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whosscruffylooking · 3 years

Text

The Purest Things-Damaged

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Warnings: Mentions of rape, murder, and cheating. Canon-typical violence.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: and so we begin our descent into the world of slow-burn! this piece begins at the end of season 3 episode 13 & carries into seasons 3 episode 14. thank you to everyone who has interacted with my stories, commenting and reposting helps creators so much! enjoy this installment :)

The Purest Things Masterlist

Gif Credit: @hqtchner

january 2008

Bookend: “We are all damaged. We have all been hurt. We have all had to learn painful lessons. We are all recovering from some mistake, loss, betrayal, abuse, injustice or misfortune. All of life is a process of recovery that never ends. We each must find ways to accept and move through the pain and to pick ourselves back up....Each tragedy is an announcement that some good will indeed come in time. Be patient with yourself.” ― Bryant McGill

Another day, another murderer locked away. This case proved that sometimes, the so-called "good guys" can be just as selfish as the "bad guys." The special agent who recruited the BAU's help, Jill Morris, used this case to obtain personal fame and grow her career.

You sit next to Rossi aboard the plane. He had a more personal interaction with Morris throughout the case, and you can tell her actions have left him more than disappointed.

Looking out the window at the sun setting behind the clouds, you mumble to yourself, "What's the difference?"

"Did you say something?" Dave speaks up.

Looking to him, you brush it off, "Oh. Nothing. I was just talking to myself."

He crosses his legs and smiles a warm smile at you, "Penny, for your thoughts then."

"I guess...I just don't understand how Jill Morris's motives can be any different from Jeremy Andrus's. Of course, Jill didn't murder or rape anyone. But, she exploited this case for her own personal benefit. She didn't just use the unsub; she exploited the victims as well. How is that any different than Jeremy using women for his own gratification?"

David sighs, "Aristotle said, 'Every practical pursuit or undertaking seems to aim at some good.' Our brains are wired for love and solidarity. Greed forms to undermine that wiring and trick others into believing that their means to an end is done for "good." People believe that to maintain that myth, any and all costs to others are simply casualties in the long run."

"There is all the difference in the world between helping another soul and exploiting their hardship for your own gain and deceiving yourself that they are the same," he continues, "I tried to show Jill that. But, I think she's already determined that the reason she does this job is not for the same reasons that we do. The rush of catching a suspect comes second to the excitement she gets when being praised for her achievement."

"What happened to her empathy," you wonder, "Empathy is a natural foundation in each of our lives, and our society functions on it! How could that not overpower her desire for recognition? I mean, for Christ's sake, her friend just died!"

"Unfortunately," he solemnly says, "It is harder to understand the motives of our peers than it is to profile a serial killer."

+++++

You wake as if there is an emergency, like sleeping had become a deadly thing, your heart pounds, and thoughts jumble throughout your brain. Shooting up from your seat, you crawl over a sleeping Rossi and stumble your way to the bathroom.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the edge of the sink. Looking cautiously into the mirror, as if you are uncertain of what you'll see, you take in your ghostly appearance. Sweat beads drip down your forehead. Unable to comprehend the blurry remnants of your dream, you turn on the faucet and splash your face with cold water.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you notice everyone is sound asleep. Thank goodness no one noticed your state of panic. You notice that one overhead reading light is on and look to see Hotch awake and blankly staring out the window.

"Can't sleep either?" You ask, sitting across from him.

"Are you alright?" He asks, trying to deflect your attention.

You squint at him, unwilling to back down, "Are you?"

He looks at you intently, taking the sight of you in inch-by-inch. No one has asked him that over the past few weeks. In fact, everyone has seemingly been avoiding him since he was served his divorce papers. Perhaps they are doing it because they are unsure how to support him or genuinely feel that what he needs right now is space.

However, you know that being alone is the last thing he needs right now. "Hotch, I know it isn't my place, and I--I'm sorry if this is overstepping. But that expression on your face that you've worn for the past few weeks isn't foreign to me. Perhaps to everyone else, it is. They don't know what to do or say. You're their unit chief, and they are used to you being strong and keeping it together for the sake of everyone else."

He straightens his posture, his attention centered on you.

"I witnessed firsthand the ways that divorce can torment people. My parents got a sudden divorce when I was 14. It was unexpected to all of us. My father was unfaithful, and although my mom was willing to forgive him, he didn't want to put in the work anymore. He found a new outlet for his frustrations. I watched my mother and father waste away for years," you lament.

Hotch sits on the edge of his seat, his eyes trained keenly on you. It was odd for him to make a connection so quick, to give his trust so easily. In fact, he hardly trusts at all. Dave and Haley are the only ones who have really been given an insider's peek into the mind and heart of Aaron Hotchner. There was something in the way he listens so actively to what you are saying. You would be lying if you said you didn't notice his gaze aimed at your lips.

There is a sympathetic and heartfelt concern he shows for you, one second only to your own regard for him. He listens like he is absorbing your words. The longer you spend in each other's presence, the more you both realize that this is the kind of friendship you both have needed for far too long. Even if the words go unspoken, you share an empathetic understanding of one another, and you are sure it has been there since the day you met. Hotch has been fascinated by you since he watched your interview with Strauss over and over again, though he would never let it be known.

+++++

February 2008

Today is the day that you get to accompany Hotch and Reid on the Criminal Personality Research Project to interview Chester Hardwick before his execution. Hardwick's case is one you know inside and out. You wrote a research report on it that was awarded the Graduate Student Ethics Writing Competition winner for the American Psychological Association and was published in their Ethics and Behavior journal. Agent Hotchner suggested that you tag along, considering you know just as much about the case as Spencer does.

You and Spencer absentmindedly fiddle with the knickknacks that rest upon the desk as you wait to be escorted to see Chester Hardwick.

Hotch's phone begins to ring, and he answers it, "Yeah, J.J... Um, no, it's--It's a personal matter. Yes, thank you. I will take care of it when I get back."

"Everything okay?" You ask softly.

"Yeah, fine." He says abruptly.

"We can do this interview another time," Reid offers.

Aaron huffs, "Well, he is scheduled to be executed next week."

"I can take the lead on the interview if you w-" Reid unintentionally pushes.

You cut him off, "Reid."

Hotch shoots you an appreciative look.

Anytime sir.

"Agent Hotchner?" A relatively short man wearing freakishly petite glasses comes to the door.

The Unit Chief shakes the man's hand and introduces you and Spencer.

"You're here to see our infamous inmate Hardwick," the warden exclaims.

"Yes," you say, "He agreed to meet with us as part of our Criminal Personality Research Project before his execution."

The man smiles widely, "I've read your research on Hardwick many times. I must say, seeing your perspective on the mind of such a prolific killer was very enlightening."

You beam with pride at his commendation. Instinctively you look to Hotch, who appears to have the slight trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You wonder, how can he go from scowling and frustrated one minute to fighting back the urge to smile at the mention of your achievements? You bite your lip to suppress any further needless excitement.

The warden continues to ramble, "Serial killers are kind of a hobby of mine. Chester is the only one I've ever met in person, though. I bet you've met quite a few."

"Sir," Hotch interjects, "We'd very much like to get started as soon as we can."

Time to put our serious pants back on.

You can visibly see your superior's annoyance, and you stifle a chuckle.

The warden quickly composes himself and apologizes for his enthusiasm, touching his hand to Hotch's shoulder in the process. Hotch's mouth falls agape, and his sights shoot to you. A small snort escapes you, and you cover your mouth, attempting to conceal it as a cough. He squints at you as if he is mentally murdering you. You crinkle your nose at him.

Don't mentally murder me when we are about to interview one of the most prolific killers of our time.

The warden leads you into the small cell that you will convert into a makeshift interrogation room. Soon enough, you hear the clanking of chains echoing in the hallway. Everyone's eyesight is fixed on the door.

A silver-haired man dressed in a yellow jumpsuit walks in with an air of arrogance and determination. He glares at Agent Hotchner, who mirrors the prisoner's actions exactly. Hotch states that keeping the prisoner chained will not be necessary, a call that both you and Spencer are unsure of.

Hardwick sits across from you and leans into the table, "I know you."

"And I know you. Too well, I think," you respond.

A menacing grin sweeps across his face, "Oh, I like you already. How about you send these two away so the grown-ups can talk."

You can hear your boss scoff from behind you.

"Chester, it's time to get serious."

"You were born April 4, 1950?" Spencer asks.

"Does my birthday really matter?"

"It's customary for us to start at the beginning. We want to know as much as we can about your childhood," Reid continues.

"There's nothing to know. It was average. I lived in a nice house on a quiet street. I ate cereal, went to school, watched cartoons."

"I don't have time for this," Hotch raises his voice, causing you to jump slightly, "You grew up in a series of projects, each one worse than the last. You spent your teenage years peeping into your female neighbors' windows and burglarizing their underwear drawers when you got the chance. You set 100 small fires for which you spent 2 years in juvenile detention."

You glance at Reid from the corner of your eye; you are both uncomfortable with the direction Hotch is taking this.

"We've done extensive research, Mr. Hardwick," you say, gently trying to soften the blow and appeal to the man's ego. If Hotch is taking the bad cop role, you need to be this psychopath's ally.

"We've talked to almost everyone you've ever known," you continue, "including your mother."

Chester swivels on the balls of his feet, "Good ol' Jean? I'll bet she was a real treat."

"At this point, lying to us isn't really possible or helpful," Spencer offers a slight smirk to the man.

"Y/N, right?" the prisoner turns his attention to you, "They're wrong. They're all wrong."

"About what, Chester?" You implore him.

"I started a lot more than one hundred fires," he peers out the window.

You look up at Hotch, and he sighs in surrender.

Chester antagonizes you three, stating that no one care's whether or not they hear the truth. In between his jabs, he strays to various different series of thoughts. Most are meaningless, but it is his way of trying to get under your skin. For you and Spencer, it is relatively easy to maintain your composure. For Hotch, however, Hardwick's digs do nothing but add fuel to the already lit flame under the special agent.

"Let's talk about the specifics of this case, Chester," you interrupt his rant, "Why did you choose Sheila O'Neal?"

He shakes his head, "You gotta show me a picture. I don't know their names."

As if you can feel Hotch's anger radiating off of his body, you brace yourself for the oncoming strike.

"Is that what this is all about," he says disgustedly, "Some chance for you to relive all of this?"

"I have an excellent memory," Chester brags.

You tune his impassionate speech out and focus your observance on your boss. His scalding stare at Hardwick can only translate one way, 'I have initiated my emotional indifference. I could kill you and not care one bit. So proceed with caution.'

"They were toys, a diversion," you hear Hardwick chant as you tune back into the present. Hotch looks anywhere but at the killer in front of him, his gaze eventually landing you. You are some kind of shelter to him that neither of you has yet acknowledged or come to understand.

Your stomach churns at Chester's descriptions of his victims. He describes them as useless objects that, once their purpose was served, were discarded like garbage.

"Why did you ask us here?" Hotch charges.

The wicked man looks at you, his eyes void of a soul and his stare sending a chill down your veins.

"I wanted to speak to her."

Your breath catches at the back of your throat.

With that, Hotch straightens up and fervently positions himself between Chester and you. "Reid, pack it up," he commands.

Reid looks to you, "Are you sure?"

"No, now." Your superior repeats himself with even more fervor. He presses the buzzer to signal the guards to release us and says, "Have a nice trip. You're going where you belong." Hotch makes sure to put as much distance between you and Hardwick as possible. He buzzes the ringer again. No response.

"It's 5:17," Hardwick chuckles.

You close your eyes, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Reaching out for Hotch's arm, you lower his hand from the buzzer. "The evening yard begins at 5 o'clock. No one is going to come open that door for-"

"At least thirteen minutes," Chester disrupts. He waltzes over the table and takes one of the images of his victims into his hand. Holding it up as if to brag to us about it, he says, "And it took me less than five minutes to do this."

You push aside your worry. Instead, you choose to focus on all of the information you have accumulated over the years about Chester Hardwick. There has to be something you can use to your advantage to diffuse this situation.

"Perhaps in all of your research, you should have familiarized yourselves with the guard tones," Hardwick jeers.

"I heard the tones," Hotch counters in a monotone voice.

"So you planned to be locked inside with me, with no guns or weapons."

Hotch shakes his head, his voice more natural than before, "I won't need a gun."

Spencer places his hand on your arm and begins to guide you to the other side of the room.

"There's no way I am going to be executed next week," Chester taunts, kneading his hands together. "Not after I kill three FBI agents. You saved my life by coming here." His venomous words ring in your ears.

Hotch's tone deepens, "Unfortunately for you, I am not a five-foot-one-hundred-pound girl."

Your pulse quickens at Hotch's threat, and your attention is rapt by his display of dominance. He begins to shed his jacket. You feel yourself flushing; attraction suddenly entangles you as if it were an invisible rope.

Now is the worst possible time to be feeling this. Calm down.

"All of your life, you've gone after victims who couldn't fight back," he fiercely says, "and the rest of the time you spent looking over your shoulder." You understand the intensity in his tone and sense a great deal of emotion behind his words.

He rips his tie from his collar, and your breathing hitches in the back of your throat. Hopefully, Spencer doesn't notice, and if he does, he chalks it up to the deadly situation you find yourself in.

"You were always worried about the knock on the door," Hotch doesn't back down, "Scared that somebody like me would be on the other side waiting to put you away."

Well, if you keep ripping your tie off like th--no. Not gonna go there right now. Focus on the pyshco-killer threatening to kill you.

Now, Hotch intimidatingly points his finger directly at Hardwick.

If only I were on the receiving end of tha--no! Now. Is. Not. The. Time.

"At your core, you are a coward," Hotch fires.

You have to do something. Hardwick is enraged, and Hotch has nothing left to lose.

Without even giving it a second thought, you blurt out, "Chester, do you want to know why you killed those women?"

"What?" The prisoner hisses.

Spencer speaks up, "Earlier, you said you wished you were different. We can tell you why you are...what you are."

He begins moving towards you, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice your boss carefully making equal strides. You motion for him to stop.

"You can tell me why I did what I did?"

"I think so," you nod, "Don't you, Dr. Reid?"

"I do. Your mother is bipolar. And almost certainly an undifferentiated schizophrenic. Your father suffered severe shell shock in the war, what we now refer to as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. As far as I can tell, he remained clinically depressed the rest of his life."

"Exactly," you say, giving Spencer a chance to gather his thoughts after having thrown him under the bus.

"53% of all serial killers have some form of mental illness inherent to their families. Chester, in your case, both of your parents suffered from psychological disorders, which they essentially took out on each other as much as they beat you. So, violence sort of became a normal expression of love in your household," you say, eager to have some kind of breakthrough with him while subliminally directing Spencer's string of thoughts to follow yours.

Allowing Reid to pick up where you leave off, he takes charge of the conversation and explains how a portion of one's brain wants what it wants without conscience or judgment. A part of the brain that no doubt took over Hotch's reasoning powers moments ago, though you do not blame him.

"Earlier, you said your victims never had a chance. I think you know deep down that it was you that never really had a chance," he concludes. And with that victorious resolution, the guards unlock the door. Hotch storms out, and Reid follows behind.

"Is that true that I never had the chance?" Hardwick calls out after you both.

You stop in your tracks, "I don't know."

"Maybe," Spencer nudges you out the door.

++++

In the car, Hotch looks at you in the rearview mirror, "That was smart to get Hardwick to focus on himself long enough for the guards to come back."

You pat Spencer's shoulder, "I give all the credit to boy wonder and his beautiful statistic-filled brain. I'm sorry for all of the times I said you were running out of storage with all of that useless data."

"I find that I do some of my best work under intense terror," he declares, "Wait. Useless data? When did you say that?"

You pinch him softly and chuckle, "I'm kidding."

"I'm sorry," Hotch sighs.

You meet his gaze in the mirror once again, "For what?"

His chestnut eyes reveal pangs of remorse and guilt, but something tells you there's more to those feelings than what occurred at the prison.

"I antagonized the situation."

"No, you didn't," Spencer states.

"I certainly didn't help."

"Well, I can't argue with you there," you kid.

His piercing eyes suddenly twinkle, causing you to blush slightly. You quickly look down at your feet until your cheeks cool down.

Hotch sighs in defeat, "So Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers uncontested so that nobody wastes money on lawyers."

That statement is all too familiar to you. Yet again, your heart shatters for the Hotchners.

"You don't want to?" Spencer asks innocently.

He means well, but you know from experience that such a question only unleashes a tidal wave of painful emotions for the one fighting for his family.

"What I want, I'm not going to get," Hotch laments.

His eyes, once filled with depth, now distant and empty.

++++

Glancing up from your paperwork and into your supervisor's office, you take note of his gravity-drawn shoulders that carry the weight of the world on them. He repeatedly picks up a stack of papers and then drops them back down atop his desk, covering his face with his hands.

"What do you think is going on up there?" Derek asks, pointing his pen in the direction of the office.

"I might have an idea. I'm going to go take my report; anyone else's done?" They all hand you their paperwork for you to deliver to the boss.

You hesitate to knock on his door but apprehensively do so anyways.

He invites you in. Your heart sinks as you approach his desk, able to get a closer look at his beaten expression. You always knew he was hiding pain behind his tough exterior, but now he wears it on the surface, most likely unintentionally.

Placing the paperwork on his desk, you notice the heading on the papers he was gripping tightly.

SUPREME COURT STATE OF VIRGINIA: MARITAL SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT

Hotch's eyes move slowly, laboriously, to look at you as if it takes a concentrated effort to do so.

"Heartache is a real thing," you sympathize with him, "In fact, Reid even told me that a broken heart can show up on medical scans. When a heart breaks, your body and brain need time to recuperate. There's no set amount of time or remedy that will heal you. Don't set your expectations of yourself too high, and surround yourself with the people who love you."

His chin trembles, and his eyes flutter as he blinks back tears.

You turn to leave the room but look over your shoulder one last time, "We are all here for you, Hotch."

Just as you are about to shut the door, you hear him call out to you, "Y/L/N!"

His stare reveals a vulnerability you have had yet to see in him.

"Call me Aaron."

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tallstars-rewrite · 3 years

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Chapter 36

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“So what is it you call them again?” Talltail’s eyes narrowed skeptically.

“They’re called cars, so I’ve been told.” Jake replied.

They were crouched a fox-length away from a bright red shiny monster sitting quietly in front of a twoleg den.

“Is it dead?” Talltail asked, instinctively keeping his voice quiet as if he half expected the thing to roar to life any moment.

“I don’t even think they’re alive. At least, it certainly doesn’t smell alive. All I know is when housefolk gets inside one, they start moving”

“Hm.” Talltail kicked a small pebble at it. Nothing. Jake was right about that, they certainly didn’t smell like any living thing. “And what about the lights in their eyes? It’s not fire, but there are lights like that all over the twoleg places.”

“I dunno, housefolk are just good at making light that isn’t hot I guess. Between us, I think their eyesight in the dark is awful.”

“So you don’t even know how twolegs make the things they do?”

“Not really,” Jake shrugged. “But do you understand exactly how plants grow or how birds can fly?”

“Well...no, they just do. I suppose...you sort of have a point.” Talltail admitted. “But I still don’t trust these things. They sound like monsters to me. Let’s keep going, I don’t like looking at it’s eyes, even if they aren’t alive.”

They walked through gardens, keeping to the grass and sparse trees alongside the hard stone Thunderpaths and trails. As the dusky sky turned to a pale gray dawn, they saw twolegs every so often, and many of them paused to look at the two cats walking side by side. Talltail didn’t like going past them, but after narrowly escaping another aggressive group of strays, and a lost dog, Jake eventually convinced Talltail that twolegs were the lesser of the two evils. So, daylight travel it was.

“Just don’t make eye contact,” Jake said. “They’re slow, so even if they want to pet us, we can just run and they’ll give up.”

“They just try petting every animal that walks by!?” Talltail hissed.

“Well some of them, if they can.”

Talltail snorted. The absolute arrogance of assuming that because a couple cats liked them, that meant every cat wanted to be their friend. I don’t try to groom every cat I walk by because that would be weird, Talltail thought with an irritated twitch of his tail. But he was quickly finding most twolegs weren’t necessarily the ruthless predators he’d imagined them to be in his youth. They were, however, incredibly annoying.

But on the brighter side, he’d found that he really had started to get used to the sounds of the town, even though it was still overwhelming. They had to duck behind a house every now and again when a particularly loud string of monsters passed.

“We’re almost there,” Jake assured him. “I’m...mostly sure of it. When we were on the roof, I got a better idea of where we were. The alley cats chased us in the wrong direction, but we should be able to get there without crossing anyone's territory.”

After only a couple more turns down the stone path, Jake raised his tail. “Ah! There it is!” he exclaimed. “See those tall trees up ahead? I’m sure that’s where the park is.”

“Is this ‘park’ actually...safe?” Talltail asked as they grew closer. In the distance, he knew the pines that bordered ShadowClan’s territory were close. There was a ring of twoleg dens blocking it, but such a forested area would surely house prey to some cat.

“Well, twolegs walk through it with their dogs, but they have them on leashes. Don’t worry, I know not all dogs are like Dusty. I won’t make you get slobbered by any more of them,” Jake added quickly when he saw Talltail’s alarm.

“I appreciate that,” Talltail said with a shudder.

The park was a large area with sparse patches of woods and bushes surrounded by large grassy fields. Not the fields Talltail was used to, but very short soft grass that would be impossible to hide in, and most of it stank of stale dog scent. Talltail thought he would be able to relax once they’d reached a more natural familiar area, but even this place felt very...off compared to the woodland and fields he knew. Like the plants and trees were all too...neat.

“Well, it’s still better than the town,” Talltail sighed. “But where to start looking…”

“What exactly are you planning on doing when you find them?” Jake asked with a sideways glance.

“Uh...” Talltail paused. He hadn’t been thinking of it in detail, he’d just been repeatedly telling himself that he’d figure it out when he got there. “I’ll... figure it out when I get there?” he said.

“You don’t want to fight all of them do you?” Jake’s eyes were round with concern.

“No, of course not.” Talltail for the first time felt a stab of guilt for the visitors when he thought of Mole, Reena, and her parents. They had been so kind. Reena had even been his friend for a while. They wouldn’t think so kindly of him after this, but their feelings couldn’t be at the front of his mind. They were protecting a bad cat. Sparrow didn’t even care about the others as much as Hen, he’d practically said so himself. If Talltail could just get Sparrow away from the others somehow, they wouldn’t have to get involved at all.

While he was thinking, Jake had gotten distracted and was looking up at a massive oak tree with long hanging branches splaying out. He had an eager light in his eyes, like a kit hunting a drifting feather.

“We could…get higher? Maybe if we got high up we could see if there are any cats around, or even the pond we’re looking for. I bet you could see the whole area from up there, and the branches are low enough to jump to.”

Talltail looked doubtfully up at the tree. WindClan had keener eyes than most cats, but his nose was still better for searching. Maybe Jake had other motives.

But It’s not as if we’re running out of time. If they’ve hung around for this long, they’ll hang around longer… Talltail thought. He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Jake looked back at him, “You don’t think it’s too dangerous?”

“Well...maybe it’s risky, but less dangerous than what we’ve already done. It’s not as if I’ll let you fall.”

Jake’s plumy red tail flicked high, his vibrant eyes glowing with a mischievous excitement. “Bet I can get up it faster."

