#in another universe he would never have gotten into the fleet without a good reason | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slothgiirl · 3 years

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the spy part 1(keith x reader)

8k. explicit content. while on medical leave reader meets the red paladin of voltron during the war against Zarkon.

The corridors are well lit. It’s like being in a brand new hospital, this ship in the rebel fleet.

People hustle around, landing, taking off in smaller ships to distant planets. Your hand goes to your arm. The medic had given you a movement’s leave, so you were resting for now on this ever moving ship.

Outside the widows, you spy an assortment of ships, each one’s origins clear from the design. So many planets, so many peoples banding together against Zarkon. You’d win the war.

It was what you kept telling yourself.

You would.

It was just a matter of time.

You round the corner, stretching your arm across your chest, a simple form of physical therapy in deep space. You hadn’t seen earth since being deployed. The galaxy garrison seemed like a dream from another life. You had been on track for the chemistry department, long term missions to mars to analyze soil and dust, not this, not a war. You take a breath.

And spot the Red Paladin.

He’s one of the most recognizable people in the universe, and his grungy hair and distinctive outfit does him no favors. You’d never seen him before, not in the flesh. Sure. Voltron had saved your ass a handful of times. You wouldn’t have survived the assault on Arrakis if Voltron hadn’t rammed the shield. Trapped. Piloting a fighter craft that was closer to a mosquito irritating the Galra then pushing them back.

But you hardly knew him.

He’s gripping the railing tightly, trying to camouflage into the wall as an alien with crystalline blue skin and hair like saturated indigo leans into him.

The line of his shoulders is taut, brittle.

You don’t even think.

“There you are,” you force yourself to be synthetically cheerful as you smile easily at the paladin, who you realize quickly you don’t know his name but you know what he is and that must be an awful feeling, being so recognizable without being known. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” you lied, elbowing the blue alien out of the way. You could never tell much from a single glance at themis species despite their largely humanoid appearance.

You put your hand on his arm loosely, “come on, we’re late enough and you know how annoyed the others get.” Good, that seemed convincing enough.

The red paladin’s eyes go wide, his mouth a grimace and it’s then that you notice the feverish flush to his skin.

But he doesn’t pull away or argue.

You ignore the alien and decide small talk was the way to go until you put some distance, “I’m kind of hurt you didn’t come visit me while I was healing,” you stick close to the truth, “but since it only took an hour? a varga? for me to heal I won’t hold it against you.” He’s too warm.

Maybe the space flu?

Was that even a thing?

You weren't sure.

Mostly, you snuck into work camps and blew up strategic targets using whatever you could get your hands on to make a bomb. The chemistry came in handy.

He sways as he walks, looking like your roommate at the garrison after a few too many hits after an exam. “Do I know you?”

You flush, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just,” you look back, but the alien’s been left a couple turns back, “you looked uncomfortable.” You take a step back, letting go of him. “Are you okay?”

His expression furrows, mouth a pinched line as he goes from suspicious to annoyed, takes a u-turn back to suspicious as he studies you, before relaxing. “Yeah. yeah. . .who are you?”

You introduce yourself, taking on the meaningless garrison designation at the end, “technically second year member, though I’ve been with the runners mostly.” No designation more than a number.

“You do look human,” he replies simply, moving to get a look at your ears, “not many of those out here.”

“And yet somehow the sentries always look the other way,” you muse, “not very bright. I’m almost convinced the Empire’s in it’s failing bureaucracy days.”

He winces, before deadpanning, “eh, I don’t know how useful a lion is against the DMV.”

You laugh.

He takes slow deliberate breaths, steadying himself, “I’m Keith.”

“Seriously though, do you need to see a medic?” He looked in serious need of a tylenol. The ships were usually crisp, you wore a jacket most of the time to stave off the permanent chill.

Keith shakes his head, chewing his lip before meeting your gaze with an intense concentration in his violet eyes, as if he was gauging how much titrant he could add before hitting the endpoint and if half a drop was worth the risk. “I’m just. . .going through something.”

“Anyone I can call for you?” You weren't about to abandon him here. Sure, he was a paladin and could probably look after himself. But you couldn’t in good conscience walk away.

He swallows, looking down for a moment and you are startled to find how much you miss his attention boring into you with the loveliest eyes you’d ever seen.

“No,” Keith replies mulishly as he jerks away from you. “I’m fine.”

Which was a total lie. It was obvious he wasn’t feeling well but you weren’t about to get on his case. You were sure he had people for that. He wasn’t some random soldier in arms with you that you watched out for and hoped not to have to watch die.

You swallow the bitter thought away, crossing your arms over your chest.

Leaning back against the hall, you watch evenly as Keith stumbles, catching himself on the wall. His mouth is a drawn line of determination.

You didn’t understand why.

There was aid here. It wasn’t the same as crawling through cramped mining tunnels and swallowing back pain forcing yourself to work through it until the mission was accomplished.

“Do you need help,” you ask.

“No.” He leans a hand against the wall.

You raise a brow, wondering if he would pass out for whatever weird space flu he had clearly caught and you could only hope it was nothing like the infections that ran rampant in the work camps, or if he would give in and accept your offer of help. The former seemed more likely.

You don’t ditch him though, focusing your attention on the porthole to the stars.

There was no rush: no reason to help him by force. People didn’t learn if you babied them you’d caught on quick back on earth during your tutoring hours. You had to let them fall and smash their face in sometimes.

So you stay, watching the stars.

Keith makes no move to take another step.

It still got you, looking out into the vastness of space and realizing this really was your life now, you were out here, further than you’d ever dreamed. Everywhere you looked, novel stars, distant planets teaming with life. You could have done without the war, but it was what it was.

“And here I thought Mars would be the furthest I’d go,” you comment more to yourself than Keith.

The red paladin makes a small sound of acknowledgement.

“Earth’s, or was, at the beginning of our space age. People had barely begun to live on the research bases on Mars,” you watch him out of the corner of your eye in case he really does pass out, “so no Star Trek for me but now I’m here.”

“There’s a war going on.”

You turn over to look at him, sort of annoyed because yeah you got that, spent enough time in the trenches without a fancy lion spaceship, but the bubbling annoyance dissipates when you see the upturned corners of his mouth. Keith was teasing you.

Shifting your weight, you add, “yeah well, instead of being a footnote in a Mars base’s history I’ll be a footnote in this war instead.” Gallows humor. You needed a lot of that when regularly infiltrating camps and posing as a slave, as a prisoner, the bottom of the barrel that wouldn’t get a second glance from the Galra soldiers.

He frowns. “I don't think anyone’s just a footnote.”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.” Keith looks away.

You feel bad. “It’s probably better not to be so cynical,” you muse, “but it’s like the vice president thing, no one remembers them unless the president gets assassinated.” God you couldn’t help how dark your humor could veer even when trying to be positive.

He looks over at you, head tilted, considering. Despite being standoffish, Keith was easy to read unlike the slick space pirates you’d encountered.

You meet his gaze head on.

“I might need some help,” he allows.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth. “If you’re sure,” you utter, regarding him carefully and unable to keep the teasing from your voice. You shouldn’t. You barely knew him and what little you’d learned made it clear he wouldn’t take well to your teasing.

War made quick brothers out of everyone.

But Keith held himself afar.

A questioning glance danced in his uniquely violet eyes as he tried to get a read on you. “I am.”

You nod, stepping besides him and wrapping an arm around his waist. You were always caught by surprise by how heavy a grown adult could be. And depending on the alien. . .

He takes a step, still holding himself afar from you, barely resting any weight on you. His muscles were stiff under your touch, back rigid that matched the uncomfortable look on his chiselled features.

You follow his lead.

At Keith’s sedate pace, it would take quite a while before you dropped him off where you needed to go. Being personable was part of being a leader or it’d lead to mutiny. Not that you had ever gotten that far. The Galaxy Garrison had slapped the graduation badge on your uniform and sent you into space.

You scrabble for familiar territory, earth and the garrison. The Black Paladin was a Garrison member returned from the grave. Rumor had it all the paladins were garrison deserters.

Veronica McCain did share a familiar resemblance with the blue paladin. It was probably true.

“I attended the Garrison campus at Guiana,” you offer. “I was hoping for Texas or Florida to be closer to home, but I didn’t test into pilot or engineer.”

Keith makes a sound in the back of his throat.

Even through the fabric of his uniform, he felt warm. How anybody could be warm in such cold halls was anybody’s guess. A permanent chill had sunk its way into your bones. You missed the humid heat of Guiana.

“It was nice though. The jungle was pretty close and it was always hot,” you tell him. “I thought I wouldn’t miss the humidity, step outside and it was like having just showered but I do. These ships have to be at 15 C.”

“Texas is hot too.” Keith utters quietly.

“Isn’t the desert cold at night though,” you ask, already knowing the answer. It had been basic earth science.

“Yeah. It is.” There’s longing in his voice. You wish he’d say more just to hear him speak.

Warmth spreads, an embarrassing tell, through your cheeks.

“I did miss the snow while there,” you continue, “it didn’t snow much up in Vancouver but it was never as hot as Guiana, and the rain was warm!” You had never gotten over that. The rain would spot and start throughout the day but the sun would keep on shining.

“What were you,” Keith asks bluntly.

“Chemisist, more the physical and inorganic type,” you admit, “it was fun doing wet labs.” That had gotten you hooked back in regular school. “Then got shunted to command track after a few too many volunteering opportunities. Guess the lesson there’s to not try too hard.”

That gets a laugh out of him.

“You,” you ask him as he shifts more of his weight onto you, finally accepting the help he asked for. Stubborn guy.

“Pilot.”

You look over at him, his wild hair brushing against your cheek and the simple action shouldn’t excite you but it does. He was hot with sharp features offset by a certain enthralling earnestness but he could run a comb through his hair.

Keith didn’t seem the pilot type: arrogant, loud, generally strong personalities.

“You any good,” you ask though you’ve heard about Voltron so he has to be pretty fucking good to be part of them. How did Voltron choose its pilots?

He smirks easily, close to a smile at the mere mention of piloting and you knew that moment he loved it: didn’t matter if he was good at it or not. You swallow hard as anticipation buzzes under your skin for no good reason.

Get your head out of the gutter, you tell yourself.

“I’m a pretty good pilot,” Keith answers, somehow managing to sound like he’s stating a fact instead of bragging.

“Just pretty good?” You smile at him, letting him know you were only joking around as you both round another corner, finally making it to the transient quarters. People were always dropping in and out of mobile spaceports like these.

He snorts. “Better than most.” Keith shrugs, smiling over at you.

“Don’t be modest on my account,” you utter, looking away, not sure what to do about the growing heat in your body that had nothing to do with temperature controls.

“It’s true,” he says simply.

Honesty was a hard thing to come by. You were finding more and more reasons to like the red paladin as you reach his current room. No special treatment here.

Or maybe it was politics and optics, making sure everyone knew Voltron was of the people and not aiming to replace Zarkon as rulers of the universe.

Keith places a hand against the door, putting space between you both.

You swallow, glancing away, feeling some of the tension ease.

“You sure you don’t want me to send a medic,” you ask him, looking over at his striking eyes. The heat under your skin is a live wire: you curl your toes in your shoes. People usually didn’t affect you this much. Even the smell of him was so distinct, drawing you in.

It was an unprecedented reaction.

He must feel it too.

Keith studies you with an enraptured fascination shining in his wide eyes, mouth parted on the verge of answering. Both your bodies sway towards each other like branches in the wind: sunflowers orienting towards the sun.

You shift your weight from one foot to another.

It relieves enough tension for you to shift away.

“No. No medic,” Keith finally answers.

“Right then.” But you don’t make a move to leave.

He says nothing.

The silence is broken by the hum of the ship's engines under your feet. People move about and you can hear their footsteps echoing on the metal floors.

Supposedly quintessence powered ships smelled like ozone.

This one was powered by crystals and some Olkari engine. You wouldn't know the specifics, they were beyond you. And not your job.

You look back at him, ready to leave. The space between you could so easily tilt to awkward and you weren’t sure what you were doing or why you found yourself so entranced by Keith. You barely knew him. You didn’t want to be one of the soldiers with a photograph in your pocket and a farflung hope that you’d-

He’s looking at you, cautious, movements slow and deliberate as if he’s caught between thinking and simply doing.

Then Keith’s demeanour becomes determined: deciding to take the leap without looking down. He cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you.

For a second you’re baffled, trying to figure out how you got to point B when this wasn’t a bar and you had no agenda, before you shrug and kiss him back. Keith was undeniably attractive. He was even a bit taller than you which was compelling, you were on the tall side for a girl.

It’s not some unsolvable thought experiment, you kiss him back.

And a current of static electricity runs through your core. Heat pools after only just a kiss that steals your breath away.

You can’t get enough, his hands warm against your skin, igniting a delicious sensation in your very core. You want more. You kiss him harder, your mouth against his, sucking on his bottom lip.

Your hands clutch at the fabric of his shift.

Keith kisses you back, matching your frenzied energy, his mouth parting against yours and pulling you flush against his chest.

It does nothing to dissolve the tension, the charged energy between you spikes. Like a fire fed by wood it grew.

It was a heady feeling, his hands caressing your cheeks as Keith kissed you with a vigor you thought only existed in soapy dramas. Heat pools in your belly like a sinking stone: you liked his intensity.

Keith pulls away, catching his breath, resting his forehead against yours.

Some of the muddled list clears from your head, now completely in the gutter as you press Keith against the door to his room.

Oh. . .were you really doing this?

Keith looks a fuckable mess, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. Still, he hesitates.

You can feel the question linger in the air, can feel it in the featherlight touch of his hands ghosting over your cheeks as he makes to pull away, to let you go if you want to turn back now. But you don’t.

You want to run your hands through his hair. You’re practically burning up wondering how Keith would look splayed on the bed between your thighs. . .how he would feel.

Would he be just as intense in bed as he fucked you?

“You feel it too,” he asks quietly.

You furrow your brows, thrown. There were a lot of intense emotions coursing through you all narrowed down to feeling horny as a teenager back on earth. Masturbation only went so far.

You swallow, trying to rack your brain cells together and say something. Yeah. It was a bit. . .much. Space much. But that didn’t make any sense. You hadn’t taken any drinks from strangers.

The connection was too strong to discount the possibility of space weirdness affecting both of you.

“Yeah,” you reply, sounding more whiny than you’d like to. The apex of your thighs throbbed with want. Anticipation had built up and he was right there; Keith

s breath fanned over you, his forehead against yours like a touchpoint.

Your fingers were still curled into the fabric of his shirt.

In the hall.

Where anyone could see.

“So what now,” you ask, “medic?”

Keith snorts, “No. I just-do you want to come inside?”

You smirk. Everyone knew what that meant. There were so many variations with the same outcome.

“Yeah. Okay.” You put a pin in any alien space nonsense and slip inside Keith’s assigned quarters for however long Voltron was here for.

The lights are off. You don’t bother to study the room when Keith crushes his mouth against yours. You stumble around in the dark, feeling emboldened now that he’d voiced an invitation, he wanted this as much as you did, and run your hands up his chest. He was lean and lithe. Keith leans into your touch, a shiver running down his spine when you run your fingers through his hair and run your tongue over his bottom lip.

Keith moans, the sound scratchy from the back of his throat excites you.

It was thrilling to know you could elicit such a response from someone. You liked feeling hot and sexy. And from a guy like Keith who you were vibing with. . .

He finds the jagged hem of your cut tank top, which had doubled as a bandage, and slides his hands under your shirt. His fingers are calloused, skin hot against yours and there was always something so carnal about skin on skin touch. Keith clutches at your sides and leads you backwards.

You trust that he knows the layout.

Your mind has boiled down to simple desires.

“Keith,” you mumble against his mouth as he guides your hips against his and you feel his cock beneath the fabric. It goes straight to your ego: straight to your pussy.

More heat. It’s unbearable how much your body throbs and you moan against him, against his lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling.

“Mhm,” he asks, just as overcome with lust as you were. Keith tilts his head up, and you kiss his jaw, kiss the side of his throat, nipping at the flesh and enjoying the breathy moans he makes as your knees hit the bed.

You want more.

You move your hands to his shoulders, “let's get this off,” you utter softly, pushing at his jacket.

“Okay,” he replies, crowding you against his bed until you have no choice but to sit down. Keith discards his jacket, and pulls his shirt over his head.

Your breath hitches in your throat. It’s dark. You can’t see him well. You still react like a charged electron.

“Now you,” Keith states simply, not exactly a command. It was nice, the lack of mind games and subterfuge.

You scoot up further on the bed, shrugging your bomber jacket off.

He’s watching.

Awkwardness creeps up on you. There was no sexy way to take off a sports bra.

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. Then you peel off your sports bra. The elastic worked too well.

Keith’s sitting up on his knees.

“You’re beautiful,” he states.

“Come here,” you utter, inviting him closer.

He complies readily, cupping your cheek and kissing your mouth eagerly, closer to a lover than a random encounter.

You grab his other hand, guiding him up to your chest, to your breast. Keith runs his thumb over your nipple, gooseflesh rises on your skin. He trails bruising kisses down your throat.

Your breath catches in your throat. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you, savoring the feel of his chest against yours.

“Fuck,” you groan as Keith bites down hard at the crook of your neck, harder than you’d expected.

He stills. “I’m-I,” making to pull away.

“No,” you reach for him, tilting his head up as you move to straddle his waist, “it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.”

“I won’t do it again,” he stammers out.

“I didn't say I didn't like it.” You push him down against the bed, topping him. “Just warn a girl.”

Keith wraps his hands around your hips, tugging at the waistband of your trousers. “These are kind of in the way.”

Laughing, you reply, “could say the same to you.” Your hands pop the button of his jeans.

It’s a fumble to pull your trousers down. Neither of you care, eager to get on with it. He shoves his jeans down his legs along with his boxers.

You straddle Keith, completely naked and lean down to capture his lips against yours. His cock twitches against your thigh and your toes curl up. His tongue runs over your top lip, you part your mouth, letting him in.

You cup his cheeks between your hands, your hips rolling against his.

He thrusts feverishly against you. His fingers dig into your bare hips, skin against skin.

“Come here,” Keith utters hoarsely, “I wanna fuck you.”

“Think I’d rather ride you,” you reply back breathlessly.

“You can do that after,” he whines, a rumble emanating from his chest but your head is too fucked up to make sense of it.

You sit up, hands on his chest. “That’s presumptuous of you.”

Keith grins, wrapping his hands around your wrists, and rolls you over so he’s on top. “Is it,” he asks rhetorically as his hand reaches between your thighs, ghosting over the wetness of your pussy, “when you’re this wet?”

You moan, canting your hips, cashing the feel of his hand, wanting relief. It was a mounting pressure in your belly, a forest fire under your skin and you needed Keith. “Okay. yeah,” you nod, closing your eyes when Keith bent his head and licked a stripe from your nipple to your collarbone. You whimper, lost in the sensation.

“Tell me what you want,” Keith asks.

“Fuck me. Please fuck me,” you utter, you hands clutchinf at his shoulders, bringing him flush agaisnt you.

Keith aquieses.

You bend your knees, spreading your legs as he positions his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Keith mutters as he pushes into you.

Fuck indeed. You moan his name without thought, closing your eyes and laying your head back against the bed. His cock fills you up, sliding into your pussy with ease given how turned on you were.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he stretches you out.

“God, yes,” you utter dazed.

Keith moves his hips. You roll your hips up to meet him. He nips at your collarbone as he thrusts into you with favour.

As promised he fucks you.

Keith captures your mouth in a kiss that catches the moans you make as he reaches between you and runs his thumb over your clit. His pace, the way he was kissing you madly. . .the heat that had been building since you’d met him comes crashing down.

You come.

Leaving you boneless.

“Keith,” you whimper.

“Sh,” he tells you, kissing the shell of your ear, “let me make you feel good.”

“You..sort of already did,” you utter completely fucked out.

“Turn over.” Keith says even as he’s already helping you move, his arms supporting your weight. He presses his lips on the back of your neck, as he grabs a pillow and sets it under you.

You bring up your knees, laying on your legs, “thought I was going to go next,” you tease, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair.

He stills, “if you. . .”

“No. No,” you shrug, “I did ask you to fuck me.”

Keith runs his hands over your shoulders, sliding down your sides. He squeezes your ass with his hands.

“Best two out of three,” you offer, half joking half serious because while you were still blissed out from having just orgasmed, you could already feel your pussy clench with anticipation. Seriously, the effect he had on you-

You can feel his smile against your skin, “If you think you can handle it.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you reply, arching your back into him, titling your head back, and pulling his hair so you could kiss him. It was sloppy, and the angle was awkward, but none of it mattered when Keith stroked your pussy with his fingers, dipping into your wet folds.

Already stimulated, you shudder with pleasure.

Your tongue strokes his in an open mouthed kiss. He tastes as good as he smells, Keith filling up your senses like an incense stick wafting through a room.

He wraps an arm around your chest, his hand caressing your breast, pulling you against his chest, both of you melding together. Keith thrusts his cock into you again.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hand fisting the sheets of his bed, moaning into his mouth.

It was a combination of his cock in you, his thumb rolling your nipple in his hand, that set you aflame.

You couldn’t get enough, your hips jerking back, up to meet his. Keith fucks you against the bed.

He palms your breast in his hand, pulling you up to him, keeping you close as he plants a kiss at the juncture of your ear and jaw, on the side of your neck whilst nipping the skin and you moan, his cock hitting just the right spot as he slams into you.

First he grows comfortable, pulling almost entirely out before thrusting hard as he finds a pace that leaves you both a mess.

“Right there, right there,” you utter.

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He punctuates his words with a roll of his hips, his fingers draw a circle around your clit without giving you the satisfaction you desperately seek, already building up to another climax.

You nod jerkily. “So fucking good Keith. Your cock feels so fucking good,” you manage to reply.

He speeds up, faster, deeper, at your words. The bedframe, bolted down into the floor, creaks.

“Just like that.” You moan wantonly. “Right there.”

He responds to your words, pulling out to the head of his cock, teasing your entrance just so before slamming back in.

You shut your eyes and whimper, over sensitive to your very marrow. It was too much. Keith was trailing kisses down your spine, his breath warm, his cock twitching inside your filling every inch of your pussy up.

With a shudder, you come, stars behind your eyelids and short circuiting. You never knew sex could be this amazing. Not in real life.

You got what people meant about the right partner.

The right sexual energy to match.

You collapse, a puppet with its strings cut. Keith’s hand across your chest is the only thing keeping you from melding into the mattress like a blob. His hips thrust against your ass mindlessly, chasing his own climax.

With another couple of thrusts, his hips snapping against you, Keith moans your name and comes undone behind you.

He comes inside you, hot and sticky.

His hand grasps the back of your neck, holding you in place as he comes inside you. It’s unexpectedly hot. You didn’t know you could like this in bed.

You didn’t know how much you liked an obstinate expression with wide eyes until you met Keith. He had the type of soulful eyes you could drown in.

He had drawn out something in you that you hadn’t even been aware of.

Your thoughts center on him as he finishes inside you.

“You take my dick so good,” he says with a surprising amount of softness for what amounts to a one night stand and a pang strikes your chest, wishing you had met him under better circumstances where there might be-

Keith gets off you, slumping next to you on the bed.

There’s a thrum of satisfaction running through you as you look at his face in profile. The insane idea that you might just stay and cuddle plants itself.

That was impossible.

It was time to cut and run.

Sure, he’d fucked you. But he was also still half a stranger. No matter how jumbled your thoughts were, you refused to give into the pull he had on you.

You wanted to lay there with him.

Keith blinks slowly, looking as blissed out as you feel, reaching out a hand towards you, but stopping himself halfway.

You feel a little disappointed, but say nothing. It was just a one off thing you remind yourself, no matter how you felt.

Now that you can think a little more clearly, though the sensation remains like a lump in your throat that starts there no matter how much you swallow, you glance around the dark room. Only the barest red lights on the floor illuminate enough to cast shadows.

Keith’s own eyes reflect the light like a cat. Just a glimmer of traffic sign yellow.

But you’re too tired to think, so you file it away in your head under the nebulous details you’ve learned about the red paladin.

You blink, grimancing as Keith’s come runs down your thigh onto the sheets. At least they weren’t yours.

He closes his eyes.

“I’d say sorry about the mess,” you break the easy silence lulling you into staying there, “but it's your fault,” you tease way too familiarly.

Keith sounds embarrassed when he utters, “sorry about that. I can get carried away.”

You smile softly, tracing over his shadowed form with your eyes but resisting the urge to reach out. That part was over. “It was good.”

“You did mention.”

So he could joke.

You giggle in the darkness that envelopes the room. You were good at being friendly and taking charge but you understood the hesitancy to open up to people you just met.

Keith’s chest makes a rumbling sound akin to a cheetah purring.

You try and hold onto the thought, sure it means something, but the sound draws you in and you lose the battle against yourself, curling up into his side.

He takes this as the permission it is, and tangles his limbs with yours.

A thrum of warmth surges where Keith’s skin touches you and you’re not sure if its his running warm or if it's all in your head or-

your eyes drift closed.

He’s purring.

You know Keith would be embarrassed if you pointed it out.

So you say nothing.

Everything seemed so intangible anyhow. The world had been turned down a notch. The post orgasm glow remained unrivalled.

Even a hit from a bong didn’t measure up.

Your first time had been a real embarrassment (you hadn’t managed to get the boy’s cock in you), this was just a weird quirk of his, and it was soothing.

You close your eyes.

Keith’s breathing is deep and steady, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but don’t feel pressured to check.

It was nice, not scurrying off, not being more than a little drunk. War was exhausting. Earth had only been in it for less than three years. No wonder some aliens were in such shit moods.

You exhale.

There’s no way to mark the passage of time.

The bed shifts under you. Keith runs the back of his hand gently over your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter open.

“So would this be round two or three,” you ask lightly.

Keith smiles lightly, “you did say…”

“I did,” you laugh easily, blushing, the flush creeping from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

You swing a leg over his waist, straddling him, but not without feeling the start of a soreness in your legs. It doesn’t deter you.

Keith lays back, watching you through his lashes as you sit up. He looks lovely.

You lean down and kiss his mouth, reaching for his cock with your hands. He was already half hard when you wrap your hand around his shaft.

His breath hitches in his throat as you move your hand. It’s been a moment since you’d jerk anyone, but it’s not rocket science. You press kisses down his throat, moving your hand firmly up and down his length until he’s completely hard. You nip at his collarbone, marking him the way he’d left bruising kiss all over you.

His cock twitches in your hand, Keith’s hips thrusting up into you.

Anticipation builds in your belly, but you want to set the pace, stay in charge. So you still your movements.

Keith whines under you, his hands holding your waist.

“Be a good boy for me,” you tell him. “Can you do that?”

“Mm.”

“Use your words.”

“Yeah,” he manages hoarsely, “I can be good.”

You smile, lining him up against your entrance. You shift your hips, teasing his cock against your wet folds, closing your eyes as you moan at the feeling.

Keith thrusts up, trying to get more friction.

