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1kook · 3 years

Text

card swiped (3)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love. GENRE romance, smut, teensy angst WARNINGS eventual smut, mentions of sex, virginity plays a huge role OTHER college crushes, childhood friends to lovers, besties to lovers, volleyball player!jk, student council pres!oc, seokjin is 32... and a a coach lol<3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.5k

NOTES (!) seokjin being a hot 32 year old <3 jk gets progressively more dumb as it goes, prayer circle <3 lmk what u think !

[ masterlist ]

The truth is, the reason Jungkook doesn’t lie that much is because he’s terrible at it.

His mother had found out soon enough who put that dent on the car after a slip-up at the dinner table. His high school coach had learned he had purposely skipped out on practice after an accidental snapchat and jealous teammate had snitched. And, well. Fifteen minutes after the end of practice finds him sitting outside the gymnasium, a grimace on his face as he considers running back to your room and confessing to all his lies. Admitting he’s still a virgin— which was practically of no use to you —and maybe even revealing his own recently uncovered feelings was the easy way out.

Thankfully, Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is there to knock some sense into him. The hard plastic of the clipboard they use to outline their attacks smacks him hard over the head, making Jungkook’s bones rattle from his skull down to his toes as he steps up behind him. He whirls around to glare at the perpetrator, only to come face to face with the aforementioned assistant coach. “Go home,” Seokjin says, twirling the gym keys in one hand. “I’m trying to lock up.”

“What’s stopping you,” Jungkook huffs, tucking his knees to his chest, ignoring the awfully rude manner in which Seokjin nudges him away, foot against his back as if he’s just an annoying pile of cardboard boxes in his way.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Seokjin asks casually, doesn’t sit next to Jungkook on the steps because he’s always been a little too posh. According to Taehyung, Kim Seokjin graduated from some elite university in another country with near immaculate all-around player statistics before Jungkook even knew what a volleyball was. His success and fame in the world of collegiate volleyball is why he never wears the standard-issued slippers around the court, always some high-end, luxury brand. One glance slightly to his left has Jungkook meeting the black stripe of the frequently sought after Givenchy sneakers head on.

He scoffs, a sound that Seokjin doesn’t approve of if the karate chop he lands on the back of his neck is anything to go by. “Ow,” Jungkook flinches, pushing him away with an irritated sigh before eventually slumping over his knees again because it’s the exact same thing you do to him sometimes. Study nights— dates, his brain supplies now —where he begins gazing off into space are filled with numerous karate chops to the neck in an effort to get him to focus on his homework. “Come on, Jungkookie,” you always tease, playful smile, lithe fingers toying with the corners of the pages in your book in a way that was almost sensual. But then he does a double-take because he’s aware of the rose-tinted lens he’s unknowingly slapped over it, something he would have maybe not noticed pre-realization of his feelings. And even he is shocked by the absolute seductiveness his brain inserts into an otherwise innocent memory. He’s pretty sure you haven’t called him Jungkookie in years— was his brain trying to hint at something here?

Jungkook groans, knocking his head against his knees as a form of self-punishment for his lecherous thoughts concerning his best friend.

But his show of emotions must move Assistant Coach Kim because, after a moment of trying to concuss himself against his own knee, there’s a hand placed on his shoulder that makes Jungkook pause. He doesn’t even bother turning around, just throws his head back to look at Seokjin upside down. He’s got a double chin from this angle. “It’s a girl, isn’t it,” his coach sighs, looking at Jungkook with what can only be described as an unimpressed expression.

“No,” Jungkook defends even though it’s true. “Can’t I just be sad for oth—“

“I heard Jimin call you a simp on the way out,” Seokjin says rather bluntly. And then he surprises Jungkook a second time as he throws aside his posh status to sit on the dirty concrete steps beside him with a sigh. “What did you do?”

See, Jungkook could lie here and prance off to deal with his own problems. Leaving Seokjin and everyone else in the dark concerning his personal life was, honestly speaking, the smartest thing to do. He didn’t mind his volleyball teammates and friends (in this case, his coach), but he also wasn’t too fond of being relentlessly teased throughout the entire five or more hours they spent together almost every day of the week.

But also…

If what Taehyung had said is true— that being, if Kim Seokjin is the illustrious bachelor who charmed his way into multiple foreign panties all whilst demolishing the spirits of liberos and defensive specialists in another country —then Jungkook needed to capitalize off his presence immediately.

