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starshine583 · 4 years ago

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New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself.

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that.

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys.

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present.

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!”

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed.

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel.

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing.

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?”

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.”

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance.

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch.

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were.

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?”

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars).

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside.

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.”

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking.

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person.

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien,

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!”

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her?

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

#felinette #Felix Culpa #Marinette #New Girl on the Block #Rosemary AU #Quantic Kids

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forgotten-daydreamer · 4 years ago

Note

For the fanfic requests thing, I finally decided what to ask you.

A TsukkYama sickfic where Tsukishima got a fever after training too much and has nausea and dissociates a lot, so Yamaguchi tries to help him and take care of him. Nothing sexual obviously but I want there to be a tender and soft moment between them where Yamaguchi tries to bring Tsukki back to reality. Make it as long as you are able to and be as whump as you can. ��

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS REQUEST! I’m absolutely in love with your idea, when I first read it I had to stop and take a deep breath because every little part of me was screaming. Hopefully this will be close to what you had in mind! Thank you again @theark-ofvoid for sending a request :)

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing(s): TsukkiYama (Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi).

Word count: 2893 words.

Tags: fever, vomit, exhaustion. Set shortly after the Tōkyō Training Camp Arc. Rated G.

一

He should have left with the others. He knew he should have. He was well-aware that this was eventually going to kill him, he knew that pushing his limits was stupid, that it wasn’t going to make him better. But Tsukishima kept going. Minute after minute, he insisted on perfecting his serves, his spikes, his sets; he’d run laps until his legs began to feel like jelly, wobbling dangerously under his weight. He’d worked hard to make his fingertips reach higher, to have stronger arms, to dive in case he were to receive a ball, if that would have meant not losing a point. He’d been running himself to the ground for two weeks straight, every day, even on the weekend when the gym was closed and he could only workout in the tiny backyard. Even Kageyama and Hinata, who were known to always finish a little late, had started to leave the gym before him.

But unlike those two, Tsukishima needed this. He needed to work harder, he needed to get better. Bokuto had been right, after all: Tsukishima liked to pretend that he didn’t like volleyball, that it was just a hobby of his, something he did to blow off some steam. However, deep down, he knew the truth: he was weak. He was too weak. He’d tried to downplay his weakness as simple indifference, but Tsukishima knew that the only reason why he didn’t show just how much volleyball meant to him was because, after all this time, he was still weak, pathetic, a child that couldn’t get over his trauma.

And Yamaguchi wasn’t happy about it. He’d been keeping a close eye on his boyfriend ever since he’d noticed just how off he’d started to look: surely enough, his arms and legs were more sculpted, but the spectacles couldn’t hide just how sunken his honey eyes were, nor how his complexion had taken a sickly grey tinge over the course of the past two weeks.

At lunch, Tsukishima would eat his usual, tiny portions of food, though Yamaguchi would always ask him to finish his too, pretending that he was full and that he didn’t feel like throwing the food his parents had made for him away like that. He’d maybe leave a couple of spoonfuls of rice, or some vegetables, or a banana he’d barely even touched, asking Tsukishima to finish those for him. Sometimes, the blond would comply, but Yamaguchi had noticed that his boyfriend had began to act annoyed at his requests, so he’d stopped doing it, and limited himself to observing the boy.

Today was not different.

“Tsukki,” he called, sitting on the sidelines. Everyone else was gone already一 they’d left at least an hour ago一 and the moon was already shining up in the sky, stars blinking faintly in the distance, hidden beyond flimsy clouds. Yamaguchi pulled the sweatshirt tighter around himself, drawing his knees closer to his body.

“Tsukki, we should go home.” he insisted. Tsukishima didn’t even react to the voice, and instead he kept juggling, sending the blue and yellow ball higher and higher. The rhythmic, dull sound of flesh hitting synthetic leather was almost unnerving to Yamaguchi, but Tsukishima had completely tuned it out.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. D-

The ball fell on his head with a muffled thud, but Tsukishima didn’t wince. Instead, he crouched down to grab it, expression unreadable. Normally, he would have clicked his tongue, or kicked the ball, or reacted in some way. But he didn’t, and for Yamaguchi, that was the last straw. The green-haired boy got up from his spot and paced toward his boyfriend; he grabbed at his arm, grip delicate but firm. As soon as he made contact, however, Tsukishima flinched violently, immediately pulling away, wide-eyed. He blinked, slow and sheepish, squinting slightly and wondering why the hell his glasses weren’t doing their job.

Yamaguchi repeated the action, albeit more slowly. “Tsukki, enough! It’s late, we need to lock the gym up and leave. Now.” he said, not leaving room for discussion. Despite his hard expression, Yamaguchi’s guts twisted and knotted uncontrollably, the sensation that something was definitely not right sending shivers down his spine.

Karasuno’s number Eleven swallowed, thick. He glanced around, and Yamaguchi couldn’t help but notice how his boyfriend looked like a deer in the headlights. A very warm, suddenly-too-pale deer in the headlights, now that he noticed. The shorter boy moved his hand that was resting onto Tsukishima’s shoulder up, placing it on his forehead; he pulled away in an instant, gasping.

“Tsukki, y-you’re burning up!” he fretted, “You know what, that’s it, I’m taking you home right now. Stay here, I’ll go grab our stuff. Don’t you dare touch another ball.” he hissed, thought he wasn’t angry, but more like, scared out of his mind. Before Yamaguchi could help Tsukishima to at least sit down, the latter whimpered, and he froze.

“I d-don’t... m’not...” Tsukishima stuttered out, voice weak. His eyes were shut tightly, almost painfully as he tried to stop the world from spinning around him. “I th-think一”

And just like that, his head ducked, and he almost headbutted Yamaguchi in the chin as he collapsed forward with a thick, burning retch. The putrid scent of half-digested food and bile spilled from his lips and nose, tears of exertion and agony pooling at the corner of his eyes. The sick soiled the floor and his shoes, and little specks of refuse ended up onto Yamaguchi’s too, but he didn’t care.

“Fuck一 Tsukki! It’s alright. There, get it all up, come on.” Yamaguchi fretted, trying hard not to lose his composure, “What's wrong, Tsukki? What is it? Where does it hurt?” His sweaty palm was pressed against Tsukishima’s damp, forehead, too hot for comfort, while the other hand of the freckled boy rested between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades, rubbing in what he hoped would be considered as comforting patterns, “You're doing amazing, it's alright, just take a deep breath for me now. Easy does it, you're okay, I'm here, baby, I'm here. You're fine, it's fine, it happens, d-don't worry.”

Tsukishima’s body spasmed as he gasped for oxygen whenever his mouth wasn’t busy spewing the content of his upset stomach, clenching painfully. He felt too hot, too unsteady, disoriented if not for the physical contact of Yamaguchi that somehow helped him to cling onto consciousness. Just barely, that is.

“...ki, hey? Can ... me? Tsukki!?” called a voice from somewhere above him, and it was lined with panic, but his fever-addled brain didn’t really register any of that. The blond groaned, shutting his eyes tightly and pressing his soiled lips in a thin, trembling line. A wet burp escaped his mouth, but he didn’t bring a fist up to conceal it, and instead sank forward again, bringing up another wave of vomit.

The world around him felt like a broken carousel, its hinges screeching and clanking loudly and making his head pound. Everything was going around and around in dizzying trajectories, taking him along for the dizzy ride, and it was loud, nauseating. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and the white shirt he was wearing stuck uncomfortably to his pale skin, drenched in salty sweat. Something一 someone was moving him, talking to him, but he couldn’t focus on it, he couldn’t bring himself to care, now.

“...shima please, please answer me! Kei!” called Yamaguchi. He was gripping at Tsukishima’s wrists tightly, leaving shallow marks on his boyfriend’s skin as he unconsciously dug his short nails into it. The honey in Tsukishima’s eyes had been replaced with a darker shade of yellow, and his pupils were blown like he’d been in the dark for too long. He didn’t seem aware of Yamaguchi’s presence, he didn’t seem to hear his boyfriend as he called his name repeatedly, urgency evident in his tone, and he didn’t seem to understand as the freckled boy bolted to the clubroom only to return a minute later, phone held in the crook of his neck as he spoke. Tsukishima watched with blind eyes, passive, unfocused gaze falling somewhere behind the pinch server.

“...r mother’s gonna … soon, you’ll be alr… hear me? Tsukki, pl...” he heard him say. He couldn’t quite understand the words, but he felt grateful. And scared.

He coughed weakly, “Ya-ama..?”

“Tsukki!” Yamaguchi beamed, trying to catch his gaze, eyebrows arched in fear, “Tsukki, I’m here. You’re okay, you’re- you're alright. It’s just a fever, there’s nothing to worry about!” he explained, mostly to himself. “Stay with me now, alright? Your mother’s going to pick us up in a few minutes, and she asked me if I could stay with you for the night since she has a nightshift to cover. Is that okay?”

Tsukishima blinked, lips quivering as he tried to compose a somewhat cognizant thought, and failed. He let his fuzzy head loll forward, limp against Yamaguchi’s shoulder.

“Hurts.” he slurred, shivering. “M-messed up.”

“No, no, shhh, you didn’t mess anything up. You didn’t mess anything up, Tsukki. Stay with me now. You’re here with me, I won’t leave you.”

Tsukishima whimpered. “Dunno wha’s happenin’ t’me.” he mumbled, “M’sorry.”

“You don’t have to be!” Yamaguchi screeched, maybe a little too loud. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he added, voice lower, “it’s alright, it happens. You just need to get this under control.”

“Ca-an’t.”

“You can. You can. You’re too hard on yourself, but you can work on it. We can work on it.” Yamaguchi explained, rubbing at his back to ground him when he noticed how shifty his boyfriend’s gaze was getting. “Tsukki, hey, hey. Don’t go yet. Listen to me, okay? Listen to Yama.” he said, “I’m sorry this is happening to you一 man, you’re scorching. B-but we’ll fix this, yeah?”

Yamaguchi cursed himself. He’d seen it coming, he knew it was going to happen and he didn’t do anything to stop it, to stop him from hurting himself like that. His grip around Tsukishima’s shoulders tightened, and he shifted closer to the boy. His eyes were still open, but he didn’t look entirely conscious. This was worrisome, to say the least.

“Tsukki, you with me?” the pinch server asked. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again?”

A shrug.

“Okay, okay, that’s fine. Just stay with me.” he insisted, “You’ll be okay soon, we just need to…”

To the middle-blocker, Yamaguchi’s voice sounded as if he was speaking from underwater. Or maybe, Tsukishima thought, he was the one that was drowning. It felt like it. But he also felt like he was melting. How could he melt underwater? That sounded… funny.

“Tsukki..?” Yamaguchi called fearfully, eyes wide and filled with horror as the boiling boy chuckled for no apparent reason. He was almost too scared to prop him up.

And the blond was fully-intentioned to reply, to explain why the image that he had in mind was amusingー Yamaguchi was surely going to find it hilarious, too. He opened his mouth, voicing out a shapeless mutter, before the grey that had been clawing at his vision since he'd collapsed decided to take over him. He felt so heavy, all of the sudden; his limbs were in agony, and his head pounded. Tsukishima briefly wondered if he had some painkillers in his bag, before he inadvertently tilted to the side, world tipping, going dark. And then, he knew no more, dragged under by an infinite void.

By the time that Ms Tsukishima arrived, a few minutes later, Yamaguchi was an absolute mess; he’d tried to keep it together, for his boyfriend’s sake, but when Tsukishima had collapsed after giving only the tiniest, most pitiful sigh as a warning, he’d lost it. Ms Tsukishima, already dressed up for her shift that was going to begin soon, had found her son laying on his side, as the kind boy who was always next to him kept running a hand through his matted hair and calling out his name, voice broken. His eyes were red-rimmed and shiny with tears, chin twitching as he stifled soundless sobs.

The two of them had then managed to drag Tsukishima's lanky body out of the gym and haul him into the car. Yamaguchi had grabbed Tsukishima's phone and had called him, placing the device on the seat of the car, and taking his own with him as he went to rapidly clean up the mess, while Tsukishima's mother went to retrieve the bags. That way, the freckled boy and Tsukishima's mother could feel a bit less guilty about leaving the unconscious blond alone in the car.

They were both back in the car less than five minutes later, and Tsukishima had not regained consciousness in the meantime, nor during the drive. Yamaguchi could only run his long, shaky fingers through the damp hair, and pray. Tsukishima's boiling head rested on his thigh as he rested, lost into a fitful sleep.

ー

When he came to, he felt... just as bad as before. Worse, maybe.

Tsukishima didn't want to wake up, but consciousness seemed to be willing to forcefully drag him back to the land of the living without his consent, and there was nothing he could do when his senses slowly returned to him. The pain did too, and suddenly the middle-blocker realised just how worse for the wear he'd had it.

“...ki?” someone called. The voice was low, warm and familiar, and it made him feel at ease. He wondered whose voice it was.

“Tsukki, baby?” came again, and this time, this time Tsukishima knew. His eyes blinked open without him telling them to, not managing to unclose past slits; the form before him was blurry, its outlines faded and unclear. Something was wrapped around a handー his hand, he reminded himselfー and it was warm and soft, though slightly wet.

“Y-Yama.” Tsukishima croaked out. The room around him started to become more familiar to his burning eyes, and the blond came to the realisation that the place he was in was his own bedroom. With his free hand, Tsukishima felt the clean sheets, and grabbed a fistful of them, grip weak and unsteady. He inhaled, slow and deep, taking in the scent of lavender of the pillowcase; with the little strength he'd left, he somehow managed to lift his and Yamaguchi's hand, and put the freckled boy's against his lips, planting a soft kiss, allowing himself to whiff at the scent of strawberryー Yamaguchi had started using cherry body soap ever since he'd discovered that he reminded Tsukishima of a strawberry when flustered, apparently. He found it cute.

“How are you feeling, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asked, voice gentle and barely a whisper.

A half-choked groan was all he got in response. The pinch served hummed.

“You're running an awfully-high fever. It got to 39.4°C earlier, but I think it’s a bit lower now.”

“M'sorry.” Tsukishima mumbled. Yamaguchi didn't even need to ask why, and the blond knew it. Karasuno's number Twelve let his shoulders drop, and he stood up from the chair he was on, and sat onto the mattress, feeling it sag under his weight. He delicately rubbed Tsukishima's cheek, before he started to cradle his hair, careful not to pull any strands. Only then did Tsukishima realize that a damp cloth had been draped over his forehead. Through fever-fogged eyes, the blond could still see how sadness lingered in his watery gaze.

“You don’t need to do this to yourself.” he simply stated.

“M’sorry, Yama. I don’tー I didn’t think…” he trailed off. He still had a high fever, and his thoughts were scrambled also due to the fact that he had no energy in him right now.

Yamaguchi exhaled softly, “Scoot over.”

“Wha’?”

“Come on, Tsukki, let me lay down a bit.”

Tsukishima did as he was told, moving a few centimeters to the right so that Yamaguchi could get under the blanket next to him; he didn’t lay down entirely, and let Tsukishima move his head to rest on his chest, hearing the rhythmic thumping of his heart.

“Don’t do that ever again. Please.” Yamaguchi whispered, “That was scary, and I don’t want you to go and almost kill yourself like that. You don’t need to.”

“I need’a be b-better.” Tsukishima croaked out, “If I c-can’t block, m’notー the team won’t wa-ant me. I jus’ wanted to be good enough.”

The hand that was cradling his sweaty hair stopped moving, and Tsukishima barely kept himself from whining at that. “You’re already good enough, Tsukki, and even better than that. You’re you, you’re good just as you are.” Yamaguchi said, stern, “The team will always want you. We need you, Tsukki, and not only because you’re a good player, but because everyone likes youー yes, even the other first-years, don’t start.”

Tsukishima chuckled despite himself. “M’really sorry, Yama.”

“It’s okay, just… don’t do that again, please. That’s all I’m asking.” Yamaguchi breathed out, voice soft. He leaned over to plant a soft kiss onto Tsukishima’s warm forehead, the salty sweat moist against his lips, Tsukishima leaning into the tender touch. “Now rest, I won’t go anywhere.” he said.

The blond could only breathe out the umptenth apology, before he was enveloped in the darkness once again. But this time, he was safe.

一

(reposted and edited on my ao3)

#i'll accept 4 more requests :)#1k followers requests #haikyuu sickfic #haikyuu!! sickfic #request #tsukkiyama #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #sick tsukishima kei #haikyuu!!#anime #manga #fanfiction #do not repost on other websites

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tenderlyrenjun · 4 years ago

Text

the one with the morning classes [preview]

summary: you don’t really want to go to class, and Yangyang half-agrees.

↛ ↛ ↛ best friend’s younger brother!Yanyang x older reader

↛ ↛ female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, smut (18+), sneaky relationship/sex, morning sex, food mention, this is a preview! i just wanted to post it

↛ word count: 2,870k

part one > pt. 2 preview > part two

if you are under 18 and interact with this at all, you get blocked

An obnoxious ringing interrupts your day, way too early, and you whine at it, suddenly reminded about the terrible decision that you made last year with the on-call academic advisor: selling your soul to Satan, or, as they phrased it, taking an 8 A.M. class. The default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless right now, even though you have a class at this time every semester.

Still, it takes Herculean effort to pull your hot, sweaty face out of the pillows and actually get a breath of fresh air. You inhale once, twice, then support yourself on your elbows, tossing all your messy hair over your bare back, like a curtain, to draw it away from your cheeks. The sunlight makes you squint, not having given you enough time to adjust to it yet, because laying in bed, naked, is so much more enticing than actually waking up. Unfortunately, the ringing persists, getting louder, you think. You find yourself clawing through the sheets again, in search of that damn alarm. And when you do find it, screen faced down, you hit snooze via power button, giving yourself extra time before class.

After the annoying sound stops, Yangyang leans toward your naked shoulder, his d!ck thrusting in you at a further angle. He kisses the tip your spine with slightly parted lips, peppering more along your deltoid muscles, directed by his trailing tongue. You cannot tell was tingles more – the goosebumps left in his wake, or the blood rushing to your vulva, caused by the nipping at your skin. Yangyang finds a more permanent spot (that would be hidden by a shirt) above your collarbone and sucks deeper for a few seconds. Instinctively, you drop your cheek into the sheets again and swirl your ass up, before propping your lower body on your knees. His groans fall with you, and he nearly did too, but he stands on his hands. You are very aware of his strength, especially now as you close your eyes and he reverses your moves, grinding his hips forward. One of his hands reaches forward to grab your face and finally kiss you. He is slow and head spinning, and he continuously inclines his head at varying degrees to keep the embrace going.

Then, your phone goes off again and you break the kiss.

“We need to get – Oh, God.” Your forehead redirects onto the mattress, and your breath becomes shallow, cracked by sharp whines blurring out the alarm. As far as you are concerned, Yangyang is all consuming, from the way he kisses you to the way he makes you feel. “Ah, right there, please.” He squeezes your ass, fingers drilling deeply into you skin. His touch feels better than a massage, you think, almost loosening up all your muscle tension.

