#drill was over with. so one day he tells her she should run away from him the next time they go outside. run as far as she can and hide | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flowerxbunnie · 10 months ago

Note

Tattoo artist matt 🫦 and he’s praising the reader and telling her she’s taking it really well 🫦🫦 and she gets addicted to it and keeps coming back for more tattoos 🫦🫦🫦 and he’s like ‘wow you’re single-handedly paying my bills, this one’s on the house’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦 and she’s like ‘no, i gotta pay you.’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 i think you know where i’m going with this

ps I love you 💋

Ink

Tattoo artist!Matt x Fem Reader

Warnings: needles, blood, pain, tension, no smut (yet?? 😏) but veryyyyyy suggestive at times

6.3k words

Your skin is tender and raw, a soft wince drawn from your mouth as your tattoo artist wipes the excess ink with a rough paper towel.

“So proud of this one,” Alex beams as she scoots back in her chair, the wheels rolling her towards her supply cart. She grabs a roll of plastic wrap and some tape before using her feet to roll back toward your chair. “Let’s get you all wrapped up.”

“It turned out so good, dude.” You say in awe as you hold your arm out to her.

“Did you expect any less?” She jokes, wrapping the wound snugly and taping it up before shooting you a smile. “All done. Keep the wrap on for a few hours. It’ll be a little leaky, that’s normal. Wash once a day with unscented soap… blah blah blah you know the drill. Still legally obligated to tell you.” She chuckles at the end, standing up to throw away her stained gloves. “Come up to the desk whenever you’re ready.” She says before she turns on her feet and heads to the front of the shop.

You stand up and gather your belongings feeling the adrenaline rush a new tattoo always seems to bring out of you. Your arm pulses and slightly burns, a sensation you’d become addicted to over the past couple of years. You’re not covered in ink by any means, but you’ve gotten your fair share, all done by Alex.

You love the way her shop feels more like a home than a sterile clinical office. Tapestries are hung haphazardly across the walls, strings of fairy lights sprawl across the ceilings and there’s more weird little knick-knacks strewn about than you could ever imagine counting. Your favorite is the preserved butterflies she has in shadow boxes lined down the hallway.

Once you gather your keys and bag, you take the walk to the front and admire all the sketches pinned along the walls. Alex is waiting for you with a warm smile as she tells you the total. You sit your bag down and rummage for your wallet, gathering the money along with a generous tip as always.

“You want the change back?” She asks as she counts the bills.

“Just take the fucking tip Alex.” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” she chuckles humbly, shaking her head as she sorts the cash into her vintage register.

“I know I don’t have to,” you laugh, tossing your wallet back into your bag, “I want to.”

You grab the strap of your bag and throw it across your shoulder, knocking a binder off the counter in the process. You let out a quiet curse as you bend down to pick it up, flipping it over to look at the cover.

“Oh, you should look through that!” Alex chimes in excitedly. “It’s a bunch of flash pieces that are up for grabs. They’re going quick, you should pick one out!”

“Oh nice..” you thumb through the pages, studying the intricate artwork tucked behind sheet protectors. “These are so good Alex..”

“You think?” She asks, bending down to restock her glass display cabinet with more tattoo salve.

You turn page after page, seeing traditional pieces like tigers and roses, more abstract watercolor pieces and some random goofy sketches of cartoon characters. You stop when you come across a snake separated into segments with the word ‘collarbone’ scratched underneath of it.

“This one is so detailed,” you say, running your fingers across the sheet protector. “Why’s it all broken up like that?”

Alex stands back up to her feet and looks over the page, her brows furrowing a bit as she adjusts her glasses. “Oh, it’s because it’s made to look like it’s wrapping around your collarbone. Like it’s going into your skin kinda.”

“Oh, sick,” You say excitedly, “I’ll take that one then. When can you get me in?”

“That’s not mine, girl. That’s the new guy’s design. You may have seen him here before? He transferred here like three…ish months ago?” She rambles as she sorts through a stack of paperwork.

You think back, not recalling seeing a different face in the shop. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone new. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been here and you usually get me in and out.” You pull the binder closer and admire the tiny detailing of the snake skin. “He looks pretty good.. but I don’t know if I can cheat on you.” You sigh jokingly.

“Honestly, he’s fucking amazing. His card is right there if you wanna make an appointment.” She points to a carousel of different artists’ cards. “Matt… the black card.. yep that’s it.”

You stick the matte black card in your bag and give Alex a humorous warning glare. “If he fucks my tattoo up Alex I swear to god.”

“Just make the appointment, Y/n. He’ll do good, promise. Why would I hire someone whose work I don’t trust?” She laughs and steps out from behind the counter, walking towards the door. “Now get out of my shop, I need to rest my eyes.” She laughs as she pulls the door open.

——————

You dig through your bag, pulling out hair ties, loose sticks of gum and countless receipts as you search for your favorite chapstick. “I swear I left it in here,” you think out loud, gasping as your finger slides across the corner of something sharp. You pull your hand back, sucking back a curse and see a tiny paper cut on your finger, laughing at the fact that something so small can hurt so bad. You reach back in and grab the culprit, a black sturdy rectangular card.

Fuck. It’s been 3 days.

You look over the card.

Matt Sturniolo

Appointments by text.

Come get somethin’ nice!

You pull out your phone and create a new contact, typing the 10 digit number slowly and double checking, making sure you got every single one right. You let out a sigh that you’ve been holding back, deciding to drop your worries, bite the bullet and make the appointment.

Alex won’t care, she doesn’t mind. She wants me to.

He thinks I’m a guy, funny, you think to yourself, locking your phone and sitting it on the counter.

—————

The week comes and goes, the same mundane routine dragging you through the creeping days. It’s finally Friday, meaning you’re risking the integrity of your skin on an artist you’ve never even met before, let alone vetted his work. Sure, he can draw a sketch but can he execute it just as well into your skin? The entire drive to the shop you shuffle through your playlist while your fingers absentmindedly tap against the steering wheel, mind racing with every possible outcome.

You sit in the parking lot, nerves at an all time high as you scroll through TikTok trying to numb your brain while the minutes pass. You quickly peek up to the clock on your dashboard, heaving a sigh.

5:32.

Fuck. I still have way too much time.

You groan quietly and put your phone down in your cupholder, leaning your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. Your left foot taps slowly against the footrest in your floorboard, creating a steady rhythm, pulsing along with your music that quietly hums in the speakers. You pick your head back up and grip the steering wheel with a huff, tracing your hands up and down around the warm leather.

Your eyes follow passersby as they stroll and pace down the sidewalk, essentially people watching. Your hand somehow makes its way to your mouth without realizing, your nails picking and pulling at the skin of your lips habitually. You only notice when you taste the bitter metallic flavor of blood on your tongue, silently scolding yourself as you pull down your vanity mirror.

You lick the wound and pull your sore bottom lip between your teeth, suddenly hyperaware of the shriveled, dehydrated state they’re in. Leaning across your car to reach for the glovebox, you pull it open and grab the lip oil you leave in your car for moments like this. You shut the glovebox and center yourself in the reflection of the mirror, opening the tube and applying a much too generous amount of the gloss to your lips. You smack and pucker your lips, appreciating the way they seem to come back to life, plump and slightly tinted.

You look to the side as you run your finger against the corner of your mouth, cleaning up your work. A small blackboard that sits outside the door of the shop catches your attention, propped up and smeared with chalked in words. It lists the information for an upcoming tattoo fair, has random small sketches littering the board, and lists a social media account near the bottom.

Why haven’t I ever thought of that?

You pick your phone up out of the cupholder after you slam your mirror shut, clicking the Instagram icon and typing the handle into the search bar. You click on the account, seeing that Alex’s individual account is linked at the top as well as a piercer, Darren, who you’ve met a couple of times. You scroll down through the feed, seeing copious photo collages of fresh versus healed ink and videos with music edited into the background, featuring Alex working her magic in the shop.

You scroll past a reel of Alex promoting a clean brand of tattoo healing balms, your finger coming to a still as you land on a video of a man hunched in his chair, his body leaning over as he works a tattoo gun into someone’s leg. You can’t make out much of him from the video, but he’s clad in a stone washed black t-shirt and jeans littered with ink stains. Tattoos sprawl across his left arm that pulls at the person’s skin, holding it steady as he moves the dripping needle back and forth. Though his face isn’t visible, you notice his wispy, umber brown hair that falls forward as he works. Light catches the strands and outlines each wave as they cascade over his brow bone. Scrolling down, you read the caption.

“Matt may be new but he is making himself well known in the shop! Text him to book, slots are filling up fast!”

You scroll further and find more pieces done by Matt but can’t seem to find a tagged account. Your shot nerves are soothed a bit as you examine each flawless piece of art, every one of them so perfect it’s almost like a printed photo taped to skin. You can’t deny that the man is talented. You scroll down until you reach the very first photo that mentions his name, dated three months ago just like Alex had said.

Maybe I do trust him.

You break yourself from the distraction of your phone and check the time again, quickly fixing yourself in the mirror as you realize you need to head in immediately. Your soft fingers brush down the wild flyaways in your hair in an attempt to look as put together as possible. Grabbing the handle of your bag and slinging it across your shoulder, you turn off the ignition and step out of your car, making sure to lock the doors behind you.

You feel the ground beneath your feet meeting your body in shockwaves with each step you take towards the familiar building. In the reflection of the glass you watch your figure grow closer. You let out one last deep exhale as you grip the iron handle, pulling it open and feeling the cool air shoot across your skin.

As you step in and the door falls closed behind you, you take notice that the front desk is unoccupied. Distinct chatter can be heard over the music playing in the studio just down the hall and past the foyer, deep rumbling tones that you can’t piece together. You’re familiar enough with the shop that you feel comfortable going back without a so-called escort, so you grip the handle on your shoulder and begin the walk down the dimly lit hallway.

The walls open up into the studio and the music is so loud it almost vibrates your skin. You step closer to the source of the voices, one of them being the piercer you’re familiar with. He stands talking expressively with his hands to another man who sits with his back facing you, arms behind his head as he leans back into his chair.

“Is Matt here?” You question, looking around the rest of the studio.

The men continue on with their conversation, completely unaware you’d even said anything over the racket of the rock music. Clearing your throat, you step forward, just about six feet away from them at this point and speak up once again.

“Is anyone working the desk right now?”

The piercer turns his head to face you and the man in the chair spins around, planting his feet to stop himself.

His blue eyes catch your attention first, so bright the gaze is almost difficult to keep. But you do, and so does he. He drops his hands down from the back of his head, one of his arms coming to lay on the armrest of his chair and the other stroking the stubble that peppers his chin. The tattoos across his left arm in contrast to the blank one on the right tell you that this is your guy, this is Matt.

What you don’t know is how he feels his blood pumping hot at the sight of you. He does his best to keep his eyes above your shoulders, but he can’t help letting them wander down your supple, shining skin, immediately thinking about how soft it must be. Matt sees so many women everyday, some in very compromising positions, but just the sight of you standing in front of him has made him feel weak. The way you look so innocent and bright, juxtaposing the way you’re standing in front of his sketches of skulls and anatomically correct organs being feasted on by animals.

You feel a wave of awkward silence even through the intense bass sounding through the speakers. You ask once again if anyone is working the front desk, but your voice struggles to overpower the volume. You see Matt’s cheeks pull up into a chuckle as he reaches back around to the table, fishing for his phone and clicking the volume down considerably.

You huff, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice as you repeat yourself for the fourth time. “Is anyone working the front?”

“I’m sorry honey, we don’t take walk ins.” He rasps as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “You’ll need to make an appointment.”

“I have one.” You retort, resting your weight on one of your legs.

The bearded man walks away to his piercing station, leaving the two of you in a sort of awkward staredown.

“Alex is out today, and I’m expecting a guy to be walking in any minute for my next appointment. Are you sure yours was for today?” He asks smoothly.

“You’re Matt right?”

His shoulders tense when you say his name, but he relaxes them as he nods his head. “Yeah, I’m Matt.”

“Oh, well then yeah.. I’m Y/n. Collarbone snake for 6 o’clock.” You clarify, pulling out your phone to ensure you had the date and time right.

His eyes widen and he silently scolds himself for assuming something so bold while being utterly wrong.

“Yeah, here it is.” You turn your phone to face him, stepping closer.

“I must have been tipsy when I replied or something,” he laughs and sits up in his chair, running his hands through his hair to soothe his embarrassment. “I assumed you’d be a dude for some reason.”

“No, at least not since the last time I checked.” You giggle, tossing your phone into your crowded bag.

His laugh gives you a sense of satisfaction, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he catches his breath. “Shit, that’s my bad then.” He says while pushing himself up to stand, his arms flexing under the tight sleeves of his shirt.

“No worries.” You give him a genuine smile, not wanting him to feel any more embarrassed than you can already tell he is from his flushed cheeks.

He steps forward with a long stride, his frame much larger and taller than you expected once he passes you to head to the hallway. He tries to ignore the way his pulse quickened with the way you beamed up at him moments before, walking quickly to the front desk.

You follow behind, breathing in the lingering scent his cologne leaves in his trail. Stepping in front of the counter as he grabs a stack of haphazardly sorted papers, you grab a pen from the cup in front of you.

He slides them over to you, groaning as he flips them so they’re facing your direction. “Might not be much help reading them upside down.” He chuckles. “Alright, so I’m assuming you know the drill, yeah?” He nods his head at your arms, eyes flickering over the ink.

“Mhmm..” you hum as you concentrate on crossing off and initialing boxes stating you don’t have any medical conditions hindering you from getting tattooed.

Matt watches in silence as you skim over the pages, twisting the pen between your small fingers. He places both hands on the ledge in front of him and moves ever so slightly closer, enough to watch your lashes as they brush your cheeks with each blink. If he got any closer you’d probably feel his breath hitting your skin.

You print and sign your name on the bottom of the last page, capping the pen and tossing it back into the cup. He’s stepping back as you look up at him with the papers outstretched, deciding ogling over you isn’t a very professional first impression.

“My ID is already on file.” You say as he takes the stack and turns to the side to run them through the scanner.

“Well look at you, smart girl huh?” He jokes, pressing buttons to send the papers through the machine.

You feel warmth creeping up your neck and across your cheeks as the words fall from his lips. “I mean,” you pause with a giggle, “Alex is my only artist so I know she’s got everything she needs from me.”

“And you’re cheating on her with me?” He chuckles softly as he steps out from behind the counter, turning to head back towards the studio. “Let’s get this started, shall we?” His voice is quiet, his back to you as he walks ahead.

Matt’s shirt is stretched thin across his broad shoulders, and you absentmindedly let your eyes sink down his arms, following the veins that trail from them into his hands as they swing. His walk is confident and steady, unwavering.

Part of him wishes he had let you walk ahead of him so he could selfishly glue his eyes to your legs, drinking up the way your shorts hug them perfectly. But he has to keep this professional, you’re just a customer.

He walks to his table, gripping a handle and maneuvering the headboard so that you’ll be partially sitting, partially leaning back. “Go ahead and have a seat for me.” He gestures you to the table.

You sit your bag in your lap as you adjust in the seat, a chill running through you as the cold textured leather presses against your back. Matt stands over his supply cart, looking back and forth between you and a few sheets of paper.

“I printed a few stencils but they’re all man sized..” he laughs, crumpling them up and tossing them into his trash bin. “I’m gonna have to free hand it.”

Your eyes widen as he grabs a marker off the top of the cart and pulls the lid off with his teeth, scooting his rolling chair up to your table. “Uhh.. are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Honey…” he laughs, his head falling forward before he looks up at you with a grin. “You know I sketched the design free handed, right?”

You silently curse yourself and do your best to laugh it off, but you definitely made yourself feel incredibly dumb. Somehow he switched the mood and made it feel like he was laughing with you instead of at you, though.

“Alright… first let me…” he trails off, looking around his table before replacing the marker with a fresh razor. “I know you don’t have chest hair, but I kinda have to clear the canvas regardless.” He gives you a humored smile.

He pulls his chair up, his left hand brushing your hair off of your shoulder and down your back. He grabs your tank top strap with a clenched jaw, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingers feel like jolts of electricity on your skin, like he shouldn’t be touching you, but also like you want more.

He’s a tattoo artist. Alex touches me everytime she does one of my tattoos. There’s nothing weird about it, stop making it weird.

You gulp and hope that your cheeks haven’t given away your feelings as he gets the strap out of his way and leans closer. You look forward, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Matt as he slowly drags the razor across your skin.

“Alright there’s that.” He spins around and tosses the razor in the trash can, grabbing the marker once more. “Gonna sketch it out roughly right quick. It won’t look as detailed right now but I’ll add ‘em in later.” He mumbles as he tilts his head, bringing the marker to your collarbone.

Matt drags the marker across your skin with furrowed brows as he perfects the curvature of the snake to look like it’s wrapping around your bone. He can smell your sweet perfume permeating from your body, so close he can almost sniff out the individual notes. “You smell like candy.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. He bites down on his lip, shutting his eyes for a moment before he gets straight back to sketching, hoping you didn’t find it odd.

“Thank you!” You beam, “Funny enough it’s actually Prada Candy. I love it.”

He hums in response and finishes up his outline, rolling back to look at it from further away. “Sit up for me right quick.” He instructs and you listen. He nods his head, approving of his placement and sketch. “Let’s make sure you like it first.” He turns to the side and grabs a handheld mirror off his cart. He holds it out to you, his fingertips brushing yours as he hands it off.

“I love it! It’s the perfect size. Even just the sketch looks so good.” You grin as you study the purple ink in the mirror. You smile as you hand the mirror back to him, taking notice of the subtle curve of his lips.

“Great then. Already got the machine all set up and the ink wells filled. You ready?” He asks with raised eyebrows.

The look on his face tells you that you might have bitten off more than you can chew. “I… think I’m ready. Should I be worried?”

He sucks his teeth as he looks down with a stifled smirk. “Well… the collarbone isn’t the most pleasant place to get a needle jammed into your skin, I’ll leave it at that.”

You look to him with wide eyes. You’d never even considered how painful it might be, all of your other tattoos being on your arms and lower legs. “Matt, you’re scaring me.” You nervously laugh.

His stomach does a flip when you say his name for the second time today. He shoved the feeling down and reaches over, grabbing the tattoo gun in his right hand and turning it on briefly. The vibration sounds throughout the room and he assures it’s in good working condition before shutting it back off and looking up at you. “I think you’re a brave girl, you can take it.” He says lowly but causally as he rolls up next to the table, resting his left arm next to your shoulder.

The way Matt’s words fall from his lips like honey makes your skin feel as if it’s being licked with flames. You look down as he flips the gun on once again and dips the needle into the pitch black ink, the fluid dripping onto the table as he slowly raises it toward you.

“You’re gonna have to turn a little.” He almost whispers as he uses his left hand to guide your jaw to the side, giving him better access to your skin. “Alright, there we go.” He leans in as he brings the needle down into your skin, a sharp scratching and stinging pain making you gasp lightly. “You good?” He asks in a caring tone as he lifts the gun back up and scans your pained expression.

“Yeah, yeah.. I’m okay.” You breathe out. “Feels a lot different than arms and legs.”

You see him nod silently and lower the needle back to the surface of your skin, slowly pressing all the way down until he’s drawing the solid outline. He adjusts his left arm and places his warm hand onto your shoulder, his fingers gripping and pulling at the skin to keep it taut. He glances up at your face every now and again as he tattoos you, his view of your side profile and jawline begging him to keep looking. “You can move your head now. Got that upper outline all done.”

You turn your head to look at him, a smile pulling at your cheeks when you see he’s already looking up at you with hooded lids. He flashes you a small crooked grin before dipping his head back down and working on the rest of the outline. You squirm in your chair as the needle moves and works across your flesh, the area growing hot and tender.

You see a thin sheen of sweat forming on his arms under the heat of his overhead light, illuminating every dip and valley through the rolling veins on his hands. His wrist moves back and forth as he maneuvers the machine, his lip bitten between his teeth. Every few minutes his body must become sore because he moves his legs, adjusting in his seat before he brings his grip back to your shoulder.

He concentrates as he finishes the last of the outlining details, sitting up against the backrest of his chair and putting the gun down on his cart. “All done with the outline.” He smiles.

“Really?” You marvel excitedly. You peer down to take a look but huff once you realize you can’t bend your neck enough to get a good view.

