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lottiebagley · 3 years

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Snow covered courtyards- Oliver Wood

When he'd asked her to the ball he'd been certain she would say no. They'd been friends for a while but never particularly close, simply in the same year and house and therefore knew each other through mutual friends.

He'd always thought she was kind of unattainable, she seemed to always look perfect, she was smart and funny and kind and top of her classes. He never knew why but she always avoided Oliver a little, he spent nights laid in bed listening to Percy's snoring and racking his brains for any reason she might avoid him, an insult from years ago, a history between him and one of her friends but nothing quite came to mind.

It wasn't until a few weeks before the ball that he realised that maybe the reason she avoided him was because she wasn't quite as unattainable as he'd thought. He'd laughed at first when his best friend shrugged that she probably just had a crush on him, mouthful of cereal and a slightly bemused look on his face.

After that conversation he slowly allowed his brain to convince himself she just might like him back. After all why else would she blush when he catches her eye? why would she go to every quidditch game no matter how awful the weather? why would she giggle a little with her friends when he passes?

And so, Oliver Wood let a little spark of hope light in his heart and he began to plan how he would ask her to the ball.

He thought about asking her after they won a quidditch match when he was high on adrenaline but he didn't like the idea of being muddy and sweaty and with the fucking Weasley twins, their relentless teasing playing in his mind before it even happened.

Next he thought about making some production out of it in the great hall like he'd seen a few other people do, but he knew she'd hate being the centre of the entire school's attention.

He contemplated asking her at a party, figuring some liquid courage might make the prospect of asking his dream girl on a date a little easier, but didn't want her to think it was some drunk decision.

He settled on approaching her with a bouquet of flowers and just asking it, after all, he knew he was a good looking guy and most people found him charming if not a little intense. What he didn't think about though was that most people didn't make his heart beat too fast, his hands go clammy, and his words come out a stuttering mess.

Oliver announced to his friends one morning that today was the day he'd ask her out, they'd grinned widely, given him a pep talk, mocked him a little for his nerves and sent him on his way and Oliver had every intention to ask her out.

It was then that Oliver learnt the age old lesson.

Girls travel in packs.

No matter how hard he tried she was surrounded. Between classes, at meals, in the common room, christ even on her way to the bathroom. Whenever he saw her she'd have a gaggle of girls with her all of which would eye him with curiosity and smirks when he attempted to approach.

It took Oliver a further three days of attempting to catch her alone, his friends seeming to find the entire situation funnier by the hour, before it had happened. He'd caught a glimpse of her with Cedric.

Oliver Wood hated Cedric Diggory, hated that he was so often compared to him, hated that he had swoopy hair that made girls swoon, hated that he too was a good quidditch player. His newest reason though to despise the boy who showed him nothing but kindness was that he didn't clam up around her. He talked to her with ease and made her laugh.

If he'd done a little digging, Oliver would have easily found Cedric was a family friend and she viewed him like a brother. Through exasperated mutual friends sick of both their pining he'd have probably also learnt she had a massive crush on Oliver and had turned down multiple boys in the hopes Oliver would ask her to the ball.

He didn't dig though. Instead he scowled in the direction of Cedric and her, they were laughing by the quidditch pitch as the Hufflepuff practice ended and the Gryffindor's arrived for their own. She had been on her way to the greenhouses to grab a book she'd accidentally left there when Cedric had jogged over, unknown to Oliver actually asking if the Gryffindor had plucked up the nerve to ask her out. She had brushed her friend off, thinking it would be a miracle for Oliver Wood to fancy her back.

"Hurry up Wood, she's a good one, she'll get swept up all too soon," Fred smirks as he passes Oliver on his way into the changing rooms.

And with Fred's words in his mind Oliver grabs the bouquet of flowers from the office and marches towards her, Cedric spotting him coming and quickly taking his leave.

"Hi," He calls, cursing himself for not thinking to say her name when she doesn't even turn around, not used to him approaching her, "Hi-Y/N,"

She turns then, still clad in her uniform, hair blowing in the light wind and a small smile on her face.

"Oliver-uh-hey," She blushes a little as she falls over her words

"You're a really hard girl to get on her own," He comments. Fucking christ why does he sound like a stalker? The question spins in his mind but she seems to not think anything of the comment, instead blushing a little

"Oh- my friends and I are kinda inseperable," She shrugs lightly, not wanting an awkward silence so instead opting to ramble "They only aren't here now cause they are busy. Meg's at detention, Ali's with her boyfriend and Katie's tutoring some second year in potions. I'd have waited for one of them to be with me because honestly I kind of hate walking alone- not cause I'm weird or un-independent or any thing, I just, well I get a little anxious and feel like people are staring at me and-" She silences herself, suddenly coming to her senses and realising how crazy she's making herself sound. "Sorry,"

"Don't be. I think it's cute when you ramble," He admits, blushing as red as his quidditch robes when he realises what he's said.

"Did you need something or have I just embarrassed myself over a polite hello?" She questions, he chuckles a little making her feel mildly less uncomfortable.

"I was actually wondering if you wanted to go to the ball?" He questions. He feels a weight off his shoulder's once the question has been asked. Like suddenly even if she says no at least he could tell himself he tried.

"With you?" She questions, she realises she probably sounds more idiotic by the second but can't quite convince herself to believe her long term crush would actually ask her out.

"Uh-yeah," He's taken aback by the question and feels stupid for even thinking she'd consider it and suddenly the even if she says no bullshit is just that, because shit if the girl in front of him with wide eyes and a nervous smile doesn't say yes he thinks his heart might break in his chest.

"Like a date?"

"I was hoping,"

"I'd love that,"

Oliver feels like the luckiest person on earth. Watching as she blushes a little, but her smile is wide and god if he doesn't want to kiss her right there.

"Great,"

"Good,"

"Cool,"

"Yeah,"

Neither of them is quite sure what comes next and the interaction seems to run even more awkward. "You'll pick her up!" Oliver rolls his eyes at the sound of George Weasley, although thankful for the prompt, she blushes, peering behind him to see the entire Gryffindor quidditch team watching them.

"I'll pick you up," He confirms

"Right," She nods

"At 7? Outside your dorm?"

"Sounds good,"

"Okay," He grins brightly, still thinking this entire thing is his mind playing some cruel tricks on him.

"So you should go, your team awaits," She reminds, he nods, partly wanting the interaction over before he can make even more of a fool out of himself or ruin something before it even has a chance to start and partly wanting to live in this moment of pure joy for the rest of his life.

"Right, so I'll uh- see you at the ball- and- uhm- around before obviously," He stutters a little

"Great, I'll see you in both those places," She confirms, realising only after she's spoken how idiotic she sounds.

"The flowers Wood! Christ you're bad at this!" Fred shouts

"Always thought he had game," Harry comments

"We all did kid," George agrees.

"Sorry about them," Oliver apologises

"It's okay," She smiles gently, waiting patiently as he stands staring wondering why her eyes are flickering from him, to his team to his hands and-

"Oh right, these are for you," He confirms, passing the bouquet over and grinning when she blushes a little

"Thanks Oli,"

"Any time," He nods

When she pulls open her dorm door Oliver is certain time stops.

She looks like an angel, her makeup perfect, hair flowing in curls with a small section pinned back as to see her face clearly, Oliver is certain nothing else has ever looked as beautiful. She's dressed in a golden gown that shimmers in the light and makes her look like a princess.

"You- I mean- it- you look beautiful," He stammers over his words and his face goes redder by the second but she smiles at him

"Thank you Oli," She smiles up at him and when their eyes meet both of them feel their hearts hammering in their chests.

"You ready?" He questions, she nods, smiling when he grabs her arm in his and they walk together to the hall.

The hall looks like something out of a fairytale. Seeming to glow an ice white, lined with glittering trees and a glance at the ceiling showing a sky full of stars that gleamed in the air.

"You want to dance?" Oliver questions, eyes falling to the already slightly crowded dance floor, the students dancing to the waltz that plays.

"Think you might loose a foot if we try," She admits, glancing at the girls who swirl around the floor effortlessly and feeling a little self conscious she can't do the same.

"It'd be worth it," He grins, pulling her along with him.

"Hey Oli?"

"Yeah?" He questions as they come to the edge of the dance floor

"These heels are really high. Please don't let me fall,"

"I've got you," He assures, smiling when he notices her physically loosen the panic in her eyes dissipating.

It takes them a few stumbles and a couple of toe treads but eventually they pick up the dance. He watches with a grin as she stares at her feet in focus and with time, and a few glasses of the punch Fred and George spiked, she relaxes, feeling at ease in his arms and becoming more comfortable with the slightly confusing dancing.

Oliver whispers commentary about the ball that makes her laugh and he loves the way she talks with such excitement that he can't help but follow along with every word. He's pretty sure in that moment he could die happy and she's almost certain this is the best night of her life.

As the minutes tick into hours they become more and more comfortable with each other, sure there's still an awkward teenagers with crushes layer to the conversation, but they learn they have a lot in common and find it easy to make small talk that they both actually enjoy.

"Do you wanna go get some air?" She questions at around 11, the dancing has changed from formal waltzing to jumping around to the band who'd been hired for the event and they were both hot and a little sticky from the crowd.

He nods in confirmation and smiles to himself when she immediately takes his hand in hers to pull him along behind her, she seems to have no idea he'd follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked.

She takes him to a small moonlit, snow covered, empty courtyard.

"Anyone would think you wanted to get me alone," He teases lightly, she blushes a little but playfully shoves him

"Maybe I did," She shrugs, he grins cockily "Or maybe it was a little crowded in there and I'm a polite date who didn't want to just abandon you," She isn't quite sure where her newfound confidence around Oliver is coming from

"I'm going to go with the first option," He grins, she laughs a little before shivering at the cold December breeze that wraps around them. He's quick to shrug of his black formal jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders and blushing when she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

"You wanna dance?" She questions, he laughs a little at the idea of leaving a ball to go and dance but nods.

Her arms wrap around his neck as his circle her waist, he hums gently and she smiles a she glances up at him. Oliver Wood looks like a god in the moonlight and she thanks her lucky stars that it's her who got to be in that moment with him.

They dance slowly, eventually pulling each other closer. She laughs when he twirls her under his arm and he grins when her hands begin to brush through the ends of his hair.

"Tell me something," She speaks quietly, his arms pulling her even closer.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Anything about you," She decides, he takes a deep breath, figuring now's probably the best moment he'll ever get to tell her this.

"I've had a crush on you since first year,"

"You have?" She sounds shocked and he can't help but laugh at the idea of her not realising he's practically head over heels for her

"I have," He confirms with a grin

"Why'd you never say anything?" She questions. Her heart feels like it's beating a million miles a minute and she's almost certain he can feel it

"You kinda avoided me," he shrugs

"Yeah I did," She laughs

"Why'd you do that?"

"I was scared to make a fool out of myself," She admits

"Yeah I get that," He nods

"You do? You always seem so- I don't know- at ease,"

"Around everyone but you I kinda am," He shrugs, she blushes a little at that. "You wanna know something else?" He questions.

They're still swaying a little but there's not much movement at their feet, instead the entire thing looks like a loving embrace and she figured to an extent it kind of was.

"Sure,"

"All night I've thinking about if I were to try and kiss you. If you'd kiss back or you'd pull away and laugh in my face and I'd have made a fool of myself," His words leave her breathless and his charming grin only makes it better

"There's only one way to know for sure," She whispers.

His lips crash to hers in the moonlit courtyard, the snow falling around them. It's slow and gentle. Holding years of emotion and there's no need to rush, in that moment they both know they have forever to hold each other this close. It's a little toothy from both their wide grins but as his hands cup her cheeks she's sure nothing has ever been as perfect as this moment and the boy she's sharing it with.

MASTERLIST

#harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #harry potter masterlist #oliver wood #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood x y/n #oliver wood imagine

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cdyssey · 3 years

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Exit Strategies

Summary: Before they break Alexei out of a maximum security prison, Yelena convinces Natasha that they should rest, that they need to.

A/N: I finally got the chance to see Black Widow today and ugly sobbed through almost half of it. Natasha and Yelena deserved so much more—oh, my GOD, it's not fair.

AO3 Link

—

It’s only when the gas needle edges precariously below a gallon that Natasha frowns, the stark cut on her lower lip curving like a bow just begging to snap.

“We need gas,” she breaks the long silence between them. Yelena glances over at her sister’s profile, sharp and distinct even in the semi-darkness, slightly tinted blue by the BMW’s luminescent dashboard. Her angular jaw. The ribbon-like strands of red hair plastered to the side of her face. The bruises beginning to feather the column of her neck from their recent fight.

And the purple shadows beneath her visible eye.

The lines.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Yelena quips because it’s easier than being sincere, easier than dealing with all of the effed-up history between them. They used to snuggle in the same bed, wrists crossing wrists. Mere hours ago, they came close to strangling each other to death with curtains.

“We also need to rest. Can’t go taking down a multinational child soldier complex on zero hours of sleep, y’know.”

“Mmm,” comes a noncommittal reply, short, patronizing. “You sleep. I’ll drive.”

Yelena simply stares at the older woman, searching, incredulous, and frankly, a little miffed. Has she always been this much of a martyr? She interrogates her own memories—the ones from her childhood are the clearest she has—and surprisingly concludes that, yes, she’s always been this way.

Natasha would get into fights on the playground when older kids tried to bully Yelena.

And she was good with her fists.

She would always win.

“Don’t be stupid, Natalya. You’re not superhuman. Let’s pull off at an exit and get a motel room.”

“We don’t have time for that. My contact’ll be at the rendezvous spot at twelve tomorrow.”

“A few hours tops,” she promises, wheedling, glancing at the car’s central display. It’s 2:07. There’s plenty enough time for them to get some sleep and make it back to Norway, especially with how fast Natasha drives. They’ve never been under eighty-five the entire time they’ve been on the freeway. “C’mon. I stink. You stink. We both need showers and a vodka shot.”

“I don’t stink,” Natasha wrinkles her nose disdainfully. But even as she says it, she lets off the pedal and eases into the right lane. The speedometer slowly sinks from over a hundred to ninety… eighty… seventy…

“You do,” Yelena snickers, mischievous, triumphant, a little kid again teasing her older sister about a hopscotch victory. She arches a smug brow. “You smell like shit.”

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

But she watches, with fascination, as the corner of Natasha’s mouth twitches, the cut on her lip quivering too.

—

They get gas at a twenty-four hour station and buy a few necessities inside—some snacks, a bottle of cheap vodka, gauze, painkillers, a pack of Skittles for Yelena.

It’s been a long time since she’s had Skittles.

They’d once been her favorite candy.

Natasha had always preferred chocolate bars.

And behind their mother’s back, their papa would indulge them.

Hush, my little kittens. He would raise a conspiratorial index finger to his mouth. Don’t tell Mama now.

“Jesus hell,” the clearly sleep-deprived cashier says, taking in their haggard, bloodstained appearances.

“We just got back from fight club,” Yelena supplies cheerfully.

“Do you got change for fifty euros?” Natasha asks.

—

At 2:40, they finally pull into a motel, a dingy, little dump far away from the main part of the city. The stolen BMW looks out of place against the worn-down building, all sleek and shiny and new. This is the kind of establishment that most people settle for, not actively choose—unless, of course, said people are two Russian killers trying to evade detection from a militant Taskmaster.

Yelena and Natasha are silent as they creep into the motel room that had been designated theirs by the scruffy faced twenty-year old working the night shift at the front desk, handguns drawn as they flick on lights and canvas the room as they had both been trained to do.

Two queen sized beds.

A boxy TV that looks like it could have been at home in the nineties.

A musty smell in the air.

A spluttering air conditioner in the window.

A framed painting on the wall of something that looks vaguely phallic.

“Clear in the bedroom,” Yelena calls after she checks under each bed.

No monsters under there.

“Bathroom’s clear too.” Natasha walks out of the side door, replacing her Glock in her thigh holster. “If the front door gets blocked, our exit strategy’s the window in the bathroom. Leads out into some woods. We can climb a tree and pick threats off from a decent vantage point.”

Again, Yelena stares at the woman in front of her, trying to reconcile her bruised and scratched face with the kid from twenty-odd years ago, the one who used to make shadow puppets on the wall for her to laugh at, who’d comb her wet hair at night when Mama was working.

There’s so little light in her eyes left, the particulars of her voice perfectly calculated to be distant.

Yelena wants to pull her hair out, wants to stomp around a little, wants to throw a tantrum and scream.

They lived together for three years.

They were sisters.

And Natasha… Natasha is distant.

“Do you always have an exit strategy?” Yelena blurts out a little stupidly. Of course she has an exit strategy. They’re trained fucking spies for God’s sake! Hell, Yelena even has a tentative exit strategy!

(She's just gonna crash through the window and start shooting.)

But she is and really isn’t asking about exit strategies.

Even as her lips formed the words, she knew this. Even as the words fell from her tongue, she felt their insufficiency and knew the depths of her own vulnerability.

Is that all you can look me in the eye and talk about, Natalya?

Exit strategies?

This is our first night together in twenty-one years, and you can stand here and tell me that the trees are the best place for blowing people’s brains out?

Natasha shrugs a single shoulder before limping over to the side table, where they’d placed their singular grocery bag.

“Go take a shower, and make sure you get all the dirt outta your wound.”

Yelena’s eyes flick downwards at her bandaged arm and then back to her sister again.

“You’re such a mom,” she repeats herself numbly as Nat draws the vodka bottle out of the bag, untwisting it with a deft motion and taking a long, practiced drag.

“Shower,” she exhales once she’s done, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “We’re leaving in six hours.”

—

Yelena takes a quick shower, ten minutes to the dot, and feels a little like a human again, even though the water was only lukewarm at best, and she has to put on her sweaty clothes from the day before. At least her hair and face are clean, the grime beneath her nails all scraped off, her wound cleansed of dirt. After she towels her hair off, she doesn’t put her jacket and tactical vest on just yet, remaining stripped down to just her undershirt and pants.

She’s slept with her gear equipped before.

On most nights, really.

Tonight, though, just for a few hours, she doesn’t want to.

(She knows she doesn’t have to—her older sister is here.)

As she hangs her damp towel on the nearby rack, she notices that the window behind the dinky toilet has been cracked open about an inch, propped up by one of motel’s washcloths.

A handgun has been strategically placed on the back of the toilet.

A Glock-22.

An exit strategy.

When Yelena enters the main bedroom again, she sees that Natasha is sitting on the bed closest to the window—(the most vulnerable position, she briefly thinks to herself)—shirt off, tenderly probing a nasty-looking laceration just below her ribs.

The dried blood blooms across her stomach like a flower.

Crimson.

Replete with thorns.

“Damn,” she breathes, and Nat quickly looks up, eyes wide, brow furrowed.

“It’s not deep,” she says immediately. “Just long.”

“It’ll scar,” Yelena shakes her head.

Wounds like that always scar.

“I’m no stranger to scars.” A proffered grin—slight, elusive, wry. And no sooner than she says it, Yelena spots the long, telltale surgical incision where the hysterectomy had been performed, and to the left of her belly button, there’s a scar that had once clearly been a bullet’s entry point. “I collect them everywhere I go.”

It’s an innocuous enough statement, but the contents of it jog her memory.

She's reminded of what that their mama said long ago in a military camp somewhere in Cuba.

Pain only makes you stronger, remember?

Yelena has always drawn vague comfort from the words—usually when she’s nursing her own sundry wounds, doing her best to recover from them.

But tonight, looking at Natasha’s body—which surely mirrors her own—she can’t help but think that those words might’ve been bullshit said by a poor, dying woman.

Sometimes, pain can only hurt.

“Your turn to shower,” she says, jerking her thumb emphatically at the bathroom door.

A half-smile.

Her lips are dry and cracked.

“Make sure you get the dirt outta that wound.”

“Asshole,” Natasha chuckles, the sound low and hoarse, and maybe even a little painful because she winces at the end, her bloodied fingers involuntarily drawing themselves up her ribs.

“сука,” Yelena returns, throwing herself unceremoniously onto her bed, hiding her own laughter in a pillow.

Bitch.

—

When Natasha returns some thirty minutes later, she’s already twisted her damp hair into a messy plait, and she’s fully clothed, dressed like an armed gunman is going to burst through the curtained window at any moment.

Yelena had already flicked off the lamp and bunched the stiff blankets up to her nose in an attempt to get comfortable… but she hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

Waiting.

She watches, ever observant, as her sister lithely winds through the room without making so much as a sound, the graceful ballerina that the Red Room tortured her to be. She’s similarly silent as she slowly lowers herself onto the other bed, gingerly propping herself up against the headboard, angling her torso towards the door.

But this is apparently too sudden of a movement for her body to currently handle.

A hissing noise escapes past her clenched teeth.

“You should sleep,” Yelena croaks aloud, having seen enough, having heard more. “I’ll take the first shift.”

Her sister’s hawklike stare finds her in the darkness.

“What? No. Go to bed,” she snaps, obviously annoyed. “You were the one who wanted to stop for the night.”

“Yeah, because I looked over and saw that you looked like death warmed over!” She retorts haughtily. “However much you might pose otherwise, you’ve gotta have needs too.”

This quiets Natasha.

At the very least, it makes her look away.

She shifts (very incrementally) on her bed.

She plays a little with the end of her braid.

“An hour,” she says, so quietly that Yelena almost thinks she’s saying “an oar” for some bewildering reason.

“Чего?” What?

“An hour,” Natasha repeats emphatically. “Wake me up in an hour. It’s… all I need.”

“Okay.” Yelena sits up abruptly, eager to please, desperate to show that she still cares.

It’s a bit sickening, really—the woman practically abandoned her.

She got out and never looked back…

“I mean it.” Her sister doesn’t quite lay down, but she does slouch a little more comfortably against her pillows. “An hour.”

“Yah.”

—

Yelena isn’t a woman of her words, though.

She lets her sleep for two.