“So naughty,” Yangyang whispers, strongly. He sounds masculine without being so aggressive. It is very sexy of him. You try to show him, too, that he is hot, by reacting more enthusiastically. Unlike him, you say it silently and hope he knows. He replies, slapping your butt again, and smirks when you moan. “Wanna play hooky? You still, fuck –“ His breath drops, voice getting lower, huskier. He propels his d!ck shallowly, at the same pace your mouth widens in an ‘O’ shape. “- remember your manners.”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree. You roll your hips side to side, slowly stretching as if coming out of child’s position in yoga. It similarly feels satisfactory, like an injection of morphine. “We really need to get up. I have class; you – shit –“ His thrust pushes you forward, muting your counterarguments. “- you have class soon.”

Yangyang combs your baby hairs onto your opposite shoulder, gently nibbling around your thyroid, and you whine. “It doesn’t sound like you want to get up yet.” He guides your hips like a figure eight motion. His hand comes around front, between your thighs, holding on in a way that allows him to stimulate your clit. Every movement gets more intense: the speed, the pressure, even the direction of his fingers, as he elongates all the sensations. It even feels like he gets bigger too, lunging more alert with his thrusts. “You need a good wake up call, huh?”

You nod, eagerly, biting your lip. “Mmhmm, my morning ritual is, is really long, fuck.”

Yangyang smirks, motivated even more by the double entendre. And the way his tip rasps against your walls, oh god. You ball the sheets into your fists, putting a protective layer between your nails and palm because he gradually becomes erratic. He comes down to your ear, using his lips to bite at it while whispering, “Wanna turn off the alarm?”

“Hmm?” You open your eyes. “Oh, right.” It doesn’t feel like it has been nine minutes. So, after you pick your phone up again, you turn it over to look at the alarm settings, but it is replaced by a call acceptance slider. You blink a couple times and try getting a clearer look – which is difficult, considering that your head keeps bouncing as he grinds harder and harder, and harder. Then, the call restarts. “Shit.”

Yangyang stops moving to glimpse at what’s wrong. His chest brushes against your back and you can feel his erect n!pples graze your spine. You turn the screen at him, contemplating whether to answer it. Thank God, though, that Ten isn’t asking to FaceTime. You honestly don’t know how you would recover from him seeing Yangyang lay naked on you, especially after that comment at the Halloween party about feeling ‘too comfortable’ with him like this.

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“What?”

“I have to answer it,” you argue. “It’s Ten. He’s going to suspect something if I don’t.” The call ends again, and the notification center shows six missed calls. You turn over your phone again. “Shit, he’s been phoning all morning. I have to answer it.”

You brush your hair over your shoulder again and shakily redial Ten’s number. The line rings twice before he answers.

“Um, hello?” Ten answers skeptically, on speaker. “Are you ready? ETA 20.” You hear rustling on the other end that sounds similar to Yangyang shuffling your bedsheets. Ten doesn’t appear to find out about Yangyang’s presence, so you keep the line off mute. “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Hmm?”

All the excess noise stops, and you widen your eyes, glancing at Yangyang for some information but he doesn’t know anything either.

“It’s my treat, remember?” Ten tries to jog your memory. It’s just that you are too distracted at the moment to really recall any memories.

Yangyang starts sucking on your neck again, pushing his pelvis at your ass even harder to give you a better reminder: that you are currently being a good girl for him, to make up for being so naughty this morning (even though he also seemed pretty close to ditching class earlier).

“For breakfast yesterday, after the party,” Ten reminds you. Right, it’s Monday, and you often grab coffee with Ten on the way to campus because 8AMs are hell – you have to absorb new information when you can barely see through all the crap in your eyes, and he can barely comprehend his notes from the night before without morning bean juice. There is some shuffling on his end again, similar to shaking his wrist free of a swear to get a better look at his watch. It isn’t enough to hide the moan trapped in your throat. So, you try biting your fist as Yangyang swirls his hips, grazing the ends of your nerves. You roll your eyes to the back of your head and hit mute, in order to moan. “Unless you want to walk? I don’t think you’ll make it though. It’s, like, almost 7:20.��

“What?” your voice cracks. You are still muted though, so you un-mute and repeat the exclamation, whining a little when Yangyang tries to get you to orgasm faster, also having heard the time. Hopefully Ten does not notice anything. You think that you were quiet enough to push it off as a complaint.

“I’ll be outside your apartment in 20.”

Yangyang pulls your chin to make you look at him, staring at you to ask what is going on. You mouth a quick explanation: Ten. Ride. Coffee. 20 minutes. He is so close, warm breath enveloping your skin. You take the distance, initiating yet another kiss, essentially in front of your best friend, although the latter cannot hear or see either of you. Yangyang holds onto your chin, possibly afraid of being swept away or falling again. But you have enough support for both of you, and you know that if you fell, he would catch you. So, you kiss him again, and again.

“Hello?” Ten calls into the void. “Did you lose signal again? See, I told you not to choose the shitty complex on Main because the connection is so bad there.”

You put a hand above Yangyang’s heart and clear your voice, turning to the speaker. “I’m still here. Just, hold on a second.” You hit mute again, then turn to Yangyang. “Do you want a ride too?” Yangyang contemplates for a second, and you drop your forehead into your elbow, biting your lip because, after all, he is still inside you, inside your clenching and very aroused p.ussy, where you want him to finish. He nudges your shoulder with his nose and confirms that yeah, he needs a ride. You kiss him a few more times, unsure why, just wanting to be close – something about want to say in his presence, enjoying his presence. He swirls his hips. It feels really good to be with him. “Yeah, so Yangyang is in the neighborhood.”

“Wha-“

“A huh,” you whine, more at Yangyang than Ten. “He just texted me. He’ll meet you – us! He’ll meet us at my apartment. I’m going to get ready now, bye!” you say everything in one breath, hanging up as equally abruptly before Ten could insert his two cents. You drop the phone and turn around, kissing Yangyang deeply. As he returns your affection, you enunciate slowly, “Five minutes, then we have to get ready. Ten is getting too suspicious.”

Yangyang finishes a little bit after five minutes, not that you mind. Non-residents have to get buzzed into your building, and Ten doesn’t have a key to your front door. You indulge the moment, laying on your arm bent under a pillow. He looks at you with all the care in the world, no longer that suave fuck buddy from a few moments ago but a young romantic who caresses your inner thigh and talks big game about all the connection you two have in common, or don’t. Your hand dips to the top of his head, combing a small section with your nails to his ends. Yangyang asks you for the time, and you almost don’t give it to him, preferring to spend time with him here than overanalyzing some stupid thesis statement that you wrote at 4AM. Ten will arrive in ten minutes – ironic, you laugh.

Yangyang runs into the shower ahead of you, jokingly holding the glass door shut for a few seconds. And when you glare at him, he thinks you look really hot, so he lets go. You jump in with, prepared to scold him. He grabs your ass, pushing you against the wall, making out with you for a few more seconds, until you start stretching at the lavender body wash on the shelf behind him. This time, he finishes first, hopping out to spray the roots of his hair with dry shampoo so that Ten doesn’t get too suspicious. If Yangyang has wet hair, then it would be obvious that he stayed over. He puts back the bottle and wanders into your room, towel wrapped around his waist, even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There are a few of his clothes in your closet from all the times you stole his clothes, or all the mini getaways that you two have taken. After changing into an outfit that he can wear in public, he picks out an extra oversized shirt and drapes it on the towel rack for when you get out. He knows that you really like his clothes, especially the organic band t-shirts. It is another plus that the two of you have the same music taste. Hopefully, none of his friends can pick up on anything.

He likes that you spend a lot of time in his clothes. They always end up smelling like your lotions. It is comforting and reminds him of all the nights ‘studying’ until 3AM .You know, not that he would actually say it out loud (because he also like to wear his favorite shirt), but you look cuter than him with his Kendrick Lamar concert tee. And besides, there is a secondary reason as to why he looked through your underwear drawer: he wanted to choose your panties for today. It might have been a black lingerie set, but how is he supposed to know the difference between a t-shirt bra and a balconette? :^)

Yangyang makes his way into the kitchen, snagging a mini muffin off the island. With the work out he just had, he needs protein but there’s not enough time to cook anything. He tosses two more muffins into his backpack for later – one chocolate muffin for him, one strawberry muffin for you. On Mondays, between classes, he usually catches you in the student experience center, finishing up last minute assignments. You always end up pushing lunch until after four, so he tries to bring you some snacks, whenever he can. Once, his research methods class got cancelled and you didn’t have any pre-lecture material to work on, so he brought two cups of ramen. The two of you had a semi-date then. He wonders if it could happen again today. Ten interrupts the thought, with another call, and he sighs. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps thinking about defining this relationship at the worst possible times..

“Yellow?” Yangyang answers, mid-bite. He shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can check your notification for any missed calls. You have six. Ten has been going to voicemail all morning, and if Yangyang was him, he would be damn suspicious.

“Hi, baby,” Ten coos. “I’m outside. Buzz me in, yeah?”

Yangyang reflexively pouts. “I’m not your baby. I’m 20 now.” Still though, he complies, letting Ten into the building, and his friend is upstairs within a minute – not that it is too far. You live on the second floor.

“So, Ten sings, glancing around the apartment. Yangyang wonders what for; hopefully not searching for his secret relationship. Ten closes the door, eyeing Yangyang up and down suspiciously, in a curious way. “What are you doing in the neighborhood, anyways?”

“I, uh, bought breakfast at Allen’s coffee, down the street,” he lies, “And I didn’t feel like walking back to the frat.” He shrugs too, trying hard to be as nonchalant as possible.

“A huh.” Ten does not seem to accept it, but he lets it slide when you walk into the room, wearing Yangyang’s t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Yangyang cannot see why Ten would recognize the top because you also happen to like Kendrick Lamar – one of your favorite songs is King Kunta, even though you cannot sing along to save your life. Yangyang finds it endearing that you enjoy rap music, even though you cannot match the flow or pitch.

His gaze is still endearing when you walk into the kitchen, beelining for the last mini muffin. Yangyang catches how intensely he was staring at you, after you blink at him (and Ten).

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they both mutter, looking away.

“Okay,” you drawl suspiciously, swallowing half your breakfast. You fold the rest of it into the front pocket of your backpack and pick up your textbook. Yangyang meets your gaze but you immediately flicker to Ten. “Can we grab something at Starbucks really quick?”

Ten stares at Yangyang. You just got coffee for yourself, even though you were coming here? Yangyang waves a hand, unsure how to respond. This whole secret relationship has gone on longer than he thought it would. It was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing when he first kissed you, the night that Ten introduced you two back in March after Renjun’s birthday party, and not even a one-night stand! He just expected you to make out with him, not give him a blowjob in Kun’s bathroom then let him take you back to his room at the frat.

“What?” You look between them. Yangyang shakes his head, nothing. You stare him down and give in, then turn back to Ten. “I haven’t eaten anything. Please?”

“Alright, fine,” Ten cedes. He holds his hands up in surrender, his keys waving like a white flag. As you all file out the door, Yangyang jokingly asks if he can drive. Ten deadpans at him, protective over the car, and smacks him on the back of his head. “Let’s go.”

#/mine #yangyang #yangyang smut #wayv smut #nct smut #yangyang x reader #yangyang fluff #yangyang angst #wayv fluff #yangyang imagines #wayv imagines #wayv scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios #/previews

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awhitehead17 · 4 years ago

Note

The the prompts: how about some Dick and Tim brotherly bonding? Maybe with some snuggles?

After reading this I had an idea and ran with it. I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you will enjoy reading it! :D

Without much thought, Dick opens his bedroom door with a smile and allows Tim to enter his room. His smile quickly falters however when all Tim does is hum in greeting and enters the room wordlessly.

His little brother stiffly walks over to the bed where he promptly faceplants the mattress as soon as he’s in reach of it. He lets out a long groan as he lies there not moving.

After closing the door Dick moves over to the bed and hovers there, observing the scene with both amusement and worry. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into Tim, when they had spoken not three hours ago, Tim had been completely fine and had been extremely excited for their movie night. Obviously something’s happened within that short time frame for Tim to be acting like this.

“Tim? What’s the matter?” He asks eventually when the younger doesn’t offer up an explanation for his actions. Dick immediately wants to fret over him and make sure Tim’s okay, but he’s not yet sure on how his mothering will be taken.

With Tim it’s always between accepting the care instantly and melting into it or he blatantly refuses any form of care and shuts himself away from the world. It depends on the situation really. Until Dick can work out what headspace Tim is in, he’s going to have to wait to see what the best way to approach his younger brother with care and affection is.

Letting out another dramatic groan, Tim flops over onto his back and sprawls out across the bed. His tiny 5’5 body doesn’t take up much room on the king-sized bed that Dick has, it almost looks like the covers are swallowing him whole.

“I’m so sore! How is that even possible considering what we do?”

At hearing this whine Dick allows himself to relax now that he knows it’s nothing major. Tim is just being dramatic. He sits on the edge of the mattress looking down at Tim with a raised eyebrow. “What did you do? You were fine when we spoke earlier.”

Tim groans again and reaches up to cover his face in his hands like he’s ashamed. “I made the mistake of training with Jason today. He was in one of his boot-camp, SAS, moods. My legs no longer function.”

Dick winces at the sound of that. Only once has he even been on the receiving end of that mood from Jason. After that one experience he vowed to make sure it never happened again and by the sight of Tim, he’s glad he’s missed out this time.

Without saying anything he observes his brother a little longer, an idea forming in his head as he does. The plan for them that night is to watch a few movies and binge some snacks and just generally hang out. What Dick is thinking about can still fit into that plan if Tim accepts it.

Instead of voicing his idea to Tim, Dick decides to just go ahead with it. He gets up from the bed and goes over to his draws, after picking out a loose pair of shorts he chucks them at Tim. “Put those on. I’ll be back in a second.”

Ignoring Tim’s questions, Dick heads to his ensuite and digs out a certain kit from the back of the cupboard under the sink. Once he’s got it he goes back to the bedroom and finds Tim still sprawled out over the bed but now with the shorts on.

Tim lifts his head and stares at Dick in question. “What are you doing? Aren’t we going to watch some movies?”

Dick places the kit down on his bedside table and nods. “Yes, but while the movie plays, I’m going to give you a massage. At least your legs, it’ll help with the muscle soreness.”

Tim blinks at him for a long moment like he’s trying to comprehend what Dick had just said. After several beats go by his brother shakes his head. “You don’t need to do that Dick. I’ll be fine.”

Dick hums, not taking any notice in the protest. “While I massage your legs, you can watch the film. Once I’ve done both then we can settle for the evening.”

His brother opens his mouth, probably to protest again, but Dick sends him a look, one that tells Tim he isn’t backing down on this. Knowing that he isn’t going to win, Tim shuts his mouth and waves his hand around, silently gesturing Dick to ‘go ahead’ with it.

After deciding on a film, they put it on and Dick starts massaging Tim’s legs. He takes his time with it, regularly checking in with Tim to make sure he’s not hurting him and that he’s hitting all the correct spots.

Other than the check-ins it’s silent between the two of them, not that there needs to be any conversation between them in that moment anyway. It happens to be a comfortable silence that fills the room, the two of them being at ease with one another which makes it easy to relax.

It wasn’t until Dick finishes right leg and moves onto his left that Tim speaks up, breaking the spell between them.

“How do you know how to massage people?” His voice is soft and seems like it’s almost floating.

At the question Dick glances up at the rest of him to find Tim lying there with his eyes closed and the rest of his body relaxed into the mattress underneath him.

Continuing on with the administrations Dick answers him thoughtfully as he reminisces. “I first learnt about it when I was in the circus. Being acrobats we were quite prone to injuries, so after most training sessions and especially after shows, my parents used to massage one another to help their muscles. My mom used to do it to my dad more than the other way around.

Anyway, of course seeing this I picked up a couple bits here and there. They never did it to me, didn’t need to as I just stretched more than anything and of course being a kid meant I didn’t need it like that.

After I moved to the Manor, I once mentioned it to Alfred that my parents used to massage their muscles after exercise. When mentioned it I was a little older and was already Robin, but Alfred had offered to teach me some in-depth massaging techniques that could be used on the body. It was a thing between us for several years until everything went sideways.

When I moved to Bludhaven I lost track of it and basically dropped it. I had become too busy to focus on that sort of thing. It was when Bruce decided to adopt more kids and I was suddenly gaining a wide range of younger siblings that I picked it back up and even took some professional classes. I figured it was a good opportunity to get back into it and then I can help anyone out in this way if they happen to need it.”

As he works his hands down Tim’s calf Dick gets lost in those memories and the journey of what this skill has taken him through throughout his life.

Tim props himself up onto his elbows and studies Dick, Dick simply blinks back and continues with the task. He’s almost done now. “Guess it’s come in handy now after all.” Tim laughs lightly.

“It’s certainly taken long enough,” he retorts back with a grin. Within minutes he finishes up and pats Tim’s legs. “There you go, all done. You’ll still be sore tomorrow but it hopefully shouldn’t be as bad. Would you like a shower to wash the lotion off or are you good?”

Tim slumps back down on the bed again, a smile adoring his face. “I don’t think I could move even if I tried.”

Dick rolls his eyes but is smiling nonetheless. “Sure. I’m going to go wash my hands and then we can settle down finally.”

Now he’s finished, Dick packs up the massage kit and takes it back to the bathroom to put it away. He washes his hands before heading back to the bedroom to find that Tim still hasn’t moved from his sprawled-out position on his bed. Dick raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you planning on sharing any time soon.”

Tim makes a face before shaking his head. “Na, I’m good thanks.”

“Alright have it your way…” with that Dick promptly falls onto the bed, purposely landing half on Tim despite how big the bed actually is. The action makes the younger squawk in protest and he immediately starts trying to squirm out from underneath Dick.

Dick lets him struggle futilely for several moments before finally moving and allowing Tim to breathe easily once again. He wastes no time in manoeuvring them so they are propped up against the headboard cuddling into each other’s sides.

Tim smacks him in the chest, calling him a jerk but Dick sees the smile he’s attempting to fight off and doesn’t think anything of it. He’ll let Tim keep his dignity (or some of it at least). They settle together and start to properly watch the film which is about three quarters the way through by now.

“Hey Dick,” Tim says getting his attention, when Dick looks down at him Tim is watching him fondly, “thank you. Not just for the massage, which by the way felt amazing, but for sharing about it too.”

Dick ducks his head and presses a kiss to Tim’s hair. “Not a problem Timmy. Thank you for letting me help you.”

Tim smiles but doesn’t say anything more, not that there needs to be more words shared. They aren’t necessary anymore, they know each other well enough by now that their gratitude is there without being said.

The comfortable since returns as they settle into each other’s sides for the rest of the evening watching the movies they have queued and eating all the snacks they brought.