Matt takes notice and leans over to grab the handheld mirror off his cart, except his left hand finds a spot atop your knee, sliding gingerly down your calf as he stretches toward his cart. As soon as his touch is there it’s gone. He leans back toward you and hands you the handle, smiling when you examine it in the mirror. “What do you think?”

You won’t lie to yourself, your pulse quickened when his hand brushed down your leg. Your only hope is he doesn’t notice the trail of goosebump he left behind in the absence of his touch. You struggle to find words, your mouth hanging open before you eventually find your voice. “I.. uh… l-looks really good.”

He exhales a small chuckle as he turns to switch the outlining needle for a shading needle. “Let me know if you need a break before I start this part.” He mumbles as he dips the set of needles into the well of ink.

You quickly shake your head. “Nope, get it over with.” You say flatly, closing your eyes. Shading is hit or miss, it either feels super relieving or like you’re getting shredded with a freshly sharpened cheese grater.

“That’s a good girl. All in one go, hm?” He murmurs as he scoots closer yet again.

He did not just say that. I’m thinking too much into this.

You give him a light chuckle and suck air in through your teeth once the needles meet your skin.

“Shhh.. you’re doing good. A lot better than a lot of crybaby men that have been on my table.” He coos as he drags the ink over the raw, bleeding skin.

If it wasn’t Matt you’d be much more of a mess. You’d probably be damn near in tears. But you can’t seem weak around him, so you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut as he shades and details the design. Your hands clench the air until your knuckles are white and throbbing, your body needing to release energy into anything other than the pain you’re in.

“Squeeze my arm if you need to. I don’t mind.” Matt proposes, stilling his movement and brushing his brown waves out of his eyes before looking at you expectantly.

You gulp and move your shaking hands to his bicep, wrapping your dainty fingers around the expanse of it lightly.

“C’mon, give me more than that.” He chuckles, “Just don’t squeeze hard enough that I fuck up your ink.”

You grip into his arm with more pressure, feeling his muscles expand and contract under his skin as he moves his forearm.

Thank god Darren left earlier. This looks so… personal.

When a small strained whimper slips out of your mouth he clears his throat, blinking hard as he wipes the tattoo with the paper towel in his left hand. He knows it’s because of the pain, he knows he shouldn’t enjoy the sound. But he does.

He can’t help himself as he finishes up the rest of the tattoo. He finds himself pressing the needle into your skin with more pressure than necessary, enough to draw more pretty sounds out of you and make you grip onto his arm. Enough for you to throw your head back onto the leather of the table, squirming your legs as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’d never do anything to mess up the integrity of his art, but god does he want to. He knows it’s wrong that his pants grow tighter with every move you make, every curse you let out as he pushes more and more ink into your skin. He sees this everyday, why is it affecting him like this?

The angel on his shoulder tells him to get the tattoo done, work fast and get you off his table. The devil on his other tells him to keep you here writhing and squeezing at him for as long as he can. His eyes drift across your sweaty face, your wet baby hairs sticking to your forehead. Your chest rises and falls as he digs in, taking his time to let the needle drag. His mind floods with sin, his hands desperately aching to pull the neckline of your tank top even a millimeter lower.

Your harsh squeeze to his arm snaps him out of his stream of thought, realizing he’d been keeping this on for too long, causing you unnecessary pain. Lifting the needle from your skin, he examines the finished piece for a moment. “All done.” He says flatly, pulling his arm from your grasp to set the machine down on his cart.

“Fuck… that was intense.” You breathe out, turning your head toward him.

“Mmm but you did great. Sat so well.” He praises as he grabs a bottle of cleaning solution.

You have no time to react before he’s squirting the liquid onto your collarbone, a harsh pulsing sting deep in your skin. “Oh that’s… fucking horrible.” You do your best to laugh through the sting.

He laughs along with you, nodding while he lets his eyes watch the droplets that flow down your chest and into the valley of your cleavage. He tears his eyes away and looks at his cart, scoffing when his box of paper towels proves empty. “Gotta go get some more paper towels,” he holds up the box, “be right back.”

“I won’t move a muscle.” You giggle and lean back onto the table.

He offers a quick smile before standing up, quickly turning around and walking to the utility closet across the studio. Once inside and out of view, he lets his hand wander down to the waistband of his jeans, slowly trailing lower to brush over his throbbing erection. He knows this is bad. He’s never had this kind of reaction to a client, and he can’t be crazy. He knows he’s seen you looking too.

He lets his rough fingertips push his shirt up and dip beneath his jeans and boxers, grabbing ahold of his pulsing cock with a slow, shaking breath. He pulls it up and tucks it into his waistband, knowing he can’t let you see the struggling tent in his pants when he walks back into the studio.

He quickly grabs a new sterile stack of paper towels and fills the empty box, sighing deeply before he begins the walk back to his station.

“They were up on a high shelf huh? Had to find a ladder?” You joke, poking fun at the fact he took longer than expected.

“Oh yeah. Had to call the fire department actually. Like when there’s a cat stuck in a tree.” He quips back with a laugh, sitting down and letting his chair roll closer to you.

He rubs the cleaning solution away and beams at his work. He may have taken longer than he needed, but damn if you didn’t get an insanely detailed snake piece. He grabs a package of Saniderm from his cart and peels the backing off, slowly applying it to the raw skin. “Leave this on for like two or three days, you can shower in it, sleep in it, the whole nine yards. It’ll start lifting and you’ll know it’s time to take it off.”

“Hmm.. Alex always uses plastic wrap.” You say questioningly, peering down at the clear bandage.

“That’s because she’s old.” He says matter of factly, peeling his gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

“She’s 35!” You chuckle and smack his shoulder.

“Yeah… old.” He replies as he fishes into his pocket. “Gotta get a picture of this, it turned out so sick.” He pulls his phone out and opens his camera, zooming in until he has the right angle and snapping a photo.

“Don’t post that, I bet I look busted.” You whine, sitting up and stretching your back.

“Well sweetheart, your face isn’t in the picture. But for the record, I think you look pretty good for a girl who just got a metric fuck ton of ink shoved into her collarbone with a needle.” He says as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

Your breath hitches inaudibly in your throat, heat lapping at your cheeks.

I have to play it cool. He didn’t call me pretty. He’s saying I took the tattoo well, that’s all.

“Thanks, Matt.” You smile, throwing your legs off the table and letting your feet hit the floor.

“After you.” He gestures his arm out as he stands, knowing he has to take the opportunity to walk behind you this time.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk down the hallway, feeling his eyes bore into the back of your head the entire way.

Except his eyes bore into everything he missed out on earlier. Your toned, smooth calves and up to your plush thighs that wiggle as you walk. The curve of your ass in your shorts. The way your hips sway with each step, taunting his still half-hard member.

You reach the front desk and peek into the mirror on the wall to the left of it, admiring the fresh ink. You can’t stop ogling at it as he prints out a receipt, walking up to the register and silently watching you. You turn your head to him and mumble an “oops”, stepping back to the center of the desk and grabbing the receipt from him. “Only $120?” You exclaim, widening your eyes as you look up to him.

He gives you a light nod and a shrug, brushing his hand through his fluffy waves. “You took it like a champ. Plus, I know you’ll be back. Gotta give that recurring customer discount, right?”

You know your cheeks are fire engine red at this point as you dig for your wallet, feeling as if you’re taking too long.

Am I being crazy or is that flirting? He’s flirting, right?

You open your wallet and dig out the cash, adding a generous tip to the stack before you hand it over. “I really appreciate it, Matt.”

“Not a problem. You have my number if you need anything else.” He returns as he sorts the cash into the register. He flicks his eyes back up and meets yours, a brief, almost-too-long moment of eye contact held between you two.

You blink hard a few times before clearing your throat and nodding, stepping back from the counter. “You got it. Thanks again.”

You turn on your feet and head for the door, pushing it open while your brain spins with thoughts of your encounter.

What the fuck was that?

—————

authors note: part two??? lmk 😈😈😈

taglist: @solarsturniolo @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @worldlxvlys @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel @karlybbx @chrisfavoritepepsi @mwah0mwah @starsturniolo @christinarowie332 @fionaheartswomen @angelic-sturniolos111 @mqttittude @sturniolowhore @luv4kozume

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo edit #matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo edit #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo edit

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lixie-phoria · 11 months ago

Text

↳ ♡₊˚. rest please ꒱

9th!member reader falling sick from overwork and stress

requested - yes // Would you be able to possibly do a skz x ninth reader where she’s not feeling well and like throws up everywhere, and chan and the members help her though her not feeling well then specifically chan?

gn!reader x ot8 // warnings - reader is overworked, faints, mentions of diets, reader throws up (lmk if I missed anything!)

there is only one bang chan. you're sure of it. but as you stand up from the floor of the dance room, you see double images of your leader looking at you in confusion.

"yn?"

his voice resonates through your head, like an echo from someplace far, concern woven through his urgency.

you should probably reply to him, right?

"yn? can you hear me?"

when he steps forward, the world shifts. a searing pain runs across your head, like a red hot spike drilling into your skull.

"wha-"

you see it happen in the mirror - your figure collapsing onto the ground, jeongin's panicked yell, and the thud that follows immediately after before everything goes black.

it was just the three of you in the practice room that day, the others too busy with vocal training or recording or filming. it was comeback season, and to top things off your solo project was nearing too, closely following the release of your group album. and to say that you were overworked was an understatement. you don't remember the last time you slept for longer than an hour.

your days revolved around practice, recording, photo shoots, diets, promotions, and what not. this was busiest you have ever been, and it was slowly starting to show.

you register a dull pain in your upper arm and the throbbing of your head as you blink up at the bright ceiling lights glaring at you. you're covered in sweat, lying on the couch with your head awkwardly propped up against it's arm rest.

"she's up!" someone shouts as your senses return to you slowly. you're still in the dance room, but everything feels stuffy. someone is pressing an ice pack against your forehead.

"yn you scared us!"

all the members seem to have assembled in the dance room, crowding over your figure.

"what happened?" your voice is hoarse and your head feels groggy as you sit up, leaning away from felix as he tries to push you back down.

"you fainted! you were out for nearly fifteen minutes!"

"what?"

"yeah. scared the life out of chan hyung," jeongin adds.

"of course she did! do you know how worried we were?"

you feel mortified. you can't believe you fainted in the middle of practice.

"are you ok? does anything hurt? you fell pretty hard."

you shake your head - no. of course, the pounding in your head was getting worse and you were sure you bruised your arm but you weren't going to tell them that. being the maknae meant they already babied you a lot. there was no way you would admit how sick you felt.

"alright good. let's leave then."

"leave?" you stare at chan in confusion as he goes to unplug his phone from the speaker.

"yeah. you don't think we're going to let you dance after this, right?"

your eye twitches in mild annoyance as you listen to him speak so matter of factly.

"how come i don't have a say in this?"

"because the last time we let you have your say, you passed out."

"i'm ok! i don't need a break," you hiss, eyes narrowing as chan turns to look at you exasperated.

"yn-"

"i passed out, so what? big deal! you can't just call off practice when we have an album coming out!"

your voice escalates as you snap, and the others look at you in shock.

"yn calm down-"

"stop asking me to calm down!"

you don't know where the burst of annoyance was coming from, but it was strong and red hot, urging you to take it out on your members.

"i'm fine! stop treating me like a baby!"

you push away felix's hand from your shoulder, standing up to prove your point.

but that was a big mistake.

an ugly feeling immediately rises up your chest, slithering through your throat as the world tilts again and the lights blink at you.

"fuck."

you were far from fine, and that is the last thing you register before pushing past lee know and han, running out of the room and to the nearest washroom you can find, heaving your insides out.

it's terrible, kneeling on the ground as your head pounds worse than ever and flashes fill your vision.

"yn!"

you distantly register chan's panicked voice as he skids into your cubical, wasting no time in kneeling down right beside you, pulling your hair up into a makeshift pony.

"i need you to breath, ynnie. let it all out," he whispers softly, rubbing a soothing hand up and down you back as your body tembles from the gags.

a small part of you wonders what chan is doing in the washroom, before realizing that in your hurry you probably ran into the common staff bathroom.

"are you feeling better?"

chan's hands hover behind your back as you weakly get to your feet, mustering the energy to pull the flush and rinse your mouth with water.

you can do nothing but nod, slumping against him as you exit the bathroom, and his hands immediately clasp your waist, holding you up.

"i'm so sorry," you mumble, closing your eyes as you let him guide you to wherever he decided was best.

"it's not your fault."

"i shouldn't have yelled at you."

"it's ok, yn. we all have our bad days."

you feel the cold breeze on your face as you open your eyes to see he's walking you out of the building's back door, with your manager waiting with the car.

"if I take you to the dorms will you please rest?"

your brain wants to refuse. you need to perfect your choreography. you don't have time for rest.

but your body is an entirely different story. you can barely walk or see straight.

"ok."

your voice is small, and chan immediately knows you're reluctant.

you hear him sigh softly as he helps you into the car before climbing in himself.

"ynnie, please rest. or you'll get worse and might not recover until the release day. wouldn't that be worse?"

he does have a point.

"and taking a break is okay. you're doing so well, you don't have to push yourself when there's nothing you're lacking in."

he ruffles your hair softly as you lean into the seat.

"thank you."

"don't thank me when I didn't even realise how overworked you were until you literally collapsed!"

you laugh softly, slightly leaning down to rest your head against his shoulder.

"don't blame your-"

you're cut off when Chan's ringtone blares into the silence and he jumps slightly, fishing out the device from his pocket.

"fuck."

"what's wrong?" You turn to look at his steadily paling face.

"I forgot to tell the others you're okay and I'm taking you back to the dorms."

"shit," you agree, wincing as chan hesitantly slides the accept button.

"hello...?"

"YAH WHERE ARE YOU BOTH WE'VE BEEN SEARCHING THE BUILDING FOR THE PAST 10 MINUTES IS YN OKAY?"

lee know is loud, and chan has to lean away from his phone as the second oldest's voice comes out loud enough as though he's on speaker.

"minho-ah I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you guys. She's okay now we're going to the dorms."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FORGOT?"

you sigh before taking the phone from chan as his wince deepens.

"I'm okay. I'm so sorry for worrying you but please calm down."

the change in lee know's voice is so immediate it earns a snort from chan.

"oh yn, of course! Please take care, I'll bring back some soup and ramen for you when we come back from practice."

"thank you! Now please stop worrying."

you hand back chan his phone as he flashes you a grateful smile.

"i hope he brings me back ramen and soup too."

©lixie-phoria, 2024

taglist - @foxinnie8 @hamburgers101 @starlostlaiba @jiisungllvr (send an ask to be added/removed)

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sinnersweets · 10 months ago

Text

DogDay x Reader part 7

<-----part 6, part 8——>

Start of a new week which meant time for me to bathe DogDay. Oh, right and it’s my birthday today. I would normally request to have my birthday off, but I’d rather go to work and spend it with DogDay and Damian. I got ready for the day and made my way over to the factory.

---------------

To make sure I wouldn’t trip over anything like last time I turned on my flashlight. Since I knew where to go now I started to make my way to the washroom to prepare everything for DogDay. As I opened the door I was greeted by Bobby. “Hi Y/N.” Boy she couldn't sound any more fake. “Morning Bobby.” It looked like she was going to say something else to me but then her face completely changed as she said, “Good morning DogDay~” I turned and looked to see that DogDay was in fact heading towards us; and it looked like there was something all over his body. “Good morning BB and a special good morning to my Angel.” Immediate blushing. “What makes it a special morning for her?” Bobby asked with a hint of poison in her tone. “Well BB it’s Angel's birthday today which makes it a very special day.” As DogDay got closer to us I could now see what was on his body. Paint. A lot of paint. “Good morning DogDay. What happened? You’re covered in paint.” Paint would take much longer to get off him. “I can’t tell you that Angel, it’ll ruin the surprise.” He smirked at me. Is it getting hot in here?

I cleared my throat before saying, “Well I’m excited to see the surprise but let’s go get you washed up.” DogDay nodded and kindly asked Bobby to move out of the way. “Oh of course, please head right in~” As we walked past her I couldn’t help but glare at her. What was she up to?

---------------

“So, when do I get to see this surprise of yours?” “Later Angel, not till after your shift probably.” Dang. That’s twelve hours I must wait. “Sorry I got a little messy.” “A little? If this was a cartoon someone would think that you’re sick with all these different colors on you.” I nudged him lightly while laughing. We made it to his room and unlike last time DogDay seemed a bit calmer. “Alright mister you know the drill; strip yourself of your pendant while I find my apron.” “Haha yes ma’am.” He saluted me before removing his sun pendant.

When I walked over to where my apron was I started to smell a familiar scent. It smelled like vanilla but mixed in when something. I tied on my apron and walked over to where DogDays shampoo scent bottle was. “What’s wrong Angel?” “Your shampoo smells different.” DogDay made his way over to me and I held up the shampoo bottle to him so that he could get a better sniff. “Smells like vanilla and-” He took another sniff before saying, “Rose?” Rose? In an instant it clicked. Bobby. She mixed in her shampoo with his. Great. “Looks like Bobby wants you to smell like her.” DogDay made a puzzled face. “I wonder why.” I closed the bottle and set it down by the trashcan. No way am I putting that scent on him. “Is there another vanilla scented bottle in here?” DogDay shook his head no while saying, “Afraid not Angel.” His ears then perked up. “Oh! But there should be an extra one down in the storage closet from here.” “Great, I’ll be right back.” As I left the room I heard DogDay say, “Hurry back to me Angel!”

---------------

I found the storage closet after looking aimlessly around for four minutes. There were a lot of storage closest but none of them had his shampoo. I grabbed his shampoo and turned around to head back to him when I accidentally bumped into someone. “Ah! Sorry.” “Easy there Angel.” Oh you have got to be kidding me. I put a fake smile on my face before saying, “KickenChicken, I wasn’t expecting to run into you.” “I was hoping I’d run into you down here. BB told me that it’s your birthday today. Happy birthday.” I thanked him and started to walk away but he grabbed onto my arm to stop me. “What’s the rush Angel? Don’t you want to spend your birthday with the coolest Smiling Critter?” I yanked my arm away from him while saying, “Don’t call me that and yes I do which is why I’m trying to head back to him right now.” The look on KickenChickens face was priceless. I dashed away before he could say anything else to me.

---------------

“Angel!” I shut the door behind me and walked over to DogDay. “Did you miss me?” I said playfully. “100%. Did you miss me?” he asked as his tail began to wag. “I did. Sorry to take so long; there were a lot of storage closets and none of them seemed to have your shampoo and then I ran into KickenChicken-” “KC? What did he want?” His tone shifted slightly. “He just wished me a happy birthday and then grabbed onto me and asked if I-” “He grabbed you?” I was starting to sense some tension. DogDay walked over to me and asked me where he grabbed me. I pointed to my wrist, and he took my hand into his paw and kissed where KickenChicken grabbed me. “Mwah, now you have my kiss there Angel.”

I was starting to feel hot again. “Is it hot in here? Are you hot? I mean you are hot I-I mean-” DogDays eyes grew wide along with his smile. “You think I’m hot Angel?” If I could die now that would be great. “Um-well-” I looked down at the ground to avoid eye contact and on my shoe was a spider. “AH! SPIDER!! GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!” I started shaking my leg but then ended up jumping onto DogDay. “Woah hey easy Angel, I got you.” I was shaking in his arms. “Is it gone?” I asked while I buried my head in his chest. DogDay then started to laugh. “Angel it wasn’t a spider, it was just some lint.” I sighed in relief and calmed down. “Oh thank goodness.” I pulled back to look at DogDay and then I saw that I was also covered in paint. “Oops.” “Oops indeed Angel, looks like I’ll need to clean you off.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying my birthday so far.

---------------

It took me two hours to get DogDay all cleaned up while it only took him three minutes to get the paint off me. We headed back into Playcare to start the day. Since we had the play to put on all learning activities would be put on hold. Those who got casted had to be inside the theater room while those who weren’t were inside the school making the props and other stuff.

The first day of practice was a table reading of the script. Everyone sat down at their assigned seats except for KickenChicken. He was supposed to sit over by Hoppy but instead sat down in DogDays spot. “Pardon me KC, but you’re in my spot.” “Am I? I didn’t even realize.” I saw a twitch from DogDays eyes. “Oh and would you look at that, I get to sit next to the beauty herself! How nice.” KickenChicken rested his elbow on the table while looking at me. DogDay started to growl but I stood up and took his paw. “Hey Hoppy, you don’t mind coming over here and having our spots do you?” I gave her a pleading look. “Not at all birthday girl.” She grabbed onto hers and KickenChickens name plates and hopped over to us. “Don’t let this bird brain ruin your day.” She whispered and smiled at me. I thanked her and grabbed mine and DogDays names and walked over to the other side of the table.