You still wanting to drag it out. Though your thighs ached and your pussy throbbed and you wondering if you should just-

You rub his cockhead against your pussy, “oooOH,” you moan. Your nails scratch his chest lightly, trying to steady yourself. Your heart raced, back arching down to him.

“Come here,” Keith groans, his fingers trailing up, asking for more, his hand on the small of your back.

You give in, sinking down onto his cock.

He moans your name, shutting his eyes.

It’s pornographic, the way Keith rises up to meet you, hips bucking against yours, the expanse of his pale throat.

You roll your hips slowly, fucking yourself on his cock. At this angle, the way he filled you-

“Fuck,” Keith moans, “you feel so good.”

“I could say the same,” you reply, sliding against his hips, picking up speed. You hold yourself up, hand on his chest.

You suck in a breath as his cock thrusts into you. Static filled your head as you chased your pleasure, grinding against him. You tilt your head back, moaning his name, everything but Keith becoming background noise.

He palms your breast.

Your breath hitches when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and finger.

“Ah,” you sigh.

Your stomach was taunt.

He doesn’t go further. You sort of wish he would. You trusted Keith not to hurt you. . .too badly.

The idea excites you, as he wraps his hand around your throat.

You match him, curling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard, “look at me,” you try and order but your voice is a whine. You’re too hot and heavy to think.

His cock twitches inside you, filling you up and fuck it felt good to be streched out.

Keith’s thumb strokes the side of your throat, his grip firm. “Do you like this,” he asks, his gaze heavy on you. He was entirely concentrated on you. It was like being worshipped.

It sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins.

“I wouldn’t mind if you got rougher,” you admit, finding it easy to trust him.

He looks away.

You falter. Had you read things wrong?

Keith bucks his hips up against you and you let the thought go, sinking onto his cock and groaning, “Keith…”

It was easy to let go when it felt this good. His hand around your throat, fingers digging into your hips, you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. Not that anyone would be able to tell from over your uniform.

A shudder runs down your spine, you squirm on his cock mindlessly, thinking about bruises in the shape of his hands, about the marks on your neck you could already feel blooming on your skin. Heat surges in your chest, something primal as your thoughts linger there.

You nails run down his chest, leaving shallow scratches as you try and get a better hold, desperately grinding against Keith, down on the bed, his cock ramming into you. “Fuck,” you think, “fuck. . .Keith. . .”

You can’t stand it.

The pressure in your stomach, the heat scorching your pussy, the sound of Keith’s whines and moans, your name tumbling out of his mouth like a hymn that raised your heart beat, blood pounding in your ears.

Keith squeezes your neck, your throat bobs under his fingers and fuck-

You come.

Your legs tremble, unable to support you any longer as you collapse, a quivering mess on Keith. His hands move down to grip your thighs, pulling you down flush against him, down to the hilt of his cock as he comes, moaning erotically.

The thread of heat doesn’t dissipate entirely as you rest on his chest, boneless and sticky with sweat, but it relaxes and you breath the scent of him in instead of pulling away entirely.

Keith strokes a hand down your spine, an afterthought, “that was. . .”

“Yeah.” You’re exhausted.

You close your eyes, listening to the inhuman rumble of Keith’s chest as it rises and falls with every breath you take.

You end up slipping out. The halls are in the light cycle, but no one bothers you as you walk.

Getting up the next morning is hell.

Your legs are sore, and that’s not even mentioning how much your pussy hurts when you take a step. You take a dose of painkillers still remaining from your injury and check your messages.

Nothing from earth.

That was expected.

The meager universal communications were taken up by the war effort. You still sent your family messages, even if it was just one way. It was a way to keep in touch. It felt like watching starlight and knowing it was millions of years old, a form of time travel.

You shower.

Keith’s come was a mess on the inside of your thighs and the thought is not as gross as it should be, your skin warming up, zapped by static. You run your fingers over your clit and fuck yourself in the shower thinking of the red paladin and his come.

You get out, brushing your hair out, not looking in the mirror at the purple hickies spread out like a constellation on your chest, and realize how weird you were being.

Come was gross.

You hated swallowing so you never did. The tentative relationships at the garrison had been short, you had all been teenagers, and now anything that happened was a one off thing sometimes involving aliens.

You swallow, gripping the counter of your sink. You were horny again.

No.

Not going there.

No space weirdness this morning.

Because you’re on leave for the space equivalent of 6 or 5 days, you don’t have much to do. You get food. It had taken getting used to, and figuring out which brightly colored pastel goo thing was good, but there was a variety. You still had no clue what was plants or animals up in space.

The more liberated planets, the more supplies trickled in. Pirates loved to take a cut.

You eat as soldiers stop by to refuel, fill up on supplies. Despite the stress, you missed being out on the front. Being out of the action sucked.

Sitting around on a spaceship was boring.

It wasn’t like they had shops or movie theaters. Walking around too much ended up with you being in the way.

You clench your jaw, feeling feverish.

And you had just been getting better. . .

You shove the thought away.

You end up watching space TV: reality TV shows like Galra Ninja Warrior and nature docu series on plants, some you’ve been on, before finally sliding your hand under the waistband of your trousers and rubbing your clit.

It takes the edge off, but the heat’s still there, pressed up in the pit of your stomach, cheeks flushes and you sigh, unsatisfied as you click to something other than the marine biomes of Kmeolsuahr. For aliens larger than a schoolbus, they were peaceful creatures. Since they were filter feeders, agriculture had never developed a hold on their planet, but water generators were plentiful.

Yet another show starring Galra. It was the most common type of show in the Empire. Hijacking communications had given this traveling spaceship TV. You were glad for it now.

You curl up, the communicator snug around your wrist translating everything instantaneously. It was the part in the soap where there has to be a duel for honor. What a load of crap.

The two Galra circle each other, close ups of their face like a mexican stand-off. Through TV you got to know the Glara in the empire as more than just soldiers. Spending time in the camps taught you that even Galra citizens could be arrested for treasonous statements against Zarkon.

They make growling alien sounds, something between a jaguar and a sound not found on earth, an underlying clicking that raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

You connect the dots.

The glowing eyes, the purrs and rumbles, and whatever weird alien thing was going on: the red paladin was part Galra.

Only that made no sense.

He was from Earth.

First contact had been what, when the paladins had disappeared? When the Kerberos mission had been abducted, and boy had that made fringe conspiracy theorists happy. . .how could he be part Galra?

Was it even your problem?

Surely this would go away. . .

You were leaving in a little over five days.

You curl up and watch TV until you fall asleep, determined to enjoy the rest while it lasted and your weren’t trudging through waist deep mud.

“Read through the debrief,” a commander with a nebulous rank above you asks. In your line of work, so much was redacted. Information gathering was a fancy way of saying spy. It was why you worked so closely with the rebels.

You don’t even blink at the slight pale easter egg yellow alien, ears that resembled hair, long and droopy like a rabbit: there were four of them. You’d met stranger. “Yeah. Long mission.”

You were not looking forward to being on a planet with an inhospitable surface. A sun close enough that set the surface on fire with it’s rays, no thanks.

Still, it was your assignment.

“It is vital.”

They always said that.

It seemed to be extracting some key players. Who they were remained unknown until you had to know. It was a lot of flying blind to keep information from leaking to the wrong ears. Loose lips sink ships and all that jazz.

“I’ll treat it that way,” you nod, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. It would be fun flying a hijacked Galra fighter ship. The planet was pretty deep in Empire controlled space.

“And,” the alien looks you up and down like a Garrison RA finding a stain on your uniform during morning inspection, “get rid of that scent.”

“What,” you ask plainly, “scent.”

The alien raises a hairless muscle over its eye. The gesture is human enough. “Voltron has docked here.”

It was subterfuge. Both of you were in the same line of work, you could do this dance in your sleep. “As far as I know, yes.” You are careful to keep your expression neutral, feeling stupid for not having used negating get. It wasn’t even rationed, but used pretty widely. There were many aliens who relied primarily on scent, and those whose sense of smell was far sharper than yours.

“Mm.”

You hold their gaze.

You weren’t one to waver.

“Any further questions?”

“None.”

“Good.”

You walk blithely back to your room, intending to shower, again, and probably take care of the warmth in your gut. The heat was like an uncomfortable itch under your skin that stubbornly remained no matter how much you ignored it.

How was it even possible that Keith was any part alien let alone Galra? You were pretty sure the entire planet would have known if the Galra arrived on the planet.

It was intriguing.

Your mind drew up the details you knew, trying to make them fit. It was half mental exercise, half the urge to actually get to the bottom of this. Keith didn’t look half Glara like Prince Lotor and his gang of misfits. . .quarter, one sixteenth. . .

Occam's Razor.

The mystery occupied your mind as you made it back to your quarters.

Keith is pacing outside your door.

How did he even know where your quarters were?

“Did you sniff your way here,” you ask, genuinely curious. Maybe the traits might not be apparent. . .just how Galra was the red paladin. You were reminded again how little you actually knew him.

Understanding fills his eyes; he knew you knew. Keith looks over at you for a second before ducking his head dejectedly, a straw dog expecting to be run off.

Your heart ached.

How a paladin of Voltron could be so self conscious despite going toe to toe with the Empire on a daily basis. . .you didn’t know. They were only flesh and blood after all.

You take pity on him, “so is this going to be a thing,” the corners of your mouth lift into a small smile. You were still a little sore. You wouldn’t mind going another few rounds. . .

But you needed to clear some things up first.

Just how much of this between you was space Galra funkiness?

Keith snorts, looking up, meeting your searching gaze. His shoulders were still tense, unsure that you weren’t about to tell him to shove off. Not the loner type entirely by choice then, his innate awkwardness must have made it hard to connect.

It wasn’t a problem you’d ever had, rushing into everything headfirst, taking charge.

“Not like there’s a lot of humans to choose from up here,” he says self-deprecatingly.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m down for some alien funkiness,” you answer evenly, taking a step towards him. He inhales sharply, looking away again, this time in thought.

The lines of his face increase, clearly uncomfortable, frowning.

“I can’t usually,” Keith admits in a tense voice, “smell this well. . .though I can smell better than Shiro.”

“Shiro?”

“The black paladin,” he explains, surprised he has to explain at all.

You answer his unvoiced question, “everyone tends to focus on the color of the lion rather than the pilot inside.”

“Oh. That’s dumb.” He looks a little relieved at the anonymity that grants.

“Is it just me then,” you ask, getting to the bottom of things.

He nods, meeting your gaze. “I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking of fucking you,” he says without ceremony.

You find yourself blushing. The connection went both ways, the very alien connection. “Don’t hate me but I think we should go to the medic.”

Keith frowns. “Or we could just fuck.”

“That horny,” you tease, raising a brow, “or was I just that good?”

Keith cusps a hand against your cheek, his thumb running over your lips.

Your mouth parts, the tip of your tongue grazing his thumb.

“So you don’t want to fuck,” Keith asks, a playful smirk on his lips.

You swallow, the urge to say yes right there as his touch on you entranced you, sending desire cascading through your body down to your toes. “This isn’t just alien weirdness is it?” You wanted it to be more.

“No,” he shakes his head, his breath mingling with yours. “That’s-I’m not that impulsive.”

“Good,” you mutter, pressing your body against his, and opening the door to your room.

#keith kogane #vld keith #keith x reader #keith kogane imagine #mine #smut #surprisingly soft for being esentially a take on the whole galra heat thing in fanon #part 2 will b just sex lol #feedback much appreciated (as a motivator too)

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thornedrose44 · 4 years

Text

Prompt: “I can’t do this. Just leave me alone.”

Read on AO3

"Goodnight, Kara." Lena said from across the room when she finally managed to catch Kara's eye.

It was the first time they had made eye contact since Kara had welcomed her inside at the start of the night. Kara startled at the sudden sight of Lena, waving farewell as she stepped quietly towards the door, but made no move to follow after her and when the door swung quietly shut behind her Lena knew things would never be the same.

It was Kara's birthday party (her Earth birthday party to those that happened to be in the know, which to Lena's un-surprise was a rather considerable group all things considered). Kara had invited her, further proof of the strength of their newly reaffirmed friendship. Lena had been grateful for the invite, appreciating it as the sign that they were back on the right track, and accepted it without hesitation.

She had then proceeded to spend hours upon hours thinking of the perfect gift for Kara, excitement and anticipation building in her stomach.

It would be her first proper night out in months after being thrown back into her role as CEO and dealing with all the negative press following Lex’s downfall and upcoming conviction. Her working hours had reached an excess that she had never achieved before. The blowback onto her in the form of hatred for the Luthors was even greater than last time as well, despite her crucial role in taking Lex down. She was still deemed guilty by association especially since she had been working closely with Lex for a long time before revelations about his villainy became apparent.

The news were critiquing her every move, slandering her every chance they got and rallying the masses to a fervour - she was now facing at least one assassination attempt every week.

Regardless of all that, Lena had one salvation, one light of hope that she clung onto. Her friendship with Kara. It was growing again. They were spending time together. Relearning one another or learning about each for the first time in Lena's case. The conversation was finally less stilted and the trust was back.

But there was still something missing, something stopping them from returning to exactly where they were before.

Lena, as the months ticked by, realised that they were no longer as physically close as they once were. Hugs were rare. Gentle touches of the hands were swiftly snatched back to prevent lingering. Even extended eye contact was fleeting.

Lena at first thought the problem was that she had hurt Kara so badly that the woman who sometimes communicated solely through physical affection no longer wanted to be touched by Lena. That broke something in Lena. That Kara, even though she was trying to be kind, friendly and forgiving to Lena, was not comfortable with any sort of physical contact between them, drove Lena into a drunken stupor of college-level proportions.

Once the alcohol was out of her system and she had suitably recovered from her hangover, Lena had allowed the scientist within her to take over.

No more assumptions.

She would gather evidence, make an hypothesis and work towards a solution.

If she wanted Kara back in her life properly - cuddles on the sofa and lengthy hugs a necessity of that - Lena would put the effort in.

So she observed… and what she observed was this…

Pink cheeks and bashful expressions whenever their gazes met.

A thick swallow and faltering breath whenever their hands brushed.

Deep sighs and fingers digging fleetingly into her back as if on the edge of pulling her closer whenever they embraced.

Dark eyes and teeth biting into a bottom lip whenever Lena stretched or moved her hair away from her neck.

Attraction, affection and interest .

Lena didn’t believe the results of her evidence; she re-ran the tests over and over again trying to work out if she had just interacted with Kara on an odd day, if she just happened to be thinking about something (someone) else at the same time but… it kept happening over and over again.

If it had been anyone else, Lena wouldn’t have doubted what she was seeing but… but.. This was Kara.

Kara, who she had been in love with since she had walked into her office with her cousin.

Kara, who had never picked up on or reacted to her flirts.

Kara, who had broken her heart with lies.

Kara, who meant so much to her.

Kara, who she had only just gotten back.

Was it worth the risk?

Fear had blinded her, of that she had no doubt, but was it keeping her safe from the hurtful truth of Kara not wanting to touch her anymore or from the potential happiness that Kara returned her feelings but was too sweet or shy to put herself in a position that would make Lena uncomfortable.

Lena decided to take a chance - just this once because even if she was wrong about Kara not feeling the same, she had to believe that Kara was incapable of being cruel to her if she misread it. They promised each other honesty and Lena intended to show it.

It was why she needed to buy the perfect present, something that hinted that Kara’s feelings (if Lena was right) were returned. And just a week before the party, she knew exactly what the perfect present would be.

She wrapped it personally (normally Jess would wrap any gifts she had to send out), wanting to go the extra mile. It wasn’t perfectly done, a bit messy in places and the sellotape was excessive but she had done it herself which she knew Kara would appreciate more than professional gift wrapping.

Lena, however, realised that she had made a mistake the second she arrived at Kara's.

Knew she had misread… everything …

Because Kara… Kara couldn't stand to be near her for longer than it took to say hello, accept the present and then disappear off.

Lena hadn’t expected to be with Kara for all of the party; it was Kara's party and loads of her friends were in attendance, all of whom wanted to spend it with Kara. Who wouldn't?

It's just… Lena…

Lena didn't have anyone else.

It was made abundantly clear to Lena within the first thirty seconds that she was not welcome. Alex gave her a gruff nod from across the room before turning her back to her - she still didn't trust her and Lena had prioritised winning Kara back over the last few months above everything else. Brainy and Nia smiled at her but they were deep in conversation with CatCo employees all of whom were practically snarling at Lena (clearly not Luthor fans). James was here as well and dear God did he give her such a blazing look of hatred Lena was surprised she didn't burst into flames under its ferocity. (They hadn’t dated in this rewritten universe, much to Lena’s pleasure, though his original dislike for her was clearly a mainstay of every universe).

So… Lena grabbed a drink and stood in the corner as Kara moved seamlessly between her various groups of friends and colleagues, never once sparing Lena even a glance. The majority of her movements were accompanied by William Dey, who repeatedly tried to sling an arm around Kara's shoulder - the only joy Lena got from the evening was watching Kara repeatedly squirm out from under his touch.

She held out for two hours, sipping three beers and glancing intermittently at her phone as she stayed in her corner, hoping that Kara would come over for just five minutes.

Five minutes with Kara wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

Five mere minutes with Kara would have made the whole night worth it, made the glares and malevolent whispers sent her way worth it.

It was at the two hour mark that Lena accepted the truth.

Kara wasn't going to come over to talk to her.

Kara hadn't been pulling away from her due to a sudden realisation of feelings and attraction.

Kara hadn't expected her to accept the invite. Hadn't wanted her to accept.

Kara was ashamed of her, that was why she pulled away, why she didn't acknowledge her.

Lena couldn't really blame her but that didn't mean she had to stay and take it. So gathering what was left of her dignity, she shuffled towards the door, caught Kara's eye, waved and slipped outside… though, not before retrieving the present she had brought for Kara… it would have revealed far too much and Lena didn't need to deal with that on top of everything else.

Lena returned to her office for no other reason that she still had some good liquor stored there - Kara had encouraged her a couple of months ago to cut back on her drinking and she couldn’t deny the baby blue puppy dog eyes. She staggered into her office, chucking the present she had spent hours creating onto the sofa - she would buy Kara some random meaningless gift like a nice scarf or jumper tomorrow instead - and poured herself a full tumbler before flipping open her laptop and getting to work. She lost herself in designs and business plans as she made her way through the bottle.

She used to sit and brood when she drank but Sam had made her promise she wouldn’t do that anymore, hazel eyes filled with concern at where Lena’s mind wandered when unoccupied and fuelled by alcohol. Whilst Lena was in a pretty bleak space, she refused to hurt her last (and only) friend by breaking the one promise she had made to her.

It must have been two am when Lena heard a familiar thud from the balcony followed by a gentle knock that could only belong to one person.

“Kara, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Lena called out, not bothering to lift her gaze away from her laptop screen - she wasn't sure whether the sight of Kara would evoke tears or fury and she wished to give Kara neither.

“Hey… I just wanted… I was…" Kara stammered out; Lena didn't need to see her to know that she was fidgeting with the edge of her cape as she tiptoed nervously closer. "You know… flying around and saw the light on and figured I would check in on you, see how you were doing…”

“I’m fine. Just working.” Lena replied brusquely taking a sip of her whiskey.

“And drinking…” Kara muttered, her tone more worried than disapproving but Lena took offense regardless.

“Yes. It’s a Saturday night, cut me some slack.” Lena snapped back, defiantly swallowing what was left in her glass before slamming it down onto her desk.

The loud clack as it connected with the surface was followed by a heavy, almost suffocating silence.

“You left early.” Kara whispered into the unnatural stillness, shattering the fraudulent focus Lena had on her computer screen with those three words. Kara didn't sound confused or upset, just painfully neutral as if to emotionally step back from the situation so that she could garner some emotional truth from the CEO instead.

Well, Lena was done with that, done with giving more of herself than Kara wanted so she took a deep, calming breath and allowed her painstakingly crafted mask to slip into place.

“I wasn’t the first to leave.” Lena pointed out calmly, finally turning to look at Kara, certain she could keep her voice and face blank. It was then that she saw how… small Kara looked, which was never a word Lena would have used to describe Kara in full Supergirl regalia in the entire time she had known her. Kara looked defeated and lost, a tremble to her lip and very being that she tried to hide behind a shy smile.

“Well… I didn’t get a chance to talk to you…” Kara replied, ducking her head meekly as she admitted. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Lena pursed her lips at that, “I was there for over two hours, Kara. You could have come over whenever you wanted. It wasn’t like I was occupied.”

“Yeah… what was that about?” Kara laughed, rubbing the back of her neck, trying far too hard to make her tone light as if even the idea of Lena being without company was an entirely absurd concept.

The high-pitch to Kara's laugh and the unfamiliar tension around her eyes revealed to Lena that Kara knew exactly why Lena had been standing all alone that evening.

“I’m a Luthor, Kara." Lena replied sharply, not interested in trying to smooth over the harsh truths like Kara was always so keen to do when it suited her. "No one wanted me there and they all made that very clear.”

“I wanted you there.” Kara replied so soft and earnest that Lena nearly believed her.

“I highly doubt that.” Lena scoffed derisively.

“I did.” Kara insisted, eyes desperate and pleading.

Lena merely shook her head, turning back to face her computer, “If you say so…”

“Lena, I-”

“Kara… I can’t…” Lena muttered, her voice cracking in the exact way she didn’t want it to. “I can’t do this. Just leave me alone.” Lena requested, hating how it verged on begging.

“What?” Kara murmured in shock.

“I can’t just… pretend that I’m not hurt or upset.” Lena confessed, fingers curling into fists on her desk, eyes slamming shut to lock in the tears. “I just need… time to get over it and accept what we are. So until then… please just leave me alone.”

“I hurt you.” Kara repeated, her voice broken and raw .

“Kara, I didn’t…” Lena shook her head angrily, she didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to inflict herself on Kara who had tried so hard to be her friend. “It's your birthday, Kara.” Lena sighed sadly, “You get to spend it anyway you like with whomever you like.”

“I wanted to spend it with you.” Kara breathed, and Lena could hear the sharp inhales between each word that revealed that Kara was crying.

“Kara, you don’t need to…” Lena assured, with a wave of her hand, eyes focused on her lap, “let’s just leave it, okay?”

“No…” Kara gasped, and suddenly Lena felt a trembling hand connect with her own tightly curled fists, “wait… what did you mean ‘get over it’ and ‘accept what we are’?”

Lena sucked in a sharp breath at the question, biting down harshly on her bottom lip.

“Lena?” Kara pressed.

“Fuck it, fine.” Lena snapped, yanking her hands away from Kara’s infinitely soft touch and shoving herself out of her chair before storming away from Kara, desperate for space. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do-” Kara began, taking a tentative step after her.

“No, Kara.” Lena yelled, spinning back to face Kara, with a twisted snarl of total self-loathing. “Liked me.” Lena stressed, before throwing her hands up into the air as it all just boiled out of her, “God, I sound like a teenager. I thought you liked me. I thought you were touching me less because you were attracted to me. But then… I go to your party and you don’t… it was like you were ashamed of me, I sat in that fucking corner for two hours as everyone wished - out loud, I should say - that I would go. I sat in that fucking corner in the hope that you would speak to me for five minutes. For just five minutes. Because that… that would have made it all worth it. But you could barely look at me. And I realised you didn’t - don’t - like me… you’re ashamed of me, but you’re too kind to abandon me. Too noble and generous but even you have your limits. Of course, you didn’t want to spend your birthday talking to me. Of course you didn’t.”

Lena wanted to punch a wall, wanted to down the rest of her whiskey, wanted to do literally anything than be here in this moment watching the horror-struck expression on Kara’s face grow and grow with every word, watch Kara’s body tremble and shake with each harsh sweeping gesture.

“Lena, no… you…” Kara sobbed, striding towards her with fingers twitching at her sides, “you have got the complete wrong end of the stick. Actually, you’re right but also really wrong. And…” Kara swiped aggressively at the tears rolling down her cheeks as she approached Lena, stopping when the raven-haired woman flinched at their sudden closeness. “I screwed up but-”

“No. You don’t need to do this.” Lena cut in, holding a hand up to stop Kara, wanting Kara to know that her guilt was unnecessary and that she could finally be free of Lena.

“Lena, I’m so-”

“You don’t need to apologise.” Lena insisted, taking a deep breath to rein back in her swirl of her emotions. She could do this. She could let Kara go. “You were trying to be kind but you shouldn’t… god, if I make you that miserable, that uncomfortable, you shouldn’t have to force yourself to interact with me.”

“LENA!” Kara bellowed, stamping her foot to the ground and lifting her chin to reveal a determined expression.

Lena blinked in shock at the sudden volume and intensity; falling obediently quiet.

Kara placed her hands on her hips, took a deep breath, looked Lena straight in the eye with earnest, beseeching blue and declared, “I want to kiss you right now because that would be the big sweeping action that would prove to you that I mean what I’m about to say next but… you’ve been drinking… heavily from the looks of things.” Kara shot a displeased pout at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey as if it was all the bottle’s fault for Lena’s current state of inebriation and not the youngest Luthor’s unhealthy coping mechanisms. Kara turned back to face a stunned Lena, with a fond smile, “And I really want our first kiss to be one you remember and one you can fully consent to. So, you’re just going to have to believe me… please, please believe me when I say… I’m in love with you and I fucked up massively tonight. Really, really fucked up.”

“You never swear.” Lena murmured quietly, and it probably wasn’t what she should have been focusing on but her brain was currently stuck like a record scratch unable to fully comprehend what Kara had just told her; and the swear was just the cherry on top of an entire sundae of confusing and out-of-the-blue revelations.

“Which shows how much I believe that I fucked up.” Kara replied with a helpless shrug.

“But-”

“You were the only person I wanted to spend my birthday with.” Kara confessed, “Well, Alex at some point as well. But you mostly. Alex planned the party and I couldn’t…” Kara huffed out a frustrated breath and rolled her eyes, “she did this whole thing and I didn’t want to turn around and say I didn’t want it. That all I really wanted was a quiet night watching films with you because…” Kara sighed, “because then she’d know… To make it more bearable I invited you but there were so many other people, and I will be honest… I don’t even like half of them. Alex, just invited everyone I was friends on facebook with which is not a good barometer of friendship.”

Lena cleared her throat, none of it making sense, “Then why-”

“Did I ignore you?” Kara guessed with a painful wince.

“Yeah…” Lena muttered, wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

“Because… because I knew, or at least I thought I knew, that you hadn’t noticed how I felt about you.” Kara explained inching just that little bit closer towards Lena, attempting to bring them within touching distance of one another. “And I knew it was only a miracle that you hadn’t until now because…” Kara smiled a lopsided, rueful and self-deprecating smile, “Lena, I am not subtle. Not at all. And I knew… I knew if I interacted with you at the party… everyone else would be able to tell in an instant how I felt.”

Lena exhaled slow and deep, arms tightening their hold around herself, “And you didn’t want them knowing you liked me?”

“Love. Not like.” Kara corrected, patient yet firm, “Love. And no, I didn’t.”

Lena nodded once in understanding, letting out a hollow laugh, “I get it. I wouldn’t want anyone to know I loved me either.”

