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ihavethedreamies · 30 days

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Stupid | Wooyoung

Jung Wooyoung - ATEEZ)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~10.3k

Pairing: Wooyoung x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Actual Plot, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Friends-to-Lovers, Comfort

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Caution: The angst in this story is more familial based. There are mentions of adultery/infidelity, but it's not dwelled on. This could be triggering for those who have had parent's leave or other similar circumstances, so just be warned.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Princess, Sweetheart, Sunshine, etc.), Childhood/Teenage Trauma, Family Issues, Tears and Crying, Swearing, Unrequited Love, Kind of a Love Triangle, Kissing, Dirty Talk, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Marking/Hickeys/Scratches, Couch Sex, Shower Sex, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

Author's Note: Hm, just thought I would do this since I made something similar for San.

(S/N) is for the name of your sister.

Move Update: We are headed out next Monday for our new state (back to where I was born actually) and I'm gonna have to live at my uncles for a month before the new house is ready, so I will be writing a lot there, so get ready.

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

The only sound you could hear was your own aggressive keypresses. You had paused your music to go to the bathroom and didn't bother hitting play again. Staring hard at the screen, your eyes hurt even with the dark theme applied. The colorful lines of code on the dark screen blurred and refocused, and you blinked, trying to force your eyes not to blur. Sighing, you pushed back from your desk, rubbing over your eyes. Taking your computer glasses off, you let them fall onto your desk and you got back up. It was really hard to work at 2 am, let alone when your thoughts were racing. And the thoughts had nothing to do with your job. The last thing you needed the day before a project was due was to loop on irrational thoughts. Your socked feet thumbed on the wood floor of your hallway as you went down it. Your sister's door was propped open, so you quietly opened the door, peeking inside. The soft teal lighting strip lining her walls cast a faint glow over the room. She was starfish-ed on the bed, peacefully and messily asleep. Huffing, you stepped out and shut your door. How nice it must be to be thirteen. Pulling your phone from the pocket of your sweatpants, you exited the hallway and went into the kitchen. The large open room of the apartment included the kitchen as well as dining and living areas. A spare room was in the back corner, empty since your friend had moved out a month before. Another room sat across from it, the large windows of the studio covered with tall curtains, but you knew it was just full of boxes of old things. Someday you would have the courage to go through them and get rid of stuff, maybe use the studio for an office or something, but…

Opening the fridge to get the pitcher of orange juice, the door shut, and your eyes focused on the dark on the picture magnetically attached to the front. The picture was of a once happy life you lived. A black squiggle covered the face of the man, the woman next to him smiling like the sun. Glaring at the censored face, you yanked the photograph from the magnet clip and slapped the picture down on the counter. The pitcher followed and as you grabbed a glass, you plucked the scissors from the small utensil-filled mug on the counter. After pouring yourself a drink, and taking a few sips, you grabbed the photo. Holding it up, you realized it would make sense to turn the overhead light of the range hood to see better, but you continued in the dark. Opening the shears, you cut a tiny slit into the white border of the photo and halted. The little line split the man's pants from the shoulder of the little girl's white sundress; she was no more than four. She was sitting on the lap of a girl looking much the same, just about twelve years older. It was weird to see such a bright smile on your face.

The purple-handed scissors clattered onto the Formica counter; the photo still held in the crook of the blades. Resting against the counter behind you, you drank the juice in gulps, hissing through your teeth when it was gone like it was some kind of liquor. The glass-mimicking plastic cup clanked into the sink, and you left the kitchen to shuffle back to your room. As you reentered, you yanked the zipper down of your hoodie, nearly tearing the garment off and throwing it harshly onto the floor. You let the door click quietly closed despite wanting to slam it and went back to your computer. Your chair let out a puff of air when you plopped down into it, the remaining pieces of the candy necklace you had on bouncing over your collarbone. Crunching on one of the sugary beads, you flipped your phone over, so the screen faced up, tapping the black surface and a small white notification bubble showed itself under the white numbers of the clock; 2:13 am. Unlocking the phone with your finger print, you opened your message app and you sniffed at the message in annoyance.

🦊WooWoo🦊: did you get it done?

He had sent it nearly an hour prior. You glared at your computer screen, then to the second monitor, the program running over and over, glitching at the same time stamp each time.

☀️: not even close 🦊: why are you up young lady ☀️: why are you?

He didn't reply right away so you looked back at your computer, clicking your tongue. Hitting save and closing the window, you instead opened up a new email and sent one to your coworker that it might not get there by tomorrow night but that you would try. It wasn't a hard deadline anyway. You worked for an Indie label, not some AAA, so that gave you some flexibility. Closing the window, you stared at your background for a good few minutes, waiting for Wooyoung to reply. The picture used to make you smile, but it hurt your heart. San's cute dimple smile, and his arm around you made you wince. Wooyoung was on your other side, his cheek pressed into the side of your head as he hugged you. You were leaning into San, trying to escape the other man's embrace, at least that was your excuse. The picture was getting close to five years old.

🦊: games 🦊: why are you up ☀️: working. thinking 🦊: about? ☀️: how shit I feel 🦊: you sick??

You rolled your eyes; he wasn't super intuitive sometimes. It was almost 2:30 in the morning though.

☀️: no. how shitty my life is now compared to back then…

Once again, he took a bit to reply, and you almost got up to use the restroom then go to bed. Your phone then buzzed on the desk, the noise even louder going through the wood, and you grabbed it quickly, answering the call.

"Your life isn't shitty (Y/N). I'm here, huh?" His giggle was forced. You just huffed, getting out of your desk chair to move to your bed.

"Livin' the dream."

"What's it this time? Your…da- uh, male life giver?" His little catch at least made the corner of your mouth crook up.

"Yeah."

"How's (S/N)?"

"Good, I guess. She…she was a bit too really remember either of them."

"Even if she doesn't it can't be easy with…how it all played out." He was trying to be careful with what he said, but you were already in a bad mood.

"Our dad cheating, leaving us for his second family and then my mother…" You thought tears who come to your eyes, but maybe you were too tired.

"Where do you think she went?" Your best friend's voice was soft.

"No clue. Neither did Gramma, or the cops. She could be in Timbuk-fucking-tu for all I know."

"Do you want to go out tomorrow with me and San? Or do you have to work?" Before you could answer, your phone buzzed, and you pulled it away from your ear. Opening the email from your coworker, you sighed in relief. Perfect timing.

"Not anymore. The character models are getting scrapped and redone so that means my code has to be scrapped. Might be why I couldn’t get it to move right."

"What about (S/N)?"

"She's thirteen not three. I'll have her sleep over at a friend's maybe…"

"Great! Get some sleep, sunshine. Meet us at 9!" He hung up and you flopped back onto your mattress, feeling disappointed for some reason. Finally working up the energy to get off the bed, you went back to your computer and shut it down, staring at San's smiling face a little too long, before letting it actually turn off.

~*~*~

"Good morning, little lady." You left the hallway, sandals in your hand. Your sister sent you a tired look over her cereal, waving lazily.

"G'mornin'."

"Do any of your friends get to have sleep overs on school nights?" Her eyes opened a bit wider then, then squinted as she thought.

"Uh…probably. Going out with-" she gave a flirty pose, batting her eyelashes, "Sannie?" then dropped the act.

"Shut up, you little shit." You threw a stray cheerio at her, and it nearly stuck to her cheek.

"Wooyoung's going too."

"Oh. You ever gonna tell him?"

"Tell San I like him? I don’t know..."

"San? Oh, yeah, right. Why not?" You didn't answer right away, pouring a glass of juice.

"You're gonna turn into an orange." Your sister rolled her eyes, and you poured just a bit more before putting the pitcher back down.

"I just... I don't think I stand a chance."

"What?! Why?!" Your sister acted like you had personally offended her. Even before your whole messed up parental situation, you two never bickered or anything. Probably because you were nearly thirteen years older than her.

"I'm not his type. He probably sees me as a sister. Also, he looks like that," you motioned down at your white tank with a think blue plaid shirt over and worn denim capris, "and I'm…"

"You better compliment yourself." Your sister glared at you, making you sigh.

"He likes the girls in skirts with makeup and their nails done. The ones that giggle at everything he says and touch his bicep ‘accidentally’…" You drifted off, getting mad at the mental pictures.

"Then do all that." (S/N) shrugged, getting up to put her cereal bowl in the sink.

"Counter." You corrected and she rolled her eyes, taking the bowl out and moving it to the counter.

"(S/N), I don't even own a tube of mascara." You sighed, then proceeded to down your orange juice once again like it was a stiff drink. Your throat burned and your stomach stung somewhat…maybe you did drink too much.

"Use mine."

"What?" You turned fast to look at her and her eyes were wide in panic.

"I only have mascara, I promise!" She lifted her hands in surrender, and you breathed out your nose. She was only a year off being allowed make up, you at least wanted to maintain the rules your mother put on you with your sister. Even if a lot of them never had to be enacted on you.

"Look, I'm just going to go hang out with them and pretend one of my best friends isn't sex on legs."

"I'm pretty sure they both are, but okay." (S/N) muttered under her breath as she passed you to go get her backpack and you pretended to not hear her.

~~~

"Bye, sis!" (S/N) got out of your car and headed into her middle school. She was the one of the few who didn't mind being seen dropped off right in front of the school, but laid-back older sisters are much, much cooler than any parent.

"Just text me who you can stay with!" You called to her, and she turned around with a shocked face.

"Right! What about my bag? My locker's not big enough!" She realized, coming back to your rolled down window, leaning into it.

"I'll bring it by after your club meeting is done."

"Really!? Can you bring WooSan?"

"Don't call them that!" You scolded but laughed nonetheless, "Sure."

"Bye, sis!" She took off again, meeting her similarly uniformed friends by the entrance. You were blessed that the school was willing to take her in for free more-or-less on a scholarship. Your mother wanted both of you to go to the same school, but it was private, and you were in no way capable of paying. If you were, you wouldn't be driving a wine red 2002 Hyundai Sonata with suede upholstery. Pulling out of the drop-off line, you continued down the road till you met the traffic light. It sat at the edge of the academy's campus and the park where you were meeting the guys was just past the light. As you waited for the light to turn, you tapped your fingers on the steering wheel along to the music playing on your radio. The light took even longer because the crossing guard was leading a group of elementary schoolers across. You were watching them pass in their cute little uniforms when you were startled by a knock on your window. You flinched, looking to see what looked to be a high school boy on the other side. You rolled the slightly tinted glass down just enough that you would be able to hear him. He flashed a smoldering smile, and you blatantly sneered.

"What, kid?"

"You obviously don't go to school here, you from the public school?" How dumb was this kid? You hadn't been in high school for seven years. You had a college degree and everything. Most might take it as a compliment to be seen as looking young enough to be a teenager, but…

"Get lost, squirt." You scoffed, looking away but not bothering to roll the window back up. You were a bit curious what his reaction would be.

"I might look young, but I'm a senior this year, princess." He was clearly a little put off by your flat dismissal, trying to keep a flirty tone.

"Fuck off, kid. She's our princess." A familiar voice hit your ears, and you sighed in relief, watching Wooyoung essentially hip bump the kid so hard he fell back onto the sidewalk. Your heart skipped as you huffed a laugh, watching San come up as well and unlocked the doors so the two guys could climb in, right at the light turned green. San barely shut the back door before you took off, leaving the teenager's friends laughing at his sorry state. Crossing the median, you pulled into the parking lot of the park and slumped back into your seat.

"Got your favorite." San leaned forward, toned arm hovering over the center console, holding a plastic bag with one finger.

"Sweet!" You swiped it from him and Wooyoung got out, running around to your side where the window was still rolled down.

"Hey, pretty lady, want to go make out behind the bleachers?" He leaned against the side of your car just like the cocky teen had and you couldn’t help but laugh.

"Uh, no." You wondered if he caught you glance in your rearview mirror to watch San get out of your car, holding the drink holder of ice coffees as well. You couldn't meet his gaze though, and surprisingly, he didn't respond, just stood up and started to follow San down the path.

"Hey, wait up!" You got out quickly, nearly forgetting your phone and to lock the car as you dashed after them. Finally getting half-way around the pond that was trying to be a lake, you sat on a picnic bench of the wooden shelter right on the edge of the water. Some ducks quacked as they lazily swam closer, hoping for a snack. As you took a long sip of your ice coffee, you watched San get up and go closer to the ducks, a little bit of his croissant left. Your eyes couldn't help but travel over the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. His arms were on display since he was in a sleeveless hoodie, and you smiled at his as the ducks happily ate the bread.

"That's bad for them, y'know?" Wooyoung called and the other man tossed him a bored look over his shoulder, then went back to the birds. Because you were too busy eyeing over your friend, you didn't notice Wooyoung watching you. He lifted half of his nose in a sneer, glaring at his friend who was taking up all of your attention. Wooyoung wanted to blame it on that San had started working out since you had all started being friends, but he wasn’t sure that was it.

"Just fucking tell him." He whispered harshly to you and his sudden mutter made you choke. San immediately turned around, and you waved him off, but he still went to your side, patting your back some to help.

"You okay?" He kneeled next to you, and you nodded, flashing a small smile, trying not to get red. Not like you could control it. Just then, something green flew through the air, flying past San's head as he stood, and he was toppled over by a mass of blonde fur.

"Jeremy! Get off of him!" A young woman scolded the golden retriever as it refused to get off of San, sniffing him and licking his face. Why am I jealous of a dog? You sighed, slumping back against the wood railing of the shelter.

"Why don't you tell him?" Wooyoung's next whisper was much softer, he sounded very tired.

"And get rejected? Ruin our friendship? No." You whispered back, still watching the cutest thing you've ever seen. The dog was a fat mood, refusing to get off of San.

"I'm so sorry!" The woman finally managed to pull the dog off of the man and he got up laughing. She immediately blushed, finally able to see San past all of the fluff. Looking away and down the path to where the green flying disk still lay you got up to retrieve it, since the dog had failed its job.

"Here." You forced a smile as you handed it back to her and she snapped out of her daze to take it from you, immediately looking back to San. Luckily, she left not too long after and you were able to continue the day with the two guys.

~*~*~

A week passed, and you still hadn't been able to work because the rest of the team couldn't get their act together and finish their parts. So, you had been left to your thoughts which is never good. You sat on the couch, boredly and only partially watching the TV. Your knees were pulled up to your chest and your hands lazily tapped a rhythm on the worn faux leather of the couch. Tilting your head, it rested on the back of the couch, and you stared at the ceiling of your loft apartment, the large ventilation pipes curving around the support columns high above your head. When the doorbell rang you almost didn't recognize it, thinking it might have been on the show. It happened again and you knew it was yours because the TV now displayed a commercial for some kind of sports drink. Getting up with a groan, you trudged over to the door, socked feet shuffling over the wood floor. When you opened the door, a young woman sat on the other side, and her face made you nervous. She looked…

"Hi. Are you (Y/N)?" She smiled gently and you nodded.

"I'm Jena (L/N). Can…can I come in?" When she said her last name, your heart fell. You knew immediately who she was.

"Sure." Your tone was flat, but since she didn't know you, it seemed she didn't notice. You motioned her in and toward the couch and you glanced around your place. It wasn't messy, but it wasn't nice either. She was in a sundress that was at least $300, and she had a giant rock on her finger. You grimaced as she sat on your very well-worn couch and you sat down as well, facing her by sitting sideways. She put her designer bag down, linking her fingers and resting her hands on her knee, legs crossed.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but…I'm assuming you know Daniel (L/N)?" You never wanted to hear that name again.

"Uh, yeah." You shuffled on the couch, the faux leather creaking under you.

"I'm his daughter. I have to admit I was a little…stalky?" She cringed at herself, smiling sheepishly.

"Dad is…well, he doesn't have much longer." When you didn't really react, she continued. On the inside, you just weren't sure how to react.

"They don't know if he drank too much when he was younger or what, but his liver is failing. He's been on a transplant list, but they can't find anyone compatible." She’d better not have come to get you to give him half of your fucking liver-

"Anyway, I was looking over his will-"

"Where's your mom?"

"Huh?"

"How…what about your mom?"

"Oh, uh." She looked down, a sad expression covering her face.

"When he got sick, she left him, so I'm in charge of everything." Rolling your eyes, you huffed, looking toward the kitchen, focusing on the picture on the fridge you meant to cut up.

"Uh. Right, your name is on the will." She pulled a packet of paper from her purse, showing you where your name was highlighted. You didn't even care what he was leaving you, so you handed it back.

"I don't want it."

"O-oh…if you don't mind me asking, who are you?" You raised an eyebrow, and she wilted under your glare.

"You don't know?"

"No, sorry." She hid bashfully behind the papers, "are we cousins or something?" You just stared at her in shock.

"No offense, but it’s a bit weird to have a niece in your will when you have four kids?"

"Look, if you want my part, have it."

"No! That's not… Actually, the reason I'm really here is-" She pulled something else out of her bag and you recognized it.

"Dad kept saying the name Naomi." You stood up at this and she flinched. You paced a bit, hands going to your head, fingers digging into your scalp. Breathing out slowly, you turn back to her.

"Sorry…keep going, I'm just…struggling with this." She seemed a bit unwilling to continue without asking anything, but she did so as you sat back down. Your ire was evident, you were sure.

"Um…well, I couldn't figure out who she was, so I looked in his yearbook. He's…" She flipped to the middle of the book, "with a girl named Naomi." She showed you the page, but you already knew it. High School Sweethearts read in flowery script over the picture of your parents.

"But when I looked her up, I couldn't find anything." Of course not. You never could.

"So, I used Google's new AI search with this picture, and I found a woman…" You hadn’t gone that far, still not really trusting any kind of program claiming to be AI. She pulled out another paper from her bag and showed it to you. It was an article about some town's mayor on the other side of the country, and the caption listed the woman next to him as his wife. It was your mother. But her name was wrong.

"It says her name is Carry, but that looks like the same woman, right?"

"Y-Yes."

"Maybe they’re sisters? Twins even? I know it’s a long shot, but do you have her contact information? Even if they broke up soon after high school, maybe she would be willing to see him since he's dying…" As soon as you saw her face on the paper, your anger left, and you were holding back tears.

"I don't…but-" you took a shuddering breath, "uh, I don't think she'll go see him."

"Really?" She deflated a bit, and you looked down at your lap, picking at your torn jeans.

"Uh. No. She's… Okay, I'm in the will because I'm your sister. Those are my parents. She’s my mother." This information floored her, her jaw literally dropping. Sniffing hard, you hated crying, let alone in front of essentially a stranger.

"How old are you?" Your question snapped her back, making her flinch.

"T-twenty." Of course.

"Dad…He uh, left us and mom for…you guys. Then mom fucking snapped or broke or whatever and left us too." You looked at the printed off article, at your mother's smiling face next to some man you had never seen or heard of before. This shocked her even further. You gave her the article back and stood moving to the door.

"Uh, take me out of the will or whatever and just leave us alone please. Thank you." You opened your front door, not able to look at her.

"U-us?"

"Ah. (S/N). My thirteen-year-old sister." This must have really made this Jena girl realize why you acted the way you did. It wasn't that your father left your mother then fathered her, he had both families at the same time.

"M-my brother is twelve." Reality was hitting her.

"Great. That sucks for everyone, please leave." You motioned with your arm for her to get out and as soon as she shuffled out into the hallway, you let the door fall closed. Your shoulder hit the wall, and you slumped to the floor, hot tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor. Your chest heaved as you sobbed, hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet.

"Fuck!" You screamed, grabbing a cheap ceramic bowl you used for change and chucked it across the room. It hit the column behind your TV and shattered, coins clattering onto the floor in its trail. You buried your face in your hands, breathing harshly, trying to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. It buzzed again a few minutes later, then again. Again.

"Damnit." You got up, storming over to your phone, looking at it. It was the group chat, Wooyoung and San were talking about doing something the next day, some kind of lawn game competition at the community college. When they saw that you read the messages and didn't reply, your phone rang with a call from Wooyoung.

"I know that we're not in college anymore, but we can get away-" You had stopped crying more or less, but hearing his voice brought tears back to your eyes and you fought a sob.

"Are you crying? What happened?"

"U-um…" You swallowed hard, a lump rising in your throat along with the tears.

"I'll be there in five…six minutes!" He hung up and you let the device fall onto the couch. Your shoulders fell as you stood in the middle of the main room of your place, glaring at the coffee table's scratched surface. A tear fell onto the plywood, then another. Snapping out of your daze when hard knocks pounded on the door, you only got halfway to the door before he opened it, finding it unlocked.

"(Y/N)?" Seeing the concerned face of your best friend made you feel safe and so your self-erected walls fell. He shut the door as he moved forward, catching you in his arms as you shriveled to the floor. Wooyoung held you tighter as you cried, desperate sobs and whimpers muffled as you pressed your face into his chest. Your tears darkened the red fabric of his sweatshirt, and he adjusted your position, so you sat on the floor, legs over one of his, cheek pressed to his collarbone. A tear of his own fell and mixed with yours on your jaw, but you didn't notice it. He didn't know what happened that wrecked you so bad, but he couldn't stand hearing and seeing you so upset. He even hated it if you cried at a movie.

"What happened, sunshine?" His embrace loosened so you could sit up straighter, tears still falling, but you weren't actively sobbing. Wooyoung cupped your cheek in his hand, wiping a tear from your eye. You had to take several deep breaths through the story, but you managed to tell him what happened.

"M-my mother's alive, Wooyoung." Your voice had quieted so much at the end that, but he still heard the pain.

"(Y/N), sweetheart, come here." He stood, helping you get up and he led you over to the couch. He grabbed your phone, and you rested back on the couch as he easily put in your pin without having to ask what it was. You listened half-heartedly as he called your sister, most likely just getting out of class, about to go to her art club meeting.

"Again? Is this going to be weekly? I think I can stay with Amanda, maybe Emily…" You heard (S/N) sigh, "what about my stuff?"

"Can't you manage with borrowing?" Wooyoung cast you a glance, your forearm over your eyes.

"I guess. What’s wrong with (Y/N)?"

"She's just really struggling with something."

“What?”

“Adult stuff.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, uh-huh.”

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready, little lady.”

"You better take good care of her Mr. Jung."

"I will Miss (L/N)." He hung up and put your phone back down. You felt the couch shift when he stood up, then felt his body heat as he kneeled on the floor next to you. Wooyoung gently removed your arm from your face, and you turned to look at him.

"Oh, sweetheart." He sighed, hand going to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the red skin of your cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

"C-can you call San? And we can watch a movie? Get Indian food?" You weren't sure how to read Wooyoung's expression. He seemed to be thinking, but then he forced a smile and nodded.

"Sure, princess." Wooyoung stood and pressed a long kiss to your forehead, and you blamed your turbulent emotions on your racing heart.

~*~*~

About two weeks later, you found yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the number you plugged into your phone. You hadn't pressed call yet, the non-local area code of the number glaring at you. It was a long shot, but you hoped calling the mayor's office might get you somewhere. You had been stalling for a long time, his office would only be open for another hour thanks to the time difference. Your sister was getting annoyed with you having her stay the night at a friend’s place, but luckily, she had a slumber party she was invited to. The sun was starting to set, and you finally worked up the courage to hit call, then turned it onto speaker, at 5:57. It was probably around 3 there.

"Mayor Elledge's office, this is Peg."

"Hi, uh, Peg. I'm…I'm trying to get in contact with Carry Elledge, but I'm not sure how to get ahold of her…" The silence scared you, worried that the woman would be too suspicious to help you.

"May I ask who you are?"

"I'm…a relative. It's about…my father's will." Please work.

"I see…I can get you her cellphone number." The secretary relented and you sighed in relief, thanking her several times. Typing the number she gave you into your notes app, you politely end the conversation and went to call the other number while you still had the courage to do so. Ring. Ring. Ring-

"Hello, this is Carry?" It was your mom, no doubt. Tears welled in your eyes, and you swallowed, voice coming out softer than normal to keep from crying.

"M-mom? It's me. It's (Y/N)." More silence.

"I think you might have the wrong number, dear." You felt your face fall, your eyebrows furrowing, your lips trembling.

"This isn't Naomi (L/N)?"

"No, dear, sorry." There wasn't any kind of recognition in her voice, but it was hers.

"O-oh…okay, sorry." The call ended and you pressed your lips hard together, jaw clenched. What the hell happened? You sat trying to wrap your head around everything, about thirty minutes passed and your phone rang. It was a different number, but it was the same area code as the other two.

"H-hello?"

"Are you the young woman looking for Naomi (L/N)?" A man spoke, and you wondered if it wasn't the mayor guy.

"Yessir."

"You must be (Y/N)."

"What the hell happened to my mother?" Your tone didn't have nearly as much malice as you had wanted. Even if this guy did nothing wrong, you hated him. He sighed. He explained that he found her near death in an alleyway. She had malnutrition and was dehydrated. He got her to the hospital, she was in a medically induced coma for a few days, and when she woke up…she didn't remember anything.

"So, she has no idea about her past life?"

"No, miss."

"Thank you for…not letting her die."

"I'm sorry to not be of more help Miss (Y/N). Though, I don't think it’s good for her to be reminded of her past life. I called because she is…having a panic attack. Maybe it was your voice, some part of her recognized it maybe? It’s clear she is traumatized from her past. I think it would be best if you leave her be." You didn't want to. You wanted to get in your car, grab your sister, and drive for the three of four days you needed, and get your mother. But…she wasn't your mother anymore, even if she did remember you, it was clear her brain was hiding you and your sister.

"I…Okay. If you want to know, Daniel (L/N) is dying."

"Good."

"Yes."

"I appreciate you wanting to reach out, but I would like you to lose our numbers.

"Yessir." He hung up. Your body must have run out of tears along with your energy because you just slumped back into the couch. Something rose in you then, something bold. Grabbing your bag, phone and keys, you left your place, heading for Wooyoung and San’s.

~~~

As you rode the elevator to the third floor, you were shaking. Whether it was nerves or pure exhaustion you weren't sure. Going down the hall, you heard voices further down and you finally saw the owners as you turned the corner. San was standing at his apartment door, some bleach blonde girl wedged between him and the door. You weren’t sure how to feel, your emotions were too turbulent. Somehow it felt like your heart finally completely shattered, but you also were relieved, but the latter made you mad. You turned and fled before you could see his lips actually meet hers.

~~~

"(Y/N)?" You heard your name through the door, then Wooyoung's rapid knocks. You were slumped against the island counter, hands stinging and bleeding, shards of glass and ceramic scattered around the room. Tissue paper and packing peanuts were strewn about the main room of the apartment as well, old papers and books torn and discarded. Splinters of wood from broken frames and dismembered toys littered the floor as well, and you ran your thumb over a glass paper weight shaped like a cat.

"(Y/N)?!" Wooyoung jiggled the door handle harder, but it was locked. A red smear followed your thumb on the glass cat, the cuts on your palms still oozing blood.

"Damnit, (Y/N) (L/N)! Open the fucking door, I know you're in there." He was panicking, you could hear it in his voice.

"Fuck off." You sighed, throwing the glass piece as hard as you could, and it hit the far wall. The ear chipped off and broke, the finish over the brick wall flaked off, then it clattered to the floor.

"(Y/N), please princess, let me in." You heard a thump, presumably his forehead hitting the door. You licked your lips, the salt of your tears hitting along with the iron tang of blood. You weren't sure if it was from where you had bitten your lip or the cut on the tip of your nose.

"(Y/N). Please, I need to see you, sweet girl. Please let me know if you're okay." You didn't know what time it was, just that it was late, only the light of the storage room flowing into the room from the door. Your phone had been going off, and you hated the message you saw on it, so you chucked it across the room as well, breaking it instantly. The place was a mess, and you were grateful your sister wasn't home to see your breakdown.

"Go away, Wooyoung." Your voice was hoarse after your crying, but the door was thin, and you knew he heard.

"Not a fucking chance, (Y/N)."

"Just…just let me be alone."

"No! Open the door, damn it!"

"Go home."

"Shit. (Y/N) open the freaking door or I'm coming up the fire escape!" You knew he meant it. You got up, not bothering to be careful of what you stepped on, only wincing slightly as a speck of glass wedged in your foot, joining other scrapes and cuts already present. Shakily, you undid the door chain, and he must have heard you turn the deadbolt and the lock on the knob, because he opened the door before you could. He gasped, looking at your face, pale but red from smeared blood of the small cuts on your face. He looked at your hands too, and the bloody footprints on the floor.

"Oh my God, (Y/N)." Wooyoung shut the door, dropping his backpack and cupping your face with his hands. They were cold from being out in the early autumn night and you didn't even react when he did so. Wooyoung lifted your head so you could look at him and his brow furrowed in despair at the blank look in your eyes. Finally, he looked around the room in the low light, shocked at the carnage.

"I called her." You managed to get out and he looked back at you, confused.

"Mom. I looked up the mayor guy's office number and called. She didn't… She didn't know who I was. Her husband called and told me she had some kind of amnesia after he found her. Then he told me never to try again. So, I…" you licked your lips, "then I…I decided and went to your place. San was taking some blonde bitch into the apartment." Your breath shuddered and his shoulders slumped.

"(Y/N)-"

"I…I went to the store, but they were out of Cayman Jacks. The Indian place down the street closed early. The pizza place was out of white sauce… I grabbed some random food from the convenience store and then when I got home… I got a text from that Jena girl, my half-sister," you spat, "dad's dead."

"(Y/N), sunshine, you must… What can I do?" He stepped closer, one hand leaving your face to grab your hand. You flinched at the sting, and he held your hand up to see the cuts in the skin. It looked like you had a few splinters as well.

"Help me clean this mess?"

"I’ll just do it, lets get you cleaned up first."

He picked a few splinters out of your hands and feet, then sent you off to shower. Wooyoung vowed to work on the mess more later, maybe even get Seonghwa to help, but he dealt with the dangerous stuff first. He had shoved and/or swept all the debris into a big pile in the ravaged storage room, leaving the mess for another time. After carefully picking up all the sharp shards and splintered wood, he vacuumed to make sure everything was picked up. He glanced up when you shuffled out of the hallway, a towel draped over your wet hair, a soft light-weight grey sweater draped over your torso, and a darker gray pair of shorts nearly hidden by the shirt. Your head was bowed, hands and feet red and he shuffled over to lead you to the couch.

"Did you use soap?"

"Mm. Conditioner stung." You sat, and he pulled your hands into his lap so he could look them over.

"I'll help you with these." He let your hands go and then his own went to the towel on your head, gently rubbing it over your hair, then scrunching the strands with the fabric to get more of the water out. Gently he laid it around your neck and shoulders to the still damp strands didn't drip on your shirt. When Wooyoung returned with your first aid box from the bathroom, you were still sitting in the same spot, staring blankly at a spot on the couch. Sighing, he went back to you and neither of you said anything as he smeared ointment on the cuts. He went ahead and just wrapped some bandages around your right hand since it was so cut up, but put band aids on the other. Wooyoung did the same with your feet, and you didn't even flinch even though you were usually ticklish there. As he finished some other little tidying things, you ran your finger over the chipped nails of your opposite hand, the polish flaking and cracked as well even though (S/N) only painted them two days prior.

"(Y/N), look at me." He prompted and when you didn't, he gently lifted your head with his finger under your chin.

"I'm so sorry, princess, that your…about your mom. And your father. But with San-"

"It was a stupid thought. I don't know why I got the courage to go." You tried to look away, but he forced you back to look at him, thumbs stroking your cleaned face. The little cuts had already pretty much closed, and he leaned forward and pressed a small kiss on the scratch on the tip of your nose.

"It's not stupid, (Y/N). Neither are you, he is." You huffed a wry laugh, but he shook his head.

"No, he is. He's a fucking idiot. You wanna know why?"

"Yeah, why?" You pulled both of your legs up under you, leaning with your side into the back of couch, head resting on the back cushion.

"Any many who wouldn't fall in love with you after knowing you is an idiot. I think I'm the only smart person there is." Wooyoung shook his head, throwing the band-aid wrappers onto the coffee table. It took your tired brain a bit to process what he said, but you still barely had the energy to snap your head up to look at him.

"What?"

"You've looked at him like he hung the moon for like two years but you’re still like a sister to him or something. Fucking stupid."

"You love me?"

"Yes! And you're an idiot for not noticing. That's why I'm the only smart one." He stood up to actually throw the wrappers away, using the task to flee since he was flushed from his confession. He stood looking down into the nearly full trash for a few seconds, trying to think of what to do next. Before he could turn back to you, he felt your arms wrap around his middle from behind, your cheek pressing to his back. He wasn't very tall, one of the shortest in your friend group, but you were small compared to him. Normally your hugs had a great deal of strength in them, like you did as a whole, but while they were around him, they were shaky.

"I'm sorry for being an idiot, Wooyoung." Your voice was quiet, he felt it vibrate through him more than actually hearing it with his ears. He sighed.

"Its…its fine. You can't help how you feel any more than I can." He laid his hand over your arm, gently prying you off of him, but pulling you back into him once he turned around. Resting back against the island, you went with him, letting him hold you close. His fingers ran through the drying strands of your hair, and you shuffled even closer when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I…My brain is too frazzled to give you a response right now, Woo. I…I want to tell you-“

"It’s fine, (Y/N). I wasn't expecting anything back…"

"No, its…I can't put my emotions together right now, but I might like you back, but it could just be my subconscious looking for comfort."

"Can I help? We can talk it out? What do you want me to do?"

"What do I want…?"

"Anything." You pulled back to look at him, looking over his face. He was so freaking pretty, his longer black hair was pulled half-up, a few strands framing his face. The ends of the little strands brushed over the beauty mark under his eye and your eyes flitted to the small one he had on his lip. You bet most people didn't even know it was there. Bringing your left hand up, your sleeve fell so it was no longer hanging by your fingers, and your index finger ran over the small dot. You flinched when he quickly grabbed your wrist, a little tighter than it maybe should have been. He realized this and loosened, sliding his thumb up to your palm.

"(Y/N). Be careful, sweetheart." With his grip on your wrist, he pulled you closer.

"Anytime you're close to me I want to hold. I want to kiss you. I want to pin you to the nearest surface and…" He licked his lips, brow furrowing, "Don't let me do something you'll regret because you are weak now." You grimaced, looking down, stepping back from him.

"D-don't…" Your breath shuddered and he could tell you were starting to cry again.

"Hey, hey." He pulled you back in for a hug, "I will hold you as long as you want. I can lie on the couch, and you can lie on me. We can sleep there. We'll watch that movie you like so much that your sister hates…" You sniffed, nodding and he kissed the crown of your head before you pulled back, and he led you to the couch. Not even ten minutes later he was stretched across the old couch, you nestled half on top of him, half between him and the back, the intro of The Last Unicorn playing on the TV. You normally didn't use a blanket on the couch, not unless you were upset, so it was tucked under your chin.

"How did you know to come?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you come here?"

"Oh. (S/N) was freaking out because you weren't answering any texts or video calls, and your phone was going straight to voicemail. I texted her that you broke your phone and that she didn't need to come home." Like it felt left out, his phone buzzed, and he shifted to grab it from the coffee table. You sneakily glanced and saw that it was from San.

🐯: where you at??

He just put the phone down, but it buzzed not even a minute later.

🐯: is (Y/N) ok, or do I need to send Becca home and come over?

"You better not fucking come here." Wooyoung huffed quietly, managing to use one hand and reply.

🦊: She's fine now. Leave us alone.

"That's harsh."

"He broke your heart; I should be much worse." He clicked his tongue, picking his phone up when it buzzed again on his stomach.

🐯: wtf you good? Are you mad?

"Yeah, I'm fucking pissed."

"He's calling." You mumbled, looking at his screen while he looked at the TV, trying to think of what to say. He angrily slid at the answer button, having to do it a second time for it to work.

"What?!" He nearly shouted into the phone, his even louder than normal voice sharp in your ear.

"Sorry, sweetheart." Wooyoung brushed over your hair, "What?"

"Woah, dude, are you sure you're okay?"

"What. Do. You. Want?"

"Woo." You scolded, and that seemed to make him even madder.

"Is she okay?!" San must’ve not heard.

"Yes, you stupid- She's fine. What do you want?"

"Can I talk to her?"

"No, you can't."

"What? Why?"

"Just go…hang out or in Becca or whatever-" You smacked his chest and he yiped.

"Did you make her upset; did you guys get into a fight?"

"No-"

"I'm coming over-"

"Damnit, no!"

"I don't see why you fucking care, Choi San." Something snapped in you, your last vestiges of rationale fizzled out. Wooyoung choked around a laugh, quickly putting the call on speaker.

"(Y-Y/N)?" He sounded like a whimpering puppy.

"Why are you trying to stick up for me or defend me?"

"Y-you're…you're like my sister-" Your fingers dug into Wooyoung's shirt so hard you scratched the skin underneath some, and you sat up, grabbing the phone.

"You know why I wasn't okay? Huh? I found out my mom's alive but doesn't remember me or my sister. My dad is dead. I couldn't get my favorite butter chicken, and the guy I like is at his place sucking face with some chick who looks like she can't do basic addition. So, fuck off San." You hung up and slid Wooyoung's phone away, so it landed on the coffee table, sliding just a bit further past where it landed. Huffing, you laid back down onto your other friend and continued to watch the movie. You both tried to focus, but after a few minutes, you both burst into laughter, and it was a good five minutes before you could fully calm down.

"I'm so fucking tired." You rested your hand over your eyes, wedged between Wooyoung and the couch and he turned toward you, blocking your view of the TV.

"Do you feel better though?" He brushed your hair off your face, and you nodded, nestling into the crook of his neck.

"Just sleep, sweetheart." Wooyoung pressed another kiss to your forehead, and you couldn't help but listen.