With that, he crouched and leapt, hooking his claws into the lowest branch and hoisting himself all the way up with an agility Talltail hadn’t expected from such a stocky cat. Talltail bunched his muscles and jumped up after him, and his paws touched the branch without requiring him to scramble the rest of the way. Keeping his momentum, he jumped again to the next nearest branch up.

He got so caught up in the challenge, Talltail was almost on the fourth branch before he remembered he’d never actually climbed a tall tree in his entire life. He made the mistake of looking down, and the ground below felt dizzyingly far, even though it didn’t feel like he’d gone very high.

“What’s wrong? I’ll be napping at the top before you get there!” Jake called. Great StarClan, how had he gotten three branches above him?

Talltail looked up. “You know uh...there’s not really many trees like this on the moor.”

“Then this’ll be good practice! Every cat should know how to climb trees!”

“What am I, ThunderClan?” Talltail grumbled. Staring up while newly aware of the drop below him, he felt significantly less confident with his leaps. “Er, Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you get up there exactly?”

“Climbed.”

“Alright, yes, but be more specific.”

“You’re half way up! How did you get to where you are?” the ginger tom flashed him a cheeky grin.

“Dumb luck? I don’t trust my paws! Can’t you tell me where you put yours?”

“Well, I trust your paws, and you should too! Just keep your eyes on where you want to be.”

Swallowing his doubt, Talltail balanced himself with his tail and found it a reliable weight as ever as he leapt. Jake stopped past the halfway point up the massive tree. The branches were separated enough that they could see the whole area around them, but too thin to climb further. For a moment Talltail could almost pretend he wasn’t surrounded on all sides by twolegs with their bizarre dens and contraptions. The call of alarmed birds disturbed from their perching was a welcome sound blocking out the distant rumble of crossing Thunderpaths. He had learned his lesson about looking down and carefully lay himself on the branch to catch his breath.

Jake lay across from him, and looked thoughtfully at Talltail’s paws. “Huh,” he said, “I didn’t expect you to have duller claws than me.” He flexed his small needle sharp claws and scraped them on the branch.

“They’re not as sharp, but they're a lot sturdier.” Talltail flexed a paw. “And those wounds are harder to close,” he added with a wink.

But it was true his claws didn’t hook into the bark as deep as he would like. He usually only needed them to grip soft earth while running, or digging.

“How high up do you think a cat can jump from without getting hurt?” Jake asked abruptly, gazing below at the dizzying drop with an amused twitch of his whiskers. He looked like he was enjoying himself somehow.

Talltail glared at him. “Do not ask me that right now.”

Jake snorted with laughter which petered into a quiet purr of contentment as the sun dripped through the branches and danced over his fur. He really did have the brightest orange pelt Talltail had ever seen. The sun caught the ginger and it glowed like the warm fire Jake’s twoleg kept in their home, the vivid stripes swirling along his tufted flanks broken up where the fur was longest. Talltail had never spent so much time trying to memorize all the details of a cat's face. It was odd, the little leap of happiness he felt fluttering around in his heart. Sometimes he caught his breath and it skipped in a way he couldn’t recall ever feeling before when looking at a cat. That’s...weird. Am I getting sick?

He scarcely realized he was staring when he noticed Jake was also looking intently at his face as well.

Talltail blinked at him. “What is it?”

Jake stretched out and touched his nose to Talltail’s cheek. “Thanks for humoring me. I’m glad you’ve let me come with you this long,” he purred.

“I wouldn’t say I’m humoring you, I wouldn’t even have gotten here without you,” Talltail replied. His ears twitched as he tried to hide the fur prickling on the nape of his neck and the warm blush rushing under his pelt from the unexpected touch. What in StarClan is wrong with me? I think the height is making me light headed.

“I mean with this climb,” Jake laughed. “My friends would have said it was fluff-brained or dangerous and told me to stop messing around. Not that I blame them, we are really high up.”

“Don’t remind me,” Talltail gulped. “I just want to enjoy the view and pretend the ground is nearby. Don’t you have friends who do this with you?”

“They’ll come on long walks with me. I like Quince and Nutmeg, but they don’t always understand me. Sometimes I just feel...this pull to do something different, like in my gut, and I have to do it. Like I see a faraway place from my roof and I think ‘what does everything look like from there?’ And I so desperately want to go there and see.”

Talltail nodded, his whiskers twitching in amusement. It was similar to that excitable longing to dash to the horizon he felt when he was young. It had been a long time since he’d dwelled on it.

Jake continued, “I can’t live my whole life every day eating, sleeping, grooming, even though I like it. I feel like...there’s something else out there, and I’ll be restless until I find out what it is. That’s why I was so glad to meet you again... I love my friends and neighbors, well-- most of them, Tyr can get stuffed. But sometimes I worry I’m annoying them with my fancies.”

Talltail blinked at Jake in surprise. “I can’t imagine any cat finding you annoying.”

Jake snorted. “Oh Talltail, you haven’t been around me long enough! Driving cats up the walls is a talent of mine.”

“Well you’ve certainly driven me up a tree, so there’s that. No other cat would be able to do that.” Talltail rested his chin on his paws. The sun felt so nice warming the dark fur on his back, he’d forgotten all about scanning the area for other cats.

Jake stretched and inched his forepaws on either side of Talltail. “I’m glad I know you,” he purred.

Talltail was a little caught off guard. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Well…. I’m...glad I know you too?”

They sat there in the branches passively grooming each other's ears, and Talltail listened to the breeze whisk through his fur. It wasn’t the familiar winds he grew up with, but he swore he could almost smell the moor carried on them from far away. Before the homesickness could creep up on him again, Jake yawned and stretched.

“Ok, we’ve stalled long enough, we should probably get down now.”

“Right, erm, down.” Talltail still wasn’t brave enough to look.

“Don’t worry, it’s not as if I’ll let you fall. Promise.” Jake winked.

“Are you going to catch me?” Talltail snorted. “I probably weigh as much as you do.”

“I could carry you if I had to! It’s not all fluff under here.”

Talltail was still doubtful of that, but Jake’s confidence in the whole situation was at least easing his nerves a little.

“I climb trees like this all the time, it’s much easier than it looks. Surely you won’t have too much trouble balancing with that tail of yours.”

Talltail swayed on his paws as he, unfortunately, finally glanced down at the dizzying drop through the branches. Oh stars… He kept his eyes firmly on Jake’s tail and paws, one branch at a time, flinching with each tentative jump, but after some coaxing and at least one instance of Jake grabbing his scruff to steady them, Talltail at last landed down onto safe grass again. He still trembled a bit even as he flexed his claws into the soft earth

“See, that wasn’t so bad!” Jake chirped.

“Says you, I can't believe you put yourself through that all the time.”

“The height is kind of a rush though, isn’t it?”

“If by rush, you mean vividly imagining the air rushing by me as I plummet to my death? Then yes, absolutely.”

“Aw I bet you could climb all sorts of things if you set your mind to it!” Jake grinned at him.

“I prefer to use my tail for steering my turns,” Talltail retorted. “WindClan are not the climbers of the forest. An old clanmate of mine, Aspenfall, took to climbing better than the rest of us, but he was still pretty bad at it.”

“You really do all have such funny names don’t you?” Jake replied. “Who else is there?”

“What, in my whole clan? well...my mentor was called Dawnstripe. I’m sure I’ve told you about Briarpaw, he’s the one training to be a medicine cat. I had a friend called Ryewhisker as well, and Fawnleap and Lilywhisker...” He listed off several more names as Jake stared. Talltail of course still knew everyone by heart.

“That’s so many cats, how do you keep track of them all?”

“That’s not even half of them! They’re your family, of course you come to know them over time.” He remembered how overwhelmed he had been as a kit, trying to learn the names of all his clanmates. They had been so patient with him.

“So how do you get your names anyhow?” Jake asked. “I heard a rumor your get a cool name when you killed your first enemy”

Talltail purred in laughter. “No, not quite. Our names are much more than that. They’re special to us, you get it when you’ve completed your training and officially become a warrior. No murder required. The first name given to you by your parents represents your roots. Your parents give you your colors and physical traits, so them choosing your first name is to honor them and the life you’ve been given. It’s usually a name referencing something from the world around us, to represent our connection to the area we are born in. Our territory is part of us after all, as important as our clanmates. It’s where you’ll spend your whole life.” Well...it’s where you’re supposed to spend your whole life, he thought with a twinge of guilt.

Jake nodded, “That's simple enough. What about the last part?”

“That’s the important part. It represents a small part of the warrior you become, what you're best known for. Some are more abstract than others. Your mentor, the leader, and the medicine cat discuss with each other about your progress over the course of your training to decide what name you're called to have.”

“That’s so cool! My name doesn’t mean anything, I wish I could earn a cool badge like that. But...What about you? Your first name is Tall, that’s not really a thing like the other names you told me.”

Talltail nodded. “My name is old. In the early times of the clans, you had no name at all until you proved you could survive to adulthood. Back then, if you got a name, it always referenced the most noticeable physical trait about you rather than anything else, so cats could tell you apart on sight. Except for the legendary warriors of course, who were named for their renowned feats, but most cats couldn’t hope to be that special. There was only one meaning to their names, rather than two separate meanings. So my name was planned ahead, a traditional one to honor the cats that survived in those hard times. That’s why my father chose it for me. I guess my tail was freakishly long back then too.”

“You didn’t get to earn a last name yourself? That doesn’t seem as fun.” Jake said.

“It’s not all about fun! Besides, no name can perfectly represent everything about you. Getting a warrior name is always an honor regardless of what it is. Besides, it is pretty notable isn’t it?” he purred, wapping Jake with his tail for good measure.

Jake sneezed as the fur tickled his nose. “Yeah, I could see you from a mile away with that thing.”

After a bit more aimless wandering, they finally paused for a moment to rest. Jake rolled in the grass, getting burs and twigs and grass shreds stuck in his tufty orange pelt. He looked a bit like a hedgehog.

“You're going to end up dragging the whole park along with you if you keep that up,” Talltail chuckled.

“Maybe I want to take some back with me. Also I like smelling like grass! It’s nice. You always smell like moor grass.”

Talltail didn’t know how that could be. It had been so long since he’d been home, the moor couldn’t possibly still be sticking to him. But maybe it was harder to get rid of than he thought.

Jake interrupted his thoughts again. “What would my name be if I was in a clan?”

Talltail snorted. “Your name? I have no idea, it’s not something you can just slap on a cat!”

“Well how do cats who join the clan get named? Does that ever happen?”

“We’ve never had an outsider join in my time but...I think the leader chooses? Even then, I can’t possibly imagine what skills you would prove over the course of training.”

“Well let’s say you’re leader, what would you call me? Just if you had to guess?”

Talltail hummed in thought, looking Jake over as he beamed back at him patiently. He had the goofiest gleeful look on his face, Talltail stifled a purr “Oh I don’t know...Perhaps Flameface.”

Jake laughed at that. “Flameface? That’s a name? That sounds so silly!”

“It’s not silly at all! It’s a perfectly fine name. No sillier than Jake, your name is nonsense! It sounds like the noise you make when you hack up a furball. It only sounds silly to you because you don’t know what it means.”

“Ok, ok that’s fair. What’s it mean?”

“Flame is pretty self explanatory. You are the brightest orange cat I’ve ever seen. And I guess I associate it with you now because your twoleg’s den was the first place I ever saw real fire.”

“I like ‘Flame.’ That part’s cool. But...what, does my face look like it’s on fire?”

“No, no it’s not always that literal. Well, maybe it is a little. Some names are for cats who are good at many different things, but master of nothing in particular.”

“What? I could be a master at something!”

“It’s not a bad thing at all!” Talltail purred. “In fact, those are some of the most reliable cats. ‘Face’ is just a variation on referencing your appearance. I think it’s often given to cats who are thought to be particularly attractive in some way or another. I can’t remember what the idea was exactly. Like their face draws attention or...lights up the area? Metaphorically of course. It’s a little sappy.”

“Ohhh...” Jake was silent for a moment in thought. “You think I’m attractive?”

“What?”

“Wow, no cats ever called me that before!”

Talltail’s pelt felt hot as he sat up. “Y-you’re thinking too hard about it, I’m trying to be objective. I only thought of it because--I just mean you’re distracting. But...In a good way.”

“I’m distracting?”

“Well, I don’t mean--I meant like, eye-catching, because of--have you looked at yourself when the sunlight hits your fur? It--No, oh for StarClan’s sake, hold on, I’m explaining this poorly. Stop looking at me like that, the point is that’s the closest guess I can manage. It might not be accurate.”

Jake grinned up at him, “I like that name.”

“...Good. It’s past sunhigh now, so we should start looking,” Talltail mewed quickly, already to his feet, hoping his fur wasn’t noticeably bristling in embarrassment.

Jake trotted after him, his tail held up high. “So, what would your name be if you earned a normal one, do you think?” he asked, a new note of amusement in his voice that Talltail was trying very hard to ignore.

“I don’t know, Jake.”

“‘Cause I think you could be a ‘face’ cat too, you’re the most distracting thing I've ever seen in my life”

“We are burning daylight here, Jake.”

“Ok, but think about it.”

Talltail would probably think about it for the rest of the day, thanks.

chapter list / previous / next

#FRU36 #chapter 36 #asdfghds this last scene was one of the first ones i wrote back in like 2018 #it still makes me giggle lmao #but also enjoy the light chapters while you can #because i will be pulling out the angst stick again soon

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little-mad · 3 years

Note

“Tiny ears! Remember?!” With Tara and Thomas!

Ok, I really liked writing this one

From this list of prompts here

And for anyone who doesn’t know, more details about these two can be found on my oc masterlist

______________________________________________________

After knowing one another for two months, Tara finally agreed to cross into giant territory for her meetings with Thomas. Admittedly, it was kind of awkward standing on opposite sides of the creek. More importantly, being out in the open like that, they ran the risk of getting seen by somebody. Tara definitely did not want to have to explain why she was hanging out with a giant to her family and friends back home.

The spot she and Thomas had decided on wasn’t far into giant territory, in fact Tara could still catch a glimpse of the border through the trees. Meanwhile, Thomas was about as concealed as his giant form would allow in an area with trees shorter than him.

Of course, Tara never would have agreed to the arrangement had she not been confident Thomas harbored no ill will towards her. The guy had saved her life twice, and after getting to know him better and better over time, she could almost call him a friend.

That being said, Tara had been sure to set up clear ground rules. Most important of the rules was that Thomas had to keep his hands to himself unless given express permission otherwise. The giant had pouted extensively about it. He obviously got a kick out of holding and touching her, which was exactly why Tara had forbidden it. Plus, being around hands that could easily snuff out her life made her more than a little anxious, believe it or not.

In order to avoid physical contact while still managing to remain close to Thomas’s eye level, Tara had positioned herself in a high branch of a tree directly in front of where the giant was sitting. Thomas had been fretting like a mother hen as she climbed up, insisting it was too dangerous for someone “so itty bitty.” The comment only served to make Tara climb quicker. She’d been scaling trees since she was little, she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Wait, but I thought you said you wanted to study at that university?” Tara inquired as she absentmindedly swayed her dangling legs back and forth.

During their last meeting, Thomas had explained to her his desire to attend some fancy school in a giant city a ways away. They had something sort of similar on the human side of the border, but it was incredibly far away and was very selective with who they allowed as students. No one in Tara’s town ever even considered it as a feasible option.

Thomas gave a humorless laugh. “Well of course I want to, both Lane and I have dreamed of going there for years,” he explained. “But it costs an arm and a leg to even be allowed to study there, not to mention room and board, food, supply costs...we’d never be able to afford it.” He let out a resigned sigh.

A frown formed on Tara’s face. She couldn’t necessarily empathize with Thomas’s situation exactly, but the feeling of being trapped by forces out of her own control was familiar enough after encountering giants. “So what are you going to do then?” she asked. The First Hunt had marked Thomas’s transition from child to adult, meaning he could no longer rely on his parents and needed to seek out a way to make a living.

“I’ll probably start helping out at my uncle’s shop, at least for now,” Thomas said with a shrug. He didn’t look especially pleased with the plan, but before Tara could call him out on it, he spoke up again. “What about you? Are you going to keep gathering supplies for your doctor?” he questioned.

Since even before she had finished school, Tara had been assisting the town’s physician by foraging for medicinal supplies that could be found in nature. At first it had mostly been freelance, but within the past month she had begun receiving a regular wage from the doctor. Tara enjoyed the unrestrictive nature of the work, plus the pay wasn’t half bad either. That being said, she couldn’t see herself doing it for the rest of her life.

“Well actually…” Tara started, “I’ve been thinking I might want to join one of the scouting parties.” The job was mentally and physically demanding, but scouts were well paid and well respected. Plus, after almost being eaten on two separate occasions, Tara felt as though non-giant related dangers were pretty manageable.

“Are you crazy?!” Tara winced at the unexpected volume of Thomas’s voice, her hands instinctively going to cover her ears against the thundering noise.

When her ears stopped ringing, she lowered her hands and shot a scowl up at the giant’s face. “Hey!” she shouted, “Tiny ears! Remember?!” Despite his natural enthusiasm, Thomas was usually pretty good at keeping his voice at a volume that was comfortable to Tara. Over time, his accidental loud outbursts had decreased in frequency. Whatever streak he’d had was now soundly broken of course.

Thomas’s eyes went wide as he realized what he’d done. “Sorry, sorry!” he exclaimed in an overly hushed tone. His cheeks became tinged with a slight red color and he wore a regretful expression on his face as he looked down at Tara. “I just--I can’t believe you would actually consider doing something so needlessly risky.” When he finished the sentence he began to take on the appearance of a stern father or something.

Tara pressed her lips together. She wasn’t really sure why Thomas seemed so worked up over the idea of her joining a scouting party. In the past, she had described what the scouts did and why they were so important to the wellbeing of her town. She’d mentioned the fact that, aside from ensuring no giants ever crossed into human territory, scouts were also responsible for fending off vicious wild animals, as well as occasionally dealing with bandits that sometimes hung around the woods surrounding the town. Sure, it was probably one of the more dangerous jobs Tara could do, but it wasn’t as if it were a death sentence. It was rare that a scout was ever killed in the line of duty.

“It’s not ‘needlessly risky’, Thomas,” she insisted. “Scouts are vital to the safety of my town. Plus, it’s not as dangerous as you seem to be imagining it to be.”

“The world is a dangerous place, and you’re so small--” Thomas started, but Tara was quick to interrupt him with a raised hand.

“Okay--just because I’m small to you, doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself just fine.”

“But why risk it when you don’t have to?”

Tara rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to live my life in a bubble.” It was becoming increasingly clear to her that while Thomas may view her as a person in some respects, he still thought of her as some kind of weak creature in need of protection. Considering he’d had to save her life on multiple occasions, Tara supposed she couldn’t entirely blame him. But that had been when she’d been in giant territory. Things were different on her side of the border.

At first, Thomas opened his mouth as if he were about to shoot back a retort. However, after a moment’s pause, his expression softened slightly. “I’m--I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

Tara sighed. It was hard to stay too mad at the guy when he sounded so genuine. He seemed to really care about her wellbeing, even if he was being a bit overbearing about it. She allowed her tensed shoulders to relax. “I appreciate your concern,” she began, making sure to choose her words carefully. “But I promise, I’ll be fine.” Tara offered Thomas her most sincere smile. “Besides, I don’t even know for sure if I am actually going to join a scouting party. It’s just a possibility.”

With slow, controlled movements, Thomas leant forward so that his face was hanging about a foot above where Tara sat. She stiffened when one of his hands gently settled down beside her on the branch, close but not quite making contact with her body. “You don’t know how much I wish I could touch you right now,” he stated, a petulant look on his face.

With her cheeks flushing pink, Tara attempted to disguise it by fixing an unperturbed expression on her face. “You--you can keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Grabby,” she declared stubbornly.

Even if she trusted Thomas not to hurt her, willingly allowing a giant to touch her felt like crossing some line. Of course, she’d already crossed all kinds of lines just by agreeing to meet with him in the first place. Maybe Tara wasn’t completely opposed to letting him touch her--but only for practical purposes! Allowing him to fiddle with her now was certainly not practical.

Thomas gave Tara a pouty face, but when she remained resolute, he released a dramatic sigh before pulling away. “You’re killing me here.”

Tara snorted as she shook her head. “You are such a drama queen.”

#g/t prompt #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: Tara #oc: Thomas #vore mention

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Title: Mutualistic Parasitism.

Word Count: 2.0k.

Written for @rockin-renegade.

Synopsis: You’d really like to think your relationship has moved past the need for Izuku’s more... questionable habits. You’d really like to think so, but you’d like to think a lot of things. That rarely makes any of them true.

TW: Infantilization, M. Reader-Insert, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Mentions of Burns, and Delusional Mindsets.

To be fair, you didn’t think Izuku would solve all your problems.

He might’ve been crazy, but you weren’t. When the Number One Hero started pursuing you with no clear motive and a bit too much passion to be trusted, you knew things probably wouldn’t end as cleanly as they’d begun. Hell, towards the end, you thought you’d be lucky if you didn’t end up in chains, but it wasn’t difficult to satisfy Izuku’s desire for a picture-perfect, stressless relationship, one easier to maintain than the city he was responsible for protecting or his spotless image in the public’s eye. He wanted someone that would make his happy, someone who’d do anything to make his happy, and who he could make happy, in return. You could do that. You could smile when he looked at you, frown when he came home in bandages, kiss him goodbye whenever he left, you could do that. And in return, he was supposed to take care of you. You made him forget about the world outside, and in return, he made sure it stayed outside. You didn’t care if that meant you had to keep to yourself, you didn’t care if that meant he’d get so angry when you didn’t. You had a part to play, and so did Izuku. You couldn’t risk upsetting that balance, much less doing so when Izuku’s wrath was still such a real threat.

You could do what you had to. You were great at doing what you had to.

You just hadn’t thought chores would be one of the things you had to do.

Cooking, to be more specific. Most days, your only responsibility was to stay put and make sure Izuku thought of you as a ‘stay-at-home boyfriend’ rather than a particularly passive captive, but occasionally, he’d come home tired or injured and you’d be permitted to leave his side for just long enough to make dinner or make a very, very monitored call to someplace that’d be willing to do it for you.

Unfortunately, you’d chosen to do the former, today, and you were paying the price for it now in the form of oil burns and the small, deep cuts they agitated. It’d been more than an hour since the inciting incident, something as minor as a toppled-over pan and a reflexive attempt to catch it, but you could still feel the lingering heat thrumming beneath your skin, that constant throb along the edges of your injuries, the memories of a flash of shock and then blinding, excruciating pain. You don’t remember screaming, but you must’ve. Izuku’d come running in less than a second and in the same minute, you’d been relegated to the counter beside the kitchen sink, left to keep to yourself and not make things worse until he was done fretting.

It might’ve been less painful if he was a quieter medic. You’d gotten hurt before, with cleaning products and early on, his own able hands, and while you were used to the constricting layers of bandages and the balms that made your skin feel so cold it burnt, the way he spoke to you was another matter entirely. You didn’t like the way he muttered under his breath, how he seemed more inclined to speak to himself than to you. Regardless of how often you were subjected to it, you couldn’t get used to the way his tone always bordered on patronizing, how he seemed so determined to assure you that this wasn’t your fault, that this couldn’t be your fault, but if it was, you shouldn’t try so hard to make his happy, he knows that things get hard for you, sometimes. Most of the time, he was merciful enough to let you believe you were capable, but dependant.

Tonight, you were just dependant.