So he lays his cards out flat. “I… might’ve told my best friend I’d take her virginity,” he blurts out, turning to face Seokjin. For the most part, the older man doesn’t look too surprised. If anything, mildly amused. Jungkook quickly adds, “while also being a virgin.”

“You’re a what,” Seokjin exclaims, chokes on his own saliva in an admittedly not Casanova, bachelor-esque fashion that ends with him coughing into his elbow and Jungkook hurriedly patting his back. “You?” Seokjin repeats once he’s composed himself. “Are a— don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Jungkook’s cheeks warm. “No, Coach. I do not have a girlfriend,” he emphasizes, because who knew sharing the details of his (lack of) sex life would be this embarrassing?

Seokjin frowns. “What about that girl?” he asks, and Jungkook raises his brows. “You know the one. Carries around stacks of papers to sign, goes to all the games. The one who pats you on head all the time.” And he’s talking about you, of course he is, but the insinuation that other people might, maybe, possibly, perceive you as his girlfriend makes Jungkook malfunction.

“She’s— That’s—“ he sighs, dropping his head down until his chin touches his chest, brushed against the lucky necklace you’d given him two years ago during their first trip to Nationals. “That’s… my best friend.”

Beside him, Seokjin says, “the one you’re gonna fuck?”

Jungkook lets out a long exhale. “Yes. The one I’m going to fuck.” And it’s so blunt and crude, not that it’s surprising coming from him, but it’s surprising because he’s talking about you. Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love.

The thought must show on his face because Seokjin snorts. “Well, good luck.”

And then he stands up and begins walking down the sidewalk and Jungkook can’t spring up fast enough. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his forearm. He feels like a dorky character in those dramas you like so much, the ones you force him into watching every time he comes over. Like he’s some disgraced son looking for his father’s approval. Except Assistant Coach Kim is neither his father nor someone he really wants approval from anyway.

What he does want is pointers. From an experienced pro, if you will.

Jungkook has to swallow down all his pride as a man to ask his next question. “H- How do I—“

Seokjin beats to it him with a flick to the forehead. “I’m your volleyball coach, kid,” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not your sex coach.” It’s a sensible rejection, one that Jungkook expected, but still. He deflates, let’s the weight of the world and his heavy gym bag nearly knock him onto the ground.

But Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is kinder than he lets on and, after one annoyed sigh, let’s him in on the secret Jungkook has been chasing for all his life. (Or, well, for the past few hours since he first propositioned you.)

“The key to impressing your partner is to always act like you know what you’re doing,” he tells him, arms crossed over his shoulders. It’s night now, the campus shrouded in darkness. But Jungkook swears a heavenly light shines down on Kim Seokjin just then, a halo appearing over his head when he jabs a finger against Jungkook’s chest. “Confidence is sexy.”

“Confidence is sexy,” Jungkook repeats, feels like a kid who’s just met his favorite wrestler after years of being an avid fan, watching every match, memorizing every finishing move, collecting every figurine— it’s a little too specific but it makes sense in Jungkook’s case. You would understand this analogy perfectly, having grown alongside him during his iconic wrestling phase (before volleyball). You had indulged him in his interest, had let him practice those Do Not Try at Home moves on you again and again, even when you knew it ended with you bruised and crying, the twin pigtails you used to rock as a kid uneven and messy. But as your best friend, you had let him twist your arm and pin you to the count of three, because that’s what a good best friend did.

And as your best friend, Jungkook was gearing himself up to completely, thoroughly rock your virgin world. Because that’s what a good best friend did.

#networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #mine

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daikushiji · 3 years

Text

his crush draws a heart on his hand

pairings: kageyama x reader, osamu x reader, kita x reader

a/n: some of our stoic dumb babies reacting to their crush taking their hand and drawing a smol heart <3 [here part 2 and part 3 !!]

Kageyama Tobio

you are waiting for Yachi outside the gym

when Kageyama sits beside you, angrily sipping milk

you ask him what Hinata did this time, knowing well that expression

and he just lets everything out, complaining about even the smallest thing but still sure that you are listening to him

this is one of the many reasons why he likes you

you never judge him, either he wants to vent at you for hours about nothing or just spending time together in silence

he’s actually so whipped for you, but doesn’t even realize it

like, yeah sure you’re the only one able to calm him down with just a smile, but it’s no big deal yk

after he finishes rambling for what seems like forever, kageyama notices the pen you are holding

and then the heart you drew on his hand while he was speaking

he looks at it, tilting his head

”why?” he asks you, with a furrowed brow

he isn’t mad or anything, just genuinely confused

you shrug, trying to hide your flushed cheeks

and before he could ask anything else, Yachi waves at you

you sprint towards her, whispering an awkward ‘bye’ to him

the poor boy literally stares at his hand the entire time walking home

and while he’s eating dinner

and even before going to sleep

the next day at school you try to avoid him as much as possible

but during lunch break, he sits at your table

and without even saying ‘hi’ to you or Yachi, he hands you a pen

”can you draw it again? this morning I was still half asleep and wash it off by mistake.”