~~~

You woke up sore, not sure if it was from sleeping on your shitty couch or from the destruction you wrecked on your apartment the night before. Wooyoung was still asleep, curled around you, and still so, so pretty. You assumed he thought that if you waited, you would realize you were just wanting Wooyoung for comfort, not because you liked him back. But, after sleeping on it, you weren't so sure. Before, you really didn't know if you liked him back or not, but as you watched him sleep (feeling a bit creepy honestly) you thought about it. When you first became friends, you had a pretty big crush on him. The closer you got, the more it seemed he got on your nerves, and he was just annoying and immature. But after graduating, you got much closer; he really was your best friend. You were genuinely closer with Wooyoung than San, but you almost always hung out as the three of you. Could you have liked both, but chose San because you didn't want to admit you had liked Wooyoung the entire time you knew him? Did he annoy you so much because you had feelings for him, like some elementary age boy who pulls a girl's hair? And says he hates her? Gently, so as not to wake him, you cupped his jaw with your hands much like had the day prior to you.

"Be careful, sweetheart." He echoed the same words from the day before, not even opening his eyes.

"Why?" His eyes finally opened, the intensity in his gaze taking your breath away. Wooyoung scooted an inch closer, pressing you further into the cushion, his knee wedging between your legs. You gasped when he pressed closer, finally feeling him against you.

"If you let me kiss you, I won't stop there." His lips hovered over yours, tongue flicking out and running over your bottom lip as well as his.

"Then don't."

"(Y/N)-"

"I'm sure, Wooyoung. I thought about it, and yes, I have…had a crush on San. But that's what it is, like a school crush. You were right that I was stupid. I don't love you because you're my best friend, you're my best friend because I love you. I’m in love with you." Normally such flowery words would make you cringe, but yours were genuine. He breathed out hard with his nose, brow furrowing, eyes flitting away from yours, down to your lips.

"That was part of the reason I was so upset last night. Yes, I felt heartbroken from seeing San with that girl, but I also felt horrible, because I wasn't nearly as upset as I thought I would be. I was just glad it wasn't you with some bleach blonde bitch. After I found out about my mother…I was really glad it was you that came over and not San." Wooyoung couldn't hold a giggle back, trying to keep his face serious, but he couldn't.

"And I'm glad my sister called you, that you came." You smiled purely, but his turned to a smirk, the arm not under your head curling around you. You gasped when he slid the last little bit closer, hitching your leg over his hip and grinding his hardening cock into you.

"You have ten second to tell me to get off, otherwise I'm fucking you stupid on this couch." You whimpered at his words, hands leaving his face and resting on his shoulders. You bucked your hips, causing him to let out a soft grunt.

"Stupid, huh?" You smirked back and you squeaked when he rolled on top of you, soft lips capturing your chapped ones. The kiss wasn't gentle, his tongue quickly invading your mouth, tasting every inch of your tongue, his strong thigh hitching hard against your mound. Sneaky hands snuck under the waist band of your shorts, fingers pressing hard into the flesh of your ass, pulling up against him, feeling the outline of his dick against your tummy. Wooyoung pulled back from the kiss, letting you catch your breath, a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. He kneeled over you, pulling his shirt off and chucking it across the room. You whimpered, your own sneaky hands stroking over the skin of his chest and abs, when had he been that built?

"Up." He ordered, and you sat up just enough for him to pull your shirt off, along with your sports bra underneath.

"Fuck!" You twitched as those sinful lips wrapped around your nipple, teeth nibbling the peak before moving to the next, then up. Finally, his trail of kisses stopped at your throat, and he sucked your skin between his teeth there. It was too high to hide, and he worked the skin nearly raw, leaving a large purple welt on your jaw.

"Ah!" You jerked under him when his hand dove under your shorts and panties, two fingers swiping through the slick of your folds.

"You’re already this wet for me, sweetheart?" Wooyoung chuckled in your ear, those two fingers not hesitating to plunge into you. The sudden intrusion took your breath away, the slight burn left your head swimming. He only pumped the digits maybe twice before retracting his hand, and instead shoving his fingers in his own mouth.

"Oh, fuck." He groaned, climbing off of you, then shoving you up the rest of the way on the couch, landing on it with his stomach. Your shorts and panties flew through the air, joining the rest of your clothes and he threw your legs over his shoulders. Your skin felt like it caught fire when his tongue wasted no time in wiggling inside your cunt. It was long and he knew how to work it, his nose brushing your clit as he drank from you like a thirsty dog.

"Woo-Wooyoung, god!" Your breath hitched, legs twitching around his head, that deft tongue leaving your core to circle your clit, those two fingers sinking into your heat once more. He pulled back, licking his lips, spread into a sinful grin.

"You taste so fucking good, sweetheart." He groaned, crooking his fingers up hard, battering your weak spot.

"W-w-wait!" Your orgasm was coming on fast, and his fingers kept up their antics as he laid over you again, nose nuzzling behind your ear.

"Cum for me, princess." He licked over the crest of your ear, and he chucked breathily as your cunt clenched and spasmed around his fingers, their wiggling spurring your orgasm along. You shuddered and heaved as he pulled out, and you flinched when the slick pad of his index finger lowered, swirling over your pucker.

"Huh?" Your back arched from the odd sensation, but he didn't go further than a few teasing brushes.

"Maybe later, I want to taste all of you. And I want to fuck you full of my cum there too." He sank his teeth into your earlobe, and you turned your head to the side submissively, whimpering.

"Oh, you're a good girl, huh?" His teeth scraped along the column of your exposed throat, your head twisting more to give him better access.

"Fuck, you're gonna feel so good on my cock, princess." Wooyoung groaned, scattering kisses over your neck, shoulders and throat as he wiggled to get his pants and boxers off. Hauling you back down the couch, he easily grabbed your thighs to lead you to wrap them around his middle. You sighed feeling the heat of hard cock slide through your folds, head swimming as the fat head prodded your entrance, then slid up.

"Wooyoung, please~!" You whimpered, wanting him to sear through you, craving the burning sting.

"You wanna know something, sunshine?"

"What?" He chuckled at your slightly slurred speech.

"I plan on railing you so hard you don’t even remember who San is." He hummed and you couldn't brace for his entrance, his fat cock filling you with a hard snap of his hips. Your back arched, breath forced out of you, chipped fingernails digging crescents into his back. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, gummy walls spasming and fluttering around his cock, somehow the pain of him gouging into you threw you over the edge so quickly it made your clit sting too.

"God, fuck, Wooyoung!" You finally caught your breath enough to speak and he groaned long and deep.

"You're so fucking perfect, (Y/N). Oh, sweetheart, you're made for me!" He groaned a laugh, fading into a whine as the clenches faded with your orgasm. You felt like a truck hit you, vision blurry, lower half protesting at Wooyoung's brutal entrance, but you loved it. Your hips jumped again, cunt sucking him in further when he sat up more, pinning on of your knees to your shoulder, holding the other at his waist.

"Look at your cute pussy struggling to take me, huh?" He loved the sight of your tight core weeping around his cock, slick shining along his flesh and both of your inner thighs.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart~" He giggled, and your fingers gouged lines down the skin of his back as he started, pace immediately relentless, battering your cervix with the head of his dick. The hand at your thigh holding it to his side left, sliding down your body and gripping your ass.

"Hm, you like it, pretty girl? Like my fat cock?"

"Fuck, yes, Woo~" Your breath heaved, and you let out a delirious giggle, gasping and whining hard as his rapid pace barreled you through your third orgasm. Your cunt stung, but it was so good. You squealed when his hand left your butt, only to slap the skin hard, the sting travelling up your hip and into your thigh. He felt your walls grip him harder at the spank, so he did it again, harder.

"Oh, shit-" Your head lolled against the couch cushion, face and neck flushed, heaving for air. Your nails clawed down his chest to his stomach and he licked his lips at the sting.

"(Y/N), you're such a good girl, yeah? My good girl~"

"Y-yours!"

"Yes, sweetheart. All mine, oh, you're doing so good."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, princess. This pussy's so good too, welcoming my cock home?"

"Yeah!" You giggled, dumb on his cock and he hadn't even come once yet.

"Aw, love, can I cum inside? You on the pill, yeah? Let me paint you white, huh? Fuck you full of my cum, then flip you over and give you more?" He was laughing every few words, sounding almost a bit delirious himself. He had wanted to have you like that for so long, and he was going to fuck you on every surface in the place if he could.

"P-please!"

