about was Tony and how he hadn't said I love you back. Steve was startled out of his stupor by a knock on the door. He frowned as he opened it.

"Tony?" Steve said, shocked by the unexpected sight of his Omega, his hair disheveled and sticking up all over the place and a pout on his lips.

Tony wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

"I love you, Alpha. I should have said it last night, but I was scared."

Just like that the sun was shining again and Steve grinned at his Omega.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm just happy you're here."

Tony huffed.

"Don't shush me. I'll shush you, stupid Alpha," Tony grumbled. "Shhhh."

Despite his grumbling, Tony pressed closer and purred happily.

"I love you, pretty Omega," Steve murmured in his ear.

Tony couldn't help the blush on his cheeks and the grin on his lips, but he hid his face in Steve's chest so his Alpha wouldn't see.

"Shut up," Tony mumbled into his shirt.

Steve laughed and pressed a kiss to his hair.

"You're cute, you know that?"

Tony lifted his head to glare at Steve.

"Make me some coffee. I haven't had any yet."

Steve's lips twitched.

"As you wish, my pretty little Omega."

Tony rolled his eyes at him, pulling away to plop down on the couch and kicking his shoes off. Steve shook his head in amusement, shutting the door and grabbing Tony's shoes to place on the shoe rack, before heading off to the kitchen to fetch some coffee for his spoiled Omega. Steve made pancakes, too, and all of his domestic work was made worth it when Tony smiled at him and murmured good boy.

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therainbowwillow · 4 years ago

Text

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640994942684151808/therainbowwillow

Part 13.

Premise/last time: On Olympus, tensions are high. The pantheon is forced to choose sides: an innocent poet or the man who stabbed him. Hermes only grows increasingly anxious about his approaching trial. If he’s not ready to sing, he’s afraid Orpheus will take the fall.

—————————————

Thanatos stands, exhausted at the gates of Olympus. The walk out of Hadestown had been longer than he’d expected. Hypnos hadn’t woken after the third night. He’d been in and out of consciousness since.

Thanatos calls out to the gods, pleading for aid. Their lack of ambrosia had taken its toll on himself and his brother. Despite his near-constant unconsciousness, Hypnos looks as if he hasn’t slept for weeks. The blinding lights of Olympus do him no favors. The bags under his eyes look even more pronounced here.

Pasithea steps up to the doors and slams her fists against them. “Please!” She cries. Still, they’re met with no reply. She sinks to the ground and buries her head in her hands. Thanatos forces himself not to collapse under his and his brother’s weight.

It feels like an eternity before a man arrives at the door: golden hair, blue eyes. He looks just like his father. “Asclepius.” Thanatos bows his head to his old enemy. A doctor so incredible he’d resurrected the dead. Zeus’s punishment hadn’t held him down long. Now he’d become a god himself.

“It took me a moment to convince Zeus to let me take my leave. Come in. Speak to no one. Keep your heads down,” he directs. He helps Pasithea to her feet. “You must be out of your mind to come here, Thanatos. If Hades learns of your presence-”

“Hades is here?” Thanatos inquires, forcing back his panic.

“Yes,” Asclepius answers. “He arrived, worse off than you, a few days ago. It seems his years of pushing around his workers finally caught up to him.”

He opens the gates and guides them through the city’s oddly silent streets. Quieter than Hadestown, Thanatos observes. Down below, a pickaxe always swings. A foreman’s shouts are always audible. Here, there is nothing but stillness. “I mean you no offense, my lord, but I believe my storage cellar may be the best place for you to take shelter,” Asclepius says.

“None taken. We’ll take what we can get.”

“If I might ask, what happened to your brother? I will treat him, as he clearly has taken a hit to the head. How long has he been unconscious?” Asclepius asks.

“Hades’s doing,” Thanatos replies, curtly. “He’s been in and out of consciousness for six days.”

Asclepius opens the door to his residence and ushers them inside. “I suspected as much. I assume you fled without carrying ambrosia with you?”

Thanatos nods. “We had no time.”

“I don’t blame you.” Asclepius takes a few pillows from his bed and tears off the sheets. He guides them down a short staircase into a dimly lit cellar. It smells of herbs. The sweet scent of nectar reminds Thanatos of his hunger. Asclepius tosses the pillows against a shelf and rests Hypnos against them.

“Make yourselves comfortable. You may have as much ambrosia as you wish. I will not tell the counsel you’ve arrived. If they come looking for you, hold the door shut and stay quiet. I shouldn’t be long,” Asclepius tells them. He turns to leave.

“Asclepius, I’m sorry for the circumstances of our last meetings,” Thanatos apologizes.

He smiles. “I’m lucky I got off so light. You helped the boy escape, didn’t you? That is why you are so afraid.”

“I’m the god of death. I have nothing to fear,” Thanatos attempts to convince himself.

“Angering Hades gives anyone something to fear, mortal or divine. But I believe Hermes and Orpheus are in far danger than yourself. Regardless, take care. I won’t be long.” He shuts the door behind him.

Thanatos immediately turns search the shelves for nectar. He finds a bottle, flicks out the cork and drinks half of it. The rest, he hands to Pasithea.

Hypnos rubs his eyes. “Ugh...” he groans. “Where are we?”

His wife briefs him of their journey. “So... we’re locked in Asclepius’s basement? On Olympus?” He smiles slightly. “These pillows are almost as good as mine. Comfy. I could almost forget that the furies cracked my skull open.”

“Do you ever stop?” Thanatos mutters.

“Like I said! Vacation, Than. Sure, it’s not a beach, but to be fair, there’s no difference. I’d sleep either way. Give me some of that nectar.” He tips the bottle and swallows. “Mm. Not bad. The underworld ages it better.”