#prompt #Tim Drake #dick grayson #brotherly bonding #sibling relationship #big brother dick #massage #tim being dramatic #bat bros #fluff #Bit of humour #cuddles #i really enjoyed writing this #i hope you like this #fanfiction

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feminaexlux · 4 years ago

Text

5 Minutes

Part 2 of Miraculous Leap

Btw I'm heavily referencing We Have a Problem by @verfound 'cuz I can take partial ownership of Dewey hehehe. Ages are fudged around for convenience

AO3 link

⁂

As soon as he left the bedroom and was out of sight Luka felt his knees start to buckle and he let himself slump to the floor. Hopefully she didn't hear that. A minute ago he'd been reaching for his bracelet to set Second Chance but then Ladybug collided into him and they were sent tumbling to the ground. When he had opened his eyes he found…

He was almost dead certain that it was Marinette propping herself up over him. Even if she looked older he wouldn't have mistaken those eyes for anyone else's. Those eyes looked as surprised as he was. While she had moved over to his side to sit up he had taken a quick scan of the room and of her. She looked… very curvy? … And pregnant. It was incredibly… well. There'd been a mix of feelings he couldn't put words to.

But the room? Deep down inside, he had an odd sense of being at home. And as he took some deep, meditative breaths to control his heartrate he knew whatever this was, it wasn't a dream. It had too much… certainty and realness to it.

Marinette was looking panicked, so he had offered to get some water. He needed some water himself. He also needed to leave the room so he could freak out in private and not upset her any more than she was already, and that was why he was more or less faceplanted on the floor out of view right now.

What was the akuma? It had some ability to see the future, which was why Viperion was called out to help Ladybug and Chat Noir in the first place. No one on the Miraculous team had known that it had the power to send people into the future, however. Luka was sure that was what had happened. Ladybug and Viperion got hit with the akuma's blast and… now Marinette and Luka were here, in their future. ONE future, he should say.

It wasn't necessarily set in stone. Luka knew how much could change in just 5 minutes.

He knew Marinette was Ladybug. Marinette might try to convince him she wasn't Ladybug if it ever came up. He'd have to roll with it and make her as comfortable as he could. Or maybe he could steer the conversation away from that in the first place. She might never call on him to be Viperion again if he told her that he knew and had known for a while.

Because even if Marinette had always looked over Luka for Adrien, Luka wanted to spend whatever time he could with her, in her super Miraculous suit or in her normal everyday clothes.

He got back up on his feet and sighed to himself, looking into the different rooms he passed as he meandered his way blindly toward a kitchen. There were a few rooms that had been for kids, he thought. He walked by what looked like Marinette's crafting workshop, full of partially dressed mannequins and half-finished projects and colorful children's drawings. A hallway he passed through was full of pictures of kids he didn't recognize, but they all had a strong familiarity.

Probably because they were his kids. His and Marinette's. He could hardly believe it, but his older self and Marinette's older self were there throughout most of the pictures too.

One thing caught his attention outside of the kids' pictures: a flatscreen in a large ornate frame playing a soundless video in the center of the hallway wall. It was of him and Marinette on what looked like their wedding day. He had swept her up off her feet in her wedding dress and she had her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She had been laughing and then had leaned in to kiss him.

Luka watched that replay a few times. They looked happy. He hoped that future Marinette didn't have any regrets.

After the replays he realized that they didn't look that old in the clip. Well, not much older than they were… now? Before the akuma? Definitely not teenagers anymore, but not more than a few years after they both left their teens.

So how did he manage to get all this? What happened that let Marinette finally see him? Did his future self leave any hints?

Last he knew of anything, Marinette had come back to the Liberty from her class' New York trip and admitted to the GirlSquad™️ (while Luka was within earshot) that she was still in love with Adrien. "I-I mean there's plenty of reasons to love him… he's so cute and talented and smart and--and… and I think everyone keeps saying we were made for each other but… but it's so hard," Marinette had groaned. "Why is it so hard?"

Luka had made his presence known so he wouldn't be unintentionally eavesdropping something he wasn't supposed to. Any more than was already said, anyway. He had started to leave when Rose stopped him then. "Luka! You're a boy! You know what boys think! What do you think is going on with Adrien?"

Luka had laughed and said he didn't know. "What I know is that it isn't supposed to be easy. It's something you have to keep working on. But it's supposed to lift you up and make you feel stronger." He then left the girls in their plotting/scheming/arguing to lounge back in his room. He had been surprised when a few minutes later Marinette came to join him.

"It doesn't make me feel stronger. I just feel dumb," Marinette said then, quietly. He had let her stay with him while he played random songs on his guitar, trying to cheer her up. She had finally started smiling again when he played her song, except with a little bit more flare and bubblegum pop. It was what he heard in his head when she was happy. "Thank you. You know, I feel less dumb being here with you."

He finally reached something like a kitchen. It'd been huge and there were clear boxy canisters of different types of flours and sugars and mix-ins… He saw a high end mixer and maybe 30 different types of baking sheets. Looked like Marinette still put her baking knowledge to use.

Alright enough being distracted, he shouldn't leave Marinette alone too long. He grabbed two clean glasses and got water from the fridge's built in dispenser and headed back the way he came.

"I brought some water for you." He was a little worried when he saw her on the floor. He had no idea what it was like being pregnant but it couldn't have been easy… "Hey, are you doing okay?"

Marinette took the water gratefully. "I don't know… Are… are you Luka Couffaine?" He nodded. "Huh, just a few minutes ago I was 14, and now it looks like I'm 34. And your wife."

There was something to her voice… she wasn't horrified, which was good news. There'd still been some confusion, maybe? And a little disbelief. That was as much as could be expected from Marinette, Luka supposed.

He was pretty sure she was Marinette, but it would be all kinds of messed up if he just found someone who looked a lot like her. It'd been her art, her designs, her baking… right? No one else could just… be all that she was. He had to be sure. "Are you Marinette?"

She looked up at him with her light blue eyes. It had to be Marinette. There'd been a wave of relief that washed over him when she nodded.

"I think this is our future," she said.

⁂

(Meanwhile…)

Luka blinked and… all of a sudden his wife had a Ladybug mask on. He hadn't seen that on her for months now (he had the Ladybug Miraculous since she was pregnant) which was the first clue that something had rudely interrupted them. He groaned internally and tried to mentally ping Sass or Tikki to see if there was anything to worry about. Marinette looked as bewildered as he was. He took her shoulders and gently pressed them both up to sitting.

Okay, well, she was… she was definitely not pregnant and therefore not his Marinette. Then he noticed he was suited up as Viperion. Ah, it ssseemsss you have been… regressssed, Massster, Sass said in his head. God, Marinette looked… what, 15? And Sass hadn't called him "Master" in forever.

Do you know what happened? Luka asked Sass.

There is an akuma who controlsss time. Well, of course. Their power has ssswapped you with your younger ssself, Sass answered.

Luka had to stop himself from laughing. His younger self was in for one hell of a surprise. That aside, he had to check on this Marinette. "Hey, are you okay?"

Ladybug looked up at him and brushed through his hair with her fingers. "Viperion? Your hair… It's so short…? Wait… wait wh--where's…" She looked down at herself and patted her stomach. "D-D-Dew--"

Oh, Dewey. Viperion pulled Ladybug in for a hug as she started crying. She was his Marinette and… and their son was in the future, not here with them. "He's alright. He's waiting for us. We're somehow in the past, but we'll get back home."

Well, shit, that meant that the younger Marinette was in the future as well.

"I-I-I thought I had l-lost him," Ladybug said quietly, her voice breaking.

"Hey… guys…" Chat said awkwardly after landing nearby. "Milady! What's wrong?!"

Right. Chat Noir. At 15. This was going to be annoying as fuck.

#fxl fic #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #rose lavillant #viperion #ladybug #chat noir #lukanette #endgame lukanette

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janeofcakes · 4 years ago

Text

It Could Be Us

I'M BACK! Jane is back again!!

Christ, when I said I 'd have my one shot up in no time at all I had no fucking clue what I was talking about. Seriously, none whatsoever. I feel like this has taken longer than posting all of KYFC. Hopefully I got all the formatting right in the end and nothing is confusing.

In any case, here it is at last! It's my Christmas present to you. I hope you all like it. Without further ado or sass, let's get right into it.

-----

The dance floor was already packed as John walked into the club. He had expected nothing less for a Friday night, and a late one at that. It was just after eleven o’clock and the club was in full swing. The lights were low and the bass thumped a steady rhythm he could feel in the floor beneath his feet. It had been a long day at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, packed with patients and an emergency surgery right at the end that kept him late again. He had dashed out of the hospital as soon as he was finished and grabbed a cab to a chip shop around the corner from the club for a quick bite. He came straight to the club after that one detour. He had meant to arrive earlier, like nine o’clock earlier. He could only hope the man he was to meet was still here, or had been here at all. Now the pounding music and vibrating floor rippled electric sparks through his body, making him want nothing more than to join the pulsing throng of people on the floor. He had the burning desire to be free and forget everything, but he had to find someone first. The man of the hour.

John had come at his request because they had not had much time to themselves lately. Both of their jobs had ramped up and meeting together had become difficult. John bit the inside of his cheek in irritation as he scanned the floor. A night in the club, much as he enjoyed their usual haunt, did not mesh with his vision of ‘quality time’.

John puffed out a breath of annoyance as his eyes ran the length of the floor like laser beams tracking prey. Though his focus was razor sharp, it was still a challenge to find any one person amid the countless bodies crammed together in the space, but the man he was looking for was very hard to miss. He was very distinctive in his look and manner. He always put on a show for John’s benefit or was getting into a fight that he never started, as he often declared in a, frankly, obnoxious tone to everyone within five feet. John huffed again. The man he was looking for was decidedly not there and never had been, in spite of his promise.

John grumbled darkly to himself, heading for the bar and the club’s sole proprietor, Greg Lestrade. He and Greg had met some ten years ago and the club was a hotspot even then. Now it was one of the most well-known on this side of London, but still retained its own rustic-city style with brick walls and an antique, solid oak bar. So many others had strayed toward trendy and pretentious, which only made John love this place more.

“Evening,” John said as he approached the end of the bar.

“John,” Greg’s face brightened as he placed a glass in front of a woman who winked at him as she picked it up. He gave her a sort of lop-sided smile he had perfected over the years and then turned his attention to John. “Rather late for you, isn’t it? No work tomorrow?”

“My day off,” John replied with a slight laugh, leaning against the bar and resting his arm on its surface. “I need it. Ten days on and just as many late nights. I feel like the Duracell bunny, but on half full batteries from a Poundland Christmas sale.”

“And many more lives saved,” Greg reached over the bar to pat John’s shoulder. “You’re a credit to the profession.”

“Ta,” John mumbled, feeling his cheeks flush and ducking his head at the unexpected praise. He recovered quickly and gestured haphazardly behind his back. “You’re doing well yourself. Another busy night I see.”

“With me on the floor, no less,” Greg remarked looking out over the dance floor. “I forgot how hot it gets in here. Usual?”

“Ta,” John watched as Greg stepped away to grab a short glass and a bottle of Talisker.

“Sally called in sick,” Greg handed him the drink as John’s brows shot up and his jaw dropped. “Can you believe it?”

“No,” John shook his head, still holding the amber and ice-filled glass out over the bar where Greg had handed it to him. “Not Sally. No way. You’re having me on.”

“Apparently, even The Machine gets the flu,” Greg said by way of explanation. He continued with a shrug. “Who knew? To be honest, I hope it doesn’t spread around. She sounded terrible.”

Greg leaned in and rested his own elbow on the bar’s top as John took a quick sip from his drink. The burn as it slipped down his throat punctuated his mood. He had been in this situation many times before, waiting at the bar with Greg while his boyfriend remained absent, but John would damned if he let it ruin his evening this time. When Greg continued speaking, John made a concerted effort to improve his own disposition.

“Anyway, no one on the short list could make it, so here I am,” Greg grinned and gave a slight bow, “at your service, m’lud.”

“Good for you,” John laughed, placing his drink on the bar. “Keeps you humble.”

“It does at that,” Greg chortled. He watched as John’s eyes scanned the dance floor and the club’s entrance again. The smile slowly faded from Greg’s face as he headed down the bar to sort out some drinks for a few people before returning to his friend.

“You looking for him?” he finally asked, passing John a bowl of bite-sized pretzels. John nodded his thanks and tossed one back, grateful that Greg always remembered he was not a fan of crisps, at all. Greg still jibed John about it. How can you possibly like pretzels and not crisps, John? They are, more or less, the same. Just a munchie to take your mind off things. John’s rebuttal always outlined every last way in which they were, in fact, not at all the same.

“Yeah,” he replied in an even tone, not wanting to fully broadcast his irritation. Greg was perceptive though and John knew it. Damn that man learned too much about people’s tells in all his years of bar tending. “He called me at work and wanted to meet here. We’ve not seen much of each other lately.”

“Right,” Greg drew out the word just enough to convey his disbelief without being an ass about it.

“You seen him?” John asked, already knowing the answer.

“I have not,” Greg said flatly. John pursued his lips and looked away, giving a slight nod as his only confirmation.

“Have you seen…”

“No,” Greg cut him off. The two men looked at each other, brows furrowed in mutual understanding. The muscles in John’s jaw flexed as he gnashed his teeth. Greg sighed next to him and John broke eye contact only to look over the floor again in another unsuccessful attempt to find the man he sought while trying with all his might to ignore everything unsaid between them.

“Far be it for me to…” Greg began, but John raised a hand to stop him. There was no need for him to hear it all again. It made no difference. John would wait. Always.

“Then don’t,” he said sharply, meeting Greg’s eyes again. “All right. Just leave it.”

John knew it was defensive and unnecessary. Greg would never in a million years judge him, but to have this happen time and time again hurt. Greg’s words always stung, even though he meant them in the most supportive way possible. John knew he should take them to heart and he did, just not enough to do anything about it. It was true his relationship was far from perfect, but in all honesty, he really did not give a toss. It was what it was and it was easy to ignore what he did not like.

“Sure,” Greg answered after a pause with a look that told John he wanted to say more. He knew John and the whole situation far too well.

“Hey, Bossman,” a man named Roland called from down the bar. Greg and John looked his way immediately to see a bottle in each of his hands and people crowding the opposite side of the bar. “Give us a hand, mate.”

“‘Course, Rol, of course,” Greg straightened and gave John another look before walking away. You deserve better than that piece of shit. We both know and yet, look at yourself. “Be back in a few,” was what he said instead.

John waved him off and took another drink. He watched Greg and Roland mix drinks for a bit, chuckling whenever his friend fended off the flirtations of both men and women alike. The man was an enigma, never showing interest in any gender or persuasion, the ideal businessman. It was really no different from him at Bart’s, John supposed. Still, it suddenly seemed odd that in all the years he had known Greg he never mentioned a partner and John had never asked.

John frowned into his empty glass as if it held all the answers of the universe. Forty-two, as they say. He let out a short chuckle with a slight shake of his head and then a sigh as he turned his stool to look back out at the sea of dancers. Deep in thought, he was not really looking at anything at all until his eyes came into focus on a pair of ethereal blue ones staring back at him. John blinked in surprise and jerked his head back as if burnt. The stare belonged to a tall, impossibly sexy brunette who demanded space in the massive throng of heaving, shifting bodies. He danced like his body was possessed by the music itself. His limbs and movements appeared graceful, elegant and effortless in spite of the speed and vulgarity of the hip hop track that filled the air. His white shirt glowed in the blacklight above him, drawing more attention to the V of his neckline that was nothing less than a delicious, scandalous temptation where two buttons left undone exposed his pale throat. His black jeans hugged every sharp edge as well as the curve of an ass that had no right to be as plush as it was for a thin frame such as his.

John snapped his mouth closed quickly, unsure of how long his lips had been parted in wonder and awe. Too long judging by the smirk the man gave him with that sidelong glance as he continued to sway his hips. God, he did it with such skill it was obscene and John could not stop himself staring. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and took a sip of scotch. John had seen this man here before quite a few times and he had seen him go into the back offices with Greg almost every time. He had even seen them leave together and yet, John had never asked Greg about it and Greg had not volunteered. John had simply not thought it any of his business. Now John wondered why he had never stopped to consider this one exception to Greg’s rule.

When John’s eyes came to rest on him again, he blinked and blinked again in shock. That man, that gorgeous man with legs a mile long and cheekbones sharp enough to cut yourself with was absolutely not dancing his way toward John. He was decidedly not staring at John with his mesmerizing and other worldly eyes. John’s mouth went dry again and he blinked once more for good measure, his brain seizing utterly. He watched, unable to look at anyone else as the man left the floor and swept up to the bar next to him. The man gave John a knowing smile and studied him with a sultry, but intensely intelligent gaze. Dumbfounded, John could only look back at him with wide eyes and will his own brain to work again before he truly proved himself a complete idiot.

“Hello, John,” a deep baritone, all dark chocolate and velvet rumbled from the man’s chest. John’s lips parted and he nearly gasped, but swallowed it down along with his surprise. How the hell did this man, with perfect cupid’s bow lips, know his name? “I’ve seen you here before. We have a friend in common.”

John stared at him, eyes shining with unanswered questions. The smirk he got and the tilt of the man’s head, curls bouncing in the direction down the bar. Greg. Of course, Greg. He must have told this mysterious man John’s name. The doctor tilted his head as well, unable to look away from that angular face now framed by soft, dark curls as their owner tilted his head upright again. Suddenly John’s heart skipped a beat as his mind caught up with the conversation. Did that mean this dazzling beauty had asked Greg about him?

“My name is Sherlock,” that voice continued and John fought with himself not to melt on the spot.

“Hi,” John forced his voice to croak out. “John.”

“Yes, I know,” Sherlock’s lips curled upward as his eyes studied, no read John’s face. John felt like this clever man could read his entire life with a simple glance, much less the current scrutiny. John stared like a moron as his mind caught up with the situation at hand and he closed his eyes in regret. He had just spluttered the most idiotic introduction to a man who already knew his name. God, he was so stupid.

“Sorry, sorry,” John blurted, opening his eyes to see that Sherlock had perched himself on the bar stool next to him. He seemed to have finished sizing John up and also appeared to have no intention of leaving. “I was… It’s nice to meet you.”

“You come here often,” Sherlock stated, his eyes sharp. Goddamn if he did not have the longest lashes John had ever seen.

“Greg’s a good friend,” John answered. Finally his brain seemed to be back online and able to communicate. “And I like the club.”

“And you like to dance,” the corners of Sherlock’s mouth crooked up slyly.

“You’ve seen me dance?” John asked, a little startled. This lithe specter of the dance floor had noticed him? Sherlock just replied with a satisfied and very amused expression.

“I’ve seen you too,” John continued, finding his usual confidence again. “You’re very good.”

“As are you,” Sherlock stated. He rested both elbows on the bar and laced his fingers in between, a calculating edge to his gaze. “You’re here alone.”

John’s body grew tense in an instant. His mouth pressed into a thin and serious line.