"Okay, I'm gonna then-" Wooyoung hummed, it faded to a groan, then with a few more stuttering thrusts, you felt heat blossom in your lower stomach. His cock pulsed as rope after rope of hot jizz filled you, a few drops leaking from where he split you open, leaving a mess on the couch. Your body jerked as his orgasm faded, you almost blacked out from your own. Your clit was throbbing, folds swollen and red, but he was still painfully hard.

~~~

"Hold on here." Wooyoung moved your hands to the mount of the shower head, and you wrapped your fingers around the metal pipe. Your toes curled as he entered you again, hot water hitting his back and dripping off of him onto you. Drops of cum hit the shower floor along with the water and he started to pound into you again. The water made the slaps of the skin of his pelvis against your butt and thighs all the louder, nearly muffling your soft whimpers and mewls. Your ass was red, covered in hand-shaped welts, thighs littered with hickeys and kiss-marks. His back, chest and stomach were covered in scratches, a bite-mark etched into his shoulder and a single hickey clung to his jawline. You weren't sure how long it had been since he first got inside you, but it had to have been hours ago. You had no idea where his stamina had come from, and your once burning cunt had more or less numbed to the sting of overstimulation, tiny orgasms shattering through you without warning or reason. You felt the wet strands of his hair on your shoulders as he leaned over you, hand cupping the underside of your breast, the other over your hands on the shower mount.

"Fuck, (Y/N), I love you. I love you so much." He kissed your shoulder, avoiding a sore-looking mark he had left.

"I-I love you t-t-too, Wooyoung-!" You heaved for air as another tiny climax shivered through you.

"Breathe baby, you gotta pace yourself, I still gotta fuck you stupid.” Wooyoung giggled and you just squeaked and mewled, since he already had.

Master-Master List

ATEEZ Master List

#ihavethedreamies #kpop #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop smut #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #x reader #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fluff #jung wooyoung

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ghostlywhiskey · 1 year

Text

lawyer!price who calls you into his office one day because he's having formatting issues trying to draft a motion and can't figure out how to fix it. typically you don't work on his cases, being assigned a different set of attorneys at the firm, but your desk happens to be closer to his office. so, when you hear your name come out of him in a frustrated tone to come into his office, you quickly stop your current task and head to the doorway of his office. "yes, john?" your tone of voice far softer and laced with nerves since every conversation you've had with other paralegals at the firm mentions their fear and/or their dislike for him.

price looks up at you as you stand in the doorway. "i don't have time to go back and forth sending this fucking document over email trying to figure out why its being a pain and the assigned paralegal is out sick today." is all he says, his eyes staring at you as you stand completely still in the doorway. he didn't tell you to come over to his desk, so your brain cautions you to wait until he orders you to do so.

is he gonna ask me to come over and look at it?

can she move her fucking feet already to look at this word doc.

"well-" "do you-" his words are quickly cut off by yours and both of you fall silent. quickly taking advantage of the silence, you speak up again quickly before he can get a word in. "do you want me to take a look?" you finish your sentence from before, cautiously taking small steps towards his desk like he's an animal in a zoo enclosure that could harm you. except instead of harming you, you'll end up on the unemployment line.

"please." the word sounds forced out of him, like he's trying to bite back any frustration.

how am i suppose to know or assume what you want, prick.

walking over to his desk, he slides his chair back as you get closer, giving you room to stand by his desk to look at his computer. you reach over to grab the mouse, bending down slightly to look at the screen better. as you click around trying to fix the formatting, you don't even bother explaining what you are doing to correct it - knowing damn well the attorneys will always just default to asking you or another paralegal to fix it.

after a few minutes, you hear him clear his throat and stand up. a quick glance without moving your head to make it obvious shows him discreetly adjusting himself as he walks over to the doorway of his office. the only words to leave his mouth are, "i'm getting coffee." as he disappears outside his office door.

fucking skirts. it's not even a short skirt. what the fuck is wrong with me.

you shrug it off, trying not to think too much of it. by the time he gets back to his office, you are already back at your desk and resuming your prior tasks.

as he walks back into his office, he sees a post-it on his keyboard reading, 'fixed the format. lmk if you have any other issues'. the sounds of the post-it crumpling in his hands and hitting the plastic bag of the trashcan faint, but loud enough for you to hear. the action causing you to roll your eyes.

you're welcome.

#captain john price #john price #captain price #captain price x you #john price x reader #john price x you #john price cod #price x reader #price x you #it would be a slow burn fr #like man would not budge on his actions for a long ass time #would subtly make changes to his case load so ur on more cases with him #anyway

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washy0uaway · 1 year

Text

Kiss City Pt. 2

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader Chapter Summary: Frankie comes to your rescue, obvs. Series Summary: You weren't expecting to sleep through your alarms the morning of a massive work presentation. You also weren't expecting to get rear-ended on your drive into the office. You definitely weren't planning on spilling your coffee all over your new blouse. But the thing you expected least on what you swore was a day set out to be cursed by the universe, was Frankie. A/N: Thank you for the love on Part 1, seriously!!! I’ve been slammed with work but am hoping to have more free time the coming weeks, no set post schedule at the moment. Warnings: eventual 18+ / MDNI!!! car crash, fainting, blood. Series Masterlist | Part 1 Here!

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You don’t know it, but Frankie’s at your side in an instant. It takes a baseball style slide on concrete, but the quickly bleeding scrape up his forearm and onto his elbow is the least of his worries. His large palm cradled the back of your head just before it hit the concrete - cutting it so close his knuckles are scraped now, too.

You’re not knocked out for long, but it feels like an eternity as Frankie goes into a mindset that he hasn’t found himself in for over a year. Void of emotion, he’s in military mode. He’s checked your pulse and breathing, calling your name when your eyes begin to flutter open.

Your eyes lock, and the concern paints wrinkles on his forehead.

“You never told me if your kid was okay,” you finally speak just above a whisper.

“…what?” The look of concern now changing to confusion.

“You said you were reaching for your phone - something about your kid’s daycare.”

“I -…. my daughter, she’s fine. But Jesus, that’s what you’re worried about right now?”

Though you’re still not completely lucid, you can’t help but somehow be hyper aware of Frankie’s hands are holding you. His right still wrapped around the base of your neck, fingers splaying in your hair. His left hand first grabbed your hip, and has since wrapped around the small of your waist, propping you upwards as you start to come to. His grip is strong (like nothing in the world could make him drop you), yet you still feel delicate in his grasp.

Still locked eyes and Frankie’s heavy breathing are interrupted by the two rent-a-cop’s stationed in your downtown office building. After having picked up on the commotion on the sidewalk, they rushed out and recognized you immediately.

“She hit her head this morning. Must’ve been pretty hard, cause she just passed out for a moment,” Frankie explains to the guards, his glance only leaving you for a second to acknowledge them.

“If these fine gentleman have a seat and water ready for you, and I carry you, think we can get you inside?” His asks, eyes now locked on you.

“You don’t need to carry me, Frankie. I can walk.”

The hand on your waist moves to wrap under your knees and he’s scooped you up bridal style before you can protest further.

Your arms are naturally reaching around his neck when he leans his head down. Gaze now trained on the guards opening the door for him (and you), he says something just loud enough for you to hear.

“Maybe I want to.”

The moment is fleeting as he sets you down in a lobby chair, crouching before reaching to the guard behind him who hands him a bottle of water. That gaze. Those eyes. Back on you.

He unscrews the cap of the water before handing it to you, instructing you to take small sips. You think you’d do anything he says, as long as he’s using that voice - low and calming.

“Do you know what day of the week it is? Where you are? Who I am? Who the president is?”

The questions baffle you for a moment, before you realize why hes asking. You answer each question correctly and he sighs.

“Good, okay, just had to make sure I hadn’t really knocked a screw loose this morning.”

You see the eyes of the guards behind him widen and chuckle, bringing Frankie more relief. “He didn’t hit me,” you begin to explain. “We’ll, he did. But with his car. Wait, no..” your voice trails off while Frankie is now the one chuckling. “It was an accident. I hit her car, with mine, and she hit her head in the process.”

As you’re setting your water down on the side table, he’s reaching for his back pocket, pulling your phone out. “You left it in my truck. Good thing too, or maybe I wouldn’t have been there to catch you.”

Shy again, you mumble a “thank you, by the way,” glancing at your fidgeting fingers in your lap. He places one hand on your two, his large enough to fill in the grasp of both your hands. His skin is tough but warm. “Don’t mention it,” he glances up from beneath his cap, now kneeling in front of you. His free hand has illuminated the flashlight on your phone and he explains he wants to make sure your pupils are dilating properly.

“Don’t look at the light. Look right at me.”

Please, as if you needed an excuse. The world melts away and for a moment, it’s just you and Frankie.

“You really should get checked out,” he pleads, his voice instantly bringing you back to reality. You’re still holding onto his hand as he turns off the flashlight and lowers your phone as it joins the bottle on the table.

“Haven’t you done that? Checked me out?” The words leave your mouth before you can even register the implied double meaning.

Frankie grins - the most genuine you’ve seen all day, and you swear he blushes.

“I mean, yeah I guess I have,” and there’s no doubt, he is definitely blushing, hand still in yours. “But I mean medically. By a professional. It’s my fault, I’ll foot the bill.”

“That seemed pretty professional to me. Where’d you learn all that stuff?”

“Military,” he shrugs, offering no further details. Wringing the back of his neck again, definitely something he does when he’s anxious, your thoughts confirm.

“Oh my god, Frankie you’re BLEEDING!” The realization when you see blood dripping down his arm has you fully snapped back to reality.

“Oh that? I’m fine, just a scratch. You gonna be okay here for a few if I go track down a first aid kit and clean up a bit?” He’s almost annoyingly calm about the situation, not caring in the slightest.

“There should be one at the front desk, I can help you-“

“Not a chance,” he interrupts. “I’ll be back in 5.”

Frankie’s been in the bathroom for a few minutes when your coworker Liz and boss David step out of the elevator.

“Oh my god are you okay?!” Liz rushes up to you, “They called us from the desk and said you’d passed out. How did you get to the office? How are you feeling? Was it the fucking asshole that hit your car?! This is his fault!”

Impeccable timing, Frankie has. Appearing over Liz’s shoulder and lifting his hat to run his fingers through his hair. His right forearm is now sporting a gauze bandage.

“That would be me. I’m the fucking asshole, and yes, it is my fault.”

Her mouth is open and ready to unleash her protective wrath, but the words don’t come when she turns to look at him. And sees how he’s looking at you - like schoolboy with a crush.

“Liz, this is Frankie. Yes, he hit my car. But he also got it to a shop, brought me to work, and kept me from splitting my head open on the sidewalk. Oh my god, I forgot your iced tea - I had just stopped at Starbucks and-“

“Girl, what?!” She exclaims. “You’re thinking about my Starbucks order? You should be thinking about seeing a doctor, babe. Make sure you’re okay.”

“Told you,” Frankie chimes in from behind her.

“Really, I’m fine. I promise.”

David, your boss, finally joins the conversation when he tells you that if you aren’t going to be seen by a doctor, you should at least take the rest of the day off - tomorrow, too he insists.

“Fine.” You concede with a sigh. You really probably needed a few days off, having been working too much lately. “It could be good to rest.”

“Woah, hey, actually…you might not want to rest too hard,” Frankie intervenes, and everyone turns to look at him.

“He’s right,” Liz agrees. “You’re not supposed to sleep too much if you’re concussed.”

As if on cue, the exhaustion hits you, “Well, that’s too bad because I feel like I could use a nap.”

“You can sleep for a bit, but someone should be there to keep an eye on you. Check on you every few hours,” Frankie explains.

“Can you have someone come over? Dave and I will be tied up here holding down the fort in your absence.” Liz is worried, but you’re grateful for your coworkers, even when she continues. “Maybe Zach would?”

“No!” You blurt out as soon as she suggests your ex, “Not Zach.”

Frankie doesn’t know the person in question, but in that moment he would do anything if it meant you didn’t have to ask Zach.

“I can do it,” Frankie offers, and Liz’s side eye glance at you is not lost on him.

“I mean, I know you don’t really know me, but the paperwork I had planned this afternoon can wait.”

The room falls silent for a second before he begins to regret offering. “Im not a creep, promise. Here,” after drawing his wallet from his back pocket he pulls out a few copies of his business card, handing one to you and one to Liz. “That’s my card, she can take a picture of my license, I’ll give her my number” he motions to Liz, and continues to ramble on before you stop him.

“Frankie, I know you’re not a creep. But really, I can’t just ask you to clear your day like that.” Internally though, you wanted nothing more than to get to know the man standing in front of you.

Francisco Morales according to his business card. “Helicopter Flight Instructor & Aviation Safety Inspector.” Could this man get any hotter?

“Seriously, you’d be doing me a favor getting me out of office work. Besides, it’s the least I can do.”

“He’s right, you know. That sounds like a great idea, Frankie!” Liz’s tone is suggestive, and you know just what she’s playing at.

“Okay,” you turn to Frankie, “but only if you promise to let me pay for takeout for dinner.”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.” You practically melt at the term of endearment paired with that genuine grin creeping across his face again. Then there’s his hands in his back pockets, chest stretching his tshirt tighter? Shit, Liz practically melts too.

“Well, we’ll leave y’all to it,” David catches on and begins to drag Liz back to the elevator. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, we’ve got you covered!” He’d successfully whirled your chatty coworker straight out of the conversation as the guards retreated back to their station, leaving you and Frankie alone in the lobby.

“Shall we?” He asks, standing in front of you with his hand extended to help you out of the chair. He doesn’t let it go as you’re walking toward the door though, and your heart races.

“So,” he asks, looking down at you, “what am I ordering for dinner?

#frankie morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #triple frontier fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader

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bobfloydsbabe · 8 months

Text

dirty mind | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Imogen learns something new about Professor Bob.

WARNINGS: suggestive language, allusions to smut, age gap (mid 20s/late 30s), power imbalance. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: ~ 1k

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

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SPECIAL THANKS to @ryebecca who sent this delicious prompt. It took on a life of its own, so I hope it's okay that I posted it separately. Your love for Eccentric Professor Bob is one of my favorite things about working on this AU, and I know I can always talk to you about him. You see and understand the vision. Enjoy ✨

She runs her fingers along the book spines in his home office, so much more neatly organized than the ones on campus. She’s impressed.

“What are you doing?”

She glances over her shoulder and finds the professor leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of him. Behind him, the house is dark and quiet. Only a faint beam of moonlight hits the wall near the staircase.

Smiling to herself, she refocuses her attention on the books. “Browsing.”

Illuminated by the lamp on his desk, she can make out several titles that she knows and loves. Fiction mixed with historical texts, old dissertations from former students that send a pang of jealousy through her, and a small section of books he’s written himself.

His footsteps sound behind her as he draws nearer. “It’s not a bookstore,” he tells her, voice still rough from sleep. “Or a library.”

Casting another glance over her shoulder, he’s now leaning against his desk, watching her. He’s only wearing boxers, and the lamplight makes his chest look even broader and more defined.

“I know. No bookstore or library would be caught dead with disorganized shelves like these.”

“They’re organized,” he argues, but she hears the lilt of teasing in his tone.

“Method to the madness,” she agrees for the sake of peace. “If it makes sense to y–no way!”

Through his rumbling chuckle, she pulls the book out and opens to the title page.

She spins around to face him so fast she feels a little dizzy and Bob has to reach out to stabilize her. “You okay?”

“Am I okay? You have a first edition of Fanny Hill. Of course I’m not okay.”

She holds the fragile book in her hands, flipping through the pages as gently as she can, so she won’t damage it further. It’s from 1748 after all, and she tries not to judge him for not storing it properly. As a history professor who works with texts even older than this, he should know better.

“Must’ve cost you a fortune,” she mutters to herself, turning to the bookcase again to put it back, only for her eye to catch sight of another familiar title. “Is Lady Chatterley’s Lover also a first edition?”

“I believe so.”

She scans the entire shelf and finds only novels in a similar genre, and she suddenly feels hot all over at the knowledge that he’s read these books and enjoyed them enough to get first editions.

As if sensing the change in the atmosphere, Bob comes up behind her, chest flush with her back. Sweeping her hair to the side, his fingertips graze her skin. He leans down and places the lightest kiss to her neck, and a shiver runs down her spine, breath hitching at the sensation.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

His hand travels down her body. The dip of her waist, the width of her hips, and the bare skin of her thighs. Her whole body’s on fire. He’s everywhere, low voice stirring something deep inside her.

As his hand trails up her skin, he inches toward her inner thighs where she’s sensitive and the wet patch in her panties should embarrass her, but it doesn’t.

“Tell me,” he whispers, breath tickling her ear.

She stifles the whine rising in her throat, willing it away. “Who knew you were hiding such a dirty mind.”

He chuckles against her skin, and his hand reaches the edge of her panties. “Baby,” he whispers, “I’m hiding so much more than a dirty mind.”

His other hand presses against her stomach, pushing her against him and his hard chest. She tries to rub her thighs together, but his hand there keeps them open. His fingers skim across her clothed clit, making her squirm in his embrace.

“Oh, you’re desperate for it, aren’t you, baby?”

She wants to say no. She wants to tell him to fuck off, try to convince him she’s playing a game, and he can’t reduce her to a stuttering mess with just a few words and touches. But she doesn’t. She can’t. Not when she can feel his growing desire against her back, and not when he pushes her panties to the side, drawing slow, torturous circles on her clit.

“In your dreams,” she manages, but it comes out airy and needy.

He pulls his hand away from her aching pussy, and the high-pitched whine that leaves her throat seems to shock them both. He recovers quickly, spinning her around to face him, his features half illuminated by the lamp on his desk.

“You’re always in my dreams,” he tells her, walking her backward until he’s crowded her against the bookshelf. “And in my dreams, you’re always desperate for me, for my mouth.”

He’s sinking to his knees, and one hand trails down her leg, placing it over his shoulder. He glances up at her, a cocky look on his face as his fingers hook into the waistband of her panties. “You want me, baby?”

She nods furiously, unable to form the words when he’s right there, so close to where she wants him. Needs him.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice dark and dangerous.

“I want you.” She’s trying to hold on to some semblance of self-control, but she’s babbling. “I want your mouth.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and then he pushes her panties to the side again.

His lips close around her clit, sending her into orbit.

likes are nice, but comments and reblogs are golden

TAGLIST: @joaquinwhorres, @kmc1989, @roosterforme, @just-in-case-iloveyou, @rosie-posie08, @attapullman, @sweetwhispersofchaos, @millieb-3199, @auroraseddie, @keyrani, @solo-pitstop-vibes, @hangmandruigandmav, @cremebruleequeen, @cherrycola27, @seitmai, @bradshawsbaby, @sio-ina-bottle, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @bcarolinablr, @bluezraven

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dittanyinbloom · 1 year

Text

Fate Aligned

This is a bit strange for me to post here, but it is a second part to this George Weasley x fem!reader fic I made on an old account. Sebastian Sallow heavily influenced me with ideas for a part two. If you want to know why George and reader aren’t going to the Yule Ball with everyone else, read that one first! It’s cute! I promise!

George Weasley x fem! reader. Rated T for a brief make-out session and a few curse words here and there.

summary: You and George manage to lose a total of eighty house points on the night of the Yule Ball which you were not planning on attending because George gave all his money for dress robes to Fred so that at least one of them could go.

(also, the lockets mentioned in this are a little Easter egg for a SebastianxMCxOminis OT3 fic I may or may not be working on called Lover’s Lockets. It’ll probably come out in early summer, but the inspiration to write this first hit me like the Hogwarts Express)

.🍬✨🍬

The younger students that were not able to attend the ball had long since traveled home for the holidays. With everyone else draped in their best and headed for the Great Hall, you and George had the castle to yourselves. The possibilities were endless. Should you sneak into the faculty tower and see what the professors’ rooms looked like? Perhaps you would break into the Headmaster’s office and search for priceless Hogwarts artifacts. Maybe the librarian left the key for the Restricted Section at her desk while she was whisked away to the ball.

Of all the places they could go, George had chosen not only the most boring, most dangerous, but also the most unromantic of them all. Filch’s office was just off the Entrance Hall, which happened to also lead to the Great Hall. Only a couple sets of doors separated the two from being caught.

“Must this be done tonight?” You whispered from behind a giant Christmas tree that decorated the center of the Entrance Hall in front of the doors that lead outside. The Grey Lady was weeping at a statue perched on the upper tier, just a few feet from the door to the Reception Hall where you would find Filch’s office as well as a few stragglers taking a breather outside the Ball.

“They’re candies. We need to get them back and sell them before they go bad. This might be our only opportunity. When else is he going to be this distracted? He bought Ms. Norris a new collar. They’ll both be at the ball.”

“And we’ll both be in detention if your plan goes wrong, which they often do.”

“No, those are always Fred’s plans. Mine work like a charm,” and as he said the last words, he waved his wand and disappeared. The disillusionment charm was something you were becoming to be quite familiar with as of recently. Two boisterous redheads may or may not be the cause of it. You followed in suit, tugging your school robe over your hair and using the charm effortlessly. George smiles at how easily you complied before throwing on his own hood to cover his fiery hair and whispering, his voice low and thick as honey, “Good thinking.”

As soon as the Grey Lady wandered off, the two of you crept up the stairs and peeked through the giant set of wooden doors. The Reception Hall was startlingly empty. The faint sounds of orchestral music looked from beyond the Great Hall’s doors. The display of House Points seemed to have eyes on your back, judging you for your unapproved adventure. You tried not to dwell on the guilt, knowing Gryffindor’s house points would suffer greatly if you get caught.

“Look at that, not a soul in sight. Come on, then. Let’s not waste our luck.”

With the help of Alohomora, the two of you found yourselves in the tiny, dusty space Filch called his office. The walls were lined with cupboards. Knowing the twins had found the Maurader’s map in here their first year, you were sure more extravagant enchantments were stuck inside those drawers, collecting dust and begging to be used. Feeling safe now, you took off your charm and let George see your excitement. He matched your smile and immediately joined you at your side to start sifting through anything and everything.

“Ack!” You let out a squeak and jumped back from the second drawer.

George leaned over you and then laughed at the sight. “Dead rat? Probably lots of those. Ms. Norris does live here too, ya know.”

“Lovely.”

After a few more drawers, you found the familiar, warm brown briefcase the twins had been keeping their experimental treats in. “George, I’ve got them, now we can get the hell out of here.”

“Hold on, look at these!”

“George, really. We should take our winnings and go before someone-“ but the words die on your lips when George pulled the twisted chains of two lockers out of the drawer.

“Lumos,” he whispered to better show off the intricate floral pattern imprinted in the metal. “Think we should have a little reward for our venture, don’t you?”

“I agreed to help you find your treats, but stealing things that aren’t yours, Weasley-“

“Hush. You sound like a Ravenclaw. Always doing things by the book. Pft. Live a little, love.”

Completely derailed and flustered by his nickname for you, you didn’t have the mind to protest him further. Though looking back, you really wish you had. He untangled the lockets and bestowed one upon himself before inching closer to you.

“Be careful!” You whisper yelled. “What if it’s enchanted? Filch must have confiscated them for a reason!”

“Like he stole our taffies for no good reason?”

“He had reason. First years with ten-ton tongues were enough to justify them being taken.”

George flicked open the locket to study it. “Just a compass. Nothing evil about it.”

“Hmph. Well. Fine. I guess. . It would be nice to have a little souvenir.”

“See?“ He gently put the chain around your neck and took a step back, finally letting you breathe only to steal the air right back out of your lungs with his words, “So beautiful.”

The tiny office now felt unbearable. Earlier, you had confessed your feelings for him in not so many words. Whether or not he reciprocated, you weren’t sure. George hadn’t really had much time to respond or even take in your confession before your friends had come back. Since then, you had easily fallen into your usual pattern of playful pranking and chatter. It was easy to forget about your confession until his alluring compliment. The word had fallen off his lips almost breathlessly, a sultry whisper that had your mind alight and playing the moment over in your head.

Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful…

It was all you could think about. Your heart ticked nervously and your skin went warm. Did he really think you were beautiful, or was this just the typical Weasley charm the boys often used on girls, and even professors to get people to do things they wouldn’t normally do. You wouldn’t call the twins manipulative, they just... Okay, they could be quite manipulative, but never with malicious intent. Flirting as a way of buttering people up wasn’t exactly a bad thing. You surely didn’t complain when they used their charm on you.

But that was before you had confessed your feelings to George. If Fred had been the one to say it, the word would have rolled off your back like water without a second thought. George, however, was now in the know of the feelings you had been harboring. You almost felt betrayed in a way that he would whisper a sweet nothing like that so carelessly after knowing where your heart lies. Did he just not care? Had he forgotten in the moment? Or was it somehow possible that he returned your feelings and this flirting was now more meaningful than his usual antics?

“We should go,” you said rather stiffly, immediately hating how rude it came off. In your rush out of the office, you forgot how careful you two had to be going in and found yourself bursting into the Reception Hall without even trying to be quiet. “We should get this to safe keeping and then we can do something that’s actually fun.”

“And what might you have in mind?” Professor McGonagall called out from across the hall. She was standing with her husband who had traveled to the castle for the night to accompany her to the ball. His eyes were soft and kind, but he also had an all-knowing smile that was thrown your way. He patted Minerva on top of her hand that he had been holding and then excused himself back to the festivities, letting his wife deal with her troublesome students.

“I-uh.” The briefcase of candies in your hands suddenly felt hot and heavy.

George’s hand landed on your shoulders as he dipped down to whisper right by your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Piss off-,” you uttered back, elbowing him in the stomach rather ungraciously.

“I will take that.” And with the wave of her wand, McGonagall had the case of candies in her hands. “I would send the two of you back to the common room, but it sounds as though I shouldn’t trust you to stay there until the Yule Ball is over.”

“Professor, we-“

“Ten points from each of you for rummaging around Mr. Filch’s office. And since I think it best I keep an eye on you for the rest of the evening... “ She pointed her wand at you with a curt wave. The fabric of your clothes began to wiggle and tickle your skin, swishing all around and changing color until you ended up in a long ivory gown with golden embroidery. George’s clothes were next to change into an ivory button down with a deep red vest decorated in gold buttons, the same gold as your dress. One final silent wave of her wand, this stroke alarmingly familiar… it was Expelliarmus. Both of your wands floated into her open palm.

That night, George had been wearing his only school robe that was still long enough after his recent growth spurt. He couldn’t afford to lose it, in the most literal sense since the price of new robes had gone up greatly over the holiday season and all of his money had gone toward Fred's dress robes for the ball. The loss of that set was detrimental, even in exchange for these fancy clothes. “But, our robes. .”

“If you should wish to have your school robes and wands back before classes, I suggest you find me after the ball. Now, don’t dawdle. In you go.”

Jokingly matching your professor’s air of elegance, George spoke in as proper of a tone he could muster, “If you insist, Professor, but I must have a word with my partner first.”

“Do not make me come looking for you, Mr. Weasley.”

As soon as McGonagall exited into the Great Hall, George’s serious face turned into a bright and mischievous grin, as if you hadn’t just been caught by your Head of House. He dipped into a regal bow and held out a hand to you

Voice still posh and dropping even lower, George kissed your hand and spoke, “It seems as though fate has aligned-“

“Why are you still talking like that?” You giggled.

“Because it’s fun. You must know what fun is, shall I remind you?” Then he was pulling you in close and twirling you in circles, humming along to the faint music coming from behind the grand doors.

“I think,” you managed out between laughs, “-this is exactly what McGonagall meant when she said not to dawdle.” With all you might, you dragged the boy to the doors where he planted his feet and refused to move another inch. “George, what are you doing now?”

“We can’t go in there, silly. I haven’t even asked you yet.”

Those pesky nerves were bubbling back. You tried to swallow them down. “You’re ridiculous. We’re here. McGonagall’s forced us into these clothes. You don’t have to ask at this point. We aren’t- it’s not like we’re going by choice, I mean-“

Ignoring your endearing mumbling, George gently took your chin to make your eyes meet his as he asked, “Will you do me the honors of being the only bloke you dance with at the Yule Ball?”

“As long as you promise to crash us into all the Slytherin couples with your atrocious leading.”

“That’s a given.” He held out his arm for you to hold onto before walking you into the Great Hall where you were very fashionably late.

Decorated from enchanted ceilings all the way down to sparkling floors, the Great Hall was completely transformed into a winter wonderland. The ceiling was cloudy with snowflakes trickling down, sadly designed to never fall. It was always astonishing how the magic encapsulated the exact look of the weather, but never the temperature. Perhaps the frigid cold of the snow would have been welcome tonight because the hall was surprisingly warm from all the bodies dancing about.

The four center tables had vanished in favor of a large dance floor. The platform professors sat at was being used as a stage for a live band that was currently playing a jovial waltz. The corners of the hall were filled with refreshment tables and smaller, more personal round tables for groups to have a break from the excitement.

You scanned the room for your friends but immediately regretted doing so when your eyes landed on Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet. It seemed you had witnessed a rather intimate moment of Lee kissing Alicia’s knuckles, and then the back of her hand, and then her inner wrist, and then. . You quickly looked away, clearing your throat.

“You’ve got to be joking,” George muttered to himself. He was patting down his vest and dress pants. Turning his pockets inside out, he was presented with piles of sand. “It seems McGonagall transfigured away the dungbombs and fireworks as well.”

“Oh no,” you replied sarcastically, “How ever will we survive?”

“I suppose we will have to dance to pass the time,” George played along as he dragged you to the center of the hall. Once there, he adjusted the hold on your hand to one where your fingers were interlocking. While many other dance partners were doing the same, it still felt strikingly intimate, even more so when his other hand landed on your hip to draw you in close. You lightly placed your free one on his shoulder, mimicking a very cordial and proper stance.

You weren’t able to maintain your posture long, because George whizzed across the dance floor at an alarming speed. Your hand had slipped from the feather of a touch in his shoulder down to his bicep where you clung on for dear life. His hand was meant to stay on your hip had snaked to the small of your back, making it much easier to swing you to and fro. How he had managed to step on other couples’ toes but not your own was a mystery.

Actually, it was probably deliberate considering two of George’s victims had been a Slytherin boy from your year and a boy from Beauxbatons that had both previously asked you to accompany them. The true mystery was how George managed to find out who exactly you had turned down so that he could target them.

Then you were being pulled to him to avoid your backside slamming to the Durmstrang Headmaster. There had been no warning, so you stubbled into George ungracefully with your cheek pressing into his chest as you let out a string of bubbly, nervous laughter. The hand on the small of your back had drifted all the way to your opposite hip now, holding you up, but also holding you so tightly against him that you had nowhere to go. Not that you could step back even if you wanted to with your faulty feet.

“S’cuse us,” George slyly offered to the terrifying man as he brisked you off in another direction.

“Sorry!” You had to call to the man over your shoulder since George had you gone in a flash.

George mumbled only for you to hear, “No need to apologize to him. You never actually ran into him. I know what I’m doing.”

“Maybe so, but we did give him a heart attack. And if you’re so aware of your actions, then why did you nearly just have me expelled?”

“All a ploy to get you closer to me.” His hand squeezed your hip for emphasis. “See? I can be quite romantic.”

“Falling into you is hardly romantic.”

“Oh, so you’re falling for me?”

“Did I not already make that obvious?” You had planned to play the words off as a joke, but George’s stiff reaction made it difficult. The tension only worsened when you found yourself at a standstill in the middle of the dance floor. George let go of your hip. You tried to escape your interlocked hands, but George tightened his grip, not letting you step too far away.

“We should talk about that,” George rarely sounded as serious as he did now, and the times when he had were never for good reason.

You winced at his tone. It was clear to you now that George didn’t feel the same. All the dancing and touching, it was all just in good fun. Nothing he ever did was meant to be analyzed. There was no reading between the lines. You were foolish to even try.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry to bring it up. I was only joking.” But the tightening feeling in your throat set in. It broke your heart to lie.

“You responded too quick to be joking, and besides, I-“

“Please, forget it. And forget what I said earlier,” Your voice diminished to nearly a whisper and you looked down at your feet lamely. “-I didn’t mean it, okay? Let’s just go back to having fun.”

George finally released your hand so that he could cup your face on both sides, forcing you to look back up at him. His brows softly pulled together. There was even a hint of a frown across his lips, a very foreign look on the prankster. “You’re an awful liar.”

“I’m not-“ you choked on your words, trying to hold back the sobs bubbling in your throat. “Just dance with me, George.”

“Ridiculous,” he huffed in disbelief. His hand wrapped around your upper arm to guide you toward the courtyard adjacent to the hall. You were still fighting the tears, refusing to let anyone see how much of a mess you truly were.

“You’re here! Brilliant!” Fred popped up just before the two of you made it out, placing both his hands on George’s shoulders to shake him in excitement. This in turn caused George to let you go, so you were thankful for Fred's intrusion. “Let me guess, you saw him run out to the courtyard too? Thinks he’s sneaky, that one. Well, he can’t escape all of us, eh?”

Fred and George did not disagree often, but this was one of those rare times George was putting his foot down. “This isn’t the time, mate.”

“This is the perfect time! What’s he gonna do to us with all these people as witnesses? Bagman doesn’t have the balls to pull something here.”

The name seemed to change George’s demeanor. He glanced at you to gauge your reaction. You knew of the antics Ludo Bagman pulled on the twins at the World Cup. This would be the perfect time to approach him, Fred wasn’t wrong. He just had absolute shite timing.

“Let’s go get his arse,” you proclaimed, jumping at the opportunity to avoid the awkward ‘I’m just not that into you’ conversation that George was no doubt planning to have with you out in that courtyard.

Fred’s grin spread across his face wildly. “Oh, how lucky Georgie is to have you. Angelina is livid I’m doing this. Knew I should have asked you as my date instead. And you clean up nicely too, I mean, look at you two.” And Fred did take a moment to give your dress a proper once over. His eyes landed on the locket around your neck and then flickered to the matching one his brother was sporting. “Now where in Merlin did you two nick those?”

Normally, George would jump at the opportunity to brag, but he was being oddly quiet. You spoke up in his place, “Filch’s office. McGonagall caught us stealing back your candies. She took those, but I don’t think she knew about these. . .”

Fred whistled lowly, clearly impressed, “You two have been busy. And I’ve just been here trying to dance like a babbling, bumbling, baboon!” His McGonagall impression was getting quite good.

You promptly followed Fred toward the courtyard. George seemed to drag his feet behind you. Eventually, you made it to the array of carriages the guests had arrived in that evening. A few groups of people were scattered about, chatting in the fresh air. Goosebumps instantly littered your arms and shoulders, but you welcomed the sensation. It was like jumping in a cold shower after that heated moment between you and George.

Fred wasted no time approaching his enemy with his arms raised in a faux welcoming stance. “I don’t believe my eyes! If it isn’t Ludo Bagman, old friend. How have you been?”

Bagman had been talking to an older, gruff-looking wizard you did not know. They both examined Fred quizzically, intrigued that a student would approach them in such a way. You moved to stand beside Fred, but George had stepped in first, crossing his arms and smiling at the two older wizards as if that alone was a threat. And it seemed to come across that way with how painfully obvious it was that his smile was forced.

George was quick to join in on Fred’s jovial greetings as well, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. When was our last chat? Remind me, Fred.”

“Oh, George, I do believe the last time we saw Ludo was during the Quidditch World Cup. You remember, don’t you?”