“Lena… no… no… you…” Kara rushed to explain, finally stepping close enough to reach out and place her hands gently on Lena’s curled biceps. Lena couldn’t help how she instinctively shifted closer, wanting to increase contact with Kara after being denied it for so long. “I didn’t want anyone knowing before you.” Kara admitted.

And that… that snapped something back into place for Lena.

Made the doubts screaming inside her head quieten down just enough to think… maybe…

Because… it was being last that had broken them the first time. Being the only one not to know and now…

“I didn’t want Stacy, who used to cheat off me in exams in college to know how I felt about you before you did.” Kara said, thumbs moving back and forth against the bare skin of Lena’s arms causing a swathe of goosebumps to rise like a wave in the wake of Kara’s every touch. “They didn’t deserve that. They didn’t deserve…” Kara’s jaw clenched, eyes darkening as she studied Lena’s face, “I was trying to protect you from them. They said horrible things about you and you should know, the minute after you left, I kicked everyone who so much as looked at you funny out. It was just me, Nia, Brainy and Kelly left… Alex, as well, but we had a rather heated argument before she was allowed to stay.” Kara bowed her head in shame, “I should have kicked them all out immediately but-”

“Then they would have known.” Lena finished for her.

“I had this whole thing planned.” Kara breathed out, her hands gradually shifting away from Lena’s arms around to her back, surrounding Lena in a loose hold, Kara’s eyes flickering over Lena’s face and body rapidly searching for even the slightest sign that Lena was uncomfortable with their contact. “Once everyone left, I had set-up the roof with lights and cushions and… I was going to tell you how I felt. I just had to make it through the birthday party from hell and I was trying so hard to keep to the plan. To not spoil it. To keep it a secret so that it could just be ours but... I…” Kara’s eyes slid shut and she inhaled a shuddering breath filled with pain. “I hurt you. And there is nothing I can say to make you forgive me, but I do… I do love you so much. And I will never, ever be ashamed of you.” Kara blinked her eyes back open and leaned forward to place a kiss on Lena’s forehead. “I just wanted it to be ours and not theirs. I didn’t want to share. You’re the only thing in my life that… I didn’t want to share.”

“Open your present.” Lena demanded, stepping out of Kara’s loving embrace.

“Lena-” Kara whimpered, pained at the sudden loss of closeness.

“Open your present, Kara.” Lena repeated, jerking her chin towards the sofa where the roughly wrapped present lay.

“I… okay…” Kara replied, watching Lena closely as she tried to make sense of Lena’s clear request. Kara walked cautiously over to the couch, picking up the gift with gentle hands. “Did you wrap it yourself?” Kara asked, her entire expression brightening as she stared down at the crooked, over sellotaped wrapping.

Lena harrumphed at the question, pursing her lips.

“You did, didn’t you?” Kara teased.

“The present isn’t the piss poor wrapping.” Lena replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes that had the corners of Kara’s lips quirking even further upwards.

“Lena Luthor wrapped my present herself…", Kara whistled in awe, blue eyes twinkling with true delight for the first time that day, "what better gift is there?”

“Open it and you might find one.” Lena said, heart leaping into her throat as Kara’s deft fingers found a line of wrapping paper she could tuck them under.

The sound of paper ripping was deafening in the stillness; all Lena could do was watch and wait.

The paper fell away leaving behind a small black box, Kara shot Lena a hesitant look and it wasn’t until Lena nodded for her to continue that Kara clicked it open.

There was a pause.

A heavy, endless pause in which Lena couldn’t bring herself to even breathe.

“What is-” Kara began before cutting off immediately as she lifted up the beautiful bracelet made of nth metal and inscribed with ‘stronger together’ in Lena’s own cursive handwriting in both english and kryptonian.

The bracelet shined under the lights in Lena’s office, but in Lena’s opinion, Kara’s eyes shined impossibly brighter.

“You’re in love with me.” Kara whispered, seeing the present for everything Lena had hoped it would convey.

“Yes.” Lena confirmed because there was no hiding it now.

With trembling fingers Kara clasped the bracelet onto her wrist, long fingers tracing the words delicately inscribed with no small amount of wonder. Finally, she turned around and stared at Lena with so much sheer love that the youngest Luthor felt overwhelmed and like her heart might burst right out of her chest in its desire to be in Kara’s possession

Clearing her throat and clasping her hands behind her back, Lena gathered her courage and asked, “If I promise you I’ll remember it and that I am fully consenting… will you kiss me now?”

Kara was in front of her in the literal blink of the eye, hands reaching out to cup Lena’s cheeks as Lena’s hands moved to rest on Kara’s hips gently encouraging their bodies closer with a light tug.

“There is nothing I want more.” Kara assured with the widest grin that Lena had ever seen and couldn’t help but return.

Their first kiss could barely count as a kiss.

Their smiles were too wide to allow for it, but Lena wouldn’t change it even slightly. They pressed their smiles against one another, teeth knocking together and noses brushing.

It may not have been a successful kiss but it was tender and filled with so much joy that Lena wouldn’t describe it as anything less than perfect.

Their second kiss was an actual kiss, lips slotting together, tongues seeking each other out and teeth tugging whimpers and moans from one another in an endless cycle.

Their second kiss turned into a third, a fourth, a fifth.

They kissed until the sun rose.

Kissed until their lips ached and any remaining doubts Lena may have had were pushed back into the shadows by the light of Kara’s smile and blue eyes.

#supercorp #supercorp fic

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lightsaberupmybutt · 4 years

Text

These Violent Delights - Darth Vader x FemReader

Yer idk why I wrote this either. I’m not ashamed though. And if you read this you’re just as bad as I am for writing it. No more said . Enjoy

Word Count: 1377

Warnings : explicit, brief mentions of smut but nothing too heavy, bit angsty, mentions of violence (but if you’re here then I’m sure that doesn’t put you off), kinda out of character (I've tried, but darth isn't a shagger, not canon anyway)

There was not a day that went by when you didn't consider yourself the stupidest bitch on the planet; scratch that the universe

You were aware that what you were doing was so dumb that even you couldn't reason it logically.

Its not like you didn't have options, theres plenty of suitors out there who would be more than happy to take you up on the offer of a night with you.

With this knowledge in mind, you still always fine yourself in the company of possibly the most dangerous man (if you can even call him that) to ever exist.

You wish you'd had the excuse of knowing him before he was vader, wish that you could say your attachment was purely based on your remnant memories from days gone by; but that just wasn't true. You only knew this being, Vader as him dark self - and that was enough for you to always come when he called.

To compare you attachment to a drug addiction felt cliche and incommodious; after all you didn't need his attention to survive, but you still craved it for your own enjoyment

it kept you up at night sometimes - you conscience weary with the fact that the rest of the body it was trapped in responded so positively to the touch of a murderer. These internal battles were common, besides, there wasn't anyone else you could exactly go to to ask advice from. The knowledge of your nightly escapades to Vader quarters was not exactly friendly gossip you could share with your friends, or even your family. It was a clear unspoken rule that secrets of this magnitude that involved the ex jedi were not something he encouraged to be passed around - not that you really wanted your family knowing. They would disown you, you would disown you. You understood just how vile your actions were

so why did they feel so fucking good?

You had been with men before, plenty of men. Maker, some of those men had the bodies of gods, so handsome that anyone would look upon them and believe they were too good for this world. But nothing compared, nothing even came close. It was one thing to enjoy someone, romantically or exclusively sexually , but it was another to be on the same level as someone. And you weren't quite sure why or how, but the only person you had ever felt that for was the destroyer of worlds.

You'd caught his eye while he and a small fleet of his stormtroopers were overseeing the work your village was putting into one of the many imperial excursions.

You'd love to say you hadn't been like everyone else and feared him instantly, that your backbone and feisty nature had meant you had always been able to feel no intimidation by his power - but that would be a big fat lie. The first time you saw him you genuinely thought you might poop your pants right there and then; all black cloak and metal. and then when you notice that he had noticed you too, when he asked your name, you personally accepted that maybe this day would be the day you died.

but it wasn't, and so it began

At first the imbalance of power was obvious, you feared him more than you had ever feared anything before. You'd heard the stories, you knew just how fast he could destroy you and how nobody would intervene even if they could if he decided this way your time to go.

He kept his distance in this time, while somehow also always letting you know he was around. you hear him, his breathing somewhere just beyond your viewpoint. A flash of black out the corner of your eye while you walked through the streets. Just teases of his existence. Just enough to peak your interest.

It worked, he never had to come to you. You came to him.

Because above all else, your curiosity outweighed everything else, even you survival instincts.

It was easy to be drawn in, you found. In everyones brain theres a soft spot for bad people who only act kind to you. That only show vulnerability to just you. You wanted to feel special, and he made you feel like the most protected person in the universe.

It was ironic really, that being that close to death is what made you feel most alive

It wasn't romantic, and you were completely comfortable with that. You had no doubt that you could never bring yourself to love someone who had the capability to do the things this man had done, and Vader, as far as you knew anyway, wasn't programmed with the capacity to love - a relic skill left when Anakin burned into the sand.

Sometimes though, there were flickers of those sorts of affections, like muscle memory. A gloved stroke of your cheek, a sweep across your lips to catch some of himself there, a hand in your hair with more gentle intent than usual. These incidents were at first incredibly fleeting, but the more comfortable you got together, or at least the more time passed since you had first met, he seemed to get more carefree with these displays.

Equally, although you had fully expected to feel the wrath of his power at that very first meeting; Vader had never used the force against you. Well, never without you asking him to anyway - choking with the force may be Vader favourite way to bring his enemies to their demise, but when you asked him to use it on you in the bedroom, he was relatively sure you had completely lost your mind. Be that as it may, it was hot as fuck. However he never took advantage; the power imbalance was certainly there, but Vader never used it against you without you asking him.

And thats how you knew just how comfortable you'd gotten; because you did ask. without even really completely letting yourself realise just what i meant, you asked him to show you just how powerful he was. You fucking liked it, liked that he could remove you from the face of the earth with a flick of his gloved wrist. You liked that he was the strongest being most people could imagine, liked that he was so notoriously bad.

Simply because he didn't; he kept you around. He even liked having you around, not that he would ever admit that to you, himself or anybody.

He never took his mask off, so it was easy for him to hide behind his outfit. He was changing though, maybe not dramatically, but enough for him to notice and be ashamed of.

He hadn't loved since Padme, with her it was obvious. She was beautiful, and smart, and everything Anakin Skywalker could have ever wanted. But he was no longer Anakin. There had never been another love, but you were something different entirely. You made him different . you made him weak. He lusted for you, craved you just as much if not more than you him. Anakin had always had a possessive streak, but Vader had a possessive nature. You were nothing to him, and then you were just fun to him, a body he could use, a rare someone who would let him inside of them with true interest in him, someone who could look past the suit and mask and burns. You belonged to him now, whether either of you wanted it or not, there was no one else for you.

“don't you ever let anyone touch you like this again” - he rarely spoke during sex, but when he did, his moderator was always stating claim to you. There really was no way to convince vader that you wouldn't stray, that you wouldn't suddenly wake up and realise that getting railed once very month on a dark space ship by someone who's face you had never seen wasn't enough for you. That you'd want to be with someone who you could kiss, or someone who didn't have such a dark smear on their title. But it didn't really matter, you knew you wouldn't leave, not when being bad felt so good with him.

#this is so self indulgent #i can only apologise #darth vader #anakin skywalker #darth vader x reader #darth vader x y/n #darth vader imagine #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #wtf is this #Star Wars

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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart

5.1k || ao3

When Carlos and his partner encounter the bank robber with the bomb, Carlos knows in his gut that the man is telling the truth. But it's not that simple because nothing ever is so when the man offers a compromise Carlos jumps at it and he tries to help him by removing the bomb. It does not end well, and it's left to TK and his crew to pick up the pieces.

TK wants nothing more than for Carlos to be okay, than for this nightmare to be over, but when Gabriel Reyes arrives it's clear that the universe is not done throwing curveballs at them yet. ----- Day 3 of Angst Week: Coda/Fix-it for 2x08

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

“Trust your instincts, Carlitos,” his dad had told him, “they are the only thing in life that won’t steer you wrong.”

He had been 15 at the time and he and his dad had spent hours together, working side by side on the ranch, Gabriel dropping words of wisdom as they came to him and interspacing it all with anecdotes and thrilling stories from his job. It was normal, such a typical part of his life that he didn’t think about it until it had happened less and less shortly after he had turned 17, shortly after he had a certain conversation with his parents.

Logically he knew there were a number of reasons for this: he had graduated high school shortly after and was around the ranch less and less. His dad had gotten a promotion and was working longer hours. There were any number of reasons that all made perfect sense, but Carlos could never shake the feeling that maybe that one conversation had been one of them. It didn’t change the fact that those hours and those stories and chats had been so formative to Carlos. They were a large part of the reason he had become a cop, and they were a large part of what shaped his conscious and his decision-making process.

And now, standing in an alley with his gun leveled at a man with a bomb strapped to his neck and a bag of stolen money in his hands, it came back to him again: trust your instincts.

His instincts told him this man was telling the truth, that he was being forced and that his life was in danger. He believed him when he told him that he wanted nothing more than to get home to his son, to little Enrique. But he couldn’t just let him walk away with a bag full of several thousand dollars — not if he wanted to keep his job.

Mitchell and the suspect were both watching him, both waiting for him to come to a decision, to break the tie. He knew what his partner wanted to do. He knew that she wanted to follow the book, but his instincts were screaming at him that it wasn’t right, that they would be condemning an innocent man to death and a child to a life without his father.

Perhaps the man sensed his hesitation; maybe he somehow knew that Carlos was on the fence because when he spoke next it was directed to him, and it was a compromise: “If you can get this thing off of me,” he began, voice steady but eyes still pleading, “I will give you the money and go with you. I’ll tell you everything I know about the people who did this. Please, I—” he broke off and when he continued his voice had lost its steadiness. It was full of desperation, “I don’t want to die.”

Carlos looked at Mitchell, but he was already lowering his gun. They communicated silently for a moment before his partner relented, lowering her own weapon, “Fine, but we are not touching it. We are calling for the bomb squad.”

“There’s not enough time for that,” the man protested. “If I’m in one place for too long they’ll know something is wrong. And if they think something is wrong…” he trailed off, but Carlos could fill in the blanks pretty well.

“Go ahead and radio for the bomb squad,” Carlos told Mitchell as he holstered his weapon, “but I’m going to take a look. I think he’s right and that means we don’t have that kind of time on our side.”

“Reyes—”

“We don’t have a lot of options here, Mitchell,” he reminded her tersely. “Either we run the risk of driving what is possibly an active explosive device into a police station or we let him go. I think this is the best shot we have, for everyone involved.”

She bit her lip, but nodded, “Do what you can, but please try not to get yourself blown up Reyes. That’s an awful lot of paperwork.”

“I’ll do my best,” he agreed as he stepped forward, gesturing for the man to turn so he could see the mechanism clasped around his neck. It looked fairly simple, at first glance, but there were some wires that were concerning, to say the least.

“Anything you could tell me that might help?” he asked the man wryly, but he shook his head frantically.

“No, they just held me down and put it on. I couldn’t stop them. I…” he broke off with a sob and Carlos could feel his heart clench.

“Hey,” he told him evenly, “we’re going to do everything we can to get you out of this and home safe to Enrique, I promise. I just need you to stay calm and still. Can you do that?”

He waited until the man started to nod before thinking better of it and instead giving him a small, quiet, “Yes.”

“That’s good,” Carlos told him bracingly, “now just hang tight and I’m sure we’ll have this off in no time.”

He felt around the band holding it to his neck. While the device itself looked complex, closer inspection showed him that it was secured to the terrified man by simple straps. He made quick work of them with his utility knife, and even though some were too close to wires for his comfort he is still able to cut enough of them that between him and his partner, they are able to ease it off the man.

When it is finally off he nearly sags in relief, almost collapsing on the ground before them and only held aloof by Mitchell’s bracing hold.

“Thank you,” he told him appreciatively, “thank you! I thought...thank you.”

“Of course,” Carlos said evenly, studied the device now in his hands, “I’m just glad we were able to get it off without incident.”

“Maybe they were lying to me,” the man admitted, “I was too scared to ask too many questions. Maybe it’s just a fake after all.”

Carlos wanted to believe him, but while he was no expert in explosives the contraption in his hands did not look fake. His opinion was reinforced when the lights started blinking more rapidly, and the man paled.

“The tracker,” he whispered. “They must have realized that I’m not coming, they must have triggered it. I’m so…”

But Carlos didn’t wait to hear the rest of his apology. “Get down!” he instructed Mitchell, who pulled the man down with her even as his desperate eyes followed the device and his mouth still moved in soundless apologies. Carlos pulled his arm back and launched the device as far away from them as he could, further into the alley before them. Maybe he could throw it far enough, maybe it wouldn’t be a large explosion. Maybe whoever had made it wasn’t good with explosives, maybe it wouldn’t even…

But all of his conjecture was cut short by a resounding boom as the device exploded in the air. The force of the blast pushed him off his feet and the searing heat caught him on the way down. It was disorienting; loud and fast and hot. He could feel his body being pelted by debris, he could feel the sharp pain as it sliced through him on its way by. He hit the ground with a resounding crash that echoed in his head as it bounced off the ground as pain bloomed from everywhere all at once. His last view was of bits of destruction raining down like snow, gently drifting as it obeyed gravity. It could have been beautiful if it hadn’t been for the pain.

He blinked again, feeling his eyes grow heavy. He wanted to look around, to check on his partner and the man who had formerly had a bomb stuck to his chest. He couldn’t summon the energy to move an inch. He supposed he could take the small comfort of having been right, he supposed as his eyes drifted closed. His instincts had been right, on all of this.

His last fleeting thought before everything went black was that sometimes he wouldn’t mind if his instincts were wrong.

-----------

The 126 paramedic crew pulled up to the scene in tense silence. The intel had been spotty but what they knew was enough to have TK gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white: there had been reports of an explosion, there had been police on the scene before the explosion, and those police could not be reached now.

That was all they knew because it was all dispatch had been able to piece together. There was no saying what kind of explosion or what kind of destruction it had left behind. There was no knowing what had gone down or who the officers ever were. All TK knew was that his gut was filled with a dread that grew incrementally as he sped towards the scene. He knew that his team had picked up on his tension, that they understood how his fear was different from theirs. He couldn’t put into words how much he appreciated them letting him be.

There was an eerie silence over the scene as they stepped out of the ambulance when they arrived. They weren’t far from the main street; it was as if a hush had fallen over the alley in reverence to the fallen. Because there were fallen — they could see that now as they drew closer. Three figures sprawled on the ground; unmoving and surrounded by destruction. They gathered their gear and rushed forward, Tommy alerting dispatch that they would require additional RA units to respond.

It was another step and another heartbeat before TK realized just how well he knew one of the fallen figures and in that instant, he couldn’t breathe. His feet moved forward of their own accord and his mind frantically tried to process every detail of the horrible sight before him as he crashed to his knees besides Carlos’s still form. There was blood, but he couldn’t tell from where. Burns were likely too, given the singe marks and lingering heat. But TK’s chief concern was that Carlos wasn’t moving, that there had been no acknowledgment of his arrival. Even in sleep, Carlos seemed to know when TK was nearby but now, there was nothing.

He reached out a shaking hand to his neck, holding his breath as he waited, as he prayed to feel the familiar thrum of a pulse under his hand. For a long moment, there was nothing and TK was sure he would shatter. But he shifted his hand because Carlos couldn’t die today and tried again. He waited, every ounce of his being focused on the hand on Carlos’s pulse point until a slow but steady rhythm began to beat under his fingers and TK finally allowed himself to breathe.

“Pulse is weak but present,” he announced to Tommy who had kneeled beside him, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears. His captain nodded and reached into her bag, pulling out her gear as she appraised TK.

“Are you good Strand?” she asked. “Usually I would tell you to stand down, but given the situation, we don’t really have a choice. I need all hands on deck.”

TK took a deep breath and nodded, reaching into the case beside him to pull out what they would need. No, he was not good but he knew Tommy was right: there was no other option. Either he did this or risked losing Carlos for good, and he would always do anything in his power to stop that from happening. That was not an option he could live with. “I’ve got this Cap, what do you need me to do?”

“Start the exam while I finish up his vitals. We need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

“What about the other two?” he asked even as he started following her instructions. “Don’t you need to…”

But Tommy shook her head, “They’re both relatively fine, Nancy can handle them until more help arrives. Reyes here seems to have taken the brunt of the blast.”

TK nodded without hesitation. It sounded like Carlos, after all: always trying to be everyone’s shield.

He began his exam, starting with his head. It seemed like every moment revealed a new injury: blood on the back of his head, likely from a fall. Cuts and abrasions of various sizes littered across his body, fragments of what looked like a car taking up residence where they didn’t belong. Each new discovery struck TK like a physical blow, but he pushed on.

The head injury was the most concerning, for a while. But as TK moved forward, as he examined more he learned that was not the case. There was a large piece of sharp metal sticking out of the left side of his abdomen and though TK had no way of knowing how long it was, it looked as if the majority of it was buried inside Carlos’s body, far far too close to vital organs for TK to breathe easily. He sucked in a breath and alerted Tommy, who grimaced when she saw it.

“Pack it tightly,” she instructed him, handing him the gauze and tape necessary for the job, “make sure there is no room for it to move during transport. We want it held still until they are able to remove it at the hospital.”

TK nodded and took the gauze, tightly winding it around the intrusive object so that it held firm. He watched with dread as the gauze steadily turned red as blood sluggishly leaked out from around it. There were so many ways an injury like this could go wrong, too many ways that it could turn fatal. The thought alone was almost enough to send TK reeling but he pushed it down. This wasn’t the time; Carlos needed him here. He needed him focused. He couldn’t risk falling apart when the very existence of the one person who just might mean more to him than anyone else in this world depended on it.

TK and Tommy had finished examining Carlos and packing what wounds they could to prep him for transport when the requested additional units arrived. Tommy gave them a run down as TK and Nancy loaded Carlos onto the gurney and transferred him to the back of the ambulance. Not a word was said when TK climbed into the back instead of the driver’s seat, Nancy stepping around to take that spot instead without a word.

As they drove he and Tommy continued working; monitoring and treating Carlos the best they could. In all that time and all the movement, Carlos had not stirred once and TK tried hard not to think about that, to dwell on what it might mean. He managed to hold it together, to stay professional and focused until they arrived at the hospital and unloaded the gurney, Tommy relaying the necessary info to the medical team that met them at the doors.

He held it together until the moment Carlos’s still and bloody form disappeared through the doors of the trauma bay. Then, with nothing left to focus on, he finally let the tears come.

He felt arms around him and felt himself being guided to a chair that he sank into gratefully, aware now that his entire body was trembling. Now that they were here and now that Carlos was in the care of the doctors, the situation was out of his control. Whatever happened now, he had no say in. He had done all he could and he had to hope that it was enough. Carlos’s injuries returned to him in flashes and TK knew with a sinking dread this was not going to be a short wait. It would be a while before any news came; good or bad.

So he sat here in the waiting room, tears running down his face and his team at his side, waiting for the answer he knew would come eventually, hoping and praying that it would be one he could live with. That somehow, despite all the odds, Carlos would be okay.

TK couldn’t lose him, it was as simple as that.

---------

After a while, there are no more tears left.

It was a surprisingly short time before he cried himself dry, until he pulled himself together and settled into quiet fear. Tommy and Nancy settled in to wait with him, offering their quiet reassurances and comforting presence until their radios sounded. He found words enough to assure then that it would be fine, that he understood. That he would be fine on his own. They didn’t look like they believed him, but what other choice did they have? So, with a promise that he would keep them updated and that they and the rest of the crew would be by as soon as they could, they were gone and TK was alone.

He sat in silence, alone in the waiting room, trying to keep his mind from spiraling. But no amount of bouncing his leg could keep him from picturing the scene, from thinking of what Carlos must have gone through, from imagining the worst. He twisted his hands in his lap, noticing a spot of blood that had slipped past the protection of his gloves on the inside of his wrist. He swallowed and turned his arm so he couldn’t see it. He didn’t need a physical reminder; the scene was still all too fresh in his head.

Every single detail of it was seared into his mind and TK knew with a sinking dread that this was one of those times where being a paramedic put him at a disadvantage. He had seen more than his fair share of injuries and over time, you got a sense from the ones that people walked away from. The injuries he had treated Carlos for — the ones that had littered the body he loved so well — were not those. He knew that losing Carlos was a real possibility.

He also knew that it wasn’t that simple. He knew that losing Carlos meant losing his world, and he couldn’t face that.

Nearly an hour of silent, solitary waiting passed before he heard footsteps approaching his seat in the waiting room. His mind was still too fractured to process their proximity so when they halted and someone sank into the chair beside him, he hardly gave it a thought (he hardly had a thought left to give). The tears may be gone but the bone-deep fear was ever-present and all-consuming; his constant companion as he sat and waited, rubbing his still shaking hands on his legs.

And so he doesn’t process anything until the figure beside him started speaking: “You know, Carlitos didn’t always want to be a cop. He wanted to be an astronaut first, for the longest time.”

The voice was shaky but startlingly familiar. It took TK a moment to place it but when he did the shock was visceral; running through his whole body as he looked up to see Gabriel Reyes sitting next to him, eyes staring off in the direction of the treatment rooms that currently held his son.

“Maybe if I had encouraged that desire a bit more, we wouldn’t be here,” the man said quietly, sadly. “Maybe he would be a world away, but safe.”

TK didn’t know what to say to that. Somewhere between the shock of his boyfriend’s father appearing and the fact that he was speaking to him as if he knew him TK had lost the ability to speak. He could simply stare.

“I suppose that’s neither here nor there though,” Gabriel continued, “I suppose we are past what-ifs.”

He turned then, taking his first look at TK. He looked him up and down, registering the blood staining his uniform and the anxiety and fear radiating from him with a grim expression. “You treated him,” he observed, voice growing quieter and softer. “First of all, thank you. No matter what happens, thank you.”

His gaze held TK’s, his eyes (so much like Carlos’s it almost broke TK to look at them) sad and heavy with worry. TK swallowed down the tears that threatened to return and nodded.

“I can’t imagine having to do that,” Gabriel continued in the same tone, “I can’t imagine having to keep your head about you when you see someone you care about hurt like that. That shows real strength, in my opinion. I’m not so sure I would be as strong.”

TK heard the words being said, but he simply stared in response. Someone you care about he had said. And the look in his eyes…

“You knew?” TK said, finally finding the words that had eluded him for so long, “About Carlos and I?”

Gabriel nodded, “Since we ran into y’all at the market,” he confirmed.

TK was left staring again, but for a different reason. Carlos’s parents had known. They had known for weeks now. They had known as Carlos tore himself apart, they had known as the secret almost ripped TK and Carlos apart. They had known and they hadn’t said anything.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he finally managed.

“We wanted Carlitos to come to us on his own, in his own time,” Gabriel told him softly. “We didn’t want to push.”