“You’re usually here with that detestable little man who drinks too much and yells at the other dancers,” Sherlock ignored the sudden change in John’s demeanor.

Instead of being angry at the slight, John eased up and huffed a laugh in spite of himself. He could feel the muscles in his body relaxing just as quickly as they had tightened and marveled for a moment at his reaction. He began to study Sherlock more intentionally.

“Yeah, that’s Jim all right,” John laughed again. “My other half.”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock nearly choked on his words. He clearly had not deduced the full extent of their relationship. Maybe Sherlock had not asked Greg about him after all. John’s heart sank a little. Then he saw Sherlock’s eyes fall to his left hand, looking for a ring then. John’s heartbeat sped up just a bit for that gesture alone.

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled awkwardly.

“Think nothing of it. Jim can be a real dick when he wants to be,” John reassured him with a friendly smile. “Takes a while to warm up to him.”

The skin beneath Sherlock’s eyes contracted slightly as he looked at John thoughtfully. The doctor could tell there were a myriad of questions turning circles in his mind and he was trying to pick one to start with. Rather than wait for it, John decided to counter with one of his own. One that was much on his mind at the moment.

“You usually leave with Greg,” it was not a question, but John’s voice rose with it as though it was. His Machiavellian expression made sure Sherlock understood his meaning, the underlying question in John’s uttered statement. The man was completely unphased by John’s directness, smiling and huffing a quiet laugh as he threw a handful of pretzels in his mouth.

“We’re flatmates,” he clarified with an easy shrug and then added after taking in the change in John’s features: “Yes, just flatmates. We keep each other honest.”

“Oh?” John tilted his head, interest peaked by that casual statement. “What does that mean?”

“I make sure he leaves this place once in a while and he makes sure I sleep on occasion,” Sherlock smirked, holding a pretzel between his index and middle fingers.

“Alone?” John asked mischievously and Sherlock snorted, obviously quite amused.

“Yes, alone,” he confirmed with a good-natured nod. “I don’t do romantic liaisons or spend meaningful moments with people.”

Sherlock’s face pulled itself together as if John had told him to bathe in the Thames for the foreseeable future. A smile instantly appeared on John’s face and he huffed a quick laugh as he watched the man before him.

“My time is far too valuable to spend it with such frivolities and imbeciles,” the brunette continued with his nose wrinkled as though the steak and kidney pie had gone decidedly off.

“And why is that?” John leaned further onto the bar, extremely interested now. He was not sure if it was because this man was a friend of Greg’s or just that he was so damn interesting, but John thoroughly enjoyed teasing him and was not about to stop. Maybe being in the club on his own tonight was not so bad after all. “What is it that keeps the great Sherlock…”

“Holmes,” the man supplied when John paused, the dramatic effect it created not lost on either of them.

“...Holmes so busy?” John extended his hand to wave with a flourish between the two of them. Sherlock watched him with smiling eyes and a dazzling grin on his face.

“I assist the police when they are out of their depth, which is always,” Sherlock answered, growing quite serious. “I am a Consulting Detective.”

John could see the cautious pride shining through the haughty answer.

“Yeah? And they pay you for sticking your nose in?” was the first thing that popped out of John’s mouth. God only knows why. He was not usually such a tease, nor such an idiot. He watched the flicker of hurt slither over the brunette’s expressive face and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from repeatedly hitting his head against the bar counter. Nothing like opening his mouth and inserting his foot all the way down his own throat, he mused of his actions, especially considering he was in a somewhat relationship with Jim and all, but there was something about this man. It was something so powerful and too complicated for John to understand just yet.

“Yes, as well as private clients,” Sherlock remarked sharply. His brow wrinkled in confusion, creating a ridge across the bridge of his nose that had John holding back a smile. “Why wouldn’t they pay me?”

“Uh, no reason. I just.. I’ve never heard of it before,” John replied slowly, trying to gather his thoughts.

“I should think not. I invented it,” Sherlock said haughtily, the pleasure obvious in his whole body. A sudden laugh burst from John’s lips, taking both men by surprise. Sherlock’s features were just beginning to harden when John caught his breath to speak.

“That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed, clapping the taller man on the shoulder and beaming at him with bright eyes, their depths growing even more blue with his merriment. “It sounds amazing.”

He pulled a now stunned Sherlock in so their heads were close together. Their faces only inches apart, John eyed the man with an almost childlike excitement.

“How do you do it?” John asked in a tone that bubbled with enthusiasm. “Are you a psychologist or a profiler or some mad genius who uses his power for the greater good? You know, all tall, dark, handsome and broody, but really on the side of the angels?”

John chuckled at his own quirkiness and somehow knew Sherlock would understand his sense of humor perfectly. Sure enough, the man’s mouth curled into a knowing smile and he cocked a brow. The expression made John think of Loki, God of Mischief himself. His chest gave into a tingling squeeze and he delighted in the pleasurable shivers rushing over his head and back.

“All of the above,” Sherlock said simply and John laughed heartily, his head ducking in even closer to Sherlock’s.

“I don’t doubt it,” John chuckled. He met Sherlock’s eyes. “I’d love to hear about it. Somewhere else,” he took a steadying breath. What the hell was he doing? “Quieter so we don’t have to yell.”

John’s eyes bounced to Sherlock’s lips for a brief moment and his gut clenched. Before he could beat himself up for blatantly flirting, their eyes locked and he saw the answer in Sherlock’s before he heard the confirmation in his words.

“I know a restaurant not far from here,” Sherlock replied quickly and decisively. “It’s open late and I know the owner.”

“Did you help him with a case?” John blurted with ardor.

“I got him off a murder charge,” Sherlock answered in amusement, his rumbling baritone honeyed with satisfaction. John gulped, so caught up in the sheer brilliance of this man. There were a thousand questions in John’s mind and he wanted to ask every single one as soon as they could get out of the club with its loud beat, blaring music and tons of people.

“Absolutely! I’d love to...oh,” he stopped himself mid-sentence and his face fell, coming to his senses before getting far in his reply. Releasing Sherlock’s shoulder and straightening up, John remembered why he was here tonight. Jim was the whole reason for even being in the club. He could not just leave.

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” John muttered, barely loud enough to hear over the din. Disappointment shown thick on his face and in his tone. “I’m meeting someone.”

Sherlock made no reply and simply watched as John lowered his eyes to the floor. Damn it, John wanted to go with this man. He needs to go with this man, but it would not be right. Oh, fuck it all. Fuck Jim and whatever he may think. He was always sneaking around with Moran anyway. Let him think John was sneaking around for a change.

No. John dismissed that as soon as he thought it. That was not why he wanted to leave the club with Sherlock. John had no interest in making Jim jealous. He just wanted to spend more time with the fascinating consulting detective. My god, John wanted to learn all he could: his work, how he had conceived of it, how he met Greg, everything. John had never been so drawn to a person in his life and was more than a little pissed off to have met him tonight when he was here waiting for fucking Jim Moriarty to show up.

“Dance with me,” Sherlock said suddenly when the tempo of the music changed and echoed around them. John blinked at him, the words bringing him back from his thoughts. Sherlock was serious. He knew why John was at the club, who he was waiting for, and he was serious.

“I can’t,” John’s voice was dull, but his face was full of surprise. “I have a boyfriend.”

“I know,” Sherlock replied steadily, not backing down.

“But I’m waiting for him,” John told him dumbly with an exasperated sigh. Nothing like abandoning any attempt at being articulate.

“No one should ever keep you waiting, John,” Sherlock said with conviction. John tucked his chin, turning his head slightly, but kept his eyes on Sherlock. A crease formed on his forehead and his brow furrowed as he tried to wrap his head around this man. He clearly knew far more about John than John did of him, either from Greg or his own deductions. It was also clear that he was very keen on spending more time with John. The doctor was both dumbfounded and thrilled by this knowledge.

John opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There were so many things John wanted to say and could give voice to none. The words just hung there in his mind and refused to become the sentences he needed.

“I could be your boyfriend,” Sherlock’s deep voice halted John’s mind completely.

“What?” John struggled to understand. “But I have…”

“He isn’t here,” Sherlock cut him off in a soft but firm tone. John looked at him with unabashed confusion and disbelief. Sherlock swallowed and placed a hand on John’s. The doctor stared at it with wide eyes that shifted back to Sherlock’s. “Just for this song… I could be your boyfriend.”

“I shouldn’t. I…” John looked into his eyes and everything stopped. John did not even hear the music anymore. Sherlock’s eyes were... mysterious. John had thought they were blue, but now they appeared silver, green, blue. They seemed to shift with every thought that passed through that brilliant mind. How had John never noticed before? Simple, really. He had never been this close to Sherlock before and certainly never thought he would be. John was always here with Jim, and Moran and the whole entourage. Naturally, he danced with Jim, but his eyes had always found Sherlock.

Sherlock on the dance floor with his long, elegant limbs and swaying hips. Such amazing hips. He could move like no one John had seen in real life and it was captivating. Lithe and smooth, every step and swoop and shift in perfect alignment with the music. Sherlock effortlessly danced to any song or genre and Greg’s DJs liked to mix it up too. From hip hop to techno via pop or the 80s. They were even known to throw in slow songs so patrons could relive their high school prom nights. Jim always wrapped his arms around John and snuffled into his neck during those songs. John had tried to do the same, but his heart was never in it, especially during the last few months.

John and Jim had started growing apart a long time ago. They were happy once and for quite a while, in fact. They met when John was still in med school during the A&E rotation. Jim was working in construction and had sliced a substantial gash in his forearm. They hit it off while John stitched him up and Jim asked him out before he left for home that night. The rest, as they say, was history.

A few months in, they began staying the night in one another’s flats, but did not even think about moving in together. John could not explain why, and Jim had asked regularly, but he was not ready for such a big step. It was something that would truly bind them together and John was not certain he wanted that. Two years later, John was out of school and already a skilled surgeon. Jim had climbed the ranks quickly and now owned his own construction company. Then Sebastian Moran came into the picture. Jim had hired him as an assistant. It was a typical occurrence for John to put in late nights or be called in for emergencies, but then Jim started working late too. John thought nothing of it at first, but it did not take long to figure it out. In spite of his somewhat jealous nature, John said nothing. It was easier to let it go and just make excuses to Jim about why he could not stay nights at John’s flat.

John first noticed Sherlock at Greg’s club a year ago. John was there with Jim and a slow song had just started as Jim began to pick a fight with a rather large and nasty-looking man. John pulled him onto the dance floor and tucked his chin to his own shoulder to calm him down. A few bars into the song and John’s eyes had found Sherlock. He was wrapped around another tall man, both equal in height, all the parts of their bodies lined up perfectly for the dirtiest dancing John had witnessed in a long time. He had tried not to watch them, but could not stop himself. Sherlock, still nameless to him at that time, was simply captivating.

John noticed him on the dance floor a few more times after that night and Sherlock was always dancing with a different man. This new knowledge had befuddled John. He had assumed Sherlock and the tall man were together, but that was clearly not the case. He started paying more attention and his hunch was confirmed every time he saw Sherlock at the club. That was when John started to keep track of who Sherlock left the club with and it was Greg. Only ever Greg. He had wanted to ask Greg about it so badly, but never did. He respected his friend’s privacy and part of him did not want to know whether or not Sherlock was attached to anyone in general, or to Greg in particular.

Whatever their relationship, John could not stop noticing Sherlock when he was on the dance floor and he carried the guilt of it wherever he went. He should not, should never lust after a friend’s boyfriend the way he did after Sherlock, but there were Sherlock’s arms lifting and swaying, lowering slowly and gracefully. Then his undulating hips and his ass, that gorgeous, plush ass in perfectly fitted jeans, swishing and thrusting to the beat. God, it was like watching pornography and now Sherlock was here, right in front of John and not at all with Greg and asking John to dance with him. It was unbelievable, and John was about to say no. Why the fuck would he say no? Why when part of him had secretly hoped for this exact scenario to occur one day?

“Okay,” John said suddenly in a voice that did not sound like his own.

Sherlock’s eyes lit up, making them sparkle a decidedly silver sheen and a brilliant smile spread across his full lips. He offered a hand and John took it, allowing himself to be led onto the floor. As they found a place within the other bodies around them, piano chords rang out through the club and a pure tone began to sing lyrics so ironic that John could not help but smile.

In the faded light you touch my body

I can feel your hands on my skin

Think you got me right where you want me

But you’re just in my way.

John and Sherlock both swayed skillfully, waiting for the tempo to pick up and for the playful chorus to kick in. Sherlock rolled his shoulders to the music, snapping his head back with the flare of a flamenco dancer at just the right moment. His curls floated through the air for just a moment as though defying gravity’s bonds and then fell artfully around his face as he gave John a cheeky smirk. John could not help and laughed as the song broke open and they both began moving to the faster beat. The music and lyrics wrapped around them as they pulsed their way through the two men’s bodies and minds.

I came to party on my oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-wn

Don’t need nobody in my so-oh-oh-oh-ng

I get down to the beat, I lose contro-oh-oh-oh-l

Hey, oh, I go so-oh-oh so-oh-oh-lo

Both men reached their stride as the chorus and the fun continued. John popped his chest to the beat, moving his bent arms in counterpoint and shifting his weight with what the rhythm provided. Sherlock’s hips swayed with his dancing feet and he lifted his hands above his head.

Boy, you can cool it dow-ow-ow-ow-ow-own

Not here to fool arou-ow-ow-ow-ound

Just wanna dance, dance, dance

Dance, dance, dance

They started the song a respectable, casual distance apart, as any two new acquaintances would. Clearly still dancing together and that space was maintained throughout the duration. Honestly, John could not care less because dancing like this, to have fun and be free was exactly what he needed. It felt so liberating to just move without feeling the urge to prove something to himself or to Jim, and dancing Sherlock just felt right. Really, really right. Even though they had only just met, John had already begun to feel as though their actual introduction had taken place a long time ago.

Another song began that was one of John’s favorites and he let out a hoot as the faster beat took hold of his body. He switched his weight from one foot to the other, turning his body to match, sometimes twice in the same direction before changing.

Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll

Don’t care if you think I’m dumb, I don’t care at all

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored

I’m the girl you’d die for

John’s moves intensified as the verse came to an end and he began to mouth the words in anticipation of the chorus, giving Sherlock a cheeky grin as he did it. The man matched his expression and movements beat for beat.

I’m Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips

Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss

I’m Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips

I’m gonna be your bubblegum bitch

John was enjoying himself so thoroughly, he almost did not notice Sherlock slowly closing the gap between them. It was not a huge shift of the space between them. Sherlock was not suddenly up in his business, grinding against his leg, but he was closer nonetheless. The tips of John’s ears prickled with heat and not just from the dancing. His whole body was hot with it. A burning deep inside of him, just like the feeling low in his stomach was not so much from nervousness as it was from anticipation of what was yet to come. Would Sherlock inch even closer? Did John want him to? Goddamn right he did.

There was no fade out. One song moved seamless and fluidly into the next. This one took them into a heavier beat and a more forceful step. The drums and velveteen rough voice brought the floor into a darker place and the lights went down to match it. As if reading John’s mind, Sherlock stepped closer to him almost as soon as the song began. He lip-synced the words and drifted around John where he danced. The mysterious and sultry look on Sherlock’s face pulled John’s eyes in as he moved. As the first verse neared its end, Sherlock’s fingers scraped across John’s chest and lingered as they slid around to his back. The doctor’s skin tingled along the trail of Sherlock’s hands, the touch powerful in spite of the fabric between them. John’s mind jumped in his skull to thoughts he never would have anticipated when he walked into the club: God, to feel Sherlock’s skin on his. Nothing between them, no clothes, no air, no space. It would be electric. John swallowed back a groan as he continued to watch those silver-green eyes take in his every movement. Shit, the man could probably read his mind.

Since I thought you and me

Well, I am imagining a dark lit place

Or your place or my place

Well, I’m not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you

I wanna make you move because you’re standing still

When the chorus began, both John and Sherlock leaned forward toward each other. John’s lips parted and new droplets of sweat bloomed at his hairline. Not just from the dancing, but from the desire pooling in his belly and the thoughts taking root in his mind. John quickly lifted a hand and wiped his forehead in an almost unconscious gesture. He had never eye-fucked someone so hard in his life and every bit of the effort was reciprocated.

If your body matches what your eyes can do

You’ll probably move right through me on my way to you

Their faces were dangerously close again. John could feel Sherlock’s breath ghosting over his face and he found himself wishing, hoping for the other man to do something. They pulled away to stand side by side, staring into one another’s eyes before moving in different directions to curl their bodies in identical fluid motions. They met again a moment later, back to back and angled in the same direction, their cheeks pressed together. John pushed against the taller man and he leaned into John as they slowly dropped low and raised up again, snapped their heads back and broke apart to dance in their own idioms again.

Sherlock rolled his hips and head, fingers sinking in his hair. John was dancing just as enthusiastically, but also completely mesmerized. He had not felt anything like it in some time and he did not even try to stop it. It was the feeling of attraction and one so strong he gravitated toward it like a moth to a flame. His life was suddenly full of possibility and so intoxicating John could never turn away. He and Sherlock fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. There was no denying it, but did Sherlock feel it too or was John just another person on the dance floor?

Suddenly the lights went up and a new song filled the club. Sherlock turned his head toward John and he felt the puff of Sherlock’s hot breath on his neck. A shiver traveled down the length of his spine and he hoped Sherlock had not noticed, but was quite certain he had. To John’s great delight, Sherlock seemed genuinely pleased with what he saw.

“I believe I misjudged you, John,” Sherlock called over the noise around them, his face every bit the smug bureaucrat who is too posh for his own good. John raised his brows in response, an unspoken question on his lips. He wanted to take whatever Sherlock was about to say seriously, but how could he possibly do it when he had that look on his face? Sherlock continued in a very superior tone, barely keeping the corners of his mouth from quirking upwards. “You’re a much better dancer than I expected.”

A wide grin spread across John’s face as Sherlock began to chuckle. He shook his head a little and laughed with the snarky detective. Without a thought, he reached up and cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck, tugging his face down until it was close to his own. John looked into his eyes, wide with surprise, and moved in closer. Their cheeks brushed as John pressed his lips to the taller man’s ear and the sensation weakened his knees.

“You’re amazing,” John uttered with nothing less than awe. That was not quite what he had meant to say. Then again, what had he intended upon saying? John pulled back, biting his bottom lip in embarrassment, unsure of how to explain that one away. Sherlock’s cool eyes looked back at him without a hint of reproach as a deep, melodic voice boomed over the floor.

Wise men say only fools rush in

But I can’t help falling in love with you

Sherlock’s hands found John’s waist and they began to dance in a slow shift. They moved their bodies so one shoulder was forward and then the other. By the third line, they had separated so they could better move to the solid beat and bright trumpet sound, but remained connected by holding one hand or even both.

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin?