“I’ve told you not to be so thoughtless, haven’t I?” Subconsciously, you tapped a blunt nail against the marble countertop underneath you, silently keeping count of how many times he’d asked the same question, how many times he’d done it without expecting a real answer. He’d moved on from your injuries, by now, and taken to cleaning up the mess you made, his forearms submerged in a sink of soapy water and a concentrated scowl pulling at the edges of his lips. You’d lost track of whether he was mad at you, or the remnants of once-edible food you’d managed to scald to the pan in your short time playing-chef. “I know you’re trying your best, baby, but you can’t handle that much responsibility. We’ve been through this before.”

“I just wanted to help…” It was a weak retort, unaided by how soft your voice came out, but you couldn’t bring yourself to start an argument in earnest. It’d been months since you’d managed to maintain that level of aggression, since you’d felt angry enough to consider it, and you were sure that kind of rage escaped you, now. “I took your advice, too. I tried to make something simple, and I really, really did my best to stick to the recipe, I just--”

He shot a sharp glance over his shoulder, and that was enough to shut you up, your teeth latching onto the side of your tongue with the slightest hint of a warning. “The problem isn’t that you’re careless, it’s that you’re reckless,” He explained, nearly hissing the words. Alright, he was definitely mad at you, now. Not the dishes. He’d never been mad at the dishes. “You know why I had to take you home, don’t you? I’ve told you before, I’ve told you a thousand times, but you never seem to understand how dangerous the world can be, when I’m not around to protect you. Just because I’m a room away doesn’t make it any less of a hazard.” There was a pause, a slow breath. He took longer to switch off the faucet than he needed to. “I need you to understand that everything comes with a risk. You have to let me handle whatever I can, that’s the only way we’re going to avoid things like this.”

You didn’t have to practice your next reaction. Pushing your shoulders forward was instinctive, and bowing your head was practically second-nature, when Izuku already thought he was so far above you. “I didn’t think I’d--”

“You didn’t think.” A hollow thud this time, the sound of metal on metal. You flinched before you could stop yourself, but fortunately, Izuku was too preoccupied to notice. “You never think. I don’t know how I’m supposed to take care of you when you can’t even get that through your head.”

When he finished, you didn’t respond. You didn’t think you could respond, and even if you tried to, you doubted it’d be loud enough.

You doubted he’d be able to hear you, over the sound of your heart shattering in your chest.

A second passed in silence - tense, frigid silence - but just as you started to notice how uncomfortable your current perch really was, Izuku let out a slow, heavy sigh, taking a long moment to dry off his hands before he approached you, settling in the space between your open legs. It was a familiar position, one he took up every morning as he stole sleepy kisses or explained in his favorite condescending tone why it was so, so important that you didn’t try to keep yourself busy while he was away, but his posture was more tense, right now, that domestic tenderness vacant from his expression. Instead, a concerned weariness took its place. Exhausted, but not feed-up. Tired, but of your actions, not of you.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t beginning to worry about the source of his irritation.”

“I’m really trying,” You admitted, leaning forward, letting your forehead rest against his. “I want to help. I’m trying to. I just keep getting things wrong, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” He whispered, the petname barely audible, even from such a close proximity. “You don’t have to do anything.”

It was the kind of thing that might be comforting from someone else, from anyone else, anywhere else, in any scenario that wasn’t the one you currently couldn’t seem to get out of. Involuntarily, you curled into yourself, but Izuku was quick to catch you by your chin, cupping your face with both hands and tilting your head back, not forcing you to meet his eyes, but encouraging you to. No, Izuku would never force you to do anything. He always gave you a choice between giving into his demands or facing whatever blow or cut or broken bone he felt fit your crime. You could only be thankful your incentive came in the form of a gentle squeeze, this time, rather than a bruised jaw. “You’re useless,” He said, the declaration muttered under his breath. Like it was something private, a secret between the two of you. Something the world outside his apartment didn’t already know. “It’s not a bad thing. You’ve got me to take care of you, so it’s not a bad thing. But…” He trailed off, taking in a ragged inhale. When he went on, his voice was more stern. More genuine. “You are. I need you to say that back to me, alright? Can you do that?”

You nodded, opening your mouth, but for whatever reason, your voice caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known without a struggle. You knew what he was doing, it wasn’t a clever trick and it certainly wasn’t a new one, not in the boundaries of your relationship. He wasn’t delusional enough to think you’d believe it, no one was, but he wanted you to think about it. He wanted you to linger on the topic until the sentiment tasted like ash on your tongue, until you thought you might believe it, if one more thing went wrong, if you fucked-up something so simple one more time, if Izuku pursed his lips and kissed your forehead and made you feel like you were some bumbling, tottering infant, still learning to walk in their parent’s shoes. You’d hate yourself for breaking another one of Izuku’s toys and that hate would turn to desperation, the need to give Izuku a reason to keep you around, even if you doubted he’d be able to get rid of you, so far in. Maybe you’d help the process along. Maybe you’d cut to the chase and break into tears tomorrow morning, finishing this ugly, clumsy cycle sooner rather than later. That’s what both of you wanted, wasn’t it? Izuku would have his victory, and you’d have yours. He’d be the hero, but you’d be the strategist, the winner, the one who came out on top, even if a bystander might think otherwise. You’d be…

You’d be lying to yourself again.

When did you start trying to convince yourself you were so good at this? You weren’t a manipulator, you weren’t a villain, you weren’t a genius, you hardly even had a role in your own kidnapping. You were a captive, a hostage, a victim that didn’t have enough to lose to care that he’d be locked in his room like a child throwing a tantrum if he started crying more violently than his captor deemed ‘appropriate’. It didn’t matter if you appeased him to protect yourself, not when you were still appeasing him. Not when he was the only one who ever got what he wanted. Not when you were the only one who had to make sacrifices.

Izuku got what he wanted. You got to smile and tell yourself he was only happy because you let him be happy. He didn’t even have to pretend to be nice, not when you were so quick to tell yourself his hostility was only because of one of your many, many mistakes.

This time, you didn’t bow your head. You let yourself fall into Izuku, your body going slack as soon as he caught you, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other rising, his fingers soon entangled in your hair as he pressed a soft, doting kiss into the top of your head, so loving and so caring, you could almost believe it really was. You tried not to think about it.

You weren’t sure if wanted to know what it meant, anymore.

”I’m useless.”

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recollins · 4 years

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Jealousy 101 (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Request: Do you mind doing professor!Reid and reader that are dating and she’s in her class and all the other girls are trying to hit on him and ofc Spencer is oblivious to it but reader is getting jealous and spencer has to reassure her that he doesnt care for them and only her 🥺 make it as long as you want, honestly longer the better hahah thanks so much I love your work! Pairing: Professor!Spencer x Female Reader Words: 4,668 Content: Smut Warnings: Jealousy, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya tap it, y'all) Masterlist

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Large, gentle hands slid around your waist from behind, tugging you back into a gentle hold. Spencer propped his chin on your shoulder, studying your reflection in the mirror with you as you smoothed down your skirt.

“Are you going for naughty schoolgirl today?” your boyfriend murmured, lips brushing your ear before moving to kiss the base of your jaw. You tipped your head back onto his shoulder, smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Well I am one, aren’t I, Professor Reid?” you said slowly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Pressed against his chest, you could feel the hitch of his breath at the name you used. Before answering, he trailed hungry kisses down your neck, tugging your blouse aside to nip at your shoulder.

A moan slipped out of you and on instinct you leaned back into his hold; his arms tightened around your waist and you felt him smile against your skin. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, (Y/N).”

Turning in his arms, you tipped your head back to peek up at him through your lashes, coy smile curling over your lips. Spencer slowly lifted a brow at you, knowing exactly the kind of trouble this look held for him.

“Who says I can’t finish?”

You didn’t miss the tightening of his jaw or the hard swallow he gave as his eyes flicked over your shoulder, studying your body in the mirror. Those large hands of his slid down your back, taking handfuls of your ass through your skirt. “I say. We have class in twenty minutes, and neither of us can afford to be late again. You know better than to tease me.”

Biting back the smirk that threatened to break free, you pressed your hands against his chest to push him back, stepping out of the hold he tried to pull you back into. You cocked your head to the side, tapping a finger thoughtfully against your chin as you hmm’d and sauntered back.

“Do I? Huh. Must’ve slipped my mind. You’ll just have to remind me, Professor.”

“(Y/N),” he growled in warning, hand falling to palm at the growing bulge in his slacks. His normally honey-brown eyes had darkened to a dangerous, hungry shadowed amber, sending a shiver of desire through you that you knew he saw.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go. You’ll have to remind me later,” you teased, snagging your bag and then scampering out of Spencer’s apartment before he could come after you. Thankfully, your boyfriend had off-campus housing this year. When you’d started dating last fall, it’d been a pain trying to sneak in and out of his place when he lived in the faculty housing.

It was hard to believe that you’d been with Spencer for almost eighteen months now. Truth be told, you hadn’t been looking for a relationship when you’d started college last year. Quite the opposite, actually. You’d just gone through a pretty rough breakup with your high school sweetheart, and the thought of dating anyone was the last thing on your mind.

And then lo and behold, your very first day, Dr. Spencer Reid had walked into your criminal psychology class and you’d been totally and helplessly lost to the illegally handsome man at the front of the class. To be fair, you really tried to resist him, but how could you when you had to stare at that painfully attractive man for ninety minutes every Tuesday and Thursday for months on end?

It wasn’t your fault you’d spent more time focusing on his deliciously long fingers than you did on what he was presenting. And don’t even get started on his tongue. He just couldn’t keep it in his mouth for more than a few minutes at a time, and that just did things to you, okay? You never stood a chance resisting him.

So, like the smooth flirt you were, you started making excuses to see him. It’d started simple enough: staying a few minutes past to have him explain a scenario you already fully understood, asking him to go over the requirements for your essay that you’d already finished… When that didn’t satisfy your craving for the delicious doctor, you’d starting stopping by during his office hours to ask him any question you could possibly think of.

Hell, one week you’d purposely not taken any notes you’d needed for the test next class, and Spencer had kept you in his office for over an hour as he ran through the slides again – one on one – making sure you had everything you needed.

Really, you’d been playing your hand pretty well. Or so you thought.

Just a few months into the semester, when you’d stopped by for the third time that week, Spencer had invited you to sit as he always did, but when you asked him for a recap on what to do for the midterm coming up, he folded his hands on his desk and leveled you with a sharp gaze that rooted you to the seat beneath you.

“Miss (Y/L/N), I know you’re not here about the midterm.” You’d blinked in alarm, stunned he’d instantly call you out like he had, but unable to say anything because, y’know, he had a point. “Would you care to tell me why you’ve been by to visit me more than any other student in any of my classes?”

Huh, more than anyone else? Well, you gave yourself a mental pat on the back for that little achievement. Not that it was really a help to you right now, but still.

“I’m, uh, I just – I wanted you to –“

“Wanted me to what, Miss (Y/L/N)?” he’d cut in, that sinfully distracting tongue flicking out over his lower lip. Your eyes shamelessly followed the movement, and only when you saw the smirk on his face did your eyes snap back to his.

“I… wanted you to myself,” you practically whispered, eyes instantly falling to your lap when you’d realized what you’d said. It was completely inappropriate, you knew that. Crushing on your professor was one thing, but sitting here admitting that after you’d practically been borderline harassing him for the better part of two months?

So when his hand reached out and those tantalizing fingers tipped your chin up so he could meet your eyes again, you were stunned to see the hungry look in his eyes. The hungry look he fixed you with did nothing to slow your beating heart, your racing mind that was spinning out of control with the thoughts you’d been trying to hold back all semester.

One moment you’d been staring each other down, daring one another to make the first move, and the next minute Spencer had practically dragged you onto his desk and had his way with you. Not that you’d minded one bit – the bruises on your hips from his eager hands had stayed deliciously dark against your skin for almost a week, and he’d made sure to leave plenty more in their place after that.

Keeping things secret hadn’t been too bad at first. It was a fun little secret between the two of you. It had been fun and exciting to spend all class eye-fucking each other across the room and then letting Spencer bend you over his desk almost immediately afterwards.

The summer had been even better, because you and Spencer had all the time in the world to yourselves. You’d told your parents you had to stay at school for summer classes, and once Spencer had moved off-campus, you practically lived at his apartment.

The memories of hot, sleepless nights beneath the sheets with Spencer kept you occupied on your walk to class, but the moment you entered the lecture hall the smile fell off your face. Half the seats were filled with women you knew weren’t even in this class. Believe it, you’d checked. Twice.

The only reason they flocked here was to ogle Spencer, and it drove you absolutely crazy. Not only did they only want to spend ninety minutes flirting with your boyfriend, they didn’t even care about what he was teaching. It was disruptive, disrespectful, and downright rude. And it wasn’t just because they were all trying to seduce your boyfriend. Mostly.

Instead of taking your normal seat at the front, you settled a few rows back to plant yourself in the middle of the scattered girls. You normally weren’t one to get jealous, but they’d been playing this game for over a month now and it was pushing you closer and closer to an edge you didn’t know you’d had.

“Like, I’ve never seen anyone look as hot as he did yesterday wearing a sweater vest,” one of the girls behind you gushed; you tensed immediately. Of course they were talking about Spencer. He was the only one who could get sexy and sweater vest in a sentence together. “I missed my test in Biology but it was so worth it to see him yesterday.”

The pencil in your hand nearly snapped in two. They were skipping classes now to see him when you weren’t there?! It was one thing showing up during free period, but this was getting ridiculous. And having them here without you to keep an eye on their inappropriate behavior?

Deep breaths, (Y/N), you growled to yourself, focusing on pulling out your notebook and getting ready to, you know, actually learn in the class. If you weren’t careful your pencil was gonna end up through someone’s neck today.

Not moments later though, you heard excited whispering spark through the seats and a few girls in front of you had the audacity to whine, “oh my god he looks so fuckable today!”

Instantly your gaze snapped up; Spencer had just walked in.

Trust me, I know. That’s what I almost got to do with him, you muttered, your eyes following your boyfriend as he stepped up onto the stage. His eyes fell instantly to the front row and you saw his brow furrow just a hint.

His gaze swept over the seats in concern until his gaze locked onto you. A small, almost imperceptible smile flickered over his lips as soon as he saw you were there, and it helped to settle the burning jealousy raging inside of you. Out of all the other women there, he was only worried about you.

Of course, that feeling died out pretty damn fast as soon as class began. From every side of you all you caught were the girls dirty whispering. You couldn’t even focus on Spencer’s lecture because every two seconds there was another giggle or another not-so-hushed whisper of, “look at how long his fingers are!... His tongue is driving me wild oh my god!... look at how big his feet are. Can you imagine how big his –“

Your pencil actually did snap. The noise startled both yourself and a few of the girls scattered around you, enough to draw Spencer’s attention. When he caught sight of your expression, concern flitted over his ridiculously attractive features. You tried to push the scowl aside but at this point it was a permanent look. Spencer’s eyes narrow just a hint, tongue poking out over his lower lip briefly. You knew that face; he was profiling you.

Not wanting him to be too concerned, you gave him a small smile. He returned the favor before returning to the lecture, wandering back across the stage. Taking as deep a breath you could, you really tried to tune them out. After all, you were one of the few in attendance that actually had to worry about what Spencer was teaching.

Of course, if you asked him to, he’d gladly give you a one-on-one tutoring session. This time you lost focus thinking about the last tutoring session your boyfriend had given you. One that had quickly morphed into Professor Reid teaching you exactly how to take his cock all the way down your throat like the good girl you were –

No. Focus. You need to know this stuff! You snapped to yourself, pulling out of your extremely distracting fantasies. For the next half hour, you managed to force yourself to block out the whispers around you as you fought to listen. You’d almost fully forgotten there were dozens of girls all around you vying for your boyfriend until a girl behind you said excitedly,

“After class I’m so making a move on him.”

You almost lost another fucking pencil.

Breathing hard, trying to keep from whipping around and punching her square in the face, you listened to the plan she concocted to seduce Spencer the moment the lecture was over. Now you completely understood the phrase seeing red.

To be completely honest, you weren’t sure if it was just because she was making moves on your boyfriend, or if it was because it’s exactly what you’d done last year. What if it worked on him? What if he was hit on by a younger, prettier girl this time and you were pushed aside? Normally your insecurities didn’t come out with Spencer. Even with an almost fifteen-year age gap, he’d never made you feel unwanted or like he was out of your league – though you’d told him several times you certainly felt that way. He was amazing at reassuring you just how much you meant to him, just how attracted he was to you, reminding you just how gorgeous you were…

Your self-conscious thoughts floated to the front of your mind, and you felt tears actually starting to prick your eyes. She just kept going, talking about all she had in mind with Spencer… If you didn’t pull yourself out of this soon you’d either be leaving here in tears or in handcuffs, and you weren’t one to cry in public.

It was as if Spencer was tuned to your thoughts. Like he knew you needed a distraction, needed just a little reassurance from him to get you through the last fifteen minutes of class. Finally done with his presentation, he clicked off the projector (taking a little longer than necessary because he and technology didn’t see eye to eye) and turned to the class and asked,

“Can anyone tell me a few of the differences between male and female arsonists?”

Normally you didn’t like speaking up in class, but you needed him focusing on you now. Though you hadn’t really focused through most of the class, this was thankfully something you were familiar enough with. Spencer caught the movement of your arm going up, and though he was clearly surprised he turned and smiled.

“Yes, Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“Female arsonists are typically older than males, and are more likely to have a psychiatric diagnoses. Women also more frequently have a history of sexual abuse, while men have a tendency towards substance abuse problems.”

There it was, the flicker of pride in his gaze that instantly set your body burning with desire. He gave you an impressed nod, holding your gaze without blinking as he said slowly, “that’s very good, Miss (Y/L/N). Well done.”

His praise warmed you through, pushing out the ache of jealousy. You smiled back at him, pointedly drawing the end of your pencil between your lips to nibble lightly as you slowly crossed one of your legs over the other.

You caught the tensing of his jaw but, ever the professional, he stamped out the hungry smirk he’d normally give you as he turned to address the rest of the class instead. As the minutes ticked by, though, you noticed his gaze kept coming back to you. Every few minutes, his eyes would flick back, sweeping over your body for the briefest moment before he had to look away.

Every look made you squirm, your panties dangerously damp by the time he finally said, “I think that’s all for today. Be sure to read chapter seven before Thursday.”

Most of the class filed out of the lecture hall immediately. You took your time packing your things away, pointedly keeping an eye on the group of girls that approached Spencer at the front of the room.

“Excuse me, Professor Reid?” the girl up front cooed sweetly, twirling a lock of hair as she stared up at him. Your blood boiled instantly and now you couldn’t even pretend you were doing anything other than eavesdropping.

Spencer, ever polite, looked up at her with a friendly smile as he gathered his journals into his satchel. “Can I help you?”

“Well, I hope so. I was really interested in what you were saying about arsonists but it kind of went over my head,” she giggled, shrugging her shoulders bashfully. “Do you think you and I could meet later so you could help me… get a better grasp?”

Spencer’s eyes studied her for a heartbeat, and then they flicked to you. The instant understanding that settled in his gaze told you he realized exactly what had been bothering you all class. As he looked back at the girl, he slipped his bag onto his shoulder and stepped off the stage, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m sorry, but I only offer study sessions with students who are actually enrolled in my class,” he dismissed. Her giggle died out, and you saw a frown come over her face as Spencer added, “actually, if you’d excuse me, I’m late for one right now. Miss (Y/L/N)?”

Surprised to hear your name, you met his eyes as he turned towards you, waiting patiently at the bottom of the seats. Quickly scooping up your bag, you all but scampered down the steps and fell into step beside him as he led the way out of the lecture hall.

The two of you were silent as he unlocked his office, stepping aside to let you in. You heard the door shut behind you, and then the lock clicked into place. The sound send a rush of desire straight to your core.

“Come here.” It wasn’t a demand, his voice was too gentle for that, but you knew he left no room for argument. You dropped your bag beside one of the chairs and turned to him, instantly tucking yourself to his chest. His arms went tight around you and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You had no reason to be jealous, you know. You’re so beautiful I couldn’t see anything else.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you mumbled, and instantly Spencer pulled back. He took your chin between his fingers and tipped your head back to fix you with a stern stare.

“You know I don’t like being lied to, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t hold back the whine at the tone of his voice and it didn’t go unnoticed. “I wasn’t jealous. I was protective. Jealous means wanting something I can’t have, and I already have you. You’re mine, not theirs. I don’t like hearing them talk about you like you belong to them –“

Spencer’s lips crashed onto yours, cutting off your angry rant before it could even get going. Spencer’s arms tightened around you as he walked you back towards his desk. Your legs hit the edge of the desk and instantly he spun you in his arms, pulling your back flush against his chest.

His already-hard cock pressed against your ass and on instinct you rolled your hips back towards him. He let out a low growl, lips falling to your jaw like they had just a few hours ago. This time, his kisses didn’t stop. He slowly moved down your neck, pausing briefly to nip at the skin before running his tongue across to soothe the sting. You whimpered at every pinch of his teeth, writhing in his arms.

He kept one arm tight around your waist to pin you against him as the other hand came up to palm roughly at your breasts. He deftly undid the buttons of your blouse with one hand – which was a lot hotter than it should’ve been – and in moments he was pushing it off your shoulders as he tugged your bra down.

His large hands enveloped one of your breasts, finger gently pinching and tugging at your nipples until he had you moaning softly beneath his touch.

“They don’t mean a thing to me,” he murmured, lips coming up to brush against your ear, nipping softly at the base of your jaw. “They can say what they want to say, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the only one for me, (Y/N).”

“Spencer,” you moaned as the arm around your waist finally let up so he could slide his hand under your skirt. His hips rocked subtly against your ass as he cupped your core, his palm pressing down and grinding slowly over your clothed clit.

Your hand wrapped over his wrist and gently you tugged him up just enough to guide those long, slim fingers into your panties. Spencer let out a low, eager grown as he ran his hand over your folds, biting down into your shoulder just this side of painful as you began to rock yourself against his touch. Normally you’d go slower, enjoy the buildup, but Spencer only had fifteen minutes before your next class and this time you weren’t walking away without fucking your boyfriend.

Slowly, he pressed a single finger into you and you gasped in pleasure, dropping your head back against his shoulder. He set a slow, tantalizing pace that had you rolling your hips down against his hand, desperate for more.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, slipping a second finger inside of you. With a gasp, you rocked down hard and said desperately,

“You, Spence. I want you. I need you.”

“Who do you need?”

“I – I need you, Professor,” you whined softly, not wanting to be too loud just in case one of his overeager fangirls came by his office for some alone time. The thought of them doing so – and then stumbling onto you getting pounded over Spencer’s desk – had you quivering around his fingers.

As you’d hoped, Spencer pulled his hand away, purposefully dragging over your clit and getting another desperate gasp from you. When you looked back to pout up at him, you froze in surprise. Spencer held your gaze with his lust-darkened eyes as he slipped his soaked fingers into his mouth, sucking them off slowly.

“Bend over,” he ordered, voice rough with need. You did as you were told, laying yourself over his desk and pressing back against his aching cock. With a growl, he pushed your skirt up over your hips and ripping down your panties. Both of you were too worked up for any more teasing.

He slid the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick before grabbing your hips to slowly ease himself into you. Both of you let out low, aching groans as he buried himself completely inside you. He kept one hand on your hip and the other splayed out over your lower back, holding you in place as he slowly began to move.