We both sat down and I looked over to Damian and waved hello to him. He waved back before grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose into it. Poor kid looked sick. I was going to head over to him to see how he was feeling but then I heard Miss Delights voice. “Alright everyone! Time to get started!” I’d have to check on him after we finished.

---------------

Table reading went alright....to say the least. KickenChicken kept trying to change up some stuff that way me and him could interact more than me and DogDay. Once we finished I went over to Damian to check up on him. “Hey kiddo, you doing alright.” He blew his nose before saying, “Hi Miss Y/N. I think I might have a cold or something. Oh here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “A gift for your birthday.” I took it and opened the piece of paper. It was another drawing of me and Damian. My heart instantly melted when I read what was above the drawing. ‘Mom + Me.’ I pulled Damian into a hug and felt some tears fall down my face. “Thank you, Damian. I’ll cherish this forever.” Damian sneezed while saying, “You’re welcome.” I took his hand into mine and started walking towards DogDay.

I noticed that Bobby was now in the theater room talking to DogDay. Oh joy. “Hi Mr. DogDay, hi miss Bear.” Damian caught their attention. “Hi Damian.” “Hey there Damian; and a good afternoon to you pretty lady.” DogDay pretended to tip a hat towards me. I laughed at his playfulness and did a little curtsey. “I don’t mean to interrupt but I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be taking Damian over to the infirmary.” “Oh? Is someone not feeling well? You better move along now and dont worry Y/N-” Bobby then linked her arm around DogDays arm before continuing, “I’ll take good care of him while your away.” I just watched as DogDay had an unpleasant look on his face before trying to pry Bobby off of him. “You need me to come with you Angel?” Right as I was going to answer Bobby cut me off. “No! I-I mean I need to get your measurements for your costume DogDay.” “I guess I’ll meet you later then Angel.” Even though Bobby had her arm around his I still walked up to him and gave him a hug. He returned my hug and squeezed me tight. “I’ll see you later Dogday.” “Bye Angel. Feel better Damian.” I pulled away and headed for the exit. “Bye Y/N!” I heard Bobby call out from behind me. She sounded so happy that I was tempted to show her my favorite finger, but I didn’t and continued to walk hand in hand with Damian.

---------------

The doctor said he just has a little fever and should feel better by tomorrow. I sighed in relief and thanked Damian again before letting him get some rest. Once I exited Home Sweet Home, I saw DogDay standing at the bottom of the steps. “Hey Angel! How’s Damian doing?” “He just has a little fever. Doctor said he’ll be fine tomorrow.” I took out the drawing Damian did and showed it to DogDay. “Look what he drew for me. Isn’t that sweet?” DogDay smiled and wagged his tail.

“That is very sweet Angel! He sees you as a mom. Hey, why not adopt him?" I think I got whiplash from how fast I looked up at DogDay. “Huh?! Adopt him??” “Why not Angel? You two seem so found of each other.” I laughed nervously before talking back. “Well yes, but- I mean- I don’t know...” I only just turned 21 today and I’m sure there would be a lot of paperwork to fill out and other legal stuff. “He’s a great kid, really but-” I couldn’t get anything else to come out of my mouth. “It’s alright Angel you don’t need to say anything else.” He patted me on the back. “Since we don’t have anything else planned for today why not head home early Angel?” “Really?” I didn’t want to leave yet. “Mhm, in fact you should head home right now. I already got your things.” He picked me up and started caring me to the cable car. “Wait- what about the surprise?!” “Oh don’t worry Angel, you’ll still see it.”

We made it to the cable car and he set me down. I turned to look at him with a sad look on my face. “Believe me Angel, I would love to spend more time with you, but I don’t want you to miss your surprise.” He handed me my stuff and kissed the top of my head. “See you tomorrow, Angel.” “Bye....” I was stunned. I walked into the cable car and sat down as the doors had closed. As I was travaling up I stood up and went to the window and waved goodbye to DogDay. We both waved goodbye until we couldn’t see each other anymore.

---------------

I made it back home and plopped down on my bed. I closed my eyes and sighed before opening my eyes and saying, “Wait...I didn’t see his surprise?!” I sighed in disappointment. Oh well, I could always see it tomorrow. I turned on my phone and saw that it was almost 8 o’ clock. I reached over for my TV remote and turned on the TV. I’m a kid at heart so when Damian told me that a certain channel shows all of the Smiling Critters cartoons, I knew I had to record them. Since I’m home around the time that they showed, I didn’t need to record this one.

The intro started to play out and I smiled and sang along with it. Once the intro finished a little message appeared on screen. I got closer and looked at what it said. “To my Angel." I read out loud. I was confused for a second before it faded away and the cartoon version of DogDay appeared on screen. “Hey Angel, I hope you’re at home watching this now. You’re probably thinking that you missed your surprise but in fact you’re watching it right now!” My jaw was opened as DogDay continued to talk. He...he had an episode made for me.......

I watched the episode play out and the whole time I couldn’t stop smiling. “And now it’s time to sing you happy birthday!” Out of nowhere a birthday cake showed up on screen. It had one candle in the center and was already lit. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday my sweet Angel, happy birthday to you~” I felt a tear forming in my eye. “Blow out your candle Angel.” DogDay then held the cake closer to the screen. I laughed and acted like I blew out the candle. In the cartoon the flame disappeared. “I hope your wish comes true Angel.” The screen then faded black, signaling that the episode was over. I grabbed my remote and rewind the episode so that I could tape it. Best birthday ever.

A/N: DogDay just purposely got paint on him so that he and you could be together longer >:)

#sinnersweets #poppy playtime #x reader #dogday #dogday x reader #poppy playtime chapter 3 #bobby bearhug #kicken chicken #hoppy hopscotch #miss delight

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kkeidawrites · 2 months ago

Text

Speed Runners

Day 28 of Blacktober!

The sun had finally set over the horizon and everyone at U.A. High School made their way back to the dorms, another day of intense training was over.

Panting is heard as the person running around the school track completed another lap around the black concrete. Once they cross the chalked finish line, their arms rose in the air in victory then dragged themselves over to the bench.

A water bottle and sweat towel are waiting for them to take and they are more than happy to take a huge chugs of water and rubs their neck of the sweat there.

“Hey, Y/n!” Said girl looks up to the metal fence surrounding the track and sees her two friends, Mina and Momo waving at her.

Y/n waves back and jogs up to them, placing a hand on the fence with a smile.

“Hey girls! You ready for the sleepover tonight?” Y/n asks and her friends excitedly nod.

“Yep, I even brought the extra pillows for you guys to sleep on.” Mina cheeses and adjusts her bag on her shoulder.

“I bought some face masks for us to try on.” Momo says and Y/n grins.

“Great! I have to finish up my reps and I’ll meet you both at my room.” Y/n tells them and they nod waving as they leave the track.

“Alright,” Y/n cracks her neck, releasing some of the tension there and makes her way back to the finish line.

Getting in a racer’s position, Y/n takes a deep breath and then takes off in a sprint around the track once again. As she makes her first turn, Y/n feels her right foot trip up and she ends up falling, a scream leaving her lips.

A pained yell is heard as Y/n rolls onto her back and holds her right ankle. Tears appear in her eyes and Y/n groans softly, her eyes squeezed in pain.

“Woah, are you alright?” She hears and peeks up to see a figure standing above her. She groans in pain and then feels arms tuck under her legs and pick her up from the ground.

“I’ll take you straight to the nurse’s office.” She hears them say and then feels air whoosh pass her, she finds herself in one of the many branches of Recovery Girl’s Nurse office.

Y/n is gently placed on one of the unoccupied beds and looks up to see who was kind enough to help and bring her here.

“Hey, I know you,” she points out and the individual raises a brow at her. “You’re from class 1-A. Engine, right?” She asks and the teen in front of her nods.

“Yes, my real name is Tenya Iida,” he bows to her and Y/n returns the bow although it turned out to be awkward with her current position.

“I’m Y/n L/n. Thanks for bringing me here.” Y/n bows again in thanks and Tenya nods.

“I’m happy I was able to help you before anything else happened, all the teachers have made their way back to their offices and there’s no telling how long you would’ve been stuck there.” He says.

Tenya Iida pushes up his glasses as he goes over to one of the phones on the desk and calls for assistance. He then opens a mini fridge that was near the door and pulls out an ice pack.

Y/n hisses when she feels her ankle pulse in pain and tries to rub away the aching sensation. Swelling was beginning to show on her ankle and Y/n groans in pain.

Tenya returns to Y/n’s side and holds up the ice pack to show Y/n then gently sets it on the swelling skin of her ankle, a hiss leaving the girl’s lips again.

“Sorry. Recovery Girl should be here soon to help you more. For now, you should keep it iced and leveled.” He instructs.

“You know about medicine?” Y/n inquiries and Tenya shakes his head.

“No, but I’ve had bruises and sprained ankles before so I know the drill.” He shrugs and Y/n smiles.

“Well thank you, again.” Tenya offers her a smile in return then helps press the ice pack a bit more on the swelling skin.

The door opens and Recovery Girl walks in with a smile, her hero uniform bright and inviting.

“Hello Tenya, good to see you again. Who do we have here?” She asks her smile shifting to Y/n.

“This is Y/n, I found her at the track this afternoon and it looks like she rolled her ankle.” Tenya removes the ice pack to show Recovery Girl.

“Hmmm, I see.” Recovery Girl comes closer to inspect the swelling and moves her ankle around to feel the shifting of the bones. Y/n yelps in pain and tries to remove her ankle from her grip.

“Thankfully, it feels like it’s just a grade 1 sprain. Can you get up and walk on it?” She questioned and Y/n shrugs instead.

“I haven’t tried to walk on it, I was taken straight here.” Y/n says.

“I want you to try and walk on it, if the pain is too unbearable I’ll have to check an X-ray scan.” Recovery Girl steps back to allow space for Y/n to do her trial walk.

Tenya helps her up and Y/n holds onto his left hand as she attempts to walk on her own but suddenly falls back onto the bed when the pressure of her ankle shot up with pain.

“Hmm alright, well I can do an X-ray and double check to see if everything is fine. Go ahead and put this on,” she pulls out a gown and Y/n’s eyes furrow.

“Really? I haven’t tried to change into this?”

“Do you want radiation cancer?” Recovery Girl raised a brow at the flustered girl. Y/n shakes his head.

“Then change.” She says and makes her way over to another door.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Two hours later, Y/n is being helped down the girls dormitory by Tenya holding her shoulder as she hobbles down the hallways. Her foot was encased in a brace and a bag of ice packs were tucked under her arm to use later.

She would need to be careful the next couple of weeks, and she would have to miss out of sports day next week.

“Now I can’t participate in Sports Day. Just great.”

Y/n sighs sadly at the thought, she was really looking forward to sports day and now she was crippled. Tenya sees her forlorn expression and bumps her shoulder gently.

“It’s not too bad, you can still participate just not in the track and field competitions.”

“But that’s exactly what I was training for! I love to run track and now,” she sighs dejectedly and Tenya purses his lips, unsure of what to say next.

They arrive at her door, and Y/n pulls out her key to unlock it. Unlocking and opening the door, Tenya helps her inside to step on her black leather step stool and sit on her black and red bed.

“Thank you so much for your help Tenya, I’m sorry for any inconvenience I’ve caused you.” She tells him.

“It’s fine, I didn’t have any previous engagements so, you didn’t inconvenience me, Y/n.” He reassured and Y/n smiles.

Knocks on her door are suddenly heard and then it bursts open with yelling coming into the room.

“Y/n we heard what happened and came as soon-“ Mina’s voice fades almost immediately when her eyes fall on Y/n and Tenya.

Momo follows in behind her with a distraught look and then her eyes widen.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Mina taunts and Y/n raises a brow.

“What?”

“You didn’t tell me you had company, Y/n you could have let us know ahead of time.” Tenya’s cheeks turns red and he pushed his glasses up his nose.

“I only escorted Y/n back to her room, nothing more!” He turns to Y/n and bows to her.

“I hope you have a speedy recovery Y/n! Goodnight!” He quickly leaves with a slam to the door behind him and that leaves the three friends to an awkward silence.

“You two dating?” Mina questions.

“No! I just met him this afternoon!” Mina and Momo come and sit on her bed as they dropped their sleeping bags on the floor.

“I don’t know Y/n, I think I see wedding bells~” Momo jeers with a smirk and Y/n blows a raspberry at her.

“Look, I was kind enough to get you two your favorite snacks for this sleepover and yall are in here teasing me. Now you’re not getting them at all.” Y/n says and then feels her best friends tackle her to the bed.

“No!!! We’re sorry, no more teasing, promise!” Mina begs and Y/n just laughs.

Later, the three besties are watching a movie on Momo’s projector and cuddling on the cushioned floor of pillows, blankets and stuffed animals.

As they snacked away at the various junk food all three contributed to bring, Y/n hums in thought as she pops another kernel of popcorn in her mouth.

“Honestly though, Tenya wasn’t too bad, he was really nice and sweet. Cute even.” Y/n shrugs and her friends give a secret look with a smirk.

“But I have to admit, that boy is so tightly wound. It’s amazing how one so young can be like that.” Y/n says.

“Then that means you are going to be unwinding him from now on.” Mina teases and Momo giggles as Y/n pushes her shoulder playfully.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Hope you guys enjoyed reading it and make sure to like, reblog, and comment!

This is what I envisioned that Y/n’s dorm looks like. If you don’t like it then you can imagine whatever you want it to look like.

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 2 years ago

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You're just like an angel pt3

@freeingrebels here's part 3

You woke up to find yourself in a bed inside a small room. You looked around the room to see it was pretty bare, only having the bed itself and a few draws all in a sanitized white. You could see a small screen on one of them and decided to inspect it, the image shown on it was Miguel. His spider suit was replaced with casual clothing and a soft smile plastered his face as he held a young girl with a woman smiling beside him. The door opened and you threw your head to the left to see Miguel enter.

"You have a family?" You asked. You were genuinely surprised by the revelation. He didn't strike you as the family man type.

"I did have a family, but they are long gone now" he replied, the corners of his lips lowered slightly.

"I'm so sorry" you apologized profusely to him. You regretted even bringing it up.

"It's alright, you didn't know" he replied as he placed an assuring hand on your shoulder. His touch sent shock waves through you and not in a good way, it was like your body was telling you to stay as far away from him as possible.

🕷🕷🕷

Like yesterday you were stuck in the same room however Miguel had permitted you to walk around instead of being stuck in the cage. You asked him if he could give you anything to do so that you wouldn't be bored. There wasn't much you could do, robots did most of the work here and he wasn't going to let you run errands where others could see you.

The device on his wrist rang and he knew he had to leave much to his dismay. You may have brought up all those memories he had tried to suppress but at the same time, there was something so warm and welcoming about you. Like with you he could experience it all over again.

You were once again trapped in that cage. You were growing restless, only complying because he said he would send you home once he had all the info he needed. You had no more information to give him so why would he still refrain from sending you home? You began to question if he was even telling you the truth.

🕷🕷🕷

As Miguel had finally trapped another anomaly and was about to head back LYLA popped into view.

"Miguel, I wanted to talk to you about something," she told him in a slightly concerned tone.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I've been seeing frequent irregularities in your heartbeat and blood pressure," she explained.

"I'm fine" he tried to shake her off but she refused to be ignored.

"No you're not, whatever feelings you have towards that anomaly are not healthy for you," she told him. Instantly striking a cord in Miguel.

"You have to send her home," she sternly insisted.

"It's none of your concern!" He snarled.

"Yes it is, you created me to keep you in check when you couldn't do so yourself. You may not be under the effects of rapture anymore but it's still my duty to look out for your well-being. That'll always be my highest priority" she argued.

"Do you not believe that I deserve at least one good thing in my life?" He asked her.

"I know you've been through a lot Miguel and I'm not saying you don't deserve anything good but I'm telling you it's not right to keep her, for both of your sakes… if you try to pursue this it'll end disastrously" she warned him. Her words felt like a knife being stabbed into his chest. He knew he should let you go but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Tell me, do any of your calculations predict a chance of either of our universes collapsing if she doesn't return? If there is then I'll send her home" He asked.

"It's not about that Miguel, It's only been two days and you're trying to pursue a woman you, by all accounts, should never have crossed paths with. Do you think she has feelings for you all in the span of two days?" She said, if she'd been programmed to yell then she would have just to drill it deeper into him.

"Just tell me the calculations!" He snarled.

"You're acting like a child Miguel, she's got her own family to look after, surely you understand that" she scolded like a parent trying to deter him from doing whatever he was going to do.

"You're withholding information from me, tell me now or I'll shut you down the moment I return!" he yelled as he instinctively tried to swipe at her but his hand phased through.

LYLA's expression soured as he threatened her, she knew at that point no amount of explaining bring him to his senses. His behavior was something she'd never seen from him.

"The results came back 0 percent, she has no canon events tied to her…" she said

"But I will still warn against trying to pursue her" she continued, trying to give him one last chance to stop himself. Unbeknownst to him she managed to make the cage you were in malfunction, hoping you would figure a way out, the morning was the quietest time at the spider society.

🕷🕷🕷

The cage shut off all of a sudden, you contemplated leaving the spot you'd been confined in but eventually you did. Slowly walking to your jetpack to check on the damage as you hadn’t been able to since you ended up here. Your finger traced over the dents. Luckily no internal damage from what you could see, however, you would need to pull it apart just to be sure.

You considered trying to make some grand escape, however, you didn't know how to get home. That device on Miguel's wrist seemed to allow him to traverse the different dimensions. There must have been another way to get you home, but that wouldn't be an easy feat.

"(Y/n) What are you doing?" You heard Miguel ask you with venom dripping in his tone. You pretty much jumped at his words.

"I… I was checking my jetpack to make sure it wasn't too badly damaged" You stuttered as you stood up and faced him, your heart racing.

"You weren't trying to escape, were you?" He asked you, suspicious of you.

"No, even if I wanted to I don't know how I'd be able to get home" you tried to prove your innocence.

"Speaking of which, when are you going to send me home? I have no info you need so why hold onto me" you continued as you looked directly into his eyes, something about how he was looking down upon you terrified you. That intense gaze was cold and calculating, trying to predict what your next move may be. Then they softened.

"Soon" he simply responded, turning a full one-eighty from what he was like a moment ago.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hare x reader

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starfall-spirit · 5 months ago

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@elucienweekofficial Day 4: High Society

Summary: Elain knows what's expected of her. Her mother had been drilling it into her for decades after all and her opinion on Lucien Vanserra was made abundantly clear on Solstice Eve. Unfortunately for her mother, Elain was done with the status quo.

*Burning in the Starlight Universe* // Read on Ao3 // Event Masterlist

AN: This is 1.9k words of fluff and smut. BitS is not required reading, but if Feyre x Rhys x Eris sounds like a good time to you, feel free to check it out. Enjoy!

CW: Smut

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

That was her mother's voice running through her head at the moment, a scolding for what Elain had planned for tonight. She was wrong for slipping out of her nightgown and into the pants and top in her younger sister's room just so she could sneak out tonight. She'd seen Feyre bury the form-fitting outfits beneath the layers and layers of silk and tulle dominating her oversized armoire when the girls were just settling into their family home again. Simple and easy to move in. Feyre hadn't been permitted to wear such clothing around the court of course. Their mother was far too fixated on turning her into a proper lady to allow her to wear anything but dresses day in and out. Even so, Elain was grateful to have them accessible now. She certainly wouldn't be able to sneak out of the house in her day dress, and her nightgown was far too immodest to be wandering outdoors in, especially with the ever-present Autumn chill.

If it weren't for the natural cold, she may have been tempted. Every moment she'd managed to get alone with her mate seemed to reveal another dirty promise for the future when she finally braved breaking away from her family's expectations. The day she could tell her mother and father that she had been the one to ruin her near engagement to Lord Graysen. That she had blanched at her bleak and cold future holding a sham of a marriage and asked the male courting her to look away, even if he had to paint her as the problem. She was after all.

Problematic as she reached too high. Too desperately. Ladies did not marry for love. They married for power and honor if they were pretty enough.