“Dammit, Yelena,” Natasha groans, pulling her fingers hard over her eyes. “You told me you'd wake me up."

“Don’t be so dramatic, Natalya,” she yawns, finally slumping her head against her pillow. "It didn't kill you to get a little more beauty rest."

"Asshole."

As the dark takes her away, she smiles.

Bit—

—

A soft hand on her shoulder, a gentle shake.

Yelena blearily opens her eyes to see Natasha standing over her, staring at her with that same inscrutable expression—complicated… and utterly unreadable. It gives her the impression of being pierced through all over, analyzed and deconstructed.

Even though she’s quite clothed, she feels naked.

Seen.

“We gotta get moving,” she says matter-of-factly. “There’s coffee on the nightstand. Once you wash your face, I’ll change your bandage again.”

And then, stepping away, she disappears from view. From the sounds she’s making, she’s clearly cleaning the room, thoroughly removing all traces of their less than six hour presence in this motel in the middle of practically nowhere. In mere minutes, it will be like they had never been here at all.

And so it goes for Red Room operatives.

So it went in Ohio.

When Yelena sits up to stretch, blankets that she hadn’t fallen asleep under cascade heavily to the floor.

She glances to her left.

Sees a bed that’s been all but stripped clean.

—

In the bathroom, the gray light of dawn leans against the partially opened window. Yelena sits on the side of the half-bath as Natasha makes quick and expert work of cleaning her wound and bandaging it up again, snipping the excess gauze off with her penknife.

“Looks better today,” she simply comments as she replaces the knife in her utility belt. “Might not scar if you’re lucky.”

Unspoken between them but nonetheless understood, neither of them have really been lucky.

They were orphans abandoned by their mothers.

They were children who were trained to kill.

And now they have so much blood on their hands.

Red dripping from their ledgers.

Scars on their bodies, so many wounds on their souls.

Yelena’s not even thirty yet.

(Her life has given her plenty of reasons to suspect that she might never be.)

“Pssh,” she snorts derisively as her sister finally yanks the washcloth out from the window.

It closes with a smart snap.

A decisive finality.

Yelena is just bending down to lace her boots up when Natasha suddenly speaks again, apropos of absolutely nothing.

She could have just left.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot.

Gripping the washcloth loosely in one hand, she stays.

“There was... this S.H.I.E.L.D. guy,” she says, her voice reluctant, full of clear misgivings, “who used t’complain all the time that I never had an extraction plan. No exit strategies either. I’d just go in… complete my mission… and it’d be up to my enemy’s aim if I made it out intact.”

Yelena looks up to see that her sister’s back is turned to her, her back stiff, the sharp ridges of her shoulder blades jutting visibly through the black fabric of her shirt.

Somehow, even in a bathroom barely big enough to admit the both of them, she seems strangely small.

Young even.

She curls her fingers around the nearby towel rack like a kid gripping the monkey bars.

“I used to think that maybe that was the best way to atone for everything I’d done,” she continues, her voice ever distant, so perfectly controlled. “To be so reckless with my life that if I died during a mission, someone might actually call it heroic.”

A laugh, short and humorless, entirely disaffected from the horrible words that the same voice just spoke.

Yelena wraps her arms loosely around her stomach.

And represses the primal urge to shudder.

But wish though she could, she can’t look away from Natasha Romanoff.

Mesmerized.

Horrified.

Concerned.

She should hate this woman.

For all of these many years, she has loved her unconditionally.

“But then I got with the Avengers, you know, and I was suddenly in the public eye, tasked to save people, to try and protect my team…”

A violent pause.

Natasha lets go of the towel rack rather abruptly but neatly folds the rag over the top of it.

“It’s different when you’re on a team,” she finally shrugs. “You start making exit strategies because it’s not just your life on the line anymore.”

“So that’s what we are, huh?” Yelena can’t stop herself from asking. Her voice drips its own sarcasm; it relishes in mockery; she hopes it’s enough to hide her hurt. “A team?”

They’d once been family.

Every night, Natasha told her that she loved her.

Every night, Yelena replied just the same.

And in all the years afterwards, there was always a small part of her that hadn't lost hope that her big sister was going to come back for her one day, that she was going to bring the Avengers and rescue her—rescue all the Widows—from Dreykov.

She got out.

Thousands of girls didn't.

“For now,” comes the quiet reply. “C’mon. Finish getting ready.”

Natasha doesn’t look behind her when she walks out.

Yelena is starting to think she never does.

#natasha romanoff #yelena belova #black widow #mcu #black widow spoilers #reginianwrites #f: mcu #I HAVE SO MANY GD EMOTIONS

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fruitcoops · 4 years

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I ADORE YOUR WRITING!!! it’s helping me get over sw ending😭😭 could u do 58 aand 63 for cap?? i need more of your writing and the prompts are so good!!!

Y’all really love seeing my sweet boy hurting, huh? Lucky for you, I enjoy writing angst with a happy ending. This is a continuation of Sea Salt and Sunshine, and is loosely based on my own experience with heatstroke (pro tip: don’t get it halfway up the Grand Canyon). Always always always remember to monitor your water/ salt balance! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Prompt 58: “You’re shaking. What’s wrong.”

Prompt 63: “Hey, woah. Don’t pass out on me.”

TW for heatstroke symptoms!

The day grew hotter and hotter and hotter until Sirius was ready to follow James’ smoothie’s example and melt into a puddle. He was not built for Florida weather, and certainly not for doing exercise on ninety-degree beaches.

“I can’t wait to be home,” Remus groaned as he let his head fall back against the trunk of a palm tree. Sirius winced at the state of his arms; from his elbows to his mid-back was a vicious red color that worsened despite their best efforts with aloe and sunscreen. “I miss being able to breathe without also feeling like I’m inhaling water.”

Black fuzz sprinkled the edges of Sirius’ vision and he shook his head to clear them. “Woah.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, all good.” He didn’t feel all that sick, just wobbly and unusually cold. “Did the wind pick up?”

“No?” Remus sat up and touched his arm. “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

Sirius shook his head again, then grabbed the nearest vacant beach chair for support as the world tilted. “I don’t know, I’m just really dizzy all of a sudden.”

“Have you been drinking water?”

“Tons.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Lunch,” he snapped, suddenly impatient. Guilt and confusion washed over him as Remus paused. He never spoke to him like that. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I think you might have heatstroke. If your salt and water balance is off, it’s easier to fall under. Stay in the shade while I grab some goldfish or something, okay?” Remus’ hands were cool when he rubbed them up and down Sirius’ arms. “Baby, are you listening?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Will you check on the other guys, too?”

“Of course I will.” Remus’ face creased with worry as he jogged down the beach to talk to Coach. Sirius closed his eyes and focused on taking deep breaths to calm himself.

In. Playing volleyball on their first day there.

Out. Tossing Remus into the water like a sack of potatoes.

In. Winning their first Florida game after a close third period.

Out. The dozens of freckles that scattered Remus’ cheeks by their second afternoon in the sun.

In. Pots’ endless quest to find a blue smoothie.

Out. They would be back in chilly Gryffindor soon. Cold sounded good right now.

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?”

Sirius blinked and grimaced in the sun. Everything was fractured or blurred by the light, even the shadowed outline of Remus’ face. “That was really fast.”

“I was gone for about ten minutes, actually. Kuny’s got heatstroke too, and Bliz got a bad sunburn from a missed sunscreen spot. Coach called off practice for the rest of the day because it isn’t going to cool down any time soon.”

“Mhmm.” In all honesty, Sirius only caught every third word, but the gist was clear. “Heading home?”

“Yeah, can you stand up?”

“Of course I can stand up,” he scoffed, struggling to his feet and gripping the nearest tree for support.

“Do you need an arm?”

“Nah, I got it.” Sirius took two shaky steps toward the path to the parking lot and stumbled, only for Remus to catch him and steady him around the chest.

“Hey, woah. Don’t pass out on me. Let me help.” Remus wound his arm around Sirius’ waist and took some of his weight as they made their way off the beach onto solid ground again. The concrete was blazing hot, but Sirius’ head had started to pound as soon as he stood and his teeth rattled with each pulse of his heart. Something crinkly was pressed into his hand—only then did he realize he was sitting in the car. “Seatbelt on, eat these.”

They pulled out of the lot just as Sirius managed to open the bag and toss back a handful of salty crackers; he didn’t immediately feel better, but some of the growing nausea passed and he felt marginally less sweaty. Five minutes and a kids’ pack of goldfish later, he was coherent enough to notice Remus’ hands flexing and gripping the steering wheel. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself. You’re doing your anxiety hands.”

“You know, for someone as repressed as you were, you’re remarkably intuitive.”

Sirius laughed lightly. “You’re one to talk. I’m serious, Re, this was my own fault.”

“I should’ve been paying attention,” he muttered.

“That’s not your job anymore. All of us should have been paying closer attention to when we ate and drank water. Honestly, we probably shouldn’t have had practice during a heat wave.”

Remus’ lips quirked up. “It’s Florida, there’s always a heat wave.”

“True.” Sirius looked down and realized he was still in his swim trunks. “Aw, I’m sweating all over your seat.”

“Oh no, not that,” Remus said. “I’ve never had your sweat anywhere near me before.”

“How will you possibly survive?”

Remus reached over and rested his hand on Sirius’ thigh for a moment. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks to you. I’m still all gross, though.”

“Yeah, you’re going right in the shower when we get back,” Remus laughed, flipping his turn signal on. “It’s going to be the coldest shower you’ve ever taken.”

“What? Why?”

“Cold water is good for easing heatstroke. Also, your skin is super overheated right now and no matter what the temperature is, you’ll probably still feel cold.”

Sirius closed his eyes and laced their fingers together. “A fake ice bath. Okay.”

The car was quiet after that, aside from the radio and Remus’ soft humming as he ran his thumb over Sirius’ knuckles. A cold shower sounded like heaven, and then perhaps a nice long nap before they packed for their early-morning flight. They deserved a vacation day.

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

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Go Play Your Video Games

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Teen (T) Word Count: ~5k Notes: This came from the prompt “You beat my high score? You... beat my high score?” from my anonymous pal. I went the high school au route - it turned into something a little more interesting than I anticipated. Might follow this one up if you guys are interested! Warnings: Steve Rogers is kind of a tool & there’s a bit of “violence”. Summary:

Tony grew up in a small town where everyone knows everyone and nothing ever changes. Then a new kid comes to town and flips everything upside down. Peter is everything Tony’s usual is not and he’s a big fan of that.

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

In Littleton, things still moved pretty slow. Not that progression didn’t happen – it was 2020, after all. Yet, there were many things that existed from the “past”; drive-in theaters, record stores, and most importantly – an arcade. For most of the youth in the town, nightly hangouts met up at the record store and finished the night off at the arcade. At least, that’s how things were for Tony.

Spending time at home really wasn’t an option – despite being insanely intelligent and successful in his athletic endeavors, Tony’s father hated him. He wasn’t sure of the reason, it felt innate from the time Tony could remember trying to gain his approval. The older he got, the easier it was to ignore it – not being in the house was one of the best ways to do that.

Because of that, the arcade quickly became a place that Tony could disappear into for hours on end. Whether he was meeting the guys there later in the evening or only had a couple of hours between school and football, Tony spent all of his free time there. It astounded him, how long he could play on one quarter – how each of the games on his row had AES in the high scorer column. Regardless of the way his father felt about him, the arcade never let him down.

Then, Peter Parker moved to town.

The fact that a new family was moving into Littleton had the rumor mill running. In all of the years of Tony’s life, he only saw a couple of new additions to the small town. Most of the families within it, including his own, were old and had rich roots in the businesses that kept the small community running. Stark Industries was over 100 years old and stood as a looming reminder of the next disappointment he planned to add to the pile of shit his family already disliked about him.

When Tony first heard about it, they were starting football training camp. They were a small 2A school, but the team and the 5 straight state titles the school brought home were important – so, most of the parents and friends of the people on the field were crowded around the sidelines. Ever since Tony could remember, practice was a social affair just as much as the athletic gathering that it should have been.

He and Clint were doing running drills when Steve ran over, a new sort of look on his face. “Have you guys heard about the new kid coming to town? Peggy told me that he was a senior just like us and smart as hell,” Steve babbled, excitement and a certain kind of fear lacing his voice. Tony knew that Steve hated changed the most out of them all – always had.

Stopping himself, Tony turned his full attention to the conversation, his aversion to change not anywhere close to Steve’s. The small-town life wasn’t for him, he secretly had a calendar that he crossed off the days left until graduation (only 297 to go!) A new person brought something different and that was more intriguing than anything else – even the football being chucked at his head.

Tony turned just in time, his hands coming up to stop the ball from hitting him square in the face. “Hey, fuck off, Barnes. Your boyfriend is telling us about the new blood coming to town,” Tony hollered across the field, a smirk slipping across his face at the blush that immediately pooled in Bucky’s cheeks. Things between him and Steve were still newer, and Tony loved to give them shit for it.

A throat clearing had Tony turning back to Clint and Steve, both of them looking a little worse for wear. “As I was saying – this new kid is supposed to not only be smart, but good at sports, too – “

Try as he might, Tony couldn’t get the thought of newness and what came from that out of his head. Last year, he started to get chatters from several different universities wanting to sign him to play football. Though his father wanted nothing to do with it, Maria took Tony to a couple of different overnight stays to see what the college athletics thing was all about; he fell in love with it instantly.

The thought of getting to appreciate something shiny and new before heading off to whatever school he could convince to take him made his heart beat a little faster. Littleton needed something to spark a little fire in the mundaneness of scheduled and unmoving life.

Steve’s pointed look and the repeated question of “what do you think about this, Tony?” brought him away from the daydreams, his eyes blinking for a second.

Running a hand through his sweaty hair, Tony shrugged his shoulders. It wouldn’t do him any good to go gushing or anything. “I haven’t thought about it,” he decided to reply, instead. “It’ll be nice to have some uniqueness in this godforsaken place.” Tony shot Steve a wink and reached across the way, his hand giving his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just keep your fingers crossed he doesn’t have a better arm than you.”

Practice went off without a hitch after that – Fury called them in for a huddle and they got to work. Luckily, Tony spent a bunch of time with the rest of the guys working out, so the drills and running felt like a piece of cake. It was good to be back to some semblance of a routine, even if that meant spending less time surrounded by his beloved video games. They’d still be there when he was done sweating for the day.

And they were – still standing there when he walked into Munchies later that day. It took him a while to shower and get away from the rest of the group, which meant he hit the games when the floor wasn’t busy. Changing in $5 for quarters, Tony headed to his most favorite game – Galaga. Most of his attention was usually spent on the dark screen with ships and missiles flying across it.

Tony set down the lot of quarters on the ledge of the game by the player 2 joystick, one of them already in his hand to slip into the coin slot. Yet, he stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the top score screen flash in front of him. Instead of AES as usual, the initials PBP were sitting above his, the score more than a 1000 points better than his. Sucking in a breath, Tony felt his hand clench into a fist. 2 things ran across his mind in that instant – how the fuck was he going to score another 1000 points and who the hell was PBP?

----

He didn’t have to wait long to put a face to the initials.

The very next day at practice, the collective was staring over at the far end of the field – the bespoken new kid was putting his cleats on; it was obvious that everyone was staring, so it looked like he was trying not to stare back. When he looked up, Tony got the air knocked out of him. Whatever shit the other guys were saying completely blew past him. Getting up, Tony started over in his direction.

Not only did he look well built, which would come in handy on the field, this new kid had pale skin that seemed to go on for miles. His sleeveless shirt did nothing to hide the tight bundles of muscle covering his arms and upper chest. As if the long, lean limbs weren’t enough, Tony noticed that the stranger wore his hair longer, the curls at the back of his neck barely grazing the surface of his shirt. The longer bits in the front were pulled back by a gray headband to complete the look.

More than anything, Tony instantly wanted to know more about the beautiful person confidently striding over to him. Since things ended between him and Beck the year before, Tony hadn’t even thought about going after someone new. Yet, his eyes glazed over a little bit when the guy started to jog, his muscles clenched with every step and the sway of his hair was slightly hypnotic.

Tony forced himself to suck in a couple of gulps of air before the new guy was standing right in front of him, a smile on his face. “Hey man, I’m Pete.” He spoke without preamble and stuck his hand out between them like there wasn’t a group of 50 dudes staring the two of them down.

Thinking fast, Tony grabbed his hand and squeeze, the gentle up and down of their shake just as distracting as the movement of Peter’s hair in the wind. He probably held on much longer than necessary before reining himself in. “You must be the coveted new kid. Nice to meet you, Pete. I’m Tony,” he replied lightly, his head turning a bit. “I’m not sure you’re going to get anything other than that from those guys. Want to warm up with me?”

The ease in which Peter accepted brought a grin to his face – Tony caught Steve staring at him as the moved further onto the field, but he simply shot him the middle finger, put his head down, and jogged after Peter.

Leather flew across the air at him with a sharp snap – his warmup toss seemed to be more accurate than any of Tony’s best throws. Tony caught the ball a couple more times before turning his focus back to Peter. “So, where are you from, Pete? We don’t get a lot of transplants.” Though Tony didn’t really give a shit, the rest of the guys would be breathing down his neck for answers later on.

“I’m from Queens, actually. My aunt got a job at SI, so here we are,” Peter replied, his throwing mechanics never faltering as he spoke. “You can tell them my last name is Parker and I’ll be trying to play quarterback.” Peter smirked at him; the ball still held tightly in his hands. Tony watched his eyes move passed his shoulder to the group that was still looking at the two of them intently.

A laugh fell from his lips before he could stop it. Tony rested his hands on his hips and let the feeling wash over him. It was refreshing, to be around someone that didn’t have to think for 2 days before putting all of the pieces together. “I think I’d rather let them find out by themselves.” Then, because it also took Tony a second to piece things together, he realized he was talking to PBP – the Galaga genius.

“Have you been to Munchies?” Tony asked, his smile growing a bit wider when a look of recognition rolled across Peter’s face.

Peter threw the ball at Tony before responding – his hands were quick, the whole vision of it almost distracting enough to not put his own hands up in time. “You mean the arcade? Yeah, I went when we got in last night. I love all of those old games.”

Shaking his head, Tony let his fingers curl over the laces of the ball, the feeling comforting. “You beat my high score? You… beat my high score? You’re PBP! How the hell did you get to be so good?” Tony let the surprise roll off of him, the soft look on his face hopefully enough to make Peter understand the sarcasm of the words.

“Ah, so you’re AES. I wondered who had the top dog spot. Don’t worry – I’ll only beat your high score on a couple of those games. My real talent is skee-ball. Coney Island isn’t too far from where I grew up – I learned everything I know there,” Peter remarked, his eyes shining brightly at the exchange.

Chucking the ball back, Tony forced himself not to beam – this new kid was already an interesting addition to the masses, and he knew him for less than 20 minutes. “You’ll have to show me some time,” Tony said right before the whistle blew. He caught the ball one last time and closed the distance between them. “You’re going to be a good addition around here, Peter Parker.”

----

Despite how enamored Tony felt with Peter and his presence, the rest of his friend group did not share the same opinion. For one thing, Peter was gunning for Steve’s spot and that didn’t sit well with either him or Bucky. Peter didn’t help himself when he came out and blew them all away in sprints – he was fast and strong; a combination that not a lot of people could cop to. His knowledge of the game became apparent when he took to the plays like he ran them constantly, not just once before. Like everyone else feared – the new kid brought change, and not a single person around Littleton liked change.

A few weeks after Peter’s arrival, Tony convinced him to head to Munchies with him – they talked frequently about it and like he predicted, Peter took over his highest score spot on a couple more games. It was about time Tony saw the master in his element. After practice, Tony opened Peter’s door for him as they climbed into the black Mustang Tony restored himself the previous summer.

“The customization you did to this thing is incredible, Tony,” Peter mentioned when Tony climbed in and started to get settled. “You said you did a lot of work, but I didn’t think you meant – this much.” His eyes widened a little as he took in all the shiny things Tony added around the car.

His favorite thing, the new sound system in the dash, pulled his Spotify up and started to play the more recent Kings of Leon album – the deep sounds of Caleb Followill’s voice swarming around them. Smiling, he turned the volume down a bit; his father didn’t understand his obsession with creating things, but it felt good to sit in something he brought back from the dead. The car was just the first step in a long journey of creation – Tony wouldn’t settle for anything less.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention to getting the car on and into traffic before he thought to respond. “It was basically just a rusty frame and a couple of axels when I bought it. I redid the engine, transmission, brake system – all the fun stuff under the hood. Steve, Bucky, and I did the exterior – Buck’s an artist, so the paint job is all him.”

Peter shifted a little in his seat, Tony caught the movement out of the corner of his eye as he stopped at the light. When he looked over, he was facing Tony. “So, you’re into engineering and stuff, then? Engine restoration isn’t rookie work,” Peter said softly, the cutest smile on his face. He seemed relaxed, which made Tony feel at ease, too.

The comfortability that existed in the small space between them was unlike anything Tony ever experienced.

“I am, yeah. The family business is so far outside of that scope that I kind of keep it to myself. I’m almost done with an Associate’s of Science so I can start into a Mechanical Engineering program wherever I decide to go to college. Littleton Community College does this degree transfer thing with the high school, so I’ve been using the garage there since my freshman year.” Tony blinked, the thought of saying that much in one breath pulling a blush to the surface of his skin.

“You’re smart, too?” Peter questioned, a hand coming up to his chest in fake exasperation. In the days since getting to know each other, Tony brought up many topics of conversation that were well beyond his other friends, but not Peter – it was clear that as intellectuals, there was a mutual appreciation of the other’s mind.

“Jokes aside, that’s really cool. Seems like we’re going to be competing for highest scorer in school, too.” As he spoke, he reached a hand out and grazed Tony’s extended arm, the touch like a scorch of fire against his skin. It lingered, the heat of it. Then, Peter dropped his hand and let it rest lightly on the edge of Tony’s thigh.