With each thrust he pushed you harder and harder into the desk until it was shaking beneath you, papers beginning to spill off. You were fighting to stay quiet but Spencer knew exactly how to fuck you in order to bring out the whimpers you couldn’t help.

“You take my cock so well,” he grunted, the fingers around your hip digging in so hard you knew there’d be bruises by tonight. “So perfect for me – fuck. You’re all I need.”

“You’re mine,” you moaned, arching back against him, desperate to take him as deep as you could. “Only mine – oh god, Spencer!”

He’d stealthily pulled his hand off your back and slid it around to run his thumb over your swollen clit. He grunted as your walls clenched around him; you weren’t gonna last much longer.

“Only yours,” he promised, voice rough as he pounded into you, swirling his thumb over your aching bud. “Come for me. Come on my cock, (Y/N). Show me who I belong to.”

His words shoved you over the edge unexpectedly fast and you gave a choked moan as your body writhed over the desk, lost to your orgasm. Spencer pulled his thumb back as he felt you come down but his pace didn’t slow. You could feel his cock throbbing against you, he was so close.

“You belong to me,” you rasped, clinging to the desk as you looked back over your shoulder to stare up at him. There was no other word for Spencer at that moment besides beautiful. His curls were wild, mouth hanging open, chest heaving beneath his ridiculously attractive sweater vest.

His dark eyes met yours and as soon as they did you felt his rhythym slip. His hips stuttered, and with a low groan he fully buried into you once more, filling you up as he came hard inside of you. Fully spent, he collapsed over your back, barely catching himself on his forearm, head dropping to your shoulder.

The two of you stayed still, tangled with each other, until your breathing finally slowed. Pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, Spencer pulled out of you. As you went to stand, he gently pressed you back against the desk.

“Stay right there, sweetheart.”

You heard him grabbing a few tissues, and gently he cleaned you up, careful not to brush too hard over your sensitive core. Once clean, he knelt and slid your panties back up, kissing up your legs slowly before he stood. You finally pushed up from his desk with a groan and instantly his arms went around your waist to help you stand and get your balance.

Now that it was all said and done, you couldn’t help but feel a little ridiculous for getting so jealous over the other girls. Spencer’s arms came around you again, and you could feel the question in his hold.

“Thank you for that,” you said softly, tipping your head to look up at him. “I know… I mean, I don’t doubt you love me. It’s just nice to be reminded after listening to them all class.”

“I’m glad you don’t doubt my love for you. I never want you to forget how much you mean to me,” he said honestly, dipping to give you a soft kiss. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. After this class, I’ll be speaking with the head of the department to make sure only students enrolled in the class can sit in on my lectures.”

A slow, surprised grin took over your face. “You’d really do that? I thought it looked better for you to have the lecture hall full –“

“I don’t care how it looks. I care how you feel and I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel like this.”

Your arms wrapped around Spencer’s neck and his went around your waist, kissing sweetly as you smiled against each other’s lips. Though you broke apart, Spencer tucked you tight to his chest and you buried your face against his shoulder.

“I actually am gonna need one of Professor Reid’s study sessions before Thursday, though,” you mumbled into his jacket. “I… didn’t catch most of what you said today.”

Spencer stifled a sigh as he stepped back, giving you a mildly chastising frown. You caught the smile in his eyes as the two of you grabbed your bags and he unlocked the door. He started down one hall and you down the other, but he paused to call out pointedly,

“Come see me after class then, Miss (Y/L/N). I’ll make sure you pay attention this time.”

With a smirk, you looked back at him over your shoulder, enjoying the way his eyes were already starting to dark again as he watched you walk away, calling back to him teasingly,

“Yes, Professor.”

The smile he left you with promised you’d be paying for that comment later.

#Spencer Reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #female reader #Spencer Reid x female reader #criminal minds #Spencer reid #Spencer Reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid imagine #professor!reid #jealous reader #criminal minds self insert #imagines #request #rea writes

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mithrilwren · 4 years

Text

Prompt fill for @eldritchjackalope, who requested “Fjord singing a sea shanty?” Now with bonus Caduceus :) I decided to post it as its own post, since I’ve had issues with cuts when replying to asks in the past.

This is set at some ambiguous time prior to reaching Rumblecusp.

The deck of the Balleater tends to be quiet at night - empty, save the watches that hold at port and stern, watching for yellow eyes in the deep. Most of the Nein try to maintain their sequence of sleeping hours when possible, preferring to wake with the dawn while they have the choice. And Fjord… tries. He really does. But with the memories of long-fingered creatures dragging him from his bed towards the water below come visions of other sleepless nights, all the things he dreamed of back then, and it’s hard to keep his eyes closed for long.

Better to catch a nap during the daylight hours, when the rest are alert and awake on his behalf. And besides, the storm of the previous night blew the rigging out, and somebody has to haul the jib back in if they want to stay on course. They’re short-handed as it is - might as well be him.

It takes longer than it should to catch the drifting line, all his strength engaged in hanging by one arm from the ropes and reaching out into the open air, but when he does, it’s easy enough to clamber back down to the deck and start hauling the sail in. The wind beats the ocean against the hull in time with his pulls, and he finds himself humming a familiar tune beneath his breath, the muttered words matching the motion of his hands.

Eight days on to Feolinn, the wine is getting low Our barrels long for drink and song But there’s seven more to go

There’s no one to echo back the refrain, and for a moment, Fjord’s hands pause in their task. The sail goes slack, and what’s left open catches in the evening breeze. Fjord catches it just in time before the furl yanks the rope from his hands, and he shakes himself as he resumes hauling, finishing the line that would typically be a boisterous chorus with something of a sheepish mumble.

Seven more to go…

“I didn’t know you sang.”

Startled, Fjord whirls around, clutching the rope to his chest lest he lose it again.

Caduceus is there, leaning against the deck rail with a handful of nuts in one palm, and a skin of something - maybe water - in the other. Immediately, Fjord’s cheeks begin to burn - how long had he been standing there, listening?

“Don’t really,” he says. The line in his hands gives another tug, and he quickly finishes pulling it in and securing the sail before turning back to Caduceus - a task that takes far too short a time, in Fjord’s opinion, because Caduceus is still there, watching as curiously as ever, when he finishes. “It’s not really a song, just something I learned on Vandran’s ship.”

“Forgive me if I’m confused,” Caduceus says, and pops a nut into his mouth, “but I’m not sure what you’d call that except singing.”

Fjord huffs, the embarrassment over being caught not quite dispelled as he joins Caduceus at the railing, a careful five feet away. “It’s a chanty.”

“Which is…?”

“...a song,” Fjord reluctantly concedes. “But it’s not really a song song. It’s more… a chant, I guess. To keep people working in time. You can’t haul a sail in evenly if everyone’s pulling to a different rhythm.”

“Ah. That makes sense.” Caduceus takes another nut, then offers the hand to Fjord. He reluctantly reaches out and takes one. At least the chewing gives him something else to concentrate on besides his own burning cheeks.

Caduceus cracks the skin open next and takes a deep swig. It comes away from his lips, leaving them wet, and slightly reddened.

Fjord stares.

“Just because it’s got a practical application, doesn’t mean it’s not music. My family wasn’t much for singing, but a lot of the poetry my parents taught us was supposed to be instructional, as well as beautiful. Always like that about them. It’s nice, when things can serve more than one purpose. Convenient, really.”

It’s hard to tell with just moonlight to see by, but he could swear Caduceus’s pale cheeks are as flushed as his own. And there’s a smell on the air… something sweet and pungent, even noticeable over the salty brine that soaks the deck.

It’s not just water in that skin. He’s sure of it now.

“Any particular reason you’re up so late?” Fjord asks carefully, letting himself creep just a little bit closer, to see if there are any other signs to confirm his theory. “Couldn’t sleep?” The smell grows stronger. It’s one he’s more used to from the shortest in their group - not the tallest, without the weight or constitution or practice to carry it.

“No real reason. Just needed some air,” Caduceus lies, easily, so easily that if he wasn’t so clearly drunk Fjord’s not sure he would have caught it: the twinge in Caduceus’s voice, something just slightly off, that even inebriation can’t disguise. “How about you?”

Any other night, Fjord might have been persuaded to answer, to shift the conversation back onto himself, but the sight of Caduceus standing against the railing, holding a skin of what must be, has to be, alcohol in his hand, and swaying slightly as the ocean rocks, is strange enough to compel him to push a little further.

“You know me. Night owl. But seriously, Caduceus. Something got you up?”

“Maybe I was a little hungry,” Caduceus suggests, gesturing with the nut-filled hand, and that makes sense, but it still doesn’t explain the wine in the other. “I didn’t feel like cooking, though.

“I can see that.” Fjord debates just taking a swipe for the skin, curiosity and concern quickly eclipsing any thought towards Caduceus’s privacy. At least the attempt is less likely to end in the scratches down his arm that a similar action would have gotten with Nott. But after reeling his more impulsive instincts in, he decides on a more subtle approach. “Say, I’m pretty parched. Could I have a sip from that?”

The hesitation tells Fjord all he needs to know. “This is almost empty,” Caduceus lies again, immediately betrayed by the clearly audible sloshing from the skin in his hand, and Fjord frowns.

It’s not like him, to be dishonest like this.

…Is it?

Is he just a better liar when he’s not drunk?

“Don’t think wine’s the best thing to fill your belly, honestly. You’re already seasick,” Fjord says, trying to keep his voice as non-judgemental as possible. Caduceus’s flinch tells him he doesn’t succeed in the effort, but just as quickly Caduceus’s typical easy smile floats back to his lips, still red-stained, and beginning to crack near the middle from too many days in the sun.

“I’ll be fine. I only had a little.”

Another lie. He should probably be offended, that Caduceus thinks he won’t see through so many in a row.

But honestly, he’s just worried.

“Since when do you drink, anyway?”

“Veth suggested it.”

“And you agreed?”

Caduceus shrugs. A number of the nuts fall out of his hand and onto the deck, and after a moment too long he looks down, as though surprised to see them scattered there at his feet.

“She said it helps you sleep.”

Ah. So he couldn’t sleep. Some truth at last.

“A little, maybe,” Fjord says. “But you have too much, you’re going to pay for it tomorrow.”

“Trust me, I know,” Caduceus replies, and it’s the most sober he’s sounded the whole conversation.

Fjord’s only seen Caduceus truly gone once before - all silly impressions and smiles, and laying his head down at Yasha’s shoulder. He’d always figured him for a happy drunk. But his voice is melancholic tonight - tired, and darker, somehow.

Fjord closes another foot or two, until their arms are close to brushing.

“To steal a metaphor from you, oh, five minutes ago, you sure the wine isn’t doing double duty?” He gives Caduceus’s shoulder a gentle nudge with his own, trying to keep his tone light, to not drag the conversation down any farther.

“What?”

“Just wondering if there was any other reason you were drinking tonight, besides to sleep?”

Caduceus looks startled, for the first time fully meeting Fjord’s gaze. His eyes are too wide, too blown out for their shape, and Fjord finds himself freezing in place, caught in a stare that is, for once, fully unguarded, and all the more terrifying for it.

“I don’t know,” Caduceus says. “I- it seemed like the thing to do, at the time.” He laughs, turning his eyes back down to the deck. “I don’t remember. I think I lost track.”

Caduceus falls silent, and Fjord nudges him again, bringing his eyes back up.

“Lost track of what? How much you drank?”

“No. The reasons why.”

Fjord lets out a slow breath. It feels like they’re on the precipice of something, a conversation too heavy to have in this dim light. Part of him wants to push, while Caduceus is open like this - vulnerable, in a way he so seldom lets himself be.

The other part of him knows they’ll both regret it in the morning.

“I think it’s time for both of us to get some sleep,” he says, and takes Caduceus by the arm, leading him back towards the hold where Caleb’s bubble is waiting to shelter them both. Caduceus goes willingly with his hand, only stumbling a little as they walk towards the staircase that goes below. The rest of the nuts fall to the deck, and neither bothers to clean them up - the seagulls will do the work by morning. “Let’s talk later, ok?”

“Hmm,” Caduceus hums. “Alright.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Fjord says, only half-teasing. “Now let’s get you back to bed before you puke all over my deck.”

They’re almost to the lowest hold by the time Caduceus speaks again.

“Fjord,” he says quietly. “Sometime, you should sing the rest of that song. I’d like to hear it.”

“Chanty,” he corrects. “And you know what, let’s make a deal. You tell me what’s going on with you, tomorrow, and I’ll sing you any song you want to hear.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Caduceus repeats - a little more slurred than normal, but sounding more like his usual teasing self.

That assurance is enough to let Fjord get a few winks, at least.

#critical role #fjorclay #i finished this JUST in time for the episode #literally minutes to spare #im proud of myself lol #my writing

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blancheludis · 3 years

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@whumptober2021 Day 1: Bound / Gagges / “You have to let go.”

Fandom: Batman, DC Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Tags: Dick Grayson Whump, Kidnapped, Emotionally Repressed Bruce, Trauma Words: 2.874

Summary: Dick remembers vividly how all he wanted to do as a child was to fly. He is all grown-up now, though - becoming an orphan does that – and he wants nothing more than solid ground beneath his feet and the memory of snapping bones scratched out of his mind.

But when Bruce tells him to let go and jump, he tries. Right until he is shot out of the air.

---

The first rule of working with the trapeze is to never let go unless he is completely sure he will land again safely. Dick’s parents told him that long before he was ever allowed to even begin training with them, before he made his first longing steps on the high wire, already imagining himself soaring through the air with them.

So, when Bruce tells him, “You have to let go,” the first time he is dangling mid-air over a rooftop because nobody told him that working with the grappling hook would throw him right back to his first trapeze trainings with his parents, it is all he can do not to curl up into a ball and hope someone will catch him.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, somewhere below him, gentle in his own way, even if he has nothing on Dick’s father.

Dick remembers vividly how all he wanted to do as a child was to fly. He is all grown-up now, though - becoming an orphan does that – and he wants nothing more than solid ground beneath his feet and the memory of snapping bones scratched out of his mind.

“Is it safe?” Dick asks, his voice too high and too thin. If he had ever sounded like this at home, his mother would have pulled him to their trailer and hugged him close, feeding him cookies and hot cocoa.

“Yes.” Bruce’s tone is gruff, not impatient but like he is wondering why Dick cannot see the obvious. No explanation, no reassurance, no gentle guiding through the motions.

Dick never wanted too many instructions as a child, too eager, too fearless. His parents had to teach him patience. And life taught him fear.

What if I fall? Dick does not ask. He has always known what falling meant, even before it claimed his parents. He just never thought it would ever be an issue for him. The Flying Graysons – it is in the name. Flying, not –

“Robin,” Bruce says with a sigh.

His mother’s nickname for him jars Dick enough that he lets go abruptly, curling up to cushion his fall. This name has no place here, even though Dick proposed it himself as his alias. He is not brave anymore.

“Good.” Bruce is already turning, ready to return to patrol, but he briefly lays a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

Something in Dick’s mind screams. Never let go unless you’re sure. Never jump blindly. Never rely on somebody catching you. But the rules have changed.

When Dick gets to his feet, Bruce has already moved on.

---

The bat signal lights up and Dick knows this night will be an unpleasant one. Their slow patrol has just now changed into a chase. Bruce never said something out loud, but after Dick’s almost panic attack the first time he was using the grapple, they have been taking longer routes, travelling from rooftop to rooftop instead of rushing at neck-breaking speed through the night.

Dick is not sure whether to be grateful for that. In small doses, fear is a useful tool, life-saving even. But his entire life has changed and safe does not really have any room in it anymore.

“Keep up,” Bruce calls and then he is off, vanishing into the night without any more directions. Well, it is clear where they are going, Dick just has to follow.

Perhaps he is a coward, but he keeps going slowly, at first, walking when he could fly, but he has trusted his parents for longer than he has trusted Bruce, if he does at all. Gotham does not have any safety nets, no helping hands. Worse, he is the helping hand and Bruce trusts him to keep up.

The first two times he uses the grappling hook, everything goes well. He knows the motions, has the needed strength and agility. It is just his head that is the problem. But he manages it. Grapple, jump, fall, land. Grapple, jump, fall, land. Grapple, jump, fall –

Something hits him in mid-air, hard enough to loosen his grip. Years of practice make him cling to the line, knowing his life might depend on it. Breathing heavily, Dick chances a glance around, suspended in the air. The city is dark and nothing is moving. Bruce is long gone by now and –

Another hit, this one needle-sharp in his upper arm. Burning spreads across his skin, jolting him from his stupor. He still does not see where it is coming from but Bruce’s voice sounds sharp and clear in his head. You have to let go. Because right now, he is nothing but a target. Bright green and yellow, a beacon in the darkness.

Sweat covers Dick’s forehead as he stares into the dark, trying to see where he will land. Only his vision swims, going blurry from more than just adrenaline. And his skin is burning even hotter now and – he feels his hands slipping and then he is falling.

---

When Dick comes to, he remembers the fall but not how he landed. Just that terrifying, exhilarating moment of weightlessness before the crash. His entire body hurts, so he guesses he is not dead.

There is something wrong, though, he notices as his sluggish mind tries to make sense of what happened. He is sitting upright, too upright for having only woken up, and his eyelids are heavy. He has to put serious effort into lifting them. And then he wishes he had not.

He is not out on the rooftops anymore but in what looks like an abandoned workshop. Metal floor and metal tables, a lone lamp giving light somewhere behind him. He is sitting on a chair, pressed against the hard surface.

“My, my, look at what the cat dragged in. A little birdie,” a voice calls out as footsteps come close.

Dick barely notices that. All he can do is stare at his hands, bound to the metal chair with barbed wire. And there, around his chest, another piece bound several times around him. The pain does not even register over the pounding behind his eyelids. It is the blood that gets him. A dozen tiny trails of crimson run down his skin, reminding him so eerily of his parents bleeding out.

What happened? He was trying to follow after Bruce when he was hit by something. And now he is bound – with barbed wire – in a strange place with someone who does not sound like he is here to help-

Focus, his father’s voice sounds, if you let your mind wander, you’ll get hurt.

Dick has already broken one of his parents’ rules today and see where it got him. So, he takes a deep breath and tears his eyes away from his hands, trying his best to stay utterly still.

A man steps into his sight. Average height and build, small eyes that light up when he notices Dick looking at him. If he strains his ears, there are a few more voices talking quietly in his back, and Dick does not know what to make of that. It only makes his situation worse, but at least he was not taken out by a single opponent.

Considering the position he is in and how little care they have taken with his body, like they do not care if he ends up broken, it might not matter. Bruce will not bother to lecture him, if he is dead.

Dead. Dick might die today. All his life he has done things defying death. Soaring through the air with only ropes and his parents’ hands to save him. But it never felt like he was in any danger. His mother taught him to respect the height, and his father trained him to trust himself. He always knew the danger before he gave himself over to it.

This is different. This man does not care for Dick’s life. If the way he shot him out of the air and bound his battered body to a chair is not enough of a hint, the manic condescension in his face as he looks at Dick definitely is.

“Let’s see how long it’ll take for Batman to come for you,” the man says, his tone almost conspiratorial like he is just a concerned citizen trying to help Dick find his way home.

Dick knows Batman will not come, because Dick was supposed to keep up but could not. The rules here are very simple if not as clearly communicated as they were at home. But Dick was always a quick learner, even if it takes him some time to forget old lessons.

He only realizes he must have spoken some of that out loud, when the guy in front of him grins, full of crooked teeth and malice. “Then we’ll have to make you scream for him.”

The first punch hits Dick square in the jaw and the unexpectedness of it is probably worse than the pain. At least until Dick instinctively wants to shy away, trying to raise his hands in defence. The barbed wire bites into his already raw skin like a thousand tiny teeth hungry for blood. It starts as something sharp and then it burns, worse than anything Dick has experienced before. An entirely too rational voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Bruce tells him to relax, that it will only get worse if he fights against the wire. But he does not know how. He just wants to get away, but it follows his movements, digging deeper until it feels like it is clawing right through his core.

“I wouldn’t struggle so much if I were you,” the man says, caressing Dick’s face as if he had not just hit him. “You want to keep those pretty hands, right?”

Blind panic floods through Dick. Surely the barbed wire is not enough to cut through muscle and bone. Right? He is nothing without his hands. He cannot be Robin anymore and Bruce will not have any more use for him. He will have to leave, live out on the streets because what does anybody want with a circus brat without hands?

Despite his best intentions, Dick tries to free himself, fights against the bindings even though that only makes the pain worse. His breath comes in gasping bouts, barely enough to fill his lungs with air, but he cannot calm down. He is burning up from the inside.

He jumped before he was ready to and now he will die just like his parents, cut loose and with nowhere to land. This is not how this was supposed to happen. Bruce wanted to give him a second chance but Dick could not even do that.

Distantly, he hears the guy laughing, a full-bellied sound that belongs anywhere but here. “Scream, little birdie,” he taunts. “Scream or I’ll make you.”

Dick tries not to. It is not a matter of pride but merely that he is fighting to hold still despite the futility of it.

“Oh, well,” the man says, stepping closer. “This way will be more fun.”

The next punch hits Dick right in the stomach and he doubles over – or tries to if not for the barbed wire around his chest. And then he screams.

---

It is over as quickly as it began. Bruce arrives without noise or warning. One moment, punches rain down on Dick, a sickening drum-beat of pain, the next there is only cold air and burning skin.

Later, Dick will be ashamed by how easily Bruce dispatched of the men who took him while all Dick did was panic. Later, he will think he is not ready to fly again and yet he will jump with less caution. Because falling is surely better than being left behind.

He can barely concentrate as Bruce frees him from the barbed wire, peeling off the metal teeth with an unreadable look on his face. Dick can imagine what is happening beneath the mask. Disappointment. Anger at having to double back to get Dick out. Doubt he did the right thing when taking Dick in.

For all that Dick does not have much experience with disappointing other people, he is catching up on it very quickly. Perhaps his parents were simply wrong about him.

“Let’s go home,” Bruce says, not letting go of Dick after he helped him up to his feet. He looks like he is contemplating carrying him.

“What about the signal?” Dick asks, making sure he is steady on his feet before he pushes Bruce’s hands away. His mind is in disarray, but pain is still filling every corner of it. It leaves him strangely calm. The panic is sitting right beneath the surface but it cannot reach him and Tim really wants to keep it that way. Even without another full-blown panic attack is he afraid this might be the last time Bruce wants to take him home.

“Gordon will take care of it.” Despite the dismissive sound, Bruce is clearly frustrated.

The bat signal is explicitly for the cases where Batman is needed. If Gordon wanted to handle it on his own, the signal would not have been lit.

Guilt rises in the pit of Dick’s stomach, almost more powerful than the thousand tiny wounds marring his skin. “I can get back on my own,” he says, even though the world is threatening to tilt to the side, still blurry at the edges.

That must be the drugs. But they will wear off, and he can really take his time now. It will be fine, certainly.

Bruce does not look like it will be fine. He puts an arm on Dick’s shoulder as he turns. “Come.”

Dick wants to protest, wants to do at least one thing right, but he almost falls as soon as he takes the first step and only Bruce’s hand keeps him upright. The back of his eyes burns but he blinks furiously, desperate not to make this night any worse. He keeps his gaze down so Bruce will not see and concentrates on walking.

“You make a target of yourself if you stay too long in the air,” Bruce says while they are walking slowly, one step after the other. He does not make it sound like a reprimand but what else could it be? “You have to let go.”

“What if I don’t know where I’ll land?” Dick asks quietly. He does not want to bring his parents into this, because they are dead and will not be able to catch him.