Elain was tired of being a doll to parade.

So she danced with her mate at the Solstice Eve ball, later encouraging a courtship of discretion whenever he could manage to visit his brother for business. Eris was curious, she knew. Autumn was the last place Lucien wanted to be and the Spring alliance did not justify his constant visitation, no matter how fragile their agreement may stand at this point. What his own High Lord suspected, Elain wasn't quite sure.

It was another thing she'd have to ask him tonight.

Sneaking out was easy enough. After all, since the moment she could walk and talk her life had been filled with lesson after lesson about how a lady should keep silent. Cauldron forbid she had a personality that scared off suitable gentlemen. She didn't think she'd ever be this grateful for her quiet grace. And Lucien was right where he promised he'd be, leaning against a tree and turning a coin over his knuckles as he waited for her to arrive. "My lady," he greeted her teasingly.

"Lucien." She sighed as she slipped into his arms, his familiar warmth and scent a comfort she ached to burrow into after weeks apart.

"I'm sorry it's been so long. I'm running out of excuses to spend time in Autumn without exposing the mating bond. How are you, my love?"

She shrugged, letting her mate pull her through the moon-gilded wood. "Good. Fine, I suppose. Feyre's off in Night again, so Mother's breathing down my neck the moment a suitor's at the door." It was her own fault that Feyre's wedding planning was the only time she had any freedom from her mother's marriage machinations. If she confessed her bond discovery, that soul-binding connection was protection from any other undesirable match. But it would also be a certain road to her parents disowning her. The time was rapidly approaching to decide how important their approval was to her. The actual decision was obvious, in truth. The reality was that she was unprepared to deal with the inevitable contention her decision would bring. "Lucien, I—"

She gasped as a blast of heat met her, wisps of loose hair curling from the humidity. "I didn't even know this was here," she murmured, dropping her eyes to study the hot springs before her as Lucien released her to shrug out of his shirt. And maybe she stared a little longer than she usually let herself—but could she really be faulted for it when her mate looked like that?

Lucien chuckled, either at her shameless ogling or her comment about the hot springs. Both, was always an option, she supposed. “Because your parents have given you so much time and freedom to explore the Autumn woods since you returned to court, right?" The open woods were no place for a lady. "Are you going to get in fully clothed?" he asked, quiet amusement lacing every word. And if her ears weren't deceiving her, the promise of something darker. She shuttered, watching him turn and sink into the heated pool with a satisfied groan.

He raised an eyebrow and after casting a nervous glance over her shoulder, she began to strip down, anxious under his unblinking gaze, even as she left her clothes a few feet from the pool’s edge. “Gorgeous,” he murmured the moment the last piece was tossed aside. Something in her eased at that. It wasn’t a surprise her mate was attracted to her, but this moment they were sharing defied everything she’d been taught since girlhood, even Under the Mountain.

Especially Under the Mountain.

She let herself sink down until the water covered her shoulders, the rough rim of the bowl chafing her back. “Come here.” Rising again, Elain waded over to him, settling into his open arms and pressing her face into his neck. He only let her hide for a moment, a finger and thumb hooking beneath her chin to tilt her head back enough so he could turn his own. “Cauldron, I’ve missed you.”

Then he was kissing her, his other arm tightening at her back to draw her closer. Close enough that she moved to sit in his lap, just barely keeping herself from jumping at the feeling of the hard length beneath her. Startling as it was, any concern about the size of him was swept away in the heat of the kiss.

The autumn wind grazed her damp shoulders, but the rising steam from the spring and Lucien’s roaming hands were enough to banish the chill before it could truly sink under her skin.

Pulling back, she cupped his face. “You’re certain no one will find us here?”

He smiled softly. “I’ve shielded everything in earshot. And if someone manages to breach that shield I’ll know immediately. I can winnow us somewhere else in an instant.” She gnawed her lip. “Elain, my love, no one roams the woods at this hour. We have only the moon and stars as a witness tonight.”

Even with such confidence in their privacy, Lucien didn’t move to continue what they had started, leaving her to decide where the evening would lead. Leaning in once again, she pressed her lips to his, letting them part the moment she felt the brush of his tongue against them.

“Sweet girl,” he groaned.

Gripping her hips, he guided her to turn in so they were almost chest to chest before sliding his hands down the curve of her ass to cup her thighs, again tugging softly until she shifted to straddle his lap, the hard length of his cock pressed flush against her center. “Oh.”

It was instinct more than anything that had her sinking down to grind against him until his seemingly infinite control finally snapped. She’d yet to see it give away—then again, Lucien had yet to see her naked. No male had.

Just like that, her confidence fizzled out.

“What’s that face for?”

“I’ve just… I’ve never done this before.”

Lucien hummed, his broad hands returning to her waist and silently encouraging her to drop her full weight on him once again. “And yet you’re already doing so well for me, aren’t you? Feel what you do to me, little mate.” Snaking a hand down between them, he stroked his thumb over her clit, drawing out a soft whimper. “A few moments together and all I can think about is being buried in your hot little cunt,” he crooned.

Elain let her eyes flutter shut, the steady stimulation against her clit and the hardness pressed flush against her melding into what she knew would be her undoing. Two fingers curved under her, pushing in without warning. “Lucien!” She scrabbled for something to hold onto, settling for his shoulders. Already slick with sweat from the heat of the springs they didn’t make for much of an anchor. Initiating their next kiss, she wrapped her arms behind his neck, rocking against his hand as he drove her higher, right up to the edge of her release. “I need—”

Even with the drag of the water between them the flick against her clit was sharp. She shattered in his arms, grateful for the sound shield around them as she cried out. He didn’t give her the chance to recover from it either, lining up to ease into her, sinking an inch deeper with every stroke. “Gods,” she groaned, panting into his neck as she struggled to adjust to his size.

She let out another long whine, only slightly soothed by the fingers reaching to play with the curling wisps of hair at her nape that had fallen free from her messy updo. “Such a good girl. You take my cock so well, little dove. Don’t rush yourself. Just move when you’re ready.”

She only let herself hesitate a moment longer, giving her hips an experimental roll before gradually increasing her pace. “Fuck,” her mate hissed. “That’s it. Just like that. Good girl.”

His steady stream of praise washed over her, waking something that bolstered her fragile confidence until she had set a steady rhythm, accepting his guidance in sliding up and down his hard length. And though he implied she would be taking the lead, it didn’t take long for him to start thrusting up to meet her.

Elain was perhaps a bit too pleased to find that every time she clenched down around him he became a bit more vocal in his pleasure. “Fuck. Keep going, sweetheart. Just like that. Just—” His teeth scraped over her neck and he gave a low groan, fingers rising to roll her stiff nipples, once again drawing her up until her climax was just out of reach. “I want you to come with me, sweetheart.”

His teeth clamped down on her neck, pinching just hard enough to leave a bruise she’d have to cover before her maids arrived at sunrise. And she was lost to the ecstasy he brought once again.

The bond between them was singing by the time the white-hot pleasure faded to a dull hum beneath her skin—the closest that thread had ever felt to being whole. Accepted.

It was then, curled against her mate in the dark of the woods, a pleasant soreness claiming her body, that she realized what she really wanted.

Freedom.

From her household, from society, from the beliefs whe let take root in her mind. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” she whispered.

Lucien froze, one hand still tangled in her hair, now entirely unbound behind her. “What are you saying, love?”

“I’m saying, Lucien, that you’re my mate. And I want the world to know it.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @corcracrow // @goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiyawhitethorn // @vulpes-fennec // @headcanonheadcase // @aldbooks // @panicatthenightcourt // @jennity-blogs // @thelovelymadone

#acotar #elucienweek #elucienweek2024 #day 4: High Society #elucien #elucien fic #BitS #Burning in the Starlight #AU fic #elain finally decides to fuck society #and fuck lucien in another way

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keouil · 4 months ago

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nobody wants water this thin

"it's all in his head," yaga tells her. "he's not letting himself heal." 3k. gojo/shoko. angst. also on ao3.

nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die. — matsuo bashō

Shoko ran with lightning at her feet.

Missions don’t end when you’ve been surviving on four hours of sleep every night, tending to every body but your own. Missions don't end when one of you doesn't return from one, badly broken and bruised and maimed. Missions don't end when another taps out, saying to themselves this wasn't the kind of life they signed up for. Missions don't end when it's just the two of you against the wreckage of the world, now, and possibly forever: the carnage from all you've lost threatening to split itself from the womb and multiply the grief tenfold.

It doesn't end, either, when one of you leaves for good.

When he takes with him, not just the friendship and the years and the trust; but an entire worldview that completely divorced itself from everything you've ever been taught to believe.

The world keeps going for everyone, but it spins faster you think, when your best friend leaves and the other keeps trying to run himself ragged to the ground for it.

Shoko gets there in time to hear Gojo screaming.

She slows to a crawl just outside the clinic, feeling her entire heart hammering inside her chest and turning her knees delicate. She allows herself a single calming breath, stopping herself just enough to wicker her heart back into its original stitching. He was strong, but she had to be stronger these days. She had to be strong now.

She opens the door expecting to see the worst, only it’s just exactly that, but also so much more.

Gojo was still screaming his lungs out.

Ijichi was currently sprawled all over the hospital bed, frail limbs and arms vainly trying to contain a thrashing Gojo who was doing everything to free himself. There were about a dozen wires drilled into his skin, starting from the top of his head to his arms to his chest to every part of his body, it seemed. He was attached to an IV drip, the end of it dangerously being poached open with all his jostling. He was trying to rip everything off from his body, and not gently.

He had a blindfold on, a thick strip of white cloth spanning the excess of his eyes; but it's not, Shoko dares a step closer to see, it's not doing anything.

Even from some distance away, she could see the blue in his eyes lighting up like fireflies in the summer. It was practically glowing.

"Gojo?"

Gojo stills, craning his neck for the sound. Ijichi stops with him, collecting his breath. She can tell he doesn't quite know where she was in the room, her location in relation to him, and was trying to triangulate by sheer sound alone. This, she thinks, should have been her first warning.

"Gojo?" Shoko tries again, approaching the bed slowly. "It's me."

But mostly missions don't end, Shoko thought bitterly, when one of you starts treating them like heroin to a drug addict. When he starts twitching and flinching on mandated days off without the crutch of activity. It doesn’t end when one of you stops caring that you'd rather burn yourself out than be buried with the grief.

“Gojo.”

Gojo finds her eyes first in any room he enters. He can tell it's her by the sound of her sandals on the wooden floor of his dorm room, pliant and soft. He can recognize her by touch alone, sometimes; the feel of soft, cool fingers to his temple when he fried his brain too much and she needed to practice her massages on someone.

But even so Gojo would recognize her without sight, without touch, without feel: often enough, just her alone, was enough.

And so he should have sensed her coming long before she even got there. It would have been easy, she thinks, if he wasn't already delirious.

"Shoko?" she hears Gojo whisper, a hopeful lilt to his voice at the end, like hushed prayers to a pagan god. "Shoko, is that you," he says again, growing a little more desperate, a little more breathless, until it morphs into something like a wail.

"Shoko.” Gojo croaks. “Help. Help me, oh god, please—I can't fucking see."

"It's all in his head," Yaga tells her when they finally sedate Gojo enough to get him unconscious. There are fresh scabs all over his body from trying to rip the needles and wires out, and they're not mending itself as fast as they're used to, because: "He's not letting himself heal."

She was in the lower slums of Hirai when she got the first call, dismissing it as Ijichi probably wanting to ask her for the nth time if she wanted to grab dinner with him. She couldn’t even maintain her longest friendship, what good would another complication do? The second, then, a few hours after: still Ijichi. Now with about twenty texts in varied lengths. She was knee-deep in the guts of a curse, and had literally, her hands full.

The third one came from Yaga. She picked up on the first ring, and he didn’t wait a beat. It’s Gojo, he said first thing. Get here now.

"What do you mean?" Shoko asks, on her fifth cup of coffee and itching for a cigarette instead to calm her nerves. The clinic was always cold, but it always felt colder when it was someone she knew on the gurney. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

"I was hoping you could tell me," Yaga says, leaning back into the chair. "You’re the doctor."

"In training, unlicensed, a student," reminds Shoko, glancing unsurely at Gojo’s way. "We’re not taught how to deal with a six eyes user who can't fucking see."

Yaga considers for a moment. "Have you seen his test results?"

Shoko nods grimly. "They're—" she pauses. "Fine. As usual. He's in perfect health."

Yaga gives her a knowing look. “Exactly.”

“Where was he when it happened?” Shoko finds herself asking.

Yaga holds her gaze, unflinching. “Shinjuku.”

They were a few months away from graduation.

A pathetic picture they painted, she thought; just two seniors marching on to the drone of a funeral pyre. Maybe that's why they amped up his missions and her hours, why she wasn't able to keep as close of an eye on him anymore and he let himself be withered so willingly. Otherwise, Shoko thinks, she at least would have seen the first legs of the spiral. The snap of sanity that was always dangling itself in his nose with every extra mission, every sleepless night, every mistake he thought himself responsible for.

Every body. Every kouhai. Every friend.

Shoko realizes then how much she’d been walking on eggshells around him.

Her breath always in arrest inside of her when he was near, just always waiting to be catapulted into disarray that she laps up as much air as she can. He was always going to snap and she was always going to brave right through it with him, this she knows like a universal truth. Constant fighting, several large-scale tragedies, and numerous breakdowns did that to a person, especially for someone high-strung and battle-ready and grief-stricken as Gojo.

There was always going to be a breaking point.

But now that it's here, and that it's metastasized into a form that left him blind and manic and deluded, Shoko comes to another realization of her own as she looks on at his sleeping body and studies the steady rise and fall of his chest: how wholly unprepared she is for it.

Gojo escaped in the middle of the night.

He couldn't have gotten far, barefoot and drugged up on psychedelics as he was. His normally traceless trail left bread crumbs all over the school and the outskirts of the mountain, sloppy and disjointed. His eyes still weren't working right and it was obvious in the jagged evidence of his sleepwalking, wandering around aimlessly and with no regard for his safety.

Eventually someone—she really hopes it wasn’t Ijichi or another first year—found him by the torii gates, shivering in nothing but his flimsy strip of a hospital gown, cold and numb and mumbling nonsense to himself. His feet were bloody, fresh scrapes to his knees and arms. He was curled in on himself, knees tucked out from under him like an infant as he rocked back and forth.

Shoko notes with some degree of unease it was exactly the same place he died.

Gojo did it again the next day. And the next day. And then the next.

They kept having to drag him back in, kicking and screaming and having to be drugged into obedience. He struggled against them all relentlessly, fangs out and voice biting. They had to bring in more people from the outside, because even Gojo at his most disoriented was stronger than the force of a hundred men. When he started scratching at his eyes, Yaga finally decided to throw a straitjacket on him.

And that’s when Gojo started rambling about absolutely everything.

Religious cults, propaganda, death, rebirth. He just wanted a world without all of that now, he moaned, and why couldn't he just understand that? and then started getting angry, started growling incessantly, these goddamn higher ups, i'll kill them all. When they'd finally got him subdued enough to feed him his nightly dose of neuroleptics, started talking slower, like his mind wasn't quite catching up with his reality: w-what have you done to my eyes? where are they? only to start babbling nervously, g-get me getou. he's a third year like me. g-get him will you, he'll fix it, my eyes, he'll fix everything.

It was the most awkward, heart-wrenching thing Shoko had witnessed.

She didn't quite know how to take all of that in, his delusion and desperation, even as she saw it happening right in front of her. He was falling apart from right under their noses, his pain so colossal and angry and loud—that even some of the elders who insisted on monitoring his progress had to look away sometimes. It's not a Gojo they're familiar with, she knows, this body of wires and chords and stitches.

But where they had the luxury of turning away, Shoko could do nothing but hold his pain in and let it sweep over her like a river makes its way to the deep bottomless sea.

Unstopping. Unlooking. Without end.

A forever thing.

And so she stood there, night after night, looking nimbly on as they kept pumping his body full of tranquilizers and hypnotics. To sedate. To soothe. To contain. And Shoko wants to ask them sometimes, what exactly it was they thought they were keeping in? The grief or the anger or the impending explosion? Maybe a little bit of everything, then, she thought. Gojo certainly had enough to light up the world bare and burn it down to its skeletal frame.

Bare bones.

She watched in horror as everyone tried their best to placate him night after night.

Ijichi, still so young and so unprepared and their responsibility, still maintain that deadly persistent idol worship for him that Shoko didn't have the heart to tell him heroes only end in tragedies. He'd know soon enough. Yaga, a steady presence around them that never wavered, never showed any real panic in this impossible situation; hold him down and explain to a clearly hysterical Gojo that suddenly just looked so and only 18 and nothing else: that Haibara had been gone for a while, remember, you were his pallbearer. Nanami too, yes, but—but—not to worry because they’ll get him back. Yes, they’ll find him right away, and Getou too.

Shoko’s heart ached.

What was there left to break of her after this, she wonders?

Off they went, day by day, just trying to soothe and ground him back down to a place they brought him up too high that he had no choice but to crash. But even Icarus plummeted right to his death: watching Gojo splinter parts of himself for everyone to see, in slow crawls, just felt like a cruel fate by the gods to drag out every piece of his misery until he all but drowned himself in it.

And she could do nothing except look on and try her best to keep him alive, shell-shocked, feeling her entire worldview shatter inside and eat its way to every part of her body.

Bare bones.

Yaga had to let important people abroad know. Ijichi had to cover a few missions.

And so one night when the stirring began, when she heard the rustle of cloth being shoved around and a slow groan as his muscles strained in protest from being locked in and Gojo all but tore through his restraints: Shoko was alone.

He's not going to hurt me, was her first thought, sensing his growing alarm as he kept looking around with blind eyes and probably sensing the energy of the room stale and empty. He's not going to hurt me.

Then his eyes lock on her.

"Amanai?"

Shoko feels her entire body go still.

Oh god, she thought. Her hair.

Oh god, she thought. His grief.

Oh god, she thought, finally, her soul weeping: I’m so sorry, Gojo.

Shoko doesn't trust her voice, her body, her soul. Gojo thinks he can see now, but he wasn't seeing her. He was seeing a vision of someone he wanted so badly to imprint to reality he was willing his eyes to project it for him. He was starting to blink out the disorientation, nimble arms moving to stand up from the bed.

"Wait," Shoko finds herself saying, trying to get closer but feeling her legs melt right into the floor along with all logical reasoning. "Just—just wait. Gojo. Don't."

"A-Amanai," Gojo ignores the voice that didn’t match in his head, stops fumbling enough to tilt his head at her as he blinks more of her into vision. Hands fisting at his sides he was already drawing blood, whimpers, "Amanai. I'm—" he stops, choking on the words scratchy at his throat. "Oh god. I'm s-sorry—..I-I'm s-so sorry, you were so young, ohgod—"

Shoko finds her legs making careful, shaky steps towards him. "Gojo," she starts gently. "Gojo, it's okay. You’re okay."

"No, no, no," he mewls, voice rising an octave, reaching up to tear his blindfold open as he starts trying to gouge his eyes out. The air in the room instantly shifts, becoming more and more claustrophobic. He was sucking all the energy out, his cursed energy manic and spiking.

"Nothing is okay! It’s...—" he hiccups, stammering, "...I-It's all wrong. Get it out of me! I-I want it out, get it out! Now!"

Shoko wants to ask what, what does he want out of him exactly, the ghosts or his eyes or both? But no sooner is she opening her mouth his eyes flash red and suddenly the energy isn’t just suffocating: it’s downright punishing.

He could so easily kill now, she thinks, without remorse.

Even himself—more importantly—himself.

“Gojo,” she manages to get to his bed in time, forcing his hands down and sending a bout of cooling energy to get him to stop. Ignoring the way blood was starting to pool from his eyes, she meets hard flesh and even harsher lines of cursed energy; and even then it’s always been dominating, but it had never felt so oppressive.

“Gojo.” Shoko tries again, sending calming droughts into his nerves slowly but steadily. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself. Calm down. Now.”

He kept trying to fight her, hissing at Amanai to get away or he’ll hurt her. He very nearly does when he strikes a palm out and carves a scar right down her knuckles, leaving behind wet trails of blood, but still Shoko held.

When his delirium had finally waned—but even that was a stretch—the muddled vision in his eyes started to clear a little.