“Hades is here,” Thanatos blurts. “So would you shut up and let me think?”

“He is? Didn’t Hermes steal the train... oh my gods! He walked? Ha! I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Would you listen?” He snaps. “Hades wants us punished. You’ve seen what happens to mortal traitors. We can’t let him find us, Hypnos.”

“And that’s why I’m not going anywhere. Not that I could. Pretty sure I can’t walk. Or at least I wouldn’t want to deal with the headache,” he replies. “Now. What’s the plan, Thanatos?”

“I... don’t know.”

“So we are in trouble then! I... have an idea, but I’m not sure we should rely on it.”

Thanatos exhales. “I’ll hear you out. Maybe a bad plan’s better than no plan.”

“Hades will summon Orpheus and Hermes to trial, right? If that song was as good as it sounded and if I didn’t hallucinate the change in weather, I’d say other gods will side with Orpheus simply because his song has power. Maybe we ought to take their side. Show ourselves and proclaim our support?” Hypnos says.

“Hades will call it a second betrayal.”

“What do we have to lose, Thanatos?”

He sighs. “If they win the trial, it’ll give us a chance. Even that’s better than nothing. I agree.”

—————————————-

“Hermes.” He jumps at the sound, startled awake.

“Apollo.” He crumpled the letters and stuffs them into his pockets.

“You’re anxious. Panicked. What are you afraid of?”

Hermes rolls his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to stop doing that? I know how I feel without you telling me.”

“Sorry, but you’ve hardly spoken to anyone for days. You’re hiding something. You secret would be safe with me.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t believe that for a second,” Hermes retorts. “You’ll blab to your boyfriend the second you walk out the door.”

Apollo leans slightly more of his weight against the crutch he’s using to walk. “I won’t,” he says, softly. “Hyacinthus is a good man, but this is clearly more than he needs to worry about.”

His tone is honest. Still, Hermes doesn’t back down. “It’s more than you need to worry about. Go write a poem or something, o god of music,” He replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hermes, look. I know we’ve had our disagreements, but... I do care about you. I guided you through your childhood; I taught you how to function on Olympus. I tried to protect you. From what I understand, you broke your contract with Hades and you’re afraid of what he’ll do to you. Why won’t you speak to us? We know, Hermes,” Apollo tells him.

“No, you don’t know!” He snaps. “I’m not afraid of what he’ll do to me. You called me Prometheus yourself. I’ll suffer, but I can manage. But it’s not me they want. I know Orpheus will take Hades’s punishment in my place. He’s young. Afraid. He won’t survive,” Hermes draws in a shaky breath. “We have no defense.” He hands Apollo the letters. “Read.”

His eyes pass over the words on the pages. “Hermes, we’ve been summoned immediately.”

“I know. We can’t go. Not yet. Orpheus needs to rest. And...” he exhales. “I haven’t told him.”

“He deserves to know. Why do you keep this from him?”

“Because he needs to recover. If he knows, all he’ll do is sing and sing. He’ll forget all else if he thinks he can protect me and Eurydice. That boy, my son, he feels with the whole of his being. He loves with such kindness, such passion, that his love alone brought flowers to the realm of death. He’d give his life if it meant protecting us and I can’t let him do that.” His voice rises. “If Zeus wants my blood, fine! Let him torture me. He won’t touch Orpheus.”

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll win the trial. You have nothing to worry about! We’ve got Athena on our side and even I’ve argued a few cases. With Orpheus’s song, we’ll be undefeatable.” His words are encouraging.

“I have to tell him,” Hermes mutters.

“He needs urgency. I hate this as much as you do, but we do what we must.”

Someone pounds on the door. Hermes bristles at the sound. “Who’s there?” He calls.

“Hermes...” Three voices in harmony.

He strides across the room. “Don’t open the damn door!” Apollo snaps.

“Orpheus is next on their list,” he replies. He turns the handle. “What do you want?”

“You cannot defeat fate. You will see. What is coming.”

Hermes slums against the door frame and sinks to the ground. Orpheus is singing. His voice falters. He cries out, “No! No!”. Eurydice screams. The metallic stench of blood hits him. Hermes tries to stand. His wrists are bound in chains. It’s dark. He can’t tell if his eyes are open.

He gasps and the room returns. Apollo kneels at his side. “Orpheus,” he chokes out.

“He’s fine. Hermes, what did you see?”

He takes a deep breath. “Orpheus screamed. I couldn’t reach him. Apollo, this is fate. It’s unchangeable.”

“Don’t talk like that. I know how prophecies work. They’re misleading by nature.”

“There wasn’t nuance. We’re going to fail. And when we do-”

“No. Hermes, we’re going to win.” He puts his hands on Hermes’s shoulders. “I swear we’re going to win.”

“We have to tell Orpheus.”

“I can do it if-”

Hermes cuts him off. “No. He’s my son. I need to tell him myself.”

Apollo doesn’t argue.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Orpheus strums his lyre. His voice sounds a little better today, he notices. Still, he struggles to reach high notes. His voice breaks or he coughs in between lines. He’s begun to realize that it isn’t going back to the way it was. Eurydice doesn’t mention it. He hates to think about the possibility, but he knows he’ll have to eventually.

He reads over his sheet music. He starts another paper. He tries humming his melody, replacing his higher notes with low ones. Eurydice perks up at the new song. “That was beautiful.”

He cracks a smile. “You think?”

“Sing it again.”

He repeats it, louder this time.

“Orpheus!” A carnation blooms in his hands. “My gods, that’s incredible.”

Again, he sings, this time plucking the lyre to the tune of his old song. The harmony hums in the air. Flowers spring up in his hair.