I can’t help falling in love with you

As the river flows gently to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Sherlock lifted John’s hand high to draw him in and used his other hand to guide John into a quick turn so his back ended up flush against the front of Sherlock’s body. John pulled Sherlock’s hand down and caught hold of the other one too. As the music swelled, John rested their hands on his hips and they ground together, bending their knees a bit and inching down lower. John tilted his head back to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder, closed his eyes and nearly moaned.

Some things were meant to be

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

‘Cause I can’t help falling in love with you

As the song continued, the other dancers and the club with its lights and noise fell away. Suddenly, John and Sherlock were the only two people for miles around. It was just them and the music. They danced and danced and the song seemed to go on forever. John turned to face Sherlock, their bodies still close together and hips moving as one. John looked into those grey eyes, sparkling and bright, and completely lost himself in them. They were not the eyes of a stranger he had just met or someone he had seen from across the club, but those of a friend. A friend he had known for years and who knew John as well as he knew himself. Those eyes filled John with comfort and a longing to go to that restaurant Sherlock had suggested, leaving Jim behind for good. Of all the time John had spent with Jim, he could not think of a single one when he saw this much in his eyes.

John blinked when he felt Sherlock’s hands rest heavily on his shoulders. The man was still swaying in perfect time with John, who must have been on auto-pilot, but wore a look of mild concern on his face. Sherlock tilted his head as if to ask “You okay?”. John grinned sheepishly and nodded as the music swelled one last time. Both men, as well as everyone on the floor, threw their hands up and sang.

I can’t help falling in love with you

No, I can’t help falling in love with you

The close of the song bled right into the next one. Without missing a beat or pausing for awkwardness, Sherlock held one of John’s hands to his chest and slid the other around the shorter man’s waist, taking the lead. John put his hand on Sherlock’s hip, flashing a sly smile and effectively stealing the lead. Sherlock laughed and followed John as he set the pace for their steps. Around them, the whole dance floor began to relax after the long stint of nothing but fast and furious. Many headed for the bar to make Greg’s night incredibly harried once again.

John’s throat was dry and his body covered with a sheen of sweat, but he was not about to move an inch from where they stood together. He was truly glad and even excited for the time to touch and study this man. The music swells and ebbs away with them swaying to it. A soft fade set the stage for the signature voice of Spandau Ballet to begin.

So true, funny how it seems always in time, but never in line for dreams

Head over heels and toe to toe

John’s chest opened and it felt like all the force of Sherlock’s feelings rushed in, like when an anime character is enveloped with light and energy.

This is the sound of my soul

This is the sound

There was no question in John’s mind that what was happening to him was the same for Sherlock.

“So what do you do for the police?” John asked. It was a question of many, not all pertaining to what “consulting detective” meant, but it was as good a place as any to start. “What does a ‘consulting detective’ do?”

“I see the evidence no one else can,” Sherlock answered after a pause. “I make the connections immediately and tell the police what to do next, where to go. I read people.”

“Read people?” John’s brow rose to his hairline. “What? You mean you can tell what a person is thinking?”

“More like who they are,” Sherlock replied. “What they do and where they live. What their motivations are. That sort of thing.”

“You can tell all that by just looking at someone?” John’s lips parted in a smile of disbelief.

“Yes. Let me show you,” Sherlock turned his chin and looked out at the people around them. “Look at that woman at the bar.”

“Can you be more specific?” John laughed, but looked anyway in the direction Sherlock pointed with his head. “There are quite a few.”

“The one in pink with the dark hair and flashy belt,” Sherlock directed John’s eyes until his gaze settled on a middle-aged woman holding a martini. She was laughing at something the man with her, clad in a trendy-cut white suit, had said. He tapped his G & T against her glass in a toast.

“The one with the husband in the tacky suit?” John inquired and cringed. “He must glow in the dark when the blacklights are on.”

“Not her husband,” Sherlock corrected, his tone flat. John’s brows shot up again as he met the detective’s sharp eyes.

“I’m listening,” John said cooly, but with extreme interest.

“She lives outside of London and travels in more often than necessary for business, which she does actually do while here so she doesn’t feel as guilty, but she mostly comes to see him,” Sherlock explained in a confident tone. He sounded as if he was reading a book. It could not possibly be something he just made up on the fly and John was captivated. He watched Sherlock’s face as it flowed from one expression to another. “They favor this club because no one who knows them typically patronizes dance clubs. Not to mention the atmosphere lends itself well to a certain anonymity for all its patrons.”

Sherlock stopped a moment to insert a turn in their dance, in spite of the fact that he was not leading. John followed along with a quiet chuckle. Sherlock added a series of steps that ended with them closer to the edge of the dance floor, but still far enough away from the bar and the couple they were watching. Dozens of people talking and laughing at tables separated them. Even if the woman or her lover looked out to the dance floor and saw Sherlock and John, neither would think anything of it.

“Her daughter died recently,” Sherlock said. “In the last four years and she has taken up with this man to start a new life, but can’t let go of the old one. She doesn’t love her husband anymore, but feels she would lose what little of her daughter she has left. She clearly shared physical characteristics with her father, likely the eyes and nose. Seeing them in her husband’s face brings the woman comfort.”

John’s forehead crinkled with doubt, his lips curling into a skeptical smirk.

“How could you possibly know all that?” he cocked a brow and tucked his chin, pulling away from Sherlock slightly for a better look at him. “You’re having me on. You just made that up.”

“On the contrary, John,” Sherlock leaned his head in and gazed directly into John’s eyes with his pair of intense, calculating ones. “I not only see, but observe. I use this place not only for the pleasure of dancing and the delight of Greg’s company, but also to hone my skills. I observe the patterns, the evidence, and draw conclusions. I am never wrong.”

“Okay,” John stumbled over his own thoughts, trying to comprehend, “but how can you know all that from just…”

“Tonight?” Sherlock interrupted. A sly grin spread across his features and he shook his head slowly. “You forget that I’m here nearly every time you are and more. This place is a hotbed of experiments for me, an opportunity to sharpen my skills and occasionally solve a case.”

John’s eyes widened slightly, intrigued with both the mystery and the man himself. John’s tongue darted over his bottom lip and he noticed Sherlock’s eyes flick to them momentarily before explaining his deductions.

“They never arrive together and one waits for the other in a different, inconspicuous place each time,” Sherlock continued. “She gives him a hotel key card each time so she doesn’t have to bring a handbag. They leave together and always in the same direction, presumably to said hotel. There is a pale ring around the third finger of her left hand where the rest of her skin is tanned. She never takes off the bracelet she wears and it has a single charm that is actually the heart-shaped pendant from a child’s necklace.”

John glanced at the woman laughing again with her partner as he considered Sherlock’s words.

“Their pattern of frequency and the days on which their meetings occur suggest visits to the city for business and he is clearly not a colleague,” Sherlock added.

They watched as the man leaned in for a gentle kiss that she reciprocated. The couple appeared to be very taken with one another, very much in love, not desperate to get out of the club and into bed like new lovers. As if reading his mind, Sherlock leaned in to whisper in John’s ear.

“They have been involved for quite some time. You can see it,” he muttered. The soft wisp of his breath made John shiver and he turned to face him, their faces dangerously close.

“I could explain further, but do you really need me to?” Sherlock asked, his eyes flicking to John’s lips again.

“No,” John breathed. He shook his head slightly, staring at Sherlock agog. His mouth hung open a moment longer before stretching into a smile. “That was...amazing.”

Sherlock’s breath hitched and he pulled back to steady his gaze on John. The doctor’s grip tightened slightly in response as if determined to keep the man right where he stood.

This much is true.

This much is true-oo-oo

“You really think so?” Sherlock’s brow creased with confusion as John studied his reaction. It was positively endearing, perhaps because it was so unexpected. Sherlock had obviously made his deductions to impress, but still seemed genuinely surprised by John’s response. He was not used to being praised for his abilities, which told John all he needed to know about some of the assholes at New Scotland Yard.

“Yes,” John grinned up at him, pulling back a bit as the song came to an end, “of course. That was extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people usually say,” Sherlock mumbled after watching John for a moment. The next song increased in volume as the last one faded away. The prom-themed dance continued as John’s cheeks tinted at the thought that he and Sherlock were a couple. He hoped the detective had not noticed as he asked the next question curiously.

“What do people usually say?” John wondered, trying to divert attention from his pink cheeks. Too quickly, but Sherlock made no sign that he had noticed.

“Piss off,” he replied and John could not help but burst into laughter. Fortunately, a smile bloomed on Sherlock’s face as well, a glint of mischief and genuine amusement flickering through his eyes.

“Well, believe me, it isn’t. It’s bloody brilliant, that’s what it is,” John remarked as he changed their step slightly to fit with the new song. John took both of Sherlock’s hands in his and stepped back, putting more space between the two of them. Their arms outstretched, fingers laced together, they mirrored one another’s movements and smiles as a cheerful voice filled the club.

When people keep repeating that you’ll never fall in love

When everybody keeps retreating, but you can’t seem to get enough

Let my love open the door

Let my love open the door to your heart

“Do someone else,” John urged, his voice full of excitement. He looked around quickly to find someone with a tale to tell. His eyes fell on a tall, thin man with disheveled brown hair that fell to his shoulders in layers. His chin and cheeks were covered by a full beard and mustache that betrayed his age with shades of grey, as did the lines around his eyes. He was dancing in a group with four other people, but more or less on his own. There was something about his appearance, his jumper and corduroy pants that made him look like someone who wore an aluminum foil hat at home.

“Do him!” John exclaimed, jerking his head to his left. Sherlock’s amused gaze followed and picked out the man instantly. He looked back at John with narrowed eyes and a knowing smirk.

“Accountant. Recently subscribed to a conspiracy theory that the company he works for is secretly financing an investigation into the death of John Lennon, who he believes is still alive and hiding somewhere in Yorkshire,” Sherlock stated as his feet took a step forward and back to the rhythm. He pulled John in a bit so they were closer when John gave him a stunned look. “There is no investigation, of course, and Lennon is most certainly dead. Not so in the mind of our friend with the beard, which he grew for his lover.”

John’s eyes widened.

“Affair with a colleague,” Sherlock said by way of explanation. “Her husband won’t grow facial hair and she likes the way it feels on her nether regions.”

A burst of laughter popped from John’s mouth before he could stop himself. It was so loud that he quickly pressed his lips together again and glanced toward the man for fear of drawing too much attention and giving them away. He need not have worried. The club was far too noisy for anyone to notice. Sherlock smirked, his eyes bright with amusement.

“He is concerned she will discover his suspicions about the company and Lennon and dump him,” he finished triumphantly. “There’s more, of course, but those are the highlights.”

“That’s…” John began as every part of his face brightened with delight, “unbelievable.”

He jerked their hands down to their sides, pulling Sherlock into his personal space and fixed him with a smoldering gaze.

“You have to explain how you know all that,” John nearly growled, “but later. Do someone else now.”

Sherlock’s criminally full lips quirked and his eyes warmed at the challenge, revealing shining flecks of green. For the next few minutes, Sherlock selected the most interesting subjects from the people around them and revealed the various secrets of their lives. Most were fairly normal with a few stranger outliers. It was all fantastic as far as John was concerned. From the boring Tesco clerk who snuck crisps and biscuits while stocking the shelves to the florist who taught her parrot to say ‘fuck you’ to troublesome costumers, John soaked in every word like a sponge.

By the time Sherlock finished, they were well into another song. It was the third in a string of songs that couples could use to their advantage, which meant there would be one more and then faster songs would rule again. John and Sherlock would have to part and dance further apart again. It was the last thing John wanted.

They had moved in closer again, seemingly unable to be apart for any length of time. They were not pressed together like the other people around them, but John’s hands rested comfortably around Sherlock’s waist and Sherlock’s fingers were wrapped around John’s biceps in a tender embrace. Their steps had turned into something more like a mere shuffling of feet as the great detective spoke quietly and John laughed or did double-takes. Everything about it was delicious and there was not a thought in John’s head that was not about this man.

John leaned forward to rest his forehead against Sherlock’s chest. He felt Sherlock’s breath falter and straightened again in a shot. He stared at Sherlock while internally berating himself for spoiling the moment. He swallowed hard, his mind searching for words and coming up empty. To his relief, their stilted movements grew more easy and relaxed as they listened to the lyrics drifting around them.

I never thought I’d lay me heart on the line, but everything about you is tellin’ me this time

It’s forever, this time I know and there’s no doubt in my mind

Forever, until my life is through

“You really are brilliant,” John said sincerely. He bit his lip as he watched Sherlock’s face slip from one expression to another. It was not the best thing to say and John had meant to say Sherlock’s deductions were brilliant, but he could not take it back and part of him did not want to.

A very big part.

“Do someone else,” John suggested lightly. Sherlock looked relieved and he let his eyes wander all around, looking for the next subject. John pressed his lips together and licked them with trepidation, never taking his own eyes off the taller man. “Do me?”

Sherlock’s expression changed in a heartbeat and his relaxed posture tightened into stiff muscles. His smile vanished, becoming a clenched jaw with muscles working beneath the skin. John felt the open door between them slam shut. Sherlock released his hold on John’s arms and began to step away. Shit, John was not entirely sure what he did wrong, but he had to make it right.

“John…”

“Hey, no, no,” John grabbed Sherlock’s wrists so he could not disappear in the mass of people on the floor. John knew that Sherlock would make sure John never saw him again unless he wanted him to. Panic creeped into his voice as he continued. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to… I just… Don’t go. Please.”

He studied John with more than a little hesitation, but did not try to pull away again.

“I can’t,” Sherlock said in a shaky voice. He pressed his lips together, curling them in on one another. “People don’t like hearing my deductions. They don’t like that I know their secrets.”

“But they’re blindsided, Sherlock,” John ventured. “I’m asking and I think it’s fantastic. I do. It’s amazing.”

“John, I…” Sherlock ducked his head and then met John’s eyes. “I don’t want to drive you away.”

“You won’t,” John answered, face open but decisive. He gave Sherlock’s wrists a squeeze. “Please.”

They looked at one another in silence for a long moment, both gauging the other. Standing still in a sea of moving bodies.

I see my future when I look in your eyes

It took your love to make my heart come alive

‘Cause I lived my life believin’ all love is blind

But everything about you is tellin’ me this time

It’s forever

“You’re a doctor,” Sherlock began to say. His words were slow and careful. John gave him a warm smile and started swaying again. He let go of Sherlock’s wrist to slide a light hand to his waist and Sherlock obliged by moving closer and resting his own hand on John’s shoulder. John nodded in encouragement for him to continue. Sherlock eyed him with apprehension as he opened his mouth to speak.

“A surgeon, in fact and a skilled one at that. You consult with patients, who appreciate your bedside manner, but are also the first they call for emergencies,” Sherlock paused, looking more comfortable and resolute. He pressed on. “As a result, you spend a great deal of time at the hospital. St. Bart’s.”

John’s eyes widened and he wondered how Sherlock could know which hospital. He did not ask, unwilling to interrupt the brilliant man before him.

“You keep a rather modest flat, despite being able to afford more because you don’t see the point in having something extravagant. You spend little wakeful time at home,” Sherlock was on a roll now. The impressive line of his shoulders was relaxed and his jaw loosened. “You could change your hours, of course. You haven’t been at Bart’s long, but have the clout to do it already.”

Sherlock hesitated, studying John carefully. John knew immediately that Sherlock was not looking for more information. He had all of that already. Sherlock was assessing the damage his words might do to their budding friendship, or romance?

“Go on,” John prompted casually, trying only a little to hide his excitement at what Sherlock might say next. His words seemed to settle something inside of Sherlock and he continued.

“You don’t want to change anything about it though,” he stopped and studied John with great interest, the skin beneath his eyes contracting in thought and recognition. “You have a boyfriend and for some time, in fact, but you don’t live together by design. You were close once. Now you can count the number of times he’s been to your flat in the last six months on both hands. You have been to his more, though still not often and you never to stay the night. You have not been intimate for at least a year, but still enjoy spending time together as friends and you’ve wondered if that might not be the better route,” Sherlock sounded as though he could not stop himself if he tried now and John felt a little hot under the collar. The mad genius was definitely going to explain how he knew all of this.

“You even suspect he is seeing someone else. He has increased the time he spends with a certain friend, especially in the last four months, but you have done nothing to alter your relationship,” Sherlock gazed at John for a long moment, obviously seeing his growing irritation. His lips parted in what might have been an apology, but instead Sherlock spoke firmly. “He is not cheating.”

John’s body jerked back a touch at that, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Not physically anyway,” Sherlock clarified and actually looked a bit sad, “but an emotional connection really is more of a betrayal.”

With that, both men were silent. John’s eyes were still wide with shock, his lips parted. He searched for something to say, but did not think he could speak if he tried. There was no way Sherlock could know all that, especially about Jim. He could not possibly...and yet, John believed him. He let it wash over him as he and Sherlock continued to shuffle their feet. They moved slowly, nothing like their energetic dancing earlier in the night. John considered Jim, thinking about things he had avoided for months. Staying in the relationship, such as it was, made no sense and was not fair to either of them. It was not what John wanted and yet, whenever John thought about the time Jim spent with Moran it angered him, but why? Jim deserved to be happy as much as John did and if that was with Moran, then so be it.

“But now…” Sherlock’s voice pulled John back to himself and the dance floor where he had been moving by rote. His eyes focused back into the here and now, and he blinked at Sherlock’s thoughtful gaze. “You may have found someone else who’s worthwhile. A reason to change.”

Sherlock’s words stopped abruptly, as did their movements. Couples holding each other close swayed around them, but did not bump into them somehow. Sherlock’s body was rigid to match John’s, his face startled and filled with dread. He knew he had said too much. All of it was true, of course, right down to the notion that John was toying with the idea of asking Sherlock out on a proper date, but to say it aloud with so much presumption, because there could be no doubt as to who “someone else” referred to. Sherlock had inserted himself right into John’s life with the ease of that one comment and was clearly petrified John would be angry, insulted even. They had only just met, after all.

“It could be us,” Sherlock blurted suddenly. John half wondered if the man knew he had said it out loud, but his wide eyes and scarlet cheeks told John he did. “I could be yours, if you would be mine.”

Sherlock fell silent again, his lips clamping shut as though they had acted of their own accord and he had finally managed to regain control of them. John stared into his horrified face and blinked. The initial surge of anger John had felt began to drain from his body, not even replaced with shock like Sherlock. To his surprise, John felt completely at ease and something he had not experienced in months sparked at the back of his mind: the warm glow of happiness. It bloomed through his mind and filled his body with light energy that John readily embraced.

He looked at the man in front of him with wonder. He felt as though he had known Sherlock all his life, despite knowing virtually nothing about him. It was a feeling, a touch. John’s hand found Sherlock’s where it hung at his side and opened his mouth to speak.

Yeah!