TK watched the older man look sadly back towards the doors separating them from Carlos and for the first time since it happened, he found an emotion besides fear rising up in him.

“It has been eating him alive,” he told Gabriel, voice far stronger and far sharper than before. “It almost cost us our relationship. He is afraid of how you will react, he is so afraid that…” he trailed off, feeling that he was veering into territory he should never enter without Carlos’s consent or presence. He allowed himself a breath before he continued: “He was afraid to tell you and this whole time you’ve known?”

It’s not until his hot anger begins to fade from his mind that he can fully process the reaction from his boyfriend’s father. Gabriel’s eyes are wide in shock and horror, and TK came to his senses with a resounding crash.

“I’m sorry,” he says more softly, calmly. “That was out of line. It’s not my place to—”

“No, I think it is,” Gabriel disagreed, cutting off TK’s apology. “It’s your concern as much as his, after all.”

“Still,” TK tied again, “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“Perhaps not,” Gabriel agreed with a dry laugh that felt so foreign amongst the fear still so heavy in TK’s heart, “but it certainly got the point across.”

They studied each other for a moment before Gabriel spoke again, “I know I haven’t been a perfect father,” he admitted, “but I do love my son.”

“I don’t doubt that,” TK assured him. “Carlos loves you too, I know that for sure.”

“And you?” Gabriel asked, fixing him with a piercing gaze. “Do you love my son?”

“I do,” TK said firmly. “More than I have ever loved anyone.”

“Does he love you?”

“Yes,” TK said, without hesitation. “He has never let me doubt that, even when I’ve wanted to.”

There was silence again as the two men regarded each other and after a long moment, Gabriel nodded, expression sad.

“We’ve missed so much,” he said quietly. “We should have done better. We will do better,” he promised, voice stronger as he met TK’s eyes, “when he wakes up.”

His voice was strong and his eyes certain, and TK nodded, taking comfort in the older man’s certainty that there would be a future, that they would get to see Carlos again.

Gabriel smiled at him before continuing, “I’d like to get to know you, TK. You and my son and what you are together; if you’ll let me.”

The expression on the older man’s face was sincere and despite everything, TK managed to find the smallest of smiles.

“I’d like that,” he agreed. “I’d like that very much.”

-----------

If Carlos had to describe everything that came after the pain in a word it would be confusion.

There was pain and then darkness, that he knew for sure. But everything after was a haze. There were moments of awareness (he thinks) here the darkness lifted and he could hear voices. He couldn’t make out the words and the voices didn’t make sense. It sounded like TK and his father, but he didn’t know how that was possible. Awareness didn’t last for long though, so his final thought before he slipped back into the darkness was that his mind was playing tricks on him.

When he woke up again, his head felt clearer. He was more sure that he was actually awake and alive, this time. There were still voices and he could almost make out the words. He could even place them with absolute certainty: they were TK and his father. But that still didn’t make any sense, even to his less hazy mind.

He blinked his eyes open, having to repeat the process several times in order to adjust his eyes enough to see. There was a hand holding his own and he squeezed it, hearing a familiar intake of breath in response.

“Carlos?” TK asked voice choked with emotion, “Can you hear me, babe?”

“Ty,” he said in response, pulling his eyes open fully and tilting his head to drink in the sight of his beautiful boyfriend, grinning through tears. He tried to reach up a hand to wipe them away but his limbs felt heavy.

“Try not to move too much,” TK said softly, “you’re still pretty hurt.”

“What happened?” he asked, and TK looked across his bed before another familiar voice cut through the room.

“What do you remember, Carlitos?”

Carlos whipped his head around to the other side of the bed - or at least, whatever the slow and painful equivalent of whipping his head was - to see his dad sitting in the seat to his right.

“Dad? What’re you...” he trailed off turning to TK again with a baffled expression but his dad pressed on.

“Try to answer the question, mijo. What do you remember?” His dad’s voice was soft but the instruction was clear. Carlos looked into his dad’s eyes as he tried to pull the bits of memory together into a cohesive memory.

“There was a man,” he said slowly, “he robbed a bank, but he didn’t want to.” He paused and his dad nodded and smiled at him, urging him to continue. “There was a bomb around his neck, he said two guys forced it onto him. He said they had a tracker on him so he couldn’t go with us because they would set it off. He said that if we could get it off of him he would come with us though and tell us everything he knew, so I did. I guess it didn’t like that much though, because the last thing I remember is it exploding, I think.”

There was silence as he finished his account and Carlos pieced the rest together in his mind. Mitchell hadn’t wanted him to try, she wanted to wait for the bomb squad…

“Mitchell!” he exclaimed, looking frantically back to TK, “and the man. Are they…?”

“Easy Carlos,” TK said calmly, squeezing his hand again and leaning closer, “don’t worry, they’re fine. A little banged up, but you got the worst of it. It looked like you were closest to the blast,” he added quietly, voice turning more serious. “You were certainly the worst off of the three of you.”

Something in the way TK said it filled him with dread. “Did you…” he began, and TK nodded. “Ty,” he said softly, squeezing his hand this time as best he could, “I...I am so sorry. I wish you never had to see that, I can’t even imagine.”

“Don’t you even start with me, Carlos Reyes,” TK told him firmly. “This was not your fault. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

“Besides,” his dad added from the other side, “I think we should all count our blessings that it was your boy and his team. I have no doubt they are the best and that they would have moved heaven and earth to save you.”

Carlos couldn’t agree more, as much as he would rather TK never have to experience that level of pain on his behalf ever. He was about to say as much when something else his dad said struck him. Your boy. He knew. He knew that TK was his boyfriend. He looked to his dad again, searching his face for any clue before finally asking the question.

“You know?” His dad’s expression didn’t change and Carlos shifted his gaze to TK, who looked down.

“I’m sorry Carlos, I know you wanted to tell them in your own time but…”

“But your boy did nothing wrong, Carlitos,” his dad interrupted, shooting TK a firm look. “We already knew. I approached him. All he did was make me see how we had been hurting you by not acknowledging it and for that, I am so sorry son.”

Carlos blinked at his dad, processing his words before turning to TK with a raised eyebrow, “Do I want to know what happened while I was unconscious?”

TK grimaced and his dad laughed, “I will say you’ve found yourself a tough one. He has spine for sure, mijo.”

“Yeah,” Carlos agreed, studying TK as he winced at his dad’s statement, “he’s pretty special.”

TK relaxed at his words and gave him a warm smile, squeezing his hand gently. Distantly he could see his father watching them fondly and Carlos was struck by the surrealness of this moment. He had pictured this so many times: his boyfriend and his dad co-existing, him casually showing his affection for someone he loved in the presence of his family. He had ached for it for so long and a part of him had always been convinced that it would never be any more than a dream.

Yet here they were. The proof was right before him in the hand holding his own, in the soft kisses pressed to his forehead by the man he loved, in the soft smile of his father as he watched from his chair on the other side of his bed. Never had he expected to find such happiness in the wake of such pain and fear, but he knew he would be eternally grateful for this ending to this disaster because it had brought about a wonderful beginning.

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amchara · 3 years

Text

Talking Bodies - Kit/Ty/OFC fic (Explicit, 1/5)

Ty has been observing their friend Ellie during her unexpected stay at the Herondale townhouse and believes he has found a solution to her problems - or at least, her problems with men. And Kit is usually up for his plans, even if this one is a bit unorthodox.

Yes, this is an Kit / Ty / OFC fic, set five years post-The Wicked Powers, while Kit and Ty are living and working in London. Ty POV. Part of my London Files ‘verse but you don’t need to have read them to read this mostly pwp story ;) Ellie is a school friend of Kit’s and has been in other stories of mine - and if you like the idea of Mari the werewolf, maybe you’d like this story? 😊)

While this chapter and the next don’t have any actual sex in it (talking and consent is important, yo) be forewarned, it’s going to get smutty from chapter three onwards, so has an overall explicit rating. Those chapters will not be posted on tumblr but will be linked to Ao3. Thanks to @dontmindmyshadowhunting for the feedback on the story so far!

Chapter One: Talking Bodies

Ty was again mulling over a problem that had been nagging at him for several months now. A problem that had just entered the kitchen from the downstairs flat that had previously been used as the servants’ quarters in the Herondale townhouse, and was padding across the cold floor in fluffy pink slippers. And hadn’t yet noticed him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ty!” Ellie yelped, as she turned around from where she had put on the coffeemaker. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Upstairs,” Ty shrugged, as he sat down at the table, watching her carefully. As she finally took in what he was wearing- or wasn’t wearing, as was his case, being only clothed from the waist down. He watched as her eyes surreptitiously lingered over his shoulders and trailed down further. He lifted his arms up, in a casual move he knew showed off several muscle groups in his upper chest and her jaw moved slightly as she swallowed, trying to remain casual. Ty took another couple mental notes.

Ellie noticed his gaze and she quickly looked away, stretching for the laundry basket and launched something at him.

He grabbed the soft t-shirt - one of Kit’s - out of the air before it could hit his face.

“Put on a shirt, you’re blinding me with that glow-in-the-dark chest,” she scowled as she busied herself with putting on the kettle. But her voice held that tone that after three months of living under the same roof, Ty knew didn't actually mean she was annoyed. Well, fairly sure- but as he had confirmed the reaction he expected, he pulled on the t-shirt, just as he saw Kit come into the kitchen, all sweaty and flushed after his morning run.

“Pretty sure that’s one of mine, Ty,” he said affectionately, coming over to give him a light kiss on the mouth. “But it looks good on you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ty could see Ellie’s eyes snapping back to them, almost unwillingly.

“Ellie’s request,” Ty said.

Kit looked over to her. “Oh- and what pray tell, is your reason for protecting his modesty? From one of your conquests?” he teased, his eyes flickering to the open door downstairs.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she replied, a fleeting smile crossing her face. “I’m used to the Shadowhunter genes but I’m worried my one night stands might find Ty irresistible and decide to use me as an excuse to see him again, and no one wants that, believe me.” Her voice was light but Ty could see a small crease form on Kit’s brow, and Ty thought he was also recalling the incident from a few nights ago when Ellie had ejected an angry, drunk Irish guy from her bedroom and Kit and Ty had had to escort him out the front door.

But Ellie had already apologised profusely the morning after and Kit wasn’t about to give his friend more grief about it. “Very noble of you,” he said, winking at Ty. “I’d hate to add more bloodstains to my clothes defending Ty’s honour.”

He sauntered over to the counter, his face brightening as he saw the coffeemaker light go off. “Ah coffee- my love,” he stopped short as Ellie poked him in the stomach. Ty straightened up to watch the interaction.

Her eyes were glittering as she held her hand out in front of the pot. “I made this for myself, angel boy- get your own.” Kit bent his head down, close to her face, giving her his sweetest smile. “Yeah, but you’re not about to drink it all,” he said, in a wheedling tone.

“Oi- your Herondale charm does not work on me,” she informed him but Ty could see her smile widening and her breathing had sped up, just a touch and he wished he had his notebook out. But he couldn’t risk it and so he turned his attention instead to Kit’s reaction.

Kit had grabbed a coffee mug and was feinting, trying to get around as Ellie - who had been to the Academy, even if she had dropped out - put up a good defensive shield.

Despite that, they all knew Kit could have easily gotten around her, if he wanted to. He instead put down the coffee mug and grabbed her in a big hug, squishing her close to him.

“Oh my god, you smell,” she complained.

“Pour me a mug and I’ll go away,” he said, looking over to grin at Ty, who just smiled and shook his head. Originally, it had been an unwanted addition to his and Kit’s routine but now he was used to their occasional morning antics. Although they had been few and far between recently, as Ellie had retreated downstairs more often. And it did kind of remind him of chaotic mornings at the L.A. Institute.

“Go shower and I’ll put another pot on for you,” she countered.

“Deal,” Kit said, instantly letting go, although Ty could see how he subtly moved his eyes away from where Ellie’s low-cut top was peeking through her dressing gown.

After Kit left the kitchen, Ellie turned and held out a cup to him, filled with steaming tea. She always remembered.

“Thanks,” Ty said, taking it.

She sat down with her own large mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal and nodded at the pile of files he had left on the table overnight. “Busy day of work ahead?”

“Kind of,” Ty replied. “We have a few days of senior Clave members visiting so we’re preparing summaries and presentations of all the recently-closed cases.”

“Sounds important,” she said, looking over the files with a critical eye.

“It’s not really - they all get reports sent when we close them out, they just choose not to read them. It actually takes up time we could be spending working on new cases,” Ty said, trying not to let the irritation color his voice - he had promised Anush he would try to be more polite this quarterly meeting and he might as well start early before he headed to the Centurion office at Whitehall.

But he could see that Ellie had caught on. “Sounds annoying, then,” she clarified. “Do you- do you need-“ her voice suddenly went softer, shyer. “Anything I could help out with on the ground, while you’re stuck impressing the senior brass?”

Ty wished there was - she had been extremely helpful in the dragon scale smuggling case - but he had to be truthful. “No,” he said and he could see her face fall. “But if there’s anything Shadow Market related that you could help with, I’ll let you know.”

She nodded, catching his drift but she still looked sad. “Great, just let me know.”

After Ellie had left to get ready for her university classes, Ty pulled out his notebook from the middle of the pile of files and wrote down that morning’s interactions. He tapped on the table with his pencil as he thought, and then expanded further on his conclusions. He was almost entirely sure they were correct, and that he had found a course of action he was happy with.

Problem was, he still wasn’t entirely sure how Kit would react and he was key to anything progressing further. He watched as Kit returned to the kitchen table, running his hands through his still wet hair and figured now was as good a time as any to let him in on it.

“I think Ellie needs something to boost her confidence,” Ty said, without any preamble. “And find someone who appreciates her. Someone she can sleep with and not worry that they won’t call again or handle her moods.”

Kit gave him a quick look from across the table, a bit confused at Ty’s interest. “Agreed,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He grabbed at his cup of coffee, taking a big swig. “The men she’s recently been seeing have been trash.”

“Do you have a plan?” he asked casually.

Ty nodded.

Kit sat back up. “I’m in.” He nearly always was, when it came to Ty’s plans. “So we’re matchmaking Ellie? Setting her up with a nice Shadowhunter boy or girl or were you thinking more traditional - overseeing her swipe rights on Tinder?” His eyes danced as he started getting into the idea, pulling out his phone.

Ty skimmed his hands over the surface of the breakfast table. He knew what Tinder was - Dru had shown him it earlier in the summer, when Thais had briefly installed it to get over her latest heartbreak. “Maybe for step two. Step one is us sleeping with her.”

Kit choked on his coffee. “Um…” He refocused his attention on Ty, his blue eyes subtly darting over Ty’s face, as he quickly assessed Ty’s reaction.

Ty waited for him to finish. As it often was, he figured it would be easier to have Kit read him, rather than have to explain. He waited for a couple minutes and then prepared to show him his notes, if he needed to explain further.

Kit sat back. “You’re serious?” There were further questions in his voice but also, tentative interest, Ty thought.

“Yes, I am.” Ty nodded. “Don’t you think she’s attractive?”

Kit let out a brief, nervous chuckle. “Of course- but she’s also my friend. So that’s a boundary that we’ve not crossed- or at least, not since school. Plus, I’m with you.”

“You know I don’t mind. You can’t control who you find attractive,” Ty said. They had spoken about this early on in their relationship - Kit’s flirting with whoever caught his eye never bothered him. Ty knew he was the one who had Kit’s heart. Plus, he wasn’t suggesting they do this separately.

“My question- do you find her attractive?” Kit asked, his voice deliberately light. “I know you were with both girls and guys at the Scholomance but I wasn’t sure if you still…”

Ty thought back to the way that Ellie often held herself, her angry stance challenging the world, her blue eyes flashing when she and Ty had spotted the caged dragons in the London Shadow Market and how she had charged right in; how she flung her arms in casual exuberance around Kit when she came in after a night of drinking and dancing, how the dimple in her cheek deepened when she gave one of her rare smiles, her habit of tapping her fingers to her lips as she read one of her psychology journals in the library. He had spent the last three months observing her - and Ty knew one of his conclusions would be: yes; he found her attractive.

Ty shrugged. “Yeah, I do.” Kit took in this information, mulling it over, and then he looked up.

“Wait- but does she think we’re attractive?”

“Yes,” Ty said. He held out his notebook and passed it to Kit. “I’ve been making notes.”

Kit let out a quick laugh, as he flipped through the pages. “Ty- I both can and can’t believe you took notes on it.” His eyes widened and the flipping of pages slowed as he started to read more thoroughly. “I see you took notes on all of us…” he said, as he gave a lingering, inscrutable glance up at Ty before returning to read.

Ty could feel a small flush creep up from his neck. “Yeah, I did- I’m glad we offered her a place to stay until her loan money comes in, given the living arrangement with her boyfriend after they broke up. But it was strange at first. This was just a way to deal with that and well…” he rubbed the back of his neck, watching Kit. “Then it just seemed helpful to continue with it.”

Kit had let out a soft growl at the mention of Ellie’s cheating boyfriend, but his eyes softened as he looked back to Ty. “I know I’ve said this before - but I really appreciate you were willing to have her stay, given how much I know you hate disruption and she’s more my friend than yours.”

Ty watched as Kit traced his voyance rune, a familiar tic that he had when he was feeling nervous around Ty.

“She’s my friend too,” Ty said firmly, and he looked up to meet Kit’s face, eyes resting just below his cheekbone. “Especially after the past few months and the stuff around the Shadow Market case.”

Kit nodded, reassured. He handed back the notebook to Ty. “This was absolutely fascinating- I had no idea I had so many tells, especially when it comes to pre-jumping you,” he said, a smile playing on his lips and his normal cheerful manner returning. “But I’ve also realised - I didn’t need notes to know that Ellie thinks we’re both hot. Maybe it’s been less frequent recently, given everything but she’s made plenty of comments over the years on how attractive she thinks we both are. In very loud, complimentary terms- and…” he added, the smile mixing with a small wince, his eyes focused on past memories. “Sometimes in very inappropriate places.”

“The other thing is,” he said, speaking slower as if he were thinking out loud. “Is it - we wouldn’t be taking advantage of her, you know- her grief?”

“Her mother died two years ago,” Ty pointed out. He could see Kit about to protest and he continued. “I know, believe me, I know that grief doesn’t just go away…” Livvy was the unspoken word between them. “But also-” Ty searched for the words. “There comes a point when you want people to stop treating you like this fragile, broken thing. You need to start making your own decisions again and decide how you want to live… after,” he said. “And that’s partially why I think we should do it. I think she’s… stuck in that. Also stuck in that she dropped out of the Academy so she’s not exactly a mundane anymore but she’s not a Downworlder either.”

He paused, wondering if he needed to explain the other part but he thought Kit already knew about it.

Kit looked thoughtful.

“She can also always say no,” Ty pointed out logically.

“True,” Kit admitted. He grinned. “Okay, if she’s in, and you are, so am I.” He poked Ty’s arm playfully. “And to think I was going to just grab a coffee and head to the Institute. I didn’t expect to get a threesome proposition from my boyfriend over breakfast,” he said.

“What’s that?” Ellie had reappeared at the top of the stairs, now fully dressed and Kit looked over at Ty, the question in his eyes.

Ty shook his head, and mouthed. Tonight

Kit nodded, blushing slightly as he looked over at Ellie. She had her back to him as she went rummaging in the fridge and Kit snuck a glance at Ty, as if watching for his reaction.

Ty couldn’t help but find it hot that Kit was looking for his approval. His boyfriend didn’t blush that often, especially not almost five years into their relationship. He smiled into his tea. Depending on Ellie’s reaction to their proposition, this could be an intriguing dynamic to play with. His imagination began to play in full technicolor as he played possible scenarios in his head. He took a sip of his tea, and made the effort to meet Kit’s eyes.

Whatever Kit saw there made him blush even harder, and Ty’s smile grew wider.

(Chapter Two)

—-

Hah, this has been consuming me almost my whole holiday but I will get back to the Hadestown fic soon, as I’ve almost finished this one, just doing the edits on most of the other chapters .

Tag list: @jesse-is-spiraling maybe @thechangeling for the Ty POV? But let me know if not… and let me know if you want to be added/removed.

#tsc fanfiction #kitty fanfiction #kit herondale x ty blackthorn #kit herondale x ty blackthorn x original female character #kit herondale x ty blackthorn x ellie harris #my fanfic #my fanfiction #the wicked powers #post-canon #tw swearing #tw sex mention

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daisybeewrites · 3 years

Text

Academy Blues

sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes to bag punches you

word count: 4.5k

warnings: none. heavy handed use of italics

ship: Dousy (Daniel Sousa/Daisy Johnson), background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

ahaha.. and the fun begins (the cryptic-ness is for a reason i promise)

“Ow!!” Daisy exclaimed. This was the second time today she had gotten distracted and let the punching bag swing into her. Sans Bobbi or Mack, her usual workout partners, there was no one to hold the bag still while she was pummeling it. Her side of the gym was entirely void of people, most opting to use the treadmills or other cardio machines lining the wall of large windows that faced the forest to the south, or stick to circuits on the resistance machines throughout the middle of the gym. The universe seemed to be telling her to get in some boxing, so she walked over to the bag with the intention of punching until her arms hurt.

Now her nose hurts, too.

“You need a spot?” May asked, silently crossing the padded floor to Daisy.

She nodded. Waiting for May to get into position, Daisy stretched out her arms over her head and across her body, twisting her torso to feel her abs stretch. When May gave her a thumbs up, Daisy started to punch the heavy bag again, this time with a little more force now that she knew it wouldn’t fly back and hit her in the face.

“Something on your mind?”

“No,” Daisy grunted. “Just slacked off the last few weeks. With everyone gone on break there wasn’t as much of... everything, I guess, to keep me in a routine.”

May nodded. “Breaks can be tough. No classes, schedule disrupted, more free time than you know what to do with. I get it. If you ever want a time-filler, text and I’ll be there.”

Daisy nodded, going back to silently punching. The breaks weren’t all bad. They only happened eight times a year, five two-week breaks and three three-week breaks. Enough time that those with families and lives outside of SHIELD could visit and vacation, but not fall behind. Plus, it gave Daisy the campus pretty much to herself. Only about forty students stayed at The Academy over breaks, and it seemed to decrease every time.

Another good thing about breaks was that Daisy got to know more people personally. Whether it was how the tall, fifth-year red head took her morning coffee or that the new group of first-years liked to run the same trails through the forest as she did. So, when an entirely new face had cropped up out of nowhere, Daisy was intrigued. He walked with a limp, had nice hair and kind eyes. She didn’t recognize him, and despite the fact that he had arrived the same day as the rest of the first-years, he was definitely the oldest of the pack. That was unusual, Daisy had thought, SHIELD almost always recruits directly out of high school or college. The last time anyone over the age of twenty-five had been accepted to the Academy was when Daisy herself had started. However, that was a bit of a… special situation.

Every morning, New Guy crossed through the computer lab and waved, smiling confidently at Daisy. His sudden appearance and amicable interactions confused her. Classes weren’t in session, but he always had a backpack with him. Maybe he had tutoring with one of the professors? A new student trying to catch up before the term even began — an enigma.

Once classes had started, he still came by everyday. Daisy liked to think it was because he wanted to see her. They had never spoken more than tired greetings to each other, and yet Daisy felt herself pulled towards him. She shook off the thought. It made her skin crawl, thinking about the last time she felt such a magnetic attraction to someone.

She realized May was studying her through the mirrors lining the wall next to the row of punching bags. She cleared her throat and asked, “Is my form okay?”

May gave her a long look that clearly said, ‘You know that your form is fine.’

Daisy pulled her eyes away from May’s stare, announcing, “I’m going to fill up my water, do you need any?”

May shook her head, pulling out her phone.

Daisy bent down to grab her water and headed to the back of the gym, towards the locker rooms. A couple of reusable bottle-filler stations were stuck into the wall, right next to the PT rooms. Daisy couldn’t help but peer into the closest one as she listened to the sound of water streaming into her bottle. It was filled with floor ladders, yoga balls, sports med supplies... New Guy. Huh.

Wondering why he would be sitting in a dark PT room by himself, Daisy took a swig of her water before continuing to fill it up. He hopped off the table as the lights came on, a young doctor-type walking in a smiling. She was reminded of his limp when he walked towards her, shaking her hand and flashing a large smile. Cute, Daisy noticed. Wait, no, what?

Daisy promptly turned and headed back to the wall of mirrors, choosing to ignore the smirk on May’s face.

“Ready?” Daisy asked.

“Actually,” May began, “Why don’t we get in some sparring? You’ve been at this for over an hour.”

Daisy caught the glance May threw at the half-assed wraps on her hands and nodded. With only a few jitters, Daisy quickly helped May unroll the sparring mats onto the floor. Daisy had only sparred with Yo-Yo since she got back from Columbia visiting her cousin. Sparring with May was an entirely different level.

After some warm-up drills, May silently took charge and got into a fighting stance. Daisy rose up on her tip-toes, then rocked backwards. The grey padding beneath her looked a lot softer than it felt while being slammed onto it. A quick lunge from Daisy and a swift deflection by May, and the two women were off.

Across the gym, Daniel Sousa and the doctor were chatting, watching Daisy and May.

“They look like they’re barely breaking a sweat,” Daniel commented after May leaped off Daisy’s leg, flipping forwards and attempting to grab Daisy around the shoulders. Daisy rolled backward, throwing May over her and getting to her feet as the shorter woman jumped up into a wide stance.

“You’ll get back to that level,” The physical therapist assured him.

Daniel shook his head. “Maybe. I hope so. If not, I’m a damn good shot, anyway.”

The doctor chuckled before motioning back to the PT room. “C’mon, you still have thirty minutes stuck with me before I release you from daily therapy.”

“It’s only been three weeks?” Daniel questioned, confused. They walked through a black door to a small room. Grey cabinets on one side, a black table on the other, physical therapy tools lined up in organized sections.

“Most of which was just assessing you. You already know the exercises and stretches, and you completed the physical therapy recommended by your primary care physician before you came to us. You have the strength mostly back in your residual limb, at least to the point where sparring shouldn’t do any damage. I still expect you to show up at least twice a week. Especially since you’re starting field training with May.”

He smiled. “How do you know about that?”

“I have access to your file, Sousa,” She reminded him, “I also know you were late to her class on the first day. Not a smart move, in my opinion.”

Daniel cringed at the memory of heads turning his way, watching him limp to the only open seat in the very front. May’s comment— “Thoughtful of you to join us, Agent Sousa,” —still turned his face a slightly embarrassing shade of red when he thought about it.

Noticing his uncomfortable silence, the physical therapist put on a sympathetic face. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. I was late to my first class, too. Professor Martin, advanced physiology. Granted, I was seventeen...”

Daniel playfully glared at her.

“...but I suppose that’s no excuse. Let’s get started.”

The rest of the day went by without Daisy or Daniel seeing much of each other besides a fleeting glimpse while changing classes. Not that they were looking for the other, or anything.

A few hours later, before dinner, Daisy was sitting on the counter in the girls’ dorm bathroom, watching Jemma curl her hair.