Before Tony could stop it, a hearty laugh left his lips – Peter brought competition into everything and set out challenges for them both to overcome; even in the few short weeks of knowing him, Tony understood that. It felt a different kind of good, being with him – he loved his friends, but like all things about Peter, his feelings towards him were completely unique. It felt easy to reach down and wrap his fingers around Peter’s – their hands resting on his leg.

“I feel like there’s no competition, though. I’ve never gotten anything less than an A in my life,” Tony remarked proudly, his fingers giving Peter’s a squeeze.

The snort he heard on the other side of the car made his heart pang – another point in the bank of things he liked about Peter. It was getting rather full, between his smarts and the quippy shit he had to say to any of the guys that ragged on him – it was hard to not be adding things to it on a daily basis. So when they drove by the arcade, Tony kept driving; Peter’s nod as they met eyes for a second made it easy to do.

Instead, Tony drove them out of Littleton and across the miles of empty space between there and the next town over. They talked about everything – Peter’s want to do Biomedical Engineering and the multiple sport talents he’d be showing off throughout the year. Tony learned about his uncle Ben and the unfortunate death that brought Peter and his aunt there to begin with.

In return, Tony told him a little bit about growing up in a small town and the immense pressure that came with being a Stark when he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the name or anything that came with it. When he talked about his dad, Peter let their fingers tangle together, the anchor of his touch making it a little easier to gush some of the details that he never thought to tell another soul.

It was so easy to lean across the center console and press his lips to Peter’s when they pulled up outside of the small house the Parker’s now lived in. The hand that was tangled with Peter’s all night reached up to cup his cheek lightly, the skin there soft and smooth under his fingertips. Tony let himself linger for a couple of minutes before pulling back, a shy smile slipping across his lips as he did.

“I had a good time, Tony,” Peter mumbled, his cheeks just as flushed as Tony’s felt. “Let’s actually go to the arcade sometime – I’ll cash out the first round.” With that, he leaned over and gave Tony a kiss on the cheek, then got out – all of it happening before Tony could even think to reply or give back or even say goodbye.

Blinking, Tony shook his head – the haze of being with Peter overwhelming him, making him lose himself for a second. The sound of On Call hit his ears when he resurfaced – the music pulling him back down to where gravity had ahold of him again. Before pulling away from the curb, Tony ducked down to see Peter leaned up against the door frame, eyes on Tony.

He didn’t look away until Peter was no longer in his sight. A goofy smile settled on his lips, the feeling of happiness settling in and taking hold.

----

The inevitable blow up Tony expected from day one finally happened right after the 1st game of the season.

Despite Steve being the starting quarterback for 3 years, Fury trusted his gut and put Peter in. It paid off, too – between his throwing abilities and the collective talent of the offense, Littleton was up by 30 at the end of the first half. It was obvious that a few people were upset by the change, but the juice the team got from the squeeze of Peter’s efforts was more important than hurt feelings (so was a win by 50 points, but who was counting?)

Tony met Peter at the edge of the field when the last seconds of the 4th quarter trickled down, his arms wrapping around the large pads that covered both their shoulders. The chemistry between them extended to the field, Tony went for 4 touchdowns that night.

Excitement was not the feeling that Tony walked into the locker room to, however – after Fury gave his post-game speech and hyped them up for post-game walk through the next day, the tangible tension came to a head. Tony got out of his gear, into the shower, and changed as fast as he possibly could. Grabbing Peter when he noticed he was ready, Tony directed them out of the locker room and into fresh air that wasn’t tainted with misplaced anger.

“Me playing is really that big of a deal? We won – the team played great. I don’t see what the issue is,” Peter said as they walked towards Tony’s Mustang. During the last couple of weeks of practice, the reality of Peter starting started to sink in for everyone – including Steve, who already felt the need to keep the grudge he formed before ever even meeting Peter.

“You know the answer to that question, Pete. This is a small town. Steve and his family and all of the people that know his family have seen him play all game every game for the past 3 years. There’s no getting around that dynamic, Pete – that’s why I want out so bad. It’s toxic and leaves no room for new or change or anything other than the usual. You have to understand that, at least,” Tony replied.

Peter sighed deeply, his shoulder bumping into Tony’s in silent agreement. “Okay, I do get that. I do – it’s just nothing personal. I know that’s not the fucking point, but it seems like it should be.”

Getting to the car, Tony dropped his bag by the passenger side door and let his arm trap Peter between himself and the car. He let a palm drift to Peter’s cheek, Tony’s thumb brushing over the seam of plush lips. “It should be, Pete. It doesn’t mean that it is.” Tony said truthfully, his own knowledge of being stuck in the box of the people around him fresh in his mind. “You just keep doing what you’re doing. I like it, at least.”

Their lips met in a soft kiss, Peter leaning forward to seal their lips together. Tony smiled into it and let his hand move into the still wet locks of Peter’s hair. The idea of getting away quickly vaguely registered – Tony broke the kiss and took a step away from him to break the spell Peter’s presence put him under. “Want to actually go to Munchies?”

It didn’t take anything other than Peter’s slight nod to have Tony opening his door, and walking around to his own side of the car, his bag getting tossed in the backseat as he got in. Tony made quick work of backing out and getting them on the road towards the arcade. It was a little more crowded than usual, but it was a Friday night – the crowds were inevitable.

As promised, Peter cashed out a $10 bill and split the quarters between them. Tony directed them towards the skee-ball immediately, his curiosity in Peter’s talent wining out over the need to kick some ass in Street Fighter. The way Peter’s eyes lit up said he made the right choice and for a solid 20 minutes, Tony watched in awe.

“The trick is to aim the ball high on the side so that when it banks, it catches the lip of the double bonus,” Peter muttered, his arm swinging gracefully, the ball doing exactly what he described. Ticket after ticket came barreling out of the game. The thought of having the skee-ball machines turned off because of too much prize distribution was quickly becoming a reality.

Unable to contain himself after Peter’s 8th game and the smiles that came with every play, Tony placed a hand on the other’s hip. The touch was enough for him to turn around, Peter’s hands wrapping around his shoulders tightly. They didn’t need to be making out in the arcade, but a kiss or two wouldn’t hurt anyone. Meeting in the middle, their lips met in a soft kiss – the shockingly familiar feeling of Peter against his front overtaking him.

The sudden shout of his name had him pulling back – the sound of Steve’s voice unmistakable. Tony thought about letting his lips linger, the forceful tone of his friend’s shriek one he didn’t like very much. Deciding against that, Tony detached from Peter completely, his hands drifting to settle into the depths of his pockets.

“Stevie – surprised to see you here,” Tony answered, his eyebrows quirking. Since he started to hang out with Peter, the rest of his friend group didn’t go out of their way to spend too much time with him. The usual nights of hanging out with a big group were reduced to Peter and Tony – something he actually wasn’t upset about at all.

Steve settled in front of him, Bucky and Clint on his flanks. “What did he do to gain your loyalty like this? Everyone else is pissed about tonight and you’re here making out with the person wreaking havoc.” Steve’s voice sounded petulant, the cross of his arms adding to the effect.

“Wreaking havoc? Steve, can you hear yourself? Peter is here living his life – which happens to include playing football on the same team that you do. What’s happening here has nothing to do with loyalty. He’s better than you, that’s all there is to it,” Tony stated bluntly – his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure if that was the right approach to take – but there wasn’t much to be done about it now.

His friend looked taken aback for a second, the blue of his eyes darkening. “How could you choose him over us? We’ve been your friends since birth, Tony.” The words were cutting and by the barely withheld smile on his face, Steve knew it, too.

“The fact that you’re playing that card is exactly why I’ll gladly stand by Peter. You’re too wrapped up in your own shit to realize that the team did well tonight – no matter how bad you felt about standing on the sideline, you should know how important that is. My friendship with you should not depend on my relationship with Peter. You’re my best friend, Steve – but I’m not going to let you make that sort of decision for me.”

In retrospect, he should have seen the punch coming – Steve got angrier with every one of Tony’s words. Throughout their life, Steve had been known to speak with his hands before thinking it through. It still stung, though – the throb of the punch and the fact that Steve delivered it at all. His hand shot up to cradle his cheek, a bruise already starting to form there.

It looked like Peter was going to try and retaliate, so Tony moved in front of him quickly. “It’s not worth it,” Tony whispered before Peter could protest or try and move him out of the way. He could do it, they both knew that; the sound of his voice must have reached something in him – Peter stopped in his tracks.

“I think you’re going to really regret doing that, Steve. Not because I’m going to hold it against you, but because you’re going to feel like a total asshole when I don’t.” Tony flashed him a smirk, his cheek smarting at the movement. Softening his voice, Tony spoke again. “Please get the fuck out of here, man. I think we’re done for the night.”

Despite the stupidity he just showed, Steve nodded stiffly and turned around to walk out the door. He shot a remorseful look over his shoulder, but Tony ignored it, his attention shifting back to Peter, instead. He let out a soft moan when the coolness of Peter’s hand touched his cheek, the other’s grip there locking their gazes. “Thanks for not letting me beat the shit out of him,” Peter whispered, his nose brushing against Tony’s.

Soaking up the touch, Tony felt himself smiling. “That’d make him right. The key is to always be one step ahead.”

Peter let him go then, his eyes drifting towards the entrance. “Want to get out of here?” he asked, the adrenaline of the situation obviously sucking the fun out of the great time they were having right before it.

Without thought, Tony nodded, his eye throbbing as he did. Grinning, he grabbed for Peter’s hand and twined their fingers together, his grip tight. “Yeah, I really do,” Tony answered, the feeling of how right that was on so many levels washing over him.

Between the contentment and the big grin Peter kept on shooting his way, Tony figured a punch in the face wasn’t the worst thing to take in the name of love.

#starker #ironspider #bobbie writes #nonnie #anonymous #go play your video games

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ai-katsuu · 4 years

Text

Forgotten Nightmares (2/3)

chapters: 1 2 3

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favorite chapter!

-----

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Goldie asked.

“Yeah, I used to come to these parts all the time, but I never quite made it past the Yeti’s in the area,” Audrey said as she moved past a glacier, “Well neither did Frost.” she mumbled.

“If even Frost didn’t make it past them then how safe are we?” Snow questioned as she dug her foot out from the large pile of...well, snow.

“It’s October,” Briar explained, “I read that they hibernate this time around in preparation to help Santa Claus for Christmas!” Briar was leading the pack, as she was the one with the most stamina.

“I really hope I’m on the Nice List,” Gwen breathed out, a little tired, “I didn’t know what I was doing when I ate those Elvish cookies. They get scary.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to get my gifts this year!” Peter, who was having the easiest time, floated above them. Gwen frowned at this action.

“Please, you probably hold the record for the naughty list, almost tied with Frost probably..” Audrey said.

Gretel wasn’t listening to the conversation as she looked at her own device. It was a small, black, brick like device that had several green circles around it’s glass portion. There was a green line that went around the circle and another tiny green dot that itched her mind. When Audrey took a look at it before, she told her to call it a GPS device. Gretel wasn’t sure what that meant but she liked the name.

“Whatcha looking at?” Peter stooped down to her level.

“I think somethings wrong,” she mumbled.

Peter took in a sharp amount of air, “Yeesh, I wasn’t gonna say anything about your coat, but agreed. I’ll chuck it over the next mountain we pass.”

“What? No.” she frowned, “I’m talking about the F7, something’s not right.” the rest of the group had their attention caught and they listened in.

“You see this orange dot?” Gretel pointed at the screen, “That’s supposed to be the town they’re in. This green dot is them, more specifically Pino.” she pointed to the dot all the way opposite to the screen.

“Wow, you keep a tracker on your boyfriend?” Goldie cocked her head.

Gretel frowned at her, “No, I just gave one to him in case something went wrong, it is their first mission after all.”

“Wait so, why aren’t they at the village?” Snow asked.

“That’s the weird thing, I checked ten minutes ago and they were there, and when I just saw now it’s as if they were transported all the way over to the opposite side of Fairy Tale Island.”

“You think they’re in danger?” Briar held her hands to her chest.

“I don’t know...but I don’t like this.” she responded.

Audrey nodded, “We should go check on them.”

Gwen agreed, “If they’re fine, then we can just go back home if ever. We don’t even have to let them see us. ”

The rest of the group agreed to the plan. The group took a large amount of snow and melted it to water, so that Audrey could make a slide that would freeze the water, making the trip down easier.

On the other side, The Fearless Seven had just woken up. The first thing they did was look at their skin.

“Are we burnt?!” Jack looked at his hands. Unfortunately, they were tied to their backs, and their ankles were restrained as well.

“No,” Hans confirmed as he looked over his shoulder, “But those were definitely flames.”

Arthur took a look at their surroundings, it was a very large, empty, almost sewer-like, circular room. They couldn’t even see the ceiling of the room as it was probably a dome.

They were all against the wall as there was only one ray of light in the center of the room. Merlin looked up and saw that there was a window at the top of the dome, “So we weren’t out for that long…”

“Your resistance is strong..I’ll give you guys that.” a silky male voice echoed through the room.

“Who are you?” Merlin asked.

“Oh, how I used to be known by many,” a warm draft of wind passed by them, “I used to scare the hearts out of children and adults. I sent people of all ages to therapy, depression, and trauma. What a wonderful time that was.” they could hear the sounds of hooves clopping through the walls, “But alas, my legend faded into time, I was forgotten. The deal was sealed when you seven began restoring hope in the citizens of...Fairy Tale Island.” he said mockingly.

“Finally, we can all put an end to this.”

Something ran its way down the Fearless Seven’s spines. They began to sweat, hunch their shoulders and shook as they pressed their backs to the wall as much as they could. They had long forgotten who this was but nightmares and all their fears came running back from childhood, stories told by their elders when they saw who stepped out of the shadows.

A top of the black horse that had bloodshot eyes, was a man gigantic in height and muffled in a black cloak. On his side was the scabbard said to hold the sword sharper than Excalibur. They could not see his head, for he had none as blood trickled down his neck.

Pino almost threw up in his mouth as he shook in fear, ‘I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. Why didn’t I remember sooner-’

“Scared, puppet boy?!” a flaming pumpkin head came close to Pino and smiled maniacally. It let out a mocking laugh before looking at him seriously. “Your father used to be terrified of me as a young boy. Shaking outside of his father’s shop because he refused to walk in the woods late at night. What a delightful sight that was for me.”

“Don’t you dare talk about Papa like that!” Noki yelled furiously.

“Or what?!” The head quickly turned to him, “You’ll lie to me? Again and again and again?”

Noki was about to yell something back at him before he took a glance at Arthur and Merlin. In all the five years he had known them, he had never seen their faces in that expression. Their terrified sweaty faces told him one thing,

“Don’t be stupid.”

“That’s what I thought,” the head backed away. “And you? Got anything else to say?” He turned to Kio. He merely kept quiet and stared at him.

“You’re the...” Merlin swallowed, “The Headless Horseman…” his voice came out much more shaky than he wanted it to be. Nevertheless, he continued, “You were the one person who everyone feared. You were beyond a nightmare...until today’s Golden Age-”

“That’s right, you son of a bitch!” the Headless Horseman yelled. “It was you seven who began fixing this Island’s problems. It was a joy for me when you all had suddenly gone missing, then little by little, one by one, you began resurfacing.” the head floated back to its body, it’s left arm held it by its side. “My story is so old that my letter fooled you into thinking Sleepy Hollow was actually in Fairy Tale Island. New York is a sham now…” he mumbled.

“You wrote that letter?” Jack spoke and immediately regretted it as soon as he did.

“Of course, beanstalk. I was surprised how easy it was to bring you, idiots, here. Once I decapitate all of you at midnight, soon the townspeople will be singing the song as old as time, just in time for Halloween. Come now,

When ghosts have a midnight jamboree

They break it up with fiendish glee

Ghosts are bad but the one that’s cursed

Is the Headless Horseman, he’s the worst!”

The Headless Horseman laughed as he sang around the room. The F7, smart enough not to talk to each other, began formulating any sort of plan to escape, but all routes just seemed to lead to doom. He continued to sing as his horse trotted around:

“When he goes a-jogging across the land

Holding his noggin in his hand

Demons take one look and groan

And hit the road for parts unknown”

“Ah how I miss this melody!” he yelled out, “There’s-”

“There’s no fright like a spook that’s spurned,”

“They don’t like him and he’s really burnt,”

“Swears to the longest day he’s dead,”

“He’ll show them that he can get a head.”

Voices echoed from the top of the dome. For a moment, the F7 saw the Headless Horseman in disbelief before he got angry.

“Who’s there?!”

#red shoes movie #red shoes and the 7 dwarfs #red shoes and the seven dwarfs #red shoes #rsatsd #rsat7d

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harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

i could write it better than you ever felt it - nine

A/N: quick fun fact -- the Cleveland storm did happen on the 2007 tour. there’s footage on YouTube of the backdrop getting ripped off by the wind if you’re interested. #research

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, avoidance tactics, Catholic guilt

word count: 5.9k

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Shawn stirs, rolling onto his stomach. He lifts his pillow over his head.

Tap. Tap.

He sniffs and sighs. His pillow smells awful.

Tap. Tap.

He makes a snorting sound as he sits up to investigate. The van is hot and sticky, so the windows are fogged. He blinks slowly, acclimating to his awakeness.

The tapping sound seems to have stopped for the moment. Instead it’s replaced by a slender shadow leaning into the window for a peek. Shawn’s heart stutters. He sits forward on his bench to slide the van door open.

In a blast of muggy air and the familiar scent of citrus, Val is there, holding a pebble in one hand and a soccer ball in the other, looking apologetic.

“Can we talk?”

She waits for him patiently as he changes into shorts and sneakers, keeping her eyes low and her shoulders hunched. She spent most of the evening trying to wrangle either Bea or Raf to determine what exactly was said to Shawn -- it was Bea that finally cracked.

“You should talk to him,” Bea suggested breathlessly, laying a hand over Val’s. She was off in a hurry then, headed for her bunk to strategize so she could be ready when they arrived at the next stop.

She and Shawn walk in silence through the grounds in St. Petersburg, where they arrived caravan-style three hours ago. Shawn glances at the dim numbers on his tiny phone screen. It’s 2:14am. His heart sinks, remembering she can’t sleep without him.

“Cute stunt you pulled, with the pebble,” he mentions as they come up on a patch of grass under a street light, giving them enough illumination to kick the ball around.

Val swallows and attempts a shaky smile. “I figured I had to tread carefully after this morning.”

Shawn clears his throat and glances down at the scorched grass beneath them. He turns, hearing the thump of the ball hitting the ground.

“One on one?” she proposes, tossing her phone aside as she tips the ball in his direction.

He just nods, stopping the ball with his foot and nodding toward a fire hydrant several yards away. “That’s the other goal line.”

She agrees silently and starts skipping backwards on her toes as he jogs toward her, dribbling easily like he plays all the time even though he doesn’t -- he’s mostly been watching her play recently.

They’re silent aside from their heavy breath for a few minutes, warming up, volleying back and forth. Neither of them seem all that interested in scoring on the other. Something about kicking the ball between them, jogging around, stealing the ball away and back and back again, it’s comforting. Hypnotic, almost.

Val is startled into tripping over her own feet a little when he speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His head is down -- he’s concentrating on trying to toe the ball away from her. She lets it go so he can turn and head for her goal line. She jogs after him, prepared to let him score. He stops on a dime and turns just ahead of the fire hydrant. She almost smacks into his chest.

Val swallows. “It’s not supposed to matter.”

Shawn shakes his head incredulously, huffing, “Not supposed to. But it does.”

Val’s eyes slide shut. There it is.

The thing they’ve been dancing around, eyes shut and fingers tangled, avoiding together. It does matter to them, what happens when tour ends. They like to imagine it won’t, that they can pry apart and not each feel like they’ve somehow left something with the other, that they can continue on into the fall as planned.

“It matters,” Shawn restates weakly, kicking the ball to her.

Val stops it and makes a break for his goal line back the other way, scurrying quickly, hearing her pulse in her ears until she realizes he’s not following her. With the ball underfoot, she stops and turns to see him in the same spot with his hands on his hips.

“I think a part of me thought if I didn’t tell you about Oxford, neither of us would have to care what it meant.”

Shawn’s head lifts. He wanders toward the center of their little makeshift pitch. She follows his lead, leaving the ball behind.

“You’re going back to school,” Shawn states.

Val chews on her lower lip before answering, “I got into a very competitive art conservation program. I’ll be there for four years for my doctorate.”

Shawn blinks and in the fraction of a second his eyes are closed, he sees her bundled in a scarf, wisps of her hair (he imagines she’d wear it curly over there) floating in the misty weather as she walks along the river in a pair of sturdy boots. He’s not sure how exactly, because he’s only ever seen her in skinny jeans or tiny shorts and her vast collection of Vans, but this image feels completely… right. It’s almost painfully obvious.

“Yeah,” he breathes, overwhelmed by it for a moment, “That seems right.”

Val’s eyebrows lift. She’s not sure what he means but decides not to question it.

Shawn looks back down at her feet as they anxiously scuff the fraying grass.

“So that’s why you left Streets the first time. You want to be a conservator?”

Val bobs her head. “I wasn’t set on that path yet but I knew I wanted to go to school. I was always a little more academically inclined than Raf was. And I knew this wasn’t for me, this… the touring, the crowds, this life. It feels like… like maybe all this belongs to an older version of me. I wanted to come out this summer to be sure. I probably shouldn’t have -- I think maybe I gave Raf some false hope.”

“He didn’t want you to leave,” Shawn infers.

“I mean, I’m sure that’s not a secret. I just don’t know if people realize how much that changed everything. I think I really broke his heart,” she whispers, her voice cracking subtly.

Shawn heaves a sigh, planting his hands on his hips, staring up at a cloudless, starless sky. Val follows his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, “Because I should’ve known better than to start something I can’t finish.”