The voice rang out sharply over the mass of people eliciting a loud cheer from the crowd. Prom time was over and everyone sprang into action, including Sherlock. Wanting to erase his words and the awkwardness from John’s mind, he raised his arms straight up and moved his lithe body in an obscene wave timed perfectly with the rhythm. He threw his head back at the next “Yeah” and when his gaze fell on John again, it was searing. John stood watching in shock. He could not comprehend the sudden change in Sherlock’s demeanor. As John struggled through the confusion and lingering awkwardness, he opened his mouth to speak, but was rendered speechless when Sherlock took a step closer. He lowered his arms, fingers skimming along his body as they went and resting on his own undulating hips. He turned his back to John, looking over his shoulder with those smoldering eyes, swinging and rocking his lush ass. He was just close enough to barely bump into John’s groin, filling him with a teasing pleasure.

His mouth watering and cock twitching with interest, John leapt into the perfect accompaniment to Sherlock’s sultry moves as another voice began to sound.

Up in the club with my homies, trying to get a lil’ V-I

Keep it down on the low key

You should know how it feels

Sherlock popped his body to the beat, looking every bit the king of the dance floor. He was like a six foot tall snake slithering both elegantly and suggestively into John’s space and out again. It was the hottest goddamn thing John had seen in all his life.

She’s saying, come get me

So I got up and followed her to the floor

She said, baby let’s go

When I told her (let’s go) I said

Yeah!

The cry set John’s body alight with an unexpected energy. He stepped right into Sherlock’s personal space and they popped together, their bodies skirting the line of what was appropriate in public. They turned and leaned and undulated in unison, turning up the heat as they did so. Sherlock dropped in front of John with his back to the doctor and rose again thrusting his perfect ass against John’s groin. John moaned out loud. The sound disappeared into the noise of the club and the music, but Sherlock heard. His head was cocked to the side so he could watch John with a saucy smirk as he continued to grind against him. John placed his hands on Sherlock’s hips and pulled him tight. They swayed in tandem as they worked their way across the floor. Sherlock’s back was hot against John’s chest, his hands aflame where they rested on John’s.

God, it was amazing. Caught up in the excitement, John’s mind flew forward to more nights with this man dancing and talking about his cases. So distracted by his own thoughts and simultaneously focused on their movements was John that he did not notice how close they had come to the edge of the dance floor until the crowd surged and pushed them against the wall.

Sherlock had just turned to face John when two rather rambunctious couples collided with the doctor’s back, shoving him into Sherlock. The detective hit the brick wall with a thud and it knocked the breath from his lungs. John was pressed tightly against him, the other couples still right behind his back. Sherlock gasped when John’s hand cupped his face.

“God, that was hard,” John said breathlessly. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he blew out a quiet breath that drifted over John’s lips. He was so close. His face was almost touching Sherlock’s. His lips were so close. John could tip his head forward mere millimeters and his mouth would be on Sherlock’s soft cupid’s bow. God, it would be life-altering. Lips so soft, so perfect, and they would move with John’s. He knew they would.

John swallowed hard and bit his bottom lip. He slowly moved his hand from Sherlock’s cheek to his shoulder to ease the clenching of his own heart. As if on cue, the couple behind him pushed at his back once again and John lurched into Sherlock. His lips brushed over the detective’s and his eyes fluttered closed, seeing stars. He felt Sherlock’s fingers tighten around his biceps and a soft answering pressure on his lips. A surge of lust and joy rolled over him for just a moment before reality set in again. John’s eyes snapped open in an instant as a touch of panic filled his body from head to toe. Sensing his distress, Sherlock leaned back and allowed John to pull away as far as the space would allow. They locked eyes and stopped. Just stopped.

John felt Sherlock’s hands slide off his arms to his waist and then fall away. He stared in shocked disbelief into Sherlock’s face. He may have shared John’s surprise, but the heat in his eyes had sparked to life again. He panted onto John’s lips. John ventured a quick glance at them and a surge of adrenaline shot through his chest to his stomach and limbs. It was a combination of lust and honest affection. John was almost lightheaded with it. He looked back at Sherlock and his brow furrowed at what he saw. Disappointment shadowed Sherlock’s eyes and creased his forehead. The corners of his mouth angled downward.

“Your boyfriend,” Sherlock rasped, nodding his head toward the bar. His mouth was still so close to John that the sigh he let out drifted over John’s lips and the doctor was loath to look away. What he saw drained that wonderful, tingling, incredible adrenaline rush from his body.

Jim Moriarty was standing at the bar with Moran and talking to Greg. John stepped away from Sherlock as though he had been caught at something and turned to face the bar fully. He watched for a moment as Jim laughed at something Greg said and then once more when Moran added a word or two. It clicked in John’s mind: a decision. His life would be forever changed.

With his focus on what he needed to do, John made his way across the dance floor. His stride was steady and determined as he went and people seemed to just move out of his way like he was parting the Red Sea. John was at Jim’s side in seconds. Moran noticed him first and stepped closer in challenge, but backed up again in a swift movement. There was a look of being caught out passing over Moran’s features for just a second before his expression turned cool and indifferent, but John saw and it heated his temper. John also saw Greg’s smile fading and his eyes flicking out to the dance floor.

“John, you’re here,” Jim said in a pleased tone that would have fooled anyone else, but not John. Jim leaned in for a kiss, but John turned his head and angled away. Jim frowned and then shook it off, resuming his typical swagger. “Greg wasn’t sure he’d seen you.”

John glanced at Greg, who gave him a pointed look. The corner of John’s mouth turned up. He would never reveal his friend’s lie. His eyes slid smoothly back to Jim and his smile tightened.

“Got here when you said we’d meet,” John said sharply. His tone was more harsh than he had planned, but he had truly grown tired of repeating the same scenario over and over.

“Yeah,” Jim put on an apologetic face, “I’m sorry I was late.”

“Are you?” John replied with barely concealed annoyance.

“Steady,” Moran warned, taking a step closer and puffing up his chest.

“Piss off, Moran,” John barked, standing to his full height and entering the man’s personal space. Moran had a good six inches on him, but John did not give a shit. He never liked Moran. Part of John had always wanted to punch the sneer of a smile off his face, but he had avoided the temptation. John might just make an exception tonight.

“John, no,” Jim’s hand was on John’s chest and he pressed in as close to in between them as he could. “It’s fine.”

“It really isn’t,” John scowled, directing his glare to his boyfriend. No, not boyfriend. That was not what he wanted.

John moved away from them and turned to look across the dance floor. Sherlock was gone. John turned his body to face the mass of people fully, a pang of alarm shuddering through his body. His eyes darted around the club, but found nothing. Finally, his focus settled on the door just in time to see a long, swooshing coat topped with a head of gorgeous curls swoop out into the night air. Sherlock must have stashed the coat somewhere before introducing himself to John. John’s heart clenched painful in his chest like a piece of it had been wrenched out. Sherlock had left and John would never see him again if he did not hunt the man down right now.

“You’re right,” John said suddenly, his mouth curving up. He looked back at Jim and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It is fine.”

Jim stared at him inquisitively. He tilted his head curiously and cocked a brow, seemingly about to speak. John cracked a mirthless smile and squeezed Jim’s shoulder.

“It’s been over a long time, yeah,” John said definitively. Jim’s expression changed instantly. He pressed his thin lips together and inhaled deeply, a long centering breath. He glanced down for a moment and gave a slight nod of resignation.

“Yes,” Jim met John’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” John answered, removing his hand from the man’s shoulder. “We’ve already moved on and it’s better this way.”

Jim glanced at Moran as he nodded in agreement. John stared straight ahead, not even seeing them anymore. His own words ringing in his ears. ‘Already moved on’. John had to keep a certain consulting detective from moving on and that meant he needed to get the fuck out of here now.

“Great. See you around,” John muttered, turning his back on them. He set off in an instant, a spring in his step and a grin on his face.

Well, I will call you darlin' and everything will be okay

'Cause I know that I am yours and you are mine

Doesn't matter anyway

In the night, we'll take a walk, it's nothing funny

Just to talk

The words rang out in the air around John and he increased his pace until he was running for the door. He burst through it and stopped in the middle of the pavement, looking right and left almost frantically. He was not there. Sherlock was nowhere to be found. It was dark even with the streetlamps, but the tall man should have been visible. John looked both ways again. There was not a single figure on the abandoned streets. There were plenty of cars passing by though. John’s shoulders began to sag as it became clear that Sherlock must have caught a cab. John chewed on his lip in disappointment and stared out into the street. It was too late. He had missed his chance.

John did not have much time to feel sorry for himself. As he stood there staring at a sizable puddle at the edge of the street, a fast-moving cab splashed through it and sent a wave of dirty water over the front of his body. His eyes flew shut in the onslaught and he gasped out an “Oi” that the buildings around him swallowed whole.

“Fucking hell!” John shouted, looking after the cab. He lifted his arms and shook them slowly as he looked down his own body. He was soaked and filthy. A cab would never take him in this condition. He sighed and muttered angry curses as he touched his dripping shirt. His trousers were just as wet, and cold. Jesus, it was cold. It was going to be a long walk home.

“John?” a silky baritone called from somewhere close.

John’s head snapped up, his wide eyes immediately finding a lone figure standing across the street. The corners of John’s mouth quirked up, his foul mood instantly lifted. The tall man in the swooshy coat was unmistakable. John felt light and his heart soared, even as his throat closed. He could not seem to get a word out, so he just stood there grinning like an idiot. He watched as Sherlock made a few quick deductions and scowled.

“Don’t be an idiot, John,” he shouted, feet set and shoulders squared. “Get over here.”

John glanced up and down the street, letting a car pass and then jogging across the traffic lanes. He splashed through a puddle or two on the way. Droplets sprayed through the air and caught the light of the streetlamps like sparkling diamonds in the night sky. In mere seconds, he stood in front of Sherlock with a grin still on his face as the detective scanned his soaked form with an air of disapproval. John knew he would not ask how it happened, knowing he had deduced it all already.

“You left,” John remarked pleasantly, the joke plain in his voice. Sherlock had none of it, remaining stone faced and cocking a brow.

“You left to be with your boyfriend,” he said petulantly. Sherlock managed to mostly conceal his sneer as he said the last word. John could not stop his quiet chuckle at the man’s jealousy.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” John shrugged as he casually took a step closer. Sherlock’s eyes widened and his brows furrowed in confusion.

“But you…” Sherlock stopped himself, rapid deductions visible on his face. His whole expression changed: eyebrows shooting up with hope, silver eyes gleaming, and his lips beginning to curve upward. “Oh.”

“Oh,” John repeated playfully with a quick raise of his brows. “Is that restaurant still open? I’d love to hear about your cases.”

“Not a chance,” Sherlock gave a single shake of his head and huffed a laugh. “Angelo’s well on his way home by now.”

“Oh,” John’s shoulders sank and his face fell as disappointment filled him. He scolded himself silently for just abandoning Sherlock on the dance floor without a word. My god, he was so stupid. John was certain by now that it looked like he was stalking off in a jealous rage. No doubt watching from afar only confirmed it when John got angry and snapped at Jim. Honestly, what the fuck had John been thinking? He had every intention of kicking Jim to the curb when he started across the dance floor and then with Moran there being all possessive and Jim doing his typical song and dance, John’s anger had gotten the better of him until he finally snapped out of it. ‘Be right back’. That was all he would have needed to clue in Sherlock, but John had just stomped off. Jesus Christ, he was an idiot.

“Angelo would have been hesitant to let you in in that condition anyway,” Sherlock’s words pulled John back from his own thoughts. The detective still had a hint of a smile on his face as his beautiful eyes ran the length of John’s body. “You’ll never get a cab and will catch your death walking for an hour.”

“How do you know it’d take me an hour?” John asked, feeling his mood lighten.

Sherlock just cocked a brow, his expression screaming ‘Come now, John, don’t be dull’. A smile broke over John’s lips and he tucked his chin down with a quiet self-deprecating laugh. When he looked up again, Sherlock’s amusement was easily apparent and he had taken a step closer.

“We’ll go to my flat,” the detective announced with equal measure authority and cheek. “We can wash your things over tea. My clothes won’t fit you, but I have something that will work. Provided I can sneak you past Mrs. Hudson, which I can.”

“What is she? Your school marm?” John snorted.

“My landlady,” Sherlock corrected. “She fancies herself an adoptive mother, but not my housekeeper.”

John laughed again at that and rested his hands on his hips. He looked at Sherlock with fond eyes, dancing inside that he had not bollocksed up the whole thing, and trying not to let his imagination run wild at where this might go.

“And what about Greg?” John teased. “Think he’ll mind having a guest in the flat?”

“Not if it’s you,” Sherlock replied with a glance towards the club. “He might not even know without me to pull him away from this place.”

John laughed and gave a nod at that.

“So,” John began slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face as if he was giving Sherlock’s proposal serious consideration and not bouncing off the walls with excitement, “tea and cases at yours then?”

“That is what I’m suggesting, yes,” Sherlock confirmed, all seriousness and formality as though it was a business transaction. John felt a sudden tingling wave of anticipation envelope his body and he nearly shivered from the unexpected pleasure of it. He tried to keep the smile from being so wide as to give away his every thought, but knew he failed completely. To his delight, Sherlock mirrored his emotions as soon as he saw them on John’s face.

“Oh god, yes. I’d love to,” John blurted, lifting his hands from his hips and holding them out slightly, not sure how to contain the ecstatic energy within his body. John watched as Sherlock did the impossible: His smile grew and warmed into true fondness. John’s heart gave a squeeze as they began to walk down the pavement together, the sound of music fading away as they went.

Put your hand in mine

You know that I want to be with you all the time

You know that I won't stop until I make you mine

“So, what was your latest case?” John asked eagerly, ignoring the chill creeping under his skin.

“I hope you know, John, that this is not going to be one-sided,” Sherlock told him sternly, ignoring the question. “I want to know everything about your cases as well.”

“My cases?” John questioned. He had not expected that. His profession did not seem nearly as interesting as the detective’s.

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock confirmed quickly. “Naturally nothing that would compromise patient confidentiality, but the work and advice of a skilled surgeon would come in very handy. Maybe even at crime scenes, if you’re willing.”

“You can do that?” John stopped walking in shock. Sherlock stopped a pace ahead and turned to look at the doctor.

“Whatever I need to solve a case,” he answered simply.

“They really give you a wide berth, don’t they?” John’s smile snuck back over his lips.

“They do, yes,” the corners of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up.

“So, like a consultant,” John stated experimentally.

“A partner,” Sherlock replied just as tentatively and brushed his fingers delicately over John’s in an unmistakable gesture.

“Yeah,” the word was out of John’s mouth before he could even think. “Yes, please. I’d love it.”

John nearly face palmed. So much for not slamming all of his cards down on the table without even bluffing. Fortunately, Sherlock was not bothered by his enthusiasm in the slightest. He flashed a brilliant smile and gestured ahead. The two men began walking and talking, occasionally brushing hands as they went. By the time Sherlock opened the door to 221B on Baker Street, John knew this would be the relationship to end them all and he would forever be at the side of Sherlock Holmes.

-----

And there you have it. MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

I want to thank my wonderful beta, MyBreadAndButter, and wish her well. Hang in there. The year's almost over and I can only believe 2021 will be a damn site better. I also want to thank my fabulous friend, superwholocklmt, for stepping in when I needed to pick yet another brain on this one. You are the Sherlock to my John, without a doubt. Last but not least, I want to thank my my ever so knowledgeable friend, underestimatemethatwillbefun, for two of The Best song ideas. I'd never heard either of them before, but knew they HAD to be in this story once I listened to them. You are awesome.

Dang, I'm not sure what to say because there can't be any questions for the next chapter. Ha! I'm totally out of my element. I'll just throw a little update your way then, shall I? I'm just starting work on another story that I'm hoping to post early next year. It is another 'What comes after season 4' piece. Like in 'Finding John Watson', I'll be changing some of what happened in S4. Just a little something to whet your appetite: Mary is still alive. She and John moved away, possibly to Sussex, before she gave birth to Rosie. They cut off all contact with Sherlock and haven't bee in touch with anyone else either, but now John is moving back to London. Will he run into Sherlock or seek him out? What's that meeting going to be like? Rushing into each other's arms or a fistfight similar to when Sherlock returned from the dead? We shall see....

I hope you all enjoyed your present and can enjoy zooming with relatives for the holidays. I know it's not the same, but it's still one of the most joyous times of the year. I'll be thinking of all of you and sending all the love I can. Thank you for being such great readers and fans. It's always so heartwarming and humbling to read your comments and share your joys. I don't know what I'd do without sometimes.

Happy Holidays from Cakey Jane and, as I sit looking at where Deadpool hangs next to my daughter's unicorn on the Christmas tree, let me say again: Keep your pants dry and your dreams wet, and remember, hugs not drugs.

Love, Jane

#johnlock #Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #john watson #sherlock au #johnlock au #sherlock dancing #john dancing #sherlock's ass

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 15: Your Blood On My Lips

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 15. Set in a Modern Vampire AU. A human/vampire relationship is taboo amongst vampires as it endangers the long-kept secret of their existence and as a result, humans simply don't survive these relationships for long. After spending the last five years with Astrid, it finally catches up with him, too.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Words: 4 204

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: "Magical Healing”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: Written for the Whumptober prompt "Magical Healing" because that is technically what happens here, which is why it's not an actual death fic.

Was really excited to get this one done when I first started it, but then I suddenly lost motivation for it and finished it TODAY. Hopefully, it won't be too obvious. :'D

But hey! I reached the halfway point of Whumptober! That's exciting!

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

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

Long after midnight, Hiccup is still up and awake. Having been working on an art commission at this hour, he straightens in his chair and stretches his back before following that up by rubbing the back of his neck.

He's so stiff and he shouldn't still be up at this hour as there is plenty of time for him to be working on this paid commission. It's supposed to be a digital art piece of a dragon that he'd promised by the end of the week.

But then again, that isn't the only reason why he hasn't gone to bed yet as there is still one other reason why.

He's waiting for someone, the love of his life, and she should be here soon.

As a matter of fact, she just got home. He can tell by the soft opening and closing of the front door of their shared apartment, but that is about the only way he can tell. And all because she wants him to know when she's home instead of sneaking up on him like some kind of intruder. Thankfully, those days are far behind them.

He doesn't hear her footsteps in the hallway or the door to their living room opening.

"You're still up." He just hears her voice and feels her hands glide down from his shoulders followed by a peck on the top of his head as she stands behind him.

"You're back!" Hiccup remarks happily and looks up to face Astrid, his girlfriend. His hands are on hers. Hers are quite cool while his are always warm, something she quite likes.

"I am. Not as early as I intended to be, but I'm here now." She tells him, smiling.

"You know you don't need to wait up for me."

"I know I don't, which doesn't mean that I won't." He tells her in return and a kiss is placed on his lips this time. He returns it because how can he not.

They break apart and smile. Her piercingly blue eyes that almost seem to glow gaze down at him while strands of her hair fall down from the sides of her face.

"You are adorable when you look at me as if you're lovesick," Astrid tells him, similarly as engrossed in his beauty as he is caught in hers. Her fingers run through his hair, playing with the wild locks. It's from the dragon-riding, though Toothless isn't allowed to leave the Dragon Sanctuary he lives on.