“Ah! Yes! I remember that night quite well. We won a pretty hefty bet, didn’t we, Fred?”

“That we did, George. That we did. Say, George, we still haven’t gotten the money from that, have we?”

“You would have been paid if you didn’t cheat,” Ludo sneered.

“We didn’t cheat,” George said through his teeth, immediately offended that he would even need to defend their honor against such a statement.

“You just want to keep the money for yourself,” Fred threw in offense.

Bagman’s eyes narrowed. “If the Weasley clan was known for their integrity, perhaps I would take you at your word. Now, quit wasting my time with this.” He looked to his companion and then nodded for the doors. They both turned to leave. Fred reached into his pocket for his wand, but you caught his wrist.

“Snape,” you whispered as the professor sauntered out into the courtyard.

“Bastard,” Fred murmured. You dropped his wrist, assuming he would put away his wand so as to not draw suspicion. Instead, Fred lifted his wrist and cast the disillusionment charm on himself. The motion was automatic at the mention of Snape. All you could hear was his hushed whisper. “What are you two doing? Let’s go before he questions us.”

George met your terrified eyes, looking rather pale himself. McGonagall had taken your wands. It seemed as though you were going to have to face Snape head-on.

“Fuck it,” George whispered as he grabbed you yet again, heaving you into the nearest carriage. You scrambled in with George following so close behind that he was nearly on top of you. The skirt of your dress had twisted and risen from all the movement. George planted himself on the bench next to you, mumbling apologies for nearly squashing you.

“How the hell are we-“

“Whisper!” George uttered. No wand, no ability to cast muffalo. The two of you would have to wait this out in silence. He pressed his ear to the side of the carriage and then looked very alarmed as he whispered, “Can hear him talking with Bagman and that other piece of muck.”

You tried smoothing down your skirt, but it was tangled horribly underneath you. Instead of offering to help or apologizing for the inconvenience, George merely followed the frantic movement of your hands. His eyes lingered over your exposed knee.

The sheer stupidity of your night was hitting you hard. Your jaw clenched in annoyance. If you hadn’t followed Fred to the courtyard, if you hadn’t made that stupid comment while dancing, if you hadn’t gone with George to Filch’s office, if you had never admitted you wanted to go to the bloody ball with him in the first place. .

“Lift yourself up,” he whispered, elbowing your arm.

You pouted in confusion, but gently lifted yourself up with both palms pressed into the bench of the carriage. George swiftly smoothed the fabric under you, meaning his hands had to skim over your backside and underneath you. Your breath caught in your throat at how nonchalant he acted. Once the underneath was straightened out, he pulled down the top to finally hid your exposed knee.

“Better?"

“You should warn a girl before grabbing her arse, Weasley.”

“I only did it so you’d stop fidgeting. Snape will know someone is in here if the cart is shaking.”

Any response you might have had died on your lips. Images of what sort of actions would make the carriage shake flashed across your mind. Your face felt uncomfortably hot, embarrassed that you couldn’t control the thoughts you were having about your best friend whilst sitting right next to him.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft and sincere, only making you feel more guilty for your own track mind. “I really should tell you-“

“Save it,” you begged. Merlin, you couldn’t hear the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech while you were shamefully thinking of making the carriage rock. You would die of embarrassment if he turned you down at this very moment.

“I don’t want to save it,” he seethed. “Don’t know where you got the bloody impression that I’m going to turn you down but damn it, I said I would have been the first to ask you if I had the money for robes. I didn’t mean that in a platonic way. Thought that much was obvious.”

He sounded cross with you, but his words were a confession of sorts. You studied his features. His hands were opening and closing. He was biting the inside of his cheeks. His eyes couldn’t meet yours for more than half a second before darting to the floor of the carriage.

“You like me,” you whispered in awe.

George didn’t seem to notice you shift closer, too lost in his own demise. “Look, I know I’m a fucking idiot. You said you wanted a night of fun and dancing, the ball gets dropped into our lap perfectly, and I go and ruin it by getting you stuck in a carriage. I’ve been told my whole life I don’t know when to quit. It didn’t mean shite to me until now that it’s affecting you. I got us into this. I should have told Fred to bugger off, but he and I just feed off each other’s insanity and-“

Your hands guided his face toward you so your lips could feverishly crash into him. From the shock of your hold, George’s hands wrapped around your wrists almost like he might pull you off. His entire body shivered from the feeling of your lips over his. It was heated and messy right from the start because his mouth had been open from talking.

George melted into you, matching your fever and even raising the stakes by taking your bottom lip between his teeth. He was being gentle, playful even, but it still had your arse lifting off the bench and rolling onto your knee so you could lean in further to his pull. His hands moved in quick now that the opportunity arose. They trailed down your back, smoothing the dress over your backside much slower this time, deliberately stroking to get their fill before reaching the underneath of your thighs where his fingers shamelessly pressed into your soft flesh to pull you closer until you were dragged onto his lap.

You broke away to gasp with your hands landing on his shoulders to steady yourself. His mouth went for your exposed collarbone, kissing from one shoulder to the next and swiping the chain of your new locket out of the way to thoroughly get every inch of skin. You thought he would go for your neck next, but instead, his lips traveled down toward the exposing, sweetheart neckline of your dress.

The door to the carriage swung open on your right. Professor Snape glared at the two of you. George had not removed his hands from your waist, so you just smiled sheepishly at your potions professor from George’s lap.

“What on earth do you think you two are doing? Out. Now.”

Rather reluctantly despite the ridicule, George helped you off of him so the two of you could crawl out of the carriage. As soon as your feet were on solid ground, Snape was firing off punishments.

“Thirty points from each of you. A week’s detention with Hagrid tending to the Forbidden Forest should be enough to make you regret this awful choice you’ve made. Back to the Great Hall, now.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the laughter threatening to burst out and double your detentions. Snape keenly watched the two of you drag your feet back to the ball. “Hands to yourself, Weasley,” he drones when George had tried to put his hand on the small of your back to guide you. Once the two of you were heading inside, Snape moved to the next carriage to end a different couple’s impromptu snog session.

“That was horrifying,” you grimaced at the thought of facing Snape in your next class.

“Was my kissing that bad?” George mused.

You playfully slapped his chest, “Sod off. You know what I meant. I’ll never be able to look Snape in the eye again.”

“I’m sure he’s witnessed worse. Hell, he probably is witnessing worse as we speak. The others were in their carriages far longer than we were.”

And yet George still managed to look like a complete mess. His lips were bright red, matching the flush he still wore on his cheeks. His hair was staticky and wild, not at all fitting for the ball you were walking back into. You waved him over, insisting, “Come ‘ere. You can’t go back there looking like this.”

A lazy smile plastered across George’s rosy cheeks. His eyes shamelessly studied your serious look of concentration as you tried to smooth down his wild locks. “Think people are gonna know what we did no matter how long you play with my hair.”

His fingers swiped over your collarbone, pressing harder on the red, sensitive spots that were definitely going to bruise later. A shiver ran down your back. You would have to remember to down a healing potion tonight that way you didn’t wake up and go about your day tomorrow, forgetting how scandalous you looked.

“Quit making them worse.” You smacked his hand away. “I can’t believe you did that while I’m stuck in this stupid dress with no robes to hide it. You’re devious.”

“You’re the one who started it,” George challenged.

“Must all your comebacks be childish?”

“You find them endearing,” he teased. “Merlin, can’t believe we could have been doing that ages ago. Do you think McGonagall would notice if we slipped back to the common room to make up for lost time?”

“I’m not taking any chances while she still has my wand. Besides, we hardly got to dance!” You took his hand and pulled him into the hall. “There are more Slytherins that need to be run into.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #Yule ball #my writings #harry potter main series #George is so fun to write for because I feel like tender more serious moments can happen and he is still in character #but with Fred I just can’t take him seriously #still love Freddie too though don’t get me wrong #George had just always had my heart

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milfswriter · 2 years

Note

WAIT I WANNA REQUEST I UM

I don't even know if u write angst but -

Can you make like a angst little fic about Larissa and Reader. They probably got into an argument because of the time she spends working is not divided with her time with them. Like they were on a date and Larissa had to go (it happened more than thrice) and Reader confronts her🙏.

Pretty please and thanks yous💐

sorry this is short, the writer's block hit me real hard this past week 😵‍💫

Stood Up

Larissa Weems x reader

summary: Larissa stands you up on your date. Again.

You sat alone at the table you reserved for you and Larissa's date tonight. She stood you up. Again. You couldn't shoo the waiter away anymore with the excuse of "She's coming soon" because you knew she won't. You actually had some hope that she would show up tonight, but of course, Nevermore has always been your wife's first priority.

You decided to actually order and drink a bit of wine before you confront her for the 4th time about missing your dates. You wished she wasn't the one to actually invite you somewhere and then stand you up, embarrassing you every time.

After eating, you paid for your meal before driving to Nevermore, the semi-long ride giving you time to think of what you're going to say.

As you got into the academy and walked to her office, you took a deep breath before knocking on the door. You heard a faint, "What?" before coming in.

Larissa had her head in her hands, her shoulders hunched with exhaustion. "Rissa" you called, closing the door behind you.

She removed her hands and a look of panic appeared on her face, gulping in guilt as she saw you wearing her favorite dress of yours. She adjusted her position as you crossed your arms, waiting for any excuse to come out of her mouth.

"you really like embarrassing me, don't you?" you snapped, slamming your purse on her desk. The room was dimly lit and the wood was burning in the fireplace, creating a cozy vibe except you weren't here to cuddle or try convincing your wife to come home after a long day.

"Y/n, darling-" she stood up from her chair, her eyes gleaming with guilt.

"NO! I will not settle for this! this is the fourth time you either stood me up or left in the middle of your DAY OFF with me. If you can't balance your schedule between me and your work, then I don't think I can do this anymore"

She gulped, like she was realizing she was actually losing you this time. She shook her head at you as she rounded the desk, a soft smile on her face. "I'm sorry, darling. I really am..I got caught up with work...I..I completely forgot about our date" she sounded exhausted. You almost felt bad for confronting her right then.

"You said that last time" you challenged, "I won't fall for it again"

"Baby, please" she pleaded, walking closer to you to rest her hands on your waist, you were cracking at this point, you hated the effect she had on you.

You shook your head, forehead resting on her chest as she pulled you into her. "I'll take the week off, how's that sound?" she leaned down to kiss down your neck softly

"rent a cabin somewhere far, hm?" she pecked your lips a few times when she received no answer from you.

"we'll have all the time you want together. And..I'll also dial the work down a bit, I know I've hurt you but please know it was not intentional, I just really have a lot weighing on me right now" you nodded, giving in to her charms and wrapping your arms around her neck, pulling her down to kiss you properly.

"You better make this up to me"

"yes, dear"

(a lot of people have been asking me to tag them in certain fics. To keep track of those I need to tag, please fill out the google form in the pinned post)

Taglist:

@wlwmitchell @ara-a-bird @mgruiz @mmemalwa @multifandomfix

@sapphicsbeloved

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie x reader #gwendoline christie #wednesday x reader

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waytooinvested · 5 months

Text

Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 10

Rift era reconciliation/fix-it fic in which Kara's memories of Supergirl are stolen and Lena has to rally round to help her get them back. Starts out kind of on the angsty side but there will be more fluff down the line.

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clinical trial for Q-wave brain stimulator.

Trial subject 1. Session 2

Subject now up to a stable therapeutic dose of 15 biohertz, sustained for a period of 45 minutes.

No ill effects noted.

Brain image unchanged since previous session.

Subject favours Big Belly burgers over tacos, and steals my fries.

Lena added the last sentence into her headline report summary in an unplanned and uncharacteristic fit of whimsy, and hit send before she could second guess the impulse. With all the extra hours Alex was putting in to try and keep on top of the Malefic situation (not to mention the media circus surrounding Supergirl’s official cover story), Lena knew she was feeling guilty about not being there for Kara more when she was going through something so huge. She hoped that the touch of levity (and the sheer, undeniable Kara-ness of it) would reassure Alex that her sister was doing okay, and maybe even make her smile.

Lena’s own cheeks were still aching a little with the unaccustomed amount of smiling they had been doing over the past few hours. She had been somewhat apprehensive going into the Q-wave session after the intensity of the first one, but there had been none of that this time. Kara had been in a buoyant mood after finally being allowed to hand fashion over to someone else, and while “The best (AND WORST!) food trucks in National City revealed” could hardly be called hard hitting journalism either, at least she was going to thoroughly enjoy the research process. Her good humour was infectious, and the two of them had chatted easily throughout the 45 minute treatment, stopping only twice, when they had had to abruptly drop a subject and take a few minutes to recover to avoid their laughter developing into the kind of giggle fit that would make it impossible for Kara to keep as still as she needed to.

At the end of the session they had found that neither of them were ready to abandon the conversation and head home just yet (or in Lena’s case back up to her office to put in another couple of hours on her endless to do list), and so Lena had mentioned that while the ice cream part was negotiable, taking ones research participant out for a post-trial treat was a strict requirement of her profession, and she would hate to be reported to the ethics board for neglecting her duties as a scientist.

And after all, they did need to eat.

Actually, going out with Kara was one of the few things that reminded Lena to eat a full meal these days, rather than just taking a few mouthfuls of whatever happened to be to hand when she had been focusing on something for so long that she started feeling faint and foggy (it had happened a few times recently, but now that Lena had asked Jess to stock up on smoothies and granola bars she was at least taking in enough nutrients to stop it affecting her work, and between her day to day CEO duties, the Q-Wave treatments and her latest product launch date on the horizon, she really didn’t have time for more than that).

As an extra incentive Lena had suggested that they could get something from a food truck as early research for the ‘Best of’ article, but despite the fact that she had been waxing lyrical earlier over a new taco truck she was desperate to try, Kara had instead opted for Big Belly Burgers. Lena’s favourite comfort food.

She had been touched enough to allow Kara to ‘accidentally’ steal several of her fries, until after theft-number-four her honour demanded the challenge be answered and Lena swiped a mozzarella stick from Kara’s plate in retaliation. They ended up holding a discrete but intense battle in their quiet corner of the diner that culminated in a brief fork-fencing match, which had been both incredibly undignified and, somewhat to Lena’s surprise, a lot of fun.

It didn’t hurt that she won the fencing match. She might not have brushed off her sabre for a few years now, but before she had moved to National City Lena had been a fencing champion, and had even come close to qualifying for the Olympics. The tiny, greasy battle made her think it might be time to look into taking it up again. Kara would probably enjoy it too.

Maybe Lena could even teach her...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clinical trial for Q-wave brain stimulator.

Trial subject 1. Session 3

15 biohertz sustained for a period of 60 minutes.

No ill effects noted.

The lab setup was a little different this time.

Lena had remembered Kara’s choice in their ‘where-would-I-rather-be’ game from the first session, and had replaced the printouts stuck above the cot with a night sky projector. Not content with the random pinpoint projection of the kind made for children’s bedrooms, she had tracked down a model designed for planetariums, and the ceiling and walls of her lab had transformed into an accurate, detailed map of the night sky (absent light pollution). The effect was somewhat spoiled by the flat angles of the room rather than the graceful curve of a dome it was designed for, but even so, once the lights were off and her computer monitor brightness was turned to its lowest setting, it was impressive. It was almost startling how different it felt, actually, even to Lena, who spent almost as much time in this room as she did in her own home.

The projection managed to convey a certain amount of relative distance, making the lab seem, if not limitless, then at least far bigger than its true dimensions, while the darkness softened the shapes of furniture and equipment until they blurred into the background, eminently ignorable compared to what else there was to look at. Of course it still smelled incongruously clinical, but the background hum of efficiently running machinery was easily transformed into the quiet sighing of a breeze through trees, the occasional beep or click nothing more than passing insects.

Lena was considering whether or not to have a quick lie down on the cot (just to check the projector was perfectly aligned to give the best view from that vantage point), when she was interrupted by a small ‘oh’ from behind her, and the quiet thump of a bag dropping from slack fingers to hit the floor. She turned to find Kara standing in the doorway, her mouth hanging slightly opened as she stared upwards.

She stayed like that for several long moments, just staring and softly repeating ‘oh, oh, oh’ as she took it all in, until at last she tore her focus from the ceiling and instead turned the full force of her rapture on Lena, gazing at her as though she was a witch who had gone out and captured a real piece of the heavens just for Kara’s amusement.

‘Oh Lena, you’re… this is just…’

Kara shook her head, apparently lost for words, and although Lena knew that the look and the breathless murmur of delight were for the stars and not really for her, they were filled with such unguarded wonder that it made her blink, unprepared for the dazzle of Kara’s admiration. She felt unaccountably warm suddenly, and although she tried to remain business like as she went through the usual set up routine, it took three tries before all the sensors were perfectly aligned to begin.

When at last it was done and Kara was lying back on the cot with the Q-waves running, she gazed up again with a sigh that seemed both contented and a little wistful.

‘There are so many more than you can see from the city. I’d almost forgotten…’

She reached out a hand as if she might be able to touch the scene above her, and the projector painted the back of it with a sprinkling of stars, as if Kara was once again part of the night sky that was now so far out of her reach. She looked almost sad, and Lena wondered whether this might not have been such a good idea after all. Was she just taunting her with the illusion of something she could no longer have?

But then Kara stopped reaching upwards, and instead extended her hand towards where Lena sat with her laptop, in the shadows beyond the soft shine of simulated starlight.

‘Will you come and watch with me?’

‘I shouldn’t. I need to keep an eye on the monitor, just in case something goes wrong…’

‘Nothing will go wrong. Besides, the readouts are on your laptop aren’t they? Can’t you just bring it with you?’

Lena considered. Technically, yes, she could. Her laptop had all the controls she needed apart from the switch to actually turn the Q-waves on and off, but if she was beside Kara she could always just physically remove the cap if there was an emergency. There was no practical reason to stop her joining Kara among the stars…

Except.

Well, was it wise?

She and Kara were well beyond any possibility of romance of course, but still, stargazing. It was the classic trope from every romantic novel and movie in existence, and going over to lie beside her now might be tempting fate too far.

...But then again, they weren’t real stars.

The two of them were just in Lena’s lab, the same as they had been twice before now, and Lena was a certified genius, she was hardly likely to allow herself to forget reality, especially if she was also keeping an eye on the Q-wave readouts at the same time. And after all, she had paid an amount that she wouldn’t care to admit to for the projector, and if not now, when was she ever going to find time to make the most of it?

She gave in, and was soon settled beside the bed with her chair tipped back as far as it would go, laptop set up beside her but carefully angled away from Kara so that she couldn’t read more from the screen than she should. She checked the readouts one more time, and then Lena let herself lean back and enjoy the majesty of the universe.

It had been worth spending the extra money to get a quality model, she thought. Every constellation was picked out with breathtaking clarity, the milky way so crisp that she understood the urge to reach out and try to touch it. Of course it still wasn’t really like being outside (not when the shape of the light fixtures was so clearly discernible behind the projection), but as her breathing synced to Kara’s in the darkness, Lena still felt an echo of what she always had when she took the time to really notice the stars.

It made her feel her own smallness and insignificance in a way that she rarely experienced in her day to day life. Down here she might be nigh-infamous, the influential billionaire, high power CEO at the top of her field, respected or despised but always and inescapably known; but up there she was nothing. A tiny, fleeting blip in the vastness of space, barely there before it was gone again. It made her chest ache with the memento mori of it, but at the same time she found it strangely comforting, because on that scale it wasn’t just her that didn’t matter. The Luthor name and all that came with it was equally insignificant. Every rigid expectation, every hurt, every betrayal, every loss she had ever felt was so inconceivably tiny that if you zoomed out even a little bit they were no longer there.

It meant that if she chose to she could rip up the rule book, let her leg hair grow out and just do whatever made her happiest in the moment. The world would keep turning just the same, none the wiser to the fact that Lena Keiran Luthor was eating thick slices of mango on her balcony, dressed in nothing but the rosy glow of a rising dawn while juice ran down to her elbows; or sleeping for twelve gloriously unproductive hours before wandering out to the nearest park with a bag of defrosted peas and rolled oats for the ducks instead of attending her scheduled press conference (because even when nothing had consequences on a cosmic scale, not harming the local wildlife by feeding them bread still mattered).

It made her want to look away.

It made her want to stare forever.

It made her want to hold onto someone, to anchor herself with the undeniable, tangible physicality of life and heat and breath and the shared experience of this.

It made her want…

It made her want.

‘Do you remember the time we did this your first year here?’

Kara’s voice was almost as soft as a starlight surrounding them – an accompaniment rather than an interruption to the peace, and Lena found herself smiling fondly at the reminder, the sharp stab of pain that usually tainted any happy memories of their shared past unexpectedly absent.

‘Oh course I do. You dragged me out in the middle of the night, insisting we go to some special perfect spot to see a meteor shower, and then we got lost hiking up the trail’.

Probably, she now realised, because Kara had only ever flown there before. She could have done so that time as well if it had just been about seeing the shooting stars, but she had wanted to include Lena in the excursion so much that she had been willing to walk a mile and a half in the dark just so they could experience it together, and Lena had agreed as if the suggestion hadn’t been completely insane. Even after knowing her only a few months, she had already been willing to do just about anything if Kara asked it of her.

‘In my defense, the trail marker was missing, and it turns out things look really different in the dark. But that meadow we found was even better, wasn’t it? With all the harebells, and then the owl flying over, it felt almost like magic’.

‘It was beautiful’.

It really had been a lovely place, but despite the scenery, all Lena had really had eyes for that night had been Kara. She had been more beautiful than any meteor shower…

‘It was. I loved sharing the stars with you’.

Lena didn’t trust herself to reply, but she couldn’t help her mind drifting back over all the other times she and Kara had shared the stars.

Warm summer nights spent laughing and sipping wine while the sky slowly darkened above them. Crisp autumn evenings when they had met up after work and decided to take the long way through the park, just for a few more minutes of starlight and conversation before they met up with everyone else for a game night. The New Years Eve when Lena had been under the weather and decided not to go to any of the various events she had had invitations to, and Kara had blown off her own party in order to keep her company. They had spent the hours before midnight sitting out on her balcony, bundled up in layers of coats and blankets, sipping hot tea instead of champagne and watching the fireworks going off across the city…

The memories were so vivid that Lena had to interrupt them before she could forget herself and reach for Kara’s hand as she had then (not that anything had come of it. Kara had simply swung their clasped hands between them and started up a verse of Auld Lang Syne, and Lena had pretended that that’s what she had intended all along).

‘Do you know any constellations?’

‘Yeah, my friend Kenny and I spent about a year in high school obsessed with star gazing, and we learned them all. Do you know them?’

‘Most of them – not all. I had a brief astronomy phase too, but my family didn’t consider it a proper science and pushed me to redirect my focus to areas that would prove more profitable later on. I enjoyed learning about the constellation myths in my free time though’.

Kara hmmm-ed gently – sympathetic without making it into a big thing.

‘Will you tell me one?’

They spent the rest of the 60 minutes swapping stories about the stars. Lena told Kara some of the livelier Greek constellation myths, and in return Kara told her about her nights of stargazing as a teenager, and the stories she had made up for herself about what she could see. Some of the myths Kara described sounded too detailed, and too strange to be all imagination, and Lena wondered whether this was a re-writing of some Kryptonian legend. She made a mental note to ask once Kara had the rest of her memories back, and then pulled up short.

Of course she couldn’t ask.

They would no longer be on speaking terms by that point. Foolish of her to forget that.

But the stars were shining, and the quiet hum of the Q-wave generator was soothing, and she couldn’t bring herself to get worked up about the slip. It didn’t matter. They were in a made up friendship in the midst of a made up universe, and all of it felt real enough for this moment.

All too soon the time was up and Lena turned the lights back on, the intimacies of her star-addled thoughts retreating into the safety of the shadows they had come from as she turned her attention back to the Q-wave programme.

And: there was something there.

Well. Maybe there was. It was hard to be sure even with the image magnified as far as it would go, but she thought there might be a couple of spots where the dark line was now very slightly less crisp. Not quite fuzzy, but getting there…

She stared at it until her eyes ached and she could no longer trust that any blurring was actually on the scan rather than an illusion of her own visual fatigue, and then she closed the file and sent it off to Alex along with a brief write-up of the session’s progress. It might be nothing, and it might not. All she knew for sure right now was that Kara felt fine, and that at that moment she was waiting for Lena to finish her report so that they could begin their evening plans, and the longer she spent worrying over an inconclusive image the less time they would have to enjoy them.

So she abandoned her laptop along with all thoughts of fuzziness that wasn’t the alcohol induced kind, and set off with Kara for their cocktail night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clinical trial for Q-wave brain stimulator.

Trial subject 1. Session 4

15 biohertz sustained for a period of 60 minutes.

No ill effects noted.

Subject fell asleep at approximately minute 14 of treatment, and this was maintained for the remainder of the session.

Scan evidenced definite blurring of perimeter at position 4 (noted on scan), measuring approximately 0.54mm in width. This represents a significant development over the previous treatment outcome.

Hypothesis: treatment during REM sleep may have enhanced effects compared to the same waves received while conscious.

They had used the star projector again, but with the possible-almost-blurring on the previous scan Lena had felt it prudent to keep her focus on what was happening on her screen, and had stayed at her desk this time. Without the distraction of sharing stories Kara, apparently exhausted after a broken night and a particularly grueling day at work, had quickly dozed off in the quiet peace of the simulated night sky.

And it was lucky for Supergirl that she did, because this new finding was major. A breakthrough even.

Okay, Kara hadn’t seemed to remember anything new when she woke up, but the questionable fuzzy spot on the previous scan was now a definite blurring, and progress had been much more rapid than Lena had expected.

It was exactly what they had been working towards since she had conceived the idea that first night in Al’s.

It was wonderful.

Just what she had been hoping for.

It WAS…

It had to be.

She waited until Kara was safely in the bathroom, then retreated to the privacy of the back office with her auditory scrambler to call Alex. Even with those precautions in place it was a bigger risk than she should have taken, she knew that, but she couldn’t help it.

She wanted to pass on the good news directly.

She wanted to hear someone else tell her that it was good news, so that she could believe it for herself.

‘Lulu, what’s up?’

Somehow Alex managed to audibly smirk at the use of the code name, and it was just so typically Alex of her that it managed to divert Lena briefly from the reason for her call.

‘Do you really have to call me that every time?’

‘Hey it’s your rule, I’m just abiding by it’.

A little of the panic that had been building behind Lena’s sternum was replaced with the aggravated amusement that was becoming the baseline for their interactions, and she felt her stiff shoulders relax by a few degrees even as she made her voice sound stern.

‘That’s for when there’s a risk of being overheard at your end, as you know perfectly well. Right now I know for a fact that our trial subject is not standing behind you, because she is currently in my bathroom, and I am in my locked, sound proof office’.

‘Still, it’s wise to keep in good habits’.

Lena grimaced at her phone, but she had to fight the slight tugging at the corner of her lips to do so. Alex was enjoying this code name business far too much, and it made her wish she had chosen something less innocuous than ‘Annie’ in return. Ermintrude perhaps. Or Bert. It would have been terrible for the purposes of keeping things under the radar, but it would have been fun.

‘Hey Earth to Lulu, don’t keep me in suspense! What’s happening over there?’

‘Right, sorry. I do need to be quick – I just wanted to tell you myself, I think we have some progress. There is a definite blur on the scan. It’s small, but it’s there’.

‘Wait, seriously? And Kar- uh, Katie is feeling alright? No headache or anything that might indicate a danger sign?’

‘She’s completely fine. No indication of any memories or powers coming back yet, but this is a real start’.

‘Lena this is amazing! We need to go out for a drink to celebrate!’ - she hesitated - ‘unless that would be crossing too far over the business/friendship line?’

She should have refused. Would have refused, if Alex had suggested this even last week. But now, hyped up by the imminence of success and desperate to share it with someone, she didn’t want to. She wanted to go out to a bar with Alex Danvers, have a drink and companionably provoke each other for a couple of hours while they toasted the progress of their project. And if that happened to distract her from what else success would mean for her, well, that was so much the better. Besides, what harm could it do, if all of this was going to be over soon? She might as well make the most of having someone to go out drinking with while she still had the chance.

‘In the circumstances I think a celebratory drink would be entirely appropriate. Kara and I are on our way to catch a movie right now, but I could meet you later this evening if that works for you? 8.30ish?’

‘Sure Lena, I’ll see you tonight. Have a good time with Kara’.

There was a smile in Alex’s voice as she said this, and Lena wondered exactly what she was reading into their movie date.

Not that there was anything to read.

This social time was all part of keeping Kara on board with the ongoing trial, it didn’t mean anything more than that. It couldn’t, especially now they were a step closer to this whole thing being over.

Not even if she was about to sit through a special screening of ‘The Wizard of Oz’ that she might have suggested could be a good nostalgia draw at an independent movie theatre where she had just... happened... to make a recent sizeable donation. They were after all a community institution, and The Wizard of Oz was a beloved classic. It was a worthy cause that had nothing at all to do with the fact that Kara had mentioned in passing that she had never actually had the opportunity to see her favourite movie on the big screen.

No one could prove otherwise.

Kara certainly didn’t question it. She was as excited as a puppy as they made their way to the movie theatre, apparently refreshed by her nap and practically skipping along beside Lena as she gushed about her favourite scenes, and how magical it would be to see the moment when Dorothy stepped out of sepia and into full technicolour rendered huge on the big screen.

They bought a giant bucket of buttery popcorn and settled into front row seats, and Lena found her eyes drawn as often to Kara as to the movie as the story began. She just looked so happy, it made it impossible to dwell on anything outside of this moment with her, experiencing the vicarious delight of her immersion in a well told story.

Lena knew for a fact that Kara had seen this movie dozens, if not hundreds of times, and yet she reacted to everything as if it was the first time. She glared ferociously at the threat to have Toto euthanised. She mouthed along with all the songs, gasped at the transition into Oz, and actually grabbed Lena’s hand at the first appearance of the Wicked Witch of the West, though she let go again a moment later.

She stayed transfixed, eyes shining, until the credits finished rolling and the lights came up.

‘That was uh-MAZING. Thank you so much for doing this with me Lena. I don’t know why I love that movie so much, but there’s something about that always just clicked, you know? Maybe it’s to do with being fostered. It’s not exactly like finding yourself in Oz obviously, but it was a pretty big transition to make at 13. I guess I always felt a bit like Dorothy because of it’.

‘It’s funny, I think my adoption made me relate more to the Wicked Witch of the West’.

Kara laughed disbelievingly and swatted her very gently on the arm, clearly still high on the joy of the movie and too much popcorn.

‘Lena! That’s ridiculous, you’re not a wicked witch, you’re the best!’

‘Debatable. But I suppose I’m not thinking of the original Wizard of Oz witch so much as- have you ever seen Wicked?’

‘No, I’ve wanted to forever, but it’s never come to National City, and I never got round to making the trip’.

Lena grinned.‘Okay, that settles it – I’ll find out where it’s showing next and we can take my jet’.

They would just have to fit it in before the Q-wave trial progressed too far, that was all. She could do that.

‘Fly there? You don’t have to do that for me, that’s way too much trouble! Do you even like musicals?’

‘Some, and I have a special soft spot for Wicked. As I said, I always kind of related to Elphaba. She’s not actually adopted like I was, but she was marked out from the beginning in her family by something she couldn’t help, and was always in the shadow of her golden-child sibling. Then when she finally goes out into the world all anyone can see is her green skin, and they brand her wicked for it no matter how hard she tries to be good. After Lex committed his crimes, the Luthor name felt a bit like that for me. Then there’s this whole bit about how she relates to the Wizard that felt very me and Lex’.

She hadn’t expected to open up like that to Kara about something she wouldn’t usually admit to, but for some reason her defenses didn’t slam up to stop her saying it. Maybe because she had just spent 102 minutes watching Kara unabashedly, purely relate to something without any kind of reservations; it had made her want to offer something in return, even if it was nothing more than a broadway musical.

Or maybe because there was a smudge on Kara’s scan, and it had made Lena realise how not-ready she was for their temporary friendship to end...

‘So Wicked is kind of like your ‘Wizard of Oz’? That’s amazing, I can’t believe I never knew we had Oz in common! But I also hate that you were ever made to feel that way about who you are’.

‘It’s fine Kara, I’m used to it. Besides, you’ll see when we watch it, it makes her strong in the end: she gains her independence and learns to rely on herself in the face of those that doubt her’.

Like Lena had done before, and would do again... After their trip to see Wicked.

Kara frowned a little, not looking entirely appeased.

‘If you say so. It makes me not like how things end for her in The Wizard of Oz though. You deserve so much better than that’.

‘You know, she isn’t really me’.

‘I know… but still’.

#supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #supergirl fanfiction #If you enjoy it consider leaving me a comment on AO3?#kara x lena #my fic #multi chapter fic #Forgotten Not Forgiven

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jsprnt · 1 year

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Healing Hearts PT.6 | Virgil van Dijk

Would a fresh start bring you more than just a new job?

A/N: the moment we’ve all been waiting for! this is a long one, enjoy :)

C/W: mention of abusive relationship, blood.

WC: 5.012

Summary: Y/N L/N is a very skilled and praised physiotherapist. A certain event pushing her for a fresh start, as a physiotherapist for Liverpool FC. One question always being in the back of her mind: Will she be able to let go of her past and allow herself to experience new things?

"The swelling has been going down thankfully. You're very lucky it's a minor injury. I've discussed your injury with both Dr. Woods and Dr. Davis, and we think you'll be back in a few weeks, though we'll have to keep monitoring it regularly. Especially since you're being included in the national team lineup." I say, filling in some important documents about Ibo's injury.

"Thank you doctor. I really hope I will be fine for the national matches." He says, French accent shining through. I give him a crooked smile, turning my full attention towards him.

"You know I can't promise you anything except that I'll help you to my upmost ability, as your physiotherapist." I state. He nods his head, acknowledging what I tell him. I give him some more instructions about how to make sure his injury doesn't get worse. He walks out of my office a while later, feeling more confident in healing faster.

I glance at my planner, checking off the appointments I had completed. Realizing I had a fifteen-minute break. I grab my phone out of my handbag, checking my messages.

I had sent my friends a couple of cute pictures I took last night, asking which one to post.

I had done my make up and dressed up out of boredom. Wanting to go back to posting on my Instagram regularly, keeping my friends and family up to date since I now lived in a different city again.

I add some other pictures to it, making it photo dump and adding a caption. I press post, scrolling through my timeline before checking the time. Next appointment: meeting with physiotherapy team.

I shove my phone in my back pocket, grabbing some documents we need before walking along the hallways to the gym, Dr. Davis would definitely be there.