“We’ll practice until you do.”

That sounds as if Dick will not be thrown out as soon as they get back, as if he will get a third chance. It does not reassure him as much as it probably should. His entire body is throbbing with pain and someone just used him as a punching bag for no other reason than to attract Batman’s attention. All his life, he was taught safety is the most important thing. If this is what the alternative looks like, he is not sure he wants to unlearn that.

But he nods anyway, because all he wants right now is something for the pain and Alfred’s hot chocolate and a warm bed. He wants to forget this night ever happened.

“Are you all right?” Bruce asks later, once Dick is bandaged up and out of uniform.

Dick bites the inside of his cheek. No is not the right answer here. He is not a child anymore, not a son. He is Robin, whose task is to assist Batman.

Living here with Bruce and Alfred in a mansion where all his needs are taken care of – that is his safety net. This is perhaps not the kind of safe his parents wanted for him, but it is the only thing he has left.

Not trusting his voice to hold steady, Dick nods. He keeps his head up while Bruce studies him, searching for any doubts.

Finally, Bruce says with that barely-there smile of his, “Next time, keep up.”

And Dick does.

---

Much later, when falling has become second nature and Bruce has found himself another child to teach self-destructive skills to, Dick composes a list.

If you need something, tell him, because Bruce won’t ask. If you’re feeling unwell, get Alfred involved, he’ll know what to do. If you’re hurting, stop. Never jump unless you know where you’re landing.

There are a few points at the very bottom of the list that he crossed out again. He has learned by now not to make promises he cannot keep. He won’t throw you out, even if you’re not perfect. Your home in the manor is not dependant on being Robin.

The first time Dick meets Jason, he knows he will never hand that list over. This is a boy with a chip on his shoulder if he ever met one, eager to prove himself, with already too many scars.

“Call me, if you need anything,” Dick still says when it is time to go, tone as insistent as he dares with Bruce hovering in the background. “Anytime.”

They all need to learn to jump, but Dick still thinks they still should have someone to catch them.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #barbed wire #dc #fanfiction #whump #dick grayson #bruce wayne #my writing

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ingu · 4 years

Note

These TUA prompt drabbles you're doing are amazing. If you're up for more, how about “Is there anything you won’t do to get what you want?” and “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

[Warning for period-typical racism affecting Allison in this fill.]

The expression on Allison’s face when she walked into the hospital room was almost enough to make Five instantly regret the phone call.

He knew he didn’t make a pretty sight, laid up in bed dressed in a hospital gown, an IV plugged into his arm. The doctors and the police officer had had far too many questions about where his injuries had come from. And the easiest way to get out of answering had been for him to play the scared kid and demand for them to call his family.

Though now that his family was here, Five found he didn’t enjoy the look of shock and worry that crossed his sister’s face in the slightest.

“Five!” Allison gasped, eyes wide as she rushed to his bedside. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Five said, pushing himself up, wincing as the movement tugged at his injuries. “I need you to get me out of here.”

“What happened to you?” Allison insisted. “Why didn’t you call me sooner? How long have you been here?”

This was the other thing he had been dreading, the questions. Frustration flared.

“Allison, if it helps, I didn’t want to call you at all,” Five said, reaching out his hand. “Now give me your coat, and the scarf.” He had no idea where they’d put his clothes and he had to hide the gown somehow when they left.

If Five could reliably walk on his own he’d already be out of here, but even getting out of bed was a problem at the moment with the painkillers in his system. His powers were refusing to cooperate and he needed someone to get him out before the entire nightmare would drag on any longer.

“Oh for the love of-” Allison sighed, the worry on her face hardening into a glare. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get in here? Looking like this?” She gestured at her face aggressively.

Right, segregation. “Considering your powers I didn’t think it’d be a problem.”

“I’m trying to not rely on it anymore, Five. Anyway, what happened to you?” Allison insisted, making no move to acquiesce to Five’s demands. “Why are you in hospital? Answer the question.”

Five, arm still outstretched, was starting to see the lack of wisdom in antagonizing the one person he was relying on to rescue him.

Five sighed, closing his eyes briefly as he lowered his arm. “Fine, I passed out in the street, okay? Someone brought me to the hospital when they saw the blood and injuries… and then they wouldn’t let me leave.”

“What?” Shock shifted back into concern on Allison’s face, and she looked down at Five’s body, raising an arm as though she wanted to check him over. “You passed out? What injuries? Who hurt you?”

Five’s first instinct was to refuse to answer, but that was probably equally pointless since Allison could easily get it out of the doctor. Was Five ever going to live this down? Most likely not.

“Just some bruising and scrapes, and the old shrapnel wound was bleeding again,” Five said. The doctors had also made some comment about malnourishment and exhaustion, but Allison didn’t need to know about that. Five was pretty sure he’d be fine.

“Shrapnel?” Confusion, then understanding, crossed Allison’s face in rapid succession. “Five, how long have you been in the 60s?”

Five raised an eyebrow. “Four? Five days?”

Allison’s eyes widened, and then she rubbed at her temples. “Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It’s not like I was hiding it,” Five said. “You guys never asked. Now give me your clothes. We need to get out of here before the nurse comes back.”

Five really didn’t want to find out if social services was already a thing in 1963, because he knew what all of it looked like right now. There were only so many conclusions a person could reach when they found what looked like an injured runaway passed out in the street.

Allison narrowed her eyes at him, before she sighed, clearly recognizing that Five was right, and started stripping off her coat and scarf. Five carefully removed his IV as she did, and then pulled the coat over his gown, before wrapping the scarf around his neck to hide the rest of it.

“Uh,” Allison looked over him. “Where are your shoes?”

Five shrugged, staring down at his toes. He’d sort of forgotten about shoes. He was going to blame it on the drugs.

“Okay, you look ridiculous,” Alison said as she looked over him, her face twisting with almost a smile. “I’m just going to ask them to give me your clothes.”

“Excuse me, who are you? How did you get in here?”

A soft female voice suddenly piped up from the doorway, both Allison and Five looked over with wide eyes to find a middle-aged nurse staring at them both. There was a polite smile on her face that masked her clear suspicion very poorly.

They must paint quite a picture for her. A ‘strange’ black woman standing over a young white boy in a white hospital.

Five really hated the sixties.

“I am…” Allison hesitated, an equally polite smile frozen on her face. “His babysitter.”

She smiled sweetly at the nurse, every bit of the award winning actress she was known to be.

Five grit his teeth, and did his best to smile and nod. Allison’s explanation was practical, even if it was annoying, and Allison’s expression told him she knew how much Five hated it.

“Mr and Mrs Hargreeves hired me to take care of him and his siblings while they’re out of town on vacation,” Allison smiled even harder. “He got bullied by his older brothers and ran away. I’m so glad someone found him.”

Five watched the nurse’s expression, his heart sinking when he saw her expression grow cold. She wasn’t buying it at all.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Allison continued, exuding gratitude and relief. “I’ll be able to take him home to his family now.”

“Well.” The nurse’s face drooped with disapproval. “You’ve certainly done an excellent job watching this child. If you would give me his parents’ contact details, I will be reporting to them what you’ve done to him.”

Five sighed internally as Allison’s smile froze on her face. This was why he wanted to leave sooner rather than later. Maybe he should have called Luther instead of counting on Allison’s power to get them both out without incident. Of all the times for her sister to go through some sort of moral crisis about her power, she had to pick the 1960s.

Though Five supposed Allison hadn’t picked it, Five was the one who had stranded her here. Fuck. He had no idea how to even begin making up for the shit she must have gone through because of him.

“And don’t think I’m going to let this boy go with you after what you’ve clearly done to him.” The nurse continued, rambling in her self-righteous rage. “You’re the one who beat this poor boy, aren’t you? He is half starved, look at how skinny he is! I bet you haven’t fed him properly in days. I’ve always known that your people couldn’t be trusted with looking after our children, you-”

The moment the slurs started coming out, Five decided it was enough.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” Five said suddenly, cutting off the woman’s tirade before it could get any more abusive.

Allison’s was shaking with rage next to him, her hands clenched into fists. She looked about ready to punch the woman herself.

Five was tempted to do it for her, at this point. Calling Allison had definitely been a mistake. What a way to fuck up on top of passing out in the damn street.

The nurse started at Five’s interjection, and glared at him in outrage. “Excuse me, young man. I am tr-”

That was it. Five hopped off of the bed and then immediately crumpled as his legs refused to take his weight.

“Five!” Allison and the nurse rushed forward at the same time. Allison, who was closest, caught Five before he could end up completely sprawled across the floor.

The nurse closed the distance between them rapidly, then started trying to pull Allison away as even more hate spewed from her mouth.

Pulling on all of his strength, Five threw himself forward and punched her to shut her up.

“Five!” Allison shouted, her arms wrapping around Five as the nurse reeled back with a cry of pain.

Dammit. Five was still too weak from whatever the hell it was they gave him to knock the woman out. Five refused to believe it was just a matter of exhaustion.

Five kicked the woman in the shins.

The nurse stumbled back, shouting.

“Five what are you-” Allison fumbled awkwardly, trying to pull him back from the racist nurse.

“Just let me go-” Five lunged forward, fighting Allison as her arms tightened around his frame.

“I-I heard-” Allison stammered. “I heard a rumor that you forgot everything that just happened and think everything’s fine!”

The nurse’s eyes flashed white, and then confusion fell across her face as she stared at both of them in surprise.

Five relaxed in Allison’s arms, and cautiously watched the woman.

Beside him, Allison smiled nervously, and spoke again before the nurse in front of them could come to the wrong conclusion. “I heard a rumor that you completely trust me with this boy and have no problems with me taking him home. And that you will bring me his clothes.”

The woman’s eyes flashed white again as Allison’s power took hold. Then, a friendly smile unfolded over her face.

“Well, it’s so good that you’re here to pick him up. Let me go get his clothes so you can take him home,” the woman said gently, before she turned and walked out of the room, still smiling.

“Finally,” Five sagged in Allison’s arms the moment they were alone again. “You should have just done that from the start.”

“Five-” Allison sighed, though strangely enough, her arms tightened even more around him. “Is there anything you won’t do to get what you want?”

“Of course,” Five answered without missing a beat. “It just happens that beating up some racist asshole isn’t on the list.”

A tremor went through Allison behind him, and then, weirdly enough, she started shaking with laughter.

Five, feeling guilty for being the reason she’d just gone through the abuse, stood there and let her get it out of her system.

“God, I hate the past so much,” Allison mumbled after a moment, her arms loosening around Five. “Think you can stand?”

“I’ll be okay,” Five said quietly, carefully balancing himself. “Just give me your arm on the way out.”

“Alright,” Allison said, watching him with an uncomfortably soft smile on her face.

“And… sorry about that,” Five said. He’d underestimated just how messed up the period was when he decided to call her. “I won’t let it happen again.”

He was going to get her out of this time and back to 2019. That and also make sure he didn’t pass out again.

“Well,” Allison said, eyes gentle as she considered him. “You can make it up to me by buying me lunch.”

“Fine,” Five said, hoping his money would still be in his pockets when his clothes showed up again. “You can even choose where.”

Though, all things considered, pickpocketing some random so he could feed Allison was something Five was definitely willing to do.

“Getting you into a black diner is going to take a bit of explaining, though,” Allison murmured beside him suddenly.

Five sighed. He couldn’t wait to get back to 2019.

#i thought allison should get a turn #and now here we are #i hope you like it anon!#f: the umbrella academy #mine: fic #m: fic #Anonymous

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forkanna · 3 years

Link

[AO3] [WATTPAD]

NOTE: The beginning of this chapter hits a little harder than it did when I wrote it, because my own grandparent is in ill health of late. That's partially what's been complicating my life. I promise I will post fanfics other than this one very soon - including a certain one a certain fandom has been clamoring for.

------

"Grandma? What do you do when you feel like life is over?"

The elderly proprietor of Marukyu smiled, even if she didn't turn away from the stove. Rise tried not to think too hard about all the new wrinkles that were forming around the corners of her eyes, how much slower she walked than she did before Rise took off for fame and fortune. Those thoughts didn't bring any joy to anyone. Might as well focus on the positives.

"What on Earth are you talking about, Ri-chan? You are still so young. You have many years ahead of you, you should not be thinking about such things yet."

"I… can't help it." She tried to turn her thoughts aside from actual mortality and toward her situation with her classmate. "A friend I really like is fighting with me, and I don't know what to do. I think- no, I know I hurt her feelings on accident. But she's really hurt and she thinks I did it on purpose."

"Hm? What could you have done, dear mago? You are so young, I'm sure it was nothing."

What could she say? How was she supposed to tell her kindly old grandmother that she might not be entirely straight, her friend might not be entirely female, and their relationship might not be entirely platonic? The woman was very traditional, even if she very rarely had an unkind word to say about anyone.

"I told a secret to a friend. Another friend, I mean. And I thought I could trust her with it, but I know now I shouldn't have told her at all… because the whole school found out, and the first friend is embarrassed."

Her grandmother laughed as she lifted a block of silken tofu from the box in which it had been setting, placing it on the counter to be cut into smaller pieces. Rise fell to work right away, since this was her job at the moment as sous-chef. "Ri-chan, it is not something to worry about, I can assure you. These things happen. But if you don't talk to your friend, don't try to work things out, you will regret it later in life. I promise you that, as well."

That, she could absolutely believe. "Yeah. She's just so angry, I don't know what to say to her. Is there anything I can say? Or should I just keep letting her know I want to talk and let her be the one to come to me? I don't know what to do!"

"Ahhhhh, yes, I can understand your concern there. It is like… playing go." They both chuckled, because the raw soybean liquid she was now straining to make the milk base for tofu was also pronounced "go", even though she was referring to the board game. "You are worried what every move you make will be the wrong one. To give up too much territory would be a costly mistake. But to do nothing is the worst move of them all. Then you will have not played, and you have already lost."

"But I…" That was hard to argue with. If she didn't lift a finger at all, she would lose Ai. Sure, if she risked it all she could still lose her, but they were better odds than giving up now. "Y-yeah. Thanks, Grandma."

"Of course. And I know, it must sound silly from an old lady like me, saying your troubles are so small. I know to you, they seem like mountains. But looking back from the mountain I stand on now, they were the foothills. You'll see someday."

Slumping, she set the knife down now that the tofu had been sliced into portions. "If I live that long…"

"RISE!" Suddenly she was being whacked with a spoon, and she ducked and covered her head. "Don't talk like that! You will have a long and healthy life, or I will send you right back to this world to try again! Do you understand?"

"Yes, Grandma," she said with a little bow. Even though she was smiling. So what if her parents were idiots? She had family; she wasn't alone. Sometimes life gives you exactly what you need — no more, no less.

~ o ~

However, what Rise had not been given was a plan of attack. And the longer she tried to think about it, tried to come up with something to put into play the next day, the more she continued to come up blank. So she decided to focus on practicing her vocals. The exercises were second nature by now, but she was still so rusty after only occasionally singing over the past year. Getting back into the game meant all parts of it, not just the "fun" ones.

Nothing happened the next day at school. Literally nothing. She did try to seek out Ai a few times, just in case they could smooth over the unpleasantness after she had her single petty act of revenge. Maybe that was it. Maybe they could be friends again, if she apologised… but Ai was either skipping, or very artfully avoiding her at all turns. She never saw her once, and she wasn't even responding to her texts or voicemails. Ghosted.

That evening, after dinnertime, she came calling around the Ebihara residence. But the woman who answered told her they weren't receiving guests. Probably a maid, but it also could have been a secretary of some sort. It definitely wasn't Ai's mother…

Thursday seemed like it would be much the same as the last. Unfortunately, an incident toward the end of the day interrupted an otherwise dull existence. Rise had been hoping for something like that — until it happened, and made her eat her wish.

"Attention, please!" called Noriko Kashiwagi in her throaty purr, crossing her arms to prop up her breasts and put them even more on display. Rise had long ago become desensitised to her teacher's little inappropriate displays, but that didn't mean she wasn't far more comfortable in Ms. Sofue's classroom, despite her Egyptian headdress. At least she didn't behave as if she were auditioning for a porno. "Mmm, yes, all eyes on me, class! All eyes on me!"

"Ugh," Kanji muttered from behind her. "No thanks, old bag." Rise tried not to snort.

"That's better. Now… would anyone care to explain this?"

She held up a manilla folder. An empty manilla folder. One of the girls in the front row raised her hand, and the teacher pointed to her. "Is… it's a folder, right?"

"It is. And there was supposed to be something in there. Would anyone care to guess what?" Dead silence. "The answers to yesterday's quiz. But it seems they walked off. Now, if some young, strapping boy would like to come forward and… reveal himself, maybe a little detention with me can straighten him right up."

While she was chuckling in way too flirtatious a tone than was appropriate, making most of the class wonder if they should be reporting her, Rise was glancing around the room, trying to see if she could spot the perpetrator. Not that she knew what to look for exactly; Naoto would have been the one with that skill set, and she wasn't in that class. But she couldn't help idly speculating anyway.

"No one? Very well. I will give you until the end of this class, or you will all be serving detention if the culprit doesn't come forward." When the predictable grumbling broke out, she raised her voice a little to say, "But! Confess your sins, and I may be more lenient! Now take out your books, we must get started."

"Shit," Kanji grumbled under his breath as the students rushed to obey. None of them were coming forward, but none of them wanted to get in trouble for something else either. "That gross old lady is gonna find some way to pin this on one of us. I just know it."

"Would you relax?" Rise hissed under her breath, glancing back at him as she opened her book. "She probably just misplaced it while she was too busy thinking about new ways to make the boys in her class feel uncomfor-huh?"

She cut off when she felt a page slide over her fingers in a way that wasn't natural. Looking down, she saw a piece of paper fluttering to the floor. Did somebody toss it onto her desk? No, it was much more likely it had been tucked in the pages of her book and fallen out when she opened it. Brow furrowing, she stooped to pick it up.

And her heart stopped. It didn't take her more than a couple of seconds to figure out what she was looking at.

"What's that?" asked one of the boys. She had barely looked up at him when everybody else was craning their neck, trying to see. Instinctively, she drew away, even though she would later regret doing so.

"Miss Kujikawa, do you have something you care to share with the class?"

"Oh. Well… yes, Miss Kashiwagi, this fell out of my textbook."

The woman slunk through the classroom toward her. Really, she started to think she ought to get a phone set up somewhere to grab video of the audacity of this cougar! She snatched the page out of her hand, stared at it… and her eyebrows shot up.

"This is it. The answer key." A ripple of gasps spread throughout the room, followed by hushed whispering. "Oh… but why would you need this, Kujikawa? Your grades have been consistently splendid."

"I… I didn't take it, I promise! It was just there already — I've never seen that before in my life!"

Noriko shook her head and tsked. "My, my, such acting skills. Not that I'm surprised, Risette. I would say that you must have been stealing the answers all along and that's why your grades are so high, but… this is the first time an answer key has gone missing."

"Miss Kashiwagi," Kanji put in suddenly, "come on, that's crap." Rise saw the teacher flinch at his disrespectful coarseness, and was thankful he pushed ahead immediately afterward. "Why the hell would she put that somewhere as stupid as her book if she was trying to cheat? Nobody's that dumb."

"Or careless," the teacher agreed with a long sigh, staring down at the page thoughtfully. For a long few seconds that had Rise's stomach twisting into knots. "Kujikawa, I'll supervise while you retake the test after school. If you score an above average grade on it, no cheating, I will choose to believe this somehow found its way into your book by mistake and we will forget the whole thing. But I had better not see you pull anything like this again, understand?"

The pop idol deflated somewhat. She had really been hoping the teacher would just believe her outright, and she wasn't thrilled at the idea of having to retake a test for no good reason. But all she said aloud was, "Yes, sensei."

"Mm. Now, if any of you choose to admit to a little prank on Kujikawa, you can raise your hand now, or see me after class. Where I can punish you suitably."

If only she didn't add that sinister chuckle as she walked back to her desk, hips swaying too much to be accidental…

"What the hell?" Kanji hissed to her as the teacher began to give their lesson for the day in earnest. "You didn't do it, right?"

"No, I didn't."

"Then how'd that thing get into your book? It was in your bag before you even walked into class."

Jaw setting as she stared through the blackboard, Rise growled, "Oh… I have a pretty good idea."

~ o ~

This time, Ai was lying in wait like a supervillain in her lair — even if it was just on the roof. Rise was already shaking her head and clapping as she walked up to her.

"Thank you, thank you." She even took a little bow before raising up to smirk devilishly at her. "And I'm sure you're pissed but trying to put on that brave face."

"You think this is tatemae? No, no. You're getting the real Rise, live and in colour."

"Sure, okay, whatever. But you must be here because of my little gift."

Rise leaned her elbows against the ledge, staring out over Inaba through the fence. Just sighing and thinking. Ai regarded her warily; she could see as much out of the corner of her eye. But she didn't say anything further as she waited for the response.

"It didn't feel good."

"That's it?" she snorted. "Wow."

"It didn't. Because you were my friend, and I miss you, and… I don't want to fight. Doesn't matter, though; I know I really messed up, and you're mad. And I can't change that; maybe… I can't ever change it. But does it have to go down like this? Really?"

Ai's tone wasn't as jovial now. She was still ice cold, not betraying any pain or rage. "Yes."

"Fine. But now it's my turn to let you know something."

"And what might that be? Please, Risette, bless me with your tiny little thoughts."

Rise spun to glare at her. "Oh, there it is. You think I'm small-minded, huh? Because I didn't know how to handle this from the beginning. Well I guess I was. But don't you think this is a pretty childish way to react? Trying to embarrass me, get me kicked out of school?"

"You mean the way you almost got me kicked out of school? Which could still happen, you know; I fooled them once, but what if I slip up? Or you slip up again? Could still come crashing down around me. I'm used to shitty rumours circulating about me, y'know; these rumours are just new and unwelcome because they could mean the end of life as I know it. Hell, you could still just out me again more publicly, and then I'd be royally fucked. But I'm going to force your hand." She took a step closer, glowering down into her eyes. "I am going to push, and prod, and ruin, and unravel, until you either have to kick my ass, leave in defeat, or out me on purpose. You could do that, you know; it's always been on the table. But you really think you're a good person under all that fame and stardom and self-involvement."

Rise burst out laughing, biting as the sound was. "Whoa, whoa, amazing! You're sitting there, calling me vain again! YOU! I thought we already did this one."

Ai rolled her eyes. They were both drawn tight as bowstrings as they tried to navigate this situation, being so close to a person that had been everything in their eyes once. Rise knew she still felt that way. She only could guess whether or not her feelings remained requited, despite this feud.

"Fine. Then your days are numbered. I promise I'm going to be so happy when you're dragged off your pedestal, cutie."

"Sure," she snorted. "Because we both know that's not true."

"Oh, it's not?"

"No. You still love me." Even while Ai let out a blast of harsh laughter, Rise pushed ahead. "And I still love you. So you doing this to me? It's only going to be a bad look for one of us."

Ai's dark smile finally faded into a blank look. "I didn't think you would admit it. Wow, I really wrapped you around my finger, didn't I?"

Rise felt that. She saw the glimmer of hope, she knew she had to grasp it. But with Ai dead set on her current path, she didn't know how. So she simply whispered, "I will do whatever you want. Okay? Anything to make it up to you. I already would. But you have to act like I'm not a monster first, just… give me something to grab onto. Tell me how to be better."