Jemma Simmons was one of the only people she immediately loved at SHIELD, and the first person she had trusted on Coulson’s team. Over the course of a couple months, they became closer than Daisy had ever been with anyone, spending almost every waking moment together. Over time, Daisy had grown to love the rest of the team, too, learning that they had also been hand picked by Coulson. Though, technically, Daisy hadn’t been chosen for the team. She was picked up as a consultant. But it didn’t matter, as the ragtag team had quickly been disbanded.

Knives shoved into your back can have that effect.

After the end of the team, Code-named Bus Kids, Daisy, Fitzsimmons, Tripp, and May and Coulson had come to the Academy to continue working with SHIELD. Daisy and Tripp were assigned as partners in their ops training, Fitzsimmons were partners in the lab, and May and Coulson still checked on them as if nothing had changed.

But people get busy, and it had been awhile since Jemma and Daisy had properly talked to each other.

“Does the bruise on my nose look like it’ll go away any time soon?”

Jemma glanced up through the mirror, shrugging. “It should. What did you do to it?”

Daisy fiddled with her hands, only answering when Jemma turned to face her fully.

“I kinda, uhm, got punched...”

The stern look Jemma gave Daisy quickly melted into laughter as the brunette added, “...by a punching bag.”

Reaching up to turn Daisy’s face towards the fluorescent bathroom lighting, Jemma gently ran a finger along the angry red splotch on the top of Daisy’s nose. She jerked her head a bit, wincing at the contact.

“You should be fine, I’ll grab some of the good anti-inflammatory meds from the medical storage.”

Daisy thanked her, hopping off the counter to grab an eyeliner pen. “So, how is Fitz? Is this a real date night or are you guys ‘just hanging out’?”

Jemma smiled at his name and rubbed her neck. Daisy smiled back at the subconscious reaction.

“You two are so meant for each other,” She teased.

Jemma tilted her face up towards Daisy, allowing her to start applying eyeliner.

“He hasn’t really defined it. We’re ‘going out’, but we aren’t dating.”

Daisy finished the subtle cat eye, shaking her head. When would he learn that Jemma would only believe they were together if he said, ‘Hey, Jems, I’m completely and totally in love with you and I want you and I to live happily ever after!’

Daisy watched Jemma inspect herself in the mirror, touching up her mascara.

“You look amazing. He’s a fool if he doesn’t see it,” Daisy assured.

Jemma smiled. Her Sheffield accent had gotten thicker over break, Daisy noticed, as Jemma responded, “He does, I know he does. We both just have trouble, you know? Voicing our thoughts and feelings.”

Daisy definitely knew…

“Well, he could do with a good reminder sometimes. If y’all are going to keep going on these not-dates, you might as well show him what he’s missing by staying just friends!”

Jemma laughed, smiling gratefully. She took one final look in the mirror, swishing her knee-length royal blue dress and fluffing her hair. “Okay, well, off I go. Have a good night, Daisy.”

Daisy gave her a thumbs up and went to watch out her window as Fitz handed Jemma a hand-picked bouquet of (slightly squished) wildflowers and took her arm to lead her to the parking lot.

Daisy sighed and turned away from the gold and pink sunset. She opened her personal laptop, immediately bombarded by three windows running programs. One was running an innocent algorithm to clean all the useless, unused files from her computer, one was a simulation that could (hypothetically, no harm no foul) hack the Pentagon, and another was trying to find video and audio feed from Los Angeles, four months ago.

Daisy’s gaze lingered on the last one, not expecting anything new. She sighed and picked up her laptop, deciding to go visit Mack in the garage. It was only seven on a Friday, he’d probably be there working on the run-down, close to falling apart Harley he had bought off an old friend for $200. Mack had been working on it for months. Daisy wasn’t even sure it had half its original parts.

A short trip across the grounds and a trek over a winding path cut through a field of thick tallgrass later, Daisy arrived at the garage.

The monstrous steel and concrete building was like a plane hangar and mechanics lab forged into one. Workstations around the edge were strewn with tools, motors, and half-finished pieces of tech. Shining black SHIELD vehicles and even two quinjets sat in the middle, outlined by rectangular blocks of tape and paint. Catwalks crossed the upper level so that mechanics could reach the tops of planes when necessary, though SHIELD planes hardly ever came to The Academy unless they were being used for a lesson.

Daisy followed the sounds of tinkering and the quietly moving shadows to Mack’s workstation. She carefully leaned against a nearby SHIELD van, not wanting to interrupt his work.

Now, to say that Mack wasn’t easily frightened was an understatement. Daisy had hardly ever seen the muscled giant of a man so much as jump. Ever since discovering this, Daisy had taken every opportunity to try to scare Mack. It was not going great.

Daisy pulled out her phone, silently thumbing through emails and checking Instagram. She was about to walk over and tap him on the shoulder when Mack turned around and screamed.

Clutching his chest, Mack exclaimed, “Tremors, what the hell?!”

“I just wanted to come check in,” Daisy giggled, happy that she had finally snuck up on Mack.

Mack stood with his hands on his hips, smiling wide, before cocking one thick eyebrow and gesturing at her face.

“What happened to your nose?”

“Punching bag won this morning,” She shrugged.

Mack shook his head, laughing in a deep rumble. “You wanna help me with this?” He asked, pointing to the small device on his desk.

She didn’t answer, just reached out to take a small screwdriver from Mack’s very large hand. He showed her how to twist it to create leverage without it slipping while he messed with some wires, and eventually he seemed satisfied.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Mack asked casually.

Daisy nodded, her grumbling stomach betraying her.

Mack eyed her up and down. “Sure. Well, I’m hungry, so let's get something to eat and then we can take the bikes out.”

Daisy liked the feeling of being on a bike, the wind in her hair and steady vibrations from the engine soothing her ever-present headache. Ever since this revelation, if Mack went out on his motorcycle, he invited Daisy to ride with him.

At first, Daisy had been skeptical. What was so great about a two-wheel speeding death trap? One of her best friends had driven a gleaming 1969 Dodge Charger, and she had enjoyed riding with the windows down, but it still wasn’t the absolute best experience of her life, like most motorcyclists claimed a ride could be. However, once Daisy had finally taken Mack up on his offer, she was never hesitant to accept another invitation.

In the canteen, Mack piled a plate high with salad ingredients and baked spaghetti, scooping some off into a bowl for Daisy once he got back to the table. She took a fork and picked at it, chewing the crisp lettuce slowly.

Once they were both finished, Mack put his plate and utensils on the circling dish belt. He let Daisy lead the way back to the garage. She immediately grabbed two helmets and Mack’s gloves.

“That leather jacket gonna be enough to keep you warm? I have a couple old flannels in my bag if you want one.” Mack offered.

Daisy picked at a loose thread on the worn black jacket, nodding and throwing a ‘Thanks’ over her shoulder. She quickly rifled through his duffel bag, pulling out a faded black and blue flannel and shrugging it on under her jacket.

Mack mounted his black and silver bike, Daisy choosing a smaller SHIELD one. She kicked the kickstand back with her foot, finding her balance. She followed Mack as he revved the engine and took off out of the garage. Daisy heard him speak into the helmet’s mic.

“I upgraded the bikes, bigger tires and a better visor. It’s more efficient. Plus, when I’m out on the highway, cars don’t push me around.”

Daisy gave him a thumbs up, focusing on the feeling of air flowing around her. She sped up as she reached the road. She felt as if she was flying high into the air, fighting the laws of physics. On the back roads surrounding the Academy, as familiar as the back of her hand, Daisy relaxed and let herself fall into autopilot.

She heard Mack in her ear, still talking about the bike. She had heard it all before, but there was something centering about listening to Mack retell the evolution of his bike for the hundredth time, like a kid who begged to hear the same bedtime story every night.

It was freeing, speeding down a deserted road on the bike, stars above and pavement below. Pine trees reached for the sky on each side of her. Shrubbery and grass waved to Mack and Daisy as they raced forward.

A slight burn pricked her eyes that she knew wasn’t from the wind. Daisy needed this after a stressful first couple weeks back in class. To be honest, it was what she needed all the time. Daisy was exhausted. Her powers may not be visible, but they were always on, always bouncing around her body. Times like these, though, Daisy felt free. Releasing the constant grip she had on her self-control, she let the vibrations of the engine flow through her. Slowly, surely, Daisy let her guard down. A whispering warble crept into her ears over the wind. She could feel the way the pavement below and the humid late-August air around her absorbed the miniscule quakes, bouncing lightly off the tall trees like a quiet laugh reflecting off the walls of an echo-chamber.

About an hour later, Daisy and Mack were rolling back into the garage. Daisy couldn’t hide the slight redness in her eyes, but the smile on her face told Mack he didn’t need to worry. The pair silently did maintenance on the motorcycles, re-fueling them for later use and checking for any loose parts on Daisy’s.

Daisy headed back to campus, refusing Mack’s offer to walk her back to the dorms. She would be fine on her own. Besides, Jems might be back by now, she could ask about Fitzsimmons’ date. Or she could wait until breakfast tomorrow and tease them both.

Daisy stopped in her tracks. Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow slipped behind a building. Daisy felt her back tense, her hands curling into fists.

Any remainder of twilight light had faded while Mack and Daisy maintenanced the bikes. Daisy couldn’t imagine that any of the trainees that went to parties at the nearby universities were back yet, but no student in their right mind would want to simply walk around the dark campus of the Academy.

She kept walking, more alert. No sounds apart from her steady breathing and the rustle of grass beneath her feet reached her ears. She walked slowly toward where the shadow had disappeared. It looked as if it was headed to the biochem building. Daisy raised her hands, quietly running towards the white building, slightly crouched. She circled it once, twice, before deciding she had been imagining things, the shadow was only a trick of the light. It seemed so real though, so solid…

Daisy shook her head and crossed the courtyard, heading towards the dorms. It was late, and she had important things to do tomorrow. She was probably just tired from her ride with Mack.

Behind her, unnoticed by Daisy, the shadow quickly crossed the field behind the biochem building, slinking into the tallgrass.

The next day, Daisy woke to the sound of her alarm blaring 90’s RnB at six thirty AM, sharp. She quickly shut it off and stared at the ceiling for a moment before groaning and dragging herself out of bed. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after her encounter with the shadow.

The sun was slowly ascending in the sky, golden light filtering into her windows. It was early, but she didn’t have the energy to go workout. Instead, Daisy stretched on her bed and sent a quick text to Jemma asking to meet up later to gossip about her date.

She grabbed shorts and a cropped sweatshirt, quickly dressing and making her way to the bathroom. She clipped her hair back, brushed her teeth, washed her face and headed back to her room. Trying her best to cover the bruise that had turned from red-violet to a blue-ish tinted black, she did minimal makeup. It’s not like it could get any worse, she thought bitterly. The concealer wasn’t much use.

Deciding to ignore the bruise, Daisy stood up, grabbed her backpack with her personal laptop and journal and headed to the canteen.

There weren’t many students around campus this early in the morning. Most were either asleep or nursing a hangover in their dorms. A few dedicated trainees were scattered amongst the different buildings, either in the gym or studying on their favourite bench. Daisy made a beeline for the canteen, hoping that no one had drank all the fresh coffee yet.

She slipped through the doors, sending small smiles to the students she made eye-contact with, faltering when her roving gaze reached a set of twinkling eyes the color of coffee. Maybe, she thought, I should go over and talk to him. What’s the worst that can happen?

She quickly poured herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a cinnamon raisin bagel from the pastry cart. Checking to be sure he wasn’t sitting with anyone (she wouldn’t want to intrude), Daisy walked around to the back of the large room, sitting in a spot diagonal from him.

After a few minutes of silence where Daisy ate her bagel and pretended not to feel his eyes on her, she turned and faced him.

“Good morning,” she said.

He dipped his head and raised his paper cup of coffee at the same time in response.

Does he not want to talk to me? Daisy questioned herself. She tried again. “So, is the coffee good?” He glanced at her cup that she had been sipping. Daisy recovered, “You know, in your opinion. I love the coffee here, the slightly burned aftertaste goes well with cream and sugar.΅

To her relief, he smiled. “Yeah, it’s good. I don’t usually use cream or sugar.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Ah, more of a bare necessities, no-nonsense guy?”

His nose scrunched a little in thought, as if he was assessing his entire personality to see if it aligned with Daisy’s coffee psychology. He nodded finally, elaborating, “I was in the army. Most of us drank it black while deployed. I never got out of the habit. But, to answer your question, I like to think of myself as low maintenance.”

He sent her a small smile that had her insides melting just a bit. Daisy hid behind the rim of her coffee cup, trying to think of a response. Luckily, New Guy saved her.

“How do you drink your coffee?”

Daisy lowered her own paper cup, clearing her throat. “One half and half, just a bit of sugar. If I’m super tired I’ll add more.”

“So you probably adapt easily and have a deep hunger for answers to all your questions?”

Daisy’s eyes quickly flicked down to her coffee, wondering if her coffee order really exposed that much about her. Daniel laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “I’m kidding. I noticed how you’re always in the computer lab before class, and Yo-Yo told me that you use that time to research.”

Daisy felt a blush creep up her neck. Yo-Yo knew New Guy? And gave him information about her schedule?

Daniel quickly explained, “We see each other in the halls a lot. And we have a class together. She noticed me in the lab and thought I knew you.”

Daisy relaxed. Yo-Yo had become increasingly more friendly to strangers the longer she spent at the Academy.

“I remember the first time I met her. She was so angry that SHIELD had stopped her from exposing the police in her city as corrupt. Our team was sent in to help her finish what she had started, destroy weapons and take down the corrupt members of the department. It was fun,” She chuckled.

Daniel watched her through his thin clear-frame glasses. She winced a little as her nose scrunched with laughter, recalling another story about a mission gone awry that Yo-Yo saved.

“How did you get that bruise?”

“What?”

He pointed to the spot on his face that mirrored the position of the bruise on hers. “The bruise. It looks like it hurts.”

Daisy shrugged, “Not as badly as getting shot. But you know, sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes the bag punches you.”

Despite the playful nature of the statement, Daniel couldn’t help but hear alarm bells in the back of his mind. She had been shot?!

Daisy noticed the change in Daniel’s demeanor and switched tactics, “It’s just a bruise. I wasn’t paying attention and the punching bag flew back and hit me in the face.”

Daniel laughed, becoming more and more intrigued with the enigma sitting across from him. Well, at least this enigma was beautiful, even if she had lost a fight to a punching bag.

A look of pure confusion overtook Daisy’s features. “Excuse me?”

Daniel’s face flushed bright red. He said that out loud. Daisy was still smiling though, Daniel let out a nervous chuckle. The two lapsed into an awkward silence. Daisy was finishing her bagel when he spoke up again.

“It was good talking to you,” he said softly.

Daisy’s eyes wandered his face with an unreadable expression. “Yeah, it was.”

He resisted the urge to offer to walk Daisy to wherever she was going as she headed out of the doors of the canteen, coffee with one half and half and pinch of sugar in hand.

————————————————————————————

hi hellooo! whatd you think? comments and notes are appreciated! (will go back and edit this later, for now i sleep)

tag list: @jaanulore

#agents of sheild #aos #dousy #timequake #fic #angst #fluff #fitzsimmons #mackelena #philindaisy #jemma simmons #leo fitz #daniel sousa #daisy johnson #/#melinda may

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skiller0dani · 4 years

Text

Commands | Kylo Ren

M A S T E R L I S T Star Wars Masterlist

smut requests info

I just adore this little squishy violent man with all my heart. also ouch my heart :( not sure if I like this. could be better. could be longer. I’m sorry don’t leave me please keep reading my stuff D:

137 days.

You counted the tally marks littering the walls of your cell aboard the Command Ship for the First Order. You leaned your head back against the wall, in all your time here you hadn’t been in contact with anybody other than the Stormtroopers that guarded your cell. You’d caught a quick glimpse of the Supreme Leader- Kylo Ren. His helmet was cracked, welded together but the cracks glowed an ethereal red. He was clad in black, like he always was and he barely threw a glance your way as you were hauled to your cell.

Since then you’d never seen another soul except for the single Stormtrooper stood outside the cell door. You’d assumed they took you because of your brief affiliation with the Rebellion. You’d been a pilot with the Rebellion before you decided you’d watched enough of your friends die at the hands of the First Order. You couldn’t take it anymore, so you did what cowards did. You ran. You weren’t proud of what you did, and it seemed the Universe had a fit punishment for you as you’d been taken by the First Order not long after running.

Something about Kylo Ren both intrigued and unsettled you. He had a presence to him, like a dark cloud that clung to his very being. You weren’t sure if that was because of the darkness looming in his soul, or the physical sensation of the Force all around him. Either way, it made you want to run to him and away from him. Whatever it was, it was completely intoxicating.

But if there was one person on this Ship that unsettled you more than any other man had before- it was General Hux. He didn’t unsettle you in a curiously dangerous sort of way, not in the way Kylo did. No, he unsettled you in the way that made you feel sick in his presence, he unsettled you in a way that led you to believe you were in imminent danger any time you were near him.

Kylo unsettled you only because of the affect he had over your body without even looking into his eyes. Just him being around you took over your every coherent thought and filled the empty spaces in your mind with nothing but him. Hux made you want to hide from him, hoping he would just go away. You watched the way Hux’s eyes undressed you, the way his fists curled into his sides upon seeing you, and you definitely noticed the tent form in his trousers as he would linger outside your cell. It made you feel gross all over your body, as if he was touching you without laying a single hand on you. The only hands you wanted on you were Kylo’s, which upset you for an entirely different reason.

Kylo was an enemy to the Rebellion, he’d killed thousands of innocents. Your mind logically knows what kind of man he is, but your body betrays you in its lust for his skin on yours. You shouldn’t want him, yet you do. You should hate him, you want to hate him but you don’t. You feel pity for him, even though it was his actions that led him down this lonely road. He did this to himself, but your heart doesn’t seem to care who’s fault it is. You just want to help him.

“You’ve been summoned.” The Stormtrooper’s voice cuts into your thoughts. You blink up at him before scrambling to your feet. Feeling handcuffs secure around your wrists you’re hauled into the hallway and stood in front of the man you were least hoping to see. General Hux. You swallowed a thick lump in your throat at the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He said nothing as he took your arm and led you off towards the elevator. Your mouth is dry as you step into the elevator after him. As soon as the doors are shut he turns, his eyes look hungry as they scan your body. Your body tenses as he takes a step towards you.

Hux’s hands press to the elevator walls on either side of your head, your back hitting the wall hard as your heart races in your chest. His lips brush against your neck and you feel a shudder of disgust run down your spine, and you release a sigh of relief as the doors open and he is forced to pull away from you. Hux takes your arm and begins to pull you down the hallway when you begin to dig your heels into the floor. Panic settles in as you approach a door at the end of the hallway, and you begin to tug against his grasp. You thrash in his tight grip, as he continues to drag out to the door.

The door slides open and your panic is sent into overdrive when you see it’s his bedroom. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you slam your knee up into his crotch. Hux doubles over in pain, and you turn and sprint down the hall, not knowing where you’re going. This shuttle is a labyrinth. Your heart hammers against your chest as you take turns, hearing his boots slamming against the ground behind you. You turn your head to glance back at Hux, and this is when you slam into a solid wall of muscle. When you turn your head to look up at who you bumped into, your heart stops. Kylo Ren.

His eyebrow cocks at the sight of you, in handcuffs, heaving for breath, panic laced in your eyes. Kylo feels his blood run hot when he sees who chases you. “S-Supreme Leader.” Hux heaves, struggling to catch his breath. You feel frozen in place as Hux stands rigid, his eyes on you. “I was just escorting this prisoner when she attacked me.” Hux hissed.

You have no clue what compelled you to do it, and you have no idea why you blindly believed it would work. You threw yourself into Kylo’s chest, your cuffed hands reaching up to grab at his black tunic. Your body quivered in fear, “please don’t let him take me.” You whispered softly, so that only Kylo would hear you. Kylo says nothing, but he doesn’t remove you from his body either.

“Escorting her where?” Kylo asks, one of his hands coming down to rest on your arm. Gently, he pries you off him and maneuvers you to stand behind him. Hux flinches, scrambling to come up with a suitable answer.

“T-To questioning sir.” Hux lied unconvincingly. A dark look crossed Kylo’s face.

“Where was he taking you?” Kylo asks, his question directed at you. You stand trembling behind him, “t-to his quarters.” You stammer, watching as the color leaves Hux’s face.

“You were going to question her...in your quarters?” Kylo asks, the anger now beginning to seep into his tone. Hux stands stock still, his eyes wide and pointed straight ahead, his arms folded behind his back. Your eyes trail up Kylo’s back, and it’s just now that you realize he isn’t wearing his helmet. With nothing more than a twitch of his hand, Kylo sends Hux slamming against the wall. “You are not to go near her again.” Hux nods feebly, sliding to the floor when Kylo takes his gaze off him.

Kylo turns to you, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before gently taking your arm and leading you down the hallway. Your heart rate slows as you follow Kylo through corridors before he leads you to what appears to be a plain bedroom. “From now on, this is where you will be kept.” He explains, your eyes widening in surprise. He reaches down, taking your hands in his gloved ones before unlocking the handcuffs. “T-Thank you.” You stammer quietly, and your eyes lock for a brief moment. Kylo nods curtly, and you swear you see a blush prickle at his cheeks before he turns out of your new ‘cell’.

165 days.

You hadn’t seen Kylo since that day, but your heart fluttered whenever you heard his name. When the sun would go down, your hand would disappear between your legs- imagining you and Kylo in lewd scenarios. With his head between your thighs. Him bending you over the bed. Him whispering sweetly into your ear as he drives into you again and again. You feel a heat sear through your body at the thought. You look out the window into the galaxy, your mind not drifting far from Kylo. If he’d fallen to the dark side, then why did he protect you? If he was pure evil, he would have let Hux have his way with you but he didn’t.

Kylo. Kylo. Kylo. Kylo. His name bounces around your head as you cum on your fingers, your chest heaves as the shame settles in your chest.

You hate the empty feeling in your chest when Kylo isn’t around, you hate the way you’re letting yourself feel for him. He’s not a good person, and you desperately try to remind yourself of that. Whenever you get lost in remembering the way his gloves felt against your skin, how it felt for him to hold onto you, you remember Han. You remember seeing Han with the lightsaber through his chest, you remember that it was Kylo who was holding the lightsaber. You try to remind yourself who he is, but you’re not sure you know anymore. You lean back against your bed, the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

You hear footsteps approaching your room, but you’re not worried it’s Hux. He hasn’t even looked at you since that day. You were grateful for that, but you didn’t know why you were still here. If Kylo wanted something from you, he would have gotten it by now and if you were useless to him he would have killed you. But instead for the last 165 days you’ve been a prisoner, barely speaking to anybody. You don’t know what he wants with you, and you’re not sure you ever want to leave if it means being away from him. The thought scares you.

When the door swings open, you sit up immediately with a blush on your cheeks. “Kylo,” His name slips past your lips before you can stop it. His eyes meet yours as the door slides shut behind him. Kylo’s chest is heaving as his eyes remain locked on yours. There is a thrumming coming from him, sending waves of vibrations through your body as he steps closer. “Every night,” He starts, his voice hoarse as his fists curl at his sides. Your heart slams against your ribcage as you realize he is only wearing a simple black tunic and trousers. “Every night I have to lay in bed and pretend I don’t hear you calling for me in your mind.” Your eyes widen in horror, he heard you? How?

Taking a few steps, Kylo reaches the end of the bed. “Take off your shirt.” His voice is low and demanding. It makes your mouth go dry.

The logical part of your brain shuts off the second those dark eyes look into yours, with that air of dominance practically pouring out of him.

Your hands reach for the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head. Your breasts are bare, and Kylo’s pupils widen as he sits back in a chair at the foot of your bed. Your expression falls when you notice that Kylo isn’t going to approach you. He sees your forlorn expression and the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Were you expecting me to touch you?” His voice is cocky, as are his eyes.

“Lay back.” Another command leaves his lips and you immediately obey.

You lay back against the soft mattress, your entire body buzzing with anticipation. You can’t see him, your gaze pointed straight at the ceiling. You feel a warm sensation tingle up your legs, across your stomach and finally to the underside of your breasts. You glance at Kylo to see him sitting in the same position he was before. Your mouth falls open as you feel something brush against your nipples. The Force. You feel your nipples being rolled and pinched by the tendrils of the Force that Kylo is manipulating to pleasure you. A soft moan escapes your lips as the sensation curls around your chest, and then suddenly you feel nothing. Your chest is heaving when you open your eyes, you see Kylo hovering over you.

“For weeks, I’ve had to listen to you pleasure yourself while calling out for me. Do you have any idea how maddening that is?” Kylo’s voice is soft, and raspy. The tip of his nose brushes against yours as his hands dance down your sides. “Let me feel you,” You whisper, whining as you writhe under him. Kylo grinds his hips down into yours, creating delicious friction. You moan softly, watching as he yanks his black gloves off. “More Kylo.” You shamelessly beg, head spinning as he softly grinds his hard cock against you, both trapped in the confines of your pants. His hands find the band of your pants, and he’s quickly yanking your trousers down your legs.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” You ask through frantic breaths as your hands pull at the black tunic he’s wearing. Kylo yanks the fabric off his body, revealing his toned and muscular chest. The sight of his exposed skin sends a wave of hot, wet arousal between your legs. Kylo’s pupils widen when he sees the wet patch on your panties, throwing your pants somewhere behind him. “I don’t know.” He says honestly, his lips finding yours then. Your lips move in tandem with his, hands grabbing at him anywhere you can reach. Kylo’s hand dips into your panties, his fingers sliding through your wet folds. He groans against your lips before you feel tendrils of the Force sliding up your inner thighs, licking gently at your clit.

“I need you inside me right now Kylo.” You beg wantonly, your hips grinding up into his as you moan again. Kylo says nothing as he reaches down to tear your panties from your body. Your hands fumble as they frantically push down his pants, watching with eyes alight as he kicks them off. One of Kylo’s hands plants itself firmly on the mattress next to your head as his other hand grasps his cock and leads the head to your entrance. Gently, Kylo pushes into you and you throw your head back in ecstasy. Your fingers grip the bed sheets tightly as Kylo begins to rock into you, his head hung low and his lips pressing gently to your neck.

Kylo leans up to look into your eyes before pulling his hips back only to slam himself into you again, setting a quick and brutal pace. He holds your hips with a bruising force and you feel the Force groping your breasts and sliding around your body. You feel the coil in your lower belly winding tighter as you look up at him and he looks beautiful. There is sweat perspiring on his forehead causing his damp hair to stick to his face. A vain protrudes from his forehead as his hands grip tightly at your sides and when his eyes meet yours, you feel the Force all over your body. You cum without warning, your entire body tightening around him, sending him over the edge.

“Tomorrow, you’re leaving.” Kylo says unexpectedly causing your eyes to snap open to look at him.

What?

#kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #kylo imagine #ben solo #ben solo smut #ben solo imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars smut #adam driver #general hux #kylo x reader #hux x reader #kylo x you #hux x you

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beholdme · 3 years

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 18

Chapters: 18/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

They cook, they feed him, they chat away about inane things. Their presence soothes Martin and their voices fill him with the warmth sucked away by his unexpected encounter.

Gerry helps him make tea after dinner, and they all sit at the table together, even the cats sleeping nearby, cuddled up into one big, grey and black fluff ball.

"I think," Martin begins, voice croaky, "That I would like to tell you now."

"We're ready to listen if you're ready to tell us." Jon offers softly. Gerry reaches over to take one of his hands, turning it over to kiss the palm sweetly.

Martin talks, voice quiet and even.

"In the beginning, it was just a normal relationship. Except for the fact that he was almost twenty years older than me, and about a million times richer. I didn't know that at first, of course. He was just a middle-aged man I met in a gay bar, who didn't seem to mind that I was trans. I felt secure in our relationship, if not exactly nurtured or adored. I had never felt very secure before, and it seemed like enough, you know?

"He took me out, brought me a few things in the beginning. He was very dominant, sexually, but I was a lot less sure of my own preferences back then and I thought it was fine. He never even blinked at my trashy flat or cheap clothes, and I didn't even realise just how much money he had for a long time. Maybe I just can't really comprehend that much money, even now.

"When I was twenty-two, my mother died, and…" He huffs out a shaky, emotional laugh. "Well, I was a real mess. I lost my job, and almost my flat. Peter started paying for things, my rent, clothes, meals. He said that I needed somewhere to live and had to eat and look presentable, and it was his pleasure to provide those things for me. It made me feel a bit gross, but I struggled to find another job, and so I accepted it."

Martin hesitates here, before continuing. "The problem started when I wasn't interested in sex one night."

"He forced you?" Gerry interrupts to ask dangerously, threat explicit in his quiet words. His eyes seem to glow faintly in the growing dark of the room, as the sun sets. He wishes, more than ever, that he had helped Jon kick the shit out of Peter Lukas, instead of stopping him.

Martin sighs, eyes pressed tight closed for a second. "Not exactly. He simply pointed out that he paid for me to exist. So I made myself interested."

Gerry's hands tighten into fists and he moves them under the table where Martin can't see them anymore. Jon suddenly looks very pale. They share a look, neither able to see much difference between 'forcing' and what sounds a lot like financial abuse to them.

Martin pulls his legs up to his chest, curling around them as he goes on. "Our relationship became a lot more transactional after that night. I disengaged whatever feelings I had left for him and simply drew all my emotions down deep into myself. I wasn't ashamed to be getting paid for sex, but I felt like I had lost my own consent in the matter. Peter honestly seemed like he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Money was nothing to him, and he had someone to take out on his arm or shag whenever he wanted, without the work of a real relationship, or the complications of unfortunate attachments.

"So, if I needed something, I told him. He set a date, took me out, fucked me. He gave me however much I needed."

Martin shrugs, looking down at his hands. "I honestly hated it. Not because of the prostitution itself, sex has always been very nurturing for me, and I sometimes caught the idea that it was only another way to care for people, and being paid for that is perfectly fine, if you're doing it for the right reasons. The real issue was Peter himself. He had this way of making me feel… bereft and hollow, even before the money came into it."

A few tears track down his face, although his face remains rather blank, in a numb way. It's only as he admits the next words that his voice breaks and the heartbreak works its way out again.

"I was very foolish. Looking back, I can see that I was still a child in a lot of ways. I put myself into a situation that damaged me, but I accept the consequences of those actions, both then and now. I- I-"

"Martin," Jon whispers, warm love clear in his voice. It's nothing but an offer of support, one that he desperately needs right now.

He presses his eyes shut, forcing away the stutter and the lump of tears. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to get out of it, even if I got a crap, minimum wage job that I was qualified for. So I started applying for any work that was available. I made every application exactly what they wanted, and I hoped for the best. When Elias offered me the job at Magnus, I took it happily. Since then I found out that Peter knows him, and probably arranged the job for me, but at the time I had no idea. Looking back, I know that it's a miracle that I got out of it at all. Peter could have chosen to make my life a living hell. Instead, he accepted the several firm rejections I offered him.

"He promised me that we weren't done, that I would be back, but he left me alone. I was done. I moved on with my life, even if I had to lie to do it." Martin sighs, shakes out his shoulders, the most difficult part over now.

"I had always planned to be open about it with my next relationships, but they were so fleeting that it never even came up. By the time I fell for Jon, it had become a secret, one I was loathed to dig up for a relationship I was convinced wouldn't last. I thought to myself, 'Why ruin something that makes me happy?' I assumed it would fall apart anyway, and it was easier to allow it to be in the past.

"But I am sorry. I'm sorry that I never told you. I'm sorry you had to find out from him. I'm sorry that we've been together for more than a year and we basically live together, and I've put you in this position. I love you both, very very much."

"When did you eventually decide that our relationship was going to last?" Jon queries, genuine curiosity in his voice.

There's a beat of hazy silence at the abrupt change in tone and topic.

"Oh, ah-" Martin stumbles over his words, unsure how blatantly honest to be. He chooses the real truth, no matter how unfortunate. "The day that I got Luna was the first time I really accepted that you both loved me."

Jon simply raises an eyebrow, completely unconcerned. "What about you, Gerry?"

"With you," Gerry responds easily, "at the hospital in Morden, when I was so panicked that I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill you or handcuff us together for the rest of our lives. With Martin-"

He breaks off with a laugh, colouring slightly. "It was the day we dyed my hair purple."

"The first time we had sex?" Martin asks, surprised at such a hedonistic answer.

He laughs again, more confidently this time. "No, actually, although that was spectacular. It was afterwards, when you braided my hair for the first time. That was the first time anyone had ever braided my hair. It made me feel so… So honoured. Like I was the most precious thing to you."

"Gerry, you are the most precious thing to me. You both are." Martin whispers, tears creeping back into his voice.

"Good, because the feeling is mutual, and we desperately need you around to keep us in line," Jon tells him, voice unusually firm and confident.

"What about you?" Martin remembers to ask him, at risk of floating away in his post confession haze. "When did you know?"

"With Gerry, it was when we were teenagers. I kissed him for the first time, and he laughed at me. I just knew he was my soulmate." Jon rolls his eyes at this, but his voice is full of blatant affection. "With you, Martin, it was- Well, to be quite honest with you, there was no one special moment. It was a million tiny moments, all of them special and perfect to me. Every cup of tea, every frown while you were writing poetry, glasses pushed haphazardly up into your lovely hair. The easy, glorious look on your face the day you met Gerry for the first time, as if you weren't even capable of not falling in love with him, just as I hadn't been. It was especially the days that I would come out of the library and find you waiting for me after work. This weight of total surety would fill my chest and leave me gasping, needing you."

Jon sighs, his own eyes a little bright. "I suppose it was really the night you kissed me in the rain, and every soft moment since then has only affirmed the way I knew you were it for me."

Jon smiles at Martin so beatifically that he forgets to breathe for a moment.

"We love you too, Martin," Gerry tells him, reaching out to grasp a hand. Jon takes the other. "And we wouldn't want you any other way."

***

The next morning, Martin wakes to find Jon eyeing his phone intently. Gerry is asleep on his other side, and he feels warmly cocooned between them. Gentle cloudy light fills the space, encouraging the comfortable cozy atmosphere of their bed.

"What's wrong, love?" Martin asks sleepily, snuggling into his side.

"I got-" Jon pauses, utterly flummoxed. "I got paid a bonus."

"What?" Equally perplexed, Martin takes his phone, squinting as he tries to read the screen.

The banking app is open, and there is indeed a deposit there, Jon's normal salary amount, but on completely the wrong date.

In the purpose box, it simply reads 'Entertainment Value'.

"You don't think," Jon starts, hesitant, "that Elias paid me…"

"For hitting Peter Lukas?" Martin finishes, "His own husband."

They blink at each other, bewildered.

"Does that seem… slightly cursed, to you?" Jon whispers as if Elias might hear him. Even worse if Elias could hear them, and would probably enjoy being accused of having a cursed relationship.

"Yes, completely cursed. What is up with those two?" Martin looks as if he's smelled something bad.

"We absolutely cannot spend this money, right?" Jon asks. "Lest we are cursed with their relationship dysfunction."

"Correct," Martin responds firmly, shuddering. "Can we donate it to the animal shelter?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Jon's relief at this resolution is palpable.

He does it straight away, as if even having the money in his bank account might ruin their lives.

They let out a simultaneous sigh as the transfer goes through.

"That is wild," Martin mutters as he snuggles back down.

Jon tosses his phone away, no longer interested in it. Instead, he wraps his arms around Martin, burying his nose in his lover's hair. It smells of bergamot and tea leaves and the ocean in winter, just like Martin himself, and Jon luxuriates in the moment.

"I love you, Martin K. Blackwood." He whispers into the soft air.

"Even if I don't actually have a middle name?" Martin whispers back.

"Especially because of that." Jon chuckles.

They lay together, the gentle moments of the morning flowing around them. Later, they get up and shower together. They drink tea in front of the big windows in the living space. Martin reads a book from Gerry's shelves, his own books still packed, and Jon wanders off to play his piano where it is randomly set up, right in the middle of Gerry's typical painting area.

Gerry himself appears downstairs, still sleepy and bleary-eyed. He curls up with his head in Martin's lap, listening to Jon fill the flat with gentle music.

It's the soft sort of moment that each of them had been wishing for all their lives, full of love, and family, and a home of their very own.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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honey-makki · 4 years

Text

Irreconcilable

Characters: Asahi Azumane X GN!Reader

Summary: Asahi’s mental health can be debilitating sometimes. Taking a toll on himself and relationships with others, but how far will they go to help him?

Warnings: depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts

Song: this is me trying- taylor swift

Genre: angst/comfort

Count: 2k

A/N: please head the warnings. this discusses and is an explicit portrayl of anxiety and depression with references to suicidal thoughts. it isn’t “fun” but nevertheless i think its good. at least it felt good to write,

Asahi hasn’t left his bed yet today, rather listening to the rain and staring up at the ceiling, wondering how long it’ll be before he can fall asleep again. This isn’t an uncommon situation for him, his figure shrouded in darkness and enveloped by the blankets on his bed. The occasional buzz of his phone goes unnoticed.

The darkness of the room shifts throughout the day, casting heavier shadows on his bed in the afternoon, shadows that he can feel the weight of on his chest. They mirror the heavy feeling in his heart and the discontent in his head. Would sorry have made any difference? It’s just a word, a word I would have struggled to even say.

The passage of time seems like its just a theoretical concept until the gnawing pain of hunger starts to peek through. He’s not hungry per se, but his body is telling him that three days without eating is way too long. The tinge of pain is a welcome feeling, no matter how fleeting.

It would still be a few hours before Asahi made his way to the kitchen, long after his flatmates are asleep, hoping to avoid an uncomfortable conversation. There isn’t a reason he can articulate for the way he looks, hair messy and unwashed, deep circles under his eyes despite sleeping most of the time, and his thinning frame drawing in his seemingly oversized old volleyball jacket.

He doesn’t even think he would try to come up with an excuse should they see him, the effort seeming monumental for little to no reward. He’s gotten to the point where he isn’t hiding it, any actions to make it easier to deal with, like using the kitchen sparingly and only at odd hours, are just due to convenience not fear of response.

Holding a bowl of cheese puffs and a long-forgotten packet of Takenoko No Sato Asahi makes his way back to his room, each footstep silent. Sitting in his desk chair he pops something in his mouth, not really sure if it was sweet or savory because to him they all taste the same, something akin to cardboard, or wood chips uncomfortably dry in his mouth.

The milk carton he grabbed out of the fridge doesn’t taste much better. It feels thick, so much so that he isn’t sure he will be able to swallow (or stomach) it. He might as well be drinking a bottle of unscented lotion, and even then that might be better.

He isn’t sure how long has passed since he keeps zoning out, but the bowl of leftover puffs look about as appetizing as styrofoam peanuts, and he knows that if he doesn’t get them out fo his room, he might be sick. Being sick is a lot more effort than sneaking to the kitchen, that is as long as it’s late.

He finally checks his phone after what has been, hours? A day? Maybe three days? It’s not the brightness of the screen that hurts, or the way all the notifications make his heart race, its the background picture that makes it nye impossible to use. Its you.

Seeing your smiling face next to his, he recognizes every single square millimeter of your face, long ago committed to memory. He could paint it blindfolded if he needed to, but the person next to you? He doesn’t see himself looking back. The clear skin, the glow, the beaming smile, the light in his eyes. Maybe its liveliness, maybe its adoration, maybe its gratitude, but regardless, he doesn’t retain nor deserves any of those emotions.

It’s his fault he’s here alone in his room staring at a bug climbing the wall. step. step. step. Each leg of the ant moving in unison, carrying it to some future that it can imagine. How depressing is it that an ant has a brighter future than I do? Every second he spends looking at the ant is one less second he is being drawn deeper into the tumultuous whirlpool of dread in his head.

The buzz of his phone clacks against the ceramic bowl, discordant in the otherwise silent room. The noise acts as a life preserver he feels oddly obligated to take out of the water, looking down to see your name across the screen. For the second time today, he feels something, earlier it was clearly defined and compartmentalized hunger, now? It’s a ceaseless swirl of resigned hopelessness, despair, anxiety, irritation, and a deep sense of being unworthy of all of these feelings.

Its easier when he isn’t reminded of you.

He doesn’t plan on responding to your simple ‘hey.’but the follow up of ‘dai said you aren’t well, let’s talk’ still everything but his mind. He can’t breathe in, he can’t move his thumbs to lock his phone or reply to you, all he can do is think about is how this could only go horribly wrong, but that you cared, at least cared enough about him to check-in. Even after everything he did.

Asahi: We can talk on the phone later I guess, y/n

Y/N: i’ll be over tonight at 7, i still have a key.

7pm. That’s 6 hours away according to his phone. The concept of time mattering feels foreign, should he nap? Take a shower? How long are normal showers? Should he clean his room? Does his room even need to be cleaned? Wash his sheets? Before long he finds himself on the floor, head in his hands with tears streaming down his face. He doesn’t recall getting there or starting to cry, it feels like the tears have always been there, each tear track carving out a trail in his skin, creating invisible canyons. They’re always there, maybe invisible or dry, but the tear tracks are still there.

The faint thud of his pulse ringing in his head is one of the only things his dulled sense can take in. he can’t place if he’s developed a migraine and the thud is twangs of pain or if he’s just, not here. Living what can only be described as the inverse of an out of body experience, everything else around him fading out into black, leaving him alone in an infinite black universe.

The weight of something on his head brings him back to earth. His head leans up and out of his peripheral sees your knees as you sit on his bed. A small whine leaves his throat as you begin to scratch and massage his scalp. Asahi can’t remember the last time he was touched by another person, and he doesn’t know how he lived so long without it. Your fingers are massaging fatigue out of his bones, undoing tension he’s caring in his shoulders.

It’s illogical that the light touches from each of your fingertips on his scalp can undo so much damage to his body, but that’s a skill you honed over time, and you can visibly see him become grounded.

“Asahi you know I can’t keep doing this. I would do this every day for the rest of my life if asked because I know it helps, but I hate seeing you like this. I’m scared that one day I’m going--” your chocked sobs are finally audible enough for him to perceive, “that you are gonna be too far gone. I wouldn’t be able to take that Asahi. Life without you is hard enough, I don’t want to imagine a world without you.”

He knew his mental health issues affected you, its the whole reason he left you in the first place, feeling guilty for you having to take care of him and him not making any progress. But he didn’t realize how scared you were. That he might just wither away, or suddenly not be here anymore. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought about it more than once, but never taking any tangible steps forward.

He still hasn’t said anything, but after a few minutes of you both crying, he just nods his head. You aren’t exactly sure what that means, but his voice croaks out, “help. I’ll get help.” The admission wasn’t something you expected but the hoarseness of his voice from crying or nonuse makes it all the more real. That maybe you were right to worry, and you were right to set this ultimatum.

A few hours later, you leave Asahi’s apartment, he fell asleep after you helped him bathe and changed his sheets. You left phone numbers of multiple psychologists and therapists, and an offer that you would make an appointment if he couldn’t find the willpower to do so. You have a cup of tea with Daichi before you leave, telling him about Asahi wanting to get help. You ask him to try to make sure that Asahi is doing at least the bare minimum or eating real food once a day and showering. Small steps eventually add up to a healthier person.

Months pass, where you and Asahi exchange a few text messages, detailing about he found a therapist, and his journey to find a medication that made him feel better and not worse. The conversations are long, but they always leave you hopeful about his progress.

You expected the knock on the door to be your take out but instead are looking at the chest of a much taller man. You look up to see Asahi’s face, a nervous smile looking down at you. His skin looks healthier, not as pallid or marred with deep sleeplessness, his hair is up in a bun, but you can see how much healthier it looks. The most notable change is that you can see light in his eyes. There’s something in there, hope maybe or just contentment with his growth. But there’s something, something that he made on his own and can hold onto.

Sure there are still signs that he isn’t fully back to the Asahi you met a long time ago, his hair is still thin, his frame is still not as filled out as it once was, but is definitely in a healthier range, his smile isn’t 100% confident and doesn’t seem to fully reach his eyes, but he looks good. And if he’s here, he must be feeling good.

“Hey y/n, I’ve been doing a lot better recently and my therapist said I should come and speak my mind. First, let me give you the most genuine and heartfelt thank you I can muster. If you hadn’t said what you did that one evening, I would never have gotten help and I honestly might not be here.”

His words are confident and sincere. They sound a little rehearsed, which is endearing. Asahi was never the most eloquent or poised person when it comes to feelings, but his declarations of love were always true in the deepest sense of the word. You couldn’t contain the smile on your face even if you wanted to, not when he’s done so much, not when he’s trying so hard.

“I might perceive the world as darker and more hellish than it actually is sometimes, but I’m gonna try again and again to soothe my heart and pick the flowers growing in the midst of hell. You are one of those flowers, a light in the darkness that motivates and assures me that all is well. If you would like, I want to grab coffee with you, like old times.”

Your bodies are bathed in golden sunlight from the window behind you, giving your nod a lucent halo. The halo fades as you step out and close the door behind you, but the glow doesn’t, it’s part of him, part of you.

Tags

@ceo-of-daichi @haikyuuhotline @sugawara-sweetheart @nonexistent-social-life @laughingismorefun @iguessimastannow

#asahi #azumane asahi #asahi azumane #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #hq!!#hq!! fanfiction #asahi x y/n #asahi x reader #asahi azumane x y/n #asahi azumane x reader #kristen writes #folklore series #folklore #tw depression #tw anxiety #tw suicide

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years

Text

all the truth i could tell

Title: all the truth i could tell

Word Count: 4864

Summary: The court case is about keeping them together. But Roman’s testimony during the trial might just tear Logan apart. For Isa’s Sanders Bro AU. Familial/Brotherly LAMP angst/hurt/comfort.

Warnings: angst/hurt/comfort, detailed discussion of past abuse (physical/emotional/psychological), courtrooms, badgering witnesses, threats, threats about children, vomiting, second-guessing and self-doubt, emotional breakdowns, arguments, guilt (trauma related and also misplaced in so many ways), cursing, crying (some more than others but a lot across the board woops)

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write this fic for months and months. Perhaps one of the angstiest fics I’ve ever written. Got a little emotional while writing it, so I mostly just hope the emotions of the fic translated from my brain onto the page well enough because... I’m not sure, honestly. But I’m never sure about these things. Heh. My immeasurable thanks to @justisaisfine not only for letting me play in the Bros AU again, but for all the work and love and dedication they’ve put in to this universe’s creation. Edited by yours truly. All continuity errors, typos, and spelling/grammar mistakes are mine.

Inspired mostly by these posts from their AU.

Title is taken from “Praying” by Kesha; a cover of which appears in Isa’s playlist for this AU.

…

“Roman Sanders.”

The courtroom is packed, though Logan can’t say at this point that he finds that particularly surprising. It had been packed for the past several days, ever since it first started. And despite this fact, Logan is reasonably confident he hears the inhale of breath that his older brother sucks into his lungs. It is not entirely steady. Roman stands up from beside their lawyers at the defense table and casts a quick glance over his shoulder to his brothers and Thomas. Logan doesn’t know what his own expression is. He hopes it’s reassuring.

Anything to ease that flicker of fear that crosses his brother’s eyes.

Late afternoon sunlight streams in through the windows on the far wall and leaves squares of light on the wood floors. The benches are hard and uncomfortable to sit on, but Logan had gotten used to their discomfort days ago. Besides, a hard seat was hardly the most pressing issue on his mind. He casts a furtive, fleeting glance over at the back of his parents’ heads at the prosecution table.

Roman makes his way to the witness stand, lays his hand on the Bible, swears the oath they’d all heard half a dozen times by now. It’s all very business-as-usual. Logan wonders if Roman’s hand feels like lead to him. Logan’s had felt that way when he’d sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.

“You may take your seat.”

Beside him, Patton shifts, fiddling with the sleeve of his gray suit jacket. Logan glances at him. Patton doesn’t take his eyes off their oldest brother.

Their lawyer—Walter Coleman—stands, buttons his suit jacket, and casually makes his way over. Logan liked him; he’d been the first person Thomas had called after Logan explained that he’d been gathering evidence just in case their parents came back. He was practiced, successful, and very thorough. Patton had described him as kind, but kindness mattered significantly less to Logan than whether or not Coleman could win.

“Roman, could you do the record a favor—just for clarity—and describe your relationship to the prosecution.”

A routine question, Logan tells himself. One they have practiced several times before. He tells himself this as if it will ease the tension that stretches his spine ramrod straight. It does not.

Roman clears his throat and leans into the mic. “I was their first child.”

“So you are the oldest of the Sanders children, yes?”

“Yes.”

“How old were you when you left home?”

“I was fifteen.”

“Could you describe the nature of the night you left? We have heard your brothers’ testimony regarding that incident, but I think it would benefit to have yours as well.” A brief pause. “Do you remember that night?”

“Vividly.”

“Then please tell us about it.”

Roman nods. Takes a breath. “I came home from school that day. It was late May, I think, and we could hear crashing and yelling coming from inside the house. I ran inside without even thinking about it, really—”

“Could you clarify whom you mean when you say ‘we’?”

Roman clears his throat. “Two of my brothers, sorry. Patton and Logan. Virgil wasn’t in school yet.” He pauses, glances at their lawyer, and continues after his silent, encouraging nod. “When I got in the house, it didn’t take long to realize the sound was coming from the kitchen. Mom was screaming. Shattered plates were all over the floor, and my—and Virgil was sort of hiding in the corner in the middle of the mess.”

Roman’s voice is… wrong, to Logan’s ears. Distant and detached and so unlike his oldest brother that it twists his stomach. Roman’s eyes are boring into their lawyer’s as if he’s afraid to look anywhere else right now.

Roman continues. “Mom was yelling something about Virgil, and she had a plate in her hand and she looked like she was about to throw it at him. So I yelled for her to stop, I asked what she was doing even though it seemed pretty clear, and I grabbed the plate from her hands because I was afraid she was going to throw it at him anyway. She left, after that.”

Their lawyer has his back to the courtroom, so Logan cannot see his expression. “She just walked away?”

Roman’s lips press into a thin line. “I think ‘shoved’ may be a bit more accurate, but yes.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I attempted to talk to Virgil.”

“Attempted?”

For the first time since he took the stand, Logan sees a flicker of something pass through Roman’s eyes. Logan remembers with startling clarity the look in his brother’s eyes when they watched Lilo and Stitch a lifetime ago—and then promptly never watched it again.

“I couldn’t—Virgil wouldn’t respond to me for a really long time.” Roman takes a deep breath. His gaze flickers from their lawyer and drifts out to the crowd. It settles on Thomas, who is sitting on the other side of Patton, for a brief moment before he returns it to their lawyer. “His eyes were kind of unfocused and… eventually, I just picked him up and took him upstairs to patch him up.”

“He was injured?”

Roman nods. “Yeah. He… There were cuts all over his hands. I think he might’ve been trying to pick up the pieces off the floor. His arms too. Maybe his head. I—Truthfully, I don’t remember the specifics of his injuries.”

Another line they’d practiced, Logan thinks. A truthful statement, but a careful one. Not I don’t remember. Not the details are hazy. Roman’s memories are vague around the particulars of Virgil’s injuries, but there is no doubt he was injured.

If he’s being honest, Logan is vaguely surprised at how well Roman seems to have remembered that night. It was a long time ago. And Logan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the somehow both vacant and desperate look in his eyes as he’d bandaged their baby brother that night.

“Then I told my brothers that I thought leaving was the best decision.”

“Was staying with your parents going to leave you or your brothers in immediate, direct physical harm—”

“Objection.” The interruption comes from the prosecution table, a voice familiar now to Logan from his own experience on the witness stand. It still sent chills down his arms and turned his stomach. The prosecuting lawyer—Tyler Jacobs—is still sitting, but he’s looking directly at the judge. “That question is purely based on speculation. Witness is unable to know what would have happened had they not left.”

“Sustained.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Coleman says patiently. “Did you believe that staying in that house would mean danger of imminent harm?”

“Yes.” The question is immediate, clear, and divisive.

“Did you, Roman Sanders, forcibly remove any of your brothers from their home without their consent or agreement?”

“No. Their own testimonies speak to that.”

“And why didn’t you contact proper authorities rather than leave?”

“I was…” Roman’s voice seems to die for a moment in his throat. His gaze flickers over to the prosecution table for a brief moment and Logan swears some color drains from Roman’s face. “I was scared.”

“Scared. Of your parents?”

“Yes,” Roman says, his voice returning to that unnatural evenness. “But also of being separated from my brothers. I was fifteen, and they were all I had.”

There’s a surprising pause. Someone a few rows behind them coughs. Coleman regards Roman silently. Roman stares back at him. Logan cannot tell if they’re communicating somehow, or why there’s such a long pause, but then eventually, Coleman speaks again.

“We’ve heard from your brothers about their understandings of the nature of your parents. But could you, in your own words, describe your relationship to them?”

Beside him, Logan feels Patton sit up a little more.

“It was…” Roman hesitates, and Logan doesn’t understand why. “It was uncomfortable.”

“In what way?”

Silence.

Logan feels himself tense. His older brother was a damn good actor but Logan had spent his entire life reading through Roman’s bravado. Alone on the witness stand, it seems unusually brittle to Logan, and he doesn’t understand the tinge of what he can only describe as panic in his big brother’s eyes.

“Roman,” Coleman prompts, in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Roman’s jaw works. He looks away. The panic gives way to something else. Shame?

“You promised this court to tell the whole truth,” Coleman says, still with that surprising gentleness. “All of it, Roman.”

Roman doesn’t look at anybody when he finally answers. “It was… threats, mostly.”

And Logan’s blood turns to ice.