But as he took in everything anew, the clinic he liked hiding in to to get away from classes, the sterile tools he always played with to annoy her, the smell and feel and look of the place slipping back into familiarity; and then the blindfold, oh god the blindfold: he just shattered.

Gojo sobbed harder than Shoko has ever seen him do, pounding and beating down on his own chest she's sure she heard ribs crack. He wailed and howled, crippled by the compounded grief and loss and despair and agony no eighteen year old should ever feel. He poked at all his bindings, tearing them apart from the flesh, leaving a chain of angry red gashes of blood and skin. He was opening up fresh wounds and ripping them anew. His hands were bloody and sticky, his eyes so blown out with pools of tears that just didn’t cease.

Shoko could do nothing but fight back her own.

She tried to force him back into his cot again, unsteady arms struggling to get him into his straitjacket, and still through it all Gojo heaved and yelled and cried out: about human evolution and revolutions, about star plasmas, about wars and propaganda and politics and the higher ups, and could they just fucking stop making murderers out of sorcerers and stop treating us like we're dispensable and how he was so goddamn tired of it all, the expectation, the missions, the funerals, and how he should've just stayed dead and i fucking hate it here so stop, just stop, please, fucking kill me already.

An axe through her heart.

A gun to her head.

A million needles sinking into her skin.

Getou leaving them a second time.

Shoko thinks as she looks on at the pure, unadulterated agony on Gojo's eyes, thinks yes: those would hurt more.

Instead she summons her bones back into her body and steels them, fiber to fiber and joint to joint. Because to her, who has never known pain like he does, strength looks like this:

"You don't mean that," Shoko finds her voice in time, successfully biting back tears as she focused all her attention to keeping him stable, the thunder in her heart just background noise. "Don't say that, Gojo, please, I'll fix it," she manages to add without breaking. "I'll—I'll fix your eyes. I'll fix everything."

“My dearest darling Shoko.”

Gojo says suddenly, sweetly, suddenly so like her Gojo that she had to take pause and watch as he trailed a bloodied hand down her face. When she looks up, the glint in his eye was teasing, but dangerous; like they were driving headfirst into the edge of a cliff with nothing but his hands behind the wheel for her to trustfall into.

“I hurt in places you can’t heal.”

#satoshoko #satosho #gojo satoru #ieiri shoko #jujustu kaisen #fic

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cooking-with-hailstones · 7 months ago

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Dandelion, into the wind you go

Read it here or on AO3! Thanks @sulkybender for beta-reading.

Canon compliant, slice of life Zukka:

Training Aang at the Fire Lord’s beach house should probably feel weirder than it did.

And sure, while everyone else had made plenty of comments about how bizarre it was to be hiding in plain sight under the Fire Lord’s roof, Zuko felt more comfortable here, with these people, than he had ever felt when he visited Ember Island with his family.

They had fallen into an easy routine: meditation and firebending training in the morning as the sun rose, earthbending drills with Toph in the afternoon, and then a dinner break before an evening of waterbending with Katara. Sokka and Suki, as the resident non-benders who were not responsible for Aang’s training, spent their time sparring and doing weapons drills. Zuko often joined in, partly to stay out of the way of earthbending and waterbending training. They also seemed to have appointed themselves the Fun Activities Committee. So far, this had included sand-castle building contests (handily won by Toph, though Aang put up a decent fight), body surfing on wavy days, or shopping in town.

“Come on, guys!” Sokka grinned as he grabbed Zuko’s hand and pulled him out of the courtyard. “Tonight’s sunset is going to be gorgeous. Let’s go!”

Zuko reclaimed his arm once the whole gand got outside. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I figured the beach would be as good a view as any?”

Zuko flashed him a grin. “I can do you one better. You all up for a short walk?”

“Have I mentioned I love how much you smile these days?” Sokka laughed, poking him lightly in the ribs, and Zuko’s grin was immediately replaced with a furious blush. “Show the way, o fearless leader!”

After a short hike up the hill, they came to a west-facing cliff overlooking the bay that sheltered the Ember Island beach. The hilltop was covered in dandelion blossoms, all gone to seed this late in the summer.

Katara settled herself underneath one of the scrubby trees near the edge of the cliff, smiling as she attempted to brush the tenacious seeds off her skirt.

“I’ve seen these flowers all over the place in the Fire Nation. What are they?”

“They’re called dandelions,” Zuko replied. “They’re a pretty common weed around here, and they’re the bane of every gardener’s existence.”

Sokka brushed his fingers over one of the round seed heads. “I like them! They’re fluffy. Fluffy is good in my books.”

“My mother liked them too.” Zuko admitted.

“Really? She wasn’t too prim and proper for a common weed?” Katara joked, a grin tugging at her lips.

“No, she was always… a little unusual for a Fire Nation lady.” Zuko ruffled the back of his hair self-consciously.

“Seems like that runs in the family.” said Toph, flopping onto the ground next to him.

“Well I for one think that Zuko is the very model of a proper Fire Nation lady.” said Sokka, casually draping an arm across Zuko’s shoulders. Zuko tried, and failed, not to freeze at the sudden contact as the rest of the gang laughed. Sokka’s nonchalant physical touch was something Zuko would probably never get used to. He took a deep breath, trying not to think about the erratic heartbeat that Toph could undoubtedly pick up on.

Sokka let his arm drop, misinterpreting Zuko’s rigid shoulders as him not wanting Sokka’s touch at all. Not wanting Sokka to be close. The other boy scooted closer to Suki and let his head drop into her lap. Zuko swallowed, and looked back towards the setting sun.

“She actually used to tell us a legend about the spirit of the flower. If you pluck it after it goes to seed, and make a wish while you blow the seeds away, the spirit might grant you its favour and make your wish come true.”

“Wow, really?” Aang sat up from where he’d been lounging, his robes already covered with seeds. Zuko had the fleeting thought that an airbender might have a distinct advantage when it came to blowing seeds. From the boy’s furtive glance over at Katara, Zuko had a pretty good idea of what his wish might be.

“I have no idea.” Zuko shrugged. “But it’s a cute story.”

“Let’s all make a wish!” exclaimed Aang. He leaped to his feet in the way only an airbender could, carefully plucking several of the fullest, fluffiest flower heads and passing them around the group. Once everyone had been allocated their flowers, Aang turned back to Zuko.

“Okay Sifu Hotman, now what?”

“What do you mean? You just make a wish and blow the seeds away.”

“No prayer? No offering to the spirit? Just make a wish and go?” Aang looked puzzled.

“I… No?”

Sokka butted in. “I think the spirit is probably just happy that we’re spreading the seeds around and making more gardeners’ lives miserable. Hey Suki, wanna see who can blow their seeds the farthest? Aang, no, airbenders not allowed in this competition.” Aang visibly deflated as Sokka and Suki readied their dandelions and Toph sucked in a breath that would give an airbender a run for their money.

Zuko paused, contemplating the flower in his hand. There was a wish, half formed, barely on the edge of consciousness.

It wasn’t something he could let himself wish for.

The fluff of hundreds of seeds soon filled the air, as they all plucked more and more flowers and made more and more ridiculous wishes.

“I wish for the firelord to fall into a heap of bison dung!”

“I wish I could become a master firebender!” (“Wait, really Toph?” “Well yeah it seems pretty fun.”)

“I wish a thousand delicious fruit pies would be accidentally delivered to our house!”

Zuko allowed himself a small smile, surrounded by the warmth and light of his friends. Even faced with so much hardship, even with the threat of the battle to come, they were all still kids. They could still laugh. They could still wish for things.

Zuko’s dandelion still hung limply in his hand.

The sound of laughter mixed with the ocean breeze, scattering the seeds far and wide across the island.

“Zuko, you’re not wishing for anything?” Sokka said, noticing Zuko’s dandelion seeds still intact.

“Yeah, come on Sparky, make a wish!” Toph prodded his thigh with her big toe.

Keenly aware of everyone’s eyes suddenly on him, he took a deep breath and blew the seeds into the breeze, following their drifts and spirals as they caught the last of the shimmering sunset.

“What did you wish for, Zuko?” Suki asked.

“... Peace” he eventually replied.

Toph lifted a sceptical eyebrow, which he studiously ignored. The rest of the gang nodded, their silly mood suddenly sober as they contemplated what they were fighting for. Peace, victory, safety, home…

Katara sighed, stretched, and the spell was broken. “Come on, we should get going before the light fades completely.” With a chorus of grumbles, groans, and shaking off dirt and dandelion seeds, they all clambered to their feet.

As they turned and walked back down the hill, Zuko hung back and plucked one more dandelion. With a tear in his eye that he would never allow himself to shed, he blew the dandelion seeds towards Sokka’s retreating back. Hardly daring to let himself even think it, let alone whisper it out loud.

Somehow… Please, let him know.

#zukka #zukka nation #ao3feed zukka #zuko/sokka #zuko x sokka #zukka fanfic #alta fanfic #yes this was inspired by a ruth b song #i'm not even much of a ruth b fan #but she writes great music for pining teenagers #i am not a pining teen #but i do love writing pining teens #Emily writes #my writing

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beaker1636 · 11 months ago

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The Scavenger Hunt Pt. 4: Our First Kiss

AN: This is my favorite one so far, not because of the puzzle but the rest of it came out so fucking cute I swear I’m gonna just swoon 🥰🫠

“City park, you had your first kiss at a park?” She asks you, cocking an eyebrow at you in curiosity. That would not be where she would guess if she were being honest, she expected your apartment building or something.

“Did he not tell you where each location was ahead of time?” You question her, wondering what exactly she does know.

“No he did not, I don’t know much more than you. He was worried I would accidentally spill something to you and he did not want that to happen so he didn’t tell me much. A couple I figured out because you have told me about those moments but that is it, really,” she says as she continues the drive, flipping off a driver who cut her off.

“To be fair, you would be one to get frustrated at me for taking to long and would just tell me,” you said with a laugh, knowing how your sister is and how big her mouth is.

“Yeah, I probably would. Okay, so you should know the drill by now, I want the story of your first kiss, that apparently happened at the park,” she asks, more like demands from you.

“You're not going to believe me because it straight up was like something out of a movie,” you say with a laugh.

“Spill,” she groans.

“I was having a bad day, and you know that on bad days I used to hide out at the park. I would swing, or watch kids play or whatever. He knew I was having a bad day and we were texting, finally got me to spill where I was. It was close to sundown, so pretty dark, nobody was there with me as I sat up at the top of one of the slides, just thinking after my awful work day, wallowing in self pity. He showed up and sat up there with me for quite awhile, letting me cry and vent about how awful my day was, brushing my tears away while I let it all out. I was so embarrassed, at this point we had just started dating, so I hadn’t let him see me like this before. But instead of commenting on it, or how my makeup ran down my face, anything, he just sat there and held me while I let everything out. When I was done and calmed down I felt a little better and he was trying to make me smile, but failed. He finally gave up and started tickling my sides, making me laugh until I fell backwards down the slide. He came down on his stomach and when he reached the bottom where I was, landing on top of me we just… kissed. It was beautiful, it felt so right, I could tell right then that he was it, I would never find someone else who was better for me,” you say softly, a couple stray happy tears starting to spill over your cheeks which you quickly brush away.

“That was the cutest thing that I have ever heard, are you serious? Why didn’t you ever tell me about that, that is like every woman’s dream. The more stories you tell me the more I am glad you found him, really. So, are you ready to get out and go see what Justin is currently holding for you?” She asks, putting the car in park and reaching out to grab your hand, give it a squeeze.

You nod, lost in your thoughts as you slowly step out of the car. Your sister notices that you are walking slowly, watches you for a moment before asking you if you are okay.

“Yeah, just lost in my thoughts is all,” you answer truthfully, smiling as you walk up towards Justin, wanting him to know that you are thankful for what he is doing with you.

“You are making decent progress, I’m glad to see you!” He answers, watching the two of you walk up to him.

“Thank you, and thank you for being a part of whatever this thing is, I appreciate it even if I have no clue what it is we are fully doing but,” you trail off with a nervous laugh. Not sure what to say each time you run into the next person, because it is becoming a somewhat broken record. And you are ready to just meet with Ricky at this point if you were being honest.

“I won’t waste time and keep you here too long, I promise. I have a crossword for you that Ricky had made, the clues are all based on books and when you finish it the boxes that are in a different color are the letters for the next destination for you. I have a pen and we can sit on the picnic table if you want. I’m allowed to give you two clues if you should need them, but I doubt you would even ask me for one knowing you,” he says with a laugh, handing you a couple pieces of paper and letting you get started.

“Are they all book titles? This should be easy. Umm lets see, this one is The blank Mile by Stephen King, well he is making this easy so far,” you mumble to yourself as you write green in for the answer.

“The Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn…. Oh wait, that would be Mark Twain,” you say to yourself as you keep moving, continuing to mumble to yourself as you try to figure the answers out, as you work through the puzzle in your mind.

Justin watches you in amazement as you fly through the puzzle, he knows you love puzzles and are good at them but he didn’t expect that you would finish them that quickly, you having almost finished this puzzle in only 10 minutes.

“Last one, Nancy Drew and the Hidden… obviously staircase. He must have decided to give me an easy puzzle after tormenting me with the last one. This was simple and now to plug in all the answers to where it goes in the bottom…. And it says First time I said I love you. Well, now we both know where to go again. Fuck, are we almost done?” you groan, ready to just get this all done and over with.

Justin laughs, “Not quite, I think you are maybe what? Halfway? Now, do you want your letter and rose or should I keep them and let you wander without them?” He teases, messing with you as he hands them both over to you with a smile.

“Thank you Justin,” you say softly, looking at the playground with a smile.

“Which slide was it for your first kiss?” Your sister asks you, curious.

You point it out with a smile at the memory, maybe when this is all said and done the two of you should go down it again for old times sake.

“Should we read your letter now?” she asks you, knowing that you are ready to keep going.

Baby,

I hope you enjoyed your crossword, I knew you would probably fly through it but not all puzzles need to be difficult for you, some are just for fun. I hope you enjoyed the fun… and my little Nancy Drew plug I made.

This was probably the place I was most excited to bring you, I don’t know if it means much to you but it means so much to me. That was the first night I saw you break, that you made yourself vulnerable in front of me and let me raise you up instead of you helping my moods. I remember wanting to cry with you while I watched you cry that night, unable to help you but feeling so much love in my heart because I knew that you trusted me to see that side of you. I would have done anything to make it better for you, and I hope you know that I still will do anything I can to make things better for you when you are down.

It made me so happy when I finally got you to smile, even if it was because I was tickling you and being a bit mean towards you in that way. You are most beautiful when you are happy, and I would do anything to keep you that way. That night made me so happy, that I had the ability to make you smile. I think that is the night I realized I loved you, even if I wouldn’t say it towards you for quite awhile after.

When you fell down that slide and I went down after you, I decided that I was done fighting it, that I was going to take my chances and kiss you finally, and pray that you would let me. That you felt the same way and wanted the same things as me, and when you did that made me so happy. I can still remember how happy I was that night when we both went home, after several more kisses and giggles between us. You still make me that happy, I still strive to make you happy when you have bad days.

I wish I was there to watch you solve all these puzzles, I love watching you use your brain as you think through complicated things, as you figure out the answers to things. But it will all be worth it in the end… and your sister has promised to keep sending me photos of you enjoying each step.

Keep up the great work baby,

Ricky.

Your sister notices that this letter really gets to you, this one being the one that finally gets you emotional enough to where you start to cry a little bit as you read his words. That he views you so highly, that he feels this way about you and cares so much for you… that he always has. It makes you happy, you genuinely love him and each of these reminders is showing you how much he loves you too.

“Damnit, don’t cry,” your sister groans, pulling you into a tight hug as soon as she realizes that the letter has gotten to you so much. Justin quickly joins, pulling the two of you into a group hug, making you laugh.

“Sorry, just these letters are making me so happy,” you say when they pull away, brushing your tears from your cheeks while hoping your makeup didn’t run too badly.

“They should, it is incredibly sweet. Not many guys would put in work like this for their girlfriend, wife, whatever they are. It is clear that he really means what he says when he says he loves you sis, and I am glad that you have someone who treats you so well,” Kayla says, giving you a smile.

“Oh, it is clear you are his world. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t hesitate on doing anything if it meant taking care of you, I hope you know that y/n. This is kind of proof, he has spent the last month on this for you,” Justin says, making you look at him.

“Has he really, that is so sweet. I wish I could tell him that right now,” you say softly.

“You will see him soon, now, should we get to the next place? Keep the show going? The sooner we finish the tasks the sooner we get to see him,” Kayla asks, trying to keep you moving.

“Of course,” you answer as you all say your goodbyes and make your way back to your sister's car while waving goodbye to Justin.

You move to look at the tag on your newest rose. “I love that you let me see you at your lowest, that you let me take care of you like you take care of me.”

#the scavenger hunt #fanfiction #bree sucks at fanfiction #ricky olson x reader #ricky olson fluff #ricky olson fanfic #ricky olson fic #ricky olson fanfiction #motionless in white fanfiction #motionless in white fanfic #motionless in white fic

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cobra-wives · 5 months ago

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[TAHITI: AN ANECDOTE]

A small scene that I think would fit well in Season Two, around the time before Johnny sees him at the shelter and questions if any of the stories were true. At least he can say Tahiti was real, but not in the way Johnny thinks...

__________

The students look like they’re sitting in the barracks.

Alluring each other with feeble and shallow conversation, distracted to the fact at hand that yes, they’re in a dojo. There’s an itch in the back of Kreese’s neck to correct a scrawny kid’s posture, tell the lanky one to stand to his full height, build some muscle. He holds his words back, looks towards the back door - can hear Johnny finishing up with the young Diaz kid, honing some of his kicks before practice really starts. He figures it’s about time he gets them warmed up.

“Class! Fall in line!”

His voice shuts them up. They scramble like ants. This, Kreese realizes. This is going to take a while to mold into what he needs.

He saunters towards the front of the dojo, where his back can face the creed and thus, drill it into the students. “Now, we all know the value of strength. Of power,” he begins his lesson. “That’s why you’re here. But what you might not know is that power is useless if you don’t have the discipline to control it.”

One of the larger boys in the back looks half asleep. Kreese narrows his eyes, pulls himself up to his full height. “I learned that the hard way, in a place you’d least expect. Many of you know that my days in the military have taken me to places you couldn’t imagine - Desert Storm, Afghanistan. So I took a trip...”

He pulls out a shot glass from his pocket - saved for this very moment, for the time it's appropriate to tell a story. Sets it on the plastic desk by the window, where all the trophies sit, where it can catch the light.

“To Tahiti.”

Hawk chuckles. Tory blinks in confusion, Aisha next to her looking like she wants to crack some joke about him with a pineapple in his fist, with a little umbrella inside of it. One of the kids doesn't even look like he knows where Tahiti is. There’s a small rustle of amusement overall. Kreese wills himself to be patient - he’ll get there in time.

He smiles darkly. “Tahiti—coconuts with umbrellas, beaches, clear blue water,” he continues in his story, and the ripples of Pacific waters come back to his memory. Swiping at his feet, daring to pull him in. “But paradise is just a pretty lie. And peace is just the lull in between battles.”

His thoughts reclaim themselves, and suddenly he’s 39 and coiled up in the rage of his own battles, running away with his tail between his legs. “I was there to regroup, to sharpen myself. 1985 was a rough year in the market of business, but I had some… resources at my disposal. An old friend who knew a thing or two about what it takes to get back on top took one good look at me and sent me on a plane straight to the beaches.”

Dark curls and silk monogrammed gis fill his head again, and his grip tightens around his own gi belt. Hawk pipes up, a curious challenge on his tongue, and he’s reminded of an old friend from his old army days in the way he cockily asks - “What— you got a nice 30 day cruise?”

“Well.”

The memories come back - glass in his knuckles, blood dripping down his arm, slinking away like a pathetic dog on the street. The first fight he’s ever lost. He raises his hand, Hawk’s eyes moving down to face the fist he’s raising, but the kid doesn’t flinch. Good — he taught him well.

“While I was there,” Kreese regales, his voice sizzling on the hot coals of summer nights on the sand. “I trained like never before. I pushed my body and my mind to their limits. You do not let yourself go soft nor weak no matter what circumstance you're in, and you should never let your guard down. Do you hear me, son?”