“How’d you do that?” She’s grinning.

“I don’t know! I thought maybe it’d be easier on my voice.”

“Is it?”

He nods. “I think so. I don’t feel like hacking my lungs out at least.”

“I love you, Orpheus. So, so much.”

He blushes. “I know.”

“I know you know. I just needed to tell you again.” She marches to his bedside and kisses him before he gets in another word. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

He turns as red as the carnations dotting his hair. “I- mmmph!” She kisses him again.

“Shush.” She places a finger on his lips. “Just kiss me.”

“O-okay!” He awkwardly presses his lips against hers. She wraps her arms around him.

“Gods, I love you,” she whispers in his ear.

He remains in her embrace for a while until she pulls away. “You wanna sing that song again, lover?”

He’s smiling like an idiot. “Yes.”

“Well, sing it then.”

“La, la la la... ha ha!” He laughs. It sounds ridiculous through his ear-to-ear grin.

There’s a knock at the door. “I’ll get it!” Orpheus proclaims habitually. “Oh, wait.” Eurydice stands to open it. “No, I said I’ve got it! Come in!” Orpheus calls. “See?” he says, winking. She laughs.

The door opens. Hermes stands in its frame, looking exhausted. “We need to talk. Both of you.”

Orpheus frowns. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. No... I don’t know, kid.” He considers just handing Orpheus the letters. Instead, he continues. “I’ve been receiving summons to Olympus since we arrived. I didn’t want to worry you, but I can’t keep you in the dark any longer. Hades has convinced Zeus to put us on trial before the counsel. The charges against you are baseless. But... I did break my contract and I’ll face the consequences.”

“No, Hermes, we’ll win! You said yourself I could convince Hades of anything.”

“Orpheus, broken contracts don’t go unpunished. I just don’t want you to feel the consequences of my actions.”

“Hermes, I don’t want them to hurt you!” Orpheus begs.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to worry over my fate, kiddo. I’ll do what I can. I just didn’t want to leave you in the dark about all this.”

“My song has to work. It will work,” he repeats.

“It will,” Eurydice agrees. “It can do all this.” She gestures around the room. Flowers have pushed through the floor boards. They line the fireplace and decorate Orpheus’s nightstand. “It can save us.”

“How long do we have?” Orpheus asks.

“Maybe two weeks,” Hermes answers, “at best.”

“I’ve almost got it, Hermes. I’ll be ready to sing by then.”

“Thank you.”

“It will work. I promise.”

#hadestown au #hadestown #hadestown fanfic #therainbowwrites #my god this fic is off the rails

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artistic-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Sparking the Pavement :: CS Moto GP AU :: Chapter 6

Title: Sparking the Pavement by @artistic-writer Rating: E Summary: Killian Jones has everything he has ever dreamed of. He likes fast bikes and even faster women, that is until almost losing his brother makes him rethink his life choices. And then a chance encounter with a blonde bombshell on the race track gives him the chance to change and find love, but as usual, team politics get in the way and for the first time in his life, Killian can’t just get what he wants. Moto GP racing AU.

AO3 - FF - Ko-Fi

A/N: I FOUND MY TAG LIST! But please let me know if you want to be added/removed as its a little out of date.

So, here is ch 6 (or ch 7 if you are on ao3) and i can’t thank you guys enough for sticking with this story. Even if i cannot reply, i read each and every tag, comment and smile when i get kudos. It’s been a time for this update, and I am so sorry for the delay. You know, life stuff. Prepare your emotions because this one is a rollercoaster - my lovely beta @hollyethecurious refers to it as ‘the big reveal’ - Enjoy!

Taglist: @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness@therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife @notoriouscs @killian-whump @darkcolinodonorgasm @mariakov81 @strangestarlighttree @shardminds @thisonesatellite

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Racing was fun until it wasn’t. Turning his greatest ability into his career had seen Killian well enough, but at what cost? His father was gone. His brother was gone. Racing had taken everything and everyone he had ever loved away from him, but he held no regret or resentment, because whilst he had sacrificed so much, he had also gained. Wisdom from riders much older than he was, always willing to offer guidance and support to the next generation. Experience from every country he had visited on the world circuit, each culture different from the next and offering him knowledge beyond his wildest childhood dreams.

And Emma.

Emma had turned up, out of nowhere like an angel. She knew the game, she knew the consequences, and somehow, she had known him. From their first touch, she had beguiled him and made a prisoner of his heart. Killian wasn’t sure if he believed in love at first sight before, but he was most certainly under the assumption that he did now. One night had shown him compassion, that there could be light at the end of the tunnel of darkness his life had become, and before the evening was over, he had been sure his heart could be healed.

It sounded cliché; that a man could fall in love with a woman simply by looking at her, but that’s how he felt. Emma was warmth, a wholesome goddess of a woman who had soothed his aching heart simply by scaling the barriers around it. Admittedly, they hadn’t been that high before, but after losing Liam, Killian was sure they would stop him from ever finding love. In a way, he was certain that he didn’t even deserve it.

“Why are you awake?” Emma whispered into his ear. She was tucked up behind him, arm slung heavily over his abdomen where her thumb busily stroked through the hairs on his stomach.

“I’m not, love,” Killian lied groggily.

Emma feigned her surprise with an audible gasp. “Who said that?”

As Killian laughed, Emma tightened her grip and pressed her smile to his shoulder blade, her plump, warm lips kissing him and making him shudder. She had felt the moment he’d woken up, his breathing changing to shorter, shallower breaths as opposed to the long, deep, light snoring she had been listening to. She’d waited, listening to the hitch in his throat that clearly indicated another bad dream, and when he hadn’t settled, she’d decided to let him know she was awake too.