I feel my stomach grumble, lunchtime was soon and I couldn't wait to eat honestly.

I walk in greeting some players who are working out hard. The faint smell of sweat and deodorant hits my nose. I scrunch my nose, trying to focus on my own perfume. I could never get used to the smell of men exercising, no matter how long I worked in this industry.

Suddenly, a ball rolls up to my feet. I turn my head to the right seeing Trent and Dom. My left hand fidgeting with the documents in my arm.

"You guys are playing two touch in the gym?"

I raise my brows at them, taking the ball and rolling it under my foot. "That's what I said. This is gym time!" I glance at a slightly frustrated Mo, chuckling at him before turning back to the other guys. "You guys sound like my parents when I was younger. Stop being an arse and kick the ball back!" Trent yells in his Scouser accent.

I gasp at him, grabbing my chest offended. "Hey, I'm only twenty-five, he's the old one!" I point to Mo as he gives me a surprised look. The other players in the gym looking up due to the slight commotion. "I am not old- I'm thirty-one!" He exclaims. I try hold back a laugh, glancing at the other players who have slight grins on their face, overhearing our banter.

I feel a warm hand on my shoulder, turning my head to see a slightly sweaty Virgil. A sweaty but powdery-musk smell enters my nostrils. His curly baby hairs sticking to his forehead, his signature waves slightly frizzy. He leans forward, his face close to mine.

"If he's old what am I then?" My eyes widen, feeling his minty breath fanning my face. I stare up at him for a second before I hear my name being called by Dr. Davis, who's looking at us from the entrance of the gym. "Well- I've got a meeting, you'll have to ask Trent!" I give him a sheepish smile, scooping up the ball with my foot and kicking it back to Dominik, surprising myself at the fact that I hadn't lost the football skills I had learnt in primary school.

"Train hard everyone! I'll be there James!" I yell before jogging away hearing some chuckles behind me as leave the gym.

"Since we're done discussing everything, y/n how has it been working here so far." I look up from the stack of documents, smiling at the two senior physio's.

"It's been two weeks but it feels way longer honestly, in a good way of course. Staff and player are nice and the workplace is very positive." I state. They look at me with bright smiles, looking very relieved. We chat some more before Dr. Woods dismisses me for lunch.

I bid them goodbye and walk back to my office. Putting away the documents and walking into the canteen. I fill my plate with some tasty food, remembering not eat too much since Virgil was inviting me over for dinner later.

I sit next to Clara, chatting, well more like gossiping about literally everyone.

"She cheated on him?!" I yell a little out of shock as she tells me the latest celebrity dating drama.

I take a sip of my water, swallowing before asking her more about it. Some players asking if they can sit our table. I absentmindedly nod at them, not paying attention as I'm too invested in Clara's story.

"Who cheated?" I hear a confused Curtis say. We glance at him briefly realizing multiple players at had been sitting at our table. You'd think they'd be invested in their own banter, but they quite literally had been eavesdropping our conversation.

"Why's everyone looking at us?"

I murmur to Clara, embarrassed smile on my face.

"Because you are very loud." I look at Robbo, mumbling a quick sorry before Clara and me turn back to our own conversation again, this time with way less volume.

I shove the last bites of veggies in my mouth listening to the details of her juicy story.

"Show me a picture of the guy." I say, very curious. She taps on her phone handing me it. I look at the phone screen, my mouth falling open. "She cheated on him with this?" I exclaim, totally baffled. My hand covering my mouth in disbelief.

I feel a presence behind me, turning to see Curtis look at the screen. I quirk my eyebrow at him.

"What? You girls are so loud I want to know the gossip show me!" I roll my eyes at him playfully before I show him the picture.

"Oh- was she blind or?" I laugh at his comment before I hear the guys at the table complain about wanting to see the pictures too.

I sigh before showing them the phone, hearing a couple words of disbelief. "Maybe he has a nice personality?" I hear Harvey say.

This becomes the only topic of our conversation at our table, dragging on for the next fifteen minutes. And they say women gossip more than men.

"No, it's crazier since her partner- well ex is hot."

I hear Clara say. I nod at her comment. "She's not wrong."

My eyes wander around the table as the guys seem to be more invested into the drama than us now. I chuckle at their banter, my lips curling up into a smile, dimples on display. My eyes lock with Virgil's who's sitting at the end of the table. He smiles back, and a warm feeling seeps into my chest, a faint blush covering my cheeks.

A knock on my door takes me out of my concentrated trance. I watch as the door swing open, revealing Virgil. I check the time, training must've ended early?

"What's up?" I raise a brow, fidgeting with my pen before standing up from my seat. He smirks at me and walks around to sit on the treatment table, looking very comfortable. "Something wrong?"

I walk up to him, almost standing in between his thighs due to his frame. "Nothing wrong." He says. I notice a glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes.

"Why are you here then hm?" I fold my arms up to my chest, lifting my head slightly to look him in the eyes. He laughs at me before mirroring my stance. "I came here to confirm tonight, you'll be at my place at 7 right?"

"Yeah, you thought I forgot? In one day?"

He huffs, before shaking his head. "No, just confirming." He smirks, and I can’t help but wonder why he's being, so- weird?

"And I was wondering- do you have any allergies?" I raise my brows. "Why are you cooking? I instead of a fancy private chef?" I scoff, a hint of teasing in my tone.

His expression turns offended, scoffing back. "Yes, I will be cooking, you don't think I'm capable of making a nice dinner?" He retorts.

I raise my hands in defense, holding back a laugh. "Okay Mister Chef, don't get too riled up. I'll look forward to it." I study his face for a reaction, the corners of my lips tugging upwards.

"I'll show you, just be on time." He says, giving me a cocky smile. I feel my heart pound faster in my chest, that smile was to literally go feral for, I had to admit. "I'll be there just send me the address."

I put on my halter-neck dress, struggling to reach the back as I check the time. Fuck, twenty minutes until I have to leave. I fight against the flexibility of my arms some more before huffing and giving up, thanking myself for befriending my neighbor.

I walk out of my apartment, going up to Sofia's door and knocking on it. The door opens and I greet her before turning around, giving her the message. She chuckles before reaching down to zip up my dress. I turn back facing her again and give her a hug as a ‘thank you’. She whistles at me, her arms folded. "Damn girl, which lucky guy is seeing all of this tonight." I laugh at her, trying to convince her it's nothing like that, though see doesn't seem very convinced. "I doubt that, but let me know how it goes?" I nod at her before leaving back to my apartment. "Don't drink too much!" She yells after me. "I won't!"

I stand in front of my mirror, hands smoothing down my dress before I pack my handbag. I grab my lip liner, meticulously lining my lips and applying a pretty gloss on top. I breathe in and exhale slowly, my hands clammy for some crazy reason. Am I nervous? I shake my head at my distress, not believing I was nervous for something so simple. It's just dinner.

My phone buzzes on my coffee table, I grab it walking out of my apartment after being fully ready. My Notification Center being flooded by my Instagram post being liked, I smile at myself before checking the most important message. Virgil had sent his address finally.

After a half hour drive of me fighting with the directions and the navigation system, I finally arrive at his home, a nice big gate around it. Though, his house wasn't anything I expected, it was defined huge but not modern like I thought his house would be.

I reach for my phone, ready to call him but I'm stopped by the gates opening. I sigh before driving up onto his huge driveway, catching a glimpse of the other cars he owned. I hadn't seen them before at the training center.

I gather my bag, jumping out of my car and fixing my dress, walking around to his front door. The door opens, a nicely dressed Virgil smiles back at me.

Oh fuck, he looks insanely good. He's wearing a off-white polo shirt, the sleeves a little snug on his biceps, paired nicely with some black pants. His hair in his signature hairstyles and it looks like he had cleaned up his facial hair a bit.

"Hey!" I greet, stepping into his home. I glance around, noticing the touches of marble and wood decorate his home. "You look beautiful." He hums, leaning down and pulling me into a warm hug, a hand softly running down my arm. I try to stop my brain from short-circuiting, focusing instead of allowing my mind to wander.

"I really thought you weren't coming after I said I'd be cooking." His voice vibrates in my ear. The musky smell of his cologne engulfing my senses.

I pull back. "Do you think I'm going to pass up an opportunity to taste your cooking? I need to know if the 'worlds best defender' can cook a nice meal as well, no? Besides, you hurt my nose. I need some compensation for that!" He laughs at me, before leading me further into his home, keeping a hand on my back, in between my shoulder blades.

He guides me into the main room. I glance around noticing the kitchen, living room and dinning room are all on one floor, connected.

"Your house is so pretty." I breathe out, glancing at him. "Did you have it designed?" He hums, nodding. "I did but I worked with them to make it my own." He says.

He leads me to the dining table, it wasn't a huge one, the dark walnut wood giving it a cozy touch. A pretty chandelier dangling from the ceiling, casting a warm light into the room.

The table is filled with plates, wine glasses and cutlery. Most importantly the decent amount of food. He pulls back my chair to allow me to sit. I turn back to look at him. Maybe, chivalry wasn't dead. He walks around the table to sit down across from me.

I gasp, my eyes widening. "So, you made all of this?" I motion to the table with my hands, making a circle motion with my fingers.

"Of course I did, did you think I was bluffing?"

I eye him up suspiciously, raising a brow. "Well- no, but not this." I say. "You shouldn't have, training was very intensive today and you must be tired." My expression falters into a concerned one. He really did all of this, for me?

"No, it's okay. I wanted to really show you how sorry I was. Besides, I like doing things for the ones I care about." I freeze at his words, staring at him with wide eyes, he cares?

He clears his throat, before asking I want a glass of water. I nod, as he starts pouring water into a glass and handing it to me. I reach over, grabbing it and lifting the cold glass it up to my lips. My pink lip gloss leaving a stain on the edge of the glass.

"So, chef are you going to explain what you've cooked tonight?" I say, a smile tugging on my lips.

"Of course, just a second." He stands up, walking over to the glass sliding-doors leading to the backyard. He slides them open and a nice breeze blows in to the house immediately. He walks outside into the backyard, I tilt my head curiously.

Then he appears again, a big plate in his hand and a smoky smell reaching my nostrils. Steak- he'd grilled steak on his barbecue?

I follow his every move with my eyes, he walks up to me placing a piece of steak on my and his plate. He walks back to me, grabbing the plate from in front of me and cutting it. My heart practically melt at the action, my face flushing.

"Smells amazing, thank you." I say, looking up at him. My eyes following the movements of his hands. He places the plate with cut steak in front of me again, giving me a smile. "My pleasure." He says, his voice silky as ever.

He sits down again, motioning for me to start eating. "I'm not a course-meal person myself, so I just put out everything at once. I hope you're okay with that?" He makes eyes contact with me, a faint smile on his lips.

"Oh- it's fine I promise. I'm not a fan of that either." I say, shaking my head slightly. He looks at me pleased, before starting to explain every dish he had prepped.

We dig in before the food gets cold. I taste the steak, humming at the taste. It melting on my tongue. "This is insanely good. How'd you learn to cook like this? Your mom?"

He nods, a reminiscing look on his face. "That and I worked at a restaurant when I was younger. Washed the dishes, but could overhear the chefs talking about how to prepare the food all the time."

"I guess, I could actually call you chef?" He chuckles at me before suggesting I taste the spaghetti, coated in a creamy tomato sauce.

"This is really good, oh my god." I gasp at the taste, this had to be the best spaghetti I have ever eaten and I have probably eaten spaghetti in every country I had visited.

He grabs the decanter filled with red wine, I imagine him meticulously decanting it and smile to myself. "Wait- I'm driving home remember? I can't drink." I say. "You can drink it's fine. I'll drive you home, you can relax. You're my guest."

I smile at his words, watching him move carefully. I could definitely get used to being wined and dined like this again.

I notice the almost empty bottle next to it. He walks over to me to fill my wineglass. I eye the familiar label, trying to figure out where I had had it before. I didn't know much about wine, but this one was etched into my memory for some reason. He notices my confusion and gives me information about it. I think carefully as he speaks, finally remembering where I had had it before. I mentally slap myself for remembering the shitty memory.

I had it on a date with Theo at a three star Michelin restaurant. He had asked the waiter for their 'very good red wine' in the rudest way possible, embarrassing me in the process. Then he'd bragged about the bottle being worth seven grand the entire dinner. A chill travels down my spine, remembering how he'd lashed out at me later for 'ogling the waiter' in his twisted words.

Wait-? This bottle is worth seven thousand and I'm being served it on a simple dinner? I snap out of my thoughts before looking at the glass of wine in front of me. Looking back at Virgil, trying to not look as shocked as I am right now.

"Something wrong? You don't like it-" I interrupt him. "No, I just remembered we're I've had this wine before, that's it."

He raises a brow. "Where have you had it?" I give him an awkward smile, before dismissing it. "Not the best memory, but this will probably make me forget it." I chuckle at him.

We continue to eat in a comfortable silence for a while before he breaks it. "I know you've told us about yourself, but tell me more. I want to learn more about you." He says, small smile on his face.

"What do you want to know?" I say. "Tell me more about your upbringing, how you grew up."

I take a sip of the wine, it's taste coating my mouth. I explain my childhood to him, as he occasionally chimes in to tell a story he relates to. I smile at myself, feeling very comfortable.

"To be fully honest, I don't have the best relationship with my parents. Mainly, because growing up they'd always been more busy with their business, so they were physically and emotionally pretty absent. Though, I don't know if I could complain- I mean their determination for work made it possible for me to grow up comfortably. Even though it meant I had to raise myself sometimes."

He nods, acknowledging my feelings telling me about his relationship with his father and how it had shaped him as a person. "I guess, we aren't so different after all hm?"

We finish dinner and I can't help but glance into his backyard, noticing my curiosity, he offers to take a walk in his backyard. I nod eagerly as we walk along the neatly designed pool tiles. "Do you swim a lot when it's sunny?" I ask him. "I do, but I love swimming when it's colder. The jacuzzi is the best when it's cold." I roll my eyes at him playfully. "Must be nice." I mock as he laughs at me.

The sun had gone down and the temperature had dropped quite a bit. I shiver as a cold breeze blows past me, making my teeth clatter slightly. Virgil notices as he interrupts himself, looking at me concerned. "Are you cold?” A shy smile forms on my lips, nodding at him. He walks back into his house, quickly walking back out with a white sweater in his arms.

He walks up to me, carefully pulling the sweater over my head. I imagine to not smudge my make up. I shiver at the touch of his hands on my arms, holding back a surprised gasp. His hand goes up to fix my hair, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "Thank you." He smirks at me, an unknown look in his eyes as he glances down at me.

"Do you want to go back inside?" I nod at Virgil, walking back into his house alongside him. He tells me sit at the kitchen island as he cleans up the table, forcing me stop helping him with cleaning. "I said you're my guest, please go sit down and have some more wine."

This leads to me sipping on the seven thousand pound wine like it's orange juice, sitting onto the bar stool and leaning against the marble island, my elbows propped up on it. I watch him rinse off the dishes and cutlery before placing them into the dishwasher. I don't know if it's the wine or not but looking at his back, cleaning the kitchen with gloves on made him look so- husband material, it feels almost too domestic. Though, it definitely made him look so hot, that was for sure the effect of the wine. Sober me would never, right?

I let out a soft giggle, my face was probably insanely flushed. He turns back to look at me, chuckling to himself as he washed his hands. Walking up to me and holding onto my shoulders to stabilize me. He looks at me before looking at the nearly empty decanter.

"Are you drunk?" I look up at him, a sheepish smile on my face. "Not yet." I laugh and his chocolate brown eyes gaze into mine. I unconsciously hold my breath, he looked insanely pretty from this proximity. I try get off of the bar stool as he tries to hold me back stabilizing me again, fixing the white sweater. I huff at him. "I'm not drunk, I swear." I whine, hearing a deep chuckle leave his throat. His big hand engulfs mine as he holds onto to it, my soft skin grazing against his slightly calloused palms. He places a cold glass of water in my hand.

He starts gathering the wineglass and nearly empty decanter in front of me and puts them away. I press my lips onto the edge of the glass, sipping onto the water as I follow his movement from behind it. A sudden familiar tune makes me jerk my head around, looking for the origin of the sound. I catch the glowing screen of my phone, left at the dinner table. I get off the bar stool, half-full glass still in my hand as I make my way towards it.

I pick it up, taking notice of the anonymous number calling me. I glance up at Virgil, seeing that he's still busy with cleaning up and look back at my phone again. Who would be calling my phone at eight thirty in the evening? My finger hovers over the green circle, eventually pressing it quickly, lifting the phone up to my ear, my left hand fidgeting with the glass.

"Hello?" I mutter, holding my breath awaiting an answer back. I catch Virgil turning around, eyeing me confused, but his face relaxes when he realizes I'm on the phone.

I furrow my eyebrows, my face twisting into confusion as no one speaks back, the only sound being of someone's breathing in my ear. I start pulling the phone away from my ear, but I freeze at the sound of someone's voice breaking the silence.

"Now you're picking up the phone? you fucking bitch!" The person shouts, a sinister tone lacing his voice. Theo.

I gasp, jolting at the voice. My hand jerks, letting the glass of water slip through my hands. The loud sound of the glass splitting into millions of pieces deafening my ears. Water splashes up, pieces of glass cut through my skin, a painful stinging feeling on my face. My eyes widen in shock, disassociating for a second before I'm pulled out of it by Virgil's hands on my waist, gently carrying me away from the glass.

I blink multiple times, trying to focus at what just happened. My hand falls to my side, the screen being seen by Virgil as he takes it out of my hand, hanging up on the caller.

"Hey, what's wrong? What happened?" He mutters, looking very worried. He grips onto my shoulders, shaking me slightly. I avert my eyes to him, eyes still wide in shock.

Tears cloud my vision, gathering at the corner of my eyes before rolling down my cheeks. I feel his thumb caressing them away, his other hand traveling to my nape and pulling me into his chest. I shake in his hold, his arm wrapping around my shoulder as he caresses my hair.

I feel his shirt become wet as my tears fall.

"It's okay, you're safe." He mutters into my ear softly, his frame enveloping me tightly. My breath hitches, pulling away from him and noticing the blood- and some make up stains on his shirt.

"Blood and the glass- I'm so sorry-" he shushes me, wiping away the tears falling down. "It's fine. You're the one bleeding, again." I look up at him with glossy eyes, he was right. I kept getting myself in these bloody embarrassing situations, with him.

He glances down my body, noticing some cuts on my legs as well. His arm travels down to the back of my knees, stabilizing his hold on my back before carrying me bridal style onto his big sofa.

He puts me down in the corner of the sofa gently, the soft fabric pressing comfortably against my skin. He walks away and comes back with a first-aid kit, treating the small cuts carefully.

"Who was that calling you hm?" His gaze pierces into my eyes. I avert his gaze, focusing on him treating my cuts instead. "Do you know the caller?" He presses on, treating the last cut on my face, a silent curse ringing through my mind.

"y/n- tell me." His fingers pinch my chin, lifting my face to meet his gaze. I let out a silent huff before pulling my legs up to my chest, he grabs the blanket on the edge of the couch, draping it over my naked legs.

I open my mouth to speak, my eyes wandering around the house, fidgeting with the blanket. Was I really about to trauma dump on my patient?

"I- it's personal I can't-" he interrupts a stern look on his face. "y/n." I sigh, a lump forming in my throat, I try swallowing it down.

"My ex- it was my ex boyfriend." I breathe out, scanning his face for a change of expressions. He furrows his brows, looking at me skeptically.

"There's more to it. Am I right?" He says softly, caressing the palm of my hand.

I swallow again, trying to croak out the words I had been keeping to myself this entire time. "Tell me." He encourages.

"We dated for five years, met him when working for Ajax, moved with me to Barcelona later. His mother is a big sponsor in the football industry. I broke up with him after he started becoming- more and more- umh abusive and controlling. That's why I got a job at this club and moved here." My voice cracks towards the end of my sentence.

A soft hum leaves his lips, a tender look in his eyes. "I'm sorry." "It's not your fault obviously, I just got shocked by hearing his voice. I'm sorry for the glass and your shirt-." I narrow my eyes at the mess next to the dining table, fragments of glass and water everywhere.

"It's okay. It's fine, as long as you're fine." He mumbles and I almost don't catch the end of his sentence.

"Do you want to watch a movie? To take your mind off it hm?" His voice a little deeper as he looks at me waiting for answer. I nod, too exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions I experienced in a short amount of time to reply with words.

He turns on the TV, across us, mounted on the huge wall. The bright light emitting from it making me cringe and squint my eyes. I shift from my position, sinking back into the sofa. He chooses a movie I had never heard of, the soft blaring of the actors calming me down as Virgil sits back as well, our bodies closer now.

A warm, comfortable feeling seeps into my chest, my eyes fluttering shut. My last conscious memory being, my forehead touching something broad and warm, a hand caressing my hair softly.

#virgil van dijk #virgilvandijk #liverpoolfc #van dijk #virgil van dijk fanfiction #virgilvandijkimagines #football #liverpool fanfic #football fanfic #liverpoolimagines #football imagines #virgil van dijk x reader #virgil x reader

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thatonebirdwrites · 4 months

Text

The Alternate Book 3.5 -- Korrasami

(This piece is not the route Book 3 and Book 3.5 went in Shared Moments. This was the alternate ending. I ended up not using it because Korra didn't lash out after all. Instead, the path the pair took was middle angst rather than this full angst. For the full series, read here).

The Blue Spirit sprinted after the Terra Triad, who ran furiously down the alley. He slid and vaulted himself with a burst of earthbending over a fence. The pursuer jumped and bounced off one wall than the other and vaulted over. Desperately, the triad punched up a wall, but the Blue Spirit only flipped over it and landed in front of him.

One kick slammed into his head, and he hit the ground with a whimper. A jolt of electricity shot through his body, and then a sweet smelling handkerchief pushed against his nose.

The body went slack. The Blue Spirit knelt to check the man’s pulse. Faint but beating.

Sirens echoed in the air and rapidly approached.

Quickly, the Blue Spirit tightly wrapped the man in a vest lined with platinum, his arms tight at his sides, and his hands covered. Rope was tied around his ankles, and the Blue Spirit tossed the rope over the lamppost. Hoisting him into the air, the rope was tied to the base of the post. Then a red and blue pin was attached to his tunic along with a note of the man’s crimes.

The sirens came closer. One turned onto the street.

The Blue Spirit quickly stepped into the shadows, pulled on climbing pads, and scaled the side of the building. Rolling onto the rooftop, the Blue Spirit waited and watched as the police circled the latest triad catch.

Once certain the man would be taken care of, the Blue Spirit slid away from the edge and crawled to the other side. Standing, the Blue Spirit leaped over a gap onto another roof and headed toward the next victim. <<...>>

The phone rang in Asami Sato’s office. She’d been engrossed in a technical drawing of the underground train system Future Industries was building under the vines. It was pinned next to the larger map of the city itself and all of the underground paths her company had mapped.

A third map provided all information on all the buildings and streets complete with measurements of the width of the alleys between rooftops. All three were mounted on her right wall.

She marked with a blue-red pin an intersection of an alley and street near the vine-ridden and abandoned library, close to the Water District.

When it rang a second time, she picked it up in irritation. “Asami Sato of Future Industries,” she said automatically, her voice as neutral as possible.

“Hey Asami, it’s Mako. You got a minute? I need to ask you about something.” Mako’s voice sounded tense.

“And this can’t wait until this evening?” Asami said, evenly. “I’m terribly busy.”

“No, it really can’t. I’m doing this on my lunch shift. Meet you in your office?”

“Fine.” Asami didn’t give Mako a chance to respond. She hung up and clenched her fist to stop herself from throwing the phone in anger.

She’d carefully avoided all of Team Avatar since Korra’s poisoning and rejection. Cautiously kept the air bender family at arm’s length, and anything that could remotely remind her of Korra.

Yet here was Mako. Shoving himself exactly where he didn’t belong, and with him, came the memories of her time as Korra’s girlfriend. Their adventures in the airship, the love-making, the promise to stick together no matter what — NO. She would not think of it.

Fury and pain curdled through her. She pulled open a drawer and flicked a switch. The wall to the right flipped around to show a plain bookcase. It had taken her a week to remake that wall and craft the room behind it, but it had been helped her frame of mind more than anything else.

A knock at the door cut through her thoughts. She shut the drawer, locked it, and walked over to open it.

Mako stood on the other side in his detective uniform. She stepped aside and gestured to the sofa. He walked in stiffly and stood at the desk instead. “Is this room secure?” He gestured to the door and walls.

Frowning, Asami shut the door and locked it. “Yes.”

Mako sighed and leaned against the desk. “Okay then. Two things. First one, we have a vigilante who so far is evading all arrests. Seems to be cleaning up the triads. Terra Triad has almost been wiped out and a good portion of Triple Threats also. They’ve been literally hung up by their feet from posts.” He pulled out a packet of drawings. “Asami, you’ve got technical expertise I don’t. We keep seeing those marks along the walls of buildings near the incidents. They seem to go all the way to the roof.”

She took the drawings and looked over each. It detailed a wall - sometimes brick, sometimes fresco, and a few metal tiled ones - and all had the same puncture marks. “Climbing gear.” She handed it back to him.

“Yes, but what gear can puncture metal?” Mako looked at her with that expression he’d often used when her and Korra had done something he considered ridiculous.

Asami crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Mako, why are you here. It’s not because of that stupid drawing. You know the answer to that question.”

He folded the drawing and tucked it back into his pocket. “All right. I’ll get to the point. Where were you last night, Asami?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I asked, where were you last night?” Mako’s voice held a hard edge. “No one saw you on Air Temple Island nor at the mansion. I know because I checked.”

Fury built up in Asami. “Are you stalking me now?” She stepped closer and drew up to her full height, which was close to his own height. “Monitoring my movements for what reason, Mako? Explain.”

“Every time the Blue Spirit appears, you are absent from the Island and the mansion. No one knows where you are.” Mako looked her in the eye, but his expression was one of concern, even with the harder edge to his voice. “It’s been this way for months. No one can reach you. You barely talk to us. And now the Blue Spirit is sweeping through town at night and taking out triads right and left. I’m not stupid, Asami. But I can’t keep covering for you. Beifong knows something is up. The detective on the case is picking up more clues. They are closing in, and I can’t and won’t be there to stop them, okay? So you got to end this now.”

Asami stared at him, stunned. Mako had put his career on the line for this? The fury had risen to the point that she had to grip her arms across her chest tighter to stop herself from doing something very stupid. “Are you out of your mind? Why do you think I’m the Blue Spirit?”

“Here is someone with no bending taking out triads with moves similar to yours, with high-tech gear no one on the force has ever seen, and stringing them up by their toes.” Mako pulled out a bag and held it up. It was the red-blue pin. "I remember what you and Korra joked about. You’d tie them up by their toes and she’d punch. And this pin? Both your colors."

The anger turned her ice cold. Before she was conscious of it, she slid forward and flipped him. He hit the ground hard. The bag flew out of his hands. When he tried to stand, she slammed him down and twisted his arm behind his back.

“Asami…” Mako groaned. “Let up. I’m not your enemy!”

Asami pressed him harder into the ground. “Do. Not. Say. Her. Name. Around. Me.”

“All right! I won’t! Spirits, Asami!”

She released him and backed up. The red haze of anger abated, and she knew she ought to feel something, but all she felt was emptiness. She'd given Korra everything. Only to lose it all.

She watched as he stood and massaged his shoulder.

He sighed and sat down in the chair with a wince. “Look, you’re one of my best friends, and I’m worried, okay? I didn’t come here to arrest or accuse you, but to warn you that you can’t keep going down this path.” He rubbed his shoulder again.

“Whatever path you think I’m on is not your business, Mako.” Asami’s voice was flat.

“Please, will you go talk with Jinora or Pema or anyone?” Exhaustion and worry marked his face. “Remember after the world war? Isolating yourself then didn’t help. Doing it now is killing you.”

Asami turned to face the windows that overlooked the vine-ridden downtown. The designs she’d carefully crafted now filled the skyline, the city remade in her vision. “I’m already dead, Mako. There’s no one left to help.” She waved her hand at the city. “This is all I have left.”

Mako shook his head. “It may feel that way, but your heart is still beating, Asami. And you aren’t alone in this. There’s a lot of people who care-”

She gave a harsh laugh. “Right. People who care. Care is an illusion. Love isn’t real. The only thing people care about is themselves.”

“And you? Do you care only for yourself?” Mako challenged.

Asami shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what or who I care about. I’m just a tool. That’s all I ever was. A tool used by the taskforce and Team Avatar. A tool used by the spirits. A tool used by…” she trailed off, unable to even say her name. “Now a tool for the city. My needs? Wants? Hopes? Doesn’t matter. It never did.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Oh?” Asami glared at him. “What evidence do you have to disprove it?”

“Talk to Jinora.”

That name stung. Asami turned away and faced the window again. “I can’t do that.”

Mako ran his hand through his hair. “Okay, Asami, this is getting ridiculous. I come in here to warn you, so you don’t end up in prison like your father, okay? And for that, you literally attack me because I said a name. So I try to put that aside, and all you do is rebuff everything I say. Now you’re telling me you won’t even see Jinora? She sees you as her big sister. She calls you family. Don’t you care about that? About her?”

Asami couldn't reply.

Mako stood. “Talk to her.”

Asami pressed her hand against her forehead. “I can't."

"Talk to her," Mako repeated, his voice harsher.

"The Asami she knew is gone, Mako," Asami's shoulders slumped and she leaned her forehead against the window. The cold seared into her skin. "What's left would only hurt Jinora. I can't do that to her."

“Don't you see?” Mako’s voice softened. "You're hurting her by not talking. She loves you, Asami. We all do. Don't push us away."

His words reminded her of a moment on the airship during the Air Bender search. The memory of Korra and her on the top deck with Naga, when Korra had turned to her and grabbed Asami's hands. She swung them back and forth. "Don't be silly, Asami. I love you. We all do. And you show us all the time."

For a brief moment, a spark almost lit in her heart, but then it faded into the emptiness that engulfed her every waking moment.

"Stay away from me, Asami!"

Each night, she took care of this city. Each day she rebuilt it. She was nothing but a tool of the city. A tool of the spirits, of the Avatar.

Except, no matter how hard she worked, she could never escape the memories.

Korra's warm arms around her.

Her kisses down Asami's chest.

Her grin as she spun Mako in the air with Air Bending.

Her laughter as the two of them rode Naga down the valley.

Korra's gentle but strong hands against her skin.

Pain rippled through her, and she blinked away the urge to cry.

Her life was leached of all color. Yet here was Mako, trying to inject color in a heart that had turned to stone. She slumped into her office chair. “Mako, why are you doing this?”

“Because I care.” He leaned forward in his chair, his arms on his knees. “All of us do.”

Asami snorted. “Right. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have your heart wrenched out of your chest, stabbed, and shredded into nothing?”

For a long moment, Mako just looked at her. He sighed. “No, not really. Asami, you know as well as I do she wasn’t in her right state of mind.”

“I offered to go with her, Mako. To honor the promise we made at the end of the war. To stick together no matter what. I was willing to relocate and do everything I could to support her, to help her heal, just like she’d helped me.” Asami looked out the window, but she saw only that room at Air Temple Island. The pain of that moment, and the way her heart died that day. “And for that, I endured yelling, lies, shattered promises, and running away in the dead of night without telling me she was going. She was the one to demand the promise, and she’s the one that shattered it. So don’t you dare speak about her as if you understand anything.”

She briefly closed her eyes at the memory of Korra's fury. "I don't want you anymore! Just stay away."

Asami clenched her hands into fists. Her anger had bled into a wellspring of despair. “I will honor the promise I made to Pema, Korra, Bo, and Jinora. I’ll keep on existing. Because I honor my promises unlike others.”

She thought she’d belonged. She thought she had a family again.

But the Red Lotus had destroyed that, and Korra had shredded every last bit of what remained. Korra knew how to hurt her in a way that no one else could, and she’d lashed out in a fit of anger and said words that killed Asami’s heart.

Mako ran his hands over his face. “Does it help you to lash out at me?”

“I’m stating facts, Mako.” Asami gestured vaguely toward him. “You came here with some weird savior complex as if you know what is best. No. None of you do. I gave my heart and mind and spirit to Korra, and for that?” Asami closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. Korra’s words haunted her every day. Every second. They hovered over her like a dark cloud, and with each day of no word, no apology, no explanation, Asami’s heart withered.

“Asami, what did she say?”

“Don’t. Ever. Ask. Again.” Asami snapped her eyes open, her voice cold and fury rising yet again.

Mako stood and frowned. “I’m trying to help you. Holding that inside hurts you. Wasn’t that the lesson we all learned after the world war? To support one another?”

Asami shrugged. “Then consider me already dead. There’s nothing to help, Mako.”

“Right. That's bullshit, Asami.” Mako gestured to the office. “Your company is rebuilding the city. How is that not you? Those are your designs for the rebuilds. What about all those times you were there for my brother and me? For Jinora and her family? Even for she-who-will-not-be-named? It was you that taught us that we have worth and value. Even now with…” He sighed. “Whatever you’re doing at night, it’s targeting those that harm others. Justice. How is that not Asami-always-do-what’s-right-Sato?”

Damn the spirits. He was right. She leaned forward, her head bowed in defeat. “You’ve said your piece, Mako. Now please go.”

“Not until you promise me one thing,” Mako stood and walked to her desk.

She refused to look at him but instead focused her gaze on the fake bookcase. “And what is that?”

“That you’ll talk to Jinora.”

“And if I refuse to promise?”

“Then I’m bringing her here.” Mako moved to stand in her line of vision. “And I will make sure you talk to her.”

“I have security, Mako. What makes you think the two of you would find me before I know of your presence?” Her tone was quiet and flat, devoid of emotion.

“You leave this office at times, Asami. I will track you down. Now, either make the promise, or I’m doing this the hard way.” He stepped toward her, his expression fierce. “Don’t do to her what you did to my brother. Talk. To. Her.”

“If I promise, will you leave me the spirits alone?” Asami snapped. She didn’t want to think about Bolin, or his attempts to talk to her, and how he too eventually left.

“Yes.” Mako met her gaze, his mouth in a grim line.

“Fine. I promise I’ll talk to Jinora. Happy now?”

“No, but it’s a start.” Mako pushed away from the desk. “And Asami? Please, for Jinora’s sake, don’t go out tonight. You can’t fulfill your promise from prison.” Turning, he unlocked the office door and left.

Asami slumped in her chair and pressed a hand against her temple. To not go out tonight? That wasn’t a promise she could keep. But she accepted the warning for what it was. She’d simply change her plans and targets.

<<.....>>

Hours later, Asami locked the door to her office. It was late, nearing six in the evening.

After Mako’s visit, she’d gone immediately to the construction sites for a quick tour, then the factories, then back for meetings. Keeping busy to avoid thought and feeling, and now back at her office, the promise suffocated.

“Ms. Sato?” Kyung’s voice came from her right. The designer was still here?

Frowning, Asami turned to her. The other designers hired for her department had long left, most of their supplies in bins near the back of the room. A half constructed model for a new type of aircraft lay in the middle of the room, the tables having been pushed aside. This was more Asami’s project, though she’d allowed the designers to assist.

“What is it?”

Kyung looked her over with concern. The same way for months now. “Test flights with the prototype will be in three days. Are you certain you wish to be the pilot?”

“Yes.” Asami had designed this new aircraft. She had no intention of letting anyone take from her the chance to fly it for the first time. “My decision is final.”

“I understand.” Kyung sighed. “The concern is for your life.”

“That concern is unwarranted. The test flight will go as planned. I will be fine. Is that all?” Asami was irritated. She did not want to deal with this nor with the memories Kyung’s presence brought her. It reminded her too much of Korra.

“You’ve been… not yourself of late. Are you okay?”

“I am fine.” Asami gestured to the model and her office. “Projects proceeding well. There’s nothing for you to be concerned about, Kyung. I have this all under control.”

The woman sighed. “I don’t doubt that. I worry because you’ve cut yourself off from those that care about you. All you do is work.”

Asami narrowed her eyes. “At the moment, work takes priority. Good night, Kyung.”

Turning, she left the room before she lost her temper entirely. The past several months she’d worked long hours, some weeks a total of one hundred hours in the office, construction sites, and factories. The company was at its best its ever been due to her hard work. Business boomed, their sales were at a new record, and all employees had a living wage and benefits to keep them happy.

If she didn’t work, if she didn’t go out at night, she’d be dead, far more than dead inside. Work was all she had left.

<<...........>>

The ride to Air Temple Island was quiet. Asami took her personal motorboat but kept the radio off. She circled the island once before finally deciding to just get it over with and dock. While she tied the boat to the pier, she heard a voice call her name.

“Asami!” Turning, she looked up the hill at Jinora. It had been months since she'd seen her, and her hair had started to grow back. “You’re here!”

“Yes.” Asami said, flatly. “I’m honoring a promise.”