Hawk’s eyes continue to sweep over the old callouses of his knuckles, and he looks back up to match his fury. “Yes, Sensei,” he nods. Kreese grins, leaning back— “Good—” and he returns to his lecture. Now, he sees that the students are intrigued, and that there’s more to this story than he’s letting on. Perhaps he can persuade them to hear more.

He lowers his voice, now that the room is quiet. “Now, this friend of mine— a businessman, a real strategist from the war— he knew how to play the long game. He taught me that sometimes, you have to step back. Let your enemies think they’ve won, only to strike back when they least expect it. Tahiti wasn’t an escape— it was a preparation for war. A place where I reminded myself who I am, and what Cobra Kai stands for. A place where we planned our sneak attack."

He narrows his eyes, looking at each of his students. “So don’t you ever forget — we may strike first, but we do not strike blindly. And neither do I. We take what we want, we don’t stop until we get it, and we plan our methods of attack. That’s the lesson I brought back from Tahiti, and what I…”

A pause. Johnny and Diaz return from the backroom, where they’ve finished their individually focused warmup. Kreese makes his grin warm. “What we will drill into each of you, every single day.”

Then he steps back, methodically inching away from the prey as Johnny tentatively makes his way to the front of the class. “They’re all warmed up for you, Sensei Lawrence.”

Johnny watches him with caution before nodding, stepping up to the edge of the mat and bowing at his students hastily. Diaz continues to eye him with suspicion, but the kid doesn't have a solid poker face and he knows he'll be approaching Johnny soon with questions about the new mysterious man slowly taking over their classes. That's only Johnny's fault - he always makes them a little too loyal. At least when the kid asks him later, he can say that this story is true - he even has the bruises to prove it.

Kreese continues to observe from the sidelines, his eyes swooping over the cream of the crop. The ones he can take for himself, shape into true fighters. Nichols and Moskowitz are top contenders, and others will need a bit of work - but it’s nothing the military didn’t do for old John and Twig.

Twig.

He feels an odd thrum in his chest, but he cards it away. Takes a deep breath, and joins Johnny as they begin their same old dance in the middle of the mat for the day’s lesson.

#cobra kai #john kreese #bird writes #cobra kai season 2 #johnny lawrence #eli moskowitz #terry silver #miguel diaz #i kinda miss kreese's season 2 scheme-ing! the big plans he had brewing up to take over the ck dojo were very terry esque of him #and i like to think that while he was channeling up some of his old friend's schemeing personality that he was reminded of him again #never forget the nod to tahiti... NEVER FORGET!!

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lifeofkaze · 2 years ago

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A Search for Balance

CHAPTER 25: SKYE'S CONFESSION

Find the masterlist with all chapters of this story here, the previous chapter here, and the next one here.

Tagging: @flareshogwarts

As the Christmas break drew to its end, Orion found himself reluctant to go home. His conversation with Katriona had left him feeling restless, unsure of whether he should feel determined or desperate in the face of his return to Wigtown.

On their first practice day of the new year, Orion woke with nervous anticipation. He had only seen Lizzie briefly since their match in Kenmare and not spoken to her at all, but even so, his heart started beating faster when she walked into the changing room.

The feeling quickly vanished as he took a closer look at her. There were shadows under her eyes that made her look tired, the face pale and drawn as she took her seat between him and Skye. She didn’t speak, and Orion forced himself to listen to Ethan; it was no use fretting over something that had apparently been only in his head. Lizzie’s stance on the whole thing between them was apparent, that much he could tell.

The training session Ethan had planned for them was hard, and it wasn’t long before every muscle in Orion’s body was screaming. Judging by the subdued mutters of his teammates, they weren’t doing any better. After about half of their routine was done, Skye advocated for a break; Orion couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Skye returned to the team with a burning face and foul mood.

Lizzie was the only one to not mind the drill, performing every exercise fast and without complaint. Watching her, it was hard to believe that she had been too injured to play only a few weeks ago; her shots were hard and her aim precise, and Ethan had more than one appreciative word for her.

Every time her father praised Lizzie, Skye’s face grew darker. When they were done for the day, she lost no time returning to the changing room. Orion himself took his time getting changed; Lizzie had already gone, and he didn’t want to risk running into her when she so obviously didn’t want to talk to him.

He waited until the rest of the team was gone before he picked up his things, ready to leave. As he exited the changing room, a set of voices drifting down the corridor caught his attention. They were Skye’s and Ethan’s, and from what Orion could tell, they were arguing. He turned away, not wanting to listen in, but something made him stop.

“Do I look like I care?” Ethan had just said. “I don’t give a Chizpurfle’s shit about how it got to the press. I want to know if it’s true or not.”

Skye must have answered too quietly for Orion to hear because Ethan’s voice took on a sharper note.

“Have you run into a Beater’s Bat, Skye? Never thought to tell me about any of this, did you? You said there’s no way bringing him back from the dead could bite us in the arse, but what’s this, then? Not exactly a straight shot, is it?”

“So what if Lizzie shagged her ex?” Skye replied, sounding defiant. “That’s their problem, not ours. I really didn’t think this was gonna happen,” she added after a moment. “I thought if only we got the old team together, Lizzie would focus on what matters. I needed to do something before she’d marry herself off, and that’d be the last we’ve seen of her. Couldn’t know she’d get herself into a mess like this, now, could I?”

“I trusted you on this, and you let me down,” Ethan said regardless. “Thought it would do you good, surrounding you with people you can work with - Godric knows there’s little enough of them - but it was a mistake.”

He had lowered his voice, and despite himself, Orion found himself listening more closely.

“Have you any idea of what these articles are doing? Won’t be long until the press asks about Lizzie scoring off the pitch rather than on it. Not exactly the best circumstances to remind her of what she has in Wigtown. I need her to sign this bloody contract, and soon. Or do you want to hand the Cup to the Magpies again?”

“What I want,” Skye said fiercely, “is to win the Cup for the Wanderers, with or without her. One player doesn’t make a team, Dad. If she doesn’t want to play for us, let her go.”

“Careful, lassie,” came Ethan’s reply, sharply and promptly. “Don’t think you can teach me about Quidditch. I need Lizzie Jameson on my team to win, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her there. Now stop the whining and do what I told you. That’s what I made you captain for.”

Skye said something Orion didn’t understand, storming through the door to Ethan’s office a moment later. Ripping her captain’s badge off her jacket, she threw it to the ground and stomped away in the opposite direction to where Orion was standing in the shadows. Once she was gone, he went and picked it up, thoughtfully turning it between his fingers. When he looked up, he saw Ethan standing in the doorway, watching him.

“What do you want now?”

Orion shook his head, closing his hand around Skye’s badge before setting off in the direction where she had vanished. He wasn’t the one in dire need of help right now.

***

He found Skye in the stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch. Upon coming closer, Orion could see that she was furiously scribbling into a red notebook, so focused on her work that she didn’t even seem to mind the cold January wind blowing through the stadium. She suddenly paused, ripped out the half-finished page with an irritated sound, and tossed it to the ground, where several others were lying already.

Orion picked one up and smoothed it out, surprised to see the beginnings of a match plan.

“Isn’t it the coach’s prerogative to devise the team’s strategy?” he asked as he sat next to her on the cold wood.

Skye glanced up from her notes. “Can’t hurt to put my own two brain cells to it, can it?”

She returned her attention to her notebook but only stared at the pages, her shoulders slumped forward in discouragement. Orion extended his hand.

“May I?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Skye handed him the notebook. “Ain’t got much yet. Hard to say what the right approach’s gonna be with Jameson just being back and all.” Her face darkened. “Not even sure she should play at all, in fact.”

Orion’s eyes fell on the line-up Skye had scribbled in the upper right-hand corner. She had listed four Chasers - Orion and herself, then Lizzie and Morgaine. The latter two had been repeatedly crossed out and written down again.

“As captain, your personal grievances must never cloud your judgement,” Orion said, taking Skye’s quill and underlining Lizzie’s name. “The three of us have helped our team to victory before, and I’m confident we will continue to do so.”

Skye looked at him from the corners of her eyes. “You sure you’re qualified to talk about this personal grievance thing?”

Orion paused his writing. “Have I ever led our team astray?”

“No, I suppose not.” She inhaled deeply. “Right, what do you suggest?”

Orion drew lines and circles until they formed a rudimentary diagram. Doing so felt strange to him; he hadn’t worked out a strategy chart since his time at Hogwarts.

“The Wasps lost their first match against us and will be eager for retribution. Their Beaters’ aim is their greatest asset, and our Seeker will be most at risk of being stung. Tell me, Skye, do you know what a hoverfly is?”

Taken aback by the sudden change of topic, Skye blinked. “Those pesky little buggers that look like wasps?”

Orion nodded. “They are harmless but use their brothers’ colours to hide from danger in plain sight.”

Skye’s face lit up as she understood. “You want Sheridan to tag the Wimbourne Chasers, don’t you? Wait a second,” she added with a frown. “That’s one of your old strategies, ain’t it?”

“The past holds all the answers we need.” A smirk stole onto his face. “That is, if you’re not afraid of having to dodge a few extra Bludgers coming our way.”

Skye flashed him a grin. “When have I ever backed down from a Bludger?”

Orion handed her the notebook back, watching as she completed the diagram. “You certainly never shied away from a challenge. But in Quidditch, as in life, the key to victory lies in unity and teamwork, not in the lone fight of a single player.”

Skye tensed. “Not everything’s made easier by holding hands.”

“I find the opposite to be true. It’s when we feel most alone that we’re in need of a friend.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “You don’t have to share what’s burdening you. But if you need someone to lighten the load, I’m here to listen.”

Skye shook her head. “How do you share a legacy?”

She began to tell Orion about her struggles, the daily conversations with her father, and how they would always turn into bitter arguments about how to lead their team. As captain, it was her responsibility to be both the voice of the team and her father’s extended hand on the pitch; her being the only remaining Parkin child in Wigtown didn’t make things any easier, either.

“I thought being captain would be fun,” Skye sighed when she was done, “but it ain’t at all. How did you make it look so easy all these years?”

“There’s an art to making the difficult seem effortless. Having your team place their trust in you is an honour, but living up to their expectations of you is never easy, nor should it be. May I offer a word of advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Of course you can.”

“No, go on,” Skye decided. “Just don’t make it a sermon.”

“What do you think were my reasons for doing our moments of vivification before every match?”

“You like to hear yourself talk?”

“To inspire, it doesn’t matter what you say or do,” Orion explained. “To ignite a fire inside the people looking to you for guidance, it’s important how you make them feel. Make them confident in themselves and proud to be part of your team, then you know they will go above and beyond to surpass themselves. If your team isn’t burning for you, no strategy in the world can make up for it.”

Skye made a sceptical sound. “Not sure Dad would agree.”

“The interesting question is, do you agree?”

Skye was silent while she contemplated his words. Eventually, she said, “Don’t think it matters what I believe. He’s the coach, and he’s my dad. His word’s the law, one way or another. It’s up to me to find a way to make everyone happy, though I don’t have a bloody idea on how to do that.”

“If there’s one thing I learned in Montrose, it’s that if success requires giving up on your beliefs, it will always feel empty. I stopped listening to what my heart was trying to tell me, but you can only bend for so long before you break. Ultimately, all you have is one choice - to break or to be broken.”

“But Montrose didn’t break you,” Skye shook her head. “You’re the Captain. Nothing can break you.”

“Because I chose to break away on my own terms, and it cost me dearly.” He smiled at Skye and held her captain’s badge out to her. “And you’re the captain now, not me.”

“In a way, you’re always gonna be the Captain to me.”

They fell silent. Lost in thought, Orion picked up one of Skye’s discarded pages and tore little pieces off it. The wind blew them over the pitch, and he watched them dance in the dwindling light before they slowly sank to the ground.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Skye suddenly spoke up. “Last time I sat on some stands and let pages fly was when Lizzie asked me to train her for the house team. Feels like a lifetime ago.

“A lot has changed since then.”

“I guess so,” Skye hummed, touching the tips of her boots against the railing in a slow rhythm. “I’m sorry everything has gone so wrong. I really only wanted the best for the team when I asked you to come back… and you and Lizzie, of course. That, too.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” Orion said gravely. “It’s futile to ponder over it. The ways of the universe are unfathomable.”

“How do you feel about all of this anyway? The bad press and all?”

Orion picked up another piece of paper, this time smoothing it out and neatly folding it along the edges, over and over again.

“Unsettled,” he answered Skye’s question. “It feels like the walls are closing in on me, and wherever I look, I see things I do not wish to be reminded of. Everything I’ve done has brought pain to both Lizzie’s life and mine. Maybe I should have refused your offer,” he said with a defeated voice. “Maybe all of this was a mistake.”

“Want to know what I think?”

“Of course.”

“I think you need to stop whining and pull yourself together,” Skye told him seriously. “I know you’re heartbroken, I get it, but I meant what I said. Nothing can break you. And for what it’s worth, the Wanderers are glad you’re here, and so am I. As for the rest, I guess you’ll need to swallow your pride and be a man. Make of that what you will.”

She rose to her feet and pocketed both her notebook and the captain’s badge. “I can’t rely on Lizzie anymore to back me up. If you want me to be a leader, I’ll need at least one person on my side. I’m counting on you, Captain. I can’t afford to lose you as well.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #orion amari x mc #lizzie jameson #skye parkin #ethan parkin #balance series #search for balance #sfb

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g0dspeeed · 2 years ago

Text

Sparring Lesson

Wrote this gem with @gaeadene a while back. Warning: Sex ahead

A little sparring lesson in the woods has Eli Palmer hot and bothered. Cappie De la Costa walks away victorious in more ways than one.

The view was just plain gorgeous. Between the mighty waterfall rushing white water down the steep cliff, the surrounding sea of tall, rich pine, and the ominous mountains playing a stoic witness, Eli Palmer was enamored by the natural beauty of the world around him. His chest swelled with the fresh, mountain air and love for the outdoors as he laid out the last gym mat on the ground. Hawks cried across the clear sky, the morning brisk despite the warm season, perfect for what Eli had in store.

Tammy told him, begged Eli, to take a day off. She commanded him to give himself a break from the demanding labors of running a militia, between readying the bunker, gathering supplies, training recruits, investigating reports, running drills, checking cameras, and so, so much more. And he had listened. Somewhat.

Anytime he had a day off, it was spent with Cappie De la Costa. It was spent teaching her the rules of survival, on how to use a compass–She couldn't–how to start a fire, how to build a shelter, how to treat water, how to identify plants, etcetera. Eli made it a personal goal for Cappie to develop some kind of positive relationship with Mother Nature, or at the very least, coexist in the woods without vicious threats of burning it all down.

Despite their time centering on what Eli did for the Whitetail Militia, doing so with Cappie was different. It was fun. He laughed. He was excited about it, planned their outings and trips in-between work, thought about them even when he was carrying out Whitetail business.

I should take Cappie here. She said caves were cool.

Cappie might like this place. We should stargaze sometime.

I wonder what Cappie would think of this view.

Eli hadn’t been this turned around by a pretty face since he’d met ex-wife over a decade ago. Hadn’t found anyone who had made him feel like this since their divorce three years ago. Made his heart flutter like he was a teenager. Made him feel like she enjoyed spending time with him. Maybe it was foolish of him to keep dedicating these hours to her, but–Fuck, Cappie De la Costa made him feel.

His eyes fell on the woman in question sat by the trees a few feet from the mat, staring at the archery butt he’d set up behind him. She’d given him a look when he pulled up with it tied to the bed of his truck, but then she’d given him that trademark grin of hers and said she liked his butt.

“So, what do you wanna start with?” Eli called. “Some target practice? Or hand to hand?”

Cappie watched him set up, a thrill aching in her chest, the anticipation making her heart beat even more than the quality time with her latest–something.

"Um, you trust me with a bow and arrow?" she ventured. "Or are you gonna give me one of those kid arrows with the marshmallows on the end?"

“I can give you marshmallows if you want ‘em,” he chuckled, making his way over to the back seat of his truck to retrieve two quivers of arrows and two compound bows. “We can run down to the store afterwards and get you some.”

She glared. "I'm badass enough," quipped Cappie as she stood up, muscles stretching. "Just don't get mad at me if we end up at the emergency clinic."

Cappie wandered over to him, hazel eyes studying the bows. The last time she touched one, the event ended the way she warned with Staci getting stitches and both promising the other not to tell their dad.

"So, um, what do I do? Just rock it? It's rock, right? Like you 'rock it' on the, the thing?"

“Nock,” Eli corrected. “You, uh, want a little guidance, or?”

She levelled him a flat look.

He reached a hand out and grabbed his own bow, nocking an arrow as he aimed for the target.

“Have a look at what I’m doing.” Eli repeated the motions a few times, letting her watch him, trying not to blush at those green eyes.

Cappie frowned. He made it look so easy. That was half the trouble. Eli was just so good at being outside and was just so damn patient and nice. She huffed.

"Okay, but how do I keep it from sliding off? And how do you know I'm even strong enough to pull it?"

He put the bow down, a hand finding hers. “Can I?”

Her cheeks stung, but Cappie allowed it.

"Do your worst," she sighed.

Careful hands worked the bow firmly into her grip, guiding her fingers to the arrow shaft to help her pull it carefully back. He showed her how to aim it with a slow sweep of their arms. Her body was so soft against his, and Eli wanted to bury his face in her hair even as he brought the arrow-hand close to her face, making sure the string itself didn’t touch her cheek.

“That feel ok?”

His voice came out lower than he’d intended.

Cappie wasn't breathing. The whole time he set her up, it was as if every nerve in her back and shoulders was on fire as he moved her, his hands striking matches along her skin. Her body had to fight the instinct to lean back into him, to meet his body heat.

"Feels great," she muttered.

“Ok,” he told her, voice still low, “Now try firing.”

The voice, it had to be the voice. Without aiming at all, too distracted by the timber in her ear, Cappie loosed the arrow, her eyes widening in horror as it sailed several feet above the intended target.

"Welp."

Eli tried not to wince as she adjusted her aim at the last second and the arrow speared into a tree a few feet after the butt.

“It’s ok,” he promised, “How many times have you even shot anything anyway?”

"Like bows? Or guns?" she clarified, shaking the jitters from her fingers. "Because I've shot guns a lot, but only at like, beer cans or old propane tanks."

He released her, a hand hovering by her shoulder.

Eli cleared his throat.

“They’re actually completely different skills,” he said. “Some things are the same; you gotta adjust for windspeed, elevation, weight of the projectile. Guns need a certain amount of holdover or holdunder to keep them from moving too much thanks to recoil. Arrows have a little more human error involved. Shaky hands will screw up any shot, sure, but there’s a few more possible errors like broken strings and arrows that ain’t perfect.”

Cappie was listening. Sort of.

Not really. Her brain was still hanging on his voice and how it felt when Eli was behind her. She could have laughed at herself, at how she was acting like a high school kid or some character in a G-rated rom-com.

"Okay," she replied. "You, uh, normally this hands-on with people when you're teachin'? Like, the recruits and stuff?"

“Uh,” Eli’s ears burned, “Nah, not usually. But, I mean, this is a big hunting community, so most of ‘em have a little bit of experience. Just wanted to make sure you were in a good position, didn’t hurt yourself or anything.”

A smirk teased her lips.

"Well, gotta love the extra attention, sir. Now what? Can we try again?"

“Sure.” He handed her another arrow. “Now, you don’t wanna pull too hard on the shaft when you’re getting the bow ready, or you’ll strain your muscles.”

Cappie nocked the arrow with a grin.

"Gentle with the shaft, got it," she mused.

Her arms assumed the position from before.

"How's my position now, Eli?"

Gentle touches adjusted the height of her elbow, tugged the arrow-hand just a little further from her face, ran down her back to correct her posture. Fingertips slid down her bow-hand, just relaxing it a little. Eli wanted to touch her, he wanted to run his fingers through her hair and up her shirt, but Cappie had actually come out here to learn.

“That’s more like it.” He nodded to her. “Ok. Keep your eye on the target. Feel where the wind’s coming from. If it’s comin’ too hard in one direction, shift your aim to make up for it.”

Shafts. Coming. Jesus Christ, Cappie had the mind of some horny adolescent.

"How the fuck can I tell where the wind is coming from? That's some real boy scout shit," she grumbled, her breathing made shallow by his hands and just how damn close he was behind her.

“Which way’s your hair blowin’?” Eli chuckled.

"Um," she muttered, thinking for a moment. "Left? So how does that help me?"