"As if?" He asks and takes her hand into his own.

Astrid smiles down at him, but then it falters just a tad bit as something pops into her mind, like a reminder. She bites her bottom lip, both out of growing excitement and a slight bit of guilt.

As they haven't changed position at all, Hiccup can't help but notice.

"Hey, I recognize that face. You know you can ask, right? I'm feeling better." He tells her, his neck starting to hurt from all it's been through this evening.

"And you know that I don't want to take more than necessary." She responds, reminding him of her vow to never take more than she needs to, though she hungers.

"But you need it. I can see that you do." His hand strokes her forearm, which is just as cold as her hand is, just as cold as the rest of her is.

She can't argue with him on that. She's been feeling a little weak, a little under the weather, and that means she needs to feed. She needs blood and Hiccup is always ready to offer up his own.

She's a vampire, has been at least for the past couple of decades, maybe a century. She doesn't really care how long it's been, she hasn't cared about time ever since she got turned. Not until she met Hiccup about five years ago when he was 20 years old.

"You're welcome to my blood, you always are." Hiccup tells her, encouraging her to take care of her needs.

"Okay, fine, if you're being this insistent." Astrid straightens and moves to his front. Her eyes never leave his as she walks with a look of both love and a deep desire in them.

Hiccup watches her with slight nervousness, never quite certain what to expect from her. He's been through this a million times by now, but it's still a little bit of a surprise every time. It's her method, that's what changes every time just a bit.

This night, she goes for the direct approach, climbing up on his desk chair with him and straddling his lap. She presses their bodies together and then their foreheads. She can almost feel his pulse against her unmoving chest.

"Thank you for always welcoming me." Astrid thanks him, more grateful than she can ever express.

Smiling, Hiccup wraps his arms around her.

"Of course, I love you." He shrugs, feeling like this is only natural. She'll always be welcome to their home and to him.

Astrid places a peck on his lips, another one he returns, and then she places a hand on his jawline while he cocks his head to the side at the same time. It happens so smoothly, it tells of how many times they've done this before.

Licking the front of her teeth and then her lips, her fangs grow in the excitement of what she's about to do. Bringing her mouth closer to his neck, she lets those fangs caress his neck, forcing him to take a deep breath.

Gently grasping his hair, Astrid pulls his head to the side and places feathery kisses on the side of his neck, taking her time before she bites down and makes her fangs sink into his flesh.

They dig into his neck and Hiccup's body naturally jumps at the pain. He's still holding onto her, hands on her hips to keep himself grounded, as his blood leaves his body to feed and strengthen her. He can feel it leaving him, can feel her draining him. He knows better than to fear for his life, but the instinct to escape from her remains.

He can't deny the rush this gives him, however. It's like jumping from a cliff without ever needing to leave the comfort of his own home. His heart is pounding, it's pounding so loud. But then, he's already full of bitemarks, so he's not unfamiliar with this sensation and he expects it, anticipates it.

There are more than one on the sides of his throat, one side having a few more than the other. One on a shoulder that was put there simply for fun during a moment much more intimate than this. His wrists carry a few of these marks, too, and there is even one mark on a thigh of his. That spot, like his shoulder, wouldn't provide Astrid with any blood either and had been put there purely out of lust.

She likes seeing those marks on him and they will probably stay there for the remainder of his life. They've taken to calling them lovebites and it isn't far from the truth.

Astrid's eyes closed, she can feel him trembling beneath her, can detect his quickened pulse, can hear the barely repressed moans of pain, discomfort, and enjoyment. Hopefully, the neighbors can't hear them like last time.

He doesn't have a bite kink, not quite, but there is still something he's getting out of this. Something only Astrid can give him. There is something intimate about this, something only the two of them can have.

Once fed and back to her original strength, Astrid leaves his neck, and her tongue licks at the blood escaping from the bite mark. She can feel the rush in her body as her significant other's blood revitalizes her.

"Are you okay?" She asks, whispering in his ear, and feels Hiccup nod.

Pulling back, she gazes at his slightly paler complexion, the sweat on his brow, the shivering of his body, the blood running down his neck in a thin line and nearly reaching the collar of his shirt.

She's always liked seeing him this way, trembling beneath her and his blood staining his skin. But only like this, when it's something he has welcomed her to.

Seeing the look in her eyes, Hiccup lets out a breathy chuckle.

"You are such a sadist." He tells her.

"Hiccup, you know I don't do this without you telling me it's okay," Astrid responds with a laugh of her own. And then she leans down again and rubs her nose against his.

"Besides if this makes me a sadist, what exactly does that make you?" She asks, her voice low. Hiccup smiles up at her.

"Tired, for one!" Astrid returns it and moves off him.

"You need some help getting to bed?" She offers, holding a hand of his as she figures he won't be getting up when he feels so weak. Not with his prosthetic.

"I would like to get to the couch. It's movie night!"

"It's almost 3 am," Astrid argues. No way are they pulling another all-nighter, if he even makes it that far.

"Perfect time for a movie, then!" Hiccup insists on having one. There aren't a lot of things a vampire-human couple can do without drawing attention to themselves. So when a movie night arrives, Hiccup looks forward to having them.

Ah, dork. it's the only thing Astrid can think as she relents.

"Fine, movie night." She sighs, knowing he'll be out like a light in less than half an hour.

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

Knowing that vampires exist means knowing that there are vampire communities everywhere and that means knowing that the occasional dirty look he gets is from a vampire who knows he shouldn't even be alive. And since Berk has grown from a small fishing town to a slightly bigger fishing town, that means he knows they are here, too.

And seeing him, well, that just makes some of them so angry.

Because there is a reason why every living human still believes they are made up stories and that's simply because humans don't tend to live for very long after they find out. So why should he be any different?

At the very least, he can take comfort in the fact that he may very well be the record holder for "longest-lived human who knows vampires exist". Not the catchiest title, but a title nonetheless.

It's late one night when he's closing up Gobber's blacksmithing and mechanics shop that he feels like he's being watched. Though always on his guard, he doesn't have any reason to think that there's actually something there. All he has to go on is the tingling feeling of eyes watching his back and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He rolls the garage door down and takes a look behind him, seeing nothing but a streetlight and an empty field as Gobber's is quite isolated. Right next door, there is a gas station, probably the only one in the entire town, but that isn't too comforting.

Seeing nothing behind him, Hiccup decides to take a chance and crouches down to lock the place up with a heavy padlock before heading home for the night.

But then he stands back up and there is a man now standing there, under the light of the nearest streetlight and Hiccup jumps at the sudden appearance. He hadn't heard any footsteps at all.

It's a man, someone he only vaguely recognizes as being from around here. And a vampire, too. The unnatural silence in his sneak gives him away.

"So you're him?" The man asks, no greeting or anything. Never in his entire life, has Hiccup ever heard so much contempt be spoken in three simple words.

Two more people appear and Hiccup only vaguely recognizes them as also being from around here. They definitely dress the part of local vampire. So does Astrid, so maybe that's a vampire thing.

"Hi-him?" He asks, stuttering. He knows that there is no use hiding his growing apprehension from them, they can tell either way.

"Astrid's blood bag."

Hiccup stares at the three, unable to form any sort of meaningful reply. The insult, while on the more unusual side, is not appreciated. It makes him feel like a piece of meat and not as eye candy, but as one meant to be eaten.

Not taking his eyes off them, Hiccup attempts to back away, but hits the garage door and it rattles behind him. They've got him cornered.

"Are you scared?" The one left of him asks as the three stalk closer, nonchalantly approaching as if they aren't planning on ripping his throat out. That or sucking him dry of everything he has.

"When three complete strangers paler than my bleak life expectancy corner me in the wee hours of the night? Not at all!" Hiccup replies, inching towards the shop's door, which he hadn't locked yet.

"Oh look, this one's got jokes, fun." The woman on the right remarks.

"Ah well, what's the point of facing death if you're not going to have at least a little bit of fun? You know, before life flashes before my eyes and I take my very, very last breath." He reaches the door as he talks, planning on diving inside, locking it behind him, and hoping that'll buy him enough time to grab something to defend himself with.

It's not like he's completely unprepared, he's known since Astrid told him what she was that this day, or night, would come.

"Last breath, yes. But it'll take a while." The middle vampire says and as he licks his front teeth and his fangs appear, appear on all of them, Hiccup takes this as his cue that things are about to go down.

As all three of them hiss at him, Hiccup throws the door behind him open, hurrying it closed behind him and locking it. Safe for now.

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

When Hiccup is late that night, Astrid worries. It's not like he hasn't been late before, but knowing the taboo nature of their relationship and those who are against it, she can't help but worry.

She decides to check out Gobber's workshop first, knowing that was where he was supposed to work this afternoon and evening. Sometimes Hiccup can lose himself in a project or job and he needs someone to tear him away from it, she hopes that is what is going on here.

But then she arrives and sees the door to the shop broken open. And if her heart were still beating, it would've stopped.

"Hiccup," She mutters, panic setting in, and she rushes inside. Whether this is a simple burglary or her worst fear come true, she doesn't need to think of her safety. What worries her the most is Hiccup's.

Her worst fear is that vampires are here, that one or more have come to do what Astrid has been refusing to do; finish him off.

She enters the workshop and finds chaos as glass cracks beneath her feet. Not quite like someone ransacked the place in search of valuables, but still messier than she's used to.

"Hiccup?!" Usually, she wouldn't just call out like that, but she can't hear anything and can only conclude that, whatever danger has been here, has already gone.

Hiccup doesn't respond.

So he managed to get away? He's had to, right? Otherwise, this place wouldn't be so quiet and it would be crawling with live vampires.

Is it silly to hope that's what happened? That Hiccup got away and is on his way home now?

But then something catches the corner of her eyes and she looks over, spotting a pair of legs lying on the concrete floor.

The shoes and jeans, they don't look like anything her boyfriend would wear and so she knows that it can't possibly be him, but that only comforts her for so much.

She comes over, caring little for what she thinks can only have been someone with ill-intention, but still needing to take a look as the body may be able to tell her something.

And tell her something it does.

What's lying dead before her in the doorway leading to a small storage area is a male vampire, she can see the fangs and she can see the wooden stake. Though seeing one of the few things that can kill her stuck in another of her kind's chest can still send chills down her spine, what makes her feel cold the most is that only one person could've put that there.

After she told him what she was and that their relationship means others like her might come to kill him, she'd told him to keep a stake, garlic, any and all vampire repellants somewhere closeby. So when she isn't around, he can still protect himself.

He thought it was ridiculous at first, why would anyone be coming for someone as harmless as him? But it turns out he has listened to her concerns.

And clearly, it worked, clearly, he managed to take at least one down by his own hand before he was... So where did he go?

The sound of shuffling and something metal falling to the floor reaches her ear.

"As-Ast-trid?" A wheezy voice reaches her and only because her hearing is exceptional. It's so quiet.

She looks over, gaze traveling deeper into the storage area, and she finds someone lying in a pool of his own blood.

"Hiccup!" She shouts and hurries over, jumping over the dead body to reach him.

He's lying on the ground in a corner, curled up after having slid down from the shelves he was leaning against. She can tell from the red smeared on them.

She kneels by him, helping him when he makes a move to sit up.

"There-there were... There were vampires, three of them. I-"

"Shhh, we'll talk about this later, we need to get you to the hospital." As she's helping him up, getting him to lean onto her and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she looks at the blood quickly covering her and her clothes.

This time it doesn't make her heart flutter in want and the urge to lick it up and savor every drop of his essence isn't there. Though she's a vampire, all of this blood isn't doing anything for her. As much as she likes the taste of him, this only disturbs her.

There's so much of it.

"Where are you hurt?" She asks, knowing they need to put pressure on the bleeding if they want him to survive. She searches and finds his hand clutching a completely soaked cloth to the side of his throat, exactly where she had bitten him last days earlier.

"Oh no," She gasps and doesn't dare remove his hand to take a peek.

He's not going to make it, she won't get him to a hospital in time. He's already on the verge of bleeding out.

Looking at his face, she can see him slowly blinking, struggling to stay awake.

She's going to lose him. If she doesn't do anything now, he's going to die.

"Hiccup, Babe, I need to hear you say it!" She tells him, reminding him that she can't do anything unless he invites her, too. She has bound herself to this vow after she was turned, she can never break it.

Hiccup gazes up at her, eyes glazing over as he's losing focus.

"Hiccup, you have to give me your consent!" She tells him again.

Slowly, despite his struggles to stay awake, he's going limp in her arms and Astrid watches on in horror, his weight becoming heavier, head resting on her shoulder.

She's losing him.

She's losing him!

But then finally, with his dying breath.

"You're-you're always... You're always w-welcome t... to me." He's giving her his consent. He's agreeing to stepping into this new unknown with her and that is all she needs.

His hand fruitlessly stopping the bleeding falls and his neck is exposed, the horrible wound there is revealed. Astrid leans forward and sinks her teeth into his neck, creating the last bitemark that will ever mark his body. This time not to drink, but to give him a little part of herself that will return him that twinkle in his eyes.

There is no reaction, he doesn't startle like he usually would. There is nothing left inside of him, nothing but the slowly dying embers of his life.

Though the living dead, there are still plenty of tears for her to shed.

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

Days later, they're back in their apartment.

That evening, Astrid managed to bring Hiccup back home and put him to bed after cleaning him, dressing him, and treating his injuries. Not the easiest things to do with a dead weight. She also succeeded in getting back to Gobber's shop and removing the dried blood after hours of intense scrubbing.

But now at home, she's sitting by him, watching him almost every hour of the night. The dark curtains have been closed to keep out as much of the sun as she can.

She has bitten him and this time not just to feed. But turning is a process and it always takes a while. It had taken her an entire week. He hasn't grown stiff yet and that means something has interrupted the decaying process. A good thing, it means that she now has to wait until he wakes up again.

Astrid strokes his pale face with the back of her fingers, caressing his cold skin and feeling guilty for being unable to protect him. They took every measurement they could take and Astrid couldn't stay with him 24/7, but though she knows this, she still feels responsible.

She dressed him in his nightwear as if he's just asleep and his throat is bandaged. She doesn't know how that wound will heal after he's turned.

His wrists, they're tied to the bed as you can never know how a newly turned vampire is going to react. He could be completely fine or he could be mad with hunger. Astrid vaguely remembers having lost control when she first woke up.

Then his eyes open and the moment of truth has finally arrived after five days of waiting. Astrid stands up from her chair to settle on the edge of the bed, leaning over him with a hand on the mattress.

"Astrid?" Though confused at first, his eyes find hers and he says her name.

Astrid is relieved and smiles. For a moment in that shop, she feared she would never get to hear him say her name ever again and she's been dying to hear it since.

"Hey there, how're you feeling." She asks and brushes his hair out of the way.

"I don't know... Weird? I thought I was going to die, but then again, I'm not really alive anymore either, am I?" He asks and Astrid doesn't miss the sad tone in his voice.

They both wanted him to live, but this didn't need to happen. He's going to grieve the loss of his own life. Astrid has been through the exact same thing, there's always a grieving process.

Pulling on his wrists, Hiccup finds them tied and he gives Astrid a look, who responds to with a smile before she unties them. So far Hiccup seems to be in control of himself, it's safe to release him.

"I'm sorry for tying you up. You can never tell how a new vampire is going to react when they wake up." She explains and Hiccup sits up, rubbing his wrists.

He thinks for a moment, hands stilling and ending up on his lap. He feels weird and is suddenly very aware of the lack of beating that's going on inside his chest. He's not breathing either, something he also just realized. He's talking without the need for air. Is there anything about vampires that makes scientifically sense?

"This is going to take some time to get used to, huh?" He asks, confused about his feelings concerning this sudden new life of his. Astrid quietly nods, knowing it will.

They've never talked about turning him before. Though they've had plenty of talks about vampires in general, they never talked about whether he would ever end up being turned or if he would get to grow old as a mortal human. He hasn't even given the matter any thought, so he doesn't know how to feel about this.

He does know something, though. He's grateful to Astrid for saving him.

He takes her hand and holds it in his lap, Astrid squeezes it.

"Thank you for saving me. No matter what happens from now on, I'll always be thankful. I wouldn't be here anymore if it weren't for you." He shares his gratitude with her, gazing at her with all the love his unbeating heart has for her.

They kiss and this time Hiccup's lips are just as cold as hers. She'll miss his warmth, but she also finds that she doesn't mind. He's still with her and that's all that matters.