Miya Osamu

lessons are over and you two are just talking in class

Osamu is showing you a dish that he made the night before and saying how his twin’s tastebuds are broken to not appreciate it

watching you laugh, a soft smile appears on his face

”for this reason I just want you as my test subject when I try a new recipe. you always pretend that you like everything I make.”

”that’s not true,I love your cooking! otherwise I wouldn’t eat it every day.”

like for real, you don’t have to bring lunch at school anymore

he usually arrives with two bentos, saying that he made it too much for himself

”you literally have a twin to feed”

”he can starve for all I care”

but he actually just wants to know your opinion and watch you enjoying something he made(for you)

feel so proud of himself whenever you compliment him

while he’s still talking, you take his hand in your much smaller one

and he really has to force himself not to blush

he watches how focused you are while drawing

”what is it?” he asks you with a grin, resting his chin on his other hand

when you move back, he sees the little heart

”nothing.”

sure, nOThiNG, like it’s not going to be his constant thought during practice

Atsumu has to yell at him a few times because his head is in the clouds

even at home, his twin teases him about how bad he played today

and when Osamu doesn’t respond to his insults, Atsumu understands that something is wrong

that’s when he sees the little draw and start to tease him even more

Kita Shinsuke

”Shin, you have something on your hand.”

Kita is sitting at his grandma’s table, drinking tea with her

he always stops by her house after every match to tell her about it

but today’s game went a little bit different than the others

he was going to tell the coach that he couldn’t play

but you sat down on the bench beside him, giving him a warm smile

Kita isn’t someone who openly shows when he’s nervous

he doesn’t have any particular tic, like you won’t see him bouncing his leg or biting his lip

but you could tell that something was off just by looking at him

”I feel that you’re gonna play so well!”

he smirked, wondering how you always manage to understand what he wants to hear

”I don’t know, maybe I should stay off the court today”

he couldn’t finish some of his pre-game traditions earlier

(he was cleaning the bathroom, when Suna came complaining about the twins fighting and then Ojiro told him that the coach was searching for him while he was cleaning all the volleyballs)

anyway he was sure that something bad would have happened during the match

and he didn’t want to be the cause of his team’s defeat

”look at them, they’re lost without you” you told him with a smile, pointing at the guys in front of you

then you reached for his hanging hand and rest it on your clipboard

” you have to trust me on this one.” you said, proudly looking at your artwork

while he was turning red as ever, he looked at his hand in yours

and gave you the softest smile

”thank you”

now, in his grandma’s house, he still has the little doodle heart you made on his hand

”oh no, the manager of my team drew it”

he finally responds, looking at it with a dreamy smile

“they said that it was a lucky charm for today’s game”

his grandma has to contain a giggle, looking at Kita’s heart eyes

”well you guys won, so I guess that it worked”

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Can yoy maybe write about sirius getting injured during a game, and remus gatting so frustrated because hes not the PT anymore so he cant help him right away?

��♡♡

Yes, indeed! We haven’t done any angst/ hurt comfort in a while and I’ve been noodling around with this idea for a bit now. Thanks for the recommendation! Sweater Weather credit belongs to @lumosinlove!

TW for unconsciousness, mild concussion, beginnings of panic, and bruising

Sirius hit the ice, and he didn’t get up.

Remus’ heart skipped a beat.

He was next to him in an instant, gloves and helmet long forgotten as he carefully unbuckled Sirius’ chin strap. A fight had broken out behind him, but he tuned it out—he knew this process. He was trained for this.

But this was Sirius he was holding, Sirius whose eyes were still fucking closed and even though his breathing was steady he was limp in Remus’ arms.

Pulse. Check.

Eyes. Glassy under the eyelids.

Patient nonresponsive to his name or touch.

Stop shaking, Remus ordered his hands as he worked through his list. Stop it right now. You have a degree, you were trained for this.

“Mr. Lupin, please move so we can take a look,” a new voice said.

“I’m helping.”