Her body began to sag against him, her arms aching. Eli caught her, hands on her hips.

“Wind’s comin’ from the right,” he said. “So it’ll blow your arrows the same way, which means you need to adjust where the arrow points to your right a little. The stronger the wind, the more adjustment you need to make. I’d say adjust it so that the arrow’s just a little to the right of the bullseye.”

Cappie listened that time. Her body straightened back into position, her focus sharp. After lining up her sight, her hand released the arrow, the string sounding a thrum by her ear. It sailed over the target again, this time lower, closer than it had been before.

Eli scratched his jaw. Hmm. “Try again,” he said. “Aim lower.”

"This is fucking stupid," she complained. "I suck. I might as well run up with an arrow in my hand, maybe stab the target to death."

Her arms lowered and she turned to face him, mirth in her eyes.

“Hey, relax.” He pushed a lock of hair out of her face. “You’ve been doin’ this five minutes. It takes a while to get used to. You’ll get there, I promise. You wanna try again?”

Cappie flinched at how he touched her and shook her head.

"No, maybe later. I hate sucking at things."

Rather than stare into his warm eyes, Cappie glanced at the mats.

"What are those for?" she questioned.

Eli withdrew his hand immediately at the flinch. Shit. That was too far. He glanced over at the mats.

“Uh… Well, I was—Gonna see if you wanted to try learning some hand-to-hand combat, but… well, we don’t have to. I don’t know how much you know, so if you wanted to get coffee and come back to this later, or stop completely…”

A laugh bubbled up from deep inside her. One could call it devilish. Or evil.

"Oh yeah? You wanna rumble?" Cappie chided. "Hell yeah, I've had a shitty week. Let's blow off some good ol' steam, boy scout."

She made a point to approach the mats and stretch her legs.

"And don't go easy on me," she added with a smile tossed over the shoulder. "I ain't a flower."

Eli felt his pants get tighter, and he immediately pulled off his jacket and sweater, setting them down to leave himself in his pants and t-shirt.

“U-Uh, sure.” He was thinking about blowing off steam, eyes drawn to Cappie’s legs, remembering having them wrapped around his waist.

God, you’re in deep, Palmer, he thought to himself, following her over to the mats.

“Ok,” he finally said. “Gimme your best shot.”

"Wait, wait, wait," she challenged. "What are the rules here? I gotta know so I don't hurt ya."

“Try not to hit anything vital,” he said, “And that includes my crotch. Please.”

Cappie mulled it over.

"Okay, what about playin' dirty? Because, you know, I got no shame."

“...Crotch shots are again a no-no, make sure not to break anything." There was a look in her eyes that promised trouble, and Eli wanted it bad. “Heck, I’m just doin’ this to make sure you’re sharp with your self-defense.”

Oh.

Oh that's how it was.

Cappie stalked to the center of the mat, her eyes lethal and brooding as they glowered into his.

"Okay," she purred, her stance lowering. "Teach me how to defend myself."

Eli sensed he’d made a mistake. “Ok. Someone comes at you from above with a punch, how would you defend yourself?”

Cappie grinned.

"Actually, let's not have a pop quiz and just feel me out, yeah?" she countered.

God, he had the mind of a teenager.

Eli swung at her, right hand coming down in a hard hook towards her. This felt so wrong, he should not be doing this—

Cappie feinted and whipped the back of her hand across his cheek.

Eli snapped back, the shock of pain on his face surprising him, but mostly just—

“Did you just slap me?”

"I'm being gentle," Cappie cooed. "I've never fought in my life."

He’d screwed up. He’d fucked up. And God, he was already so turned on.

“Cap,” his voice came out a little breathless, “Can you give me your best shot?”

Cappie blinked at that, thrown off by his request.

"You sure? I don't give a shit that you're a man, or important, or hot. I fight dirty. Filthy."

Eli let out a slightly weak laugh. “Call it payback for just assumin’ anything about you like the dumbass I am.”

Cappie dipped her shoulder, hands loose and fingers twitching.

"Well, come get your dues, handsome."

Eli went in for another strike, aiming for her left, and he knew he was distracted by waiting for her response, by the look in her eyes, God, if he got his shit kicked in right now it would be so worth it.

Cappie dodged before taking a step back out of range. Her heart hammered in her chest, made her feel alive, electric with the prospect of letting loose and letting go.

She then pivoted to her right, and jabbed towards his face, a wild grin spread across her lips. Eli snapped his head back, taking a shot towards her stomach.

Cappie flexed her abdomen, taking the blow with a pained "Ow!"

Eli felt like shit and he pulled back immediately. “Fuck, Cap, you ok?”

Her face shifted into a mischievous smile, the facade dropped at the opening of an opportunity.

Cappie lowered herself and launched forward to knock Eli back. He lost his footing for a second, stumbling back before she caught him as he dodged, going to her non-dominant side to grab at her and try to pin her to his chest.

Cappie growled, her body writhing in his hold. Her breathing was labored, and despite how the tide turned, she was having a blast.

"What, what now, Elijah?" she rasped, her body melting against his taut frame. "How do we know who wins?"

His mouth was dry, lips by her ear. Fuck. “I keep you here for another three seconds, and I win.”

"Ah."

Cappie smiled before twisting in his grip. Her foot was planted before his and with all her strength, Cappie slung his arm over a shoulder and tossed him over on the mat. Eli went down like a sack of shit, landing on his back with the air knocked out of him, staring up at the blue sky. He didn’t even have a single protest in mind. Breathless, he panted, sweat gathering along his hairline. Cappie’s clothes weren’t even off, and he was more turned on than he’d been in his life.

Cappie, high on her victory, let out a breathy laugh.

"Just give in to me," she prompted as she stood over him, feet standing on either side of his waist, blocking out the sun.

Eli reached up and grabbed the backs of her thighs, yanking her down so that she fell into his lap. “Trust me,” he groaned, “I sure as hell want to.”

Her cheeks burned at the grip of his hands and the not so subtle innuendo he teased.

"We're, we're not really sparrin' anymore, are we?" she whispered with a smile.

“You wanna do it in the truck or right here on the mat?” Eli found himself asking. “Just, yeah, I’ve kinda been hard since the second you told you ain’t a flower.”

Cappie rolled her hips against him, against the hardness she felt at the apex of her thighs.

"You're so sexy when you're under me," she teased.

“No complaints here,” he groaned, “Except maybe I’ve been thinkin’ about your thighs for the past couple hours, so, can I have ‘em around my face?”

Cappie leaned forward to deliver a kiss, groaning at how he was so brazen about what he wanted.

"I would love it," she told him before rising from the mat.

Cappie kicked off her sneakers, but stopped as her hands were on the waistband of her joggers. Her eyes looked about the trees.

"You sure we're cool to be messin' around out here?"

“Pass me the bow and I’ll shoot anyone who comes over,” Eli groaned.

Cappie barked a laugh, dropping her pants.

"Shit, how did you make that hot, too?"

Her hazel eyes met his as she slid her thumbs under the thin strings of her panties. Cappie slid them down and tossed them to the pile of clothes that gathered at the mat's edge. Eli felt his dick twitch in his pants, and he reached for her hips, dragging her over his mouth. His tongue swept out, curling against her clit before dragging over her folds to get a taste of her.

He felt like an addict.

His fingers rolled up her stomach to push up beneath her shirt, teasing at her nipples as he gave her another long lick, a soft groan escaping him. God, when had she gotten this deep into his head? Eli closed his lips around her clit, sucking softly, wanting to work her up. He wanted to hear her moan for him, cry out with that gorgeous voice of hers.

Her body jerked at the first lick of his tongue, the anticipation satiated and causing her hips to rock.

"Eli, shit," she moaned.

Cappie grinned down at him, and while wetting her lips, her hand ventured to the bulge in his pants, stroking the outline of his cock in heavy drags of the palm, thumb circling where she knew his tip throbbed.

“Cap,” he pulled his mouth away to pant against her thigh, a hand dropping from her tits to thumb circles around her clit. "You put your pretty hands on me and I’m not gonna last.”

Her head nodded, though her fingers betrayed him, sneaking under his waistband, feeling along the soft skin and coarse hair.

"I hear ya," she panted, her other hand pressing on top of his. "Just tell me to stop them."

Eli growled, lips closing around her clit to suck on it with a relentless fervour as he shifted his hand away to work it beneath her, fingers spearing up into her to hook and find her sweet spot. His left hand went to her lower stomach, spreading his fingers over it, pressing his palm down just enough to give a little more tension there. It caught her between his fingers, his mouth and the firm pressure on her belly.

The cry she made, it had to have echoed, had to let anyone within their radius know what was going on in their neck of the woods.

Her hand at his cock faltered at the intensity of his mouth, at how Eli knew how to work her so well, at how much wetter she became from his tongue and fingers. She rolled her hips to his mouth, a string of curses following.

"Eli," she moaned. "Fuck!"

He glanced up at her from where his concentration had been fully on working her up. Their eyes met, and Eli drank in the sight of her flushed face, the sparkle in her gorgeous eyes, the way the sunlight glowed off the sweat damp of her skin.

Shit, he rolled her clit between his lips and tongue, Oh god, I think I’m fallin’ for her.

That look, the pure worship she found there in the darkness of his stare, it was unmooring.

Without saying anything, Cappie maneuvered off of his face, ignoring the whining of her own body at the absence of his touch.

Cappie, with impatient fingers, began unclasping his ridiculously complicated belt, cursing under her breath. Eli wiped his mouth clean, hands dropping to help her own and get his pants open.

“Shit, you really couldn’t wait, huh?” he teased breathlessly, licking his lips. The taste of her was still heavy on his skin as he undid his belt and shoved his pants down. His cock sprang free, aching, twitching in the breeze. “All yours, Cap.”

"You know it," she shot back.

Cappie sat astride his lap, lining herself with his cock with a smile. It broke as she felt the tip nudge between her folds, a warning of the pleasure to come.

"I love this," she breathed, her body sliding his cock slowly into her, the stretch breaking her smile into a cry and eyes fluttering shut tight.

She loved this.

Eli grabbed her hip with one hand, the other dropping to thumb rapid circles into her clit because he was aching, he wasn’t going to last long and she needed to fall apart for him before the tight wet heat clenching around his cock drove him fuckin’ insane.

“Y-Yeah, got that from the way ya,” he panted, hips canting up into hers, “Jumped off my mouth.”

Cappie ground down, lifted until he was almost unsheathed from her, and took him to the hilt. The pace she set was rough, her hand pressing down on his chest, while her other pinched her own nipple. She was high off the sight of him, off how the sunlight glowed against his skin, how full his lips were.

"You're so fucking handsome," she answered. "So, so good. I c-can't help it–Jesus, Eli, you're gonna make me come…”

“S’all I want right now,” he groaned, meeting her pace with his own frantic rutting. “Wanna see you come apart, Cap. Watch that beautiful face, feel you get all tight, h-hear the way your,” he swallowed down the moan that wanted to force its way out of him, “V-Voice cracks, but fuck, you’re so goddamn loud, Cap, you get too loud and I might–I might have to gag ya!”

At that, she grabbed for his hand and put it to her lips.

"Yes, sir," she mumbled before riding him hard.

Cappie was all jitters and heavy pants, teeth biting down on her bottom lip. Shefound her sweet release in-between curses and crying out his name, taunting Eli to follow through on his little threat, his cock reaching that spot that drove her wild. Eli followed through, pressing his hand to her mouth even though the way his name sounded on her voice was the sweetest fucking thing he’d ever heard.

He didn’t last much longer than she did.

With a fractured groan, he pulled out of her, hand leaving her clit to jerk himself off, ropes covering her stomach. His head fell back and his eyes shut, and he could feel the rest of it dripping down his closed fist, but Eli had just died and gone to heaven, and he was gonna need a moment.

A laugh bubbled up from her like champagne. Cappie looked down at him, beaming.

"You're making a mess of me, Eli Palmer," she joked. "But, but this was nice. Needed to relieve some fuckin' stress."

He felt his heart stop. What had he said to her? It doesn’t need to be a complicated thing. He was eating his own words right now; he wanted it to be complicated, wanted Cappie tangled up in his life like her fingers in his hair when he ate her out.

“I’ll lick it clean in a second,” he managed to say. “Glad I could–lend a hand.”

She shook her head at the offer, her legs finding the strength to stand, though shaky and tingling from how great he made her feel. "I can just rinse off in the water over there," she offered. "Don't worry 'bout it."

Cappie made her way to her clothes. Eli pulled a cloth from his pants and wiped his hand clean, then his cock, tucking himself back into his boxers and shifting his pants up his hips, fastening his belt.

“I also have this,” he said, holding the cloth out to her.

She accepted it, dodging his eyes as the afterglow faded. The cloth was ran over her belly and tossed down.

Cappie hated this part. The awkward conversation, the small talk that was forced so silence couldn't creep in. The drive back. The pretending. She was getting tired of casual, but not enough to do a damn thing about it. Eli was the first person who made her feel–Cared for? No, that wasn't fair. John had, in his own twisted way. Maybe that was it. There wasn't a contingency when it came to Eli. He felt sincere. Whole.

Cappie sighed and dressed herself with a bit of urgency.

“Cap?” Eli couldn’t help it. “You still up to try a little more archery? We’ve got time.”

She answered in a way that went against what she truly wanted, to hide away, to flee.

"Um, yeah. If you want."

Thank fuck. Eli smiled.

“Yeah,” he found himself saying. “I-I want to. Didn’t bring you out here just to trick you into ridin’ me into the ground.”

Cappie squinted at the waterfall, his words rolling in her head.

"I mean," she replied, careful and slow. "Ain't that what we're doing?"

Well, it was now or never.

“Look, Cap,” Eli began as he shoved his hands into his pockets for the moment, “I know–we talked, and we said, you know, it ain’t gotta be complicated.” His chest felt tight with anxiety. “And, shit, I get it if you’ve been burned and you don’t wanna go deeper than this. But, Cappie,” he took a deep breath, “Spendin’ time with you, it’s- it’s honestly been great. I like bein’ with you, not just fuckin’ ya. That part’s fun, but, so is the rest of it. And I…I wanna do it more.”

Cappie sighed.

"Yeah, I know I'm pretty fun," she drawled, the smile not reaching her eyes. "You said that bit about not wanting casual, but so far we've fucked in the woods, so I'm kinda tired of that ol' song and dance. I'm learnin' I'm not a good dance partner."

Eli immediately jerked his hands out of his pockets, and stepped towards her, reaching for her hands. “I’m serious,” he said, his voice soft. “I wanna spend more time with you. I-I think about bein’ with you and I turn into this teenager like I never had a crush before. I wanna take you on a proper date.”

Her brows lifted at that, her hands detached from her body despite the warmth of his palms.

"I bet," Cappie joked, "You tell that to all your, uh, sparrin' partners. I'm just, just the lucky one today."

She squeezed his hands and cocked her head.

"This is really sweet, but you don't gotta say this all if you're just trying to be nice," whispered Cappie.

Eli’s thumb stroked across her pulse, his eyes fixed on hers. “I wanna take you on a date,” he repeated. “Go somewhere, then take you for dinner. I–Shit, can’t think of anywhere to go yet, but, I will, and I wanna take you there, wherever it is. Would,” he swallowed, “You like to? Go on a date. With me. Because I really like you, Cap. A whole lot.”

Cappie swallowed and looked back to the waterfall.

Fuck.

"I," she muttered. "Would like that. A whole lot. I think. No, I know. You're really nice. And hot. So. Yes."

Eli leaned in and kissed her softly, one hand cupping her face. His heart was thudding in his chest, his breathing heavy. “How ‘bout,” his voice came out ragged, “I’ll call ya when I think up something we might both like? Let you know when I could take you out, and you let me know when you’re free.”

"Why are you freaking out?" she blurted, noticing his breathing and just how tender he was. "When was the last time you went on a date?"

Eli leaned back, just a little, and exhaled heavily. “Uh…Well…I got… married eight years ago, divorced three years ago, which means I went on a date for the first time…A decade ago?”

"Oh." Cappie didn't quite know what to say to that. "I…didn't know that about you." She frowned. "Do you believe in aliens?" she then ventured.

Eli laughed, incredulous. “Uh, no? Why?”

She nodded. "Okay, what about chem trails? Or, or like, Russian spies? Or the water being contaminated with hormones?"

She was speaking fast, desperate to get to the bottom of a question that had been eating at her since she learned about him.

“No, I mean, every nation’s got spies, and no,” Eli replied. “I—Are you makin’ sure I’m not crazy?”

"Well, yeah! Why do you live in a bunker? Why is your hair so long? Why do you have like, an army in the woods?"

Eli’s lips parted. “...How ‘bout we answer this after some more archery?” he asked. “Or, maybe, during?”

Cappie squirmed.

"So, uh, I was like, raised in a cult and, and I don't like not knowing stuff about people I'm dating? Cause like, obviously, I haven't done a great job at that, so if you're kinda…Um, different that's fine, um, but I don't know if I want to have any more surprises? Because I like you even if you choose to live in a hole, I guess, but I…Okay. Cool."

Eli smiled, a hand touching her shoulder.

“Ok,” he said softly. “I live in a bunker ‘cause I used to work for the Project, and I made all their bunkers before I cut ties with ‘em. Realised that I did a dumb thing and I could probably use a safe place for me and some others if they turned out to be crazy too. My hair’s long ‘cause I’m divorced and wasn’t expecting to date anytime soon. And I have an army in the woods in case of the previously mentioned Project. It’s just a militia. Just in case.”

She snorted a laugh. "Just a militia," she mocked, walking to the bows that rested on the ground. "Aight. I can roll with that. For now. Would love to see your chin some day."

Cappie picked up the bow, looked back at him with a smirk.

"So what do I win if I hit the target? Come on, make it interesting, handsome."

Eli paused, and scratched his jaw, humming. “Tell you what. You hit the target–the bullseye–and you can see my driver’s license from before I started growin’ this."

Cappie grinned and assumed position.

Without looking away from the target, Cappie called out, "Hey, Eli?"

“What?”

She looked down the sight.

"Know what extracurricular activity I chose every year at sleep away summer camp? The one foster kids got for two months? That I took for nine summers straight?"

Eli blew out a heavy breath. “Are you about to make me look like an idiot, Cap?”

She released the arrow, not needing to see the outcome as she turned to wink.

"Lemme see that license."

#oc: cappie de la costa #otp: cappieli #cappie de la costa x eli palmer #eli palmer

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druidx · 3 months ago

Text

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 33

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 30. 31. 32. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

It is Yoruk who finds her, as she is coming up to the car park. He is coming the other way, and his face goes from a look of thunderous determination to one of anxious concern when he spots her. "My Lady Toreguarde?" he asks, and his voice is tremulous and low, the sort of tone one might use on a frightened child. "Agent Forhoksson," she returns in the most normal tone she can, for all that she is standing there with no shoes and probably twigs in her hair. "Are you… well?" he asks in that same cautious tone, as he takes a tentative pace toward her. Elo tilts her head in consideration, then with a brief fortifying breath, says, "I am… well enough, thank you." A dubious look skates over his features, highlighted in the pinching of his lips and the curving of his brow. Elo realises Yoruk doesn't know if he should believe her. For all that he is Merri's paramour and Elo her best friend, they do not know each other well. They've only met a handful of times; and one of those, Elo was threatening his life on her friend's behalf. "Agent Forhoksson… Yoruk, I'm sorry for causing such trouble." Elo tries to put weight into her words because she is sorry. "I should have said something, I should have tried, before taking off. I didn't mean to frighten anyone. But…" Elo purses her lips and looks away into the darkly verdant distance. "Have you ever…" She doesn't know how to name it. Elo has never been in a war – not like Aunt Alexis has, with bombs falling all around – so she can't call it shell shock. "Do you ever get…" He's frowning now, head ducked and hands at the ready – a gesture of imminent action should she do anything untoward. Elo presses at the spot between her eyebrows and flicks out a hand. "I don't have the words." "Take your time, my Lady."