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revengerevisited · 4 years ago

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i found this vanqua fic the other day, it’s only a couple chapters but i like it so far. :3 it does have a ‘creator chose not to add warnings’ label though, so please be cautious. also baby-xemnas aka kotbysleep (nsfw) aka nekokat42 (also nsfw) is a much better vanqua artist than me so please check him out. X’D (heads-up those twitter threads are way longer than you think so make sure you see eeeverything~).

anyway, more wip art below the cut, plus my endless rambling (i talk about 18+ topics, just a warning)—

i’m still working on venqua week and i’ve got 2 more prompts to go, one i haven’t started yet and one i’m halfway done with—

~aaand yeah i’m re-using it for a vanqua pic too... X’D am i lazy, or just resourceful? you decide. ;P

but yeah, both of these pics will have an 18+ version as well. i admit i’m super anxious about posting it next week, as i’ve seen just how absolutely toxic fandom is on twitter. like, you thought tumblr was bad? i’ve spent the last few days preemptively blocking literally hundreds if not thousands of antis just so i can feel a little safer posting my content without some asshat calling me a pedo or telling me to kill myself over cartoons. XU i somewhat worry that i’ve accidentally blocked some people who were just joking around and weren’t actually harassing anyone, but it’s just so hard to tell sometimes. if i’ve accidentally blocked anybody here, just let me know so i can unblock you. :3 (idk why that sentence came out so sinister sounding but i’m legit being sincere X’D).

but seriously, idk when fandom suddenly got such a stick up its ass (around 2016-17 from my guesstimate) and decided aging-up a fictional character by a year or two is such a crime, but i guess that’s just the state of things. :T i could draw vanitas as a centaur or make him blond or whatever and no one cares, but aging him by one year? suddenly big problem! yeah, right. XP like, i know i said every character in kh is 17+ as of khmom (ignoring any weird timeline retcons of course), but heck i could make an honest case for the wayfinder family all being adults. hear me out—

it’s been 13 years since bbs, right? and for 12 of those years, aqua was in the realm of darkness, terra had some awareness while being possessed by xehanort, ven experienced some of sora’s life when he was in a coma, and vanitas was almost certainly in ven/sora’s heart as well, so all four of them could be said to be 31, 33, and 29 respectively. it’s not like their character models were any different when they were young teens as opposed to older teens, so can we really be sure they’re not all 30~ by now? heck, since ven is from the age of fairytales i could say he’s 1000 years old if i wanted too! (psst, it’s almost as if these are all fictional characters living in a fantasy world with time travel and whatnot and their ages are completely arbitrary numbers nomura made up on the spot, numbers which he has retconned before! :P).

now i don’t actually think they’re that old, but if people are gonna hassle me over a goddamn 2-year age difference, i might as well say fuck it and have fun with it, right? ;P it’s not like antis even know what the canon character ages even actually are, like when they try to say that skuld is underage when (assuming she’s subject x) she’d be around 28~ by now, or axel and saïx’s age. (maybe i’ll draw some saïx x skuld art and watch the antis lose their minds. ;P it wouldn’t even have to be nsfw to rile them up).

anyway, i do admit i’m feeling a little burned out on art recently. XP i’ve been trying to get one art piece out per week plus venqua week, and yeah it’s kinda taken its toll. i know this really isn’t anything anyone wants to hear, but i’ve been kinda thinking of moving away from fandom projects to work on my own original work. now, i’m not saying i’m abandoning a heart and a half nor anything as drastic as that! but i have spent like 2 years of my life on it just to get to the halfway mark, and i’m not sure i can spend 2 more doing only that.

i’ve got an original story idea that i’ve been working on-and-off on for the past 7 years or so, and i’m thinking of going back to it again (it does need a pretty big re-write). its main pairing is actually pretty vanqua-ish, now that i think about it. like, imagine the realm of darkness but instead of the heartless it’s infested with demons, and the main characters are the demon-slaying duo of a serious yet kindhearted half-angel and a feral, snarky half-demon. i even aged them up from 14 to 18 so none of my potential fans have to suffer the same anti bullshit that i have. XP

what else can i ramble about... oh, i got these super cute pins for christmas! :D the heartless is by xkirakira, and vanitas and aqua are by maxxmerch. they’re just so cute! X3 i hope everyone had a merry christmas and a happy holiday! i’ll see you guys later. ^3^

*looks around sheepishly* ó3ò alright... confession time. spoilers for a heart and a half for the rest of this post—

sooo~ i’ve kinda hinted at this before, but yeah i’ve always planned on adding a sex scene to a heart and a half; when i started writing back in 2018 i hadn’t realized how hostile fandom had become compared to only a few years ago, and it worries me that some readers might drop the fic because of it, or be angry with me over the underage aspect. :(

idk, i could go on about how i just wanted to explore every aspect of a romantic relationship, or how other disney/square enix characters married or had kids young (ariel, sarah hawkins, héctor, claudia strife, possibly jasmine), or how attempting to apply real-world rules to a videogame fantasy setting is inherently silly and pointless, but really it’s just ‘cause i love vanitas and aqua to bits and i just wanted to write a cute and funny mild sex scene between them (this fic is rated mature, not explicit, so much less graphic than confection affection), and at the end of the day they are just fictional characters, after all.

i guess all i can hope for is that i’m a skilled enough writer to pull it off in a believable way, and that my audience won’t be too put off by it. >_> i know vanitas and aqua have technically only known each other for about 2 months so it might not be ‘realistic’ for them to go so far into a relationship so soon, but i think it’s important to remember that ultimately this is a romantic fairytale, and other canon disney couples haven’t seen nearly as deeply into each other’s hearts as vanitas and aqua have (and this video also helped me feel better about it).

i also wanted to finish that nsfw venqua fic i started a few months back, it’s set just before the mark of mastery so yes ven would be 16. i suppose it’s a way of testing the waters to see what kind of reception i’d get (hopefully positive) before i get to that part of a heart and a half. i was also thinking of including some of the uh, ‘keyblades as erogenous zones’ aspect from this terraquaven fic as well... w-why are you looking at me like that?! it’s funny! *sweats nervously* o3o’

in all honesty, i’m probably just overthinking all this (which, knowing me, is almost a guarantee >_<) and i should just *ahem* let my heart be my guiding key, and just write what i want to write without worrying about it all the time. i just get so anxious so easily... buuut that’s not really news to anyone, now is it? ;P well, i think that’s the end of my endless ramble, thanks for reading if you got this far. X’D and i really hope i didn’t actually upset anybody about a heart and a half. ;_; i just felt like i needed to vent a little, but don’t worry about me, i’m doing fine. anyway, i really should stop typing and get back to work on venqua week, sooo... bye! X3

#wip #rambles #rant #tagging just in case

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kerikaaria · 4 years ago

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If I Never Met You: Chapter 18

(??? X Reader) Idol!AU, Manager!Reader

Genre: (PG13) Fluff

WC: 3.2k

Warnings: Slight stalker-ish behavior (It’s there but really it’s not anything super serious or dangerous)

Series Masterlist

Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

The following days were hectic as ever. They were spent at broadcasting stations for the nightly music shows, going to other short events in between rehearsals for the shows, and the boys squeezing in practice whenever they could. It was like we barely had time to breath.

The fan reception and general reaction to BTS so far wasn’t bad at all, but unsurprisingly their lack of popularity didn’t win them any awards on the music shows. We weren’t disappointed, we had fully expected that in all honesty. Winning the shows wasn’t our goal, but rather getting them more publicity was.

After about two weeks of moving almost nonstop, we finally got a day where we could all rest. Sejin and I worked a little extra on whatever else we needed to do during the times we weren’t as needed at the boys’ schedules, in order to make sure we would be able to take this day to relax with them.

By the time I woke up, it was already 11 am. I looked in disbelief at my phone, wondering how I managed to sleep in that late – even if I was completely exhausted when I went to sleep the night before. While I was eating breakfast, I got a notification from the group chat.

Hobi: Noona~ You’re stopping by today right?

Taetae: You can’t hide in your apartment all day just because you have the day off. 😋

Jimin: Yeah, noona! We haven’t gotten to properly hang out at all since we’ve been so busy 😟

Yoongi: Sorry for them, noona. You do what you want today, don’t mind them.

Kookie: Noooooo. Noona, please? Pretty please come over? 🥺

Jimin: Why isn’t she responding?

Hobi: Noona are you okay?

Jin: She’s probably still sleeping. She was just as exhausted as we were, you know.

Joonie: Yeah guys, stop it. You’re probably going to wake her up from all the messages.

Taetae: Well, you’re texting in the chat too, hyung 😋

Joonie: Only one time.

Jimin: Well now it’s twice.

Jin: Guys, come on. Just leave it be. She’ll reply when she can.

Me: You guys live together and are probably all sitting next to each other. Why on earth are you talking to each other via text?

Taetae: Noona! You’re awake! :D

Me: Yes, I am. You guys sent the messages so fast I couldn’t keep up, haha.

Jin: Did you sleep well, darling? 🤗

Me: Yes I did, sweetie. 😘 How about you guys?

Joonie: Not having an alarm to wake up to was amazing.

Jimin: Noona~ When are you coming over~?

Yoongi: You don’t need to come over, noona. Just relax today.

Me: Oh okay, I see how it is Min Yoongi. You don’t want to see me. I understand. 😔

Yoongi: What? No. That’s not what I meant.

Taetae: HYUNG HOW COULD YOU? YOU’RE SO MEAN! 😭

Kookie: Wow, hyung.

Jimin: Yoongi hyung, why would you hurt noona like that?😟

Yoongi: -_-

Me: Don’t worry, I’m coming over lol. I’ll be there in like half an hour, okay?

Hobi: Yay! See you soon noona! 💓

I chuckled to myself. They were all such dorks and I loved them for it.

I finished breakfast and dressed in something comfy but presentable before walking across the hall and knocking on their door.

Jungkook greeted me with his soft smile as I walked into their house. I sat down in the living room next to Yoongi and Kookie sat next to me.

Suga peeled his eyes off of his phone to glance at me. “Oh, you’re here?”

“Yes, I’m here. Although I’m sure you’re not happy to see me,” I teased.

Yoongi huffed and shook his head, turning his attention back to the device in his hand.

“It’s okay, noona. I want you here,” Jungkook said as he placed his head on my shoulder.

“Thank you Kook-ah, I appreciate that.” I chuckles and placed a hand on his head.

Taehyung walked out from their bedroom. Once he noticed I was there, he rushed over yelling, “Noona!” and forced himself in between me and Yoongi.

Yoongi groaned in annoyance as he moved over so his brother wasn’t sitting on him. “Yah, can’t you sit somewhere else?”

“What?” Tae asked. “It’s not like you wanted to see noona anyway.”

“Why do you guys keep putting words in my mouth?” Yoongi asked. “I never once said that.”

“Whatever,” Tae said as he hugged me from the side.

I returned the embrace as best I could without making Jungkook move. “Why are you guys so excited to see me anyway? We’ve literally been spending entire days together for the past two weeks.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t really been able to talk or just hang out,” Hoseok said as he entered the room, sitting across from us. “Any downtime we had was basically spent catching up on sleep.”

“That is true,” I said with a chuckle.

I wasn’t used to being social before I met BTS. I would spend most of my time on my own, relaxing and just enjoying the quiet. It was a huge change for me once I started to spend most of my time with them rather than by myself, and it took some getting used to. But I had to admit that by now, I was used to the company and spending too much time alone made me actually feel lonely more than anything now.

We sat in silence for a little while, just being content with each other’s company and relaxing. Despite how much energy the boys usually had, they couldn’t run at 100% all day every day so I had a feeling today was going to be calmer than usual. They were completely exhausted but I could see how happy they were as well, being able to start living their dream even if it may not be perfect. I thought about how lucky we were to be here right now, no longer concerned about if they’d be able to debut or not.

When I was called up to Mrs. Choi’s office that day, she was fully honest with me about what had happened. They originally canceled on us because there was another group from a different company that was more promising. They ended up prioritizing them over our boys, which was also why they weren’t budging on giving us a date again at first. But the other group’s company decided to postpone their debut, so the date opened back up. That had happened just a couple days before I sent her the dance video, and with the date being so close her boss decided we would be good enough to fill the spot after all.

Although of course I told Sejin about it later, I hadn’t mentioned that to the boys, worried that it would make them feel worse. They already knew how much of underdogs they were, and I didn’t want one more thing to rub that in their faces.

“Noona,” Jungkook broke me out of me thoughts.

“Yes, Jungkook?” I asked, turning towards him.

“Is it going to be this busy every comeback?” He lifted his head off of my shoulder.

“Hmm, I can’t say for sure,” I said. “But probably. I know it sucks, but you know how busy this industry is. There’s so many other groups, we have to do what we can to help get your guys’ name out there.”

“It’s not like we didn’t know what we were getting into,” Namjoon said. He had entered the room at some point while I was lost in my thoughts.

“I wish I could make it easier on you guys,” I said. “I don’t like making you so busy. I want you to be able to rest more.”

“Don’t worry about it, noona,” Tae chimed in next to me. “Like hyung said, we already knew what we were getting into. Besides, if we work hard now, then hopefully it’ll all pay off later.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said. “I’d rather work as hard as I can now than regret not having tried my best later.”

I ruffled both boys’ hair. “You guys never cease to amaze me.”

“We love you too, noona,” Jimin suddenly said from behind me, making me jump.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” I said as the boys laughed at my reaction.

“You’re so easy to scare,” Hoseok said, laughing.

“Says the biggest scaredy cat out of all of us,” Jin retorted from the kitchen, earning more laughter from us.

-----

I decided I wanted to cook for everyone today, partially so Seokjin could get a break from being the main chef and relax. But also because I had been practicing my Korean cooking skills over the months and wanted the boys to tell me what they thought. There weren’t too many groceries in our fridges since there hadn’t been much home cooking happening recently, so I ventured out to the grocery store. Jungkook decided to come with me so he can help me carry the bags.

Of course Jungkook had had a mask covering his face to make sure he didn’t draw any attention, but I didn’t bother with one. Face masks were just constricting and hard to breathe through (and I felt so bad for celebrities who needed to wear them all the time), and no one knew me so there really wasn’t a point.

As I was browsing through the different types of noodles to find what I was looking for, Jungkook went to the snack aisle to stock up on their dwindling stash. I found what I needed and went to look for Kook so we could finish up with the shopping and get going back to the house. When I turned into the aisle he was in, I noticed he was rather oblivious to the stares of a few girls who were watching him very closely.

As I walked past them, I heard one of them whisper, “Yeah, I’m sure that’s him. It has to be Jeon Jungkook.”

Great. This is wonderful. I was worried for a moment, but they did seem to be keeping their distance so I pushed it aside, thinking that they seemed like they wouldn’t cause any trouble. All we needed to do was get home.

“Hey,” I said as I approached Kook but made sure not to address him by name, just to be safe. “Almost ready to get going?”

He turned to me, holding a huge armful of snacks to place in my basket. “Yup! I got all the hyungs’ favorites and this should last us a while.” He noticed the girls staring, quickly turning away once he saw them. “Do you think they know me?” he asked me quietly as we walked the opposite direction down the aisle.

“Yeah, I heard them saying they thought it was you as I walked past them,” I responded just as quietly.

“That’s crazy, I’m getting recognized at the store,” he said, partially excited but mostly nervous.

“Not to be rude, but I think it’s better to not intentionally approach them,” I said.

“I know. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Jungkook assured me.

We made it through the checkout and divided the bags between us to carry back to the dorm. Without making it obvious, I paid attention and listened carefully to see if the girls were going to follow us out of the store.

Unfortunately, they did. We couldn’t go home if they were following us because then they’d find out where we lived and that was the last thing we needed. They stayed probably about 10 feet behind us, and I could hear them giggling. I would feel so much more at ease if they just approached us to ask if he’s Jungkook and maybe for an autograph and just walk away. But it didn’t seem like they were going to.

I grabbed my phone to text one of the other boys to let them know we were running late so they wouldn’t worry. But in the middle of typing the message, my phone died. I cursed at myself for forgetting to charge it earlier today.

“Jungkook, can you let someone know we’re on our way home but running a bit late?” I quietly asked him.

“Okay.” He reached into his pocket, but seemed confused when he didn’t find his phone there. He felt around his other pockets, but was unsuccessful in finding it. He took a moment to think before a look of realization lit his eyes. “I forgot my phone at the dorm.”

“Darn,” I said. “Well I guess we’ll just have some explaining to do when we get back.”

I started to feel more and more nervous as we walked, not necessarily heading towards the dorm but rather just in any direction to wait until they stopped following us. I decided we should cross the street, hoping that if they stayed back far enough we could lose them after the light turned. We jogged across the street when the light was close to changing to make it hard for them to be able to follow.

I subtly glanced back to make sure the attempt to lose them was successful, and luckily they were unable to cross with us. We kept moving quickly, making sure to make a few turns before they could fully catch up to us just in case they kept trying to follow. When I felt sure there was no way they could have kept following us, I finally relaxed.

“Think we lost them, noona?” Jungkook asked.

“I’d be shocked if they were able to keep up with us,” I said. “Come on, let’s actually get home now.”

On top of the time we already spent to throw them off, it took us another extra 15 minutes to get back home. I kept looking behind us to make sure they hadn’t managed to find us again, and luckily it seemed we had shaken them off.

When Jungkook used his key to open the door, we were immediately bombarded with a worried BTS.

“What took you guys so long?” Jin asked, almost yelling. “We were worried something happened to you!” Before I could react, he pulled me into a hug. He must have been really worried because he held me really tight as if he was scared to let me go.

“Are you guys okay?” Namjoon asked as he examined Jungkook, who nodded in response while taking his mask off. “We tried calling you, but noona’s phone went right to voicemail and Jungkook you left your phone here.”

“Sorry guys,” I said. “My phone died.” Jin loosened his grip on me.

“What happened?” Jimin asked. “Grocery shopping shouldn’t take that long.”

“Some girls recognized me,” Jungkook said. “They kept following us and we had to walk around to try to lose them before heading home.”

“Did you take your mask off?” Yoongi asked.

“No, he was careful,” I said. “I have no idea how they could tell so easily.”

“Well, we’re just glad you guys are okay,” Hoseok said as he helped me take the ingredients out of the bags. “Oohhh, you got a lot of stuff, noona. What are you making?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” I teased.

“Can I help?” Tae said, shuffling over to me in the kitchen.

“No!” Jin and I said in unison.

Taehyung was a little taken back at our reaction.

“No, Taehyung,” Seokjin said. “You are not going to be making the kitchen a mess, nor are you going to sabotage the first meal noona is cooking for us.”

“Sabotage?” Tae said with a pout.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Taetae, there are many wonderful things about you. But cooking is not one of your strong points.” He frowned, but nodded in agreement. “Just leave it to me,” I said with a smile.

Everyone left me to my own devices while I worked on our meal, except Jin who occasionally came to see what I was doing. But he didn’t ask to help, knowing I was adamant about doing this on my own for them. While I stood at the stove waiting for the last bit of the food to finish cooking, he came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning down to rest his chin on my shoulder.

“You know, we were all super worried about you guys,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Jinnie,” I apologized sincerely. “I tried to let you know but that’s when my phone died.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Just don’t do that again. You’re lucky it was just a few fangirls and not someone who wanted to hurt you.”

“It was irresponsible of me to not have my phone charged,” I said. “I’ll be much more careful from now on, I promise.”

“Good,” he said as he let go of me and placed a kiss on top of my head. “Looks like the food’s done. Can I help plate it?”

“Yeah, of course,” I smiled at him.

I watched everyone as they took their first bites of the meal I made for them, anxious of what they’d think.

I saw Jin’s eyes grow big after chewing a piece of meat. “Wow, this is really good, (Y/n)!” he said. “The seasoning is just right!”

“Oh my gosh,” Jimin exclaimed after finishing his bite. “Noona, you really should cook for us more often.”

“I agree!” Taehyung said. “This is up to par with Jin hyung’s cooking.”

“Well, he was my teacher for the most part,” I said while rubbing the back of my neck, shy from the compliments. Everyone seemed to agree that they enjoyed my cooking, which made me really happy. I was nervous with it being a style of food they grew up with but I was new to. “Thanks, guys. I’m glad you like it.” I smiled, watching them enjoy it.

“Noona, aren’t you hungry too?” Jungkook asked. “You haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“Oh yeah.” I was too busy watching everyone else I forgot about eating. I started to dig in, pleasantly surprised with myself for how much I liked the food as well.

By the time everyone was full, there wasn’t a single piece of food left. I didn’t know why I was surprised because despite having cooked a lot of food, there were seven of them and they also tended to have bigger appetites.

We all worked together to get everything cleaned up to make quick work of it.

“Thanks for the meal, noona. It was amazing,” Joon said.

“I’m glad you guys liked it,” I said. I looked at my (now charged) phone and saw that it was getting pretty late. “I’d better get going back home. We don’t want to stay up too late, we all have to get back to work tomorrow.”

As I got ready to leave, Jungkook came up to me, looking nervous.

“Is everything okay, Kook?” I asked. He nodded and then slowly wrapped his arms around me in a hug. “What’s this for?” I asked.

“Thank you for being smart about the situation earlier,” he said. “I would have just thought to go straight home, but that would have been bad.”

“Of course,” I said as I stroked his hair. “It’s my job to be responsible for you guys. That’s what I’m here for.”

He let go of me and smiled. “Good night noona.”

“Good night, Kookie,” I said, ruffling his hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Series Masterlist

Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

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