“When none of my brothers were around,” Roman presses on, speaking quickly, like the faster he speaks the sooner he can get it over with and Logan’s head is spinning. “My father would ask if I’d rather he hurt my brothers instead, or said he’d burn Logan again if I didn’t shut up about it, or he’d be sure to tell Mom to hit Patton harder next time if I said anything about the bruises at school, or that he’d lock Virgil away from us for hours—days—if I didn’t—”

Roman’s voice chokes off. He swallows hard, squares his jaw, and looks up. “Sometimes it happened at night. Virgil and I shared a room, and sometimes he’d… he’d come in, knowing Virgil was fast asleep in the bed next to me, and we could both hear him breathing, and he’d ask if I’d imagined what it might be like to not hear that breathing, or to hear it… stop, and that I might find out if I didn’t…”

Patton seizes Logan’s hand and squeezes hard enough that maybe it should hurt but nothing seems to register to Logan right now. Things are spinning and nothing fits together and God damn it, how could he not have known?

Logan doesn’t know if his hand is shaking harder or Patton’s. When Patton clasps a second hand over Logan’s, Logan realizes it’s his own.

“Do you have any regrets about your decision to remove yourself and your brothers from that situation?”

“No,” Roman says honestly. Earnestly. Logan thinks he can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears.

Coleman nods once, then steps back and returns to the prosecution table. Logan watches as if he’s seeing it from miles away as Coleman removes his glasses and scrubs a hand across his eyes as Jacobs stands up.

“How old were you when you left the Sanders’ residence that night?” Logan instinctively tenses at the sound of his deceptively smooth voice.

“Fifteen,” Roman repeats.

“Do you think, Roman, that a fifteen-year-old child is the best judge of what is and isn’t best for other children?”

“I was afraid for mine and my brothers’ safety.”

“But you made that decision for your brothers rather than allowing them to reach their own conclusions, did you not?”

A crease appears between Roman’s brows. “No. Patton said he wanted to leave, too. And I wouldn’t have made Logan come if he didn’t want to.”

“Yes, yes.” Jacobs waves a dismissive hand. “But didn’t you say that Virgil wasn’t responding to you when you tried to talk to him?”

If Logan hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed the way Roman’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “I… Yes, but—”

“So how could you have known what Virgil wanted? He was five at the time, yes?”

“Yes—”

“So he was capable, physically, of speaking in full sentences. Yet did Virgil, at any point, indicate clearly and without equivocation, that he wanted to be removed from the Sanders household?”

“He had just been—”

“Please answer the question asked, Roman.”

Logan feels Patton’s grip tighten around his own. Logan squeezes back. He wants to look at his younger brother, to see if he is okay, but Logan can’t take his eyes off his oldest brother. Something is squeezing Logan’s chest like a metal band. Sharp and painful and the air feels too thick for it.

“No,” Roman says. “He didn’t. But he wasn’t safe, and I was doing what I thought was right.”

“What you thought was right,” Jacobs repeats with a skeptical glance to the jury. There’s a weighted pause. “Tell me something, Roman, had you ever had a job before you left?”

“No.”

I can’t believe he never told me about dad.

“Had you saved up the money your parents freely gave you?”

Through the weird haze of Logan’s thoughts, he thinks he sees Roman’s jaw tighten. “No.”

“Had you had any prior work experience?”

“No, but I—”

“Legal guardianship experience?”

“No, but—”

“Did you have a specific place in mind when you left?”

“We found—”

“A place you owned that could provide certainty of safety and security from inclement weather?”

“No—”

“And yet you think it was the right decision,” Jacobs cuts in, doing nothing to hide his incredulity. “The right decision for you, a fifteen-year-old child, to remove your younger brothers from their home with no plan, no experience, no job, no nothing. You really believe that was the right thing to do?”

“I—I was—”

“Objection!” Coleman roars over Roman’s stuttered, desperate response. “Badgering the witness!”

The gavel bangs. Logan, Patton, and Roman on the stand all jump in unison. There’s an immediate, ricocheting silence in the courtroom. “Sustained,” the judge says in a tense voice. “Jacobs, you will proceed carefully or not at all.”

“Apologies,” Jacobs says as if its more reflexive habit than legitimate contrition. “Roman, have you ever made a mistake?”

Why didn’t Roman talk to me about any of it? Why didn’t—

Roman hesitates. “Yes.”

“And did you learn from that mistake? Were you capable of change?”

Another beat. “Yes.”

“Do you think your parents are capable of similar change?”

Dad used us to threaten him, and he never—

Roman has a desperate, pained look in his eyes and Logan realizes—so suddenly it jars him—that he’s looking at him and Patton for the first time. “I…”

“You are under oath, Roman,” Jacobs says with a bit of an edge. Or perhaps Logan is imagining it. “You must state your honest opinion.”

“No,” Roman says eventually tearing his gaze away from his brothers. He says the word like it devastates him. “No, I don’t.”

Jacobs eyes narrow. He purses his lips. “Perhaps you have not grown up quite as much as you believe you have,” he says. Coleman jumps to his feet again but Jacobs waves him off. “No further questions.”

Roman scrubs a hand down his face and Logan realizes then that he can see how badly Roman is shaking all of a sudden.

Why didn’t Roman tell me? There’s something hard settled in the core of Logan’s chest that is painful to breathe past.

The gavel bangs. Logan jumps again. “Let’s take a brief recess.”

Patton has jumped to his feet and is out of the courtroom almost before the judge has finished speaking.

…

Logan finds his younger brother forty-eight seconds later in the restroom. He hears the retching before he sees him, kneeling beside a toilet with the stall door still open. Something unnamed clenches impossibly tighter in Logan’s chest.

“Oh, Pat,” he says, as his younger brother flushes and sits back, wiping his mouth. His eyes are dry, and for some reason he can’t explain, that surprises Logan. He grabs one of the paper towels and quickly rinses it in the sink before crossing to his brother and kneeling in front of him.

Patton leans his head back against the tiled wall. “He…” Patton lets the statement go unfinished, his gaze distancing.

“I know,” Logan says, softly, as he wipes away the residue lingering on Patton’s lips.

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Know? Did you know what…what he…”

Logan’s throat is closing. He coughs in a futile attempt to clear it. He still feels a little bit like the ground beneath his feet has shifted. “No,” he manages. “I didn’t.”

And the admittance, out loud, makes something burn harshly in Logan’s chest. Something like anger. Something like grief. Something like… Logan grits his teeth. He had never been good at identifying emotions. But it hurts.

Patton swallows hard. The steel band around Logan’s chest tightens, and Logan moves to sit beside him. He wraps an arm around his shoulder and rocks them side to side. In the back of his mind, Logan is a bit surprised that nobody else had come into the bathroom yet. He figures it doesn’t really matter much.

Patton doesn’t say anything else, although Logan has the odd feeling that he wants to. Patton keeps taking in a breath as if he’s about to say something, then decides against it. Logan doesn’t ask. He hopes Patton knows that he can talk if he wants to, but that Logan won’t press him if he doesn’t.

Minutes pass. He continues to rock Patton side to side a little as his own thoughts wonder, replaying—in a way that never eases the gutted feeling in Logan’s stomach—Roman’s testimony about their father. Logan had always thought Roman was the favored son; Roman was the one that was left untouched, forced instead to use their parents’ unwillingness to hurt him to protect his brothers. Logan had known—had seen—the psychological scars it’d left on his brother.

But that….

Dad used us to threaten him. Logan leans his own head back against the wall and stares hopelessly at the ceiling. Why the fuck didn’t Roman say anything about it? They were supposed to talk about stuff like that. Maybe not Virgil—sure, Logan could rationalize that. Virgil was the baby of the family, and even though he wasn’t much of a baby anymore, Logan certainly understood if Roman was afraid of scarring Virgil more than he’d already been by their parents.

But Logan… He should have felt like he could talk to Logan about it. The world in Logan’s vision blurs further.

How did Logan miss it?

Beside him, Patton sniffles and pulls out of his brother’s arms a little. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” Logan replies, his voice thick.

“I’m kind of worried about Roman. Could… could you go check on him for me?”

Logan’s brow furrows. “You don’t want to check yourself?”

Patton shakes his head quickly, grabbing some toilet paper and blowing his nose before tossing it in the toilet. “I don’t—I don’t think, er… I don’t know if Roman wants to see me….. like this,” Patton offers, but Logan doesn’t miss that the words like this sound like they’re mostly added as an afterthought.

“Patton,” Logan tries, squeezing his arm, but Patton shakes his head.

“Just… Please?”

Logan hesitates, then caves. He gives one more gentle squeeze to Patton’s arm before he stands. “Okay.”

It’s not until he’s opened the bathroom door—a part of him wanting to ask Patton why he seems to think Roman wouldn’t want to see him—when he suddenly understands. With it comes an answer to the question that had been repeating in Logan’s mind with dizzying urgency.

Why didn’t Roman tell me?

Perhaps it was because he blamed them.

…

As it turned out, nobody had been in the bathroom because the couple that had been their neighbors growing up—Martha and Alice—were essentially standing guard at the door. Logan stumbles, startled by the two women flanking the men’s restroom door.

“Easy, dear,” Martha says, catching Logan’s elbow to help steady him. “Is your brother still in there?”

Logan tries to swallow past the growing lump in his throat. “Yes. I… If you could continue to ensure his privacy, I plan to be back very soon.”

He didn’t like the idea of leaving Patton all by himself right now. At least not for long.

Alice nods. “Of course. If you’re looking for Roman, I believe he and that nice movie star he’s always with went in the conference room around the corner. We’ve been keeping a close eye, and I don’t think anyone’s gone back there to interrupt them.”

Logan nods his understanding, surprised at the surge of unnamed emotions that rush through him at the otherwise simple act of kindness. “Thank you,” he says, unsure of how to express to these two women just how much he means them.

Martha winks at him. “Anything for you boys.”

Logan quickly turns around the corner to the first door on the right. Through the long window to the left of the door, Logan sees Roman and Thomas, and something makes him freeze.

Through the door, muffled, Logan can only make out part of the conversation.

“…down, Roman.”

“I’m fine, okay? I’m just...”

“Are you sure?” Thomas sounds like he’s trying to be gentle. Through the glass, Logan can see the vaguely lost and pleading look on the actor’s face. Roman’s got his back to the window, facing Thomas. “Because you don’t… seem…”

“Damn it, Thomas, just—I… Maybe he’s right, y’know? Maybe I… Maybe he has a point.”

“Who? Jacobs?” Roman’s silence is answer enough. “Roman, you can’t think like that.”

“I was fifteen, Thomas. Maybe I… Fucking shit, I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Roman—”

Logan opens the door. The conversation cuts out abruptly, and Logan freezes suddenly as Roman whirls around to face him. Roman’s eyes are red and puffy and startled. He looks suddenly so young and vulnerable and Logan can’t remember the last time he saw Roman like that.

“I—Apologies,” he forces out. “Patton wanted to know where you were and, I… Sorry.”

Because the only thing echoing is his head is that he is, at least in part, responsible for the haunted, broken look in Roman’s eyes and the frantic way he can see Roman trying to piece back together the bravado he so often wore.

“Logan, wait—”

But Logan turns and rushes back towards the bathroom so quickly he isn’t even sure which one of them said his name. He tells Patton that Roman is with Thomas. He’s grateful when Patton seems to relax at that and doesn’t press Logan for other details.

…

When they all go home later that night, Thomas drives Roman and Patton drives Logan. Initially, Logan had refused the offer. But Patton explained that he thought it would help to have something else to focus on—to feel like he was doing something, that it would help alleviate the feeling that he’d been a bystander all day long. And right now, Logan is pretty sure that Logan was incapable of denying his younger brother much of anything.

But Logan can’t get the look on his brother’s face in the conference room scrubbed from his mind. He thinks about texting him.

He also can’t stop thinking about how Roman probably doesn’t want to see or speak to him. Your fault, a voice hisses in the back of his mind. His stomach rolls with guilt. His chest burns with anger.

Logan shifts in his seat. He decides to text Thomas instead.

How is he?

He doesn’t expect an answer for a while. Thomas is driving after all.

Neither Logan nor Patton says anything the entire car ride. It is the longest car ride of Logan’s life.

…

Logan is through the front door before Patton is. Roman and Thomas are already sitting on the couch—Logan and Patton had needed to stop for gas—with their suit jackets discarded on the armchair. Roman has untied his tie, letting it hang loose around his neck. One hand hangs between his knees, covered by one of Thomas’s, and the other is in his hair. He his head snaps up when Logan steps through the door.

Roman opens his mouth like he wants to say something. Logan doesn’t have a fucking clue to say to his big brother. His chest feels like it’s caving and he doesn’t know why except that it presses on the anger that is simmering in his ribcage.

Patton—as he barrels in through the door a moment after Logan—is the one who breaks the silence. “Roman!” Patton’s voice cracks with the name and Roman is on his feet in less than a second. Patton barrels straight into his chest.

“Pat, hey,” Roman says, in that painfully familiar, soft and soothing voice. He wraps his arms around his brother. “Hey, sssh. I’m okay.”

“You really expect me to believe that? You—” Patton’s voice chokes and it’s half-muffled from Roman’s chest but Patton is clinging to him like Roman is the only thing that can keep him afloat. Like he’s afraid to let go. “Roman, you’re my brother and you… you just…”

Logan watches Roman swallow hard. “Yeah,” Roman whispers. He turns a pained gaze on to Logan, still standing by the door, who matches it before his stomach rolls again with a leaden weight. Logan looks away.

“I… How—” The question chokes off with a broken sob and it’s like the dam has finally crashed open. Patton shakes with the force of his sobs against his big brother’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispers, and he tightens around Patton like he can feel the way his brother is falling apart and he’s trying desperately to keep him together. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Patton’s breath is hiccupping. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

Roman releases a breath. He smooths a hand against Patton’s mess of curls. “Yeah. Of course, Patton.”

“You-you shouldn’t have had to…. You…”

“Hey, hey, hey. Sssh. It’s okay. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m sorry.”

Something is breaking inside of Logan—maybe a dam of his own—and the words burst from his mouth before he can think to stop them. “Damn right you’re sorry.”

Roman and Thomas’s gazes both snap towards Logan. Logan’s hands ball into fists to get them to stop shaking. He clenches his jaw.

“Logan,” Roman tries, but Logan can feel his heartbeat against his ribs and shakes his head.

“You never told me.”

“I…”

“We had a deal.” And damn it, his vision is blurring a little around the edges but Logan ignores it. “We talk to each other. We tell each other things. We don’t… Fuck, Roman, we don’t hide things like that from each other.”

Roman looks like he’s floundering a bit, something fracturing in his irises. Like splinters of ceramic. “I didn’t see a reason to bring it up with you.”

“Bullshit,” Logan grits out, storming away from the door and closer to Roman. “We’re there for each other, Roman. That was the deal, from the very beginning. I was true to my word, even when I didn’t want to be. Even when it was hard to be. Because I thought… I thought you trusted me too.”

“I do—”

“So imagine my surprise,” Logan presses on, even if the heat in his eyes is a bit more pronounced now, “when I find out today that you were threatened by dad. Using us. Using me. Imagine my surprise when I learned it’s my fault that my big brother—”

“Whoa,” Roman jumps in suddenly and defensively. His brows are knit together. “That’s not true.”

Logan scoffs and when he blinks, his blurry vision abruptly clears and he can feel the tears tracing down his cheeks. He scrubs frustratedly at them. “Yes, it is, Roman. Dad used us against you and you never said shit about it. I mean, how am I—” His throat closes and Logan gestures helplessly at Roman, who looks stricken. “You used to patch me up. All those times, all those burns, it was always you that took care of… And not once did I even think that…”

Logan swallows hard and shakes his head. “So yeah,” he manages with a wobbling voice that he wishes would be steady. “Yeah, it’s my fault, Roman. I just wish you would have told me anyway.”

Logan suddenly can’t manage the weight of the silent gazes bearing down on his shoulders—that might be more weight than he can manage—and he turns to head towards his room.

“Logan, please,” Roman says desperately as Logan feels him grab his elbow to stop him. In one fluid motion, Roman pulls him closer and hugs him. Logan is suddenly engulfed in the smell of his older brother—linen and cinnamon and salt—and he feels his resolve buckling.

Logan feels Roman press his face into his hair, one hand cupping the back of his head.

“I’m telling you three times,” Roman says in a choked whisper. “It’s not your fault.”

And just like that, Logan is thirteen again and knowing that no matter what may come next, his brothers are the only place he feels safe. Roman had spent his entire life trying to make sure his younger brothers felt safe. Standing here in the living room of their house, Logan tries to make sure Roman feels that way too.

Logan doesn’t let go of his big brother for a very long time. And if Roman is holding onto him just as tightly, well. That’s what brothers were for, isn’t it?

...

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#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders bro au #sanders bro au fanfiction #logan sanders #angst #hurt/comfort #court #abuse #abuse tw #cursing #arguing #crying #if other warnings should be in the tags specifically please let me know #hhhhhh always nervous to post yikes

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lurkingleighbee · 3 years

Text

Thrawn Ascendancy: Greater Good Chapter 15 - Chapter 18

Chapter 15

Ar’alani gets to “Sunrise” and sees no lights or any signs of life, which scares her

a super circular asteroid just happens to be floating into view... hmmm....

checking all previous records of battles/visits to the planet to see if it was there

and it appears that it wasn’t

Ar’alani points out Thrawn would have noticed the asteroid, as “even in the middle of a battle, there’s very little that gets past him.”

Wutroow calls it a moon, which I think is a cute little callback to the Obi-Wan Kenobi quote from A New Hope

that’s no moon!

This exchange is great:

“Captain Lakinda, are you game to try something dangerous?” “As opposed to just being part of the Expansionary Defense Fleet,” Wutroow added.

Lakinda is a little bit intimidated, I think

I wish Lakinda had her own gal pal with her

Ar’alani and the enemy get into a back and forth argument about who has been asked by the refugees to help them out

While that is going on, Lakinda planned to decimate the asteroid (which is really a giant bomb with missiles attached) in a careful way

I write planned, because “without warning the entire asteroid exploded, hurling shards of stone outward in all directions

I want to feel excitement, but given that Ar’alani will survive all the way up to Thrawn: Treason and I don’t feel like Lakinda is going to get axed, it is difficult to muster up the feeling

Chapter 16

the Grayshrike takes some damage, and with “the view port blast shields automatically slammed shut,” so they have to reply on sensor and tactical displays

in the center of the asteroid’s internal framework “was the missile, its nose peeking out of the thick casing through the launcher.”

they are trying to destroy the entire thing before the launcher goes after the Vigilant or the Grayshrike

Thankfully its disabled

However, the Battle Dreadnought and the Vigilant are locked in battle

even though Ar’alani wanted Lakinda to bring the asteroid/launcher with her, Lakinda opted to go in assisting Ar’alani without it

Ar’alani gets into another sound of aggressive negotiations, both of them taunting the other

I know how to destroy you!!!

Nuh uh!

or more flowery: “Your statement lacks accuracy. It is I who knows how to destroy you.”

Just as Lakinda and Ar’alani are about to destroy the Battle Dreadnought when it decides to self-destruct

overall, a success but Lakinda tears herself down for not getting the launcher and thinks Thrawn would have found a way to have done it

compare yourself to Thrawn and you will always fall short

I feel like Thrawn would tell her to chin up and focus on her own talents and strengths, instead of tearing herself down for her weaknesses

MASSIVE SPOILERS HERE ON OUT

Memories VI

Haplif is still trying to push Yoponek to his intended goals, but he considers the young Chiss spineless

Shimkif decides to take matters into her own hands. AGAIN.

and employs straight up biological warfare against Yomie and makes her very ill

Shimkif also manages to figure out that Yomie “doesn’t want Yoponek to give up all his hopes and dreams for her. She wants him to be willing to give them up. Once she’s satisfied that he would do that for her, he can go charging on to fame and fortune on Celwis, and she’ll stand by smiling and being all proud of him.”

Having gotten to the end of the book, hell to the end of the chapter - I can ensure you this information means nothing in the long run

Because Yomie has figured out that Haplif is telepathic

So that leaves Haplif utilizing Option Three - killing her

Her body is left in the vast emptiness of the universe

Call this blaming the victim - but it seems like Yomie had suspicions from the start that Haplif and his crew (of fifty, that we never see btw) were iffy.

So why did you go along with complete strangers and really press on their hospitality as hard as you did?!

Still does not make her murder okay

And presumably, her boyfriend doesn’t care about her whereabouts (since he buys some cock and bull story right away), her parents do not check on her, and her friends don’t either

COMPLETELY USELESS CHARACTER!

Chapter 17

Lakuviv is just agog over the treasure Lakjiip��“confirmed” for him

This trap is so obvious to everyone but to these two numbskulls

And this exchange would probably make Thrawn pull his own hair out:

“They said the metal has no particular value of its own. It’s the skill with which the artists turn it into jewelry that’s important.” Lakuviv shook his head. “Idiots.” Lakjiip shrugged. “In general, I suppose that’s mostly true of art. Give an artist a hundred Univers to spend on paint and a presentation board, and out pops a picture someone else will spend thousands for. It’s just in this specific case the whole thing is reversed.” “If you ask me, everything about the art world is just barely controlled anarchy.” Lakuviv said. Thrawn would be like:

Lakuviv and Lakjiip want to get this up the chain of command

Lakuviv invites the Patriel over for a chit-chat about a nyix mine that practically fell into his lap, with no strings attached, totally above board, no suspicions, nope, no ma’am

Yoponek points out that Lakuviv could pull emergency powers

backed into a corner of your own making?

emergency powers!

Had to read this a couple of times before I made sense of it, but if I have this summarized correctly:

if you declare a family emergency, you can bring back officers and warriors (I assume that means enlisted soldiers)

The rules are so convoluted

if you’re one of the Forty Families that used to be one of the Ruling Families AND have an under crewed family fleet, you are allowed (?) to call in the Chiss from that specific family for an “emergency”

This is so ripe for abuse

And this is kind of recent history

But it is so made up and so unnecessarily complicated

These are the chapters when the book really started to lose me

Yoponek has to be the one that explains this

Lakuviv or Lakjiip could have done this on their own - looked for an excuse to exploit the mines

Yoponek and Yomie are so useless

Chapter 18

So, Thrawn’s name is even known among farmers as that art guy

lol

This is this the convo between Lakphro and his cousin:

“...Senior Captain Thrawn has a reputation for knowing a lot about alien art and artworks.” “I’m happy for him. But I don’t need an art critic. I need a metals specialist.” “I know that’s what you asked for. Here’s the thing. I’m wondering if Thrawn might be able to tell us something else about the brooch, just as it is. Maybe something important.” “Like what?” “No idea,” Lakbulbup admitted. “But once we take it for testing, even a little bit apart, that chance is gone.” “I don’t know what he could possible see that we can’t,” Lakphro said. “It’s just a bunch of metal threads, and they’re woven together in a pattern. End of story.” “Like I said, I don’t know, either,” Lakbulbup said. “But I...” ... “Maybe,” Lakphro said. “But what if-” “But nothing,” Lakbulbup said firmly. “Trust me, Lakphro. I’ve heard stories about this Thrawn fellow, and I truly think it’s worth running the brooch past him.”

Lakuviv is irked that Patriel Lakooni points out the obvious - that this is clearly a scam

Yesss!!! Common sense!

Unfortunately, it does not get to prevail

even Lakuviv has the gut instinct to back down, but he pushes on ahead

He takes her hostage and uses Lakooni’s personal codes to call for an emergency

Lakinda gets the jewelry piece from Lakwurn (these names are starting to run together) and an hour before she leaves for space, she gets the “family emergency”

Lakinda is torn between family and duty

she decides to stay for the family emergency

she does forward the box to Thrawn

and she send the Grayshrike on ahead with Mid Captain Apros on it

Thurfian gets to listen to a long-ass presentation about this slightly suspicious “Universal Analysis Group” that I initially thought might be important later

but having read to the end of the book, I can tell you - that it is not

Thurfian manages to deal with the squabble in such a way that Speaker Thyklo (who are you again?) says he reminds her “a little of Syndic Thrass. He was also good at appearing to give people what they wanted while simultaneously doing what needed to be done.” “Really,” Thurfian said, feeling a stirring inside him. “I assume that’s a compliment. “Very much so,” Thyklo said with a smile. “Thrass wasn’t as skilled at it as you are, but he definitely had the talent. A terrible shame that we lost him.” “Yes. To Thrawn.” “Or to circumstances,” Thyklo said. “It’s easy to place blame, but it’s not always productive. Or always accurate.”

Also, rumors abound that the Speaker and at least two Patriels are looking to retire

Thurfian is thinking about moving on up

Instead of all this time with Haplif (and Yoponek and Yomie) - why not spend the memories sections on Thurfian and develop his character?!

Give me a good reason for why he hates Thrawn so much!!!

Like, Zahn is kind of telling me but I need more information as to why Thurfian is this obsessed over this one guy Me reading this book:

#thrawn #mitth'raw'nurodo #ar'alani #that's no moon #thrawn ascendancy #thrawn ascendancy: greater good #lakinda #thurfian #timothy zahn #book review #star wars #thrass

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writerlyhabits · 5 years

Note

Salutations! I just read you otp prompt about throwing scissors and absolutely adored it! I was wondering if I might be able to request #59: “Can you dance with me?” - “You’re not mad?” Thank you so much for your time and consideration!

At long last, here is your request!! I am not in love with it, but I definitely don’t hate it, and you deserve to have your request answered! I recognize your username from a bunch of my other pieces, you always leave such lovely comments! So I want you to know how much I appreciate it, they always make my day!! I really loved this prompt, it allowed me to explore a balance between something angsty but also soft, and I feel like that’s a good happy medium to find our Doctor in! Thanks so much for requesting this, I hope you enjoy!!

59: “Can you dance with me?” - “You’re not mad?”

Every day with the Doctor was an adventure. There were days where you would laugh your way through every crazy event, and there were days where your adrenaline was the only thing keeping you moving. But there was always something to smile about at the end of it all, when the two of you would return back to the TARDIS.

Today, however, there were no smiles to be had. Upon entering the wooden doors you collapsed onto the pilot’s chair, and after finding a spot in the cosmos to leave the TARDIS, the Doctor disappeared into the depths of his ship without another word.

It had started with something normal. The Doctor gave you a list of things not to do. Don’t wander off, don’t look directly at the large plants in the corner, and don’t go near that purple chair in the middle of the room. It sounded easy enough, but that’s how it always started. There always has to be something to make following his directions harder … which might be why he gives them in the first place. You try to listen, you really do. But when it means the difference between saving the fleet and watching them all get shot down …

So you sat in the purple chair. And it hurt like hell. And you could still hear an echo of the Doctor’s cry, begging you to stop. That the force could kill you, that he would find another way. But the truth of the matter was that you had no time to figure out a different solution. You sat in the strange chair, gritted your teeth to hold back your own screams of pain, and it took everything in you to shut the systems down.

The details were slowly coming back to you, since your body had been too tired to take notice of anything after you had gotten the job done. From the flashing lights and sirens around the chair, to feeling the Doctor’s arms help carry you through the ship to the TARDIS doors. Now you sat in the dark console room of the TARDIS, the ship having turned off her lights and opened her doors to let the light from the colorful galaxy into the room. She was good at helping you calm down after particularly difficult days, and this was one of your favorite of her methods.