“Why are you awake, love?” Killian asked softly, pulling her arm until she was flush against his back. He loosened his grip and dragged his fingers over her forearm creating invisible patterns on her skin before arching his neck to press his lips to the inside of her wrist. “You have a big day tomorrow,” he mumbled against her skin.

“You’re right, I do,” Emma agreed with a groan as she moved to roll away from him. He was reluctant to let her go, grunting a little when he felt her arm slip from his grasp. “But I can’t sleep.”

“Oh?” Killian was intrigued now and a little worried, so he rolled himself over so that they were facing each other, their faces nose to nose on opposite pillows. “Are you scared?” He teased, knowing full well she was just the opposite, something she agreed with by giving him an audible scoff.

“Maybe a little,” she relented quietly in the darkness.

“Hey,” Killian soothed, shuffling even closer to her and brushing the hair from her brow. He tucked it down behind her ear, enjoying the warmth of her skin on his fingertips and the feel of her ear lifting as she smiled. “You’re going to do great, you’re going to be the best, and everyone else is going to be so jealous of your ability to be better than them.”

Emma snorted a small giggle. “You don’t even know what my new job is,” she told him in a soft voice, her hand combing through the soft hairs on his chest that had now come within reach of her hungry fingers.

“Doesn’t matter,” Killian said confidently, his sex messed hair rubbing the pillowcase as he shook his head. “If you can do whatever it is half as well as you ride a bike, you need not worry.”

Emma was silent, her eyebrows moving in thought as she contemplated his words. Killian was right. She knew what she was doing, even if she and Killian hadn’t discussed the particulars of it in between all of their other, more enjoyable activities. The track was a big place, with a lot of moving parts, so he would at least know that they worked for the same company, and she figured that was all he needed to know in order to open his heart to her so readily. It wouldn’t be her dream job, but she’d never ride again. Neal had seen to that a long time ago, but Emma would be damned if she was going to let that cretin ruin her life now. Especially since the man who was currently bundling her up in his arms and pulling her atop his prone form would have something to say about it if he did.

“Sleep,” Killian ordered gently, rearranging the comforter so that neither of them would get too hot in the position they were in now. Emma stretched out over his body like a cat, a welcome weight covering his entire body and her legs tangling with his when he placed his hand over her spine to hold her in place. Killian pressed his lips to her forehead, letting his lips linger on her skin and inhaling her musky scent. “It won’t be long before you’re going to need to shower.”

Emma smirked, her lips brushing the super soft hairs on his chest where her head lay. “You’re going to need one too, hotshot,” she said coyly.

“Oh, I know,” Killian said smugly. “And I’m all about showering together to save the planet.”

“That’s good to know,” Emma added with a smirk. “I might sleep better knowing that every time I come around to hear you play the piano or to get fucked on your very expensive bike, which you owe me, by the way, I’ll be doing the planet a service by sharing a shower with you.”

Killian laughed and Emma’s whole body moved, rocking from side to side before he steadied her and encouraged her to tuck her head under his chin. Her hair caught on his stubble but she hardly noticed, the heat their naked bodies pressed together was generating too distracting.

“If I promise to fuck you on the ES1, will you promise to get some sleep?” Killian barely had the words out of his mouth before he was yawning, fingers lightly clawing over the skin near the base of her spine as he rode out the shiver that came along with it.

“I’d do anything for that,” Emma chuckled before opening her mouth wide for a yawn of her own.

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head as her yawn overtook her. “Now you’ll have something to look forward to.”

Killian wrapped both arms around her as she laughed out the last of her yawn, holding her more tightly than he had all evening, never wanting to let her go. He knew the morning would be bittersweet when Emma had to leave, but they had already decided that they would see each other again. Killian just hoped that his heart wouldn’t miss her too much, and that his nightmares wouldn’t crawl their way back in without her there.

If Emma thought the night before would make it hard to forget about Killian Jones in a hurry, she hadn’t anticipated the next morning. She’d never been awoken by someone so eager to please her before. Killian had made sure she woke up slowly, gently caressing her body until it had responded before her brain, the soft smile of sexual excitement plastered across her face. His hands were hot but soothing, like the heat of the sun in winter, and he had worked her body into a frenzy with just his touch. By the time Emma had opened her eyes, she was achingly wet for him and he had obliged her whimper of discontent, hooked her thigh over his hips and slipped into her sodden folds just like he belonged.

The shower wasn’t bad either. She’d definitely be up for saving the planet again.

As hard as he had made it to leave, Emma wasn’t about to miss the first day of her new job. Honda was a big name, not only in the racing world, but all over the world, and Emma wasn’t about to ruin her chances at making the best impression she could by turning up late. If she thought the team name was a big hitter, she had no idea how expansive the Honda Team Headquarters site actually was. Vast didn’t even begin to describe the place that seemed to go on for miles and miles when Emma stepped out of her car, the sun in her eyes as it rose above the building in front of her.

Emma slipped the sunglasses she was wearing off her head and gave her hair a shake until it fell back into place. Propping them on her nose so that she could look into the light a bit easier, she tilted her head back, taking in the building in front of her. It was much larger than any team building she had seen before and just like every site so large, it was bustling with activity. Some people she recognized because she had met them before, most of them rubbing shoulders with her father or his company at one function or another, but by the way they hurried across the staff parking lot, she was assured they had no idea who she was.

Emma preferred it that way. Neal had sabotaged her career, but where one door closed, another soon opened and Emma was going to make sure this one stayed open for as long as possible. Emma Swan was a thing of the past, just another name on a long list of riders who never made it to the top, but Emma Nolan (surname check) was a force to be reckoned with. She had worked too hard for anyone to take it away now.