Did this count as talking to Jinora? Could she now leave? To Asami’s growing dismay, Jinora walked down the path toward her.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come. Mako seemed to think he could convince you. But you’ve been…” Jinora voice calm broke, and she stopped a few meters away. Tears dripped down her cheeks. “Please, will… you eat dinner with us?”

Jinora tears stung. Asami recalled how badly she’d rejected Bolin’s attempts at friendship and support. How’d she’d held him at arm’s length until he left. How his last letter had been a plea for her to please respond.

“We’ve missed you. This is your home too.” Jinora wiped her eyes and took a few hesitant steps toward her.

“I’m not the person you knew, Jinora,” Asami said, quietly. “That person died when Korra left.”

She looked down at her feet. She felt rooted to the pier’s wood. This had been a mistake. She shouldn’t have come, and yet she couldn’t get her pesky legs to listen and step back into the motorboat.

“No. You’re lost in the fog, that’s all.” Jinora took a few more steps and held out her hand. “Please, will you let us part it for you?”

Asami looked at her outstretched hand. Those words brought back the memory of when Korra and Jinora taught her how to navigate the divider maze. Korra had looked like she danced to a song only she could hear as she navigated the spinning dividers. Jinora had said those same words to her that day.

Her entire body began to tremble. No, she couldn't face those memories. Not here. Not like this.

“Jinora, you have to let me go, please. All of you.” She took a step backward. “There’s no one to find.”

Jinora shook her head. “We won’t. We can’t. We love you, Asami. You’re part of our family.” She took another cautious step closer and again held out her hand. “I know you’re hurting."

Asami shrunk away from her hand. Yelling she could have handled. Obstinate assholery like Mako did was doable.

But this kindness?

No. Asami eyed her boat, desperate to be anywhere but here.

"I never told anyone, but I heard what Korra did to you, Asami.” Jinora kept her hand extended. "She was running from herself not you. She still loves you."

“You can’t know that.” Asami shook her head.

Jinora put a hand on her hip. “I have a lot of spirit friends, Asami. They overheard and told me. I tried to talk her out of it. I begged her to just talk to you. But you’re both stubborn.”

Asami shook her head again. “No. She doesn’t love me. She never did.”

Jinora stepped in front of Asami and frowned. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

“I gave her everything I had.” Asami snapped. “But I was just a tool for Team Avatar, for the spirits, for the war, for the city. That's all I'll ever be.”

“And that’s not true either. You’re not a tool.” Jinora’s eyes shone with tears again, and the calmness in her voice threatened to unravel Asami.

So she clung to anger. “Show me the proof then. Because I have mountains of proof that say the opposite of your claim.”

Jinora reached into her pocket and held up a letter. “This is my proof. We’ve been trying to get it to you for weeks now, Asami.”

She took a step backward. That was Korra’s handwriting on the front of the envelope, the stamp the mark of the Southern Water Tribe. Her name was printed clearly on the envelope. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“No.” Jinora held out the letter. “Will you read it?”

“I will not.” Bitterness filtered through her voice. “So that’s all this was. A ploy to lure me here for that.”

Jinora shook her head. “I missed you.”

Asami gave a harsh laugh. “Right. And yet here you are proving my point. Convincing Mako to force a promise out of me just to lure me here so you can give me poison?”

Jinora frowned deeper. She slid her finger along the top of the letter and ripped it open. “It’s not poison.” She tipped the letter to one side and out rolled a ring carved with the symbol that had been etched on the handle of Asami's boomerang. A single piece of paper fluttered atop it.

“Don’t.” Asami wanted to back away, but if she did, she’d fall into the water. And maybe she should.

Maybe she should dive into the bay and swim away. Escape this.

“I’m going to read it.” Jinora unfolded the letter. “’Dear Asami, I know nothing I say can fix what I did and said. It haunts me every day…’”

“Stop…” Asami’s voice was weak. Her entire resolve began to crack.

Jinora stubbornly continued to read. “’I couldn’t stop myself. I was in a red haze of pain, of anger, of hatred toward Zaheer, and it came out in poison at you. Master Katara told me I can’t move forward with my healing until I mend this. But I don’t know how. I can’t ever forget the look of betrayal, the pain on your face. You deserve better than me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I can’t expect forgiveness. I don’t know if I deserve it. I don’t even know if you’re still out there. I’m afraid to write anyone else for fear they’ll tell me you’re gone. I love you. I always will. Korra.’”

The fury and icy resolve that had kept her going this past year, that had pushed her to put her life at risk each night for the thrill of feeling anything at all — it all fled and overwhelming grief hit her like a tidal wave.

Asami fell to her knees. She wrapped her arms around herself, closed her eyes, and drowned in the grief. “I miss her,” she whispered. “I miss her so much.”

“I know.” Jinora dropped to her knees next to her. “I do too. It’s okay to feel that way, okay?”

Asami shook her head. “I- it’s too much, it hurts.” She could feel the scream building in her — the intense pain, grief, but far more than anything else, that glimmer of the fire she’d once felt for Korra.

“You don’t have to feel it alone,” Jinora said, softly. “Please, will you let us part the fog for you?”

She held out her hand again. This time Asami gingerly reached out and grasped it.

<<............................>>

Two weeks later

The test flight went perfectly, so when Asami announced that she planned to push the plane to its limits, her board was at first agreeable. Until she said her destination was the Southern Water Tribe.

Despite their protests that she should aim for something not as far, Asami systematically shut them all down with reasoned arguments.

Besides, nothing they said would stop her.

The letter and Jinora's words had haunted her and shaken her core.

She had to go south to either fix her and Korra or finally end it for good.

She’d told no one of her plan, though she felt pretty certain Jinora guessed it. The girl was far too intuitive for her own good. It didn’t help that Sani, Jinora’s spirit friend who’d taken a liking to Asami, had started to show up again.

Letting people in after nearly a year hurt.

That first evening after Jinora's talk, Asami had collapsed on the sofa in their den. Pema gently tucked a blanket around her.

"You know, we kept your room for you, in case you need it again."

The gentleness had shattered Asami all over again. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I -- I couldn't. Korra broke me."

Pema's fingers carded through Asami's hair. "We know."

"Do you?" Asami closed her eyes and burrowed deeper into the cushions. "I've been doing dangerous things in order to feel anything for months now. I'm don't know how to let go."

Pema’s words had given her the idea and solidified the plan: “Asami, what’s stopping you from seeing her?”

That evening, Asami had no answer.

But during the test flight, she realized it was the fear that those harsh words were true and her relationship with Korra a lie.

The letter and ring rested in Asami’s pocket. She could not ever wear the ring, not until she either fixed this or gave it back as a signal this… whatever it was… was over.

Two weeks of planning. Two weeks of agony. Two weeks of Jinora and the other air benders incessantly checking on her. She ate only because of them.

Today, she settled into the seat of her experimental aircraft. She adjusted the headset and the air mask over her mouth. Kyung and Hue stood on either wing, the long tapered wings that had been painted red and black. Unlike the biplanes, this beast ran on more efficient fuels and engine with larger tanks. She would only need one refueling far to the south, by Zaofu.

Opal had arranged that for her.

Kyung’s expression of concern that had marked her face for most of the past year was strangely not present. “The radio should keep you in contact for majority of the trip.”

“Surprised you’re not talking me out of this,” Asami said. “You were really concerned about my life during the test flight.”

“You proved me wrong.” Kyung gave her a small smile. “And… I think this is maybe your smartest plan yet.”

Asami raised her eyebrows. Smartest? No, this was probably her stupidest plan, but she wasn’t in the mood for an argument. She did a second check of the dashboard, its switches and buttons, the altimeter and other gauges, and the steering column itself.

“This will get you there just fine.” Hue patted the fuselage. “Looked it over myself this morning.”

“Thanks Hue and Kyung.”

“And Asami,” Hue leaned against the edge of the cockpit. “I gotta say, you’re looking better. Been worried a bit.”

Asami couldn’t look either of them in the face. “I - I was in a very dark place. I’m fixing that now.”

“Good. Just get back in one piece, you hear?” He pushed off and grabbed the dome of the cockpit. “Ready then?”

Kyung grabbed the other side. That was one of the parts of the plane that Asami still needed to work on the kinks. How to close the protective dome while inside the cockpit.

“Safe flying,” Kyung said with a wave.

“Ready.” Asami gave them both a thumbs up.

The dome slid forward and clicked into place. Both hopped off and backed off to a safe distance.

Asami went through her preflight check a third time, then flicked several switches. The engines came to life, the propeller in front whirled, and the plane rumbled with energy. She’d carefully calculated the trajectory, and she’d have just enough fuel to make it to Wolf’s Cove as long as everything in Zaofu happened as Opal promised.

She pushed forward on the throttle with her foot, and the aircraft pushed forward on the pavement. It increased in speed, and she pulled the steering column forward.

The moment the plane left the pavement, Asami felt a wave of excitement. The power in the plane far exceeded any biplane, and knowing she flew the only one of its kind in the entire world gave her a sense of smugness.

She adjusted several settings on the controls until she reached cruising height, far above even that of an airship. Flipping on the radio, she confirmed her ascent and trajectory, then settled in for a several hour long flight.

<<..............................................>>

Asami flicked on the radio to contact Wolf’s Cove. She adjusted the frequency to the Southern Division of Future Industries. “Asami Sato of the Satobird calling Southern Division of Future Industries. Please come in.” She didn’t really expect a reply right away. This was very much an unscheduled and sudden appearance, and she hadn’t had time to contact the division to warn them. Once she’d made her decision, she’d implemented the plan before she could lose her nerve.

Part of her wondered why she was torturing herself like this. Yet, she’d started the journey, promised Jinora she’d try, so she had to follow through.

Unlike some people. Asami Sato honored her promises.

“Asami?” Kanna’s voice came on the radio. “Kanna of Southern Division receives you loud and clear. Where are you? How did you fly so quickly south?”

She sounded very confused, likely because she’d radioed in to the board meeting that morning when Asami had still been in Republic City.

“I’m currently flying toward Wolf’s Cove at an altitude of thirteen thousand meters. Estimated arrival in…” Asami glanced at her map she’d taped next to the controls. From this height, she’d had a pretty good view of the Southern Ocean, and she’d passed the Southern Air temple a few minutes ago. “Twenty minutes.”

“Thirteen thousand meters?” Kanna sounded incredulous. “Whatever you’re flying, I intend to inspect after your arrival.”

Asami had forgotten to alert Kanna to the prototype or even share the designs. Not even the board had seen schematics.

“What’s the length of the runway you need?”

“Several hundred meters give or take.” Asami gave a higher estimate considering the speed at which she flew. For the long trip, the plane had handled it reasonably well. Her fuel was running low though even with the stop in Zaofu. “I’ll need fuel upon landing.”

“All right. I’m going to have to contact the authorities here. We’ve got nothing that length unless you use the tundra. Do I have your authorization?”

Asami sighed. There was no avoiding it then. “It would be best to notify Chief Tonraq directly and ask for his… discretion. We’re keeping this prototype under wraps for the time being.”

“Are you sure?” Kanna had kept in contact with her regarding the rebuilding efforts, and she’d somehow worked out the rift between her and Korra. Typical. She’d been an aunt to Asami growing up. “Your approach vector will need to come from the north east to avoid being sighted by the city.”

“Yes. I will adjust my vector then. Kanna…” Asami took a deep breath. “I recognize the situation. I came to fix what was broken if such a thing is possible. If not, I will need to leave quickly. Fuel needs to be at the landing site in case of such a possibility.” She had no intention of staying if she had to break off things with Korra for good.

“Understood. We’ll be ready. I’ll report in with landing coordinates in ten minutes.” Kanna’s connection fizzled and static returned to the cockpit.

Ten minutes. Asami could get through ten minutes. She gritted her teeth and focused only on flying. No other thoughts. No reviewing memories. No thinking of the damn letter in her pocket.

Exactly ten minutes later the radio flickered to life. “Kanna of Southern Division calling Asami Sato of Satobird.”

“Asami reads you loud and clear, Kanna.” She was rapidly approaching the city, so she had turned her plane in an arc to circle it as she lowered her altitude slowly. “A bit ahead of schedule.”

“I have Chief Tonraq wishing for a direct line. Authorization to share?” A hint of concern marked Kanna’s voice.

Of course. She had shown up out of the blue. “Authorization granted.”

“All right. Safe landing. Transferring you over to Chief Tonraq.” Kanna’s voice fizzled out again.

Static, and then Tonraq’s voice boomed into her headset. “Asami? Are you actually circling the city right now?” There was a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

“Yes, sir. Currently at…” she tapped her altitude gauge. She’d have to fix the issue with ice crystals that kept forming at the 13,000 meter height. “Twelve thousand meters. Do I have permission to land? Need about 900 meters or so.”

“I have a location in mind. Asami, I have to ask. Are you here because of Korra’s letter?”

Of course he’d get right to the point. Asami sighed. “Sir, I don’t feel comfortable discussing over radio. May this wait until I’ve landed safely? I’m low on fuel.”

“I understand. I ask to verify who is allowed to meet you. I will be there, but will you allow… others?”

“I ask for your discretion. Only immediate family and Kanna’s crew. No one outside of a small few know of this prototype…” Which wasn’t entirely true. Korra knew. She’d seen the drawings before… Zaheer.

“Understood. Here are the coordinates and radio frequency. Time of arrival?” He’d lapsed into his chief voice instead of concerned father. He rattled off a set of coordinates and numbers, and Asami marked it on her map with the pen she’d taped next to the map. Not too far from the palace, near the mountains. Interesting.

“Circling the outer perimeters of city currently. Five minutes?” Asami really didn’t want to push her luck with her low fuel much more than that.

“We’ll be there.” Tonraq’s connection ended in static.

So that was that.

Asami took a deep breath and flicked several switches to prepare for landing. She thought she’d be feeling something at this point, now that she was minutes away from meeting Korra’s parents again. But instead, she felt only numb.

It took only a few minutes to line up her approach vector with the coordinates. She’d dropped her altitude considerably and throttled down her speed.

“Don’t crash it,” Asami muttered, frustrated. She’d rather not continue her tradition of crashing flying machines for Korra’s family, especially considering the expense and time she’d put into this prototype.

She throttled down further and angled for the strip of tundra. It looked quite a bit longer than what she’d asked for, and considering the situation, that was probably best.

The engine sputtered as the fuel gauge dropped still lower. Flicking a switch, she dropped the landing gear.

Still coming in faster than she liked. Not at all how she’d planned her arrival. She flicked on the radio for the frequency Tonraq given her. “Asami Sato of the Satobird. I’m coming in hot. Very low on fuel.”

“We see you.” Tonraq’s voice thankfully. “Be safe. Would like you in one piece.”

“Don’t plan on making this part of our tradition,” Asami retorted. Anxiety threaded through her, the first emotion she’d felt since starting this ridiculous flight. “I’d like to keep this gal in one piece.”

She took the risk, and pulled the throttle back to a bare minimum. She was nearing the coordinates, and despite her worries at overshooting, her trajectory would put her landing about middway, which might not be long enough runaway for this speed.

Oh well.

Asami angled down further and braced herself. The landing wheels hit the tundra and the plane bounced up only to settle into a skid. She held onto the steering column and realized she failed to account for how slippery this damn place was. Ice and snow shot up around her, blinding her entirely, which was highly irritating. Several bumps shook the plane, until the entire plane skidded to a stop into a mound of snow, which promptly fell across her dome.

She leaned back relieved. Not quite a crash, but still the worst landing she’d ever had. “Asami calling Tonraq,” she said, resigned. “I require assistance with the cockpit dome. Looks like I’m buried.”

“We’re on our way. Hold tight.”

Asami unbuckled herself and ran through the post-flight procedures. The engine sputtered silent, and her fuel was pretty much gone. Good thing she landed when she did. Falling out of the sky would have been quite embarrassing.

But then embarrassment would at least be a feeling other than… numbness. Now that she’d landed, her anxiety had faded back to that. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

The snow melted off the dome relatively quickly thanks to Tonraq’s water bending. He appeared on one of the wings with Kanna on the other.

Asami tapped the side of the dome and gestured for them to pull it back. She’d already undid the locks from the cockpit side. Both pulled it along its track, and cold whipped into the cockpit.

Oh. Right. It was freezing. Asami’s padded pilot coat did nothing against that wind. She shivered and pushed out of her seat.

Tonraq grasped her arm and nearly lifted her entirely out of the cockpit. Wind blew snow over the plane, and Asami gestured to the dome once her feet were stable on the wing. Less snow inside the cockpit, the better. Tonraq nodded and pushed it shut with Kanna’s help.

“Let’s get you to some warmth.” Chief Tonraq looked at her, and concern filtered into his expression.

Asami unclipped the strap on her helmet. “Understood.” She nodded at Kanna. “She’s all yours, Kanna. Take good care of her.”

“Right.” Kanna’s expression also held one of concern. “I’ll get her fueled up and prepped just in case.” A brief moment of hesitation then she added, “Let me know how it goes.”

“Sure.” Asami shrugged. “Thanks for the help.” She considered hopping down, but the wing was already slippery from the snow and ice. She frowned and looked down at the ground a meter and a half from where she stood.

He seemed to understand her reluctance to talk, so he slid down and positioned himself to catch her. Fine. If he insisted. She slid down the wing, and he easily caught her. Once her feet touched the ground, she stepped away from him and dusted herself off futilely.

So. She’d made it.

Again she ought to feel something. But that numbness hadn’t left. She felt as cold inside as the freezing wind outside.

“Follow me.” Tonraq led her around the plane through through the snowdrift to a…

...tent?

Why was there a tent here?

It looked like it had been hastily put up, the edges weighed down by rocks, which from the shape of them looked like they’d been earthbended. Maybe she was thinking too much into the large stones.

Still she hesitated at the edge of the tent. Tonraq had pulled back the leather and warmth did indeed radiate from its interior. “Not much, but we weren’t sure if you were willing to head into the city.”

Asami nodded. Still her feet refused to cooperate. “Who… all … is here?” The words came out funny to her. Like she spoke underwater.

“Only immediate family as promised.” Tonraq dropped the leather and stepped in front of Asami. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

Asami flinched. She’d not been touched by anyone until Jinora and Pema had broken through to her and even then, she’d barely tolerated their hugs. It had been too painful. Tonraq didn’t move his hand though, despite the raise of his eyebrows.

“Asami,” he said, quietly. “I understand this is hard for you. I’m sure all of us would understand if you can’t go through with this and need to leave.”

That would defeat the entire purpose of this flight. Asami straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye, her mouth in a slight grimace. “No. I will follow through on my promise.”

Tonraq studied her a long moment, then gave her a nod and released her shoulder. He pulled aside the leather and held it open for her.

Asami steeled herself and stepped inside. A dim light from a lantern hung from the bone frame, and the tent itself was fairly large. Most of it had been hidden under the snow drifts.

Two other people were in the tent. Senna and someone heavily bundled in a blue parka, who sat on the far end of the tent against a cot and a set of crutches.

“Asami.” Senna said, warmly. She stepped forward and grasped Asami’s hands. It took every ounce of willpower to not jerk her hands away at the touch. It helped that she still wore her gloves and pilot gear. “It is so good to see you.”

“Yes.” Asami didn’t know what else to say. Behind her, Tonraq stepped inside and secured the flap. Warmth suffused the tent from a set of coals in the center of the tent. The smoke from them curled upward through the small opening at the peak.

“You’re probably hungry?” Senna released her hands thankfully. “I’m told you flew direct from Republic City?”

Asami nodded. “Started late morning. Brief stop for fuel in Zaofu.”

“That fast?” Tonraq walked to the coal pit and laid a wire frame over it. He settled a water filled pot over it and stoked the coals to get the fire glowing brighter. It flickered across the tent.

“Yes. Flew at height of thirteen thousand meters. Cuts time down considerably.” Which was only partly true, the other part was the upgrades she’d given to the engine to increase its speed.

The person in the corner still hadn’t moved or turned her way. Asami felt certain she knew who it was, but she refused to look to verify.

“Please sit and warm yourself.” Senna gestured to the pillows she’d laid by the coal fire. “We’ll make you tea. Jasmine black still your favorite?”

“Yes, thank you.” Asami had kept her tone neutral as possible. Best to just get to the point. She took a deep breath and forged forward. “I received the letter two weeks ago. I apologize for lack of reply. I…” she clenched her fists tightly at her side, still unwilling to sit down and relax. “I was unavailable for several months.”

“Unavailable?” Tonraq looked at her, the concern in his expression deepening. “It sounds like more than that.”

Asami looked away. The numbness that had permeated her had started to melt. “I was caught up with work. I did not realize I had mail until…” Spirits, she was going to cry, wasn’t she? She sat down hard on the pillow and drew her legs up against her chest. “I’m sorry. This -- this is very hard.” She shuddered violently. “I’m here because I made a promise…”

Senna smiled kindly at her. “Take your time, Asami. We’ll be here.”

“I would not have gotten the letter if not for Jinora,” Asami admitted, quietly, “and Mako. He was quite adamant I talk to Jinora. I — I had shut everyone out for a long time. She read it to me out loud.”

Asami stared at the coals. Clearing her throat, she tried to explain further. “I understand that…” she still couldn’t bring herself to say Korra’s name. That hurt too much. “… a specific person needed my response for her to continue her healing.”

“’Sami…” Korra whispered her nickname in anguish.

Don’t look at her, Asami told herself desperately. She might break if she did. She held her legs tighter and pressed her face against her knees. “I’m sorry for the suddenness of this visit. I did it before I lost my nerve. I should have warned you of my plan.”

“Asami,” Senna said gently. Her hand lightly touched Asami’s arm. “The important thing is that you are here. You are welcome here. That hasn’t changed.”

“Considering all you’ve done?” Tonraq smiled at her. “You’ll always be welcome. Our home is your home.”

Asami looked at him and Senna incredulously. “I’m not sure that’s wise. I’m no longer the person you knew.”

Senna smiled gently. “If it helps you to think that. Perhaps you are too harsh on yourself? As soon as you knew and were able, you came.”

Her words sliced through her just like Jinora's had. “Right.” Her tone turned bitter. “You sound like Jinora and Mako. All of you are mistaken.”

“Then why come?” Korra blurted.

Asami closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I made a promise, and I honor my promise unlike some people.” The bitterness threatened to send her into a fit of anger. Korra’s parents didn’t deserve this. She took another deep breath and opened her eyes to meet Senna and Tonraq's gaze. “I’m sorry for my rudeness. Both of you are being kind. I appreciate your hospitality.”

“It’s okay. You’re under great stress.” Senna finished preparing the tea. She offered the cup to Asami. Reluctantly, Asami grasped it, its warm sinking through her gloves. Steam rose and warmed her cold cheeks.

She took a sip to try to gather her thoughts. “What do you all want from this?” Maybe establishing expectations could help.

Tonraq sighed. “We only wish to see you both healing from this.”

“Will it help if Tonraq and I give you a moment alone?” She nodded toward Korra.

Being alone with Korra? Asami froze, her eyes widened, and for a moment, all she could hear was the anger and the painful words Korra had hurled at her.

She hadn’t realized she’d started to violently tremble until tea splashed onto her glove. Heat seared into her hand. She put down the cup and tore off her glove, her skin reddened from the hot water.

How was she supposed to do this?

“I’m trying to honor…” her voice broke and the tears threatened. Grief and pain roared through her, and those damn words echoed through her mind. “I can’t stop thinking of it… of what…. I can’t get it out of my mind.” The bitterness had changed to raw pain.

“I’m sorry,” Korra said, a stricken look on her face. “I’m so sorry.”

Both of Korra’s parents looked at each other. “We’ll let you two talk.” Tonraq stood and led Senna out of the tent.

No! Asami looked after them, suddenly terrified.

She wanted to jump to her feet and sprint out of the tent. To run until she couldn’t, until she collapsed. Then she could let the snow cover her, to let the numbness take her again. Anything was better than this pain. She pressed her palms against her eyes.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll talk to you.” She rubbed away the threat of tears and glared at Korra. “I got your damn letter. Read in detail to me. I don’t want to be here. But I made a promise, and I do want you to heal. To move forward. If that means, I have to come here and talk, then fine. I’m here. So what do you want?”

Korra looked at her, pain and grief lined her face. “’Sami, I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. And instead of working with you through it, I ran away. I thought your life would be better without me ruining it. I’m too broken and too volatile right now.”

“Volatile?” Asami gave a harsh laugh. “No. You’re not volatile. Nor broken. You were poisoned. And you need to heal.” Korra looked at her, her brow wrinkled. “No, the only one broken here is me.” Her bitterness had threaded into her voice.

“’Sami. I — please, what can I do to make this right?” Korra’s tone held desperation. “I still lo-”

Asami cut her off before those words could drift between them. “This past year I spent up to one hundred hours working each week.” She took a steadying breath. “The Blue Spirit roams Republic City now. Taking down triads and any potential Red Lotus insurgents. Very thorough work. Enough to piss off the Chief of Police.” This was a safer topic as long as she did not look at Korra. “Not even benders escape the Blue Spirit. All hung up by their feet with a note as a gift to the police. Only four targets were killed in subsequent fights with the Blue Spirit. Mostly out of self-defense.”

“Blue spirit?” Korra repeated, confused. “I don’t understand…”

“It’s me, all right?” Asami moved into a lotus position and looked at Korra. “I’m the Blue Spirit. And I thought I did a damn good job of hiding that.” She clenched her fists. “It was the only way to survive.” She slammed her fist against her leg. “I tried to exorcise you from me. Cut off all contact with anyone and any place that reminded me of you. Worked myself to exhaustion every night.”

Korra looked at her, her shoulders drooped, and she looked worried, sad, and pained.

“Mako forced me to see Jinora. And she wouldn’t let me leave the island until she read your letter. So here I am. You got what you wanted!” Asami threw her hands in the air. “So go, move forward now.”

“But what about you?” Korra asked, softly. “What about your healing?”

“Why do you care?” Asami snapped. “I’m just a tool. A tool for Team Avatar, for the spirits, for the city, for you.”

“That’s not true!” Korra pulled herself up onto her knees and crawled closer to the coal fire. “You’re not a tool! Dammit, Asami, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I hurt you! I had no right to take out my anger and hatred toward Zaheer on you."

"Oh, so now you'll admit it was wrong." Asami crossed her arms over her chest. "How do I know this isn't some ploy?"

"They’ve haunted me too, okay?” Tears shone in her eyes. “And I didn’t write the letter to force you to do anything! I did it because I miss you.”

“Then why tell me Master Katara believed your healing can’t continue unless you deal with— with this?” Asami gestured to the air between them. “That sounds a lot like a demand to me.”

“It wasn’t! But she’s right. Neither of us can heal until we deal with this. I know I broke your trust. I know, okay? But I want to heal that. Please, will you give me another chance?” Korra crawled closer. One of her legs still limp, but the other moved.

Asami stared at Korra’s leg. “You— you can move it…”

“Sort of.” Korra’s arms trembled as she struggled to hold herself up, and her face creased in pain. “Might have needed the wheelchair… you made… thought I’d… could do this without…” Her breaths came fast as if winded.

A feeling she hadn’t felt in over a year threaded through her. “Korra…” She bit her lip. She’d remembered the anguish Korra had over the lack of feeling in her legs. How she struggled and how Asami had built a wheelchair specifically for her, complete with sled attachments for the South. Even the crutches that lay still in the corner was her design. “You kept it all…”

“Well yeah. Asami, I kept everything you made or sent. All those drawings and your letters? I have them all by my bed.”

“Drawings?” Asami stared at her. “Wait, argh. Kyung sent them?!” Asami put her face in her hands. “They weren’t meant to be sent. I had to get it out of my head somehow.” Her voice choked.

“I know. I’m sorry. I shattered your trust. And I know it’s not easy to give it.” Korra pulled one leg forward and moved the other on her own, but her arms trembled even more. “This is harder than I thought…” She grunted but then her arms gave out.

Asami didn’t think. She moved and caught Korra before she tumbled too close to the coal fire.

“Be careful.” Her voice shook.

No, she shouldn’t be holding Korra, that was dangerous for her heart, and yet she couldn’t let go.

To feel Korra in her arms again. To feel her warmth, to smell her earthy scent. It flooded her with emotions she thought had wilted away from the pain and hurt. She curled her arms tighter around Korra and pulled her upright, her back against Asami’s chest. “Please be careful.” She buried her face in Korra’s hair.

“Eh, I’m never careful,” Korra scoffed. “But I’ll try for you.” She patted Asami’s arm.

That pushed her over the edge. Asami began to cry, hard painful sobs, and Korra turned to wrap her arms around Asami in turn. To hold her tight and gently stroke her hair.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Asami whispered between sobs. “I would have gone with you. I would have followed you anywhere. I — I still would.” She breathed in Korra’s scent and wept even harder. The feelings she’d thought were dead, and yet here she was, still in love with Korra despite everything.

Gently, Korra brushed Asami’s hair from her face. “I missed you too. So much. Every second of the day I wished I'd said yes, wished I’d been brave enough to …” Her voice broke, and Korra wept. “I’m so, so sorry…”

Asami didn’t think. She leaned forward, held Korra’s face in her hands, and kissed her fiercely. To taste her again, to feel her tongue against Asami’s own, her whole body lit with a fire, a passion she’d thought she’d lost forever. It took all her willpower to not rip off their clothes and feel Korra in her and her in Korra.

Asami pulled back, breathless. “I want you so bad right now. I didn’t think. Thought I’d lost this.”

Korra gently kissed her, and Asami leaned into the kiss, desperate for the connection, for the taste of Korra. It felt like a dangerous drug, one that threatened to break Asami further.

“I want you too. But not the best spot. You’d be too cold. Don’t want you to freeze on me.” Korra pulled back with a shaky smile. “My bending’s still unstable. So healing would be hard.”

“Okay, okay.” Pain still riddled her voice. She felt so uncertain, scared to trust again. “I — I don’t know how to trust again, Korra. I don’t — but I just…” She buried her face in Korra’s shoulder.

Words weren’t coming to her. She felt so full of emotions, far too many emotions. She trembled violently at the intensity, after a year of numbness and hiding from the pain and grief, the sudden influx of emotions was like a tangible rainbow drowning her in color. She felt blinded and overwhelmed.

“It’s okay. We can take it in small steps, okay?” Korra stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “If you want to though…”

Spirits take her, she shouldn't agree.

And yet, this was Korra.

She kissed Korra with an entire year worth of yearning, of pain. The world bled away until it was only them, only Korra’s lips and tongue, only her warmth, her earthy smell. She’d been her anchor, her home, and Asami realized she wanted that back desperately.

Asami wasn’t ready to leave yet after all.

<<......................>>

She joined Korra’s family in the palace with her one bag of supplies. Senna had immediately invited her into the kitchen the moment they’d entered the palace.

At first, Asami had declined.

“Asami, did you eat during your flight?” Korra asked.

Asami winced and shook her head.

“Then you’re eating.” Korra spun in her wheelchair to face her. “No starving while you’re here.”

That got a faint smile from her.

After a quiet dinner, one where Asami only spoke one word answers, Tonraq and Korra led her to the room next to Korra’s.

She dropped her bag onto the bed, but stood there for a long moment, unable to think of what to do now.

A mixture of rage and grief bubbled deep within her. One that could lead her to do something very dangerous.

Inside that bag, she had her disguise. She could do it. She could don it, and the Blue Spirit would roam Korra’s home. But who were her targets? No, if she unleashed it here, she’d likely kill someone innocent.

But she needed to release this rage. She needed to get it out.

She stormed into the hallway, but then had no idea where to go. This entire place was a maze to her, and she didn’t want to be lost.

Korra’s door was open however. Without thinking it through, she pushed it open.

Korra stood using the crutches Asami had made ages ago, before all this pain.

Korra sat down, startled. “Asami?”

Asami felt the rage bubble through her belly, the intensity to the point where she wanted to rip herself to pieces. She kicked the door shut behind her, and marched over to Korra. She grabbed Korra’s shoulders, but her hands and arms trembled with the intensity of the energy that surged in her. She searched Korra’s face, unsure exactly what she searched for.

“Asami, what?”

Words. Asami couldn’t form words yet. She leaned forward and kissed Korra fiercely. Foolish, dangerous, but Korra was right here.

And kissing her back with a ferocity that nearly matched her own.

Asami pushed her down against the sheets. That rage, the pain, the desperate need to be touched howled through her sinews. She kissed Korra again, and her hand slid down Korra’s side.

Korra’s hands slid around her, pulling her close, as she kissed her back.

Too many clothes. Asami slid her hands under Korra’s nightshirt, and the touch against her bare skin was a jolt to Asami’s brain.

She pulled back, suddenly afraid of herself, and yet, she couldn't stop. “Please,” Asami whispered. She pushed Korra’s hand toward her groin, and Korra’s eyes widened.

Korra licked her lips. “Are — are you sure?”

Asami growled and threw off her pants and underwear in reply. “Fuck me.”

Korra narrowed her eyes, and with surprising force, pushed herself up enough to wiggle free of her own pants, except it was too slow for Asami. She tugged them off and threw it on the ground.

Straddling Korra, she kissed her hard, desperately. Korra kissed her back and tugged at her shirt and jacket, and Asami tore off the rest of her clothes.

Hands everywhere, lips tracing her body, her body scorching. Korra’s fingers brushed exactly where Asami needed. She pushed her hip toward Korra’s hand, and in response, Korra slid two fingers into Asami and began to slowly thrust, but that was too slow. “Harder.”

Korra adjusted her speed and strength, all the while kissing Asami. Each thrust, each kiss, all of it jolted into her, through her, and the rage and pain bloomed like a bubble about to burst. Her entire body moved with Korra’s thrusts. She hissed, “More, just more.”

With surprising force, Korra pushed her onto the bed fully, straddled Asami’s right leg, and did exactly as Asami asked.

Asami’s entire body shuddered. Sweat poured down her back, and she shut her eyes.

Asami’s body arced, her hips thrust upward. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest. The orgasm hit in a tidal wave.

It flashed through her limbs and body, and she shook and trembled in a soft cry, unable to control her body as the waves thrashed through every cell. The bubble burst, and the rage flooded everywhere else.

Shuddering, Asami went limp against the sheets, unable to hold onto Korra any further. Her entire body was on fire still.

Korra shook with a cry, only to collapse next to her, breathing heavily.

Asami laid there and struggled to catch her breath. That’s when she realized how cold the room was. She shivered violently, not from the aftershocks this time, but from the sudden cold against her sweat-soaked skin.

“Oh.” Korra rolled and tugged the blanket out from under her. “Here.” She pulled it over Asami. Her breaths had started to even out, and she bent toward the ground as if to pick up Asami’s clothes.

Except now that the rage was no longer festering, Asami didn’t want to be alone. She grabbed Korra’s arm. “Please,” she said again, and this time it wasn’t desire that undercut the word but sadness. “Stay?”

Korra looked at her. “You… sure?”

Tears blurred her vision. She tugged on Korra’s arm.

Again she tried to find words, but still none came. She couldn’t think of what to say. The intensity of their sex, the way it had burned all the rage out of Asami, but instead of warmth and love, it’d left her only with a deep sadness and loneliness.

Korra wrapped her arms tight around Asami and kissed her forehead. This was a terrible idea, Asami knew this, and yet, she was exhausted. She wrapped herself tighter around Korra, her face pressed into Korra’s shoulder.

Korra held onto her just as tight.

<<........>>

Asami woke with a start to the sensation of a body pressed up against her. She jerked upright, only to realize it was freezing, and still dark. Confusion mixed with fear pressed against her, until she felt the person shift next to her.

“Asami?” Korra’s sleepy voice cut through her bout of confusion and fear.

She looked over to see Korra blink at her and rub her eyes. They were both naked, and abruptly, the events of the prior day flashed through Asami’s mind.

Wow, she really hadn't given this any thought.

She’d been caught up in the intensity of her emotions, in a blind rage and need.

The memory of it exhausted her. Being here, in this room with Korra, was not wise, but the cold got to her. Reluctantly, she slid back under the covers. Korra radiated heat, and she pressed up against the warmth.

“I am here,” she whispered. “And so are you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we are?” Confusion colored Korra’s voice.

Asami sighed. Why were words so difficult?

“How are you feeling?” Korra asked after a very long silence.

“I don’t know.” Asami pressed her face into Korra’s shoulder. She felt embarrassed at how carnal her desire had been last night. “I— I guess I needed last night, but… trust is still broken.”

“Then I’ll do my best to earn it back.”

Asami lifted her head and frowned down at Korra. “That will be difficult, do you realize?” She tugged the blanket tighter around herself. “You broke the pact. Do you understand why it all was so hurtful?”

Korra looked at her with tears in her eyes. “I lashed out and used your trauma to attack you. I didn’t think, Asami. I was full of so much rage at the gentle care you gave. It kept making me feel things…” Korra sighed. “I know nothing I say or do can really repair that…”

“Oh stop it.” Asami huffed. She struggled for a long moment to organize her thoughts. “Korra, there are things you can do to repair it. But until you believe that, I can’t trust you fully. At least not in all layers.”

Now that she’d spoken, the words rushed out of her. “That doesn’t mean, I want you gone from my life. I never wanted that. But you running away? You stabbing me in the back like that? I thought you wanted me gone.”

She settled her head next to Korra’s and trailed her fingers over the Avatar’s biceps, which were much thinner than before Zaheer. That hurt to see. “I doubted everything we shared. Wondered if you’d been lying to me the whole time. Using me as a tool. It left me in a dark place. I don’t know how to rebuild, but I do want to.”

“Is that why you came?” Hope trickled through Korra’s voice.

“Yes? Isn’t that obvious?” Asami rolled her eyes.