Ai frowned, brow creasing the tiniest bit. She leaned closer, and Rise felt her heart leap into her throat — amazed this was going to happen, here, on the school roof where anyone could see them! Her eyes began to slide closed…

But before they were shut, she saw the smirk and her heart was already sinking. The writing was on the wall. Words weren't necessary; all they did was pour salt in the wound Ai had already ripped freshly open.

"You can't be better, because you can't be me."

Then she strutted confidently off toward the stairwell, leaving a bruised and battered survivor on the battlefield. Even if Rise wasn't the victor, nor had she died; it was something of an emotional break-even. But she would need a while to recover from the skirmish regardless. Anyone would have.

~ o ~

It took Rise until she was already walking home from school, a successful retake of a test she hadn't cheated on already under her belt, to realise the silver lining of all these events. The temptation to be so unbelievably furious with Ai was strong, as was the painful longing for release — to give up, to either forget about Ai forever or just retaliate to give her what she seemed to want. The idol didn't know what to do but she felt like doing nothing wasn't acceptable.

But eventually, as she was staring into the rippling water of the Fuefuki, it came to her. Clarity. The realisation that there was a flipside to just how ardently her former friend was pursuing this line of vengeance.

"Ohhh," she breathed softly with a slowly widening smile. Bittersweet though it was. "I get it. That's really sad… but I get it now."

Unfortunately, nobody was around to hear this revelation, so she didn't tell anyone. Not yet. That was something she could keep in her back pocket for a little while longer.

To Be Continued…

#we'll face ourselves #saphir de lune #forkanna writes #rise x ai #persona 4 fanfiction #p4 fanfic #jess the writer

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redcameleon · 4 years

Text

Superstar Series

Chapter 12: Absence

Summary: Sasuke coincidentally meets Sakura again after 6 months. Let’s just say their interaction was still a bit tense.

Rating: K.

A/N: Still a little angsty on this one. But I promise things will get better in the next chapter.

His following days are basically running on autopilot. Vocal lessons in the morning, followed by dance practices for the rest of the day, adding art concept meetings here and there. His whole body will ache, mind drained, before ending the day with a nice hot shower and 5 hours of sleep max. He supposes it helps him shove thoughts of Sakura to the very back of his mind, when your mind is constantly worrying about other things.

Days turn to weeks, and weeks turn to months, and before he knows it, it’s been six months since he last saw her.

Nearing their final stages for their tour planning, everyone is both excited and on edge. Worries start to pile up between the members. What if I mess up on this routine? What if I can’t sing live well? What if the costumes rip in the middle of a performance?

Muscles never being this tense before, his body is slowly begging for him to take a break.

The members are all sprawled out on the floor of their dance studio. The air is filled with huffs and puffs and the smell of sweat as the members end their dance practice for the day.

“Man, I’m exhausted!” Kiba exclaims as he takes a bottle of water, downing it all in one go. Too tired to even talk, the four of them just stay there lying next to each other, trying to catch their breaths.

Sasuke’s gaze lingers on the grey ceiling, noticing the small cracks on the edge and the ridges. As his breathing calms down, his mind starts wandering to a time where he didn’t feel this mentally drained. As much as he loves his job, he admits how taxing it can be. Flashes of pink start to fill his consciousness as he blinks them away.

“I miss Sakura-chan.” Naruto suddenly breathes, catching him by surprise. When was the last time he heard her name? Sasuke shifts to look at his teammate.

“I mean she’s always here bringing us food and drinks. But suddenly she just quit.” Memories of a certain pinkette walking into their dance studio with a plastic bag full of snacks and treats, and another one with beverages. Instinctively, the corners of his mouth tugs into a small smile.

He feels a pang on his chest at the sudden flashbacks. Just when he thinks he’s been doing a good job pushing away any thoughts of her, he’ll always be reminded of the power of her presence. Not just to him, but to the group.

Feeling how thick the air has gotten, Suigetsu gets up and beams his voice.

“Hey hey hey come on I’m starving! Let’s grab dinner! I’ve been craving for some fried chicken right now.”

“I’m in.” One by one they gather their belongings before exiting the studio.

“Itadakimasu!” Having food delivered after a long day of practice is always the best feeling. At least, to these four men. Downing their meal in a flash, replenishing their lost energy, the members continue to gobble at their meal in silence, focusing too much at the food in front of them.

Just when everyone is starting to slow down, they finally start cracking a conversation. Be it something about the food, or about their newest choreography, or something as random as who invented fried chicken, the members never run out of things to talk about. This is one of the things Sasuke’s grateful about. He never fails to find comfort in his teammates. Sharing the same house with them definitely has its effects. He can slowly feel the fatigue being drained away.

When their last conversation starts to die down, Naruto finds it his opportunity to address an issue that’s been in the back of his mind.

“So, Sasuke. I’ve been noticing that you look really down recently.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all.” Sasuke doesn’t spare a glance, choosing to finish the last chicken leg on the plate.

“Oh cut the bullshit. I know that’s not all.” The members all become silent. Leave it to them to completely read Sasuke like an open book. The members have always been skilled at reading his emotions even without him saying anything.

“Yeah, Sasuke. We’ve all been noticing it. What’s up?” Now all the members’ attention is on him. He supposes he can’t hide it any longer. They are his teammates after all, and they deserve to know.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Sasuke sets down his chopsticks, mentally preparing himself for the long overdue story. The members all leaned in, attentively listening to him without even cutting him off. The air is thick as Sasuke, who only occasionally, lets out his deepest feelings and troubles that he’s never told anyone else. Because that’s how much he trusts them. And when Sasuke’s story is finished, he lets out a breath he doesn’t know he was holding.

“To be fair, we kinda already know you and Sakura had a thing.” Suigetsu finally speaks on their behalf. “But we didn’t want to assume anything without hearing it from you first.”

In awe, Sasuke’s face turns considerably redder, unaware that the members have known all this time. Feeling embarrassed for being so emotionally vulnerable in front of them, he scoffs and continues munching on his chicken thigh.

Naruto just chuckles on the side, swinging his arm around Sasuke’s shoulder.

“But all that aside, we’re really sorry for what happened between you two. I think you two really look good together.” Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Naruto can relate with him too well. He’s secretly developing a crush towards a certain dark blue-haired woman who happens to be Sakura’s coworker. But that’s for another story.

“I know our jobs are really hard. But you can’t sacrifice your own happiness.” Kiba adds in. Being in the same career path as him, he knows all too well the things that they had to sacrifice to get where they are.

As if on cue, they all let out a heavy sigh. Their troubles might still be present, but Sasuke feels a heavy burden is somehow lifted from his shoulders. He is finally able to breathe a little, and he is forever grateful for them.

Deciding that the members need a little break, Shikamaru, OG Shikamaru, decides to give them all two days off. Judging from all the hard work they’ve put in, he was initially going to settle for one, but with a lot of convincing, finally decided for two.

Wearing a baseball cap and a black face mask, the basic necessities for an idol, he takes a stroll around a nearby river. He stuffs his hands in his pockets as he lets the cool breeze blow past him. He notices a nearby park where children are playing in the swings and the slide, with their parents right behind them or chatting off to the side. He glances at the couples sitting by the edge of the river, having mini picnics with their loved ones. It is relatively quieter than usual, after all it is a weekday.

Sasuke walks past a bench that sits under a lush tree, overlooking to the body of water. Just as he is about to tear his gaze away, he notices something pink. His eyes immediately dart towards it. The sunlight bears down on him as he tries to make out the silhouette of a person sitting on that bench. But he can recognize that silhouette from anywhere.

Sakura.

His feet start moving on their own accord, making their way towards the bench. She doesn’t seem to have noticed him approaching when he finally approaches from the side.

“Is this seat taken?”

“No, go ahea-“ Sakura turns her face to greet the stranger when she finally realizes it’s Sasuke. Her whole body freezes, her eyes widen at the sight in front of him. It’s been six months, six months too long, since the last time she had seen his face. She can barely see his face under all that “disguise” but she’ll always recognize those pairs of onyx. She always seems to find herself lost in them, just like now. She clears her throat and nudges herself to the edge, leaving enough space for him to sit next to her.

Sasuke moves to take a seat at a respectful distance. They both don’t dare to look at each other, instead settling on looking at the horizon in front of them. Sakura’s gaze seems transfixed to the sun’s reflection on the water.

“It’s been a while.” She finally speaks.

“Aa.”

“How are the members?” Sasuke’s pride is a little hurt when the first thing Sakura asks is about the members.

“Hn. They’re fine. But tired.”

“Ah I see.” She remembers they must be practicing like hell for their upcoming tour. With the album preparation on the way too, they’re bound to be exhausted to the bone. “Has it been really busy lately?”

“Hm. Practice all day every day. Shikamaru’s been kind enough to give us two days off.” Sakura lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for Shikamaru. He really is looking out for them all the time, something she’ll always be grateful for.

“Make sure you guys take your vitamins regularly, and never skip a meal.” Leave it to Sakura to always worry about him and the others. Sasuke’s heart flutters a bit seeing how concerned she is.

“Hn. Aa. How are you?” He’s been very curious as to what she’s been doing. She was practically jobless after she quit the company. He wonders if she’s found a new place to work. He wonders if she’s been thinking about him, or if she’s erased him completely. He wonders if he still has a place in her heart somewhere, however tiny it may be.

“I’ve been okay. I’ve been taking this time to spend more time with my family and friends. I’ve also been going back to do my old hobbies. You know just the things I didn’t get to do when I was so busy.” Sasuke can’t tell how happy he is hearing that. She seems to be in a good place and that’s the only thing he wants for her; for her to be happy. He glances over to her and see how much at peace she is. But a part of him notices the tired look on her, the dispirited energy coming off her. It definitely seems different from the Sakura he knows who works tirelessly at the office.

Debating whether to probe on it or not, Sasuke decides it’s better for him to save it for another time. Right now, he’s just glad they bumped into each other. Leaning back on the bench, Sasuke lets himself relax, feeling the warm breeze on his skin, hearing the leaves rustle above him, and how the wind creates ripples on the water.

“You know, Naruto misses you.” Sakura chuckles.

“Really? I think he just misses the snacks I always bring him.”

“Hn. Not wrong.” Hearing her laughter is the best part of it all. “Kiba still sucks at dancing.”

“Aww Kiba-kun.” Sakura remembers seeing Kiba alone in the dance studio all the time. Even when the other members have left to the dorm, Kiba stays behind, running over the dance routine over and over again. Sakura sometimes worries he’s pushing himself too much.

“Well tell him I admire his hardwork.” Oh how much she misses all of them. She’s almost tempted to waltz right into the office right at that moment, and hug each one of them.

“Also, this is a secret, but you might be right about Naruto having a crush on Hinata.” Sasuke leans in to whisper, earning an excited gasp from Sakura.

“I knew it!” She fists her palms in the air, feeling victorious. It was one of their bets for the longest time, when she begins to notice something different between the two’s interactions. Something akin to what she had with Sasuke. Sasuke finds her amusing, not noticing how he begins to stare at her. After a moment of silence, Sasuke finally speaks his mind.

“We missed you. I missed you.” Sakura gives him a warm smile and his chest swells with emotions.

“Me too.”

“Come back, Sakura.” He half pleads. He knows how much the company values her. And losing her was never a part of their plan. Her smile slowly dissipates as she turns to the ground, seemingly lost in thought.

“I- I don’t think it’s my place to go back.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel like going back, you know?” Sakura fiddles with the hem of her shirt.

“No. I don’t.” The words just come out a little more harshly than Sasuke intends. Nevertheless, he doesn’t retract them.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, okay?” Sakura says, voice raised a little louder than before and Sasuke is almost caught off guard by it.

She still thinks about me.

“And I’m afraid I still can’t be professional around you. I just…I- I need more time.” Sasuke raises his eyebrow at this. There are possible meanings behind her words. More time to process her feelings? More time to be ready to be around him again? More time to forget him? And Sasuke might think it’s more towards something unpleasant.

Sakura’s face seems constricted with worry, taking it as his cue to leave her alone for now. Sasuke shifts to stand.

“If you ever change your mind, we’d be happy to see you around again.” He walks away from her for a few steps. “It was nice catching up, Sakura.”

“Likewise.”

to be continued.

<--Chapter 11 Chapter 13-->

#ssff #ssfanfiction #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku #sasuke #sakura #otp #redcameleon!writes #fanfic #superstar!series

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priorireverte · 3 years

Photo

Congratulations Ash!

Your application for Katie Bell has been accepted. Katie is a character I’ve rarely given much thought, frankly, but I’ve completely fallen in love with her already. You’ve given her so much depth and involved her so closely in everything that is happening. I can’t wait to see what she gets up to!

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: Ash, she/her.

TIMEZONE: PST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I reckon I am about a six or seven out of ten. I am constantly on mobile and accessible for plotting, but prefer to do all of my replies once I am home from work and have access to a computer.

ANYTHING ELSE: I have ten plus years role-playing experience and I am looking forward to this amazing opportunity to potentially write Katie again for the first time in years. She was one of the first characters I ever wrote in the Harry Potter world and holds a very special place in my heart.

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Katherine Emery Bell ( Katie Bell )

BIRTHDATE: 21 April, 1978.

DEATHDATE: 10 October, 1997 N/A, still alive and kicking.

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Katie is a cisfemale who uses she/her pronouns. She is bisexual, as she was taught to love and embrace everyone for who they were at a young age. It doesn’t matter what they are; she only weighs who they are inside.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood.

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor.

OCCUPTATION: Unspeakable, Death Chamber.

FACECLAIM: Poppy Drayton, though I might want to switch if accepted / after having some time to sleep on it.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

POSTBELLUM

Like many, Katie too has scars from the war. They are weighted far heavier than she cares to admit and she carries them with her everywhere. In the pocket of her favorite cloak, tightly wrapped around her not just for warmth, but security too; on her broomstick whenever she needs to escape from the static background noise; or to one of her best mate’s houses where she is sure to find relief at the bottom of a shared bottle of fire-whiskey.

Katie shies away from intimacy’s pervasive touch. She does not give her trust away so freely like she once did as a carefree girl. Every instinct to share a piece of herself and love others is met with restraint. These are a few of the repercussions she faces because of the damage inflicted on her. She has been to a dark place; tethered between the realms of life and death while being neither here nor there. She clawed her way back to stable ground, though there are times she questions its permanence. In fact, if anything the war has taught her everything is fleeting. Now she leaves claw marks on everything, but can’t seem to hold onto any of it.

Practically everyone she knows has been touched in some way by the war; some of their scars running far deeper than her own. She lost friends and a part of herself, but many had it off far worse. Katie tries not to linger on her own pain and psychological trauma for that reason. At the end of the day, she survived; the heart beating in her chest confirms she is alive despite sometimes feeling anything but.

Since the war came to pass five years ago ( though at times it feels like a separate lifetime ago ), Katie has channeled her experiences and emotions into molding a successful career as an Unspeakable where she works in the Death Chamber. Since her brush with death at seventeen, Katie found herself unusually fascinated with the subject matter. She spent six months hospitalized in St. Mungo’s, a majority of which she was at what felt like death’s door. She swore she did die, but that was a difficult pill for her to swallow—let alone anyone else, so she kept that secret sealed tightly under lock and key. Katie figured that was the better alternative than being labeled crazy.

It took a long time for her to cope with what occurred, and even longer to bring up the occurrence with those closest to her. Being cursed certainly had its affects; it changed who she was and what made her tick. When she returned to Hogwarts and participated in the final quidditch match of her school-career against Ravenclaw, the game did not give her the same adrenaline filled rush it once had. She unknowingly battled depression and PTSD that year struggling to hold onto all the things she loved. They no longer provided her with sustenance, but she confused these arbitrary feelings with lackluster consequences from a progressive war with what felt like no end insight.

PERSONALITY

As a girl, Katie was known for being carefree and reckless. She was an untamed spirit who had not yet learned about the world’s cruelness. She had no reason then to be the emotionally guarded woman she would become. The final years of the war forced her to grow up much sooner than she ever planned for herself. Her overly-competitive demeanor was combated by a sudden instability. Trust no longer comes as easily for her as it once did. When she was imperiused during her last year of school and subsequently cursed by the Opal Necklace, she felt like she lost a part of herself. She no longer enjoyed many of the same hobbies she once did. She questioned everything, from the motives of her friends to the intricacies of life. She was no longer left in control, but instead reeling with trust issues in the present day—the most concerning being the lack of trust she feels in herself. It is an unspoken feeling, but it looms above her like a dark cloud.

Since being cursed, Katie has been keenly inept at desensitizing and disassociating from reality whenever it doesn’t fit perfectly in the box she has crafted for it. The war left her jaded and its scars provided an unwanted resilience she transformed into armor. She has survived many battles, but even the ones she lost were never for naught. They each made her stronger—just a mere fraction of the woman she will become, but still knowingly has many lessons to learn before fully evolving. However, Katie is plagued with self-doubt. Perhaps that is what holds her back from achieving her full potential.

Katie is now far more reserved than she once was. Her desire for love and ability to share it with others has diminished since she was a child, muted by a perverted sense of drive. She has a bad habit of shutting not only the world out, but those closest to her too. It can be a lonely road at times, so she throws herself into her work with hopeless abandon. She is driven and sees every project through to the very end. Ironically though, her never-ending need to answer life’s most challenging questions is exactly what holds her back from living life to the fullest. She has a one track mind and can become so preoccupied, or short-sighted, she forgets to hold onto what is really important.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Katie grew up in a happy family with very relaxed core values. Her parents always demonstrated love to her and her brother, Christian, even when they weren’t the most deserving or receptive. Olivia and Rhys Bell loved each other fiercely; that was one consistent factor in Katie’s life. As the youngest Bell in the family of four, she was spoiled and fussed over more than she cares too admit. She recalls all the arguments and tiffs her and Christian got into over the years—a trait that seemed to follow the pair into adulthood. Their parents on the other hand hardly ever fought. Katie believed there must be occasions they clashed with one another, but it was evident they were far more emotionally reserved than their children. They made a point not to fight in front of them, which always raised the question of where their children’s argumentative tendencies came from.

It was important for Olivia and Rhys to make their children feel empowered starting at a young age. They wanted to instill in them a strong sense of confidence that would allow them to break through any obstacles in their way or complete whatever task they set out on. As survivors of the first wizarding wixen war, and Olivia being a muggle-born, it was imperative to them their children didn’t embody the same fear or embrace any limitations as they once did. This nurturing mindset is exactly how Katie got into flying. Her father gifted a toy broomstick to her one Christmas when she was no more than six years old. She can recall the sheer horror on her mother’s face that morning; it was evident she was not in on the surprise, otherwise there probably would have been no broom at all that year. Christian had received one a few years prior and Olivia’s excitement over the matter quickly disintegrated when he lost control and spiraled into their garden trellis. Christian didn’t fly again until his first year lessons, however his sister’s abilities came far more natural than his own.

Once Olivia realized her daughter was more agile than her first born, she quickly warmed up to the idea. After she mastered and eventually outgrew the dainty toy broomstick, it was her mom who splurged for her first trainer’s broom. Katie excitedly whipped the new broom around their property, memorizing every trace of it from the new safe haven she had discovered. Flying became an escape for her. Quidditch always brought much excitement, but flying was what truly made her feel at peace with herself. Over the years she fully mastered the skill ( while running through her fair share of broomsticks ), and Katie knew she had her parents to thank for supporting her in spite of themselves and pushing her forward every time she wanted to quit. Though her quidditch career eventually faded away, her love for flying never wavered as her unconditional love for her parents and brother never has.

Present day, Katie and her family still share a special bond. Her parents continue to support all her endeavors even if they don’t necessarily agree or understand them. At times Katie is aware there is a disconnect between them, but it is something she can’t seem to avoid. Olivia and Rhys witnessed their daughter go from a bubbly and charismatic girl to someone almost unrecognizable at times, but since the war is still so fresh for everyone it has become easier to turn the other cheek.

HISTORY

Katie always considered her life very ordinary. Her parents worked hard to ensure her and her brother had a good life. They were a close-knit family and, though they got on her nerves on occasion, there was nothing she wouldn’t do for them. Katie recalls her childhood fondly. Olivia read books to both her children frequently, however Katie found herself to be easily distracted. Her head would wander to the sky where she would pluck shapes out of the clouds. Christian was the calm and retentive child—it was much easier for their parents to hold his attention. Katie on the other hand was a bumbling ball of energy since she was of crawling age. She would color the walls or demolish Christian’s toys if left unattended. It was much easier to hold her attention whenever baking was involved. Katie had a knack for sweets, though the thought of giving her more sugar didn’t always appeal. Still, she somehow persuaded her mum into baking cookies with her often. These were some of the best days of her childhood.

As soon as Katie was gifted her first toy broomstick, a spark ignited. Flying undoubtedly was her first love. Whenever her and Christian had a sibling squabble or he was getting on her nerves, she would run to her broomstick immediately and take flight; and when it was his time to leave for Hogwarts and she was left behind for three more years, flying became her therapy and release. It remedied the loneliness.

When it was finally time for Katie to head off to Hogwarts, her natural charisma and energetic personality really shined through in all she did. She made friends quickly and they became a forefront in her life. She fed off the energy of those around her and subsequently became a member of numerous school clubs. Joining the Gryffindor quidditch team her second year was the highlight of her entire school-career. She considered those initial years to be the best of all; her original teammates quickly became a second family to her. It was a feeling that still echoed long after their glory days on the quidditch pitch.

When Lord Voldemort returned, Katie found herself at a loss for words. She considered Harry Potter a friend and teammate. No one in her inner circle doubted him nor did she, however she did have a difficult time comprehending just what that meant. Cedric Diggory was also a friend; like many, seeing his body in the aftermath of the Tri-Wizard Tournament was Katie’s first brush with death. It was evident to the then fifteen year old that only something vile and cruel could take the life of someone like Cedric—someone with so much potential. She jumped at the opportunity to join Dumbledore’s Army for that reason. She believed in the cause and, reflecting on the pain the first war put her own parents through, Katie had to believe there was a reason she wound up here when she did.

Katie genuinely did not believe anything could be more difficult than that period of time, but her seventh year was one of the most challenging of all. Katie was not sure when the trip to Hogsmeade went awry on that beautiful fall day. There was excitement in the air despite the frigid temperature that brought the first snowfall of the season. That is one of the only memory’s Katie holds onto from that day. She later woke up in St. Mungo’s where she was told she had been for six months recovering from a fatal curse.

With a hoarse voice and fear filling her eyes, Katie asked the first healer she saw if she was dead.

The healer laughed as if she made some kind of joke. “ No honey, you’re lucky to be alive. ”

Lucky to be alive.

Except the problem was Katie didn’t feel anything, least of all alive. She spent the last six months in a foreign place, but didn’t feel nearly as lost or confused there as she did now that she was back in the earthly dimension.

The phrase continues to haunt her six years after her near-death experience. Maybe the Healer was right and she should feel lucky, but she doesn’t. Now that the war has come to pass, she is riddled with guilt. She cannot walk away from what happened to her six years ago despite making it out of the war alive. That alone should be enough reason to celebrate, but it is not. There are too many unanswered questions and Katie understands better than most who survived the war that everyone is borrowed time. She cannot unsee the place she spent six months of her life trapped in. She is desperate to understand it and even more desperate to know if the souls of her lost friends now inhabit the same space.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

This group captivated my attention immediately upon discovery. The Trio Era is what originally got me into role-playing Harry Potter and the Marauders is what kept me, so this role-play truly is the perfection combination. I have been looking for a group to join for some time now and your group has one of the freshest and most unique concepts I’ve ever seen! Plus, it is obvious the passion and care that has gone into creating this group. I am excited to potentially be a part of the journey and see where the story takes us all together.