“Mr. Lupin, we’re the medics here—”

“I’m helping,” Remus snapped. “His breathing is even but he’s nonresponsive, possible concussion.”

“We need to make room for the medics.”

“I am the fucking medic.”

Emmeline’s hand was gentle but firm on his bicep. “Remus, you’re a player now. Let us do our job. We’ll take good care of him.”

“Let me help.” Why is my voice breaking? I’m perfectly calm. “Please, let me help.”

“You already did.” Slowly, he scooted aside so she could kneel by Sirius’ shoulder and run the same tests Remus had just cleared him for.

“I already did that—”

“Remus.”

“I’m sorry.” The fingers that laid cold in his palm twitched and Remus immediately leaned forward again as Sirius’ eyes opened. “Sirius? Sirius, can you hear me?”

Sirius muttered something and Emmeline glanced behind Remus; a moment later, he felt someone’s hands pulling him up from under his arms. “Come on, Loops, give them space,” James murmured.

“Let go, I can help.” Remus struggled, but James’ arm was a steel bar across his chest as he skated backwards a few feet. Sirius was looking around now, answering questions with a dizzy expression. “James, he needs me—he needs me, I can help.”

“The best thing you can do is take some deep breaths with me. In and out, Re, in and out.”

Sirius stood on unsteady legs and leaned on the medics for support as they practically carried him off the ice; the rest of the team skated after them at a safe distance, all clearly worried. No limp, no wincing, red cheeks, headache? Concussion? No broken bones, no soft tissue damage, please God let him be alright. Something warm trickled down Remus’ chin. “I can help.”

“You already did.”

“Stop it,” he said harshly. “Stop it, don’t tell me that. I can do more, I have to do more, it’s my job.”

“No, it’s not.”

“He’s my—” Remus’ voice gave out. “He’s Sirius.”

“I know.”

Logan was skating back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in front of the bench, his eyes locked on Sirius’ retreating back. The hit replayed in Remus’ mind—clean, fast, brutal. A simple trip over a misplaced stick, then Sirius flying headfirst into the boards and going limp as the dumb fucking rookie scrambled to his feet.

Dumo went over and led Logan into a side hug by his elbow. A tremor visibly ran through Logan’s body and Remus went cold. Had he missed something? What was it? What test didn’t he run—

“Sit with me.” It wasn’t a question. He nodded, and James guided him to the bench, past Logan and Dumo as they talked quietly in French.

“Lupin, are you alright?” Coach asked before they even came off the ice.

“They wouldn’t let me help,” he said weakly.

Something akin to pity crossed his face. “We’ve got six minutes left. Sit this one out.”

“I can play.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Will someone please just let me be useful?” Remus startled himself a bit with his volume and felt James’ hands go slack with surprise on his arms. He swiped furiously at the sweat—not sweat, it felt different—that covered his cheeks. “Please, Coach.”

“You’re done for this game,” Arthur repeated, though his voice was kind. Remus wanted to hate it, but he couldn’t. “We’ll keep you updated. Pots, go get Tremzy off the ice. You’re on for this shift.”

“Yes, Coach,” James said, giving Remus a quick squeeze. “Deep breaths. He’ll be alright.”

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

Sirius was still in the PT room when the final buzzer went off; Lions win, 3-2. Remus barely got his pads off before he went running down the hall with Logan hot on his heels, leaving their gear scattered haphazardly in their stalls.

Emmeline was just closing the door when they arrived. “Can we see him? Is he okay? Concussion protocol was updated so my tests might not have been enough but is he still awake?” Remus blurted out in a single rushed breath.

She didn’t miss a beat. “He’s up and talking. We think it’s a very mild concussion that just hit a little weird and knocked him around.” Logan’s grip tightened on his forearm and her eyes flickered down to it. “Both of you can relax. You’re welcome to go in if you like.”

They were halfway through the door before she was even done speaking. Sirius was sitting upright on the PT table, still in his under armour and holding an ice pack to the side of his head. He lit up when he saw them. “Hey, I was just—”

“Are you okay?” Remus demanded. He pulled the ice away and prodded the bruised skin, then stared directly into Sirius’ eyes to check for any lack of focus. He looked alert, which was a good sign. “You look worried. Does it hurt? Are the lights—”

“Re.” His hand folded over Remus’, and tears clogged his throat. “I’m fine. Emmeline and the team cleared me, and Hestia did all the tests. Did we win?”

“Yeah,” Logan said quietly. “Coach didn’t let either of us back on the ice.”