Korra was silent for a long moment, her eyes focused on Asami, and her eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Do you want to come with me to Master Katara’s healing sessions?”

Asami rolled onto her back to consider the question. “That implies you want me to stay.”

“I do, but only if you want it too.”

“It is doable. I can work with Kanna on what my projects in Republic City need, though most of that doesn’t really need me. I believe I wrote you how bullheaded bureaucrats are and how much I hate talking with them?”

“You were pretty detailed, and honestly, they were kind of funny.”

“Funny?” Asami glanced at her, confused.

Korra rolled onto her side and reached for her end table. She struggled to balance herself, gave up in a huff, and instead pushed herself backward until her back was against the wall.

Asami made no move to help her. For one, she was far too cold to move out from under the blankets, and secondly, Korra hadn’t given her any indication she wanted help.

“Here.” Korra patted a carefully arranged stack of papers and envelopes. “Yours stays by my side so I can reread them.”

“What?” Asami stared at the very large pile. She had been rather verbose, mostly to get the thoughts out, though she couldn’t recall sending that many. “I didn’t send… oh. Dammit, Kyung.” Asami covered her head with the blanket. “She sent them for me!”

“Was that bad?”

“Some of it was! I vomited out my thoughts to you between meetings. Most weren’t meant to be sent.”

“Oh. Well, I got them. I liked reading them. It really helped me to know how you felt. It’s why I made progress actually.”

Asami slowly pulled the blanket down to look up at Korra. The fact Korra was still nude was highly distracting. “Wait, what? How did my nonsense help?”

Korra sifted through the pile and pulled out a letter, one that was heavily creased. “It gave me hope when I had none. A light in the dark. But your last one worried me.” She unfolded the paper and to Asami’s mortification read it out loud.

“Dear Korra,

Every day I enter this office. I look at the view of the vines. I think of our times exploring them, mapping them, and I think of how those maps are rebuilding the city. Building new infrastructure. New trains. New roads, new pedestrian walkways.

I think of how I’m my father’s daughter. The anger and rage that boils in me. The fact I came so, so close to zapping Zaheer’s head with my electroshock glove just to shut him up. It would have killed him, you know. The voltage I had set the glove for far exceeded safe levels, but with you taken, I was so angry. I wanted to rip apart every Red Lotus person I saw.

But I’m also my mother’s daughter. I rebuild. Repair. Fix.

Killing him wouldn't have fixed anything.

I don’t know how to fix my heart.

I fill it with work. With projects. With meetings. With irritating bureaucrats who don’t understand the meaning of silence — do they love their voices that much? Why must they spend every second of the meeting talking or pressuring me to talk? I want to string them up and have you punch them, but that is no longer an option.

I can’t seem to escape you. Every where I go, you saturate the space. We were inseparable, now half a planet rests between us. Between our hearts.

That future we had been building? It has fallen to ash. Burned and boiled by poisoning. So much poisoning.

Will you recognize me now? Will you still care for me? Even knowing what I’ve done to survive post-Zaheer?

There are things I did that I’m not proud of. People have died by my hands. I can claim I did it in self-defense, but truth was, the rage had boiled over and I struck too hard. The rage killed them.

I should have been faster. Should have rushed straight to you. If I had reached you in time, would it have made a difference? Or would I have gotten myself killed?

These thoughts haunt me. I feel I have failed you, and that is why you have discarded me like a useless tool.

And yet, I still love you. I can’t stop loving you. You’re my heart, and that is why I am a dark, black hole. I live and yet do not live. I want to be there with you, and yet I am here. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to keep going. The darkness is swallowing me up.”

Korra tapped the paper. “This one I shared with Katara. I needed someone to help me understand. Because it scared me.”

“That one was never meant to be sent,” Asami said, weakly. Hadn’t she thrown that away? She’d written it at the office, but she couldn’t remember what she’d done with it.

“Yeah, I did wonder about that.” Korra held up the letter, and sure enough, it was her handwriting. “You always sign it, and this one you didn’t.” She looked down at the letter and smoothed it in her fingers. “Katara said I was punishing myself. I had to choose to heal, so that you had that option too.”

Korra gently folded the letter and placed it back in the stack. “That letter is when I chose to heal. Not just for myself but for you. And I know it’s going to be hard. I know I will mess up, but I don’t ever want to run from you again. I want you to be with me.”

Asami thought through Korra’s speech. Somehow, despite the fact that letter never should have been sent, it had caused ripples of good. Her pain had healed something, and Asami didn’t know what to think of that.

“I guess you expect me to say ‘I choose to heal too,’ don’t you?” she said bitterly.

“I — I wasn’t really thinking about that?” Korra frowned. “I just wanted you to know why I wrote you. What led me to it.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Asami shivered and tugged the blankets tighter. “I will go with you then.”

Maybe in time she could promise more, but her heart was still too fragile for that.

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lilyharvord · 4 months

Note

Hi! Long time fan here. Since COVID era actually. 😅 I was looking back at your posts and I noticed that Project Nightshade was never published or snippeted.

I wondering if you’re going to publish it or if you’re willing to post what would have happened. No pressure, just wondering. Hope everything is going well. Also wondering how your novel went? Is it available to purchase?

Here's some snippets from Project Nightshade (: There not much but it's honest work. (:

The blood drained for Mare’s face, and for a moment, her legs almost gave out. If she was being called by Evangeline this early in the morning with a summons from the Premier, then it was serious. Serious enough that it could be Lakelands pushing the line like they feared they would do for the past week, or it could be Piedmont had decided they actually did want to question the State’s sovereignty and the States’ alliance with Montfort. Her heart pounded a little faster at the fact that this could be a military summons, and that was far more likely if she and Cal were both being summoned. She would take the Lakelands any day over Piedmont. With the slow teetering of their country into chaos thanks to Farley’s constant pressure with the Guard, they were running deep into their Treasury. They wouldn’t be able to afford a full scale assault like Piedmont that could drag on for another year or two, or three.

Mare shuddered at the thought. Deep in her mind’s eye, she saw her daughter’s face aging in those years. She could almost feel the sickening sink of her stomach that would cut through her when she returned from that fight and saw her daughter waiting for her patiently on the tarmac, those years haunting her eyes.

If it were that, Evangeline would have lead with it though. Forcing a blanket of calm so she didn’t scare Coriane, Mare pursed her lips at her own quick swing toward fear.

“Radis is on his way out the door. He is leaving office today, and Carmen is being sworn in this afternoon.” Mare grumbled, finally crouching down to help Coriane balance the glass while she drank. “He doesn’t give me orders anymore.” She strokes her daughters hair for extra measure, watching her throat bob as she drank deeply. It soothed any of few ruffled feathers she still had. She wasn’t going anywhere, Coriane was still young. She wasn’t missing her daughter’s life. It felt like a battle to admit that, almost a half lie.

You and I are good liars.

She shuddered at the memory of that voice. It had been a long time since Maven had whispered in her ear, but sometimes, she still heard him, felt his fingers brushing her hair off her cheek or clenching her fingers like she was a life line and could pull him back from the edge. It had been so long since she’d heard his voice though, so long since she had been stressed enough to let his ghost in through the gaps in her armor—

----------

“We are not alone anymore.” He finally said, and the council chamber exploded in surprised and confused murmurs. Mare leaned forward to glance at Evangeline at the tail of Radis words. Her words from earlier floated through the haze: it’s impossible for such a thing.

Julian stood, his skin pale as he flushed with either anger at being excluded from this development or some other emotion. “We have no evidence that there is anyone beyond our continent that survived the devastation. As far as we are concerned the sea swallowed whatever might be left.”

Radis dipped his head in understanding, his eyes flashing in the light as he replied. “We were wrong. A radio transmission was intercepted this morning proving everything we once knew false.”

In the resulting silence, Mare heard the faint rumble of far off thunder. A storm was about to hit Ascendant. She could feel the lightning taking shape in those clouds, felt the change in the air the same way she did when she climbed up Storm Peak for training. It was still miles away, but she clenched her hands into fists to avoid the sparks that wanted to take shape between her fingers. Cal’s hands tightened on her shoulders in response, and she knew the hairs on his arms were standing on end as she channeled that energy through her like a glorified lightning rod.

Radis turned and nodded to a young man no one had noticed lurking in the shadows of the doorway. All eyes turned to him, and he straightened to his full, dimunitive height before stepping forward with a box. A recording device, Mare realized, her lips drawing into a tight frown.

Holding it out to Radis, he dipped his head as the Premier pressed one thin, pale finger on the playback button. Static punched through the silence of the chamber, only to be followed by a faint buzzing and then a two tone beep.

Cal leaned forward to hear better and the wave of heat he released washed over Mare like a hot breeze, and stirred Coriane awake. She blinked open sleepy eyes, and glanced around in confusion at her surroundings as the recording played and changed everything.

----------

Her heart pounded in her ears but she forced her voice to remain even as she said, “And what does that mean for you?”

“The message asked for a Calore king. I’m not a king.” Cal shrugs, but his eyes were burning and Mare knew now what that meant.

“He wants you to go.”

“To keep things cordial.” The words were carefully chosen, and probably not what he actually wanted to say, or what Quinn had said. “He doesn’t want to piss off a country that we know nothing about by sending a delegate that they didn’t ask for.”

“That’s not right.” Mare insisted as she pulled away from his grip, her annoyance manifesting in the bulb above their heads whining. Cal didn’t even react to it, years with her teaching him the nuances of her ability now and that if she wanted to shatter the bulb, she would.

He sank back to sit on the cycle, his hands falling between his knees while he turned his attention to the rain outside. “What do you want me to do? Ignore a direct order?”

“Was it a direct order?” Mare grumbled as she craned her neck and tried to find Coriane. Her daughter had been strangely quiet for too long. She couldn’t see her, and that worried her until she saw a faint flash of amber eyes in the darkness. Expelling a sigh through her nose, Mare called to the shadows, “Don’t eavesdrop Coriane.”

Her daughter’s mass of curls proceeded her as she sheepishly poked her head out from behind the shelves. “Are you going to fight?”

“No love, we’re not.” Cal said with a faint smile as he held his hand out in a quiet invitation of her to stop lurking in the shadows. She scurried to him with a clean rag, and he took in gratefully before saying, “We were having a conversation.”

Coriane’s eyes sought Mare for confirmation, and she got it in the form of a terse nod. “We were talking. If mommy and daddy were fighting you would know.” She smiled faintly at the implication of her comment and crouched down to move Coriane’s wet hair out of her eyes. Cal’s hand found Mare’s shoulder and squeezed gently to get her attention.

She glanced up at him, and then followed his eyes to a figure that moved beyond the window. Mare yanked Coriane into her arms and stood so quickly, she staggered for a second. There was another door out of the garage, a failsafe Cal had built just in case. Neither of them liked to be in a place with only one entrance and exit anymore.

The door into the garage opened slowly though, and a young solider stepped through. His eyes found them in the corner and he clicked his heels together before saluting smartly. “General Calore, Captain Barrow.”

Cal rose slowly, wiping his hands with a frown while Mare set Coriane back on her feet. The girl clung to Mare’s leg in response and eyed the man warily like her parents. The soldiers nodded and moved aside as Radis stepped through the doorway, brushing water off his dark coat. He glanced around the space before raising a brow at the organized chaos on the shelves and the little table at the side.

“Apologizes, but I called ahead and no one answered.”

Mare’s lips drew into a deep frown. If he’d done that, it had been while he was probably sitting outside their house, because the phone had not rung that morning.

“What do you want Radis?” Cal’s voice was dangerous, a warning in and of itself as he edges around Mare and Coraine to set the rag down on the table. He slid something off the table then, and Mare realized belatedly that he had taken his bracelets off and left them there.

The older man smirked at the atmosphere in the room, comfortable even in the presence of two people who very easily could remove him if they felt threatened. Tilting his head to the side, he said, “Premier Radis, General. I hold the title for another hour.”

“That’s a second politically and you know it.” Mare replied coolly, setting a hand on Coriane’s head as she eyed the two soldiers standing outside the door with their rifles strapped across their shoulders and in their hands. They were the new models, the ones that Kilorn told her had a faster clip. As if we have any reason to make the bullets move out of that monstrosity faster, her friend had spit to remove the taste of those words before draining the last of his beer. She had agreed with him. “Did you need a small army to come talk to us?”

“That answer depends on how you react to what I propose.” Radis stepped into the space before glancing down at Coriane as if he just noticed her. She edged further behind Mare, and glanced up at her with a creased brow that Mare smoother out with her thumb gently.

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witchfall · 2 years

Text

i'm not passive but aggressive

[Fallen Hero series. Mid-Retribution, post Herald rooftop scene.]

[Chargestep implications; River Basri, Ricardo Ortega and Daniel Sullivan. 1450 words. Discussions of Heartbreak + death. (Kinda just dashed this one out in a flurry of inspo, apologies if it's not super clean!!)]

“Ortega…”

Daniel lingers in the doorway of Ricardo’s official office, looking for all the world like a wet puppy who just peed in the house.

Ricardo smiles. He’ll have to tell River that one later.

“What’s up?” he asks, because he’s not a complete asshole.

Daniel takes one step in. Starts hovering. Doesn’t stop hovering until he’s close to Ricardo’s desk, which prompts Ricardo to lean back in his chair until it creaks, because — what? Why is their heroic little flyboy looking at him like that? Like he’s about to break the worst news of his—

Yeah, get out of that thought spiral before it begins. Jesus.

“What is it, Herald?” he asks again, harder this time.

The use of his hero name gets the boy back on the floor, at least. “I just feel like you should hear about what happened from me…first…”

Nervousness and shame rolls off Daniel in waves so strong that Ricardo stands up. He’s not sure how to make that sudden motion casual, and any attempt to seem cool about it clearly fails by the way Herald takes an immediate step back. Ricardo puts his hands up.

“What?” he asks, hoping confusion is more clear than annoyance. “Did something happen during therapy?”

“Um, so, I talked to River.”

Ricardo feels gravity pull him hard into the floor. “Yes?

“And, I…I may have carried hertoarooftopwhereshefaintedandI’mreallysorryIdidn’teventhink—”

“Hey, woah, slow down.”

Daniel takes a breath. Eyes not meeting Ricardo’s. Face flushed red as a crack in the earth. “I’m sorry, I know I should have thought about it. I know—I mean it makes perfect sense that she has trauma around heights because of—”

Ricardo raises a hand. Keeps it flat. Get that tension out of your body before it starts tingling. Put the mask on. “Stop. Start over. What the hell are you going on about?”

Daniel grounds himself. Feet squared, like he’s ready to be hit. Ricardo resists the urge to click his tongue. Easy to knock over; stance not wide enough. “Well, I know how you are about…her.”

A weight, thunked right into the gut. That spit-up glop of words, coming together slowly. A rooftop where she fainted. A…

His heart twists, 180. Agony, right down to the gut.

“What did you do?” he manages to ask nicely.

Daniel’s gaze sharpens. Confidence coming back, slow and then all at once like sunrise. “At least give me a minute to explain myself before you punch me.”

Ricardo’s mouth twitches downward. He leans into his desk. Put the damn mask on. “Fine.”

He can almost see the heroic effort Daniel makes not to roll his eyes at Ricardo’s too-serious tone. “First of all, you're not her keeper. But I’m telling you now so everyone is on the same page and because I am sorry, okay?”

He moves on too fast for Ricardo to snap back. He doesn’t get to say that. He doesn’t know how fragile this situation is — but then, even Ricardo is still left wondering, most days. He must not be playing his cards close enough to the chest if Daniel notices his concern.

“I wanted to talk to her about some…things,” Daniel says. “So I found her on the road and she said she’d listen to me so I…picked her up…and flew off…”

The earlier glob of words suddenly becomes clear as day and just as fucking scorching. Ricardo’s fists clench. “Good god. Are you shitting me?”

“I know.”

Hands. Clenching. Reach, reach, reach. No. Stop. “No you fucking don’t, kid—”

"Don't start with that," he snaps. "This is the problem, okay?”

"Come off it—"

"No, I mean the ‘no one telling me anything’ crap! I had no idea she would react that way—”

He can hear River’s voice in his head. Do you have a brain? “Because, for damn starters, you aren’t supposed to pick up civilians off the street!”

Daniel has the good sense to pause, at least. He sighs, frustrated, and holds his fingers to his temples. “I…know.”

It takes some of the wind out of Ricardo’s sails, but not enough. “You know how most people died during Heartbreak, don’t you? You at least knew that? Did you know she threw herself out a fourth-story window?”

Daniel’s gaze turns the poisonous kind of blue and he bites his lip but he stays quiet.

“This is what happens when you don’t fucking think, Daniel.”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

No. No. Let it go. Let the static in your veins just…go…

“Is she okay?” Ricardo grinds out.

Daniel nods a bit too fast, but his frown sticks like gum. “She, um, recovered fast. But I…kind of wanted to ask you about that.”

“Really.” He needs to call her, he needs to fix this right now, right now before she—

His glare turns ice cold. “Newsflash, Ortega, you don’t get to own all the rights to giving a shit about her.”

“She’s not Sidestep anymore,” he says. “Why do you care?”

Daniel steps back a half-step, eyes wide with shock. “Jesus. I forget how much of a fucking asshole you are, sometimes.”

Got the kid to cuss. There’s that at least. Still. You’re not a young roaring lion anymore, act like it. He puts his hands up. Truce. “Sorry.” The words feel hollow but he’s fucking trying. “You’re right. That was out of line.”

Some tension drains from Daniel’s shoulders and settles right on Ortega’s instead.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get punched,” Ortega can’t help but slip in.

“Something’s missing inside her. I don’t know. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Don’t,” he snaps, because it’s cold. It’s cold and it hurts like a bitch, hearing someone else say it. Hearing someone else see the ice behind her silver eyes. The sludge of terror and hate that prompts her whole body to freeze up moments before she screams in fury. Does she hate him? She would have the right. He wonders, every day.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Daniel asks, voice low. “She thought you sent me after her. Maybe you should think about that.”

In answer, Ricardo slowly sits back down in his chair.

Sometimes Daniel is like the worst of Wei and himself rolled into one — smarter than you’d give him credit for, tactical about it, and absolutely unwilling to quit once he’s got the scent.

“So she told you about Heartbreak,” Ricardo manages.

Daniel looks toward the window, squinting into the sun. “Yeah. Not a lot, but…enough.” He turns back. His voice quiets. “Have…do you…”

“What.”

“Do you think about…why they keep so much of it classified? From us?”

Ricardo leans back. “What did she say?”

“Just…” Daniel’s fingers fidget together. His eyes glance around the room. Too many ears. Hmm. “Well, to think about who knows what. And why that matters.”

Yeah. That does sound like River. Make the map, connect the dots, pick the decisive action. Even at her lowest. Of course that’s what she’d say.

“We can talk about that later,” he says, gesturing broadly — vaguely to the cameras. He hopes Daniel is smart enough to pick up on that. “Just…don’t pull shit like that again, okay? Better yet…maybe don’t speak to her unless she talks to you first.”

“Well. About that.”

Ricardo tilts his head, jaw clenching. Don’t think about her falling limp in the sky. Don’t. Just don’t touch it.

“She agreed to, um. Help me train?”

He’s…not sure what to do with the weird pit that opens up in his gut. Is it jealousy? No, you’re too old for that. Anger? Worry? Confusion? Why is she training Daniel? Isn’t she retired? What does she get out of that? Does she want back in the fold, just not sure how to go about it because of her…family situation? That would sound like her; she hated even the smell of imposition.

He files it all down into a smirk. Confidence. You’re fine with this. You are. “Good luck with that. Maybe she’ll teach you how to use that big brain of yours.”

Daniel glares at him, though the heat isn’t so stifling. “Maybe you should ask for lessons, too.”

“Good one.”

“Whatever.” A beat. The boy is still a professional to the core. “If you need something, you know where to find me.”

Herald leaves.

Ortega turns to his phone. The big brick.

He wants to resist the impulse. She was just here.

But he can’t. He’s weak as shit. He knows this. He’s a fool. He’ll call himself however many names he needs to in order to get over it and pick up the phone — because keeping her here, safe, protected, is more important than anything else.

He’s not going to fail again because of some dumb kid.

#fhr #chargestep #fhr herald #ricardo ortega #river basri #otp: evencharge #kathryn writes #i was very inspired by some good writers in the fandom!!!#many have done this before me and better than me

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idabbleincrazy · 1 year

Text

You're Welcome ~ A Missing Scenes Fic

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: E

Pairing: Spangel, mentions of Cangel & Spuffy

Characters: Spike, Angel, Cordelia

Word Count: 7107

Warnings: Missing scene fic 5x12, angst, minor fluff, grief, emotional hurt/comfort, canon character death, blood drinking, Sire/Childe dynamics, smut, oral, intimate sex, anal fingering, anal, coming untouched, coming on command, solace

Summary: Spike helps Angel through his grief. Angel gives them a kind of comfort they both have needed for a long time.

A/N: I actually started this fic over two years ago, about the same time I'd started Destiny, and I am soo sorry it's taken so long to get this one finished! I may have lost the thread somewhere along the line, but I think it still works. Also, think of this as my 'except that one...' fic, as to me, Spike referring to him and Angel being intimate would be more than just regular sex, and specifically post-soul.

*Edit: forgot to mention a huge thanx to @leatafandom for giving major parts of this a beta read!

Squares Filled: "Could you stay a bit longer?" for @fandombingo , Leap of Faith for @anyfandomfluffbingo

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“You guys go on ahead to the bar, I’ll wait for Captain Forehead and the Cheerleader and we’ll catch up.”

Spike headed back through the parking garage and made his way upstairs to fetch the pair of stragglers. Angel was still staring at the spot where Cordelia had been standing before the phone rang when Spike walked through the office doors.

“Angel, Cord, are you two comin’ or-”

Spike stilled when he saw Angel standing in the middle of the otherwise empty room, looking around for Cordelia.

“Girlie off takin’ a powder? Angel?” Spike finally noticed the pained look on Angel’s and the tears in his eyes. He took a breath and the taste of grief hit him like a punch to the gut. “Angel, what...what happened? Where’s Cordelia?”

“She’s dead, Spike.” Angel’s voice was a faint whisper and Spike dashed forward quickly over to him as his legs buckled. Spike caught him around the middle just before his knees hit the carpet, shouldering his way under Angel’s arm and leading him over to the couch by the window. “She never even actually woke up, not really. She told me it was her gift from the Powers, to have one last day with us, to set us, set me, back on track. She’s gone, Will.”

“Cor, we’ve got to stop fallin’ for breakable little humans. No good ever comes of it, does it?” Spike kept his hold on Angel and Angel let his head fall to his shoulder, slumping against him with a sound somewhere between a huff of amused agreement and a sob. With the lack of space between them, Spike could smell her scent clinging to him, trailing from his breath. It smelt of love, of longing and peace. They’d kissed, and she’d poured every bit of herself into it, let it wrap around Angel like a veil. Spike couldn’t help but envy her for that. Being able to give herself to his Sire like that, in a way he knew Angel would never accept from him. He shook it off, knowing precisely the acute type of pain he was feeling. “I’m sorry, luv. She was a special bird, that one. Even before the Powers set their sights on ‘er. Brave as they come, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah. And so strong. God, the things she lived through, and she never gave up. Just always kept fighting, no matter what the Powers put her through. She deserved more than just twenty-three years in this world...”

Spike could smell the renewed tang of tears as Angel spoke and he couldn’t help but to reach a hand around to card his fingers through strands of gel-stiffened hair. It’s what he did, wasn’t it? What he was. Cold comfort to soften the pain. Always that. Dru, Dawn, the Scoobies, Buffy, Anya...always turned to him when the loss was at its freshest. Needed the cold of his arms, his lips, his body, to chase away the white-hot flare of grief. Only to leave him there, chilled beyond the bone, once the tears dried. Except Dawn, of course. The Li’l Bit, at least, had seen him as more than just a shoulder to soak up all that salt. Had come to him as a friend, to hang out and watch whatever was on T.V., or just talk about the goings-on of the day. Before the reason for the soul, anyway. After, Buffy had come close to it, he was no longer her pillow to scream all her rage into then, had even held him back that last night, the closest they had come to being equal. More than he had ever dared to ask for, to even hope of receiving from her.

His thoughts ran their course as he listened to the soft sobs of his Grandsire, felt the wet of his tears spread through the fabric of his shirt, and just held him. He could tell the worst of it was being held back, the demon warring with the soul for its weakness at such emotion. Knew how Angelus was in there, rattling the bars and spitting venom. Had spat venom at himself for crying that night and so many nights after, all one hundred and forty-seven of them. Couldn’t stand to see Angel struggle against the pain like this.

“‘S alright, Liam. It’s alright to grieve for her, Sire, no matter that the demon says otherwise. It’s not weak to cry for the loss of love.” Spike held him closer, his own eyes stinging in sympathy for Angel’s pain. He felt a hand clutching at the fabric of his shirt, and his dead heart clenched in sorrow. “Shh, Angel, it’s okay. Just let it out.”

And he did, then. A wail of misery, the likes of which Spike hadn’t heard since a similar sound had been torn from his own throat nearly three years ago. High-pitched and keening, like an injured animal, the pained sound filled the air, bounced off the walls of the office and back to them. Spike clenched his eyes shut at the sheer rage he felt lying beneath the layers of it, and clutched Angel even closer, one hand rubbing slowly along his arm as his Grandsire howled out his despair into the hollow of his throat.

How long they stayed like this, Angel’s face buried in his shirt, tears soaking into the thin cotton, Spike couldn’t say. He felt tears roll down his own cheeks as the minutes ticked by, the evidence of Angel’s pain tearing at his heart in a way he hadn't realized he was still capable of feeling for the elder vampire after what they’d gone through the past few months.

Eventually, Angel’s sobs died away, but the brunette made no move to pull away. Instead, he merely turned his head slightly, so that his nose brushed along the curve of Spike's throat. Spike stiffened as Angel nuzzled into his neck. Great, here he was again, an empty vessel for the ones he loved to pour their pain and grief into, needed only for the night and then shunned and shoved away in the morning; Drusilla had needed him at night but wailed for Angelus throughout the day, Buffy had taken him into her body in the dark shadows of Sunnydale but cried out for Angel when morning came, and now the one he could never be, the one he’d had to pretend he didn’t need just as much as they did, was holding onto him like a lifeline, needing him to save him from drowning. If only Spike could believe he wouldn’t cast him back out into the churning waters when the storm had settled.

Frost had once written, 'home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in', so if that were true, shouldn't the reverse also be expected? How could you turn away your home, your true home, the one place, where, wrapped up in its solid comfort, you always felt safe? Angel was his home, his foundation, no matter how much he wished otherwise, and he couldn't find it in him to leave his Sire adrift like this.

As Spike felt tear-wet lips press against his skin, he let himself give into the innate desire that would always be the reaction to the touch of the elder vampire, turning his head to briefly capture Angel's mouth in a fleeting, gentle, kiss. Breaking away before Angel could deepen it, he stood up, pulling the brunette with him.

“C’mon, pet, let’s get you upstairs, yeah?”

Angel allowed himself to be trundled into the elevator, burying his face into Spike’s shoulder as the car rose up to the penthouse, fingers grasping tight at his shirt, Spike’s arms around him the only thing keeping him from collapsing into a nearly-catatonic heap on the floor. When the doors opened, Spike began maneuvering the bulky vampire towards the master bedroom, only for Angel to stop him and tug him down the hall towards the guest room. The room he knew would no longer smell like them, but her. With a sigh, he allowed himself to be led into the bedroom, unsurprised when the brunette let out a fresh sob in the doorway at the scent of the seer.

Spike held his breath, unwilling, just yet, to inhale the flowery, sweet scent that would have taken the place of the smell of the blood and cum that had previously been spilled here. The too-recent memory of him writhing in Angel’s lap as they brought themselves to completion flashed through his mind, and he shook his head ruefully. And here they were again. About to go through with another bad idea. He knew what Angel would want of him, in his grief, and he didn’t have the willpower to deny him. Christ, he was beginning to feel like a fucking ping-pong ball.

He helped Angel over to the bed and turned back towards the door, Angel's voice a desperate whisper behind him.

"Don't, please."

"Just gettin' you a whiskey, pet, tha's all."

Spike walked back through the apartment, so very tempted to flee. He’d be well within his right, after all. Last time, Angel had denied him his presence when he’d all but begged him to stay a little longer. But he just couldn’t, for whatever reason. He couldn’t walk away from his Grandsire and leave him alone with his misery, not if there was a way he could help to alleviate it. Shrugging away any thoughts of running, he poured a couple large glasses of whiskey and headed back to Angel.

“We…we need to call the others, let them know.” As Angel spoke, his hands were shaky as he searched his pockets for his phone. Spike crossed over to him, taking the cell from him and replacing it with one of the glasses of amber liquid.

“Let ‘em have their victory for a few hours, yeah? There’ll be time enough for tellin’ tomorrow.”

Angel nodded silently in agreement as Spike set the phone on the nightstand. Gulping down his whiskey in two swallows, he watched as Angel sipped slowly at his own. Once Angel’s glass was empty, he took it from him and placed them both on the table beside the cellphone.

“‘S the weekend, can have a proper Irish wake for your bird tomorrow, if you want.”

“Yeah…that would be nice.” Spike winced at the flatness of Angel’s voice.

Angel stared down at his feet, his shoulders slumped against the weight of his anguish. Spike was surprised he hadn’t yet tried to restart what they’d put on pause downstairs. Maybe he’d figured wrong.

“You sleepin’ here tonight, then, pet, or you wanna head to your room?”

Angel didn’t answer, just turned his head to look at Spike, the pain he felt etched across his face.

“Here, then, I reckon.” Spike answered for him, slipping from the bed to kneel on the carpet. He took Angel’s shoes off and set them aside. Straightening up, he pulled Angel to standing, leaving him there to sway unsteadily as he pulled down the covers. Turning back to the larger vampire, he quickly unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his arms. His eyes lingered over the reddened flesh that was still healing from where the slimy little fake had pierced his heart, and he felt a rush of relief that the imp had not been fighting his Sire with stakes in hand. He unbuckled and removed his belt, but made no move to undo his slacks, stepping back to give Angel room. “C’mon, Peaches, into bed with ya.”

Angel came to himself enough to crawl under the sheets and grabbed Spike's wrist as he made to pull the covers up around him.

"Could you stay a bit longer? Please. I know I have no right to ask you, after…last time. I just don't - I don't want to be alone."

Spike looked down at Angel's pleading face and simply nodded. Kicking off his boots, and pulling off his duster, he turned off the lamp and climbed into the bed in the space Angel created for him. Immediately, Angel pulled himself against Spike, his arm wrapping around the slim waist and clutching him close. He let the brunette bury his face in his shoulder as the salt-tang of tears hit his nose, his hands soothing through his hair and over his back as Angel cried out the fresh wave of grief.

“‘S okay, luv, let it out. ‘M here, Angel, I'm right here. "

This new bout of tears was quieter and shorter than the first, petering out to small sniffles after just a minute or so.

"I'm sorry."

“Sorry for what? Soakin’ my shirt? Don’t be, mate, trust me, I blubbered worse over Buffy. Sure you did, too.”

Angel sniffed again and lifted his head from Spike’s shoulder, looking at him in the dim light emanating from the hallway.

“No. I’m sorry for not staying last time, when you asked me to. And for all the other shit I’ve put you through since you got your body back.” Angel sat up on his knees, wiping a hand across his tearstained face, and Spike scooted back to sit up against the headboard, eyebrows scrunched in confusion at the unexpected turn in Angel’s thoughts. “I’ve been an ass, I know, fuck, I’ve practically been acting like Angelus with you…on his better days, anyways. Pushing you away, only to turn around and pull you right back. Hell, I practically handed you over to Lindsey on a silver platter, made it so easy for him to get to you. I just wanted to keep you safe from the Senior Partners, make them think I really hated you, so they’d leave you alone. I never would have thought Lindsey would be dumb enough to come back here and try some dipshit stunt like this.”

Spike stared at Angel, his eyes wide at the sudden confession. This was certainly the last thing he had expected from the brunette, at least without an extremely loud argument and not a small amount of pain to instigate it. He hadn’t thought Angel would have admitted to his recent behavior all on his own, and now that it was all laid out like this, after having the big lunk crying his eyes out on his shoulder, it just didn’t matter. It wasn’t something he wanted to deal with, at least not right now. Besides, Angel's yo-yo treatment of him was far from the top of his list of worries…more pressing was the matter of whether his apartment was still just that, his apartment, now that Doyle - Lindsey - was gone. He didn't even know what name the lease was under. God, what a pathetic vampire he'd become, worrying about such human things as lease agreements. He was becoming…domesticated, and wasn't that a scary thought?

And anyway, just hearing Angel apologize seemed to go a long way to undoing some of the damage. The hurt was nothing new between them anyway. They’d only spent a couple lifetimes at it, after all. Blinking, he shook himself out of his scattered, bouncing thoughts, reached up, and wound his hand around Angel’s neck and pulled him down into a soft kiss.

“Don’t think I’ve ever ‘eard you string together that many words ‘less you were yellin’ ‘em.” Spike’s voice was thick with unchecked emotion as he whispered against Angel’s lips. “Look, mate, I’ve plenty of yellin’ I wanna do, an’ probably more than a few punches to throw, but not tonight. Let it go, yeah? Least for now. What’s done is done. Your heart’s hurtin’ for Cordelia, my ego’s bruised thanks to that shrimpy git, we don’t need to deal with more than that tonight.”

Angel nodded his acceptance and agreement and recaptured Spike’s mouth, deepening the kiss, letting himself get lost in it as his tongue delved between parted lips. Spike slid back down on the bed, his head resting on the pillows as Angel explored his mouth, the gentleness of the kiss taking him by surprise. Last time, after the incident, their kisses had been feral, bloody and brutal as they let loose all the built up need that their fight had only served to bring to a head. This one, though, held none of that brutality, no snarls of hunger and dominance, no fangs piercing into soft flesh as they devoured each other. But, underneath the tenderness, Spike could sense Angel’s growing desperation as his tongue stroked inside his mouth; desperation and longing. His cock hardened unsurprisingly fast at the evidence of Angel’s yearning that belied the quiet softness of his kiss, his hips arching up to brush his denim-clad erection against the matching length tenting Angel’s slacks, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths at the contact.

Breaking the kiss with a low growl, Angel began mouthing a trail down Spike’s throat, hands tugging at the thin cotton of his shirt as he nuzzled into the dip of his collarbone.

“Off,” Angel growled as he pulled away, eyes dark as he stared down at the blonde.

Spike groaned at the husky order, quickly shedding his tee shirt and pulling Angel back down to his newly bared chest. Angel snuffled at the hollow of his throat, a quiet keen vibrating against Spike’s skin as Angel pushed his nose into his clavicle, as if trying to push through, bury himself there.

“I still smell her.”

Well, duh. Spike rolled his eyes and bit back the automatic, heartless response.

“Be hard not to, luv; she was laying here not that long ago.”

“No, not the sheets.” Angel nuzzled into him again, blunt teeth scraping over the skin of his throat as he whimpered. “Here. I can still smell her here. God.”

Understanding clicked in Spike’s muddled mind and he hesitated, unsure whether he wanted to shove the brunette away or hold him closer. Of course, it wasn’t about him. Always about the girl, only the names change.

Angel licked over Spike’s skin again, heedless of the blonde’s inner pouting. He knew he shouldn’t be practically pleading for Spike to allow him to bite, knew that drinking from him would only complicate things between them way beyond the tangled mess it already was. But, he just couldn’t help it. Cordelia’s scent lingered under the thin, pale skin, mingling with that of his Childe and calling to him more powerfully than either ever had separately.

“Please”, he asked in a rough whisper, hoping for concession, praying for denial.

Damned yo-yo string's gonna break one of these nights.

Spike closed his eyes in resignation, and nodded once, turning his head to the side to bare his throat to Angel’s access. And, if he was perfectly honest, he was quite surprised that Angel had actually asked, rather than just tearing into his flesh and taking what he wanted. Hell, the scent of the ex-cheerleader that lingered on the sheets mingling with that of both of their own hesitant arousals was making it hard for him to keep his own demon from snarling and snapping.

“Do it.”

He heard the crunch and shift of bone as Angel let the demon to the fore, and gasped softly at the needle-sting of fangs as they slid smoothly into his flesh. Surprise washed over him again at Angel’s unexpected care of the matter, how gently he bit into him. He let out a low groan at the slow pull of blood from his veins, only now realizing just how much he’d missed this, the feeling of blissful pleasure that came from family feeding from you. He’d seen that feeling etched on Angel’s face when he’d fed from him to speed his healing after the Dana incident, and he had to hand it to the brunette for holding back from returning the favor. Already he wanted nothing more than to twist Angel’s head to the side and complete the connection, tear into that thick neck and gulp down the rich blood that screamed of family, belonging.