Shawn looks back down. Her nose twitches. The gentle breeze has her ponytail wrapping around her arm. She waits for him to react somehow.

With a single nod of his head, he turns away and heads back in the direction of the van. When he glances back, he watches the ponytail flick back and forth as Val dribbles the ball, practicing her footwork in silence.

There’s nothing like a hometown show.

Streets of Gold fans are out in droves. Raf wears a Colombian flag around all day like cape and speaks almost exclusively in Spanish, leaving Val in his wake to translate. On stage, he has the vim and vigor of a frontman on his first day of Warped Tour instead of one nearly a month deep in cold showers, dank, sweaty t-shirts and dirt. So, so much dirt.

When Raf is distracted like this, he’s easier to deal with. He doesn’t get on Val’s case, he doesn’t cling to Bea quite as heavily (and Val can tell because when he doesn’t, Bea bounces along after Val instead). Despite the events of the last 24 hours, things seem… normal.

Shawn studies from afar. Even he can’t resist the temptation of catching a Streets hometown show. Instead of watching the set with a hand in Val’s back pocket, singing what are often her own words back into her ear, he keeps a safe distance and plants himself by the Blessthefall merch booth, avoiding the prying gaze of Alex Gaskarth from a booth or two away.

Shawn thinks it’s probably good that Val and Raf are spending the evening with their family in Coconut Grove. If they were at the barbecue, Shawn might not be able to stop himself from doing something particularly stupid like walking up behind her, shrugging her into his arms and whispering that he’s heard from his mum that Oxford is beautiful and maybe she’d like a roommate?

Because the number of times he’s imagined that since he first heard the word “Oxford” tumble out of Rafael’s godforsaken mouth is… startling.

He’s doing the moody lead singer thing, perching on the bumper of the van with his acoustic and a notebook, staring at the sunset. The boys have largely left him alone today, sensing a disturbance in the force, and they’ve been distracted by their own success at having a record number of people crowd around the Smartpunk stage for them today.

They’re celebrating the way Shawn should be, getting wasted on the beach.

All except one.

Seth props himself up next to Shawn, lifting the notebook into his lap to keep from sitting on it, but he knows better than to flip through it or he’ll have a swallow-emblazoned fist aimed at his nuts. Shawn ignores him for as long as he possibly can but Seth will not be ignored, especially when he’s staring straight at him, unblinking.

“Yes?” Shawn sighs wearily, looking up from his bruised and battered guitar.

Seth lifts his eyebrows. “Start talking, dude.”

Shawn’s jaw goes tense for a moment. And then it falls open.

He tells Seth everything -- everything from Val and Bea and Raf, to Oxford, to the hotel night, to last night’s soccer date. It comes flying out of his mouth so easily in a way it wouldn’t when Shawn tried to sit and force it out in song. Seth listens to every word carefully, unflinchingly, taking it in.

Seth winces. “Yikes, dude. How long you been holding that in?”

Shawn nearly gasps for air at the end of his explanation. “Apparently too fucking long.”

Seth nods in agreement. “So… she’s leaving.”

A little piece of Shawn had hoped against hope that Seth would come out and say something inspiring like “love is love, it knows not of oceans or country borders, it can survive, follow your heart” or some bullshit. With his one weak statement, Shawn can see how it looks from the outside -- hopeless.

“She’s leaving,” Shawn breathes, annoyed with his visceral reaction, the tears in his eyes, for the girl he’s known for a month.

“This is so stupid,” Shawn chokes, pressing his palms against his eyes as he shakes his head, “It’s only been a few fucking weeks.”

“No it hasn’t,” Seth chuckles. That veil of wisdom that Seth lets cover his words sometimes is unfurled. Shawn looks over.

“It hasn’t only been weeks. C’mon. You’ve loved Valentina Moreno since you bought your first Streets album, flipped open the insert and saw her name as writing credit on every song. Man, you’ve been singing her words for years. You’ve loved her just as long.”

Shawn’s chest feels like it’s caving in. Seth has a way of saying things sometimes in just the right way, a way that really just gets him. Shawn suffers through another breath.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “I guess you’re right.”

Shawn chews on the inside of his pillowy lips and feels the heat of Seth’s gaze. He keeps his eyes down at his dusty Chucks, feeling the rhythm he was chasing down start to sing through his blood. He sniffs.

“I think what you have to decide now,” Seth begins, sighing like he’s weighed down by his own ever-present wisdom, “Is if you love her enough.”

Valentina stands outside St. Ezequiel Catholic Church in her mother’s pearls and an old pair of stilettos. She decided to walk the few blocks from her house to the church -- the suffering felt very Catholic.

She stalls. She glances down at her watch. Confession started 25 minutes ago, but she can’t get herself through the door. For one thing, Val hasn’t been inside a church since she was 12, the last time her grandparents visited from Bogota. She’s a little concerned she’ll burst into shameful flames the color of every one of the seven deadly sins.

But she needs to go in today. She’s been avoiding it. But today… there’s no more time.

You just have to go in. Just go inside, she reasons with herself, You can sit first and then when you’re ready, go into the confessional.

That’s enough motivation for now. She ascends the cement steps and walks inside. It’s dark and musty and the incense has her astral projecting back to the 90s which is just as unpleasant as it sounds. She dips her finger in the shell-shaped basin of holy water and makes the sign of the cross by memory, glancing around. For one thing, she’s over-fucking-dressed.

Woops. No swearing in church. Not even in your head, she scolds herself.

She gulps like a cartoon character and barely remembers to genuflect before she slides in to sit in a pew.

They haven’t changed the missals or the pamphlet designs. There’s something comforting in that. And also very Catholic.

Val chances a glance at the confessional. It looks empty on the parishioner side, but there’s a light behind the closed door where the priest sits.

Good, she thinks, he’s ready when I am.

Val eases down onto her knees and feels her pencil skirt protest. She wonders absently if the toes of her Jimmy Choos are scuffing on the brick floor. She winces and folds her hands, fighting to quiet her mind.

She looks up. Above the altar is an almost over-colorful mural of a Latino Christ overlooking the congregation, hovering above them with open arms, a quiet smile and pierced, bleeding hands. Val sighs.

“You poor bastard,” she breathes.

She closes her eyes. She recites the Hail Mary a couple times, then the Our Father, but she’s always liked the Hail Mary better. She had an affinity for Mary growing up.

She sucks on her top row of teeth and feels her eyes fill. Not anymore.

Five minutes pass. She calms herself down enough to wriggle to the confessional in her too-tight skirt. She closes the warped wooden door and sits.

“Hello, my child,” greets the priest in a thick Cuban accent.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” Val chokes, “It’s been… many years since my last confession.”

The priest is silent. So is Val.

Apparently she’s silent for too long. He clears his throat to prompt her.

Val closes her eyes. She takes one long, slow, deep breath. She opens them.

She stands. She runs.

The Tour must roll on.

It’s their driver Hernan’s favorite thing to say when they hit a mid-tour rut, when the novelty is gone, when they feel sweaty no matter how many showers they take, when they’re all plotting to kill each other in their sleep.

And indeed it must go on. With radio silence from Shawn and an active avoidance of Bea and her brother, Val is left to focus on… her job.

She wakes up early every day and it’s easy because she doesn’t really sleep (not without him). She gets the booth set up by herself, unloads merch boxes with Greg and Naveen. She fields visits from the All Time Low boys, from Hayley and sometimes the NFG and Yellowcard guys. She checks out different sets, reminding herself why she’s here -- the kids.

The kids never disappoint her, not even when they’re brats waiting in line or throwing change at her so they can catch the next set or signing. She sees familiar faces, the kids that treat Warped Tour like summer camp, showing up every day in a new city to follow the high. She doesn’t really get that, but a version of her used to.

She loves them, though. She loves the way they scream lyrics instead of sing them, the way they wear all black in the dead of summer, the dreamy looks on their faces when they’re so caught up in a performance the mud beneath their feet, the hundreds of people squashing them don’t even matter. She envies that. She misses it.

The Tour rolls on to Cleveland on August 2nd. Less than a month remains and with each passing day, she becomes less and less convinced Shawn will talk to her again. He’s kept busy by the boys and by his ever growing fanbase. It seems every time she passes Smartpunk, there are more and more kids gathered, singing his words back to him, giving him everything he’s ever wanted. They’ve outgrown the stage threefold, but the tour is too tightly scheduled to move them, so their audience swallows up every merch tent and signing table in its radius.

It’s glorious.

So she doesn’t go anywhere near him.

There are whispers about bad weather rolling in, but as of set-up time in the morning, the sky is light and overcast, nonthreatening. Val preps the tent as usual and bounces on her toes behind the table as she hands out change and slings t-shirts. The air feels charged, filled with the kind of energy people look back on after a big day and realize it was a warning sign.

The storm hits, and it’s worse than expected.

Shawn is getting food when the wind and rain picks up. It comes on suddenly, the way these things often do. Before long, the services staff is ushering them inside and things start to feel a little more serious.

“There are so many kids out there,” Shawn mutters, shaking his head as he watches some run for cover and some hustle inside to hide out with the growing mass of people. Seth hops up on his tiptoes to look over Francis’s head. He swears in agreement.

There’s paper everywhere, flying around in little tornados, kicking up smashed plastic water bottles and fallen flip flops. Shawn winces when a tree branch comes down, narrowly missing a merch tent that’s fighting to stay pinned into the ground.

There’s a commotion behind them. Shawn, squashed between dozens of people now, is tall enough to look over some heads. He spots the Streets band and crew. All but one.

Raf somehow feels Shawn’s eyes and meets them frantically.

“Val was at the tent!” he cries over the chatter around them.

Seth watches Shawn take off like a shot, slicing through twenty or so people to get to the door, wrench it open, and sprint out. He flattens his lips into a firm smile and nods in understanding.

But Shawn is long gone. He crosses yards like feet, using the full length of his legs to charge toward where he spotted the Streets tent on the venue map this morning.

His mind is blank -- it ignores the messages his body screams. It doesn’t register the lashing of rain against his face or the sudden tearing and overuse of cold muscles in every inch of his body. It only barely registers the flipping merch table that he leaps over like Indiana fucking Jones because it would slow him down and he can’t slow down.

He rips up the hill past groups of teenagers huddled under trees and crouching behind sturdier merch tables. As he runs past the amphitheater housing the main stage, he hears a mixture of terrible screams and adrenaline-pumped cries of wonder as the backdrop for Alkaline Trio’s set tears away and slaps itself in the wind. He keeps going.

The problem is he can’t really see. As he nears what he thinks was the tent’s location, he slows to a jog, squinting into the sideways rain to try to make out lettering on what’s left of merch tables and tents. Just as he’s about to give up and make a run for her bus to see if she’s there, he spots her.

She’s kneeling beside her tent shoving the table skirt into an enormous plastic box. Her brow is furrowed, her hair is wild and swinging around her face. She looks entirely unbothered by the idea of her own safety, merely annoyed that the storm is interrupting her day.

Shawn’s heart squashes into his ribs like it’s trying to peek through them and see her for itself. He grunts and follows its direction, hurrying up to grab her arm.

She looks shocked to see him, which hurts a little but not enough to focus on right now. He tries to pull her to her feet but she stays put.

“What the fuck are you doing? We have to go!” he cries, barely audible over the howling wind.

Val opens her mouth and a crack of thunder covers her words, proving Shawn’s point. He pulls at her harder.

“This shit’s going to be ruined! I’m not afraid of rain, Shawn, I’m from Miami!” she yells back petulantly.

Shawn is half a heartbeat away from slinging her over his shoulder like a fireman and hauling her back to her bus himself but the weather beats him to the punch and gives them pebble sized hail to contend with.

“Dammit!” Val cries, finally relenting. She stands, hunched with her arms over her head and leads the way to her bus at a clip that could rival Shawn’s.

Shawn’s glad she knows where she’s going because he can’t see shit. He doesn’t see the bus until they’re almost on top of it and by that time, the hail has grown to the size of ping pong balls.

Val throws the door open and jumps inside, whirling around when Shawn slams it behind them. To his surprise, he has to catch her by the arms as she lurches toward it like she’s trying to leave again.

“Where’s my brother? Where’s my band?” she cries, ready to Wonder Woman herself to get to them. Shawn holds her fast.

“They’re all fine. They’re inside by the main gate. Your band and crew and mine. I saw them,” he pants, willing her to look from the door into his eyes. She does and softens.

“Jesus Christ,” Val breathes, sagging in his grasp, closing her eyes for a moment.

Shawn swallows and looks around. The bus is empty. He drops his hands from around her biceps and lifts his eyebrows.

“Not afraid of rain, Moreno?”

Her eyebrows pull in as she frowns at him and crosses her arms over her dripping t-shirt. “Well it was just fucking rain until you brought the hail with you.”

Shawn snorts. “Sure. I brought the hail. Like I’m fuckin’ Snow Miser.”

Val rolls her eyes and chuckles, dropping her arms. She plops onto the leather couch with a squelch and winces.

“Ew.”

Shawn grins and offers her a hand. “You’re gross.”

Val stands and waits for him to drop her hand. He doesn’t.

Val rifles through Raf’s stuff for passably clean sweats and a t-shirt for Shawn because the bus starts to feel really cold with the AC inside and the drop in temperature outside. They dry off and change, using the bathroom in turns, and regroup in the front lounge to watch the storm batter the bus.

“God, I hope no one gets hurt,” Val whispers, curling up against the arm of the sofa with her chin perched on the windowsill.

Shawn sits beside her, absently dropping a throw pillow over her bare feet because he knows they get cold.

“It looked like venue security had a pretty good handle on it. The amphitheater is mostly covered, too.”

Val nods, staring out the window. Shawn watches her long lashes lift and close, watches her fingers beat out a rhythm against the leather like every drummer he’s ever known. He watches as her hair starts to dry into curls against her back.

“I’ve missed you,” he hears himself say.

It gets her attention. Her warm, dry lips part. He licks his.

“Missed you too,” she replies.

Shawn reaches out with cold fingers and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Want to drive with me to Camden tonight?”

“Yes please.”

Shawn willfully ignores all the questioning looks he gets from his band and crew when Val arrives with a backpack and a kiss on his cheek for the overnight drive.

The storm stopped not too long after it started. A few people had minor injuries, but no one, tour members or tour-goers, was seriously hurt, and for that everyone was grateful. The rest of the afternoon was spent plucking tents out of trees and chasing down errant folding chairs. A lot of the kids stayed to help their favorite bands and crews clean up. It was kind of nice.

But the Tour must roll on.

They’re due in Camden, New Jersey tomorrow and it’s an eight hour drive. As it happens, it’s Shawn’s turn to make the overnight voyage. He sleeps through the barbecue in preparation so Val stashes some food for him and makes him a thermos full of coffee on her bus (the good Colombian Volcanica stuff).

As Val settles into the passenger seat passing out cold empanadas her mom sent her back to tour with after the Miami stop, Francis lingers by Shawn, watching him load the last merch box back into the trunk. Shawn ignores him as long as he can until Francis is basically stepping on his toes, he’s standing so close.

Shawn sighs and flicks his tongue at his lip ring. “What?”

“Nothing,” Francis insists.

“Fuck off,” Shawn grumbles.

“No, but really, she brought us snacks. What’s… going on?” Francis chuckles, his eyes going wide like he plans to absorb the gossip through them.

Shawn really hates that he doesn’t have an answer. He shrugs weakly, averting his eyes.

Francis shakes his head, claps Shawn on the shoulder. “Dude.”

He saunters away, settling into his van bench for the evening. Shawn sniffs, scuffs his shoe against the pavement and lifts a hand to straighten his backwards Leafs hat. He allows himself one deep sigh before tucking himself into the front seat beside her and starting the engine.

The I-76 is a long, quiet road this time of night. The boys have gone to sleep in the back in a chorus of snores and mid-sleep mumbles. Shawn keeps his eyes on the road and snacks on the empanadas she hid for him, groaning after every bite.

“These are so fucking good,” he mumbles, licking some spice off his lips before diving in for another. Val giggles.

“They’re the only reason I go home anymore,” she sighs.

Shawn glances over. “You’re not close with your parents?”

She shrugs. “Not particularly. I love them, they’ve given me everything I’ve ever needed and most of the things I’ve ever wanted, but when Raf and I started down this path, they couldn’t understand it. They’ve… never actually seen a Streets show.”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift and his jaw stills mid-chew. “Really?”

“Nope. They wanted it to be a phase we grew out of.”

Shawn swallows and refocuses on the road as they pass signs for Pittsburgh. “Well, they must be happy about Oxford then.”

Val picks at her cuticles. “They’re pleased.”

Shawn jams another half an empanada in his mouth. Val watches with a flat smile.

“What about your parents?” Val hums, looking for a pivot.

“They’re kinda psyched, actually,” he answers proudly, trying to tamp down a goofy smile at the thought of his family. He glances over for her reaction. If she’s disappointed to hear about the difference between her family and his, she doesn’t show it.

“They’ve been waiting for me to find this for a while,” he explains, “I bounced around between different bands, and it was never right. I felt like the only one taking it seriously. And then Seth and Francis found me through a friend. First day I sat down with them I think I knew it.”

Val smiles wistfully. “That’s a good feeling.”

“The best,” he agrees, “I wish everyone could feel that, whatever they’re doing. Everyone deserves that kind of… security, I guess. That they’re in the right place doing what they’re meant to do.”

Val sinks her teeth into her bottom lip thoughtfully, feeling like her heart is sliding sideways in her chest just to be closer to him. She settles her cheek against the headrest and turns to watch him.

He looks tired. His hair is frizzy and his eyes look a little cold and his muscles are tense. She wonders if he’s been getting as little sleep as she has.

“It’s a lot though,” she breathes.

Shawn’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a few moments while Val collects her words.

“The first time we headlined a show larger than a basement was in Toronto, did you know that?”

Shawn looks surprised. Val grins at the memory.

“Raf threw up for about an hour straight before the start. It was the first stop of our tour after releasing Two Sides to Every Story. We were such a fucking wreck. I broke like three pairs of sticks I was playing so hard. We were all so, so desperate to keep these people in front of us, to make them love us. We needed them so bad. We didn’t actually figure out the secret for months, nearly at the end of the tour.”

Shawn blinks. “What secret?”

“That they’re not there to see you play harder than you’ve ever played, or sing better than you’ve ever sung. They already came to the gig for you, you already have them. They’re there to be with you, just for a night. They found you, they love you. You bring them hope every time you get up there and do what you do. You don’t need to do it any better. You’ve already helped.”

Shawn feels a well that’s been building since they released Joy Ride. It’s been filling and filling and he can’t find the bottom anymore. It’s a cloudy mixture of crippling fear, anxiety, adrenaline, pride, excitement and fucking exhaustion. Val shines a light straight through it.

He turns his head to find the warmth of her big brown eyes. Val remembers what the bottom looks like. She’s been there.

“What happens now?” he croaks.

“Now you stay on the ride. That’s all.”

Shawn lowers his eyes until he feels her fingers curl around his cheek. It warms under her hand before he turns his head to plant a kiss on her palm. He takes her hand in his and holds it in his lap for a few minutes until she speaks again.

“Made you something.”

He’s reluctant to let her hand go again because his blood pressure feels normal again when he’s touching her but he releases her to root around in the backpack at her feet.

She holds up a plastic CD case with a shy smile.

“Did you make me a mix?” he laughs with delight.

“Shush, this is what scene kids do when they feel things.”

Shawn giggles and goes pink all over, rubbing his free hand against his neck. When the first song begins, he looks over with a smile.

“Sugar We’re Goin’ Down. Subtle choice,” he jokes.

“Shhhh, it’s against my religion to talk while Patrick Stump sings.”

He looks over to see her eyes shut and lips spread in a grin. He laughs and bobs his head reverently.

Fifteen minutes in, Val’s asleep. He’s too curious to help it, so he checks the track listing she wrote out in her serial killer handwriting on the plastic on the back.

Sugar We’re Goin’ Down - Fall Out Boy

The Girl’s a Straight-Up Hustler - All Time Low

Only One - Yellowcard

Miami - Taking Back Sunday

On Top of the World - Boys Like Girls

The Future Freaks Me Out - Motion City Soundtrack

It’s Not Your Fault - New Found Glory

Punk Rock Princess - Something Corporate

Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off - Panic! At the Disco

Jump - Simple Plan

He sighs and puts the case in the center console, reaching over to leave his hand on her knee in case that helps her stay asleep longer. He mouths along with Ryan Key’s words, staring out the windshield.

There’s just no one that gets me like you do, you are my only, my only one.

Hayley stuffs her vibrant, telltale hair under her Streets beanie and snarls teasingly at Val’s laughter.

“You are so not getting away with this,” Val snorts, trailing beside her toward the Lucky 13 main stage to catch New Found Glory’s 4pm set, the highlight of the day.

“It’ll be fine,” Hayley insists, eyes shifting as the crowd around them thickens.

“You’ll be spotted in the next five minutes, I’d put money on it.”

Hayley scoffs. “Stop it. You said you wanted to come with me.”

“Yeah! Because you’re 5’2” and 100 pounds soaking wet. You need a fuckin’ bodyguard,” Val argues, slinging an arm around her petite friend.

“Chad… said I should come today,” Hayley mumbles.

Val’s eyes go wide. “Chad? Asked you to come watch the set?”

“Well… like… not exactly. He said I should come “check it out,” whatever the fuck that means.”

Val coos. “That is so sweet. I’m so glad I get to witness this. Can we go sidestage after so you can blush down at your feet and tell him he plays guitar real good?”

“Ok, we’re done talking about this now!” Hayley squeaks earnestly. Val pins her lips shut and mimes zipping them, sniggering through flared nostrils.

They filter in toward the back of the crowd that’s been planted at main stage all day. New Found Glory is one of the sets to catch on Warped -- full of relentless energy from a band that’s been around the block and knows how to put on a stunning show.