A young man Emma recognized held the door for her as she finally stepped inside the building. He was tall, a little lanky but with a boyish smile that had every woman in his path blushing. Will Scarlet was a damn good rider, maybe a little hot headed, but he got results and the team earned a lot of money in constructors titles because of him and Killian Jones. As she passed him, Emma gave him a small smile and felt his eyes lingering on her a little longer than entirely necessary.

"Thanks," Emma said quickly as she stepped into the lobby on team headquarters and the rest of her sentence was taken from her by the equally imposing inner sections of the building.

"You're welcome, love," Will offered earnestly. Emma smiled wider but only at the familiarity of his term of endearment. She took a second to wonder if he had picked it up from Killian or the other way round. "It looks scary in here, but it's really not," he assured her.

"Easy for you to say," Emma breathed, pulling her sunglasses off and finally seeing the whole lobby without a brownish tint.

"I threw up on my first day," Will told her, removing his pitch-black sunglasses and resting them on the peak of his team-branded cap.

"How do you know it's my first day?" Emma cocked an eyebrow at him and folded her arms over her chest. If he was flirting she would have to give him credit for trying, but would definitely mark him down for his lingering gaze.

"Other than the obvious, you look lost." Will flashed her a toothy grin but was met with an annoyed huff. "Alright, lass, let's see," he began, hand on his chin where his thumb and forefinger toyed with what minimal growth he had there. "Your shirt is new, but you haven't had time to iron out the fold lines yet. You don't have your name badge yet, because they give you that during orientation, so you haven't seen Robin yet, and your hands are tainted with a little bit of black, which means you have worked on a bike recently, maybe a car, but not here, because we have this crazy 'gloves only' approach to maintenance that you don't know about yet, because-"

"It's my first day," Emma finished, impressed with Will's ability to simultaneously be a world-class rider and a detective.

"Exactly," Will said gleefully. "If you need to throw up, the bathrooms are just down that hall on the left," he added, pointing out the route he was describing. "Otherwise, I wish you a pleasant first day, miss?"

He held out his hand and Emma looked down at it with scepticism. He gave her a cheeky grin before retracting his hand and disguising his rejection by rearranging the peak of his cap, laughing a little to himself.

“Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said with a smirk. “I’m Will, by the way,” he added, genuine respect gracing his features.

Emma gave him a lopsided smile and was about to answer with a witty comeback when a man appeared at her side. He was a tiny bit taller than Will from what Emma could see but was dressed a lot smarter than either of them. His pristinely ironed team shirt was a bright white, his name, Robin, embroidered over the ‘HRC’ team logo on his left breast pocket. It was tucked into his equally perfect slacks which were fastened with a matte black belt and Emma noticed they were both wearing black steel toe capped boots, obviously for both their safety considering the nature of the work they did.

“Will Scarlet, leave this woman alone,” Robin said in an exasperated tone.

��It’s okay,” Emma said sweetly, turning to Robin and flashing him a smile. “Mr. Scarlet was helping me find my way, right, Will?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Will grinned.

“Yes, well, I don’t want to hear you were helping Miss Nolan here with anything other than directions, do I make myself clear?” Robin was hard faced as he stared Will down, making the man before him shrink a little. “You know the policy.”

“Yes, Mr. Locksley,” Will nodded in agreement and Emma gave him a sympathetic sideways glance.

“Now, If I’m not mistaken, you have somewhere to be.” It wasn’t a question, or order as such, but from his tone alone Emma knew that Robin Locksley was in charge, and meant business.

She knew his name. Everybody knew his name. Before becoming the team manager for the Honda Racing team, Robin Locksley had an impressive race background, including several championship titles throughout his career. He was older than Emma but probably not as old as her father, with a sun-weathered face that spoke to years on a hot tarmac race track, and made him look older than he really was. Just like her father, Locksley commanded respect, and Emma could tell by the way Will Scarlet scuttled off that Robin had it.

Emma couldn’t see by looking at him, but she knew Locksley had retired from racing after a particularly nasty accident that saw him high side his handlebars and land directly on his shoulder. Leathers were good at protecting most of the fleshy bits of the body, but under his own weight, at speed, Locksley had crushed the ball joint of his shoulder and torn a ton of ligaments to boot. An accident like that could only mean retirement, but not before months, if not years, of physical therapy and surgery after surgery. There were not many riders who would even attempt to race after that sort of life changing injury, and just like Emma, Locksley had pursued the closest thing to racing he could.

“Emma,” Locksley said with a warmer tone that he had used on Will. He sidestepped in front of her and extended his hand, his mouth ticking up at the corners into a thin lipped smile. “I’m Mr. Locksley, but you can call me Robin.”

“Nice to meet you, Robin,” Emma said with a smile, taking his hand and shaking it twice.

“Did Will bother you?” Robin pried, licking his lips and hardening his face back to boss mode.

“No,” Emma shook her head. “He really was just giving me directions.”

Robin raised his eyebrows in and made a sound of surprise in his throat. “Well, okay then, follow me.”

He set off, and moved quickly through the lobby of the headquarters, flashing a smile to the receptionist and anyone else who caught his eye. Emma hurried after him. He knew everyone or at least made it a point to say hello, and Emma knew she was already going to like him. Robin was in charge, there was no doubt about that, but it was also clear that everybody loved him.

“I’m afraid today is going to be very boring,” Robin called out behind him as he navigated the corridors of people. “A lot of admin, HR stuff, you know.”

“Of course,” Emma agreed, barely keeping up with him.

“I’ll take you on a tour, see the facilities we have here.” Robin stopped, turned and gave her a knowing smirk. “I know you’ve already made use of the track.”

Emma paled. “I hope that was okay, I didn’t mean-.”