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS

CHARACTER CONTRIBUTION

Katie possesses a lot of versatility with her character. She naturally has an outgoing and charismatic personality, and is quick at adapting to her surroundings. She has always been an integral part of whatever community she is a part of—ranging from her time at Hogwarts on the quidditch team, in the dueling club, or Dumbledore’s Army; to her career beyond the castle’s walls. She has proved herself a loyal friend to many. I think her experience being cursed by the Opal Necklace makes her an imperative character because she has knowledge from that ordeal others might not be equipped with, which she has channeled into a career within the Ministry of Magic as an Unspeakable.

I headcanon that when Katie was cursed by the necklace during her seventh year, she spent a large portion of her time in St. Mungo’s unconscious. During this period she had an out of body experience where she thought she was dead. She tightly holds onto the secret that she visited what may be known to some as limbo, purgatory, or the underworld out of fear of being labelled crazy. She doesn’t dismiss her experience though; she clings to it, and it to effects every aspect of her life.

Katie’s brush with death made her obsessed with the idea of it. Since the war’s conclusion she has tried to dissect the mechanics of life and death, but had no success. Everyday feels the exact same; she is capped out with little to show for her efforts. That is, until the first of the returned makes their appearance through the veil. This ignites a new obsession in Katie all over again.

PRESENT

“ Have you heard? ” A stocky Unspeakable buzzed with excitement as he pushed passed Katie and exited the elevator lift.

“ Heard what? ” The woman quipped in his direction as she rubbed her tired eyes, but by the time she gathered her senses he was already hurrying off down the corridor. Katie shrugged her shoulders back and dismissed the interaction before continuing along in the same direction. Unusual occurrences were the norm in this part of the Ministry so she didn’t think much of it. She was already getting a late start on her day anyway so she decided to quicken her pace as she rounded the corner leading to her dual office/laboratory, where she was forced to stop abruptly when she came across a throng of other Unspeakables littering the hallway. Katie quirked a brow upon the realization everyone was huddled near the Death Chamber.

“ What is going on? ” She asked the same Unspeakable who she spotted standing nearby.

“ You don’t know? ” Emerson gaped, which annoyed Katie slightly. “ They are saying someone has returned through the veil. ”

“ What do you mean ‘returned through the veil?’ I didn’t realize we were trying to send anyone to the other-side— ”

“ No, someone no longer living returned through the veil. They came back from the dead. ”

“ Impossible, ” Katie uttered in protest, but her own near-death experience quickly replayed in her head. She was only seventeen when she swore she too briefly died, so maybe it wasn’t impossible for the dead to return after all.

“ No really, a boy was found wandering the corridors naked this morning. Creevy is what they’re calling him. ”

Katie stood silent for a moment as she processed what she had just been informed. “ Someone came back to life? Through the veil? ” The witch repeated as her dark eyes swirled with sudden intensity. Emerson merely nodded. “ I sure picked a hell of a day to be late. ” She concluded completely gobsmacked.

“ You won’t make that mistake again, ” Emerson chuckled before disappearing off into the crowd to try and sneak a closer look.

And he was right. From that day forward, Katie was never late again. She always put her best foot forward when it came to her career, but the stakes suddenly felt like they had been raised even higher upon the departed’s return. The one thing she now knows for certain is that this might be the only opportunity she has to find answers to the questions that have been tormenting her for the last six years—and she doesn’t plan on letting this moment pass her by like she did unwittingly the last one.

#prioriacceptance #katie bell

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darlingrutherford · 4 years

Text

Well. Apparently this is a thing. Idk what this'll turn into, if anything much. But. Uh. Here we go.

Continuation of 2AM’s Vampire AU Thoughts.

Alistair found it hard to respond. First of all, he wasn't certain he had heard her correctly. If he had, well… That brought up even more uncertain feelings.

“Did I offend you?” Lana wore a concerned expression that echoed in her eyes. She looked towards her closed door as she realized she had spoken louder than before just then, and lowered her voice back to a whisper as she looked back at the vampire sitting next to her. “I didn't mean to - I only meant -”

“Why would you offer something like that?” Alistair forced the words out. He didn't understand. ‘You should take my blood’ weren't words normally uttered by the living.

“You said you don't have to take much, right?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“I know I'm small, but, do you think I'd have enough for you? Without… You know.”

“Without killing you, you mean?” Alistair waited until she quietly nodded her head. “Maker, um, yes, you… You would.”

“Then I'll let you do it.”

“But why?”

“Because you were kind to me.” Alistair's heart ached as he saw the tears welling up in her eyes. “No one has touched me that gently, dressed my wounds with such care, in… In my entire life. I don't want you to waste away.”

“I… I couldn't,” Alistair murmured. He stared at his hands while slowly wringing his wrist. “It's not just like a poke, it - I've seen others do it. It leaves a mark. I couldn't mar you like that.”

“I'm already marred, Alistair.”

Alistair glanced up as her slender hand shifted the collar of her nightgown. She stood, shifting to present her back to him as she pulled her long copper braid out of the way. Moonlight reflected off of her light olive skin as she turned, exposing a burn on her shoulder that continued further underneath her nightgown. She turned her side to him, lifting up the edge of the white cotton fabric to show a deep scar on the side of her thigh. Another just below her collarbone. As she sat next to him at the edge of her bed, Alistair regarded the smaller knick of a scar near her left eye that very well could have blinded her had it been much closer. He felt his cold blood boiling; what kind of parent did this to their child? Well… His Uncle, the only parent he had known, had turned him into a vampire when he had reached a ‘good age’ for it, so… Perhaps parents weren't all they were cracked up to be.

“You said you'd rather waste away than take what isn't freely given… I'm freely giving it.”

Alistair swallowed as she began unwrapping the dressing he had finished on her arm only moments before. The inner layers of the cloth were stained in blood, and he could see more freshly glimmering in the moonlight as the lack of pressure allowed it to flow more freely. Lana practically shoved her arm beneath his nose. The smell was intoxicating. Alistair hadn't eaten in nearly two weeks, well over the usual feeding period for his kind. He found his hand gently cupping hers, while his other slowly traced the outer of her arm.

“You're… certain? Absolutely sure that you want to do this?” His mouth had gone dry, his eyes unable to leave the wound in front of him. A drop of blood fell to his lap from her arm, mixing with the air that gently carried in from the open window, and Alistair was almost sure he had never smelled anything as tempting in his life.

“If it won't kill me, then I have nothing to lose. Right?”

Alistair chuckled at her optimism. He knew deep down he wouldn't be able to deny her offer, not when it was right in front of him. Maker, how weak he felt with her blood presented to him in such a way, as if it were a freshly unwrapped gift.

“If you don't like it, I can stop,” he said. “You… May have to nudge me a little, but, I will stop.”

“I trust you.”

“Trust a vampire… I'm not sure if that's the smartest thing,” he chuckled. Alistair tore his eyes from her arm as he heard her light laugh. Maker, that was a lovely sound: all bubbly, not at all matching the demeanor of someone living amongst so much trauma. He couldn't help the way his lips curled into a smile to match hers.

“I'll nudge if it is,” she confirmed with a nod. Alistair took a deep breath as he looked back at the open wound on her arm.

“It's already open, so… No need to bite.” He said it almost more for himself than for her. He had never fed directly from someone before, always in a glass freshly shoved at him with a bit of disdain. Maker, the smell of her was too tempting to hold back any longer.

Leaning his head towards her arm, Alistair's tongue slowly flicked out as he forced himself to take it a bit at a time for her sake. He shivered as he tasted her blood: warm copper; a bit of sweetness melded into it as his tongue brushed against her skin. Alistair had always known when his Uncle had switched to a different cask - every living person had their own flavor, little notes that changed the embodiment of the blood. She tasted divine, like a clear summer day that made him long for more, sweet as the most decadent deep cherry wine.

His grip tightened slightly around her hand as he pressed his lips to her arm and sucked lightly. A noise escaped Lana, high pitched and almost moaning, that made him pull back as she clapped her right hand over her mouth with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” she mumbled quietly beneath her hand. “I wasn't - I didn't think it - um… Carry on.”

“Are you sure?” Alistair asked. He glanced down at her arm, making sure he hadn't bitten without realizing it before looking back to see her nodding. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, it, um… Just felt… um… Interesting. It didn't hurt. Please, I mean it.”

Alistair couldn't help but smile as she flushed. Lana dropped her hand to the bed, gripping in anticipation this time as Alistair pressed his lips to her arm again. He drew up the blood, bit by bit, keenly aware of the slight squirming present in Lana as she bit her lip to hold back her bubbling outburst. He did his best to stay focused; he found it increasingly difficult as the blood coated his tongue and threatened to cloud his senses. It made him feel ravenous, but not quite like he was expecting. So many vampires drank until there was nothing left, greedily emptying their victims until the light drained from their eyes. The first time Alistair had been handed a glass of blood (after thoroughly refusing to go find a victim of his own), he had found it nearly impossible to stop until he could fit no more in his stomach. Alistair had almost expected this to be like that, to find it difficult to stop, but it wasn't. Maker, he did want to keep drawing it out, to be able to keep tasting its sweet flavor, but, when he had his fill, he removed his mouth from her skin as easily as he had placed it.

Alistair took the torn cloth from before and began wrapping it tightly around Lana's arm once more. When he was finished he looked her over, unsure of what to expect.

“How, uh… How do you feel?” He asked timidly.

“Fine.” She nodded, then suddenly widened her eyes a little and gripped the edge of the bed with one hand, and his knee with the other, as if the motion had stirred something inside of her. “A little dizzy, apparently.”

“I suppose a bit of lightheadedness would be expected.” Alistair flushed slightly at her grip on his knee. He scooted closer, and Lana instinctively leaned against the side of him.

“I thought it would hurt more.”

“Yeah, well… It probably would be different, if you hadn't already been wounded.”

“Probably? Do you mean, you don't know?”

“I've, uh… Never really bitten someone,” Alistair admitted. Lana lifted her head from his shoulder in surprise, and Alistair found himself wrapping his arm around her side with a soft laugh as she threatened to spill off the bed from the dizziness the sudden movement caused.

“In ten years?” She exclaimed. “How does a vampire go ten years without biting someone?”

“My uncle keeps a personal store of blood in the cellar. In casks, not like… Bodies. Apparently there are markets for that sort of thing.”

“Does that make me your personal store?”

Alistair chuckled sheepishly at her joke. He scratched the spot just behind his left ear as he continued holding her against his side.

“How does this work? Do you swoop in every week or two for a visit?” She turned her head so she could look up at Alistair while still leaning against him. Then, all of a sudden, she froze up as a thought occurred to her. “My parents won't notice this time, but if you have to leave a mark…”

“Probably not the best idea,” he sighed. It wouldn't be as simple as choosing a less revealing spot. There was a reason most vampires chose the neck: quicker access; one of the lesser painful of spots for their prey - a courtesy given to their food source in what was usually their dying moment. Any other space would be more intimate, and still difficult to hide if her mother was indeed as observant as Lana had let on. Alistair thought about it as Lana looked towards her closed bedroom door. She seemed to be considering something, her chest rising and falling with vigor as she came to a conclusion that surprised Alistair for what wouldn’t be the last time that night.

“Take me with you.”

#idk where I'm going with this but here we are lmaooo #the idea of submitting these as little mini chapters scene by scene seems to work more with my CFS brain right now soooo #yup lol #lana surana #alistair theirin #lanistair #dragon age #vampire!au #my ocs #my writing

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eeveecrmchl · 4 years

Text

DISCORD THREAD | EEVEE X VULCAN:

feat: @eeveecrmchl & @ellisvulcan

mentions: landon’s apartment

summary: vulcan finds eevee at club echo and tries to take her home. she finally tries to get closure but is met with the truth as to why v left her in the first place. eevee is not convinced.

tw: alcohol, drugs mentioned, my girl being dum as hell

Eevee: Eevee isn’t drunk yet but that doesn’t stop her from straddling the man that’s been paying for her drinks the whole night and letting his lips make marks up and down the column of her neck. If she closes her eyes, she’s able to imagine a different set of arms, a familiar grasp on her waist, and the taste of someone she’d rather be with. Of course she can’t; V’s probably out with whoever takes his offer for the night. Losing herself in the sensation of someone actually wanting her, Eevee lets out a breathy sigh. It feels wrong — like her body is already ruined for everyone else but she forces herself to enjoy it. Bottle still in hand, she takes a gulp straight from it, the burn numbing everything. It’s practically routine at this point: go out, get drunk, and if she’s bored, get someone to finish her off. Most of the time, she finds herself in a backseat of a Lexus or the alley of some random bar, but it looks like she’s going for making out in public for tonight. The man says something but she ignores it, cups his face to kiss the words off of his mouth. He shouldn’t talk; it takes away the fantasy. If Eevee’s thinking about a particular person at this point, no one else needs to know.

Vulcan: The conversation he had with Evelyn has still been in the back of his mind. Truly he wished it was her that took his invitation that night. That text and the little moment he had with her at Landon’s place, Vulcan truly wished he was sober during those times, but alcohol seemed to be one of those things that makes him sleep lately. They haven’t talked in a while, until he was added to that group chat. Right after he did the job that was given to him by his boss, he’s found himself back at Club Echo again, as usual, to drink the night away. He was about to walk up to the bar when the very woman in his mind catches his eye, she was all over this stranger and he couldn’t help but acknowledge how it stings, seeing her like that. He comes up to the booth and stood there for a moment, then he clears his throat to catch her attention. “Eevee.”

Eevee: Eevee flinches when she hears her name, pulling back from whomever had her attention to look up at her ex boyfriend. In her inebriated state, she could only throw him a lopsided smile, keeping her arms around the stranger to steady herself. “Vulcan,” the name tastes sweet coming from her lips, a sudden wave of nostalgia hitting her at the memories of the many ways it left her before: “Vulcan, I want you to meet my parents.”, “Vulcan, I’d do anything for you.”, “Vulcan, I love you.” Now she’s only left with remnants of how she felt, the intensity of which she hasn’t been able to find in anyone else; Eevee doubts she ever will. Noting her current state, and remembering that he, himself was in a similar situation the night before, she tilts her head in curiosity, ignoring the way the man under her seems to feel the tension. “What are you doing here?” New York is a big enough city and she’d foolishly thought that just by avoiding him, she’d be able to move on quicker. “Where’s uh — what’s her name? The one you fucked last night?”

Vulcan: He could see in Eevee’s eyes and her smile how intoxicated she already was. The way she just said his name, it causes some pain is his chest, he wanted to be that one in that stranger’s position, part of him still wants to be with her. Yet whenever the thought crosses his mind, to pursue her once more, he would also be reminded of the warning of her parents, to stay out of her life, that she shouldn’t be with someone like him, that she…..she deserves better than him, better than the state she’s in right now. “Eevee, you’re wasted. You need to go home.” He gives the stranger a look, burning a hole through his head that makes him let the girl go. “Let me take you home. You’ve had more than you should have.”

Eevee: Eevee pouts when the stranger actually pushes her off of him, but it’s no surprise; he looked like the type that would rather avoid confrontation than to find himself in the wrong end of one. Placing the bottle on the nearest table, she huffs up at Vulcan, about to tell him off for scaring away the person that was supposed to make her feel good for the night, but is stopped short when his appearance finally registers. Hands reach out in shock as her eyes roam over the expanse of his entirety, trying to see just where all the cuts and bruises seem to form. “V, what happened,” her voice comes out in a whisper. “Fuck, who did this to you? Do you know who they are? We should go tell the police right now. I know dad has some connections down at the station.”

Vulcan: The mechanic closes his eyes when the younger girl walks up to him, bracing himself for the argument they were about to have. Instead, Vulcan felt Eevee’s hand on his check, worry noticeable in her voice as she asked him a bunch of questions. He almost forgot that he was in a match tonight. His opponent packed a lot of punches, and he wasn’t surprised that they left marks and bruises on his face and the rest of his upper body. He’s been doing this for years, and he’s always attempted to hide it for Eevee not to notice, well not until now. “It’s from work—And no, you’re not going to tell your dad. I’m going to get in trouble if you do.”

Eevee: There are questions that whir through her alcohol addled brain — especially about that comment concerning her father —, but Eevee bites her tongue. She no longer has the right to ask or to even have the privilege of knowing in the first place. Still, in her drunken haze she can’t help but wrap her arms around the man’s neck, burrowing her face in his chest. She’s always been an affectionate drunk and while the more rational part of her mind screams that she should stop, she lets herself indulge in the feeling. “Please try to be safer,” she mumbles against his shirt, refusing to look up at him lest she does something more foolish. “I don’t like you getting hurt.”

Vulcan: Vulcan instinctively wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close as she nuzzles her face against his chest. “I’m always safe.” He takes a deep breath, gently combing his fingers through her hair. “I need you to stay safe, Eevee.” He whispers to the other, making sure that she’s the only one who could hear. “Let me just—let me take you home, at least.” He draws himself away from her slightly to look into those eyes.

Eevee: “I’m safe,” is her automatic reply but Eevee doesn’t mention nights when she roams the city, unaware of her surroundings with drugs in her system and alcohol in her breath. Gaze locked onto his, she leans in instinctively before catching herself. “Okay,” her voice comes out resigned, knowing that she’ll probably be too embarrassed to go over this in the morning, Hopefully in her hungover state, it’d be easy to forget how she practically threw herself at the man who broke her heart. “You remember where my apartment is?”

Vulcan: “That’s all I need, Eevee.” Vulcan gives her that look before she eventually pulls away. Which something that he silently thanked it happened. They cannot do this, especially not in front of so many people. Her dad cannot know that he violated their deal, that he’s violated their deal that one morning at Landon’s apartment. He never wanted to end things between them, but he couldn’t risk losing the things his family’s left for him. “Always.” He takes her hand to hold as he leads the both of them out of the club. “Do you want something to eat? Gatorade?” She probably needed something for the hangover in the morning, too. Vulcan just couldn’t help but still care.

Eevee: There’s a moment when Eevee feels her heart flutter at his look, but she ignores it for the sake of interlocking their fingers together when he grabs her hand. Out of the club, she’s able to breathe freely, the night air cooling her down and sobering her a little, but not enough that rational thinking has come into play which is how she finds herself tugging him towards the back alley. One night. She can give herself one night and it’ll be just like the rest of her flings; Eevee doesn’t need to care. Backing herself up against the side of the club they’re at, she lets go of his hand to let hers trail up his chest. “Don’t need Gatorade,” she exhales, feeling herself grow bolder and tugging him in close. “Just need you.”

Vulcan: Vulcan was about to speak again when Eevee dragged him by his hand and brought him to the back alley by the club. “Eevee—I can’t.” He feels series of shudders crawl down his spine as he felt her hand on his body again. He never heard those words from her in forever, if was in the same level of inebriated as her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no. But not this time. The mechanic takes a deep breath. “Food, Gatorade, and drive you home. That’s what you need, baby. Let me take care of you.” He cups her cheek with his hand, leaning close to plant a kiss on her forehead. “We can do anything that you want, just—just let me take care of you.” He repeats, tucking her loose hair behind her ear. “Trust me, I feel the same. I really do….”

Eevee: The rejection shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but Eevee can’t help but let it settle on her insecurities. “You didn’t say that back at Landon’s apartment,” she’s feeling bitter now and all she wants to do is crawl under her covers to rid herself of this embarrassment. “I can take care of myself,” she throws back. There’s an urge to just walk away, call up Tee, and just forget this whole night ever happened, but it’s the way that he calls her baby that stops her. There’s a hand on her cheek then, eyes fluttering close at the feel of his lips against her forehead. “I’m fine. I’ve done this before.” It’s a miracle that nothing too bad has happened to her considering how much her self destructive tendencies have put her through, so her words do have some truth behind it. “Don’t,” and with this, she uses the hands on Vulcan’s chest to gently push him away. “You don’t have to lie. I can get home by myself. Thanks.”

Vulcan: His eyes widened at her words, what does she mean that she’s done this before? No, he cannot let her leave, he cannot let her slip away like this, not this time, maybe just for tonight. Worry washed all over him, now knowing that this isn’t the first time, and the fact that she’s done this a lot…. “Eevee.” He whispers, pleading evident in his voice as he desperately stared into those eyes once more. “I didn’t—I’m not lying. Please don’t push me away, even just for tonight.” He sighed deeply, resting his forehead against hers. Perhaps her father wouldn’t know, even just this once.

Eevee: Vulcan’s so close and it’s like every dream she’s tried to ignore, every errant thought pushed aside to prove to herself that she’s moving on. The fact that she stays firmly in place, looking up at him with no plans on moving away, just shows how far she is from that. “What do you want from me, Vulcan,” her words come out as a whisper, breaking at the sound of his name. “I don’t know what you want from me.” Close enough to let her lips pass his, Eevee summons whatever self restraint she has left to pull back. “You can take me home but after that — I don’t know. You can crash on my couch if you want.”

Vulcan: Vulcan badly wanted to say that he wanted her, that he never stopped wanting her. Yet all he could do is stare into the eyes of the girl he never stopped on loving. He never thought that losing Eevee would kill him slowly, up to this day, it still does. He finds himself still longing for her sometimes, missing the feeling of having the girl in his arms. "All I want..." He takes a deep, shaky breath. "All I want is for you to have good things, what you truly deserve." He stares down to his feet as the other pulls herself away. "Okay. Let's go." He takes her hand once more and leads them to his car. He makes sure that the girl was settled in the passenger seat before getting in. "Just tell me if you need anything."

Eevee: Eevee can’t help the scoff that leaves her at his answer; the frustration at just how ironic it is that he’d want that for her when he can provide the same is what keeps her quiet. She lets him lead her to his car, the words she want to say trapped behind pride and shock from the audacity Vulcan seems to carry. The need to let him know what’s exactly on her mind wins out and while she knows she’ll probably regret it, she turns to him. “You want what’s best for me?” Her words are colored with the hurt he’s caused but she continues on. “You were what was best for me. You were the good thing I wanted to keep in my life.” Eevee ignores the telltale signs of tears, blinking any moisture away. She would be damned to let him see her cry. “You don’t get to leave me and then act like it was such a fucking sacrifice. It was so easy for you to let go like we meant nothing, like I meant nothing to you, so you don’t get to tell me some bullshit excuse on ‘wanting what’s good for me.’”

Vulcan: He could sense that Eevee was quite deep in her thoughts while he leads them to his car, and before he could even bring his engine to life, she spoke. He hated how much he's hurt her and be a huge part of the reason why she was like this. "Trust me, Eevee. I didn't--I never wanted to leave you. I didn't want to end things. You were the only one I ever wanted--scratch that--needed like this. But I didn't have a choice at the time." He takes a deep breath, resting his forehead on the steering wheel, before staring at the other. "You mean everything to me, more than the world, Eevee. It hurts not having you in my life ever since I left, though it was either you or the only reminders of my parents gets taken away from me. And what he said to me was true, we are both on different ends of tbe spectrum. What can I possibly offer you when I'm just a fucking mechanic who also fights every other night to earn money enough just for myself?"