Val’s only caught them a few times over the course of Warped, and only from sidestage with Bea. Being in the crowd with the kids, screaming the words and passing sweaty crowdsurfing teenagers over her head is the real way to experience a pop punk show. So when Hayley invited her along, she leapt at the chance.

By some miracle, Hayley stays under the radar. She and Val bop along, dancing and singing and flinging their hands in the air and Val connects with a version of herself she hasn’t seen in a while, a girl that can name every Green Day song ever produced, a girl that lived every day just to get home and hit her drums, a girl for whom music changed everything.

She’s letting the final chords of Better Off Dead carry her off, tilting her head back, eyes closed and smiling at the sky when it starts.

“Hey!” Hayley calls from behind her, smashed up into her shoulder, “Val, I think--”

They didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. The yahoos surrounding them have drawn the crowd out, dragging people to face each other to leave space between them. Val recognizes a wall of death when she sees one. She grabs Hayley’s hand and yanks her, trying to drag them out from the line of fire, but they’re shoved back into place.

“Let us out!” she cries, feeling it build, feeling the energy of the morons pinning them in start to fizzle dangerously.

“Hayley!” Val shrieks, reaching out for her elbow for a sturdier grasp. She can’t get there, and the tension snaps. Teenagers sprint into each other at full speed, shoving and pushing and knocking into each other.

Val squints under some guy’s arm to see Hayley’s beanie get knocked off. The cocktail of red and orange dye is the last thing she sees before everything goes dark.

Help save the scene and buy me a ko-fi!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @alone-in-madness @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena @randi-eve @shawnitsmutual @embracehappy @itrocksmysocks @yslsaint @peacedolantwins2 @kitykatnumber

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #punk!shawn #warped tour shawn

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kingdomdizzy · 5 years

Text

lung capacity

i wrote this a while ago, just felt like posting it here now

if you’d rather read it on ao3, here’s the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18605143

summary: Sora loved to run. Vanitas loved to breathe. One of these things was easier than the other. rating: G words: 2843

—–

The sun was just breaking over the trees, casting light on the dew settled on the untouched grass and the hot breath of Sora as he tossed his backpack onto the dirt. Crickets sang from the field on the other side of the track like a chorus in the quiet morning. The only other sound was the pacing back and forth on the starting line as he set up his iPod on his speaker deck. Even after having it ready to play, he left it silent and went on with stretching his legs and kicking pieces of rock into the loose gravel with his worn running shoes. From the top of the bleachers lining the track, Vanitas sat and watched, wrapped in a large black sweatshirt and ripped black jeans with a stopwatch hanging loosely in his hands. “Six o’clock,” he hummed to himself. “Right on time.”

Eventually, Sora took his place on the line, stretching his leg back and resting his palms on the cold asphalt. He lines up his front foot and took in a breath, relaxing all his muscles and steadying his heartbeat as he looked forward. There was silence, only the crickets growing more into white noise that vanished against his ears. Vanitas slowly lifted his foot from the metal bench in front of him, his finger ready on the start button. Even from this distance, he could almost hear Sora’s slow breath and see his chest moving slowly up and down in his lunge position. In a swift motion, Vanitas slammed his foot down.

BANG!

Sora shot forward. Vanitas tapped the stopwatch into motion and sat back. All he could do was sit and watch as Sora ripped around the first turn, arms remaining strong and steady at his side to carry his momentum forward. His face was set and concentrated, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks puffing out as he controlled his breathing.

Vanitas laughed to himself. Never in his life had he met someone as determined as Sora to run. Even when they first met in elementary school, it seemed that all Sora knew how to do was run. Every gym class, every track and field meet, every little opportunity he could find, he was running. It was ironic, really, that they had somehow become friends even with Vanitas always remaining on the sidelines of all these events, inhaler in hand. It did, however, always make him available to hold a stopwatch, a job he would gladly take over having to run sprints or do jumping jacks. After a while, Vanitas kept the stopwatch on his person at all time and Sora had somehow learned that. He walked up to him one day in junior high, a warm smile on his face with the simple question, “Hey, can ya time me?”

Vanitas, despite his best efforts, couldn’t say no. The rest was infamous and undocumented history.

On the last lap, Vanitas sauntered down the bleachers to the edge of the track, waiting for Sora by the finish line. As he got closer, his heart started to race at how unbelievably attractive he was, even after just running a mile. His spikey brown hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead, his face was the complexion of a slightly under-ripe tomato, veins stuck out on his arms and muscles rippled along his chest (revealed since about halfway through the third lap when he tossed his shirt aside). When Vanitas came into his field of view, a tired smile lit up Sora’s face. His shoes dragged across the line and Vanitas clicked the stopper.

“Six minutes, seven seconds,” he announced, reaching for Sora’s water bottle in his bag.

“Damnit,” Sora huffed. He threw his hands behind his head, turning his back to Vanitas who swallowed hard at the sight of his bare skin covered in sweat. He shook his head, realizing he was doing it again. “Not as bad as last week, but I haven’t made any progress since the season started.”

“Better than seven fifty from the start of last season,” Vanitas shot back, but Sora still had his back turned to him. He had learned that it was better to let Sora talk himself through his motivation and plans than stick his nose into trying to make suggestions or other quips since, really, he had no credentials in these circumstances. After a few mhmm’s, yup’s, and I bet’s, Sora reached out and turned on the iPod dock, instantly spouting out the song Tubthumping by Chumbawamba. Vanitas couldn’t help but laugh as Sora started singing along and jogging sluggishly around the track in a cool down lap. Across the track, Vanitas still heard him. “I get knocked down, but I get up again, you’re never gonna keep me down!”

What a fucking dork.

As he slowed to a walk near the end of the lap, he reached out for his shirt and water bottle that Vanitas tossed to him, and they started up the stone steps to the main school building.

This was the only time Sora went slow, taking each step with as much effort and strain that it took Vanitas. Sometimes, he would start hopping up the steps out of habit, leaving Vanitas behind momentarily, but always waited. Then Sora would wait some more at the top as Vanitas caught his breath, damning his own lungs for already starting to wheeze.

“We can push this back to a little later,” Sora said, casually kicking his foot against the cement sidewalk. “I know the cold air can be tough for you sometimes.”

Vanitas just shook his head and stood up straight, taking a deep breath with a slight whistling exhale. “I’m fine, Sora. You do better in the mornings.” Sora just shrugged, and they continued on. He knew that Sora meant well, but Sora also knew that Vanitas was the most stubborn boy he’d ever known. If Vanitas could be rid of his asthma forever, but it would mean Sora ran half a second slower forever, there would be no question in the answer. And Sora knew it.

“Sub six.”

Vanitas glanced at him. “Your best time ever was six-oh-two,” he remembered. Sora had nearly collapsed that morning after the run and then nearly cried when he heard the time. Again! he had demanded and started running another mile. Vanitas himself nearly crumpled over when trying to get him to stop running and settled to walking the inside of the track until Sora eventually gave up. At that point, he sounded like Vanitas, struggling to breathe and coughing up enough phlegm to scare passing children.

“Sub six,” Sora repeated, sending a smile to Vanitas. “With your help, anything is possible.”

“Woow,” Vanitas scoffed, trying hard to hide the warmth crawling up his neck, “real cheesy there, Sora.”

“Shaddup,” Sora laughed, shoving him slightly. “The real training starts tomorrow. You better be ready.”

The first bell rang overhead, and Vanitas just rolled his eyes. To Sora this only meant, Yes, of course.

+++

Vanitas could never really pinpoint the time or place in which Sora’s smile fully and completely made his lungs stop working. It seemed like it had been a pot coming to a slow boil, starting from the first day he timed Sora’s run and he didn’t treat Vanitas like a fragile piece of glass to reaching a climax on a particular winter morning when Vanitas had an asthma attack and Sora stayed with him in the nurses office through the entire school day, vehemently refusing to leave his best friend’s side and even ‘secretly’ holding his hand through his nap. Since then Vanitas noticed that the pot never stopped boiling; it was continually overflowing from a replenishing source of steaming water, and every time Sora smiled, he felt the water drops sizzle against the fire warming it underneath.

Now, it was just a matter of reminding himself that Sora was, no matter how he spun it in his twisted head, his best friend, which was something he never thought he would have. Growing up, he was always sifted into the category of ‘the weird kid’. Maybe it was his black hair, maybe it was his strangely light brown eyes that glimmered gold in direct light, maybe it was the fact that on the playground after any amount of running with other children, he would start to wheeze and cough and the other kids would run to the teacher claiming, Vanitas is possessed by a demon!

He still hated kids to this day.

Sora, bounding down the stairs carefully as they were still slick with dew, pulled Vanitas out of his thoughts. He was not dressed differently than usual, with black gym shorts, a red t-shirt under a light athletic jacket, and his atrociously torn up and worn-down running shoes that he refuses to get rid of “until my toes are sticking out.” However, his face was different; his eyebrows were furrowed together, and his hands were balled into fists and stuck in his pockets, something Vanitas only saw when Sora had a large thought on his mind.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Vanitas asked with a coy smile. Sora didn’t respond, causing Vanitas to lean forward from his spot on the ground with inquisition. Usually, his terribly lame names for Sora brought about at least a smile in return, giving Vanitas more incentive to do just that. But the silence continued to ring out. All that he heard were the crickets in the field and the buzz of storm clouds gathering overhead.

Rocks scattered into the grass as Sora began stretching and kicking his feet against the track. His eyes were still set, small blue flames lighting up behind the pieces of hair that fell over them. Vanitas sighed and leaned back against the stone, bringing out the stopwatch that hung from his neck in his sweatshirt.

As Sora took his place on the line, lining up his foot, settling his breath and pressing his fingers to the damp ground, he spoke.

“Sub six, today is the day.”

Vanitas looked up at Sora, all his muscles locked and ready to propel himself forward, then looked down at the stopwatch reading zero point zero. With a sigh, he pulled himself to his feet and walked over to the beginning of the bleachers and slammed his foot onto the first step.

BANG!

Sora was off, so fast that Vanitas felt a rush of wind as he passed. He turned to watch him go, the momentum of his push-off taking him nearly all the way around the first turn. There was an itch in Vanitas’ legs suddenly, one he felt sometimes. It went from his legs to his chest, even out to his hands. It was never something he could act upon; he knew if he did everything would go wrong, but watching Sora now, it was all he wanted in the world.

Vanitas wanted to run.

He watched Sora run past, finishing his first lap. The pound of his shoes against the asphalt echoed off of the stone steps, and Vanitas took a step towards the track. As Sora rounded around the corner and closed in on starting the third lap, he took another. Finally, as Sora began his final lap, Vanitas stepped onto the track. It felt different than the gravel; it was smooth under his feet, stretched out in front of him like a runway and he was a plane about to take flight. He took his place on the starting line, where he had seen Sora dash forward so many times before, and stood there.

Then, very uncertainty and without a loud bang! to send him off, he started running.

The first few seconds were easy. Vanitas pushed himself forward, the stopwatch still gripped in his hand and Sora in the corner of his eye as he was about halfway around. It was when he tried taking a breath, the cold air filling into his lungs and spreading through the bronchi branches as they shrank into themselves under his chest, that it began to burn. His heart was pounding against his sternum, a familiar wheeze fell out of his mouth, and his muscles suddenly felt twenty pounds heavier against his bones. Despite suddenly feeling as though he was going to pass out, Vanitas kept running. From behind him, he heard Sora yell something.

The pounding in his ears muffled everything around him. He looked behind him, watching as Sora was now racing towards him, passing over the starting line. Vanitas clicked the stopwatch just as he felt his legs give out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the track with his arms out in front to catch his fall. His chest was on fire. And his breaths came out in wheezes and coughs, one after another, unrelenting.

Sora was quickly at his side, urging him to sit up while also asking what the hell he was doing. “Where is your inhaler?” he asked, a slight panic in his eyes. Vanitas brought his hand up to point at his backpack against the stone stairs, and Sora disappeared from his sight in a flash.

He tried catching his breath, feeling his lungs constrain in his chest enough to think that his insides might implode. In the flash that he was gone, Sora was back, holding a light gray inhaler with chipped plastic edges and light scratches. Vanitas emptied out his lungs (which wasn’t hard) and brought the cold tube up to his lips and took a deep breath.

Sora’s eyes remained on Vanitas as he held his breath and counted to ten in his head, trying to ignore Sora’s hand absentmindedly resting on Vanitas’ shoulder and leaving a spot of warmth.

One… two… three…

Sora’s chest was heaving, and Vanitas just stared at him, wishing silently that he could breathe like that.

…eight… nine… ten.

Vanitas let out his breath, still feeling a tickle in his lungs but ignoring it to look at Sora. He was focused on something completely different now; Vanitas. “Why were you running?” he asked. The warmth of his hand didn’t leave his shoulder.

Small puffs appeared in front of them as both boys tried to regulate their breathing. “I wanted to see why you liked it so much,” he stated. Sora smiled, there was a beat. “Nothing really special.”

At this, Sora laughed and shoved Vanitas, bumping the stopwatch against the ground. With another small laugh, he looked down at it. “I’m guessing you didn’t catch my time?”

“Who do you think I am?” Vanitas scoffed, “of course I got it.” Sora’s eyes lit up, quietly asking what fateful numbers had landed on the small screen. Vanitas slowly lifted it up to his face, watching him, and let out a breath. “Five fifty-nine.”

Sora blinked. “What?”

“Five fifty-nine,” he repeated, a smile breaking his face.

Another blink. Then, a huge smile. Before Vanitas could begin to think about how his face warmed up the cold morning, Sora threw his arms around him. They both tipped over onto the asphalt, a small oof pushed out of Vanitas and Sora’s giddy laugh echoed around the track. “Sub six!” Sora shouted.

“Get off me, you idiot,” Vanitas laughed, even though he wanted anything but.

Sora complied, pushing himself up on his elbows but still hovering over Vanitas. “Think I can do better than that?”

“Nah,” Vanitas smirked, “I think you’ve peaked.”

“Shaddup, asshole.”

There was no warning, no swelling music that surged around them or slow press of lips together. Sora just leaned down and kissed him, causing Vanitas’ heart to pound again. To his delight, Sora didn’t break kiss right away; it was only for a few extra seconds, but Vanitas savored the small extra taste of Sora’s chapped lips.

When he felt Sora’s breath hitting his face again, Vanitas opened his eyes (when had they closed?). The tickle in his lungs started to come back at the sight of the grin that washed over Sora’s face. Vanitas tried to scowl at him. “Why’d you do that?”

Sora pushed himself onto his feet. “You wouldn’t have done it,” he stated, then chuckled at Vanitas’ lame attempted glare and held out his hand. “Plus, you’re not good at being subtle.”

Vanitas scoffed and took Sora’s hand, landing shakily on his very tired legs. He immediately stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Whatever,” he mumbled.

“Well, if I have peaked like you say,” Sora said, slowly walking back towards his stuff against the steps, “then I might as well try to make that five fifty-nine a consistent five fifty-nine.”

“It might be a one-time thing,” Vanitas called back, trying to hide a smile.

Sora just threw his backpack over his shoulder and looked back, motioning his head to the steps. “You coming?”

Vanitas fiddled with the inhaler in his pocket, pondering whether or not he should take another hit with the tickle in his lung. Instead, he started walking forward. He would run to Sora if he could, counting to ten in his head with each step.

One… two… three…

#sora #vanitas #kingdom hearts #fanfiction #one shot #uh #yeah #sorvani #sorivani #?#I forgot how to spell their ship name I'm so sorry

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the-crowe-and-the-magpie · 5 years

Text

Drowse

You weren’t ashamed of what was going on between you and Roger, it suited you both very well. And you definitely were aware that Roger had grown careless about the nature of your relationship, that the stress and chaos of the current tour was weighing more heavily on him than any before. As a result, the number of times he pleaded with you to come into his room, or his area of the bus, grew in frequency and in length.

It was the way he’d come and found you the previous night, however, that had to have finally done it. Usually there was time for a couple of drinks and quick smokes after a show, in the dressing rooms, before everything was loaded and everyone packed up to move on. Last night, Brian, John, and Freddie had stayed on with the crew, joking and carrying on as usual, but when you’d gone to check on Roger, you’d only just glimpsed him, practically running towards the bus.

“Rog? Hey, Roger!”

You followed him at a jog, becoming concerned when he didn’t turn around at the sound of your voice.

You were close enough behind that you were clambering up the steps in time to see him make a beeline for the back of the bus, where you’d strung up a comforter to act as a makeshift door. Even that had raised few questions from the other three, who thought they knew why the two of you wanted more privacy.

“Rog? Hey, are you okay?” When he didn’t answer, you pushed the curtain to one side, to find Roger curled up in a tight ball on the far corner of the bed. His hair covered his face, and he seemed to be shaking.

You went to him, sitting close enough beside him that your hip touched his. Wrapping your arms around him, you pulled him up, and hugged him close.

“Hey, hey, ssh, baby boy, what’s the matter, huh? Mommy’s here, mommy’s got you.” His long blonde hair is soaked with sweat, but you pushed it back from his face as well as you can, running your fingers through it gently to loosen the knots.

He buries his face in the side of your neck, whining a little. “I’m really tired, Mommy. I don’t want to go to a party or anything, I just want to go to sleep.” Slowly, languidly, he scoots himself closer to you and pulls himself into your lap, making that small mewling sound he always did when he was especially worn out.

You sit for a little while, rubbing his back in slow, small circles, breathing in the sharp, salty smell of his sweaty skin, wishing there was somewhere you could go to clean him up properly.

You nudge him gently. “Baby? I’m going to go look for something to clean you up with. Then we can get you undressed and into bed, okay? Would you like that?”

He whines a little as you untangle yourself from his limbs, but nods sleepily.

You walk back into the venue through the back door, following the winding hallways back the way you’d first come, until you hear the others in what sounds like the middle of an intensifying argument, with Freddie at the helm.

You’ve gotten used to this, and barge right in. Brian sees you first, and lowers the hardcover book he’s seemed to have raised with the intent of using it as a weapon.

“You alright then, Emma? What’s happened to Rog?”

You start pacing about the room, looking for anything that might be of use. “Do we have any soap, or bowls or anything? Is there anywhere I can get hot water?”

He catches up to you, putting a hand on your arm and asks again, “What’s happened to Rog? Is he okay?” His eye contact is intense.

You nod, trying to hide the impatience you’re actually feeling. “Yeah, he’s fine, he just wants to get cleaned up and there isn’t much as far as facilities around here.”

You spot what you need and make a beeline for it, scooping up a large metal bowl, a couple of folded hand towels, and the wrapped bar of soap beside what seemed to be the only sink in the whole building. You draw water into the bowl, testing its heat with the tips of your fingers, and leave the room without another word to anyone.

When you get back to the bus, the comforter is drawn across the back of the bus, and you don’t hear anything from behind it.

“Rog? Baby?” Careful not to spill any water, you pull back the curtain to find Roger fighting hard to stay awake. He’s still sitting up, but his chin is touching his chest, and when he hears you come in he barely seems able to raise it, his eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused.

“I tried to stay awake ‘cause you asked me to. Are you gonna clean me up, mommy?”

You touch his cheek, and set the bowl of water on the tiny side table. “Yes, my beautiful boy, I am. Can you take your shirt off for me?”

He does as you ask, letting his shirt fall to the floor.

“Here, scoot up to the edge of the bed for me, that’s it.” He does this too, and as he’s moving forward you hear the door of the bus click shut, and the whole thing shifts a little.

“Hello? Roger? Emma?”

You look at Roger, who hasn’t reacted. You hesitate for just a moment, then call out, “Yeah, we’re back here, Brian.”

You keep moving, turning your back on the curtain to dip one of the hand towels in the water, wring it out, and lather it with soap. In the time it takes you to do this, Brian pulls aside the curtain and enters the space.

You look at him, almost challengingly. But he doesn’t look shocked, in fact his expression is tender as he watches Roger, who is very nearly keening over with exhaustion. Then he looks back at you.

“Can I help?”

You smile. “Um, yeah, if you could kind of, hold him up while I wash him? He gets heavier when he’s this tired.”

Brian unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, sitting down on the bed on the other side of Roger. He holds Roger steady by his shoulders, as you push Roger’s hair back off his face and wipe his forehead and cheeks with the damp cloth.

Roger closes his eyes, humming lowly in his throat.

“Does that feel good, baby?” you coo, loving the way his eyelashes flutter when he��s content like this. Roger’s head lolls in the way of a nod and he murmurs, “Yes, mommy, thank you.”

Your attention jumps suddenly to Brian, who looks at you but again, doesn’t seem a bit put off.

“It’s alright, I don’t think it’s weird. It’s nice, actually, the way you take care of him. I can see the appeal in it, from either side.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, but you do breathe a little easier. “Could you hold up his hair? I want to get his neck.” Brian obliges, bunching Roger’s hair into a loose ponytail with his fingers. His other hand steadies Roger at his lower back, moving when you need him to but always somehow supporting the tired blonde.

When you turn back to rinse the cloth, Brian makes sure Roger stays upright; now that his back is clean, Brian has a hand pressed there again, and his other is wrapped around Roger’s forearm.

“There now, doesn’t that feel better?” He asks Roger, his voice even quieter and gentler than usual. “She takes good care of you, doesn’t she, this one? And you’re being so good, which is really something because I know how rotten you can be when you’re tired.”

You pick up the dry towel and turn back, looking at Brian curiously. He meets your eyes, but you think you can see him blushing a little.

“Do you want to dry him off while I get him a clean shirt?”

He hesitates for a only a second or two before taking it.

“Now, lift your arms for me, there we go, there’s a good boy. Almost done, I promise,” murmured Brian, and you couldn’t help but peek over your shoulder as you dug for a shirt. Brian dried Roger’s face last, patting instead of rubbing, repeatedly running his long fingers through the young man’s hair even more slowly than you had.