“Of course!” Robin laughed, interrupting her. “As soon as you get a job with Honda, whether the boring bits are done or not, you are part of the family.” He smiled at her, beckoning her with a nudge of his head. “Come on, let’s get you to Ruby.”

Ruby Lucas was, perhaps, the most beautiful woman Emma had ever seen. She was tall, her mile-high legs as finely shaped as the blood-red lipstick covering her lips, and her dark coloured hair flashed with streaks of claret that made Emma wonder if Ruby was her given name or a more recent addition. There wasn’t a blemish on any part of her that Emma could see, and the way male colleagues were easily distracted by her mere presence gave her a cocky confidence that Emma recognised from every single person she had ever met in racing.

Emma wondered if Ruby Lucas had ever been any closer to a motorcycle race track than as the administration for the team. Certainly, she had the character for it. Motorcycle racing was one of the only sports in the world where men and women were considered equals on the race track, so Emma could think of no reason why Ruby wouldn’t have once been a racer at some point, but the slight limp in Ruby’s step spoke volumes as to why she now wasn’t. It was so subtle that most people would not have noticed, but Emma could tell by the timing of her steps as her heels clicked against the floor that Ruby had, at some point, fallen from the pinnacle of her own career, and just like Emma now, couldn’t venture too far from the sound of an engine.

“Miss Swan?” Ruby smiled, extending her arm and offering Emma her hand. Emma nodded and shook Ruby’s hand with a nervous smile. “Great,” Ruby grinned. “Welcome to the team.”

Killian walked into the garage with a smile for the first time since Liam had passed away. He had finally slept for longer than a few hours, miraculously, and it was all because of Emma. She had the ability to see inside of him, to reach the man who he was before and to help him break the surface of his sorrow, something he hadn’t thought possible. When Liam died, so had a part of Killian, and he never thought he would revive it, but he had. Emma had.

As he daydreamed his way across the smooth screed floor of the garage, the smell of gasoline and oil filled his nostrils, but it was tainted with a cleanliness that showed the importance of the team he worked for. A team mechanic wasn’t just some grease monkey with dirty hands, oil-stained clothes and a beer belly, but instead was a white gloved magic wielding maker of dreams. The bikes wouldn’t run without a mechanic, and the drivers worked closely with them, constantly tweaking and improving on an already very capable factory bike.

Everybody knew that a factory bike was there to be improved but the very best riders knew just how to squeeze every last drop of power out of the machine between their legs. It wasn’t about power; it was the combination of perfect timing and understanding how the bike worked that made riders win. Initiative played an important part too, and teams observed every race, ready to snap up the brightest minds at the end of the season. Killian and Will had made such a great team that they had declined every offer posed to them since signing with Honda, and as a result, they had an excellent working relationship with their mechanics.

Liam had been the head mechanic on their team, and the position had yet to be filled. Killian knew that the team had been holding off on hiring out of respect to him, and he appreciated it, but he knew they couldn’t halt it forever. Even if they hired internally, which they probably would, promoting one of the secondary mechanics, they would have to advertise it externally out of fairness, but Killian knew that there was no one as good as the team Liam had painstakingly compiled and trained himself.

Belle French was a second generation mechanic, having followed in the footsteps of her father to become a specialist in her own right. She had travelled the world with many teams before settling with the Jones-Scarlet duo she currently worked with. Her main charge was Will and it was her duty to make sure his bike was exactly how he needed it to be to perform to the best of his ability. She had answered only to Liam, as much as the cocky young rider she worked with liked to think otherwise, and both Killian and Will figured she would be first in line for the promotion since she had stepped up to be Killian’s mechanic too. In reality, Belle didn’t want the job, and neither did any of the other mechanics.

Killian knew the shoes Honda were expecting to fill were larger than anyone capable, but the season was about to pick back up again, so they needed to find someone quick.

“About time!” Will yelled across the garage as Killian approached. His voice echoed off the pristine white walls as he looked up from tinkering with one of his bikes and frowned. “You’re smiling,” Will said slowly with a narrowed stare. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m happy,” Killian shrugged, the words leaving his mouth before he even realised it.

Will was taken aback and blinked in disbelief. “I’m sorry, mate, I didn’t quite hear you. Did you say you were happy?”

Killian stopped just short of his friend and inhaled, taking the longest breath and assessing his emotions. He wasn’t sure there was a word to describe how Emma made him feel, at least not one he was aware of, but what he was sure of was that he was happy and his grin couldn't hide it. “I did,” he affirmed with a nod.

Will blew out a breath not knowing how to respond to the shock of his team mate’s revelation. He was one of the only people he knew who had seen Killian at both his peak and at the lowest point in his life, so he would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad to see Killian happy. He didn’t need to know why his friend was happy; knowing that Killian was was enough for him. It would mean lots of things but most prominently it would mean that Killian would be ready to race, and ready to take on their biggest competition; Neal Cassidy.

“Well, I’m sorry to take the jam out of your doughnut,” Will began with a grunt of annoyance. “But Cassidy’s been shouting his mouth off to the media again.”

“What’s he saying now?” Killian sighed, his smile fading as he watched Will pull the white latex gloves off of his hands with a snapping sound before tossing them into a nearby trash can.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Will shrugged. “He’s going to win this season, blah blah.” Will smirked when Killian met his gaze. “Apparently, this is going to be his year.”

“Oh,” Killian added, fake surprise lacing his words. “This year is the year, huh?”

“Yeah,” Will agreed but his smile quickly faded and he averted his gaze to the floor. Like a scolded child, he scuffed his immaculate boot across the pristine floor in front of him. “And,” he began, extending the syllable nervously.

“And?” Killian prompted.