Eevee: A roll of her eyes is thrown the man’s way with Eevee’s head shaking even before he could finish his sentence. “You say you didn’t want to end things and yet you still did. You say you didn’t have a choice but you could have chosen me. You could have chosen us but you didn’t.” It’s the heartbreak that she carries that has her finally voicing out what she couldn’t before — most of which only Tee has heard in her drunken rambles. Eevee’s kept herself in denial but there’s no way to turn this around with him now. Vulcan broke her heart and she intends to let him know. “Who the fuck was going to take away your parents’ things,” she snaps, confusion clearly etched on her features. “Who the fuck is telling you all these things? And why the fuck didn't you tell me?” Her eyes widen at his words when they process and if she didn’t hate her upbringing then, she sure does now. “I don’t care about that,” her words hold firm. “You know I’ve never cared about that. I just wanted you. I fucking loved you, Vulcan. That’s all that mattered to me. We could have been living in a small ass studio apartment, depending on paycheck to paycheck and I wouldn't have cared.”

Vulcan: "Your parents! Your parents wanted me out of your life!" He's broken another part of their deal. Everything that her parents talked to him about, one by one he was just breaking them, yet ge couldn't keep this to himsel anymore, not when Eevee was demanding answers from him. "Your father came to my place one night just after you left and talked me into breaking things off with you. Or else, he'll take everything I own away from me, everything that my parents passed on to me, the house, the car my stepdad and I worked on for years, the clothes on my back, everything, Eevee. And if I tell you, things could possibly get worse--well fuck, now you know." He runs his fingers frustatingly through his hair. "You're the one I wanted, for the rest of my life. But I can't let you let go of the life you're living because of me. I can't let you turn your back on your parents because of me. That's why I didn't tell you, that's why I broke it off and quickly left before I can't resist and just--I can't....Eevee...."

Eevee: Taken aback, Eevee settles on her seat, head spinning at his explanation. “That doesn’t make sense,” Eevee refuses to believe it; as much as she dislikes the way her parents seemingly control the way she presents herself, they’re still the most important people in the world to her — well, her dad is anyway. “My dad would never do that. He’s not that cruel. Why would you say something like that?” Even as the words leave her lips, she’s not sure of who she’s trying to convince but she holds on to the conviction that it’s not true because it can’t be true. “You don’t have to lie, V, Jesus fucking Christ. That’s not going to make it better. At least fucking man up and own up to the fact that you left me.” Eevee tries to calm herself down even if the confusion still grows and all she wants to do is run. “How many times do I have to tell you? I. Do. Not. Care. I don’t fucking care, V. I really don’t. About the money, about everything they’re willing to give me. I can live without that.” There’s a pause before she looks back at him. “Unlock the door. I can get home by myself. I really can’t be in the same space with you right now.”

Vulcan: "I'm not fucking lying, Eevee. I wish it wasn't true, I wish I wasn't threatened by him, wearing a suit in the middle of the night with fucking papers on how our deal should go. I wish that he didn't threaten me into signing those. You don't have to believe me now, but that's what's happened." He sighed deeply. He knew Eevee meant those words, he knew how she hated her lavish life. Yet, he couldn't bring her into the kind of life he was living. It might be her dad getting into his head, but there's just times he couldn't the fact that....maybe he was right. "Alright. At least let me wait for you Uber to pick you up." He sighs in defeat.

Eevee: Eevee lets his words wash over her but doesn’t let it settle in what she believes to be true. “V, just stop, okay? Please stop. My dad would never. Yeah he’s a fucking asshole sometimes but he loves me.” Her phone is out from her pockets, fingers quickly tapping on the screen to get a ride back home. There’s a car nearby and she waits in silence as it nears as per the app, her eyes trained out the window. She can practically feel her heart beat right out of her chest with the the excuse Vulcan threw at her, but like everything else that goes wrong in her life, she’s going to forget — running has never been a stranger to her. The moment she sees the Uber pull up, she’s out the door, muttering a quick thanks at her ex before practically rushing away from him. Eevee just needs to go home, sleep, and pretend none of this ever happened. // END.

#eevee * / discord threads .#eevee * / & vulcan .#alcohol tw #drugs mentioned tw

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babyybitchhh · 5 years

Text

Sabito x Reader 18+

Unease weighed heavy in your gut as you carefully picked your way down the sloping hill towards the river at the base of the mountain. Sabito was a few paces ahead, leading the march with his usual brand of aloof, self-assured stoicism which, under normal circumstances, would have been a quiet comfort to you. Today was different though. Today it scared you and only made the anxious flutter of your pulse worse. You simply did not have a good feeling about this.

“You’re really going?”

Sabito inclined his head to indicate he’d heard you but didn’t turn around. “Of course I am. It’s what I’ve been training all this time for, isn’t it?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you stared hard at the back of his head, silently willing him to turn around and acknowledge your feelings. Something was definitely wrong, you just couldn’t put your finger on what. Calling it a premonition was a bit of a stretch, but you hadn’t been able to shake this awful, sinking dread ever since Urokodaki made the announcement and you weren’t sure how to make Sabito understand that.

“I don’t think -”

“You shouldn’t worry about me,” He said, stepping on top of a fallen tree in the path. “Urokodaki wouldn’t let me go to the Final Selection if he didn’t think I was ready. He says I’m the most talented pupil he’s ever had, you know, and he wouldn’t just say that if he didn’t mean it.”

Turning towards you, Sabito offered his hand. You frowned, searching his face for any sign of the uncertainty you were plagued with and only finding nonplussed conviction instead. It was frustrating and upsetting, and you wanted nothing more than to stamp your foot on the ground and demand that he not leave. You just couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, and you were willing to go to any length if it meant keeping him safe. You weren’t too proud to cry and beg.

Sabito knew you well though, maybe even a little too well. Clearly recognizing the huffy expression you were making for what it was - an inevitable fight brewing just below the surface - he allowed himself a reassuring smile. “Do you trust Urokodaki?”

You openly scoffed at that. “Of course.”

“Do you trust me?”

Hesitating, you fixed him with a pointed look and sighed through your nose. “Yes.” You admitted reluctantly.

“Then what is there to worry about?” Sabito asked, his tone not unkind.

Your frown only deepened at that. You didn’t much appreciate him using this tactic on you but the longer you looked into those cool, dull blue eyes of his, the more you found yourself giving in. Bit by bit, you realized that there was nothing you could do to convince him, to stop him, and you hated it. You wanted to hate him, too. Curse his steadfast resolve and determination straight to hell and back, because you understood what he was putting on the line even if he didn’t, and you’d never forgive him if he didn’t come back. A healthy amount of hysterics seemed justifiable given the situation. What was at stake.

Finally, you relented though. “How can I not worry, Sabito? You’re leaving me behind just so you can run off and fight demons.” You said, reaching up and taking his outstretched hand.

He helped you up onto the dead trunk, brittle wood cracking under your combined weights even as he fixed you with a playful smirk. “Someone has to.”

You didn’t even try to conceal the roll of your eyes. “All the more reason why you should reconsider. It doesn’t have to be you. It’s not written in stone.”

“Oh, but it is.” Sabito insisted, hopping down off the tree with a soft thump. “I’m gonna’ be the greatest demon hunter to ever live! I might even eradicate the whole lot. You’ll see.”

“I don’t want to see. I want you here, with me. Why can’t you understand that?”

Sabito grabbed you around the waist with both hands and deftly lifted you, setting your feet back down on the hard dirt. You made an attempt to step away, to put some distance between you two before your already tumultuous emotions bubbled over, but he held fast. Giving your sides a tight squeeze, he pulled you against him and the smell of his body engulfed you. Ozone and sweet apples, a hint of pine. Sweat. He smelled like home.

“Don’t,” You murmured, burying your face in his chest.

“I do understand. I promise I do, and I’m sorry if it doesn’t seem that way.” Sabito told you quietly, ignoring your weak protest. “But you need to understand that I don’t have any other choice. Not after losing my parents like that. I can’t just let these monsters continue to take human lives, someone needs to stop them. I need to stop them.”

Blinking back a sudden onslaught of tears, you gave your head a subdued shake. “I know. I’m sorry, I just -”

Sabito’s hands found your neck, tilting your head back so he could kiss you. The gesture was warm and tender, and you found yourself relaxing against him quicker than you’d like to admit. It was impossible to stay mad at him under the best of circumstances, but the nagging voice in the back of your mind insisting that this was your last chance to be with him made your resolve crumble much faster than normal. This wasn’t the time for petty spite and selfish ultimatums. You sincerely hoped your gut instinct was wrong, just a natural but ultimately unfounded fear of losing the most important person in your life, but if it wasn’t ...

Leaning into him, you returned the kiss with passionate ardor, willing your emotions to get through to him. Even if it wasn’t enough to make him stay, you’d be able to see him off without regrets as long as he knew how much you loved him. And you did. There was never any question about that in your mind, but now that you were standing on the precipice of a great, life-changing event, you needed to make sure he knew it too.

The moment seemed to stretch for an eternity but at last, you two separated from one another, regarding the others face with quiet consideration. An agreement had been reached. A sort of silent truce that didn’t need to be spoken aloud to seal the deal. The lover's pact was cemented in an instant, unbreakable in its mutual surety, and Sabito silently took your hand in his.

Leading you the rest of the way down the path to the river, the two of you took up root along the edge of the bank. For a long time you just talked about the future, what fate held in store for him and for you, and the clouds continued to lazily drift by overhead, as unperturbed by the comings and goings of mere mortals as usual. He told you he’d come back. You said he’d better, or else. He laughed more than you’d ever seen before; a halting, sniggering chuckle that was both shy and charming in its sincerity. You told him how you wanted to open up a sweets shop one day, when you were older, and he said he’d visit as often as he could. As the afternoon stretched into dusk you were almost able to forget he was leaving at dawn, the easy familiarity between you bringing some amount of relief from the anxiety. You wished it would never end.

When the shroud of darkness started to settle over the mountain stream, Sabito pulled you into his arms again. He kissed you slow and languid, unhurriedly tasting you to his heart's content while you basked in the unmitigated affection he was peppering you with. You let him drink his fill from your mouth and when he seemed to hesitate, second guess himself, you eagerly tugged the sash at your waist loose.

“It’s okay,” You told him, smiling fondly. “I want to.”

Sabito parted your kimono with a sort of reverence glimmering in his pale blue eyes, taking in your naked body almost thoughtfully. You’d seen each other in various states of undress before, here or there, but never like this. The air was charged with static, so thick you could practically taste it on your tongue, and the mood such a specific kind of tension you didn’t have a word for that it made your stomach flip flop in anticipation. Vastly dissimilar to every other time. Almost stark in its contrast.

Deliberately, Sabito kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, pausing to show extra special attention to your nipples. He alternated his mouth between the two sensitive nubs until they were sore and stiff, pointing proudly up at the night sky while you squirmed and shuddered against him. You felt unbearably hot laying in the grass with him despite the rapid drop in temperature. There was a frog croaking somewhere, loudly announcing its voyeuristic presence on the intimate moment while stars swarmed your vision. You weren’t entirely sure if they were really there, or if you were just imagining them in the heat of the moment.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Sabito murmured into your ear as he fumbled between your legs. “But I have to.”

“I know.” You said, sounding just as stricken as he did.

He rolled on top of you then, pinning you with his weight. You brought your hands up to thread through his unruly, peach colored mane and he leaned into you with a soft groan of appreciation. His straining cock pressed against the apex of your thigh, digging into soft flesh. Searching. You spread your feet further apart, eagerly allowing Sabito to slot himself against the cradle of your body while you two rocked together, groaning appreciatively in tandem.

“Promise me.”

You turned your head, pressing a lazy kiss to the pounding pulse in his neck. “Ngh?”

“You have to promise that you’ll never forget this. Us.” Sabito’s voice was thick with an emotion you’d never heard him express before, raw and cracked like a poorly constructed pot. It was so vulnerably fragile it made your throat constrict.

Concern immediately flooded you, momentarily dousing the flames of passion, but he didn’t allow you a chance to respond. In the breadth of a mere heartbeat, he’d yanked his fundoshi loose and jutted his hips forward, spearing you with the tip of his hard length. You cried out, throwing your head back against the grass while you clung to him; seething, hissing, groaning. It was simultaneously an overload of sensations and not enough at the same time. Too much, too little. You couldn’t decide which, and your whole body shuddered uncontrollably as you squeezed your legs tight around his thighs.

“Suh - Sabito! Ooh!”

Hushed words of comfort and endearment alike rained down like a warm summer shower as he gradually worked his way inside your tight heat. One inch at a time, his cock pushed against the resistance of your muscles until he was wedged firmly within you. It was an odd sensation, being so stuffed and full, but it didn’t hurt. This realization empowered you, emboldened your resolve, and you experimentally rolled your hips against him.

He seethed at that, pressing his face into the crook of your neck while he trembled against you. A moan, a quiet gasp. Then he was moving with you, drawing out his thrusts at such a staggeringly slow pace that you wanted to scream. Clawing at Sabito’s back instead, you tried to urge him into action, grabbing at him desperately. He refused to relent though, taking your cunt with the same unhurried leisure he’d tasted your mouth.

Any grasp of time you may have once possessed quickly faded and receded to little more than a distant memory. You were just as lost within the moment as he was, enjoying the quiet sighs and sticky heat of one another's bodies to your satisfaction. It was like being lost in a cotton haze of infinitely swelling pleasure wherein you forgot where one of you started and the other began until, close to the twilight hour, you were both completely spent at long last.

“I promise.” You whispered into Sabito’s wild hair. “I’ll never forget this moment for as long as I live.”

“Thank you.”

You allowed yourselves a brief moment to bask in the afterglow, but it was already late. Urokodaki would no doubt come looking for you two if you didn’t get home soon. So with a great deal of effort, you picked yourselves up, cleaned the evidence to the best of your abilities, and grudgingly started to work your way back up the hill. It was a long walk made all the more tedious by the veil of darkness and you had no choice but to walk at a cautious pace or risk injuring yourselves on an errant root or stone. It gave you plenty of time to think though, and for that you were grateful.

Steeling yourself, you drew a purposeful breath. “Please be careful, Sabito. Don’t do anything stupid during the Final Selection. That’s all I’m asking.”

He chuckled at that, reaching out to take your hand. “I won't. Stop worrying about me already.”

Absently touching your fingers to your stomach, you frowned into the night. Somehow you didn’t think you’d be able to do that.

#kimetsu no yaiba #sabito #sabito x reader #self insert bullshit

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queen-scribbles · 5 years

Text

Ritual

@pillarspromptsweekly fill 94: In Memorium. I wound up using Charity, since I”ve already done a similar fic for Tavi, and Emiri doesn’t really remember her family enough. Plus, y’know, I’m still giddy I get to write married!Ederity, even if it’s a less fluffy subject than usual.

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

She wished she could forget what today was.

But considering she was awake hours before sunrise and it was already all she could think about, Charity didn’t figure there were good odds on forgetting. Maybe that was a good thing, she mused, rubbing her face with one hand. Guilt still prickled, much like the tingling in the arm trapped under her sleeping husband, even years later.

She needed to pray. And while she wasn’t really worried about waking Edér--the man slept like a log--she did want to do so alone. So she gently extricated her arm from under him and rolled out of bed. Her hair went up in a hasty bun, messy and likely full of knots, and she pulled on the first clothes she could reach. No shoes; it was still warm enough and it felt right to be barefoot for this.

Sparrow mroawed softly, twining between her ankles, and Charity picked her up. “You wanna come with me?”

Mrrrrrr

“Well, alright. But you’ll have to stay away from the candles.” Cat in hand, Charity slipped from the bedroom and padded out to the chapel.

-o- -o- -o-

She sat there for hours, the ache in her chest steadily growing the more the sky tinged pink and gold with approaching dawn. Losing a sister was bad enough. Feeling responsible for that loss kept the pain fresh significantly longer. Charity leaned forward to confirm the sun was fully over the horizon.

She hugged her knees into her chest, vaguely felt the aches that came with sitting on the floor, and pulled in a shaky breath. It was time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, throat already tight. “Sorry I couldn’t help, sorry I didn’t know more.” Just like every year, the memory of rattling, labored breaths going harshly, abruptly silent pressed in, sharp as if it had been yesterday. “I hope...�� She sniffled, wiped her nose on her sleeve as her eyes burned. “I hope, if the Wheel’s made ya someone new by now, that you’re happy. I hope Berath granted you that kindness after takin’ you so young.” Damn blight.

Sparrow chose that moment to slink under Charity’s tented knees and headbutt her hand, as if she could sense her distress. Charity smiled faintly and scritched between her calico’s ears. Satisfied she’d done her part, Sparrow laid down, tail lazily curling and uncurling in the sunlight stripes decorating the floor.

Grateful as she was for her cat’s intervention, the melancholy still lingered. If this year followed the pattern, that ache would stay til she went to bed. After seventeen years, she was used to it. Few more minutes, then I go about my day... She had a lot to do, and while it wouldn’t entirely distract her, it would help.

The chapel door creaked softly as it opened--they’d need to fix that before it got too cold--and the muted sound of booted footsteps carried someone closer.

“Char?” The concern in Edér’s voice was obvious. “What’s wrong?”

She tried to surreptitiously wipe her eyes before he reached her so he didn’t get the wrong idea. “Nothin’s really wrong....”

He scoffed quietly. “Am I really s’pposed to believe that when you’re sittin’ on the chapel floor barefoot an’ lookin’ like you been cryin’ this early in the mornin’?”

He had a point. “It’s not...” How did she explain this little ritual of hers? “It’s an old wound that hurts worse one day a year.”

Edér chuckled and offered her his hand. “Got a couple of those m’self, darlin’. Whenever you’re ready to stop bein’ cryptic, I’m here for ya.”

Another good point. He was just full of them this morning. Charity smiled wryly as she accepted the hand up. If she could be open with anyone about this, it would be him. She let him haul her upright, careful not to step on Sparrow, and leaned instinctively into the hug she knew he was going to offer. “’Member my sister?”

His breath caught and the hand rubbing her back paused ever so briefly. “Is this...?”

She nodded against his shirt. “The anniversary. Yeah.”

Edér was quiet for a long moment, just holding her and rubbing her back. “...You wanna talk about her?”

That’s never been part of the ritual, a piece of her immediately protested. But she’d never been married for this day, either. Things changed. She nodded against his shirt again, and Edér gently tugged her toward a proper seat.

“Alright, then,” he said encouragingly. “What was her name? What was she like?”

“Saela,” Charity replied with a shaky smile. One hand reached for her necklace, zipping the pendent back and forth on the chain. “She was outgoing and adventurous and always so, so happy.” She snorted softly. “Our parents named her well. She liked to stick fight with the boy next door, wore trousers under her dresses, ‘cause she liked dresses but they didn’t work so well for climbin’ trees an’ such. Ma used to say she had a smile so sunny it must’ve been blessed by Eothas himself.”

“Sounds like a good kid,” Edér commented, reaching for her hand to intertwine their fingers.

“She also hated vegetable,” Charity said with a laugh. She hadn’t talked about Saela in ages. It felt good to share stories with someone. “Which I guess is normal. An’ fruit, which is less normal. Our mom had to get really tricky for her to eat anything with either in it. And she sometimes would wander off to have adventures when she was s’pposed to be helpin’ Papa with the vorlas.” Not for the first time, the thought floated through her mind: Maybe if she’d had more adventures and picked less vorlas she’d still be alive. She squeezed Edér’s hand appreciatively. “I use’ta get so mad at her for that, ‘cause the worst she ever got was a scoldin’ no mater how many times she did it. ‘Course when she got sick I found myself wishin’ she’d run off one more time; maybe if she hadn’t been around s’much vorlas she wouldn’t’ve caught the... the sickness.”

Edér winced. “Effigy’s eyes, Char, she got that?” He pulled her closer to wrap his other arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, darlin’. We heard about that... plague or whatever you’d call it, down here. Sounded blazin’ nasty.”

“It was,” she said softly. “An’ see, I’d been apprenticin’ with this traveling healer who would visit smaller towns for a stretch t’ help with ailments an’ injuries an’ such, but he’d moved on when that swept through. So there I was, fourteen years old, an’ scramblin’ to help my baby sister with two measly years of apprenticeship under my belt. I knew how to treat symptoms; what to brew as a tea t’ help her breathing, or what would dull aches an’ soothe her fever. But I didn’t know how to treat the root of it ‘sides pray and hope for a blazin’ miracle.” She sniffled at the memory, curled in closer to Edér’s side. “So all I could do for Saela was make her comfortable and sit there. Watch her get weaker and weaker, listen to her cough get worse and worse ‘til she could barely breathe.

“That last night, I think part of me knew.” He voice went flat; reciting facts she wanted to share with him but gating off emotions that still hurt. “I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, but somethin’ wouldn’t let me sleep. I tried everything one last time. Prayer, every medicinal concoction I knew that might help... but none of it did.” She had to compose herself as the memory of that horrible frozen moment of silence hit, the sluggish heartbeats before Ma wailed and Papa cursed and her family plunged headlong into the darkest year of their lives. Edér, bless him, didn’t rush her. “So every year I sit that last vigil to remember her. To pray that if she’s done her turn on the Wheel, whoever she is now is happy. And to... apologize.”

“What for?” Edér protested, indignant on her behalf. “That blight was th’ worst thing to hit this side a’ the ocean for the past hundred years. From what I heard, healers an’ priests with decades of practice under their belts couldn’t always cure it. Whadda you have to apologize for?”

Charity shrugged. “She was my sister and she died. The lady next farm over came down with it, too, and I gave her son some advice which I guess he used an’ she pulled through. But not Saela. Couldn’t... couldn’t save her.” Her thumb rubbed futilely across her palm, missing the long-lost worry stone that had served as a reminder of her sister. The words had come out more bitter and woeful than she really felt, but this day was always hard on her nerves. “I know it ain’t really my fault, but...” She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I think it’s only natural for kith to blame ourselves for things like that.”

“True,” Edér conceded, his thumb absently rubbing over her knuckles. “Gods know how many damn times I’ve wondered what mighta been different if I’d gone with Woden. Maybe nothin’. Maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe I’d be dead, too.”

“Well, I’m glad that didn’t happen,” Charity said lightly, trying to fight the deep-seated melancholy.

Edér chuckled. “So’m I. Missin’ ‘em’s all well and good, wonderin’ a little’s no harm, just don’t wallow in it.” He kissed her temple. “That don’t lead nowhere good.”

Trust him to worry about her. It made her smile, just a little. “I know,” she promised. “No wallowing, trust me. It’s just hard losing family, and that never goes completely away.”

“Is that why you made yourself so busy today? I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“You’re smarter’n you look,” Charity teased, which earned a mild ‘hey now’ of protest from her husband. “That’s exactly why. And speakin’ of my schedule, we better go eat breakfast if we wanna have it together before I get to things. An’ don’t you need to get to wok?”

“Now that I’m sure everything’s alright--so to speak--with my wife, I prob’ly should,” he acknowledged with a laugh. “But breakfast first.”

“Breakfast first,” Charity agreed, stealing a kiss before she pushed to her feet.

Edér stood as well, wrapping his arm around her shoulders again as they headed back to the house. Charity found herself silently leaning into the support he offered. She might not be able to forget what today was, but having him to lean on would make it easier to handle.

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

Saela is a Nordic name that should be pronounced “Sy-lah”(rhymes with Lila), but I think with Eoran pronunciation rules it would be said “Say-lah”, so whichever of the two you pick is fine, I guess. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It means happiness or bliss, to go with Charity’s birth name of Jara(should be said “Yara”) which means honeycomb or spring. Clearly their parents were very happy in Readceras.

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #charity #eder teylecg #otp: brighter than the sun #eothasian idiots #ederity

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