When you came back to the bed, you handed the shirt to Brian, and he managed to wrestle Roger’s now nearly deadweight form into it, the two of you now working together to hold him up and dress him.

It took both of you to pull the covers back and get the bottom half of Roger’s body under them.

Roger wriggled a little once he was tucked in, and then, just before he drifted completely off to sleep, turned over on his stomach, he mumbled into the pillow: “Thank you Mommy, thank you Daddy.” Then he was out.

You looked at Brian, smirking a little. Now he looked a little taken aback.

“Don’t worry, we don’t have to make a habit of this if you don’t want to. And the others don’t necessarily need to know.”

Brian bent down and picked up his shirt, shrugging into it. “No, I—I don’t mind. I liked helping. Thanks for letting me.”

You leaned over and kissed him quickly on the cheek, then winked. “No problem, Daddy.”

#im actually proud of this #roger taylor #brian may #dm/lb #fic #my fic #queen

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roseonhissleeve · 6 years

Text

Have A Little Faith: Chapter Ten

“Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.”

- J.K. Rowling

I woke up hours later with a gasp.

I’d slept like a rock—my mind had shut down and allowed me to get the rest that I needed, but as soon as I woke up my entire body was sore and I could tell that I had been tensed the entire time I slept. I could still FEEL the tension in my arms and thighs, and it was so bad that it hurt. I rolled over to glance at my phone screen and check the time.

11:34 PM.

I also noticed that I’d received a text from Harry.

I hope you’re doing okay. Thinking of you. I’m still here if you need me.

My heart sank as I read the message. I felt bad that he was completely in the dark, but this was my burden to bear.

I decided that I was going to go out for a run to loosen up my body, and as soon as I did I began moving on autopilot. I had never been a huge runner, but I needed something to do other than sit in bed and think about all my fucked up experiences, and running was the most mindless thing I could do. I was disassociating. I didn’t even notice when I changed into a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt, nor when I slipped on my running shoes and walked out of the door.

The night air was cool and there was a slight breeze that touched my cheek, the refreshing chill causing me to relax a bit for the first time in hours.

I ran aimlessly and without direction, uncaring of the fact that I was most likely going to get lost and not have a single clue as to how to get home. The pain in my body paired with adrenaline was exactly the distraction I’d been looking for all day, and if I had to get lost as a coping mechanism, I’d get lost.

I spent about twenty minutes of alternating between running and a slow jog before stopping to look up at the landscape in front of me.

Mount Vesuvius.

I was about to continue running, until something in my body told me to stay.

What’s something you want to do that you’ve never done?

I wanted to be content. I wanted to feel powerful. I wanted to kick Elijah’s ass.

I wanted to climb this fucking mountain.

I dug through my pockets and pulled out my phone, scrolling quickly through my contacts before pressing the “call” button.

“Rosie?” I heard Harry’s voice on the line, hopeful and worried all at once.

“I’m climbing a volcano tonight. Are you coming?”

***

Harry was there in half an hour. I watched as he got out of the car that he’d rented earlier that week, his face confused and worried as he lurched towards me.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked. I nodded my head and adjusted my ponytail as I flashed him a small smile, which was a lot easier to do currently than it was hours before. The endorphins from my run were kicking in.

“Never better. I’m sorry…” I started saying, but I really didn’t know how to finish. I still was a mess and I knew it. I then realized that I should probably be worried about Harry and what he’d think of me—we’d recently met and I was already falling apart in front of his eyes. This definitely wasn’t what he signed up for when he met me. “Listen, if you don’t wanna do this…”

“Are you kidding?” He interrupted, his features breaking out into a lopsided grin as he glanced up the mountain we were about to climb. “I wouldn’t miss it, Ro. I bet I can beat you to the top, even.”

I laughed shakily, and even though it wasn’t quite like my laughter normally, it was something.

Even riddled with worry, I was grateful to have Harry there.

We set out towards the top of the mountain side by side, and he didn’t try to force me to talk even though I could only assume he had tons of questions. The nighttime breeze sent chills up and down my sweaty limbs, and the smell or dirt filled the air as we made our way up the mountain. Harry walked right beside me even though he could probably go at a much faster pace, and every so often (every thirty seconds, really) he would look over to check on me and make sure I was okay.

The beginning wasn’t too bad. The dirt pathway up the mountain made it difficult sometimes to get a good step, but the cool breeze that now begun to tickle my cheek was refreshing, and there was something reassuring to how Harry put so much thought into making sure I was okay. I put one foot in front of the other, slowly travelling up the steep pathway, and I began to breathe deeply.

That’s where the pain kicked in.

I felt it in my shins first, a sharp twang in the back of my leg that struck every time I took a step, like the chord of a guitar being plucked and broken. It then spread like fire to my

thighs and the pit of my chest, making it harder to breathe steady. I began to struggle, and Harry could tell.

“You okay, love? Do you wanna take a break?” he asked, and I shook my head in response.

“I’m okay. It’ll hurt more if I stop,” I reasoned, growing slightly out of breath but still managing to offer him a slight smile. If he was feeling any sort of pain he wasn’t showing it at all.

“Alright, let me know if you need to. Don’t push yourself too hard, Ro,” he requested, and I simply replied with another nod as I took another step.

For the next five minutes I kept going, my pace steady but slow, and the pain grew exponentially. Even though it was only five minutes it felt like half an hour. The pain crept up my thighs, my entire legs sore with every inch I moved, and I had to bite my lower lip in order to keep from whimpering from the pain as I continued to scale up the winding path. I began to feel nauseous, and I knew it was quite possible that I could throw up at any second. I was beginning to regret asking Harry to come with me.

“How are you doing?” I asked almost breathlessly, glancing over at Harry. He was keeping up fine, but I could tell that his movements were slower and there were beads of sweat forming on his forehead and shoulders. Still, he looked at me and gave me a grin.

“Working through the pain,” he reassured, reaching to press the back of his hand to my clammy cheek for a moment before allowing it to drop. “Don’t you worry about me, beautiful.”

“Worry? I’ve gotta make sure you’re keeping up,” I teased halfheartedly, and he exhaled a soft snicker due to my words. We both knew that he could probably get there in twice the speed if it wasn’t for me, but he was polite enough not to say it.

We walked for what seemed like forever (but probably was only another five minutes).

And then the damn endorphins kicked in.

It was about fucking time.

It felt like flying. That’s the closest thing that I can compare it to; I took one step after the other, and with every step I felt myself getting stronger. I looked over the railings and out to the landscape that grew smaller and smaller; the twinkling houselights and the ocean became a portrait of all the pain that I’d experienced…a collage of all the tears I’d shed.

Harry must’ve noticed that I was picking up my pace because he began to speed up as well, and I could hear his breathing become more labored. We kept going for I don’t know how long – it could have been hours for all I knew, but all I was thinking about was that I

needed to get to the top. With every step that’s all I could think about, and eventually I felt nothing in my body—it was all in my mind, and I felt my heart pounding louder than it ever had before. This mountain killed thousands of people just by doing what it was designed to do. I was going to make it to the fucking top.

And then I turned the corner, and I saw it.

I saw the crater.

We’d made it.

***

I stood still for a long time.

“Ro? Rosie, are you okay?” His voice sounded faint, as if he was a world away, even though he was standing right behind me. Tears prickled in my eyes as I stared at the large crater in front of me—I’d climbed all that way and all of my problems were still very much alive. I didn’t know what I was expecting at the end of this workout, but it wasn’t this emptiness.

“I’m fine…” I replied, even though I knew that I was anything but and I knew that Harry would be able to tell. He circled around to stand right in front of me, and I could sense he was about to prod some more. “Harry…I’m fine, look I’m really s—”

I was interrupted by his arms wrapping around my frame, pulling me flush against his chest.

I stayed frozen for a moment, taking in the feeling of Harry’s embrace. I could feel the muscles in his arm press around my torso firmly, as well as the feeling of the sculpted curves of his chest against my front. Harry wasn’t usually so forward about his physical advances, because he knew I needed him not to be. But somehow in that moment this is just what I needed.

I eventually allowed myself to melt into his touch, slipping my own arms around his torso and hiding my face against his shoulder. It didn’t solve everything, and I could still feel the stress in my muscles, but the feeling of being tucked inside of Harry’s hug made me feel a little bit safer and maybe that’s really what I was looking for.

Harry allowed me to cry softly into his shoulder, staining his white t-shirt with my tears. He didn’t say a single word, he simply rubbed my back every once in a while and occasionally hummed a soft song in my ear. He let me be. He let me do whatever I needed to do to compose myself.

So there we stood, in the cool Italian night on the top of a volcano that had been dormant for centuries.

We stood as I fell apart, and somehow the physical bind that he kept me in allowed me to put my own pieces together again.

And as I erupted, maybe a gentler piece of me would be able to emerge from the ashes.

***

“What’s something you’re scared of?”

We’d been sitting by the railing at the edge of the mountain for half an hour, talking about nothing and everything all at once. He hadn’t mentioned my breakdown yet, which I appreciated because I didn’t think that I could handle being triggered like that again just yet. I sat with my head resting against his shoulder and he lay his hand on my knee, occasionally brushing the skin with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m scared of losing myself,” he answered quickly, which meant that he’d obviously thought about it before. I tilted my head up a little bit to look at his features, curious as to what he meant.

“It’s hard sometimes, when you’re surrounded by millions of people who claim to know who you are and what you want. When you’ve got girls throwing themselves at you left and right, or when there are grown adults tossing money at you trying to get you to work with them over the other. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, and I know it…it all just makes me feel like I’ve got a price tag on me sometimes…also, clowns. Clowns give me the creeps.”

I chortled softly when he finished speaking, thinking about his words for a long moment. I constantly forgot that he was Harry Styles, that everyone knew him, so when he spoke of things like this it brought perspective to my mind that I’d never considered before. It was one of the things I liked most about him.

“What about you, Rosie?” He asked. He sat up a little straighter which caused me to lift my head up off of his shoulder altogether, and I looked straight at him as I anticipated his question. “What’re you scared of?”

I pursed my lips lightly as I thought about his words, and I knew what he was getting at and what he wanted to know. What I didn’t know was if I was ready to tell him.

“I’m scared of my past,” I offered, looking out into the valley that was illuminated by the houses down below the mountaintop. “I’m scared that it’ll come back.”

“Are you running from something, love?” He wondered, looking at my features. I exhaled a soft sigh and looked back out at the landscape below us, wishing that I could freeze this moment and live in it, never having to move forward and face it all.

“I think that might be what brought me here,” I answered, hugging my knees up to my chest and tucking my chin in between them. I waited for a long moment for Harry to say something, but instead I felt his hand on my back. He ran his palm along the length of my muscles softly which caused me to shut my eyes, and he continued by tickling my skin with the pads of his fingers lightly, tracing patterns and drawings onto me as if I was a blank canvas. My eyes remained shut and I exhaled a soft sigh.

“Maybe you’re here because it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be,” he whispered.

I thought about that for a minute, and for some reason the possibility of it brought a smile to my lips. I settled back against Harry’s shoulder and he pressed a kiss against the top of my head, and we stayed there for a long time, neither one of us willing to climb down just yet.

***

Harry walked me back to my hotel. I tried to tell him that I would be fine, but he insisted on seeing me safely to my door. In all the days that we’d been travelling together he never asked to come in past my front door, even though most guys would. But I knew since the very first day that Harry Styles was not like most men.

He walked with me up to my room on the second floor and when we reached my door we stopped. I turned to look at him, nibbling on my lower lip nervously before speaking.

“I’m really sorry about today…”

“Hey, you’ve nothin’ to be—”

“No, listen, I want to say this,” I interrupted, looking into his eyes firmly. I think that I caught him a bit by surprise, but he simply nodded his head and waited for me to begin speaking again. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tucked my hands into my pockets before continuing.

“This…you have been amazing. You really have. You’re kind, and hilarious, and you make me laugh and smile and you’re just…God, you say these THINGS sometimes that take words out of my mouth and just make me wonder how someone like you can exist…What I’m trying to say is, you’re amazing, and you need to be with someone else who’s amazing, someone who isn’t running away.”

I immediately felt like an idiot for even speaking. Harry and I weren’t even DATING, I didn’t know what the hell we were doing but I knew that he couldn’t want anything to do with me after the shit I pulled today.

“I think it’d just be easier to stop now. It’s been amazing but now we can go our separate ways and you can find what you’re searching for and I can…I can try to get myself together,” I choked out, clenching my hands into fists. I didn’t realize how hard this would be.

“Ro…” He began, his brows furrowed tightly and his hands at his sides. There was a long pause and for a minute I thought he wasn’t going to say anything, but right when I was about to open my mouth to speak again his voice began to fill the air.

“You talk as if you’re broken. As if you were something in pieces on the ground that needs to be put back together. But the woman I’ve spent this week with…she’s whole, and amazing, and loving and she’s everything but broken,” he mused, taking a step towards me. My lower lip trembled slightly as I listened to him speak, and my heart was doing something it’d never done before but I had no intention of stopping it.

“If you don’t want to spend time with me anymore, if you really just don’t wanna see me, I’ll leave,” he stated, and there was a hardness in his gaze as he spoke. “But if you’re trying to push me away again because you’re scared of what’s gonna happen, I…Rosie, I’m not going anywhere.”

He said it simply, as if it was as easy as breathing, as if it was just a logical step for him to take. And it amazed me that after slamming the door on him earlier that day, after making him climb up a mountain, after falling apart in his arms when he definitely wasn’t asking for it, he still wanted to be around me.

It amazed me that someone so whole and so sure of who they were wanted to be beside me even after seeing how much of a mess I could be.

“Ro…” He said quietly, and he took another step towards me so that his face was about five inches away from mine. He lifted his hand to cup my cheek in his large palm, and I felt his lips press against my forehead for several seconds. It wasn’t until after he’d pulled away that I heard his voice again. “What’dya say?”

I looked straight ahead at the crease of his neck, my mind racing with endless thoughts and doubts, and it didn’t help that I was surrounded by Harry. Harry’s smell, his voice, his touch, his skin. I slid my hands out of my pockets to take his hands in mine and wind my fingers through his tightly, as if he could ground me. Except it only made me feel fuzzier, because Harry held my hands as if I were a butterfly, because he stroked my skin with his thumbs with such care that the delicacy of it alone could break me.

I released his hands only to run my fingertips up the length of his arm, occasionally stopping as I really focused in on a tattoo, paying special attention to the rose. It made me smile and I traced it with my index finger, declaring it my favorite for obvious reasons, and I knew he was thinking the same because I could sense him chuckling inaudibly as he watched me perform my actions. There were goosebumps on his skin where my fingers had touched, and it made my lips twitch with a hint of a smile.

Eventually I lifted my gaze to look at his features which were still hovering dangerously close to mine, and my hands made their way up his biceps and across the broadness of his shoulders to rest on either side of his face.

My gaze was attached to his lips—they were pink and perfect. The second he realized what I was looking at I heard his breathing become slightly more labored as his heartrate picked up, and I was glad that it wasn’t just me…I had to hold back a gasp when the tip of his tongue slid out from between his lips as he glided it across his lower brim.

I retaliated by lifting my own finger and running the pad of my thumb across his lip where his tongue had moistened it already, and I felt him suck in a breath of air as I did so. He stood perfectly still, his hands on my hips as he allowed me to become acquainted with bits of him. I used my own tongue to lick my lips softly in a subconscious effort to moisten them, before I croaked out.

“H-Harry…”

“Mm?” He responded, unable to form proper words.

“Can…Can I kiss you?” The question spilled from my lips clumsily and not at all seductively, and I was surprised that I was able to get them out to begin with.

There was a pause before he lifted his head in a slow nod, and it wasn’t until then that I looked up into his eyes and realized that he had been watching my lips as well. I exhaled inaudibly, standing up on my toes a little bit in order to close the distance between mine and Harry’s lips. I counted a total of two seconds before I brushed my lips against his softly.

Oh...

My lips trembled against his for a second, only stopping when I felt his hands squeeze my hips gently. After that I melted against him, the crease of his lower lip pressed in between mine. It was soft, and it was sweet, and his lips reminded me of a strawberry taste and it caused the butterflies in my stomach to flutter and my heartbeat to speed up to a degree I’d never before experienced.

So that’s how it’s supposed to feel…

It lasted about ten seconds before he pulled away, and the second he did I felt my heart drop.

I was about to open my eyes, but I was caught off guard by the feeling of his lips once again—this time they collided against mine, pressing firmly against my mouth and it ignited something inside of me that I had no recollection of feeling ever before.

Not only that, but his hands came to life, his arms slipping around my waist and picking me up off of the ground so that I didn’t have to stand on my toes anymore, bringing me up so that I was level with his features. My arms slid around his neck so that I could support myself against him. I swear, I could probably kiss Harry forever and never grow tired of it. His lips danced against mine with tenderness and care and desire and it made my head swim with thoughts of Harry and only Harry.

Eventually he pulled away, and I could sense the reluctance in the action. He set me down on the ground and I unconsciously whined a little bit, which caused a raspy laugh to escape from his throat, something I’d never heard before. He reassured me by pressing several soft pecks against my lips, as if he couldn’t get enough of them either.

When he finally pulled away properly he cupped my features in his hands, his piercing green eyes watching every inch of my blissed-out expression. There was a content smile on my lips and I couldn’t help but giggle softly at his moistened lips as well as the slight red tint in his cheeks.

It made me want to kiss him all over again, but I knew that if we started we might not ever stop.

“I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow?” I croaked out softly, and the smile that he gifted me was enough to take my breath away if he hadn’t already.

He leaned in to press another soft kiss against my forehead this time, reluctantly releasing me from his hold as he prepared himself to leave for the night.

“I’ll be here, love.”

#have a little faith #half #chapter ten #ashes #harry styles #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles story #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles x ofc #harry styles oneshot #harry styles reading

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pseudofaux · 7 years

Text

Kindness

Sequel to Goodness, which has an epilogue. tl;dr : Nobuyuki targeted/seduced (ymmv) Yukimura’s wife Akiba, Yukimura walked in near the end, hid, had some conflicted feelz about it. M! It’s very M. Also MMF. Also long, it’s over 10k (should I have said “over nine thousand”?).

Many mercis to @phantomofthelabyrinth who sent back helpful edits in record time (!), @saizos-little-lady who was the sweetest possible friend as I was struggling while writing this, and @karalija and @rubyleeray who are funny and talented af. Tagging @dear-mrs-otome @darkangelmitsunari @phantomofthelabyrinth @yuyuisakura-hime @unicornthug4life @akiko-moons (NOW I will FINALLY email you!), @little-mini-me-world @opossumlyotterlyinsane @saialock and @quincette and and and

The day was interminably hot. Unbearably hot. If it would rain, or if there was wind, it would be easier to make it through. But it was dry, and still, and hot. Everyone tried to do as much as they could in the morning so they could spend the day inside, out of the sun and the worst of the damned heat. To look outside you would hardly know; trees were orange and red, some already bare. It looked like autumn. But it felt like hell.

Even Yukimura, who had been extremely focused for weeks and always worked up a sweat during training, seemed to notice. Not that he was training with any less effort. Not that he was letting the recruits train with any less effort. Someone needed to put a stop to this or they were going to start dropping there on the dirt.

Akiba watched from the shade—comfortless shade—and felt a thin trickle of sweat make its way between her shoulders. A strand of hair had somehow come loose and was stuck to the back of her neck. Had there been a breeze it might have tickled, so perhaps the still air was a blessing. It didn’t feel like one.

“Yukimura,” she called when the group was quiet, holding positions.

He froze in his form, classical profile and strong posture making her smile. His kosode was hanging from his waist, revealing the bands around his abdomen, stained by sweat. She could see the muscles of his chest and shoulders and arms and neck and… well. He was beautiful. Yukimura slowly turned to her and gave her a tiny smile of his own. Hers widened as their eyes met, and she held up a towel.

“Break,” he said. “Five minutes.” And he walked to his wife purposefully.

Some of the recruits whined, but most of them just made for the well, clearly wilted from their time outside.

“Hello,” she said softly, shyly, offering him the cloth. He took it with another little smile. “I brought you water, too,” she added, slipping the cord off her shoulder and holding the flask out for him. “It should still be a little cool.” After Yukimura had pressed the sweat from his brow and neck into the towel, he accepted it gratefully.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he murmured, looking at her as he took a drink.

“I put it in the cellar,” she admitted. “I wanted to bring you ice, but there’s not enough. I did only bring it out a moment ago, though. So hopefully…” she trailed off, raising her eyebrows.

Yukimura hummed an amused sound and touched her cheek. He took another pull from the flask. Those glorious eyes were exceptionally beautiful over the yellowed bamboo.

“Smart. I meant you coming out to see me, but the water is a treat. Thank you.”

She blushed, happy. She had tried to interrupt training in the past and he usually waved her off, or only jogged over to tell her he would come to her when it was done, that it was unfair to leave the new soldiers to work while he was idle.

Over the last few weeks, though, he had been different. He had become more willing to be selfish, and since he had started out too selfless, the change seemed to have matured him, somehow. He was still generous, still so kind. Still noble. But his nobility was developing into something calmer and quieter. Sadder. After…

“Stop,” he said, two of fingers prodding at her cheek. Her eyes went to his, remorse pulling her mouth to one side.

“Akiba,” he continued, his patient voice making her want to wince. But she tried to keep their eye contact, trust him, earn his trust. “We agreed. This isn’t necessary.”

To that she could say nothing, because it was true and because the guilt in her throat was leaden anyway. But she tried harder to smile, and she pressed her cheek into his hand.

She said what she could.

“I love you so much,” she murmured, bringing her hand over his. His body was ruddy from exertion in the sun, and the heat made even his touch hot and sweaty.

“I know,” he said gently. “I love you, too.”

She closed her eyes, and pressed his hand with her own and with her cheek, not minding the heat or slickness. She would bear any discomfort for him that she could.

“I should get back,” he said after a moment, sounding a little bashful, a little like his old self.