“Nah, it doesn’t matter.” Will quickly decided with a shake of his head. “Did you see the new-”

“Wait,” Killian snapped, halting his friend with a wave of his hand. “Go back. What exactly did Cassidy say?”

Will’s cheeks were tinted with pink and he cleared his throat before he continued. “He was just showboating, playing to the journalists, you know what an utter bastard he is.”

Killian’s tongue darted out to moisten his lips and he reached up to rub at the patch of skin behind his ear a little more aggressively than normal. He knew Neal Cassidy was a cretin, the lowest of the low, a media hog who liked to shout his mouth off at every chance he could get. Killian knew Will was trying to protect him from something, and given the recent events in his life, and Cassidy’s proclivity for being an all around wanker, it wasn’t hard to determine Liam had been the subject of the media circus.

“Just let it go, mate,” Will said softly, interrupting Killian’s rage and easing it away with a comforting pat on the shoulder. “He’s not worth it anyway.”

Killian nodded in agreement, letting the tension out of him with a sigh. He wasn’t about to sink down to Cassidy’s level and bad mouth the man in the pits, putting both his career and the reputation of his team on the line. He had no need. Neal Cassidy did that quite well all by himself, and Killian would enjoy taking his ego down a peg or two by simply taking the title at the end of the season, but right now Killian wanted to just be. Easing back into the race season would undoubtedly be the most normal he had felt for a long time.

“So, what’re you working on?” Killian asked his teammate, half to break up the bubbling rage inside of him and half to distract himself from calling Cassidy and acting on it.

“Oh!” Will exclaimed excitedly. “So glad you asked.”

He spun around and made his way back towards the propped up motorbike with an excited skip in his step. Their bikes were the same, on the outside, and Will was eager to show off the skills of his mechanic, Belle. Will could prattle on for hours about the lass, and the way his face lit up as he told Killian about how she had tweaked this and that to shave seconds off his lap times, reminded him of the effect Emma had on him. She could talk about anything and Killian would listen with as much rapture as Will held for Belle, but there were of course, as Will had assured him multiple times, no feelings involved.

Yeah, alright.

Killian was lost to his little daydream about Emma and the way she looked when she had been asleep in his arms the night before. He could still feel the warmth of her skin on his palms, the way his long, lithe pianist fingers held her tight as she straddled his lap and took her pleasure, hair sticky with her feminine sweat he swore he could still smell every time he inhaled. And the way Emma tasted was insane. Her skin tasted like it smelled, a floral peony and vanilla musk that seemed to get even more concentrate the harder Killian worked her with his tongue. And boy had he worked her.

“Oi! Mate!” Will yelled through grease ingrained hands that cupped around his mouth. “Are you even listening?”

“Aye,” Killian offered slowly. “No,” he added and Will frowned at his antics. “Maybe?”

“Well, which is it?” Will prodded, folding his arms over his chest, one hand tucked under his armpit whilst the long and often broken fingers on his other gripped the bugle of his bicep.

Killian shifted his weight, rocking up onto the balls on his feet and one hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Will, I need to talk to you about something,” he began. “And I want you to-”

“Oh shit, are you changing teams?” Will babbled, panicked.

Killian shook his head quickly. “No, wait, why would you think that?”

Will lifted his shoulders in an over exaggerated shrug. “I mean, Liam was our team mechanic, it stands to reason you would want to be shot of this place, a lingering reminder and all.”

There was a stillness after Will’s words that Killian couldn’t find the energy to interrupt. Every time someone mentioned his brother, or unwittingly reminded him that they would never work together again, just served to dig up the ghost of guilt he thought he had squashed down.

“I’m not changing teams,” Killian assured Will, who audibly sighed in relief. “I think I’m seeing someone.”

Will frowned. “You think?”

“Well,-” Killian began, extending out the syllable but Will interrupted him quicker than he had begun talking.

“Like, a woman or a hallucination?” Will was certain of his words, markedly concerned for his friend. Killian had been through enough for him to have encountered a mental breakdown, holding in rage and self depreciation over Liam’s death for a while now, and Will had no mockery behind his words, just simply worry.

“Wh-what’s wrong with you?” Killian retorted with a deadpan stare of actual concern for his teammate. “Do you wear your helmet too tight?”

“I’m just trying to get all the correct information,” Will scoffed.

“And why would I talk to you if I were seeing things?” Killian teased, a wry smirk playing his lips.

“Uh, because we are mates?” Will looked hurt and it boosted Killian’s mood a little bit when he realized he hadn’t yet been discovered in his ruse.

“Are we though?” He ribbed Will again, hoping the younger man would realise. “Was that a clause in the contract?” Killian teased with a snigger, the snorted laugh finally giving him away.

“Fuck you,” Will laughed, giving Killian’s shoulder a shove. When his friend laughed, a genuine belly rumbling cackle Will had missed, he smiled. “So, why do you think you are seeing this person?”

“What do you mean?” Killian asked dumbly.

“Well, you are or you aren’t, mate,” Will shrugged. “What does she think?”

"She's a keeper," Killian said, his boyish smile reminiscent of a love-struck teen telling all about his first love.

"That's brilliant, mate, really happy for you.” Will nodded at Killian who just gave him a small nod of thanks. “So, does she have a name or…"

Killian was about to speak when the rest of the team suddenly funnelled into the spacious garage, voices hushed as they whispered about the purpose of such a sudden meeting. Killian frowned and shot his teammate a questioning glance that was just replied with a lazy shrug that made him already not care what the interruption was regarding. Belle found them both and beckoned them closer with a crooked finger, both Killian and Will leaning far too close to her than was entirely necessary.

“The new mechanic is here,” Belle whispered.