“Who fucking cares about the game?” Anger flared in Remus, hot and sudden. “You were unconscious.”

Sirius remained infuriatingly calm. “I was.”

“You—you hit the boards and you didn’t get up.” Eyes not open. Breathing shallow, but even. Heart rate steady. Follow the process. “Sirius, you didn’t get up.”

“I promise I’m okay.” He reached out and pulled Remus close, rubbing small circles on his back with one hand and reeling Logan in with the other. “It was a rough hit, that’s all.”

“They wouldn’t let me help you,” Remus whispered. His voice was muffled in Sirius’ shoulder and he tucked his face into his neck, holding him even tighter. “I’m so sorry, love.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Sirius placed a small kiss behind his ear. “Est-ce que ça va, Tremz?”

“Ouais, plus bien maintenant.” They shifted slightly as Logan pressed his forehead to Sirius’ with a sniffle. “Don’t fucking do that again.”

“Seconded,” Remus muttered.

“Got it,” Sirius laughed lightly, kissing the tops of both their heads before releasing them. His eyebrows rose as he spotted something over their shoulders. “Um, hello.”

“Hey,” nine Lions said from the doorway. Emmeline looked mildly amused at their sardine-crammed position. James drummed his fingers on the doorframe and tapped his foot at the same time; if they didn’t come over in the next five seconds, Remus was afraid he might explode.

“Is our turn now?” Kuny ventured, standing on his tiptoes to see over the rest. “Cap still okay? Not hugged to dead?”

“Death,” Nado corrected quietly.

“Cap not hugged to death?”

“Really, I’m fine,” Sirius laughed as they all tumbled inside, rushing to check in on him. Remus noticed Logan place himself like a brick wall if someone got too close to Sirius and felt a wave of affection go all the way down to his toes.

“Give him space,” Emmeline reminded them from the door. “The concussion is mild, but it’s there.”

“I would love to see you try to get those boys out of here,” Hestia snorted as she entered. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Remus and he nodded to her; she winked and shot him a quick smile before grabbing the clipboard off the wall.

“Treatment plan?” he guessed as she tore a piece of paper off and handed it to him. Dumo was still hugging Sirius in a vice grip.

“It’s so nice to have someone who understands this stuff,” she sighed. “Pretty easy, to be honest. I’ve written a few reminders, but you know the drill.”

“Thank you, Hestia. Really.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “I promised to take care of your boys, didn’t I? Have a little faith, Loops.”

“I have so much faith in you it’s embarrassing.”

She laughed at that, throwing her head back and clapping him on the shoulder. “I guess that’s what happens when someone tapes your face back together, huh?”

“Exactly. Can I take him home now?”

“Go easy for the next couple weeks,” she teased.

Remus rolled his eyes and stuck the paper in his back pocket. “Alright, alright, very funny.”

“You should probably go home and get some rest, though. He’s not allowed on the ice for the rest of the week and I, for one, don’t want to be the person breaking that particular news.”

“What?” She left with a final kiss blown in his direction; unfortunately, Sirius did not seem to have overheard her. “Wait, you don’t get to just leave! That’s such a cop out!”

“What’s a cop out?” Sirius asked.

Remus closed his eyes and huffed. This is going to be fun.

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volleychumps · 4 years

Note

hii! can i get a kuroo or akaashi (up to you hehe) scenario where they got a new manager girl and he is intimidated by her sharp features but then he saw the way she smiles at the other members and he just fell in love with her(灬º‿º灬)♡ thank you in advance! have a nice day and saty safe!(ʃƪ＾3＾）

Due to the use of cute emojis, I will be writing this request with utmost haste.

Enjoy!!

Intimidate. (Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader)

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

“...so what do you think of our new manager?”

“Lev, you’re absolutely terrible at whispering. Shut up.”

“Kenma! She might hear you!”

“I- you know what, I’m leaving. I hope you’re never able to properly receive.”

Kuroo Tetsurou was not the kind of guy who was easily intimidated by anything. In fact, he was the kind of guy who dragged his friends into scary movies and haunted houses, willing to step up to the challenge.

So just what was this?

When Coach Nekomata had waved you inside the gym, you had a solemn expression on your face, your blank gaze reading business. Your features were pretty, no doubt about that, but the way your face seemed to be stiffened into one that screamed of being inconvenienced was enough for Lev to audibly gulp from next to Kenma. But Kuroo being Kuroo first viewed you as he viewed most things:

a challenge.