She nodded. “After, will you be busy until dinner?”

“Yes,” he sighed. At this rate in a week or so he would actually be rolling his eyes. “But inside, at least,” he added pleasantly.

“I’m glad you’ll be out of the heat,” she said, a smile coming easily now. “I’ll try to get some ice for after dinner if there’s any left.”

His answering smile was so grown up, now. It was like he had become a man… a more adult man, somehow? “You don’t have to do that,” he said. But he did not insist.

“I know,” she said, biting her lip, eyes going toward the kitchens and then back to his face. “But I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Yukimura said on a chuckle, a fond smile on his face. She squeezed his hand and let go as slowly as she could.

“Back at it, everyone!” he called over his shoulder. She tried not to giggle when she heard faint groaning.

“Don’t be too hard on them,” she said.

He shook his head and handed the flask back to her. The towel he draped over the back of his neck. He leaned in and she felt her face go up in a smile to meet his quick kiss. Yukimura straightened, smiling at her warmly, and touched the spot on the apple of her cheek where he had kissed her.

“Sorry about the sweat,” he said.

She shook her own head, still smiling. “I don’t mind.”

One more smile, one more touch, and then he turned to go back to training in the brutal midday heat.

An unexpected, blessed little scrap of autumn wind blew over the grounds. The space on her cheek where his hand and lips had touched her felt cool in that breeze.

At dinner the next night, Yukimura touched her hand, slotting his fingers through hers on the floor between them. After a moment, he leaned toward her and brought his mouth to her ear.

“Tonight, we need to go to Nobuyuki’s rooms,” he said quietly. She felt herself stiffen immediately and turned her face to his.

“Is that something you want?” she asked, trying to match his volume.

He smiled faintly and nodded, an easy gesture. He seemed entirely untroubled. She did not share his calm, but she would follow him. Yukimura had said “need.” So she nodded, gravely. He squeezed her hand and then leaned back, leaving his hand on hers. He watched the evening’s entertainment looking every inch relaxed and satisfied.

He looked like his brother. And wasn’t that an alarming, thrilling thought.

She had not been alone—or this close to alone—with Nobuyuki since the morning they had all woken up together.

Just as he implied he would, Nobuyuki had treated her no differently. His behavior was not indifferent, precisely, it had simply been very, very, normal. Akiba had to wonder if even Saizo would have noticed. Who was the more observant, Nobuyuki or Saizo? It would take longer than she had been here to figure out.

Nobuyuki’s voice was calm when he greeted them, his smile comfortable. All she could see on his face was quiet curiosity. No malice, no plotting. She knew, better than most, that not seeing an agenda should not lull her into thinking one was not there. She had not really wanted to be alone with him, for fear of what would happen, but she wished that between the last time they were alone and now there had been a quiet time to talk to him. There had been such a sense of attunement that night and the knowledge of it hummed under her skin.

She tried to tell it to shut up.

After all three were settled on the floor in a triangle, Nobuyuki asked a question.

“What did you want to discuss, little brother?”

Akiba looked at her husband, trying to check her surprise. This had been his idea? She supposed the sea change of his behavior should make this less of a shock, but she thought Nobuyuki had put this meeting together. It was, of course, entirely possible that Nobuyuki had brought the three of them together, his brother an unwitting accomplice.

But something about the Yukimura of the last few days made that harder to believe.

He looked fairly relaxed. Such a change in the last few days. Yukimura’s hands were closed a little tighter than usual, but there were no other outward signs of distress.

“I want to discuss what it is…” he started, voice thoughtful.

Suddenly his cheeks were pink, and he was himself—his old self—again.

“I want to, umm....”

Akiba reached for Yukimura’s hand, trying to soothe him. “I love you,” she told him, very quietly. “Whatever you want to talk about, we will.”

He met her eyes, seeming for just a moment as though he were lost, and then resolving himself. Yukimura looked from her to his brother, and Akiba felt her heart fly into her throat as she prepared to give him what she expected he was going to ask for. He was well within rights to demand to know what it was that had made her decide to sleep with his brother.

“I want to know what you two want,” he said with a small shrug.

Akiba felt the heat of her nerves vanish in an instant.

“What you would want to do,” Yukimura clarified, his pink ears a contrast to his calm face and unwavering voice, “If it didn’t hurt anyone. Me.”

Oh, this man. This incredibly tender, brave man.

Nobuyuki’s eyes glinted at them, and the quirk of his smile flashed into something darker for just a moment. Akiba resisted the urge to tell him she had seen that. He had probably done it on purpose.

“I would want to love you both, of course.” Nobuyuki said, pleasant, magnanimous. The white flash of his smile looked so earnest and charming.

Akiba was pretty sure he was being truthful, but she frowned at him anyway. How could he be so unruffled by this?!

“The truth?” she asked, turning to look at Yukimura. She could feel the concern on her face, reflecting only a fraction of its intensity in her heart.

“Yes,” her husband said patiently, “the truth. Plainly, please,” and he flicked a slightly reproachful glance at Nobuyuki. Who only smiled more serenely, if such a thing were possible.

Akiba sighed and drew back her hand. Took a breath. Considered for a moment.

“The truth is, if it wouldn’t hurt you I would want to be with both of you,” she confessed. “But I would only want that if it didn’t hurt you. I love you. I can’t enjoy what makes you unhappy.”

Yukimura nodded, and then looked down at one of his hands, a loose fist on his thigh. After a long moment, he said quietly “We could, then.”

Before Akiba could say anything, Nobuyuki’s voice cut through the room.

“Genjirou,” his tone was admonishing but kind; brotherly. “That is not where this has to go.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Yukimura demanded with no small amount of heat. He was blushing as intensely as she had ever seen him and he looked frustrated.

“Yukimura,” she said, taking his hand again. “You don’t have to do this. Please don’t force yourself.”

He took in a deep breath and turned his hand to hold hers. “You,” he said on his exhale, meeting her eyes with a hopeful little smile, “don’t have to force yourself not to. I…I want this.”

Her heart broke a little at his confession; he sounded so shy. Whether he was telling the truth or not, she wanted to hold him when he was this vulnerable. She scooted closer to put her arms around his waist.

Should she take him at his word, or insist that they leave?

“If this is what you want,” she said after a moment, “then we should do exactly and only what you want. Can you… tell us? You can direct anything, everything. You can make Nobuyuki watch and not touch if that would make you happy.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Nobuyuki’s eyebrows shoot up at that suggestion, but when she looked at him properly he was smiling at her, satisfaction incarnate. As though he had known this was exactly where they would end up. And he probably had, she realized.

Yukimura shook his head. “I don’t… have anything in particular in mind. I just want… the three of us. Together.” He gestured between them, beseechingly. After a pause he seemed to clear his head and calm himself. “Together,” he repeated, firmly, looking to her and then to Nobuyuki, and back. “Here.”

His brother laughed, the sound warm and inviting, not teasing. “I’m proud of you, Yukimura,” Nobuyuki said, voice serious despite his expression. “And you,” he added, looking at Akiba with a cooler, more assessing, smile.

Ah. There he was.

Akiba sat up and moved her hands to her husband’s jaw. She moved her thumbs lightly over his face, searching his eyes with her own. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Yukimura looked down. He nodded quickly, emphatically. And then pushed his cheek against one of her hands and closed his eyes. She leaned toward him again.

“I love you,” she promised against his mouth. “I will love you best in the world, always. If this is not what you want, that’s okay.” Akiba pressed a kiss, the tenderest she could manage. She could feel the sudden heat of his cheeks as he blushed yet again, but she was used to him blushing when she kissed him like this so it only made her smile. “And if you do want this, that’s okay too.” She kissed him again, another tender press. He nodded.

She moved to kneel in the empty space between his knees. She took her husband’s hands and brought them to her face, pressing gently as she kissed him again. “Yukimura,” she breathed, “…Is it okay? Can I love you?”

When she felt him go still, she opened her eyes. He was looking at her in a way she had only seen once before. On their wedding night, as he told her that he knew they belonged to each other. His mouth was a firm line, his eyes were narrowed. He lifted his chin slightly in a gesture she recognized as his try me. A grin spread on her face, relief spread through her body, and hope that this would be okay spread through her heart.

After a second his face relaxed into his kind smile. She went back to kissing him, reverently, trying to coax his mouth open with tiny slips of her tongue. She said his name softly. His fingers were warm as they cradled and tilted her face.

Nobuyuki seemed to be sitting this out for the time being, which was what Akiba wanted. She decided to trust he would recognize a good time to join if one arose, and refocused herself on Yukimura, who had tilted his head back a little further. She was craning her neck to reach him for kisses.

Akiba pulled Yukimura’s hands down to her neck, then her collarbones. His warm fingers rubbed up and down over her skin, her clavicles. Then she brought his hands to her breasts, and squeezed, and left them there. She put her hands behind his neck and started kissing him in earnest.

“I like,” she told him between kisses, “that you like these.”

He was still again for a moment, but then she could feel him beginning to apply his own pressure. She sighed into his mouth, comfortable and happy. He moved his hands, cupping her breasts, squeezing them close. Akiba pressed her thighs together as the thrill of being touched by him began to warm her body.

She moaned his name softly into their kiss.

Her obi was being untied but Yukimura’s hands were still on her. She could feel Nobuyuki pull the cord and fabric away, and then his warmth was at her back. Nobuyuki’s hands massaged her shoulders as Yukimura continued to rub her breasts.

“Stand up,” Nobuyuki said, voice low. She opened her eyes to check in with Yukimura. He nodded, so she moved to stand. They all did, holding bits of one another for purchase. Akiba’s hand was softly pulled up by Yukimura, and she was gratified to feel Nobuyuki’s hand at her back, holding onto the fabric of her kimono as he rose with her.

Before her stood her husband, looking down at her with a hint of a smile and his magnificent eyes shining. Behind her Nobuyuki was close, his hands resting on her shoulders. He slid them down her arms and brought his hands to the front of her datejime. His fingers, precise and sure, went to the knot immediately. Akiba took a breath but held the look she was sharing with her husband. She wet her lips and smiled a tiny smile at Yukimura, who deepened his own patient smile. But did not touch her.

Nobuyuki made quick work of the datejime knot and pulled the sash to the side with one fist. Whatever he did with it, the silk made no sound. He ghosted his hands up her body, the touches featherlight and warm over the silk, and returned to her shoulders. There, he hooked his fingers in the fabric, catching the collars of her unbound kimono and nagajuban. Akiba let her head fall the short distance back onto his body.

She reached for one of Yukimura’s hands and gave him a squeeze as she closed her eyes.

Nobuyuki continued to slowly pull her robes until he brought them down over her elbows and let go. She could feel the fabric pool at her feet, the slide of the nagajuban warm against her ankles. But immediately it was moving, and she realized Nobuyuki was pulling it away with his foot.

Had they not been in one of his meticulous rooms Akiba would have protested this treatment of her favorite kimono, but here they were. It was probably better to get the silk and embroidery out of the way, given the charge between the three of them. She knew that energy would tip over soon, and she expected it would give way to something dark and wonderful. And grasping.

Familiar fingers were sliding up her breasts, and she pushed her body into Yukimura’s touch and sighed into the air above them. She felt cool air at her back suddenly. But as she turned to look at Nobuyuki, Yukimura’s hands moved to the back of her head and pulled her to him. The possessiveness of the gesture thrilled her even as it made her worry about his ability to handle what was happening. But it was hard to think about anything just then; his kisses were demanding and ceaseless and she had to cling to him to stay upright. She had told him this made her weak—was he doing it on purpose?

When Yukimura slowed the pace of their kisses, she realized her hands were at his waist. His obi and hakama were always tricky to undo; best to start while she had this temporary sanity. As she moved to the back ties one of her forearms brushed against his hardness. The thrill of it made Akiba smile, and it cleared her head a bit. She went on the offensive in their kiss, licking at Yukimura’s tongue as she palmed the length of him through the loosened hakama. The stiff heat of his cock through his clothes and his inelegant, sweet little grunts against her mouth as she slid the fabric against him made her feel powerful. She wanted to use that power to make him feel cherished. She would.

Akiba settled for keeping her mouth near Yukimura’s to catch his sounds, his labored breaths. She rolled her hips toward her husband, toward her hand. He hissed, warm—hot—hands going quickly down her back to squeeze her hips before he took them away. She did not appreciate the loss of the heat or contact and she whined into his mouth. He chuckled, and when she opened her eyes he had that dear, beautiful, patient smile she loved so much on his face, and the color high on his cheeks was health and happiness, not embarrassment. It seemed like the upper hand was constantly shifting between them, but Yukimura, at least, looked himself.

This will be okay, she thought.

He leaned toward her slightly and she realized he was pulling off his hakama. She let go of him, though she considered keeping him in her hand to impede his progress. Akiba realized she could slide the kosode off his shoulders instead of letting him do it, and bit her lip to keep patient. When he straightened, she brought her hands and mouth to his chest, kissing the swell of his muscles—heavens, she loved this part of him—as she walked her fingers up to his neck.

She could hear Yukimura’s gulp, and tried not to giggle. She loved this man so much. She told him so between kisses, and relished the way his heartbeat made his chest thump beneath her. When her fingers reached his neck she trailed them around the skin. Then she laid her palms on the flesh of his shoulders and moved them away, remembering Nobuyuki’s pace as he had removed her clothing. She pushed Yukimura’s kosode aside with her wrists, stretching the movement out as long as she could stand, looking up into his magnificent eyes.

The garment finally had nothing else to rest on but her hands, and she let it fall.

Yukimura had not wrapped his abdomen that day, so his fundoshi was all that was left. She untucked the fabric as quickly as she could and tossed it away, eager to see him and eager for him to see her eagerness.

“You two have made quick work of one another,” a deep voice observed suddenly, silkily, at her ear. That tone had gone right to her core and Akiba sucked in another breath and rose onto her toes. Nobuyuki’s hands stroked the dip of her waist and he mouthed something that might have been “lovely,” against her neck. One of his hands slid down to the curve of her backside. For a moment it rested there, warm and surprisingly comforting as he wrapped his other arm around her and reached for a breast. Then he slid the hand lower, so his fingers were on the back of her thigh. And then he squeezed.

Yukimura’s hands returned to her hips, rubbing small whorls into her skin. She reached for him, to kiss him, and as she moved Nobuyuki moved forward with her.

Between them, she was secure. Comfortable. Neither pulled her, they only held her close. She could feel Yukimura’s cock like a brand on her belly, promising wonderful things to come. Nobuyuki was subtly poking her back though his clothes. But for now they all stood, very near, very calm. The smell of the brothers in their shared air was soothing. These smells were safe, home, love, goodness. Yukimura and Nobuyuki were the only men who had ever known her body, and the only men she ever wanted to. Somehow Yukimura was good enough and brave enough to try this. She trailed fingers along his face as she kissed him, languorous and sweet.

“I think it would be prudent to return to the floor,” Nobuyuki offered after a moment, pulling at Akiba’s hips as he kneeled. Feeling adrift after she had been supported so fully, she only blinked at first. Her eyes settled on Yukimura, whose expression was passionate and kind. He tilted his head a little toward the ground and she complied, going easily to her knees.

Yukimura remained standing. She looked up to his face, eyes lingering briefly on his jutting hardness. His body was so proud and beautiful. He looked like a god.

His eyes dropped bashfully and she realized she had said that out loud.

“I mean it,” Akiba said, rising to kneel and reaching for his hips. His muscles had little give, but the softness of his skin allowed her to squeeze him for emphasis. “Please believe me. You’re like an ideal, my husband. Your body matches your heart.”

That brought back his expression of relaxed passion. And his cock throbbed, right in front of her face.

Could she try…?

Yes.

Without breaking their eye contact, she brought her mouth to his cock. She could feel his body go rigid beneath her fingers as he caught on to what she was about to do, and he started to protest:

“A-Akiba, no, that’s—you don’t have to…” but as she took him in her mouth his groan was as deep as his voice had been nervous. She had suspected for some time that he might like this, but never asked. She supposed she had not really asked now. But here he was, present in all of her senses. She wanted to make him feel good, feel worshiped, feel loved. She would try this, she would try anything, for him.

He was hard enough that she did not even need to take him in hand. She pulled back to kiss the tip delicately, then opened her lips again and moved her mouth forward, mindful of her teeth. His skin felt pleasurably, decadently smooth sliding between her lips. With her tongue she made tentative sweeps along the underside of his shaft, enjoying the glide of it almost as much as his reactions... Yukimura was practically bobbing in her mouth. But of course he did not push her, or into her, in any way. He was endlessly worthy of trust.

She did feel his fingers threading slowly through her hair. Simply holding; anchoring himself. His restraint made her want to go further. Akiba hummed in her throat, and Yukimura swore. She grinned around him. There was a new taste in her mouth, a little bit bitter, a little bit salty.

Ah.

She did not think she could manage all of his cock in this way, so she gripped the base, moving back and forth on what she could not reach with her mouth. At the hair dusting his abdomen the smell of Yukimura, masculine and comforting, was concentrated. As her hand brushed against it the scent intensified, and as she breathed it in she began to feel like she needed to give herself over to this feeling and what she was doing. I love you, she thought, as she began to suck, and she hoped he knew it, believed it.

“Shit--!” Yukimura swore again, immediately. He sounded so desperate she almost laughed despite the torpid cloudiness of her thoughts. But she focused instead, trying not to let her smile break the seal of her mouth around his hardness. He groaned softly. His fingers gripped her with just a bit of pressure now, and she loved it. She could feel his leg quivering under her fingers and was considering trying to go farther down his shaft with her mouth when he told her to stop. His hands held her head in place as he pulled himself from her lips.

Akiba did not hide her hurt expression. That felt good for both of them, hadn’t it? Wasn’t it exciting that they were finally trying?

Yukimura raked both hands through his hair. She knew it was a nervous gesture, and waited for him to explain.

“I don’t… I want to be in you, when…”

How could his face be so self-conscious and erotic at the same time? He was looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Her disappointment melted away. She had to fight the urge to launch herself at him.

“Okay,” she said softly, pleased when that small, intimate smile reappeared on his face. “I want that, too.” And while she had wanted to have him in her mouth longer, she did want him to find release inside her while they held one another. That was worth stopping for.

Yukimura sat down. His physique, his expression, his eyes, they were all glorious. She leaned forward and crossed the short distance between them on her hands and knees.

“How should I take care of you, then?” she purred when she got to him. “What do you want?” she whispered at his ear, pressing her breasts against his chest. She felt as much as saw his eyes roll back.

“I want you to look only at me,” he groaned, eyes shut tightly. “Just… now, I want you to look at me. I want you… to… love me,” Yukimura said. And she heard the need in that, and Akiba thought her heart might break. She crawled into his lap and put her arms around his neck.

“I do, Yukimura. I do. I will,” she promised. “I love you,” she whispered. And she sought out his mouth to try to prove it to him all over again.

She kissed his mouth, slowly and gently as she could. His lips were trembling and she shushed him affectionately, tightening her arms about him and stroking the back of his head.

“I love you,” Akiba said softly, kissing his cheek. As she trailed her fingers to his shoulders she kissed his jaw. She could feel the tautness of him, tension in the muscles connecting his arms to his back. More tension than there should have been. That would not do at all.

“I love you, Yukimura,” she repeated, and she pressed and massaged the skin of his shoulders. The column of her husband’s throat was prominent with his head thrown back, and she slowly licked the length of one side, trying to make the gesture somehow more reassuring than suggestive. She could taste the salt of his sweat. And she could hear his groan, and feel his hardness pulse against her thigh.

“I love your heart,” she said, resting her hand over it. He brought his face down to look at her. She could see the naked vulnerability of his expression. She gave him one of her own intimate smiles and nodded at him as she replaced her hand with her mouth. “I have never known someone so kind or true or brave,” she said against his skin. She kissed him worshipfully, letting her fingers trace patterns on the supple skin of his chest.

“I love your spirit,” Akiba told him. Her hand trailed down to solar plexus, stroking across his abdomen. “That you’re my gentle giant. You’re strong and devoted. Loving. Protecting.” She kissed his shoulder.

“I love your clever and compassionate mind,” she said quietly, and her hand between them went right for his shaft. “I have never, ever thought you were stupid, Yukimura. I love you and I admire you and I desire you.” She stroked up his length before lazily smearing the precome she found at the tip.

“I love you always, in so many ways.” She watched his face as he shut his eyes, a vision of handsome pleasure. “I love your body, and I want to show you.”

He felt impossibly hard in her hand, the smoothness she had enjoyed with her mouth earlier under her fingers now, and she would not be parted from it again so easily. She moved up and down the length of him, taking in the sight of him with shameless eyes.

Akiba retreated from his lap, keeping her hand on his shaft. She went back to her knees and leaned forward, her free arm over his shoulder. The wetness of her arousal was unmistakable between her legs. She always got this way when Yukimura let her lavish him with affection. Something about him moved her to speak her adoration when she could, and something about that… aroused her. Every time.

As she was sucking at the skin on Yukimura’s shoulder, Akiba felt sure fingers moving up the inside of her thigh. She was so sensitized and craving something to be inside her that the movement broke her focus. She whimpered, and the movement immediately stopped. Yukimura throbbed in her hand, and she decided to consider that response in great detail some other time. She returned her attention to the love bite she was trying to leave on her husband’s shoulder and immediately felt the glide of those fingers again, coming up to rest on her backside before moving away. Nobuyuki’s ministrations had left a trail of her wetness on her skin, sticky and sinful.

Just as she was beginning to wonder where he would go next, Nobuyuki slapped her ass, the sting immediately soothed by his fingers gripping at the curve. The contrast of the sensations was confusing, and she cried out against Yukimura.

Then she let out another, louder, cry, as Nobuyuki’s fingers slid inside her until his palm rested against her skin. All the while Yukimura grew even harder in her hand. She gave up on the love bite and rested against his chest with her eyes shut tightly, keening and rocking her hips back. To be between them was a dream she had scarcely let herself consider, but she was already so desperate it was a struggle to keep up.