“Have you met him yet?” Will asked eagerly.

“Not yet,” Belle admitted, shooting a glance between the two men. “Have you?”

“No,” Will shook his head. “Neither has Killian.”

Killian grunted in disgust, his mood instantly soured by Belle’s words. “I’m not exactly thrilled to get to know him either.” Belle and Will were silent. “I’ll do my job, and do as I’m told, but that’s it. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about the new guy.”

“Bit harsh, mate,” Will offered tentatively in defence of someone he had never met. “The guy will just be doing his job.”

“Aye, and as long as that’s all he does, we won’t have a problem.” Killian ground his jaw. “We all know what happens when we mix business and pleasure,” he began angrily. “People die.”

Will and Bell shared a glance. Their hearts broke for their friend, who was clearly still dealing with the emotions of losing his brother whilst having to return to work and watch a new team member try and push his way into their lives. Killian needed more time. He clearly still blamed himself for Liam’s death and both knew he would probably do so for a long time, and neither was sure the whole experience hadn’t changed him forever. It hadn’t been Killian’s fault Liam was his teammate, it’s just the cards they were dealt in the racing world, but the whole situation had soured Killian’s outlook on getting so close to another person at work if he didn’t have to. What was the point anyway? He’d probably change teams or retire before they could form any real friendship anyway, so best leave it at the door and keep their relationship strictly professional.

"Alright, listen up!" Robin's voice bellowed off the walls, and Killian cast a sideways glance towards their esteem leader whilst ignoring the way Will patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.

Apparently, the team had picked a new head mechanic after carefully sifting through application after application from all over the world. Who wouldn't want to work for one of the biggest race teams in the world? The room still vibrated with hushed what-ifs when the sound of Robin clapping shook everyone from their chatter. All eyes were on him in an instant and to demand even more respect, Robin stood with his arms folded over his chest, eyes darting between the last few stragglers who couldn't hold their tongue. Finally, with a deep breath, he continued.

"Now, some of you may be aware that Honda has hired a new head mechanic." He paused, gauging the room. "This means that some of you will be working with a new face."

Killian knew Robin's words were directed at him. Will had Belle, and before his death, he had Liam. They were the perfect team and Killian had no interest in forming any sort of bond with Liam’s replacement. The mechanic would be a work colleague, and that was it. No invites to barbecues, no socializing outside of the work, and most definitely no track day races. That was if this new mechanic even knew how to ride a bike. The sport had seen a surge in mechanics who knew everything there was to know about a superbike, except how to ride one, except on paper, and Killian didn’t trust these people one bit. How were they supposed to feel what the bike was trying to tell them?

A scoff disguised in a cough left his mouth and as Robin carried on with his introduction, Killian slipped off to the side behind Will and busied himself looking over the bike they had been previously looking at. It wasn’t nearly distracting enough though, his ears perking up as Robin spoke behind him, his fingers idly tracing over the handlebar grip throttle in an attempt to seem busy.

“I know this is not what some of you want,” Robin boomed across the crowd. Again, directed at Killian. “But this has to happen for the team if we are to have any chance of winning the Championship rider and team trophies this year.”

Killian cast a glance over his shoulder, locking eyes with Robin for a second to let him know he was listening but to also tell him not to expect too much from him. He would ride, as he always did, and he would most likely beat Cassidy to the Championship, again, but he was steadfast in the idea that he could do all of these things and maintain the minimum interactions required in line with the terms of his contract.

“So, without further ado, may I introduce to you your new Head of Mechanics and Engineering, Emma Nolan.”

The sound of applause filled the garage and Killian’s head snapped up just in time to see Emma - his Emma - walking through the white door to stand at Robin’s side. He couldn’t breathe. All of the air left his lungs and he forgot how to inhale again, his face turning the whitest shade as it drained of all blood, and he dropped the wrench he had been holding. It clattered to the floor at his feet but the sound was lost in the monotony of bravos. He was glad the clapping was so loud because it drowned out the sound of his heart shattering into a million pieces. Stood in front of the whole team, in front of him, was the woman who had promised him she would chase away his demons, hold him at night whilst he slept, and someone he had dreamed of starting a family with, but she wasn’t just his Emma anymore; She was Emma Nolan, Head of Mechanics and Engineering at Team Honda.

Scanning the crowd Emma caught Killian’s eye. He was way back in the rabble of people who had congregated in the garage space to meet her, but his face was completely ashen and so void of colour his lips were nearly blue. Her smile faded away as soon as she caught sight of him, the slight shake of his head and quiver in his bottom lip betrayed his emotions as he turned and walked out of the garage through a rear exit. Emma gulped, her heart sinking like a stone and the pit of her stomach exponentially deepening into a void that seemingly had no end. She felt sick but forced a smile back onto her face so that she could keep up the facade of happiness in front of the team.

In reality, she had been selfish enough to keep her new job role from Killian once she had got to know him and seen how fragile he actually was. She had never suffered a loss as he had before. Sure, her mother had passed away but it was expected, and even her uncle’s death hadn’t affected her as much as she thought it would. She had seen how losing someone so horrifically had broken her father, and her eyelids stung with tears because, without any malicious intention, she had given Killian Jones hope with one hand only to snatch it from his grasp with the other.

“Welcome aboard,” Robin said gleefully, grabbing Emma’s hand to shake and ripping her from her tumultuous musings. “You’re going to be perfect for this team, I can tell everyone loves you already,” he added with a grin before slipping his hand from her and patting her on the shoulder.

Emma simply nodded with a forced smile. “Not everyone,” she muttered to herself.

#sparking the pavement #stp #ch 6 #cs au #cs fic #cs fanfic #cs ff #moto gp au #killian jones #emma swan

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