As Angel slowly sipped at Spike’s blood, a low keen sounding at the back of his throat at the taste of Cordelia and Spike and Aurelius, family, belonging, he let his hand trail over the bare flesh of the slim body beneath him, stroking softly down his neck, over his chest, and down, further still, along the concave of his stomach, fingers stroking across the pale skin just at the edge of his jeans. He could taste Spike’s need threading through every mouthful, and his own arousal surged higher, his cock painfully hard against the zipper of his slacks.

This beautiful creature beneath him was offering him comfort, despite the pain he’d been causing them both over the past few months. Despite all the emotional whiplash, his boy was still here, providing him with a vessel to absorb his grief, allowing him to mourn in their way, the only one who would understand just what kind of solace was required.

Swallowing a final mouthful, he let out a groan of gratitude around the fangs embedded in the smooth, cool flesh. He retracted his fangs from Spike's throat, laving his tongue over the torn skin until it began to heal. Once the last trace of blood was licked away, Angel continued his interrupted path, trailing his mouth over the pale skin of the muscular chest beneath him. He felt Spike tense slightly as he flicked his tongue over a pink nipple, sensed the blonde's hesitancy at taking it further, and a jolt of realization struck him.

"You're not her, Spike. That's not what this is. The blood was, but not this. I thought it was, too, but it's not." Still nuzzling his face against Spike's torso, he slid his hand down to cup him through his jeans, squeezing the hard length just enough to drag a soft hiss of pleasure through gritted teeth. "This is about us, Will, we both need this."

Spike let out a groan of capitulation, his heart wanting to believe Angel's words. His head warred with him though, still unable to accept that Angel wasn't imagining soft warmth where he was only hard and cold. Her life under his hands instead of his dead flesh.

Angel knew Spike wasn't completely mollified by his words, despite the slackening of his previously tense state, knew his boy was still reluctant to take his words at face value. Yes, he was still acutely feeling the loss of Cordelia, but it hadn’t been grief that had driven him to try to initiate things down in his office. Well, not just grief. He was tired of keeping Spike at arms length, tired of the longing, the loneliness. Pushing him away hadn't kept him safe like he'd intended. Pushing him away had instead left him vulnerable to Lindsey's slick lies, ready to believe anyone who offered him a glimmer of hope that he belonged somewhere.

Guilt struck him as he realized Cordelia's death had merely given him the ready excuse to let himself give in to the always present need to lose himself in the blonde. The man in him would always love Cordy, would always regret the missed chances she represented, but both soul and demon had always yearned for the hard, cool body beneath him; it was the one thing they’d always agreed on.

Pushing Cordelia to the back of his mind, he focused on the half-naked blonde lying prone under him, determined to put proof to his words. Spike’s eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with undeniable desire despite the wariness that still showed through. Angel's hand still encircled his hard cock, and he watched the younger vampire as he stroked down the length of the shaft, his own cock twitching as Spike bit into his bottom lip to stifle a groan.

"Let me hear you, Spike, don't hold back. Wanna hear what I do to you, boy, all those sweet, filthy sounds you make."

Spike let out a soft moan as Angel nipped at the edges of his abdomen, giving into the delusion the brunette was presenting him with, letting himself believe the lie even though he knew he was setting himself up for fresh pain when it was over and Angel kicked him out again.

"That's it, my beautiful boy."

Angel swirled his tongue briefly into the dip of Spike's navel, his hand still working the denim-covered erection, and mouthed lower still. Twice they'd come together in the past few months, and both times he'd denied himself the full pleasure of this intoxicating creature. He knew it wasn't wise to give in this time, either, but couldn't find the strength to hold steadfast to the restraint he'd managed before. Couldn't resist the need to taste again what he'd never forgotten, to see desire and pleasure etched into the marble features that haunted so many of his dreams.

Letting himself enjoy this as much as he wanted Spike to, Angel teased his tongue along the expanse of skin just above his hips, licking at the cool flesh until a quiet plea was whimpered out through reluctant lips. The plea was louder the second time as he pulled away to undo the jeans that separated him from his goal.

Legs lifted without thought as hands tugged the fabric down and away, returning to that pale, sculpted flesh after soft woolen slacks landed atop the rough denim on the floor. Cursing the lack of moonlight in the windowless room, Angel made the most of vampire senses and two decades of memory as he gazed upon the naked figure sprawled beneath him. His eyes honed in on the one part he had avoided spending much focus on during their previous encounters, fresh arousal rushing through him as he took in the sight of the long cock that curved up toward a hard, flat (still too thin) stomach.

Leaning down, Angel did what he had barely restrained himself from doing that first night and flicked his tongue over the weeping head that poked out of the quickly retracting foreskin, eyes fluttering closed at the salty taste of Spike's pre-come, so similar to the blood he had drawn from the blonde, but distinctly singular in its flavor. There was no Cordelia Chase here, no Aurelius; the slightly musky, earthy tang on his tongue spoke solely of William, a flavor he had not forgotten in the century plus since he had last savored it.

Spike gasped aloud at the feel of Angel's tongue caressing over the tip of his aching cock, shocked by the act. As Angel groaned softly in response and closed his lips over his throbbing length, he felt the scale tipping closer towards the belief that this truly was about them, about their needs, and not about the grief of a dead cheerleader and love lost before it had the chance to blossom. Yo-yo thread fraying thinner, dangerously closer to snapping, and Spike's sanity with it.

Angel slid his lips down the shaft, taking the substantial length into his mouth until his nose brushed the wiry curls surrounding its base. Swallowing around the girth, and relishing the moan he drew forth, he inhaled the uniquely masculine scent of the blonde's sex, memories flitting through his mind of times when that scent would fill their rooms for days, lingering in his nostrils even as they'd reluctantly separated from each other long enough to slake another kind of hunger.

"Oh, God, Angel…" Spike couldn't stop himself from thrusting up into his mouth, it had been so long since he'd experienced its talent, and even back then, it had happened so far and few between, given only when Angelus had felt generous enough or when William had managed to make him particularly proud. "Too good, pet, gonna make me come too soon."

Angel groaned, aroused further by the realization he could still bring Spike to the brink so quickly. Not wanting things to be over with too early himself, he reluctantly released Spike's cock and climbed off the bed.

"Angel?"

"Gotta find something…the only thing to use in here is her lotion…I-I can't…it's too-"

"I understand."

As Angel went off to find a suitable lubricant, Spike let out a soft sigh of relief, touched by the lengths Angel was going to to keep him and Cordelia separate in this. It gave him a smidgen of hope; not as much as doing this in the master bed might have, but some. And that would have to be enough for now. Even if, in the back of his mind, he knew that sooner rather than later, Angel would go back to his initial stance of keeping at a distance in the foolish hopes of shielding him from the Senior Partners radar; his Grandsire was a slow learner, after all.

Angel returned in short order, naked now, bottle of lube in hand. He hurried back onto the bed, stopping Spike when he made to turn over. If he was going to give in, then he was going to do this the way he had wanted to in the first place.

"Don't. I want to see you this time."

Spike laid back down and Angel settled back between his legs, guilt renewed by the vulnerable look on his face. At least he wouldn't have to worry about finding perfect happiness, there was too much despair clouding the moment. Slicking his fingers, Angel began preparing Spike with more care than he had the last time, not wanting pain, at least, physical pain, to be a part of their coupling tonight.

As he felt Spike relax beneath his ministrations, he eased a second finger in beside the first, scissoring them slowly until his Childe moaned in need, trying to buck down on the slippery digits.

"Please, Sire. Harder."

Angel groaned at the wanton, husky plea, thrusting his fingers into the loosening passage at a slightly faster pace, but still maintaining the force behind them, unwilling to let the blonde escape the nature of this moment behind a wall of pain.

"That's not what you need, little one. And it's not what I want."

Spike groaned, turning his face away from Angel's intense gaze, reluctantly giving himself over to his Grandsire's determination to convince him this was different. He felt the thread draw taut, snapping under the tension, leaving him falling from an impossible height with no way of knowing if Angel would be there to catch him, or if he would end up splattered across the pavement like a bug on a windshield. He had hoped for at least a modicum of rough treatment to keep his mind focused, a sting of pain to ground him and keep him fettered to his belief that Angel was treating this the way he had the last time. Without that distraction, with Angel being so gentle, so like the good times they'd had before everything went wrong, he couldn't deny his heart, no matter what doubtful thoughts nagged at the back of his mind. He could only let himself dive headlong into what was being offered, and hope it wouldn't leave him devastated.

Angel wanted Spike to look at him, wanted him to stop hiding away, but knew he couldn't press the issue, not when he'd caused the doubts in the first place. Instead, he let his actions say what he never could, his fingers stretching Spike open little by little, a third digit slipping in only when there was more than enough give. Ignoring his own cock's throbbing need to sink into the willing body beneath him, he sought out Spike's prostate, working the nub teasingly until the younger vampire wrenched his head back towards him, a cry of pleasure falling from his lips as their eyes finally met in the near dark.

"Please, Angel...need you now."

Angel nodded and eased his fingers out, deftly slicking up his aching erection before shuffling forward, notching the head of his cock at the rim of Spike's clenching hole. As he pressed slowly into him, he grabbed Spike's hands in his, raising them to lay entwined on either side of his head. He stretched himself out to hover over the blonde as he bottomed out, his head dipping down to smother Spike's broken moan with a deep kiss.

Spike's eyes rolled back at the feel of the slick slide of Angel's cock as it filled him, his grip on the brunette's hands tightening as he felt himself stretch to accommodate the steely girth. Giving up on holding back, he threw himself into the kiss that fell upon his lips, his legs lifting to wrap around Angel's waist as their tongues grazed across each other's, his heels digging into the older vampire's taut backside, urging him deeper, pulling their bodies closer together.

Angel felt the moment his doubtful Childe stopped resisting what he was trying to show him, and he couldn't hold back the groan of relief. Releasing one of Spike's hands, he cupped the side of his face, continuing the passionate kiss as he started thrusting slowly within him.

Spike soon began squirming under Angel's teasing pace, his free hand sliding under Angel's arm to clutch at his back, nails digging into the shoulder blade where he knew the tattoo rested. He wanted to break the kiss, turn his head away again; not to hide again, but to offer his throat to Angel once more, and to free his mouth to voice his keens of desire to the silence of the room, but Angel was keeping him nearly immobilized in his all encompassing embrace, swallowing down the sounds of need and returning them like an echo.

He could feel the tip of Angel's cock brushing against his prostate on every instroke, his own aching length trapped and leaking between them, and he felt his orgasm drawing inexorably closer. Finally, Angel released his mouth, the brunette's lips trailing along his jaw as he fought to catch a breath he didn't need.

"Angel, fuck, please…" Angel's teeth grazed over his throat where he had previously bitten, and his words caught in his throat, his cock pulsing out a steady stream of pre-come to pool in the hollow of his heaving abdomen. "Bloody hell! Bite me, luv, please; bite me or fuck me harder, something…I'm so close, jus' let me come!"

"Not stopping you, William, just feel it, and let go." Angel nuzzled into the curve of Spike's neck and raised his head, staring down at the blonde. "Look at me, little one, wanna see you."

Angel kept his pace steady, unerringly striking against the nub of flesh he knew was driving Spike towards climax. His own release loomed within reach, the sight of the blonde writhing beneath him, the feel of Spike's cock rubbing against his stomach with each thrust, of his tight hole clenching around him, pushing him closer to the edge with every passing second. He still wanted Spike to finish first, this time, not as a show of dominance, but in order to see the face that haunted his dreams contorted in pleasure. Angel dropped the bulk of his weight down on Spike, pinning his hips to the bed and providing extra pressure against his cock as his pelvis ground against it with each thrust.

"Come for me, Will, I'm right behind you. So tight. Jesus, so perfect. Come for me."

Spike scored his nails down Angel's back, exacting pain if he wouldn't be allowed to feel it, and the soft hiss and faint scent of fresh blood drove him over the precipice he teetered on. His cock pulsed between them, tepid seed surging hard and fast from the prolonged need to come. He arched up into the miniscule space between, lifting his head to smother his howl of release into the curve of Angel's throat. It was all too much, the slow, gentle lovemaking, Angel's insistence that this was about more than grief; he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle whatever came next.

"Oh, fuck, Spike!" Angel groaned out and thrust deeply once more, letting his orgasm wash over him as Spike clung to him. Spike may have buried his face in his shoulder, but not before Angel had caught a glimpse of the intense pleasure that had rippled across his features. It was a sight he had regretted missing out on the few times they'd come together like this since Spike's re-corporealization, and he knew he'd been right in his assumption that he wasn't the only one who'd needed it this way.

As they both came down from their climaxes, Angel rubbed his cheek against the side of Spike's head, allowing him his privacy as he came back to himself. His spent cock slowly softened and he let out a soft grunt of regret as it slid out of the tight sheath of flesh surrounding it, Spike's responding groan making him clutch the blonde closer, finally releasing his hand to encircle his waist. He maneuvered them both onto their sides and let Spike remain wrapped around him, just as he used to after their more rigorous bouts of lovemaking had left William too worn out to do much more than snuggle in closer. Like back then, Angel began murmuring soothingly, the past so painfully present as he held the slighter vampire close.

Spike hated this. The waiting. Waiting to see if Angel would push him away again. He wanted to run away, scramble out of Angel's soft embrace, snatch his clothes off the floor and hightail it out of there before his Grandsire had the chance to break him. He wanted to. But he couldn't find the will to move; not with Angel's arms still wrapped around him, the soft susurration of his voice in his ear bringing him back a hundred years. They had never been like this; not once, since the curse that took Angel away. This was the first time in a century that he and Angel had not just fucked, but been truly intimate with each other. He only hoped it wouldn't be the last.

Finally needing to face whatever repercussions came from his giving in, Spike disentangled himself from Angel, rolling away to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. As he made to stand, Angel's hand caught at his wrist, stilling him. He didn't have the strength to turn and face him, nor to pull away.

"Will you stay?"

Spike's shoulders slumped in relief and he fought to keep the welling of emotions out of his voice as he responded with a bravado he didn't quite feel.

"Yeah, alright. Prob'ly don't have a flat to go back to anyways, right?"

Angel gave a shaky laugh and Spike let himself be tugged back down to the mattress, settling into the curve of his body as he pulled the comforter up over them. Angel draped his arm over Spike's hip and pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck.

"Sleep, William. I'll have Gunn take care of it in the morning."

Barely two hours after his eyes drooped shut, Spike awoke to Angel's screams. Blurry eyed and muzzy from sleep, he merely soothed his hand along the vampire's arm as the screaming turned to sobs. As Angel calmed, he whispered softly to him, nothing in particular, just quiet words of comfort; things he'd have wanted to hear when he had been in his place, those three years ago.

When the brunette had finally settled, he pulled Angel into his arms and wrapped the covers back over them as Angel burrowed his head into the curve of his neck, his lips pressed softly against the spot he had so recently fed from.

As Spike began to drift off again, he felt a presence in the room, not human, but not dangerous, either. He lifted his head enough to crane around to look at the doorway, but found nothing there. Shrugging it off as just his weary emotions projecting outwardly, he settled back down in the bed, letting sleep find him as Angel unconsciously clutched him closer.

Cordelia hovered by the bed, a small smile on her face as she reached down to brush a stray lock of hair from Angel's forehead.

"Salty goodness, indeed. You'd think, having already seen you two getting groiny almost constantly for nearly twenty years way back in ye olden days, not to mention the dozen or so times within the last century, I'd be over how unbelievably hot that is. And, actually, pretty beautiful. I swear, if I ever get another reprieve from all this celestial hoo-hah, you know, time off for good behavior", she cast a glance heavenward pointedly, "I'm definitely gonna see about getting in on that action.

And you, mister,” Cordelia turned her gaze to the slighter vampire, “you better not screw up this chance you were given. We pulled a lot of strings making sure the world’s sleaziest lawyer was able to find the right spells to retrieve the amulet, and you with it. Hilarious that he actually thought he was slick enough to have done it without a little divine intervention.”

Spike shifted restlessly in his sleep and she smoothed her hand along his cheek until he calmed, her smile turning sad.

"I'm counting on you, bleach-boy, don't let me down or I will find a way to smite you. Angel cares about you more than you realize, take it from someone with inside information. He's gonna need you by his side for what's coming. And, yeah, he's going to piss you off royally, and the big buffoon’s gonna keep trying to push you away, thinking he needs to keep you safely away from all this, but, just give him the benefit of the doubt, huh? Our boy has a big task ahead of him, and you're a huge part of it, for whatever reason. You are a Champion, Spike, you've got a chance to make a real difference now, don't waste it, either of you. Take care of our boy, Blondie."

Leaning over the two sleeping vampires, Cordelia pressed a whisper of a kiss to their cheeks, sighing softly as Angel relaxed further into Spike's comforting embrace. Straightening up, she cast them one last wistful glance and faded away, her heart heavy with the pain she knew was coming to them, but hopeful for their future beyond it. The Powers had brought Angel his biggest ally, whether he would admit it or not, she'd given him her gift, gotten him back on his path, and now, she could only hope for the best, the rest was up to them.

****

All Things Spike: @leatafandom

#buffyverse fanfic #a:ts fanfic #spangel #lemon #missing scene

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beardedmrbean · 1 year

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Activists have accused Iran's morality police of beating a girl for not wearing a hijab and posted a photo purportedly showing her in a coma.

Armita Geravand, 16, collapsed after boarding a Tehran metro train at Shohada station on Sunday.

Officials said she fainted and released CCTV footage in which she is seen being pulled unconscious from the train.

Human rights group Hengaw alleged that she was subjected to "a severe physical assault" by morality police officers.

It said Armita was being treated at Tehran's Fajr hospital under tight security, and that the phones of all members of her family had been confiscated.

On Monday, authorities briefly detained a female journalist for the Sharq newspaper who went to the hospital to report on the case.

Hengaw, which focuses on Iran's Kurdish ethnic minority, said on Tuesday afternoon that Armita lived in Tehran but was originally from the predominantly Kurdish western province of Kermanshah.

"[She] was physically attacked by authorities at Shohada station... for what they perceived as non-compliance with the compulsory 'hijab'," it added. "As a result, she sustained severe injuries and was transported to the hospital."

Two prominent rights activists also told Reuters news agency that there was a confrontation with agents enforcing the strict dress code.

Amsterdam-based Radio Zamaneh meanwhile cited an unnamed source as saying that the teenager was "pushed by hijab enforcers" after she got onto the train without a headscarf and that "she hit her head on an iron pole".

On Tuesday night, Hengaw posted on X, formerly known as Twitter, what it said was a photo of Armita unconscious in hospital.

The picture, whose authenticity the BBC could not immediately verify, shows a girl with short hair lying on her back in a bed with a bandaged head and attached to what appears to be a breathing tube.

The rights group also said it had received information indicating that Armita's parents had been interviewed by the state news agency, Irna, "in the presence of high-ranking security officers under considerable pressure at Fajr Hospital".

Irna cited Armita's mother as saying that they had seen the CCTV footage and accepted that what happened on Sunday was an "accident".

"I think my daughter's blood pressure dropped, I am not too sure, I think they have said her pressure dropped," her mother states in a heavily edited video posted by Irna.

The managing director of the Tehran metro, Masood Dorosti, also denied that there was "any verbal or physical conflict" between Armita and "passengers or metro executives".

"Some rumours about a confrontation with metro agents... are not true and CCTV footage refutes this claim," he told Irna.

The footage is said to shows Armita, with her hair uncovered, walking on to a train at the platform with two other girls.

Moments later, one of the girls backs out of the train and bends down.

She and several other passengers are then seen carrying an unconscious Armita by her arms and legs before laying her down on the platform.

#nunyas news

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xalygatorx · 10 months

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Worthy (2015) | Chapter 12, "In Glory or Ruin"

Disappearing sporadically in public spaces quickly becomes Cora Dempsey's least concerning problem when suddenly she captures the attention of the forming Avengers Initiative, the World Security Council, and Asgard's fallen prince all in one week. And the universe is only just getting started with her.

Worthy is a slow-burn SFW Marvelverse (films) romance between Loki and a female OC. For additional details on what canon is used, see the Prologue post.

Summary: Loki and the Chitauri’s onslaught of New York draws to a close. His plan to rescue Cora’s capsule takes unexpected turns as the Other intercepts it. Loki is captured and entrusted to Thor in anticipation of their return to Asgard.

Pairing: Loki x Fem!OC

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.2k

It had been difficult to leave the capsule where it sat, but it had not been time to put his plan into action just yet. It wouldn't be until the reptilian Chitauri filtered from the splitting sky and chaos scorched the budded metropolis, spreading like fire over Midgard. "Ant. Boot," Loki quietly repeated with a darkly smug air.

He had escaped the Helicarrier just an hour before, already beginning to bring ruin to the mortal city where he could. He was growing impatient. While he was aware that part of his mercilessness came from the alien energy intermingling with that of the Tesseract, which had resumed its infiltration of his form from the scepter, that didn't matter. The day for war had come and all would kneel before his might. His day was finally here; the day he would be king and keep the throne he won.

The mere sight of him wrought havoc amongst the citizens who had seen newscasts and photos of his show in Stuttengard or simply knew who to cower before and, from that fear, a grin of anticipation crossed his face. He sent blasts of raw energy from the scepter at the supports of buildings, at sniveling humans, at a taxi which flipped twice and then smashed against the front of a bank. He was elated, he was alive, and he would not stop.

Fires from ruptured machinery climbed over walls and traveled over spilled petroleum leaking from overturned vehicles, a gradual panic flooding down the streets. Faint sirens rang and then split the air as three police cars swerved around the corner, having to dodge a few wayward mobs of pedestrians sprinting from assorted buildings.

Loki gave a bored groan and shook his head as he raised his scepter and blasted them onto their noses, sent them twirling like a child's tops before slamming onto their backs or sides, only a few of the officers dragging themselves out over a street lined with shattered glass. Screams of pain and terror ricocheted off the walls constructed of limestone bedrock, up to the highest skyscrapers, only marred by the sharp squeals of four more pairs of tires as an additional two cruisers flew in behind the fallen prince, the maneuver surely meant as an attempt to surround and contain him.

"I do not have time for you!" Loki shouted in irritation as he whirled and sent the two new arrivals toppling end over end down the street, which was swiftly being closed off by barricades. People scattered left and right out of the way of the airborne vehicle, only a few returning to aid the officer inside.

He turned to see a group rushing past him and a malicious grin split his face as he fired at the asphalt beneath their feet, causing fissures to form and trip them into a mad, writhing mess. One face caught his eye, however; a man of dark blond hair and brown eyes, which narrowed as he tried to shove his way to his feet at the expense of the others, Loki drawing ever nearer. The man froze when he locked eyes with Loki, who tilted his head incrementally. Why do I know your face?

Then it hit him, a flashback which took only a few seconds' time to unfold, but that was more than enough. He'd still been curious about her phone, the day in the warehouse when they'd coerced each other into working with her abilities, seeing how well she could channel them. They'd never gotten much farther than that. "Who is that?" he'd asked, and he'd seen her startle, literally fade into the background, and then reappear, looking as if she'd rather she'd stayed gone. She'd been evasive and unsure.

"We were in a relationship once," she'd said. He hadn't understood his own reaction to that.

"Why aren't you any longer?"

"He didn't react well to things."

Loki's jaw tightened and his fingers flexed into fists as the rest of the exchange cycled through his head, some parts more emphasized than others as they mingled with the beat of his kindling rage. His gaze remained fixed upon the man in front of him, who stood as unwavering as a mouse before a striking snake. James.

Both remained very still for a long moment until a smirk of deadly, predatory calm shaped Loki's lips, his eyes gradually growing ablaze with vivid green fire as he slunk forward. "Oh, but I've got time for you…"

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you sons-of-bitches, stop sending squad cars! This is above even a National Guard level response, all you're doing is upping the body count! Evacuate, do not engage!"

Muttering a few more choice words as he leaned back from the control panel, Fury nearly snarled with frustration. Prisoner escaped, agents dead and seriously wounded (Coulson included), their only hope in the form of the Avengers Initiative (scattered across the damn region for all he knew), no idea where to find the Tesseract, and the World Security Council breathing down their necks worse than ever before. Things had never gone to shit so perfectly.

"Fury," Tony called, causing the director in question to turn. "It's my tower."

"Stark, for the love of God, the world is in the hands of a tyrannical alien terrorist, and all you can think about is—"

"No, not that! I have an ego, not a complex!" Tony interrupted with an agitated wave as he walked up the steps of Fury's podium.

"Debatable," Steve remarked, though the jab was a friendly one. As he joined them, he elaborated, "He means that's where the Tesseract is positioned."

"How did you—"

"It's the highest point in the city," Tony pointed out with an air of haughty pride. "Pretty simple, really. Surprised we didn't see it sooner."

"Go. Steve, get Natasha and Clint, too, if he's up for it," Fury ordered, all business as the facility around him hummed with tamed panic, agents rushing left and right. "Depart immediately. If Banner and Thor manage to haul their asses there in time, they can join the party, too."

"How will they find us?" Steve asked, prepared to plan out every detail; he was back in his soldier mindset in full-force.

"I'm sure that won't be a problem," Fury said warily before going back to his podium's control panels, giving an altered set of orders with the new developments as Tony and Steve turned tail to head toward Stark Tower.

Loki hit the back of the Chitauri hovercraft, sliding a bit with the force of his fall as he rode away from Stark Tower, leaving Thor behind with a dagger in his side, not quite so deeply plunged as it could've been.

He heard the whirrs of his reptilian soldiers joining behind him and he signaled two over closer to him, reaching out to place his hand upon the closest Chitauri's forehead. He could still feel some of the residual magic from the scepter flowing through him and, using that, Loki showed the creature the way into the Helicarrier, into the storage rooms. Then, at last, the capsule it needed to find.

"Take one or two of your comrades with you," Loki said over the wind rushing around them as he retracted his hand. "See that it stays safe until all this is over."

The Chitauri gave a nod and waved for two others to follow it as it turned a sharp corner, heading toward the large ship now hovering far out from the bay, a speck in the distance to human eyes.

Loki watched for a few seconds before turning away and leading the remaining Chitauri through the city. He lacked his scepter, but it didn't matter. His army was in full-force, hundreds within the city and a steady flow of more coming through the portal, fueled by an infinite energy source in an indestructible barrier. He glanced toward the sky as one of the plated, monstrous eels slithered through the wormhole alongside yet another Chitauri fleet and he felt rejuvenated in confidence. How could they possibly stop this?

And yet, how everything was so going according to plan. And the dull creatures enforcing his victory hadn't the faintest idea that, no matter what, he would win.

The rule of Midgard was very likely at this point. Should the nine realms be put under Thanos' bulbous red thumb, Loki would have this realm as his own. Yet that would not stop him from attempting to gain all he could… Asgard was—and would always be, as far as he could see—his prize and he would have it in glory or ruin, he cared not which. It was his right, given by succession. Odin was incapable, a fool, and his brother only slightly sharper. Thor had been banished, Odin had nearly fallen were it not for the meditative Odinsleep which had saved his feeble life time and time again. Loki knew beyond all doubt that he should be the one on that golden throne.

It will be me.

The Chitauri soldiers made it into the Helicarrier undetected, going the route Loki had shown to the leader of the trio. Two of the soldiers infiltrated the lowest level and slunk through the storage units, growling and crackling their voices at one another in the strange tongue they shared. When they found the capsule, they were able to pull it off the metal floor, which it had been nailed into along with a few other larger objects in the belly of the craft.

They stealthily took the capsule to the edge of the ship, the Chitauri who had remained outside pulling up to them, and attached it between two of their armored vehicles, securing it before letting it go and remounting their hovercrafts. They shot off, rocketing away from the Helicarrier toward the wormhole in the sky, taking a path through the city to avoid being conspicuous.

As they approached the wormhole, they heard the Other's voice in their heads. "Bring it to me."

Glancing at one another, they obeyed without question, breaching the portal and moving around the waiting fleet of their kind, swarming and rearing with anticipation, to get to their leader in the gargantuan ship above. The Other stood upon a walkway, watching their progress until he could get a look at the capsule. The lid was frosted over, but he'd seen the contents when Loki had given his Chitauri underlings the route through which to obtain the odd container. It was foolish to channel even fragments of my power. It is not yours to wield.

The Other looked toward the wormhole, seeing the Midgardian warriors thrashing through multitudes of his soldiers, damaging their chances because his appointed leader was incompetent and selfish. He growled lowly in his throat as he looked away, peering at the capsule and listening as one of the Chitauri before him informed him that they'd been ordered to keep it safe.

"It is important to him, whether he accepts it or not," the Other observed knowingly as he slid a small panel open on the side, which revealed a heart rate monitor, rhythmically peaking every few seconds, and a meter measuring the oxygenation of the capsule. Though he did not know for certain what these little mechanisms meant, he could feel the life force inside the casing. His eyes lifted back to the portal as their ranks continued to fall, the Earth warriors now organized and gradually taking out the present fleets.

He shook his head; he'd have to inform their overlord of this. "He will fail us," the Other murmured softly before looking to the Chitauri before him. "He does not give orders. He should have learned that long before now with my teachings… He has no right."

The Other took one more glance over the frost-lined capsule before dismissively commanding, "Cast it into the barrens of Jotunheim. Let irony take its course. He will learn of this, feel punished by his own kind, and then he will pay. We will attack once again without his interference." He walked back into the ship, intending to return to Thanos to report the Asgardian prince's eventual loss in Midgard. It was only a matter of time.

With their final orders, the Chitauri made their way inside to send the capsule to the Jotun realm, detaching it from their crafts onto a metal pad made of a material similar to their exoskeletal armor, blue energy swirling around it before it dissolved into thin air. It reformed inside Jotunheim's borders, hurtling down before crash-landing on its side in the distant, frozen land, the lid shattering and spilling out its occupant into the ice and glass-riddled snowscape.

Everything changed within so short a time span. Chitauri still came in droves, but they fell so much faster. The World Security Council, impatient to end the chaos which had consumed the whole of New York, continued to press Director Fury to take action and nuke the city. When he continuously refused and showed no signs of letting up, they deployed the bomb themselves.

Knowing there was only one option in order to save the city's residents and anyone in at least a three-mile radius, Tony had taken up the airborne bomb and angled it to utterly lay waste to the Chitauri ship through the portal, Agent Romanoff shutting the Tesseract down just before the man in the iron suit plummeted through the near-shut opening in the sky. The Chitauri still on Earth, no longer sustained by their life source linked through their armor to their mothership, had fallen to the pavement and Loki lay battered and breathless in Stark Tower after a run-in with Banner.

Now under arrest and completely purged of the Other's power, Loki sat in chains in a less-impressive cell on the Helicarrier, his binds forged of dwarfish steel of a different make than that of Mjolnir and Gungnir. His scepter taken, his army fallen, and even his speech restrained by a plated piece covering his mouth, he was angry, but not entirely surprised. In the last of the battle, he'd seen the defeat of the Chitauri, the Other, and Thanos beginning to become more clear as the result of this mayhem.

He was to remain there until Thor finished up a few loose ends with SHIELD and his Avenger colleagues, then they would both return to Asgard, where he would face his true verdict, which would surely have loopholes for him to wriggle through and claim what was rightfully his.

Loki's eyes shifted over as he heard those familiar footsteps again, Thor soon appearing outside the cell. "We will remain here for three days' time so I may make peace with what Midgardians you left alive," he said, his voice cold and angry. "You dishonor our entire race, brother."

"Your race," a doppelgänger of Loki said as it shimmered into being, given that Loki, himself, could not speak at the moment. A bitter smirk. "Not mine."

"We grew up together. I loathe to say that we were fostered beneath the wings of the same parents. You are as Asgardian as I, yet you lack the empathy to understand what my words mean."

"It's drivel from a juvenile dream," Loki snapped, his illusory puppet pacing the bars while the true Loki sat against the wall, his eyes never moving from the crown prince. "You have no idea what I have suffered."

"Your suffering is largely born of your carelessness," Thor said calmly and the lack of passion in the accusation made Loki realize just how distant he'd become. Any hope he'd seen in his eyes while fighting him earlier that day had died. It left Loki feeling wary and unsure.

"What of the Chitauri?" Loki asked curiously, playing off the carelessness Thor accused him of. "Send them off with their tails between their legs?"

"All destroyed."

Loki's eyes narrowed faintly. "How?"

"The Midgardian weapon which was sent toward New York was redirected through the wormhole. Everything within the ship's area has been demolished. Your allies are ash," Thor replied before turning away. "Do not cause needless mischief during your stay here. You have lost."

He then left Loki with his thoughts, which he presumed lay along the lines of indifference or perhaps some injured pride. Loki's gaze was stony until Thor left the area entirely, which was when his jaw clenched inside the armor which restrained it, his eyes moving to his cuffed hands, where his knuckles were white with tension after fisting against his lap. He cared not for the scaly creatures lost in the blast, the ship which had been lain to waste, the battle which had been lost. Midgard had never been a tantalizing prize anyway.

Loki felt the burn of hurt pride, but he felt the unexpected lance of loss that hit him even more. All over a woman. A mortal woman, at that, at least as far as he could tell. A mortal woman with powers beyond her, with tragedies, with pain and suffering, and yet with a bright, understanding disposition. She'd irritated him until he felt mindless with frustration, but, when he was being truly honest with himself, he knew he hadn't minded. "We're not as different as you think."

He'd endeavored to save her once he'd known it was still possible and he'd failed her a second time. Loki remembered the day she'd been taken, remembered the conflict and the anger that had welled up when they'd put hands on her and shuffled her out of the warehouse. His reaction had been near-primal, his immediate instinct to tear them apart for disregarding her will and taking what he'd come to look upon and think very distinctly, Mine. His reaction to that memory had grown ever more primal as his sanity had slowly unraveled.

They would have used her. He knew that. His plans would have never come to pass had he revealed himself that day. Everything would have crumbled to pieces, every moment he'd used to make strides toward understanding and obtaining the Tesseract would have amounted to nothing.

They would've had a weakness pegged for him and he would have either caused her death or been bent by his own will to prevent it. He'd done them both a favor by letting SHIELD take her away, though the betrayal in her eyes had made him feel genuine guilt for the first time in many years over anyone but his mother. He'd gone the lengths to ensure her freedom—because she was a useful ally and not the danger her kind saw in her, not even close—and she'd burned along with the Chitauri scum.

Loki had known he'd failed in his mission in Midgard this day, but he hadn't known just how elaborately until now.

"Foolish are you to have grown soft for that girl," his illusion muttered just as he was dispelling it, and didn't he know it. She'd come into his life at a time when he was insufferably vulnerable and had stuck with him in memory throughout the many, many days in which he was hardened into his current state. His mind was addled and he could barely remember the finer moments of his childhood, which he'd so cherished, but he could still very clearly remember how she'd punched him for startling her.

He smiled faintly behind the metal restraint; he was truly mad.

Far off in the frostbitten plains of Jotunheim, that same woman twitched a finger.

Next chapter: Chapter 13, "Waking Up"

#loki laufeyson #loki x fem!oc #loki x oc #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #thor odinson #thor movies #thor the dark world #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #angst with a happy ending #slow burn

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