“Yukimura,” she moaned, feeling lost, that earlier power gone. Her voice sounded broken in her own ears.

“Just like that, darling,” Nobuyuki murmured behind her.

“Yukimura,” Akiba wailed, stretching out the name. The man in question swore quietly and hit the floor with his fist. Nobuyuki’s fingers tapped expertly on the most sensitive spot within her and her body nearly bowed, it felt so good. She began to murmur her husband’s name over and over, slowing her strokes on his cock as it became difficult to focus.

One of Yukimura’s warm hands went to hers, guiding, and the other went to her back, reassuring and warm. Her chest went tight at the swell of love for him that brought on, and she sobbed wordlessly.

“You’re safe, Akiba,” Nobuyuki said.

She continued to gasp and whine and say Yukimura’s name. She was teetering on the edge of coming, closer and closer to falling every time those fingers moved in her and on her hand. She felt dizzy and desperate and out of control.

“Yukimura,” she begged. “Please. Please.”

“What is it that you want, darling?” Nobuyuki’s voice made it very clear that he knew exactly what she wanted, but managed to at least seem serious.

“Yukimura!” she cried again, tears forming. This was rapturous, but it was also torment.

“And why do you want Yukimura?” That drawl. If she ever recovered from this she would throttle Sanada Nobuyuki.

“Because I love him!” she all but screamed, tears hot on her face.

And then she was empty, and being scooped into arms, so suddenly she didn’t even have time to look around before she was being settled into Yukimura’s lap. She threw her arms around his neck and mindlessly rocked against his groin, too gone to even reach for him and get the pleasure she needed.

“Yukimura, please,” she repeated, “Please. I can’t. I need. Please.”

“I—me, too, yes, ah, Aki-AH!”

As soon as he said yes she pushed herself as far down onto him as she could, tension dissolving in her body like raindrops in sun. This was so right, the stretch of him, the heat of his body, his hiss of breath, and the loving way he immediately stopped squeezing her to stroke her back.

“Are you okay?” Yukimura asked quietly.

“Mmm,” she hummed, moving slowly against him. “Yes. So much better.”

And it was. Usually when she was worked to that point of arousal all that would make her feel better was getting to come, but now she felt more relieved than anything, and she had her mind back. Akiba took a deep breath and steadied herself, then adjusted her legs so she was more fully seated on him. When she opened her eyes to look at Yukimura she knew her expression was seductive. The little flare of his nostrils was nice proof.

She took her hands out of his beautiful pewter hair and brought them to her cheeks. She bit her lip as she rocked against him once more, dragging her fingers slowly to her neck, her shoulders, her chest. Yukimura’s eyes were getting very wide, but the little grin in one corner of his mouth showed her he knew where she was going.

“Yukimura,” she purred when she was cupping her breasts, offering them to him, “would you…?”

He groaned and set his mouth on her like a man possessed. He sucked, he bit, he tongued every bit of her breasts he could reach. Yukimura brought his hands forward to squeeze her and she buried her fingers back in his hair, the silkiness of him under her fingers and in her body the most luxurious sensation she had ever felt.

Yukimura was sucking at one nipple, practically growling, and canting his hips—she would never interrupt training again, bless training and all the strength it gave him—up so powerfully she did not think she could last against her own pleasure for every long.

Which gave her an idea.

“Husband,” she said to him, waiting for him to look up at her. The feral look he shot her as he was biting at her skin made her hiss and clench around him, and he released her with a groan.

“Do you like it when I cry out for you?” she asked.

He bit his lip and looked away. But his cock had pulsed within her, hard and sudden.

“Because I,” she said, rising and sliding back down onto him, “love it when you make me lose myself like that.”

And Yukimura seemed to lose himself, because suddenly his face was smashed into the softness of her chest and his hands cradled her thighs, moving her up as though she was nothing and bringing her back down like it meant everything.

She could not keep the cries in her mouth as he moved her, filled her. Yukimura’s length was pushing so deeply inside her at this angle that her back did bow, and she was sobbing his name and strangled, inarticulate sounds like they were prayers. He had never fucked her so fast or hard and a little scrap of her sanity told her to be grateful; she was not built to withstand this with any frequency. But this once it was exquisite, and she relished his power.

Akiba came quickly, overstimulated and overwrought. She held the last syllable of his name until she ran out of breath. Then her head lolled forward, bouncing like the rest of her as her husband continued to move her body. She tried to catch her breath, to rally herself so she could brace her legs on the ground and be a more active partner, but then Yukimura held her still.

“It’s okay,” he gritted out. “I know. Just let me.”

And despite every sated ache in her body, the confidence of his voice made her squeeze around him, and his breath turned to stutters and his body began to tremble.

“At least,” she gasped, “Let me tell you again.”

He nodded tightly.

“I—nnnmh!—love you, Yukimura, I—”

His sudden groan drowned out her words as he pulled her down onto his body with finality, his come pulsing into her deep and hot.

Yukimura held her a moment before he leaned back, taking her with him. He “oomph”ed when they landed and from the silliness or her satiety, she giggled. Akiba glanced up just in time to see the twist of his mouth into a grin. She settled herself onto his chest, allowing her breathing to slow. Normally she would be ready to fall asleep in his arms, but something about him pulling her down the last time had shaken the sleep from her mind and she felt invigorated.

For while they lay peacefully, cuddling one another and letting their breathing slow together. Yukimura’s cock slipped out of her with a small rush of fluid and she whimpered quietly at the loss. He stroked her hair. He said nothing about their shared come on their bodies. Or pooling on the floor beneath him, and she was quite sure there was enough of it for that.

He finally sighed, sounding content. “I love you,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you.”

Her chest ached, she loved him so. She felt sparse tears smearing on her cheeks as she kissed his chest, his shoulders, his neck. “I love you,” she said, “so much.” She continued to kiss him fervently. “I will always love you so, so much.”

Yukimura chuckled, sounding bashful. He palmed the side of her face and rubbed this thumb along her cheekbone. “You, too,” he said with a little smile. He began to sit up and she scooted back to give him room. He took her hand and kissed her fingertips before pulling her hand away from their bodies.

Her eyes followed the movement, widening as she realized her hand had been placed on the cord of Nobuyuki’s obi. She did not bother to wonder how he had gotten so close so silently. She flicked her eyes up to Nobuyuki, who smiled at her.

“Show me?” Yukimura asked softly. Akiba felt her mouth open and her toes curl. She looked back to him and searched his eyes for doubt but found none. She nodded. Yukimura kissed her forehead, then moved to her ear. He whispered “Unwind him,” so wicked and so low she did not think even Nobuyuki, right next to them, could have heard. Then Yukimura put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently toward his brother.

She glanced up at Nobuyuki’s smile again, feeling emboldened but still shy around him. She wasn’t sure if she should kiss him; that had been a point of some contention before. He saved her the trouble by pressing her jaw to one side and kissing her ear. He only placed that one kiss before turning her body around and bringing her into his lap. One of his hands held the curve of her waist and another stroked her throat.

“Beautiful,” he was murmuring into her neck, just above his fingers. “Never forget that I think you are beautiful.”

Akiba felt herself smile, felt her cheeks warm faintly. And then she felt him rake his teeth across the skin of her neck. She sucked in air as she winced. It had not exactly hurt, but it had been unexpected and sharp.

“Hey!” Yukimura exclaimed. “No,” he said firmly.

Akiba could feel Nobuyuki’s smile against the side of her throat. “No,” he said amiably, and she thought she knew just what his face looked like. That dark smile. She opened her eyes to look for Yukimura and show him she was okay.

Oh.

Her husband was reclining against a stack of linens, one knee bent. He was scowling faintly. And his cock, relaxed but rising, was in his hand.

“Doesn’t he look marvelous?” asked Nobuyuki.

Akiba had to swallow before she could manage to answer. “Yes,” she said thickly, as quickly as she could. Her eyes were eagerly looking over Yukimura’s body, skin supple over muscles, hair pewter and glorious. Even his cock, which she enjoyed but did not usually admire, looked beautiful. She remembered having him in her mouth and her breath sped up. She traced her top lip with her tongue, dreamily. That was definitely something she wanted again.

“I’m not sure Yukimura could hear you, darling. What were you agreeing to?” Nobuyuki’s tone was airy; he was playing with them both. But it felt like a game they were all playing together. Something dark, but enjoyable.

“He looks—nnnm!—marvelous!” The intensity of feeling caused by Nobuyuki’s fingers pressing her nipples while he tongued her ear interrupted her declaration.

“But how can you know when you aren’t looking, hmm? Open your eyes, Akiba.”

Oooh, something about that voice, that order. How had he even known her eyes were closed? He was Nobuyuki, that was how.

She did open her eyes, seeking out Yukimura’s once again. He was looking at them with his own eyes narrowed and his lips parted. His thumb stroked the top of his shaft, gliding over the liquid there. Hers. Theirs. Akiba moaned.

“I know…” she breathed. “I know him, and he is marvelous.”

“Mmm, those are sweet, true words,” Nobuyuki said. “And you’re a sweet, true girl.”

His hands played with her breasts, her waist, so many of the parts of her he had singled out last time. He remembered. She remembered, too. As he roamed her body, making her squirm, he began to speak, right by her ear.

“I watched you wanting him, and it was a beautiful thing. I watched him making love to you, with your sweet face screwed up tightly and those sounds coming out of your mouth all for him, and I think that is when people might expect that a person in my position would feel jealous.”

He fitted himself to her and slid into her body, and the breathy little noise she made sounded so wanton she blushed. She turned her face to try to kiss him but he only touched his lips to her cheek and nudged her face forward.

“Open your eyes, Akiba,” Nobuyuki ordered. “I want you to look at Yukimura while I am inside you.”

Something deviant and erotic trickled through her nerves. She did as he said.

“I want you to watch each other, darling,” he whispered at her ear. She whimpered. This felt amazing, but she wanted to unwind him as Yukimura wished, and Nobuyuki seemed to have all control here.

He began to slowly move his hips up toward her body, kissing her shoulder blades.

“All that exertion got you sweaty, did it?”

When she did not answer, he tweaked one of her nipples. Hard.

“Yes!” she squeaked.

“Well, it tastes magnificent.” He traced a line up one shoulder with his tongue. “Like biwashu.”

She smiled, bringing her arms over her head to settle her wrists behind his neck. He had such a sweet tooth. The clan was very lucky he was not an easy man to bribe.

He hugged her to him, continuing to move slowly in and out of her. Her breasts moved gently with the motion now that they were on such display. Nobuyuki’s shaft felt perfect after her lovemaking with Yukimura, rubbing her sore spots, stretching only shallowly.

Yukimura himself was still reclining, still watching them with hooded eyes. She wished she could kiss him while Nobuyuki did this to her.

“What does Yukimura taste like, darling?”

“Ah…” this time she wanted to answer right away. She had not missed the flicker of interest in Yukimura’s eyes, or the telltale dart away that meant he did not want to be caught imposing on anyone with his curiosity. “I think… bittersweet. I did not get to taste very much. But I loved having him in my mouth,” she confessed.

Nobuyuki hummed by her ear. “Such an honest girl. This trueness of yours is a rare virtue, Akiba.” He settled his chin onto her shoulder, looking the same direction she did.

“Yukimura,” he said, voice casual, “She is very honest. Do you think that merits a reward?”

Yukimura’s cheeks colored faintly, but his eyes narrowed and he nodded.

“What was that, little brother? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Yes,” Yukimura said pointedly.

“Good. I agree,” Nobuyuki murmured by her ear, somehow sensual but completely nonplussed. His hands slid to her legs and he pulled Akiba down a bit by her thighs, the forbidden and familiar sweet pain coming back to her as he went that deep, and she mewled and tossed her head back. But then suddenly the pressure on her legs was gone and the feeling with it.

“No, darling. Eyes forward. Watch your husband.”

Akiba watched Yukimura.

Oh, oh. He was watching them with an expression that approached predatory. And he was pumping himself, his thumb roughly pressing the head of his cock. She tried to commit the sight to memory, and filed his reaction away for later consideration.

“That’s a good girl,” Nobuyuki said at her ear, and he traced the inside of her arm with his tongue as he pushed her back down and pushed his hips up. She cried out again and briefly shut her eyes, but reopened them quickly, wanting to maintain whatever it was she was doing with Yukimura.

Nobuyuki let out the softest moan she had ever heard, more warm air than sound.

“So full of come, you dear thing, and so sensitive.” he said against her shoulder. “You must have made him very happy.”

She moaned, her lower lip trembling. But she kept her eyes on Yukimura. And he kept his eyes between her spread legs, where Nobuyuki continued to slide in and out of her, slow and strong.

When Yukimura’s eyes flicked back up to hers, she gave him a shaky smile. He returned it, and raised his chin at her again. Get to it.

Inspiration struck, thankfully. “You’re not wrong about that, Nobuyuki,” she said softly. “I can feel all of it.”

“Can you now?” he asked, pushing his hips a little higher, a little deeper into her.

“I can. And I want more.”

He went very, very still behind her, under her. She rocked against him.

“Akiba,” his voice was a warning.

“Nobuyuki,” she challenged, even as she raised a brow at his brother. Who groaned.

She could not tell if Nobuyuki’s own response was more groan or laugh, but his grip on her thighs tightened.

“A man might take you at your word, you know.”

His tone was still breezy but there was an undeniable catch in his voice that he tried to cover by clearing his throat. That he tried was the greatest tell of all. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. The power had tipped yet again. She would be able to handle this very nicely, and give both men what they so clearly wanted.

“Yukimura,” she called, “Nobuyuki is having doubts. I’ve told him to come in me and he’s resisting.” She squeezed her muscles on the last word for good measure and reveled in the way he pushed in even further. “I can’t seem to make him understand how badly all of us want him to do that.”

Nobuyuki’s rhythm broke for just a beat.

“Akiba,” he warned again. But his resolve was close to crumbling and she knew it. What a heady thing, to wield more power than Nobuyuki, even for a moment.

She sought out Yukimura’s eyes again, but his own were fixed on what was happening between her legs.

“Yukimura,” she called again. “Tell him.”

He did not look away or still his hand as he answered gruffly, “Do what she asks.”

She laughed. “Not that, love.”

Now Yukimura dragged his eyes to hers. She nodded, smiling encouragingly. His beautiful answering smile made her entire body feel fluttery, and when he spoke, his voice happy and proud, she wanted to melt.

“She’s with child.”

She suspected Nobuyuki had known, but his infinitesimal gasp and the way his hands gentled on her as he slowed made her happy this had been a secret kept so close. It was hard to shock him, and this was such a happy thing. It deeply pleased her that Yukimura had been the one to tell him.

“So it’s alright, you see,” she said, stroking the back of Nobuyuki’s neck. “I know you want to. And I want you to. And Yukimura wants to see it.”

“…Anything else I should know?” Nobuyuki asked, his voice very slightly hoarse, at the side of her throat.

“I love you both very much,” she answered, eyes on her husband, hands on his brother.

Yukimura groaned. Nobuyuki sighed. He stroked her thighs and then lifted her off his lap and settled her on her back on the floor. She tilted her head for a glimpse of Yukimura. He was just as impressive upside down. “Well done,” he mouthed at her, and she grinned at him.

“Sanada Akiba,” Nobuyuki murmured, hands tracing her body, “You have no equal on this earth.” He settled himself between her legs, then hooked them with his arms and pulled her close. As he looked up from aligning himself with her entrance, she saw him make eye contact with Yukimura and nod. Before she could ask, he was sliding back into her body and she was breathing out a sigh of comfortable relief.

He moved forward to hold her hips, and she rocked them up into his hands. She tried to wrap her legs around him but he shook his head. After a moment of shallow strokes he began to push more deeply into her. She held eye contact with him as long as she could, but before long the way he felt had her closing her eyes and she throwing her head back.

Yukimura’s fingers were waiting for her. She nuzzled back into the warmth of his hands and did not protest as he cradled her head, raising her slightly.

Yukimura thumbed her mouth and she opened for him, trying to get his finger before he removed it.

“Would you…?” he asked shyly. She nodded in his hands, enthusiastic, greedy.

“Yes,” she said. “Please.”

She took his hardness into her mouth once more and he groaned, one of the sweetest sounds she had ever heard. This time he did move her, gently, thrusting to meet her mouth with the slightest fraction of the power she knew his body held. He could not go very deeply this way, but her tongue circling the head of his cock seemed to be perfectly sufficient if his quiet moans were any indication.

Her lovers were pacing themselves so well she was never empty as they moved within her. She sighed happily around Yukimura. This felt so good, so warm, and so loving that her heart ached, and the tautness that heralded another orgasm was rising in her body. She traced her belly button and let her hand go lower.

“Dearest,” she heard Nobuyuki say, amused, “Are we not satisfying you?”

She was going to laugh, but he snapped his hips and she squealed on Yukimura’s cock instead. Through her hair she could feel Yukimura’s hands trembling. She reached up to stroke his thigh with her free hand. She could feel the stretch pushing her chest into the air, breasts moving as her body was slowly pulled back and forth.

Akiba let herself be moved between them, the pleasure feeling almost lazy. A dark whisper at the back of her mind wondered what it would be like if they were less gentle, but for now she appreciated their care, and certainly appreciated how good they were making her feel.

Yukimura came with a quiet curse, pulling out of her mouth before she choked and spilling the rest on her chest. Akiba swallowed and hissed out a pleased breath and immediately moved to drag his come over her skin with her fingers. It was bittersweet. Not unpleasant. She had never tasted anything like it. He mumbled an apology but she hushed him.

“I liked that. I love you.”

He smiled at her, a little bit shy and wholly sated. He stroked her hair and leaned to kiss her. She kept her lips closed but he teased at her mouth until she opened for him, and when his tongue swept her mouth she moaned and she felt her womb clench.

Two more thrusts of Nobuyuki’s hips had her closing her eyes and voicing her pleasure into Yukimura’s mouth yet again. The pitch of her breath went so high she could only hear the air, and her body contracted around Nobuyuki in flutters. She let her head fall back into Yukimura’s support. He held her safe.

Nobuyuki’s movements lost their rhythm as he sped up following her orgasm. He was looking at her the whole time, gaze intense, until he pulled her to him tightly, let his eyes close, and came in her with a very quiet sound. The warmth of it made her breathe out his name. It was an unexpectedly gentle sensation, being filled by him, and she reached for his face. When Nobuyuki opened his eyes, she met them with her own.

“I promise I will keep this night safe and never tell a soul,” she told him solemnly. Then she giggled, wryly, and added “I would never compromise you.” She could feel the laughter moving her muscles around him.

He chuckled and she felt her own muscles being moved by him. She heard the honest pleasure in his laugh, the relief at her recognition of the importance this be kept secret. Nobuyuki kissed her forehead and her nose before pushing himself up and pulling out of her body. She felt their essence, proof of the shared pleasure they had all enjoyed, slowly seep out of her as she lay there, too sated to move yet. Yukimura was cradling her head and telling her she was wonderful. She hummed. She felt wonderful.

Nobuyuki returned shortly with water, cloths, and folded sleeping robes. Akiba smiled at him gratefully as she got up.

The brothers sat side by side. Akiba wet a cloth and began to clean Yukimura up, kissing his body sweetly as she worked. Nobuyuki put an arm around his brother and pulled Yukimura to him. She heard the whisper of Nobuyuki’s voice but could not make out what he was saying.

Nobuyuki kissed Yukimura’s temple with careful tenderness, and a tiny smile graced Yukimura’s face. She recognized it as the one that meant he felt loved. She smiled herself. When she had run a dry cloth down Yukimura’s thighs, Akiba sat back on her heels to watch them for a moment. She continued watching them as she cleaned herself. Nobuyuki held Yukimura close all the while, massaging his brother’s hair, not speaking.

Akiba prepared another cloth and attended to Nobuyuki in silence. When she was finished, he finally released Yukimura and stretched his arms, yawning widely. He gave them each a robe for sleeping and gestured to his plush bedding. They all rose and dressed quietly, sharing tired smiles as their bodies brushed together.

Yukimura yawned loudly, looking like a little boy with a man’s body. Akiba took his hand and led him to bed. He flumped down on his back right in the middle of the bedding, settling his hands behind his head and breathing deeply. Akiba curled up beside him, luxuriating in his warmth and nearness. They lay like that for a moment before he turned and touched his forehead softly to hers.

“That was really nice,” he said quietly, drowsily.

She hummed her agreement and snuggled closer. Nobuyuki joined them on Yukimura’s other side and pulled a blanket over them all before laying down himself.

“I love you,” Yukimura said. Akiba was surprised to hear his voice, his breathing had been as steady and slow as it was when he slept. “Both.” There had been no hesitation in his voice.

“I love you,” Akiba whispered, squeezing his hand between their chests. He brought his other arm over her, and when its slight pressure increased she realized Nobuyuki had put his own arm around his brother.

“I love you, Genjirou. Sleep.” Nobuyuki’s voice was as gentle and patient as she had ever heard it. Yukimura obeyed, and he was asleep in a matter of minutes. She watched his dear, beautiful face, itching to trace his features but determined to let him sleep. She tried instead to look over every centimeter of him. She catalogued the sweep of his beautiful hair across his forehead, his silvery black lashes, his perfect chin, every part of his masculine and beautiful face. When she let her eyes trail up the side of his cheek, her vision caught on a field of color visible beyond his face. Her precious kimono, hanging neatly on a stand across the room.

Ah.

She moved her free hand to touch Nobuyuki’s, laying on Yukimura’s bicep. He clasped her hand immediately.

“I’m grateful,” she whispered over Yukimura, gesturing to the kimono with her eyes.

“As am I,” Nobuyuki responded quietly. And smiled. And Akiba smiled back.

#samurai love ballad party #slbp fanfic #sanada akiba #sanada nobuyuki #sanada yukimura #what is up UEDA?!

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