Elo swallows, lets her eyes close. Lies are difficult for her to spin on a good day, but she absolutely cannot tell him the truth. And anyway, it's not a lie, not really. She might not have shell shock in the same manner as her Aunt, but Elo has seen her fair share of battle, has lost colleagues to the elements and weapons of man alike; and knows, she has not come away unscarred. Another breath. Lorcian once told her that acting is about stepping into the truth of another's shoes. So she takes a step into the shoes of the past. "I didn't mean to run off with no explanation. But I had a sudden, unassailable fear… Our perimeter, you see, it… it wasn't…" She swallows. "It was drilled into me by my Aunt that complacency kills people. I get… nervous when things are too quiet or too easy. So I needed… I had to go…" In a last-ditch attempt to make him understand, she says, "We had civilians. Children." "Easy, Elowyn." He reaches out, as if to steady her shoulders, but refrains from actually touching her. Elo takes another fortifying breath. "Thank you. I'm okay." Yoruk lowers his hands, nodding. "I think I understand. We use the German word, Kriegszilterer, for when the effects of combat follow you home." Elo stares. "Have you…?" "Yes. When an engine misfires, I instinctively take counter-measures." He gives her a half-smile. "A side effect of guarding our Regent – people like to shoot at him, and he must be protected."

In the distance, the racing wind of traffic can be heard. Around them, the trees shift restlessly and a bird twitters a goodnight. "Father Goodwin gave us the use of the old groundskeeping hut while we searched for you," Yoruk says, his posture now relaxed. He gestures behind her, up the lawn towards the Church. "If you can manage, there is a house full of people who would benefit from seeing you. It's perfectly okay if you're not – I can radio in that I've found you and take you home." Now Elo looks at him properly – despite the low light – she can see the strain around his eyes, the rumples in his suit, the paleness of his complexion. "How bad is it?" she asks. Yoruk lets out a shuddering sigh. His gaze flicks away for the merest of moments. "They'll be better for seeing you." He locks his gaze back on hers, and she hears the unspoken: 'It's bad.' "I think I can manage." He gives her a lopsided smile, and they start walking to the groundskeeper's hut.

"I am surprised," Yoruk says as they walk along the moonlit lawn, "that you managed to evade the search parties for so long. I realise you're a highly trained special forces agent, but General Strucker says he called in the best Rangers he had available." Elo raises an eyebrow. "I've been gone a couple of hours, and the Triumvirate felt they needed to pull in SpecOps to find me? I know everything's on tenterhooks between our nations, but that's a little overkill, don't you think?" Yoruk's steps falter and Elo senses his change in stance – the tension is back in his shoulders, the cautious, watchful air about him returns. And oh, isn't she glad it was he who found her, and not, say, Merri. "Elowyn," he says carefully, "it's been a day. Merri said you ran into the woods and vanished. She followed your trail, found your boots, but you were just gone. No trace at all." "I hope she's kept my boots safe," Elo says, unthinking. "They're a nice stout pair, I'd hate to have lost them." Yoruk stares and gives an exasperated, consternated huff. "Yes," he says flatly, "Meredith has your boots." He rubs at his chest. "How did you evade the search parties? It wasn't just Strucker's Rangers combing the park, but Kóngurinn minn called in a unit of our Special Forces to help." "Oh. I, uh, climbed a tree," Elo says. Yoruk goes quiet beside her, and she can feel his consternation building. "I climbed it quite far," she offers, as he goes still. "You climbed a tree. Quite far." "To the top, in fact. And I swear to you, I thought I was only gone a few hours." He swears in Icelandic – and Elo knows that curse; it's the one Merri used when one of their team had done something particularly reckless. "Is that everyone in the Groundskeeper's hut – Strucker and some SpecOps units?" Elo asks to change the subject as they start walking again. Yoruk huffs. "Would that were the case. Kóngurinn minn is a stubborn beast and declined to leave the park until you were found. Of course, this means that Meredith, I, and the rest of his security had to stay. Your General used his executive powers to coordinate the search himself instead of delegating, so is accompanied by a small staff. "Your Magister is a far more sensible man. He assisted your Mother in returning her brood home and has stayed away to smooth things over with your council. I understand there is some nervousness about what your sudden departure could have meant." He looks away, but Elo senses words unsaid. "What is it?" Yoruk purses his lips. "Someone leaked that you were sat next to Kóngurinn minn, just the two of you, at the edge of the party, before you fled." He looks back, face blank. "I have to ask–" "His behaviour has been above reproach at all times." The words are hard, caustic. Tension leaves Yourk's face. "Thank you." "Fucking optics," Elo says, pressing a hand against her head. "How did this happen? How the hell did I become the fulcrum of this deal?" "Do you want the supportive answer or the honest answer?" Elo shakes her head. "This is all the Exchequer's doing. I just don't understand why." She rubs her forehead again. "I hate politics." Yoruk reaches out slowly to pat her arm, and they resume walking.

The Groundskeeper's hut, a basic brick building more shed than home, comes into view. "Ah, I forgot to mention," Yoruk says. "Your Mother returned this evening in the company of Officer Breakwood and one of her children for an update." "She brought one of the kids?" "Apparently, the little girl with mousy hair–" "Dimple?" "–Insisted on coming along." Elo finds her steps slow. "Let me get this right: That tiny hut up there is housing a King, a General, two dozen various armed SpecOps and associated admin, a copper, a retired architect, and a little girl; none of whom will have slept well, all of whom are tense because of falsely engineered politics, and who probably want to wring my neck?" "Yes, I believe that covers it." Elo stops outright now. "Cuthbert brace me, I'm going to get mobbed." Yoruk halts and says gently, "Not if you don't want to be. I know what it's like to be deluged by concerned family who may not understand the delicate state you're in. I must report to Kóngurinn minn and your General, but I will do so discreetly. Wait out here." Elo realises she has been holding her breath, eases it out in a low hiss. She will have to explain herself to everyone eventually, but to do so one at a time instead of all at once – that would be a gift. "Thank you, Yoruk." The tension lightens around his eyes as he inclines his head – as much of a smile as he can manage in the circumstances, Elo supposes. "You're welcome." He slips into the hut, leaving Elo to loiter outside. Light from a window above pools around her like a spotlight, and she reflects again she's glad it was Yoruk who found her – Farren would have worked too – but not her Mother or Merri. She loves them both dearly, of course, but Yoruk and Farren understand, and she is so, so grateful that Yoruk has not made a fuss.

«So. They made you a full moss-licker then,» says a quiet voice from a small bush off to her left. He sounds faintly jealous, for all his snarky words – like he was hoping that maybe it would turn out she wasn't a moss-ears after all, but a green-skin like him. "No, Snotgrut," Elo says. "I don't know what they made me, but I am just me. I am not a moss-ears or a green-skin. I am both and neither." He harrumphs at that pronouncement. "Listen," Elo says, suddenly urgent; she has recalled the promise made. "I said I'd meet you and them on the tow-path at Silver Hooks at dawn tomorrow, so they could explain their side of things. But I have a feeling I won't be be able to get away. Can you tell them the time's changed – I'll meet you all at dusk instead." «Youse want me to willingly find out the moss-ears?» "Yes. I know you can do it." «Youse want me to be your… messenger boy?» he spits the words. «To a bunch of no-good, namby-pamby, bloody–» "Please, Snotgrut," she says quietly. There is a waiting silence then, and she can picture him shuffling, indignant, and trying to figure out if she's worth it. "What do you need to be convinced, Snotgrut? More clothes, more coffee? I can get you both." «Bah. Already bought me, dincha?» He makes a disgruntled noise. «We'll see you tomorrow then.» Then there is a subtle silence that tells her the Dvasia has gone. Elo leans back against the wall, a wave of weariness overcoming her.

The sound of the door opening alters her to another's presence. She lets her head loll in that direction, to see Strucker leaning a shoulder against the wall. He keeps his distance, hands tucked into his pockets. "You good?" he asks. "Yeah," she says with a sigh. "Mostly." Strucker nods, fixes his gaze on his shoes. "Storri's lad said it was an effect of battle trauma. I know I'm not the best for it, but if you want to talk any time…" "I know. Thank you." "Though I want a promise in return." "Oh?" "Quit trashing your bike. Spark plugs are cheap; bodywork isn't." Elo startles, pulling away from the wall. "You didn't have to–" "Like hell, I didn't." He sounds cross, but it's not just anger Elo hears there – there is a rough edge of affection too, and she is surprised by it. "I lost one of my little girls this week; I told you before, I don't intend to lose another, especially not through faulty machinery. If that means I have to fix your fool-ass back up with a ride, then so be it." He huffs. "That Atillia of yours is a rare beast. You need to take better care of her." Beneath his words, she hears the hidden meaning. But the implication he considers her family is unexpected. Perhaps it is by association with her aunts, or just that they have grown closer through tragedy. "General– Sir, thank you. I am deeply indebted–" "No. You aren't. My wife had a saying: 'Family is who you make of it'." He pauses. "Actually, she had a few sayings on that account, but another favourite was 'family looks after family'. You may not be my kin, but you're sure as hell my kith, so I shall pay for the bodywork of your dragon to be fixed, under the promise you don't wreck her again." He swings away from the wall, eyebrows raised. "I promise, I'll take better care. Thank you, Johan." She gets a curt nod in response and then he leaves.

Strucker is replaced with King Storri, who tilts his head, and says in a gentle tone, "How are you, sá litli?" "Better than I was, Your Majesty," she says. "I am glad to hear that. I was concerned I'd done something, but Agent Forhoksson said it was the effect of battle trauma." He leaves the comment hanging; if she wants to expand, she can. Elo thinks she owes him that. "Yes, Your Majesty. A type of… paranoia, that requires me to ensure my position is secure. It's worse when I'm with civilians. I left to climb a tree – the better to survey the landscape. I'm told I managed to stay up there for a whole day. I apologise for any inconvenience or worry caused." She doesn't intend it, but it comes out a touch acerbic. "I did not mean to pry," King Storri says, gentle but not condescending. "For all I may not have seen such things as you, I understand. My father was prone to bouts as well, though his were more… violent than yours." Elo makes a noise of sympathy, hearing what has gone unspoken. Her fingers seek out his as he leans against the wall next to her, giving a quick squeeze. The King lets out a surprised murmur of his own, squeezing back before allowing their hands to drop back. He takes a breath, continuing, "Yes, I was concerned for you – as I said, I feared I'd offended you or that you had taken ill… But you are now here before me, as whole and hale as I could wish, so any inconvenience or worry you may have caused me is rendered moot, I feel." King Storri pulls away from the wall, and with a warm smile, clasps her shoulder. "I am very glad you are well," he says and returns inside.

Farren's visit is short and sweet. He has a cigarette hanging from his lips as he looks her up and down, and he reeks of cheap tobacco. "Farren, I owe you–" He holds up a hand and removes the cigarette long enough to say, "Damn right you owe me. I need a new pouch of baccy after all this." "Brek–" "No. We'll talk about this later." "Why not just have it out now?" She was going to ask his forgiveness, but his attitude has struck a nerve. "Because you're exhausted." "I'm–" "It's written all over your face. And," he takes a puff, "I don't wanna say something I'll regret." Elo's mouth works. In the end, she can only say, "Alright."

Finally, Elo's Mother comes out, Dimple tagging along. Elo graces the girl with a faint smile before Oakrose is hugging her eldest daughter. Elo feels the older woman's shoulders shaking silently, knows she is trying not to cry – with relief or further concern, Elo doesn't know. But she holds her Mother regardless and strokes her back, offering assurances: Elo is just fine now, and she's very sorry for making people worry but it's all okay. A night bird calls, as they stand there. From inside the hut comes the thud of something being dropped. With one last quick squeeze, Oakrose releases Elo, offering a watery smile, and returns inside.

Dimple lingers, and Elo crouches to be level with the little girl. "Why did you come back with Mom?" Elo asks. Dimple turns her wide brown eyes and serious expression on Elo. "Because one of us had to look after her for you, while you weren't okay." "You drew the short straw, huh?" "No. I volunteered." Elo is taken aback. "Why?" "Oakrose talks about you a lot," Dimple says in her quiet, serious voice, her gaze locked unerringly with Elo. "She keeps a folder filled with newspaper cuttings about you." "I didn't know…" "Oakrose says that you risk yourself all the time so we can be happy and safe. "I know the other children aren't like me. Their Mamas didn't try to hurt them. Their Mamas couldn't look after them or just didn't want them. Which is sad, and I'm sorry that happened to them. But for this, Oakrose didn't need them. So I volunteered and the other children were happy to let me, because they know she needs someone like us, not like them." "I–" Dimple blinks at her, and Elo finds she has no idea what to say to this child whose life has been filled with strife and pain and yet stands, quietly strong, above it. What would she want someone to say to her, if their roles were reversed? So Elo says, "Thank you. You did a good job. I'm proud of you." Dimple blinks rapidly, rocking her weight onto her back foot. "You– You are proud of me?" Dimple's eyes widen. "Yes," Elo confirms, and then she feels a wildness take her. "Dimple, I need to let you in on a secret. Do you think you can help me some more?" The girl's eyes narrow shrewdly. "Depends." Elo takes a breath. "I'm working a case right now, one that's very personal to me. And because it's personal, I think things are going to get worse for me, before they get better. And it's going to cause a lot of upset, and Mom's going to worry. So if you can, I need you to help her, okay? I need you to be there for her, because I won't be able to. Do you think you can do that?" Dimple's gaze fixes on the darkness behind Elo. She blinks carefully, as the sounds of industry filter from the hut. "If it's too much, just say no," Elo says, fidgeting with her hands. Something rustles a bush. "I can do this for you," Dimple says, switching her gaze back to Elo. Then, with the tiniest of tremors in her voice, asks, "Are you coming back?" Elo swallows. "I don't know," she says – there is no point in lying to the child, after all. She hasn't let herself think about that possibility yet, but it's almost inevitable that she will not. This creature she is to fight is older, stronger, and more knowledgeable than she. It is not a conventional person she can deal with by simply using a gun or a knife. She's really hoping the Eshen oldster has some trick up their sleeve. But Dimple is still staring at her, so Elo says, "Expect the worst, but hope for the best." Dimple nods once, her long hair swinging in a curtain around her face. "Are you going now?" "No, not yet. I have things to take care of first." Because she needs information. She needs to know what Monday and Yates found at the docks, she needs to know how to fight the shadowling. She needs to get her will in order – because from what the Eshen said, this fight can only end with someone's death. Dimple gives her a slow, serious nod, and Elo feels herself relax. Talking to the girl has calmed her, and makes her think she can deal with the crowd within. Elo stands and reflexively holds out a hand. "Shall we go back inside?" Dimple looks at Elo's hand, then her, and back to her hand. "You're supposed to take it, dashur." "I knew that," Dimple mutters, petulantly. Cautiously the girl slips her small warm hand into Elo's larger cool one, and Elo curls her fingers carefully around it. Elo leads them around the corner of the hut, straight into a flame-haired shield maiden.

Elo's eyes fly wide with alarm, and she drops Dimple's hand. "Merri!" Her old friend is standing there, arms crossed and silently scowling. "How much did you hear?" "I heard enough," Meredith says, her tone bitter. "And?" Elo asks, her heartbeat speeding up. "And I know it's pointless to argue with you. You'll do what you will," Merri tells her, grim in both expression and tone, some combination of disappointment and dissatisfaction comes from her in waves. "I won't tell on you, and I won't try and stop you. Whatever you're into, I'd only like to help if I can, but," Merri purses her lips and pulls in a breath, "I suspect you won't even allow that, will you?" Merri's eyebrow twitches, her lips never moving from their grim line. Elo feels the movement shoot through her heart with the same damning velocity as a bullet. She swallows, reflecting that they know each other far too well. "Don't think this sits well with me, mind," Merri says. Elo barks out a laugh, startling them all. "I should hope not. I would think the world broken beyond repair if there was even a chance you would be happy with my poor life choices." Elo gives a wry smile. "Thank you for the offer, but this is a Toreguard affair – you can't be involved." Elo offers a hand. "Your silence is enough." No further words pass between them, but they don't need it. Merri eyes the proffered hand with annoyed resignation before clasping Elo's forearm as her sister-in-arms. Then Merri pulls Elo in closer, putting a hand on her shoulder to emphasise the message being sent with that tight-lipped glare, the thunderous frown and the eyes sparkling with something between anger, worry and resentment. Elo nearly laughs again. Because yes, her shield-maiden is worried about her, but that's not what the face is for. Merri is pissed off that Elo is going to go and have a bloody good fight without her; as if Elo's going to the coolest, most hyped party in town without her best friend, because Merri is not permitted to go. Elo raises her chin, offers her friend a tight smile to go with her serious eyes, and knows that Merri will see that while Elo is not sorry to be running off to this fight, she intends to come back. Elo knows Meredith will never be the swooning maiden to her shining knight. But it's still important for Merri to know that Elo will be better than the ravening darkness, and she will win, and she will come back to be with her friend again. By the slow blink, and sigh Merri releases, Elo knows the message has been received. Merri's expression softens, giving Elo an allowing smile and inclines her head.

Merri leads the way back into the hall, Dimple's hand slipping into Elo's as they follow. In between tool racks and gardening supplies, the inside of the hut is littered with signs of military occupation – sleeping bags fill the long-empty bedroom, the kitchen is home to a hot water urn and empty pizza boxes, the bench in the workshop is covered with maps, radios, and a miscellany of other equipment. Under the too-bright striplights, a mob of people in fatigues talk and gesture, all falling silent as they catch sight of their quarry waltzing in without a by-your-leave. "Pack it up, boys," Merri says. "Case solved, time to go." There is immediate babble. Some of it is aimed at Elo, some at Merri and Strucker. Orders are barked, activity flurries. Some of the Toreguard Rangers and Storri's Ubiquitous Black Suits approach to shake her hand, clap her on the shoulder, and share a few words. The volume is intense, Elo doesn't hear them, doesn't hear herself, lets her mouth take the lead. She's probably repeating herself, but no one seems bothered.

As suspected, Elo is not allowed out of eyesight. Farren and Oakrose stick to her like glue all through the general hubbub and walk to the cars, then she is being hugged again by her tearful Mother before Oakrose and Dimple are escorted home by one of Stucker's Rangers. Storri, after some brief words, is whisked away by an aggrieved Merri, and Farren allows Stucker to pull rank on him; Elo is to stay with the General overnight.

––––

After a diversion to Elo's place to pick up some necessities, they arrive at the Strucker household.

Elo is struck – as she usually is – by just how damn big it is. Unnecessarily so, perhaps. But once upon a time, it held three people and the promise of a fair few more, and all those required to attend those people. Once upon a time, it might have been a good size for the lives that should have lived here. But that was once upon a time. Now, as they come into the magazine-perfect foyer, it just feels cavernous and empty. Cold light from an over-counter spot spills from the kitchen. Strucker throws his keys into a bowl on the telephone table and runs a hand over his face, as though weary beyond belief. Elo stands awkwardly by the door. He called her kith, sure, but it's been a long time since she slept here; a guest, and yet not a guest. "The housekeeper's left a plate in the ice box we can reheat," Strucker says, holding a note in his hand. "If you're hungry, that is. Or you can retire, if you like. I don't have a bed made up, but it'll be short work–" "I'm fine with just a hot drink and sleep," Elo says, feeling as weary as he looks. "Don't worry about making a bed up, I'm fine with just a blanket." "You may be, but I am not. Allow me to fuss, just a little?" Strucker asks, his expression going from a frown to something faintly pleading. "Alright. I shall make the cocoa while you make the bed, deal?" "Deal," Johan smiles at her, a soft thing that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

So off they go, in that huge, too-quiet house – him upstairs and her to the kitchen. And she makes their cocoa sweet and milky, because it seems like the thing to do after such a day. Days. Whatever. Then she takes the drinks through to the den, because it was always cosier than the sitting room, and fishes out a record from his collection by a band she has been told is good, and puts it on, letting the coffee-sweet sounds of trumpet and piano and the soft voice of the singer fill the air. As Strucker comes in, she sees his face pinch a little. "That's a good song," he says, but his voice is pained. "I can turn it off, if you prefer," Elo says, and then cringes because she has just recalled who it was that told her this band was good. "I'll turn it off," she amends, moving to do just that. "No. Let it play. Just for a bit," he says and sits down, reaching for his cocoa. She joins him and they sit in silence. It is comfortable and companionable – and if it is a bit mournful, and a few tears leak out here and there, and the tissue box has to be fetched… Well, there's only them there and no one else has to know.

#oc elowyn o'toreguarde #npc yoruk forhoksson #pc snotgrut #npc johan strucker #npc storri nargondsson #oc dimple #pc meredith gruksdottir #writing #HCWL Chapters only #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light'#titan fighting fantasy #fighting fantasy #ttrpg fanfiction #wandering words

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