What seemed like hours later, the Doctor timidly entered the console room, his hands in his pockets. You didn’t acknowledge him, not moving from your curled up position. He hesitated a moment, turning to look at the galaxy outside before seemingly making up his mind. He moved slowly towards the console and gently pushed a few buttons, a soft sound of unfamiliar music playing through the room.

“Can you dance with me?” He asked, appearing before you and holding out a hand.

“You’re not mad?” The doctor chuckled a little, gently taking your hand and pulling you up into his arms. He held one of your hands in his, and kept one at your waist. You rested your head on his shoulder, your body still exhausted from the events of the day.

“I don’t think I could be mad at you, even if I really wanted to.” You positioned yourself so you could look up at him.

“But, you told me not to go near the chair. I not only went near it, I sat in it. If I had listened-“

“If you had listened, none of us would have made it.” He cut you off, his gaze still focused around the room. “As much as I didn’t want it to be, you were right. We didn’t have time to do anything else. But I didn’t want to risk losing you. You risked yourself in order to save everyone else, and that is something I will never ask you to do.” He let go of a shaky breath and looked down at you, his eyes shining in the starlight filling the console room. “I would have rather died in that chair knowing you were safe than let anything happen to you.”

Too tired to say anything, you simply held his gaze, watching all the love he held in his hearts flicker across his eyes. As if he was afraid of revealing himself, he placed a kiss on the top of your head and looked back out at the stars in front of you, holding you a little bit closer.

The two of you swayed to the slow rhythm playing through the room, finding comfort in the fact that you were both still there. That for this brief moment, everything was okay. That you weren’t alone. That against all odds, against common sense and reason, you loved each other. That everything in this chaotic universe brought the two of you together, and allowed you the happiness of each other’s company for one more day, and that’s all you really needed. That even if you had nothing, you had the Doctor. And that, despite everything he’s lost, the Doctor had gotten you.

#prompt list request #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #Tenth Doctor #10th doctor #doctor who #the doctor x reader #the doctor #prompt list #My writing #Kam writes #kam takes forever to do shit #thank you all for sticking around

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tiny-maus-boots · 4 years

Text

Queen of Hearts pt 7

As a rule, Aubrey never let anyone insult or try to intimidate her. She had been bullied and been a bully so she was familiar with all the ways to cut a person down with no more than a glance. It’s why she wasn’t the least bit phased by the idea of facing the Conrads, they were polite bullies but bullies just the same. She glanced to her right at Lilly holding her Halliburton briefcase then back at the large front door that was swinging inward. A housekeeper stood just inside, smile pleasant and calm. Aubrey tipped her head in a shallow nod of greeting, her voice a low, warm burr.

“Hello Louisa, are Mr. and Mrs. Conrad home?”

“Miss Aubrey, how unexpected.” She looked past Aubrey and Lilly toward the driveway then frowned slightly. “Miss Stacie isn’t with you?”

“No, I came to see the Conrads on my own.”

One dark and perfectly tweezed brow raised in silent question. Louisa was a kind enough person, she certainly seemed to feel real affection for Stacie, but it was clear she was the gatekeeper and none would pass unless she approved first. Aubrey didn’t expect to get that approval simply because she’d shown up last time and been announced as Stacie’s girlfriend. Louisa and the Conrads themselves didn’t really know her. And that was precisely why she was there now. She wanted them to know exactly who she was.

“And what should I say your visit is regarding?”

While she respected the woman’s backbone, she didn’t really feel like explaining herself. “Personal matters.” Louisa’s eyes narrowed slightly judging and measuring her. Aubrey stood there patiently waiting for a moment before she opted to explain further. “Regarding Stacie.”

“All right. If you’ll follow me.” Something passed across the woman’s face, a slight softening of her features and she gave a slow nod of agreement. She led them down the same hall Aubrey had been before, taking them to the large drawing room at the end. “Please make yourselves comfortable and I’ll see if the Conrads are available for guests.”

“I would like to speak to Mrs. Conrad first and alone if possible, please.”

Another raised brow but a slow, uncertain nod was her only response. Lilly, her silent shadow, walked around the room, eyes roving over everything in it. Louisa watched her for a moment then turned and left, presumably to find the Conrads.

Aubrey settled herself on couch, casually stretching an arm along the back of it. She wasn’t scared exactly because she wasn’t afraid of anything really. But she was nervous. Helene Conrad was an imposing figure and one she hoped to win over. If for no other reason than to hopefully ease the tension between Stacie and her parents. Or. At least. Her mother. The blonde seriously doubted that August Conrad would come around to accepting her in any part of their lives.

The grandfather clock along one wall ticked by exactly in time with her watch with metronomic proficiency, each second passing loudly in the otherwise quiet room. It wasn’t a very long wait but enough to ratchet Aubrey’s mild nervousness to a slight panic making her want to loosen the suddenly chokingly stiff tie and collar. There was a chance Helene would never accept her, causing the rift between mother and daughter to widen to a gaping chasm. The thought of that caused her lips to pull down into a frown.

Stacie already had a difficult relationship with her parents, Aubrey didn’t want to do anything to make that worse. She might not have all the advantages and money that Stacie had growing up but she had at least had one parent that encouraged and cared for her. A parent that taught her to be the person she was with patience and understanding. A parent that accepted who she was without question simply because she was their kid. One parent that would have fought the whole world to protect her. Compared to Stacie, Aubrey felt rich for having a dad that loved her unconditionally.

If her dad had been alive maybe it would be different. Maybe this wouldn’t be as important to get right, because in the end Mickey Posen would have treated Stacie as his own. She knew her father would have swept Stacie into a welcoming hug the second he set eyes on her. The frown eased back into the blank neutrality of her poker face as soon as her ears picked up the muffled sound steps.

Helene came around the corner to the room and stopped to take in the sight of Aubrey looking entirely too at ease on her couch and Lilly looming in the corner giving the other two women a modicum of privacy. The older woman gave her a mildly assessing stare and let that perfectly bland smile settle onto her face.

“Miss Posen, to what do we owe the pleasure of such an unexpected visit?”

It was politely said but Aubrey could hear the annoyance in it. She showed up unannounced and Helene Conrad wasn’t above pointing it out. The blonde gave an easy smile and let out a calming breath before she raised her shoulder in a half shrug.

“I thought it prudent we speak; I would have made an appointment to see you and your husband but I didn’t want to run the risk of getting the run around.”

“Touché.” Helene dipped her dark head in acknowledgement that Aubrey would indeed have gotten the brush off. “Would you care for some coffee or a beverage?”

She honestly wasn’t thirsty and she wondered if Helene was offering it just to be polite. Aubrey considered it a tick before nodding slightly as she stroked a hand down her tie to smooth it into place, if it were being offered it would be rude not to accept.

“Tea would be lovely if you have it.”

The other woman gave her a measuring look before turning to Louisa with nod and a quiet thank you. Though Stacie might not agree, she was clearly her mother’s daughter. The resemblance was striking in more than looks alone and Aubrey found herself smiling softly at the curious tilt to Helene’s head and the slightly narrowed gold-flecked green eyes she levelled at the blonde.

“I get the impression you prefer to be frank, so let us cut to the chase. Why are you here Miss Posen?”

“I came to apologize.” It was the very last thing that Stacie’s mother had expected judging by the long slow blink she gave. Aubrey leaned forward a little with earnest intention, her elbows resting on her knees in a pose that had Helene raising a brow. “We left dinner so quickly I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your hospitality and…I never intended to cause a scene. I wanted to say I’m sorry about that.”

“Your humility is admirable and appreciated Miss Posen.”

It wasn’t a lot of a leader and but Aubrey knew it meant something to the other woman. She gave a dip of her head in a nod of acknowledgement and sat back as Louisa returned with a tray of tea. She waited to be served then took a sip before smiling her thanks at the housekeeper. Louisa left quietly closing the drawing room doors shut behind her but the quick inquisitive look she gave Aubrey as she left gave the impression that the woman heard every word ever spoken in that house.

“Stacie’s happiness is important to me Mrs. Conrad. I would never intentionally cause her to be hurt or embarrassed.”

“I think you believe that.” Helene took a sip of her tea and shrugged. “Be that as it may, the truth remains that you are a criminal Aubrey. You make your money off illegal activities and sooner or later, intentionally or not, it’s going to catch up to you and you’re going to get my daughter killed.”

She respected the directness even though it was a punch to the gut. Aubrey let the scalding tea cool a little longer, staring into the depths of her cup for several seconds as she weighed her words carefully.

“As I understand it, you and your husband weren’t this concerned about her safety when Weston was putting his hands on her.” The sudden silence made the tick of the clock sound thunderous. The blonde raised her eyes to meet Helene’s and waited as the woman worked through her outrage at the comment. “You know what the police found, what he was. He would have killed her sooner rather than later the way he was going. Do you honestly think she was better off then?”

“That was…regrettable. Of course, we never wished for Stacie to be in that situation but perceptions-“

“Perceptions mean a lot to you and your husband. I know. You can’t be seen openly accepting her life no matter how happy she is now, or how safe with me she may be. Right? What would people think?”

The older woman stayed silent as Aubrey placed her cup down gently on the tray and nodded her understanding of the position the woman was in. She wasn’t judging her for what she hadn’t done to protect Stacie in the past, she was simply acknowledging what was more important to the Conrads.

“You’re not quite the woman I expected you to be Aubrey.”

Aubrey raised her chin a little as she stood and straightened her tie. “No? What were you expecting?”

“A liar and among other things a brute.” It was surprising and she frowned in confusion. “I’ve met my fair share of liars, you’re not one. You’re nothing like he was.”

It was startling and she raised brows nearly to her hairline in question. Aubrey slipped her hands in her pockets and blinked at the still seated woman. Helene Conrad’s poker face was nearly as good as Beca’s and Aubrey couldn’t read anything in it. She assumed the ‘he’ was Weston and that being different was a good thing.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The smile was faint and fleeting but Aubrey was sure she’d seen it. She found herself re-evaluating her and wondering if Stacie’s mother might one day come around. Either way it was as much of an endorsement as she was going to get from the woman she suspected. Aubrey sighed softly and nodded feeling like she needed to say something in case there was any lingering doubt.

“I love her, Mrs. Conrad. Like I have never loved anyone or anything in my life. Lei è il mio sole, il centro del mio universe. It means-“

“I know what it means. And…if things were different…”

It was a theme in her life and Aubrey gave a short nod of understanding. If things were different, she wouldn’t be under a federal investigation, Beca would be her best man, and Stacie’s parents would love her more than they loved themselves and their reputations.

“I’ve asked her to marry me.”

“So, you’re asking for what? Permission or a blessing?”

“No, because we’re gonna get married with or without it. I came here to tell you that despite perceptions, I hope you’ll show Stacie that you care about her happiness and attend the event. She loves you very much.” Something passed behind Helene’s eyes but Aubrey couldn’t read the emotion in it with how quickly is disappeared. “Thank you for your time Mrs. Conrad, if it’s all right I’d like to see your husband now.”

Helene studied her a moment longer then placed her cup down and stood. Aubrey followed her to another room across the hall with Lilly still trailing behind them. The heavy oak door was closed and she could just barely hear the murmur of a man’s voice rising in frustrated anger from the other side. The brunette woman stopped and turned to really look at her one last time, still searching Aubrey’s face for something only she knew.

“He’s…obstinate.”

“Is that a warning?”

She didn’t answer, choosing instead to knock on the door and push it open. August Conrad looked up from the papers on his desk and frowned when he saw them standing there. He dropped the heavy pen on his desk and grunted.

“I’ll call you back.” Stacie’s father reached out and hung up the phone before leaning back in his chair and gesturing to Aubrey. “Posen. What do you want?”

Helene gave her a look and exited the room. Aubrey nodded and Lilly moved silently to the corner. The door closed with a click and she sauntered closer to the desk. It was different facing him, than it was Stacie’s mom. He was never going to approve of their relationship or accept Aubrey. She knew that and wasn’t there to try and bridge any gaps between him and his daughter.

“I’m here to talk business.”

“Business? As far as I’m concerned, we don’t have any business. You’re just the crook trying to get a slice of someone else’s pie.”

The tiny voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Detective Mitchell made an entirely inappropriate comeback but she only gave the barest twitch of a smile. It was just too easy and truthfully, she didn’t want to fall into the trap of playing his game. She didn’t wait to be offered a seat, Aubrey just settled into the nice plush chair across from him and crossed one leg over the other.

“That is exactly what I expected you would say in front of your constituents. But they’re not here right now and neither are the cameras.” She gestured around the otherwise empty office negligently as if he hadn’t noticed there was no one to grandstand for. “Do you know why I’m so good at the work I do Mr. Conrad?”

“I wouldn’t even begin to imagine.” He leaned back in his chair watching her with interest despite himself. It caused a muscle in his cheek to twitch with irritation.

“Research.”

“I’m sorry?”

She smiled slightly at his deliberate obtuseness and tipped her head slightly to the side in deep measuring thought. It made him uncomfortable and the cheek muscle spasmed again. People like August Conrad were never as clever as they thought they were.

“You see people come in and out of our lives so frequently that it’s hard to know who you’re really dealing with. In my particular line of work not knowing who you’re dealing with can be more than just a little dangerous, it could be devastating.” He gave her a bored look and she smiled wider. “I imagine you must go through the same thing with so many people clamoring to get your attention.”

“What the hell does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

The bluntly unimpressed glare let her know he hadn’t put the dots together yet. Aubrey felt the amusement drain from her face even if the smile held steady. He wasn’t a stupid man by any means but he underestimated her and that was a mistake.

“I research everyone that I think might have a potential impact on my life. Including you Mr. Conrad.” She could see his feathers ruffling as he sucked in a breath to respond with but she waved him off. “Please. Let’s not pretend you don’t have a private investigator doing the same for you. The difference is I have access to information you won’t find on any credit report.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying or what you think you know but you won’t catch me caught up in anything untoward. I take my oath to public service and the office seriously.”

What started as an occasional twitch in his cheek was now a rapid uneven flutter of constant movement. His tone and his demeanor were right but his tell gave him away and she gave a slow nod as if she accepted him at face value.

“Weston was your money man, wasn’t he?” A glimmer of unease flickered in his eyes and she tsked softly. “I heard through the grapevine that he stole a lot of money from his clients.”

He said nothing, in fact he didn’t even breathe. She was treading to close to something he was worried about and she knew it. Aubrey drummed her fingers idly on her knee letting the silence stretch between them. She could feel him slowly suffocating in it as his anxiety rose high, pressuring him into speaking to break the quiet around them.

“Are you implying something Posen?”

“Not at all.” For a second, he seemed to breathe in a short sigh of relief but her lips quirked again in amusement as she casually gestured toward him. “Of course, if you had lost money, I’m sure you could recoup it from your campaign fund. But that would be illegal and you’d have to account for those funds somehow before too long. And you would never do that would you?”

August Conrad licked his dry lips and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His right hand came up to scratch lightly at the ever-present twitch. “No. I would not.”

“Of course not. Only crooks like me think that way, right?”

They stared at each other for a long minute, the new knowledge that they weren’t so different filling the space between them. She raised a finger and gestured for Lilly to come forward. Aubrey stared at him as locks on the briefcase clicked and popped open. The hinges gave a soft creak with the rising lid and he couldn’t hold her gaze any longer. His eyes drifted to the open case and widened at the cash lined in neat perfect stacks. It was impossible for him to hide the greed that twisted his distinguished features.

“What is this? A bribe?”

“Consider it a campaign contribution.” Aubrey jerked her chin at the desk and Lilly set the briefcase on it directly in front of him. It was too much temptation and he reached out to stroke the cash reverently. She stood easily and started for the door stopping to look over her shoulder at him. “I can be a very generous friend Mr. Conrad. We could help each other.”

He snorted at that and pulled out a stack to count the bills. Arrogance made his chest puff out as he tossed the money back into the briefcase negligently. It was the height of disrespect and he was just so damned sure of himself. Like every other politician and crook she’d ever met.

“She’ll hate you for this. Buying her off like a whore won’t win you any favors, Posen.”

Aubrey froze with her hand on the doorknob, her spine rigid with the flash of sudden anger. Her head turned slowly until she could pin him with an icy stare. She turned fully, deliberate steps bringing her to the front of his desk. One hand slowly pushed the lid of the briefcase shut as she leaned forward threateningly.

“The only whore I’m buying here…is you, August. I’ll call you when I want you to do something for me. And you’re gonna do it with a fucking smile on your face because you don’t ever want to disappoint me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

A fine tremor made his jaw tremble as he nodded quickly and Aubrey nodded in return. She eased back and tugged her vest down with a settling sigh before looking at her watch. She didn’t have time to hurt him and it would be counterproductive. A threat would work just as well as a beating in this case.

“And August? You call my future wife a whore again and I’ll cut out your tongue and hang you with it.”

She didn’t have to look back at him to make sure he got the message, Lilly playing with her butterfly knife was clear enough. He slumped back into his leather chair with relief the second she had stepped out of the office. It hadn’t been the opened armed acceptance she’d hoped but it could have gone worse. Still it gave her a better understanding of her soon to be in laws and her heart panged in her chest for Stacie.

“Family dinner tonight, Lil. Make sure everyone knows, hm?”

Aubrey couldn’t make up for the way Stacie had grown up but she could make sure it was just a distant memory. Maybe they were just a band of violent criminals. But they were a family, her family…their family. And that was more than anything that the Conrads had ever been to Stacie.

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

❉ 139 Dreams (Jinyoung Park) Elysium

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Fluff, AU ☁

Word Count: 2,162 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Jinyoung ☁

World: Got7 ☁

Author’s Note: I wrote this for a good friend of mine and fellow writer, @prettywordsyouleft. I hope you enjoy this ❤

WARNING: This fic is all about death, so read at your own risk.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

Your grandmother always used to say that love could come from the most unexpected placed and when it was least expected, but you never really believed her. You didn’t believe in the idea of fate, the idea that your entire life was predetermined before you were even born. You were strong and stubborn, and you believed that you made your own destiny. The choices you made in life were your own, not some fixed destiny. And though you had no desire to fall in love at your current stage in life, you felt confident that you could find it when you so desired.

Unfortunately, life did not go as you had planned. Perhaps it was some divine punishment for spitting in the face of destiny so many times, or maybe it was a simple mistake. You didn’t know, but it was honestly frustrating to you how your life had derailed so quickly and without the slightest bit of warning. At the end of the day, you knew you had brought it upon yourself. You had been far too wrapped up in your job, too focused on the list of items you needed to buy that day, too pre-occupied with the angry customer complaining to you over the phone.

You thought the sign was green, giving you the okay to cross the busy intersection, but you had only given it a fleeting glance before returning to your notepad, where you were jotting down the complaints of the woman on the phone, promising to make the appropriate changes as soon as you were able. People always say it happens so quickly, that it’s over in the blink of an eye. You weren’t sure if they were wrong or if you just got the short end of the stick but, for you, everything slowed down.

You could see the SVU heading toward you, the driver laying on the horn, but it seemed to be moving so slowly. You doubted it was going more than a snail’s pace. Surely you could just step out of the way, right? But when you tried to do so, your limbs moved even slower. Were you submerged in quicksand? It seemed so. You could hear people screaming – or maybe it was just the woman on the phone, angry that you had yet to answer her.

It seemed to take an eternity for the vehicle to finally reach you, slamming into your body. Paper flew into the air, fluttering in the gentle summer breeze. The phone fell from your hand, smashing into little bits on the pavement. Your body slowly flew backward, landing on the ground in a bloody heap several feet away from where the SVU came to a screeching halt. You became aware of your accelerated heart rate as it pumped in your ears, muffling the slowed sounds of the concerned onlookers.

A face blocked your view of the clear blue sky, but it was just a shadowy blur without features. You tried to piece together what had just occurred, but the memory was quickly fading from your mind as your body slipped into shock. An eery chill wafted over your body. Why didn’t you feel any pain? Even when the vehicle had struck you, you had felt nothing. You were no expert, but you were pretty sure getting hit by a vehicle was supposed to hurt.

Your eyes fluttered closed, just for a moment, and when you opened them again, you found yourself looking down at your battered and bruised body being lifted into an ambulance. Again, you were no expert, but you were pretty sure seeing your own unconscious body was a bad sign.

Footsteps echoed behind you and you noticed that all of the other sounds had faded away. “Y/N? Are you ready to go?”

“No, I am not ready to -” You whipped around, surprised by the young face that greeted you. As angry as you wanted to be, it just felt… wrong to snap at him. Instead, you asked who he was.

The man smiled, showing off a set of pearly white teeth. “Sorry, I should have introduced myself first, it’s been a long day. My name is Choi Youngjae and I’m one of the grim tasked with ferrying souls over to Elysium.”

And then it hit you, “I’m dead.”

His smile turned sad as he nodded, shifting his weight. He had done this so many times since he was given the job, but it never got easier to meet someone after their life had come to an abrupt end. “I’m afraid so. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and I’m here to -”

“I want to see your boss,” you demanded.

“I… uh, what?” Youngjae had witnessed many different reactions over the course of his career, but no one had reacted quite like this, and no one certainly had never demanded to see his ‘boss’.

“Your boss,” you repeated, feeling frustration begin to bubble within you. “This is clearly a mistake. Let me talk to whoever is above you so we can fix this and get on with our lives.”

His lips tilted downward, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that the grim did not make mistakes. He doubted doing so would change your mind, anyway. With a nod, he snapped his fingers, stepping back as a white portal opened up where he had just been standing. “Please, follow me.”

You didn’t think twice as you followed him through the portal. A blinding white light made you shut your eyes for a brief moment, but it quickly faded and when your eyes slid open again, you found your surroundings to be very different from the blurry grey you had just been standing in. To your left was a sprawling spruce forest, the trees towering toward the. Behind you was an open field filled with soft-colored flowers. To your right lay a mountain, the peak of which could not be seen beyond the fluffy clouds above.

Was this supposed to be some sort of afterlife? What people referred to as heaven?

A wave of calm came over you, pushing against the annoyance and frustration you felt, but those negative emotions wouldn’t be shoved away so easily.

Youngjae moved forward, approaching a long stone bridge that curved over a break in the land. A man stood by the bridge, eyes trained on a black book within his hands. “Jinyoung, hyung.”

Hearing his name being called, he lifted his head and smiled warmly at his younger brother. “Welcome back, Youngjae. How did your last job go?”

The struggle between the negative emotions and the calm came to a halt when his words reached you and suddenly, it was if the calm didn’t even exist anymore. You huffed as you approached him, fists clenched at your sides. “A job? You think someone losing their life is just a job for you people? Do you get paid to end lives early? Do you get a commission for each life you end?”

His dark eyes flickered to Youngjae before returning to you, his plump lips parting.

You didn’t allow him to answer, shaking your head. You needed to focus on getting out of here and back to where you belong, there was no time to waste arguing. “Look, there’s clearly been some kind of mistake or mix up. I have so many orders that are waiting to be filled, I have to get back home. Please figure out where you screwed up and fix it.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” Jinyoung snapped the black book shut before handing it over to his younger brother, who nodded and took up post by the bridge. “The grim do not make mistakes, nor do they have mixups. There are extreme measures in place to ensure this. It may be hard for you to accept, but it was your time to leave the Earth.”

You followed him across the bridge with a scowl, having to raise your voice over the sound of the rushing water below. “Says who? Who has the right to decide when I live or die?”

“The universe,” he answered simply. “Your kind often believe that a singular god determines the fate of man, but it’s far more complicated than that. Many factors are combined to determine one’s life expectancy, but even destiny can be altered by minute changes within one’s environment. For whatever reason, the universe determined that you were destined to arrive here today.” He paused at the steps leading up to a large hall, turning to look at you.

“So that’s it, then? I’m just… gone.”

“Your soul will remain here in Elysium,” he explained softly. “After one week’s time has passed, the rebirth program will be opened up to you. You lived your life without causing harm to others and because of that, you will be offered the opportunity to start again. A second chance, if you will. A brand new life, a new set of experiences, and challenges. Your soul will be merged with another to form a new soul and neither of you will remember your past lives, your death, or the time you spent here.”

Your brow furrowed as your head started to spin. He was feeding you too much information too quickly and you didn’t know how to feel about any of it.

“Jinyoung!” A tall blonde male came bounding over, a bright grin lighting up his face. “Hyung is calling for us. There’s a situation he needs us to handle.”

“I’ll be right there, Jackson.” He promised before turning back to you, his eyes meeting your own. Another, stronger wave of calm came over you, leaving you feeling a bit lighter than you had just a moment ago. “This is a lot to take in and acceptance doesn’t happen overnight. I promise you, Y/N, it’s not so bad here.”

You could only watch as the two of them headed across the bridge to collect their brother, disappearing within the mist that shrouded the center of the bridge.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

Two months had passed since you had first arrived within Elysium and you still hadn’t fully adjusted to life there, but you weren’t too fond of giving up your memories, either. The only thing that made the situation more bearable was the time you were able to spend with Jinyoung, whom you had gotten quite close to. You hated to admit it, but… he was quickly becoming a very important person to you, the rock that was keeping you grounded.

As you crossed the bridge, you took pause halfway, leaning on the railing and taking a moment to take in just how beautiful it was. A large waterfall poured from a break in the forest, the water flowing down into the large crack that separated the hall from the rest of the land. The spray from the water created a thin fog that covered the bridge. Seeing such a beautiful sight made you wish you had a camera, though you knew it couldn’t capture the beauty as you could see it with your eyes.

“Y/N!” Jinyoung sent you a bright smile as he approached you, the black book tucked under his arm. Seeing him filled you with warmth and send your heart spiraling.

‘Remember, Y/N, love can come from the most unexpected places when we least expect it,’ The words of your grandmother suddenly echoed within your mind.

Your brow furrowed. ‘Why did I just -‘ And then it clicked within your brain. The reason Jinyoung had become so important to you. The reason you were so reluctant to enroll in the program. You had fallen in love with the gatekeeper. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me…’ You pinched the bridge of your nose, repressing a groan. ‘I finally fall in love, and it’s in the afterlife? What kind of cliche novel is this?’

“Are you okay?” He questioned, gently bumping your shoulder with his own as he stopped beside you. “You seem more distracted than usual,”

You met his dark eyes, shimmering with concern and warmth. Your heart skipped a beat as you thought how beautiful this man was. ‘Shut up, heart. No one asked for your opinion,’ You cleared your throat, tearing your gaze away to stare back down at the water. “I’m fine,”

“Have you made a decision about the rebirth project?”

You were silent for several moments, wringing your fingers nervously. With a slow release of breath, you gave him a nod. “I have. I’ve decided to turn the offer down.”

“Are you sure?” Jinyoung asked softly.

As you looked upon his warm eyes, shining brightly under the sunlight above, you spoke from your heart. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,”

The smile he offered you was so full of warmth and happiness that it took you by surprise. His shoulder bumped against yours again and his voice was so soft, you briefly wondered if he had spoken at all. “I’m glad,”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

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