Sidling up to you, Kuroo took the spot next to you on the bleachers smoothly, introducing himself as the captain (to which you briskly nodded in response) and rested his chin on his palm, feral eyes sparkling with interest.

“So just what in your life was so uninteresting that you needed to come manage this lot of idiots?”

“...I needed a club activity. It isn’t very nice to call your team idiots, by the way.”

Your stern tone made Kuroo feel like he was being scolded, and he laughed out loud before noticing you were just simply staring at your clipboard, eyes scanning the plays wordlessly as your face betrayed no emotion.

“...Right.” Kuroo nods, standing up quickly to walk away from you. “Well, it was nice meeting you...Y/N?”

“Likewise.”

And business-like you were.

Kuroo releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he jogged back to a snickering Yaku, a hand running through his messy raven hair as he glanced back at you.

A little no fun, aren’t you?

What these boys didn’t realize it was simply because you were just as nervous as they were, and you didn’t know how to act towards a bunch of boys known for their rowdiness.

For the first few weeks, you proved to be a pretty efficient manager, some of the boys on your team becoming used to your stiff nature and simply acting friendly towards you regardless.

“Y/N! Do you need help with the towels?”

“Morisuke, it’s alright-”

You were on a first name basis with Yaku?

Kuroo quirked an eyebrow as his friend jogged to meet you before you ducked out into the store room, wondering how Yaku got on your good side while he hadn’t even been able to hold a steady conversation with you after you scolded him.

Maybe you were finally warming up to the team?

Kuroo continues to watch you come out with a chuckling Yaku, your eyes meeting his quickly before you arch a fine brow in his direction.

The captain looks away, feeling nervousness rise in his chest.

Scratch that.

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

“SHIT, Lev! Are you okay?!”

It had been a brutal match, one that led to the usual fast boy’s face getting pummeled with a ball head on in the middle of the second set. His fast reflexes were no match to the speed of the spiker on the other team, who looked a little too proud of himself for knocking the first year off the court.

Kuroo grits his teeth as Lev struggles to stand. He couldn’t say anything. Foul words would lead to-

“Are you fucking with me right now?!”

Hazel eyes blinked, and you were kneeling by Lev’s side with your infamous pointed glare (you had used it on Kenma to get into practice) directed towards the spiker, who deadass gulped in fear of the pointedness of your angered stare.

Right. You were the manager. What could the ref do to you? Nothing.

“You better pray that was an accident, number 6! If it wasn’t, what happens to you later- I swear to God- won’t be!”

“I-It was an accident!” The brunette boy stutters, seeming to curse himself for stuttering. “I-”

“Not another word.” You hiss, and Nekoma all exchange surprised glances with one another as you used a towel to gently dab at Lev’s nose before pulling him to his feet with a strength no one knew you had. Lev blushes as you wrap an arm around his waist to support him.

“(Y/N), I still need to-!”

“Hey.” Your tone was gentle, and your eyes were softer, causing the captain’s jaw to slack slightly as your lips stretched out into something none of them had witnessed before. Ever.

A smile.

Lev shuts his mouth, cheeks blooming roses as you offer him your words of comfort.

“The faster I make sure you’re okay, the faster you’ll be able to come back. I’d rather you leave now with the chance of coming back healed, then stay in and injure yourself more.”

Lev started to tear up. From frustration or his now-growing crush on you, he couldn’t tell.

Kuroo smirked a little as you passed by, flashing him a look that said, You better win this, Tetsurou.

Strangely, the captain was even more energized when he slammed down his spikes, feeling like if he won, maybe he’d get to see it too. And maybe, just maybe.

It would be directed towards him.

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

“Y/N!”

“Lev, how’s your nose?”

The game had ended victoriously, and the tall russian boy had come bounding up to you after the bus ride home, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he allowed you to assess the bandaging.

“Go home and sleep. I mean it.” You say, and Lev nods like a little puppy before walking off with a laughing Inuoka.

“That was pretty cool of you, Y/N.” Yaku flashes a thumbs up your way alongside an agreeing Kai, grins on both their faces as you can’t help but managea little one back, causing both boys to drop their grins immediately.

“W-What?”

“Nothing! I uh, get home safe, Y/N!” Yaku stammers out, dragging a confused Kai with him as he bolts off in the direction of his home, leaving you to notice Yamamoto stammering to himself, a blush on his cheeks as he did so.

“Yamamoto-Kun?”

“I...I’m really glad you’re our manager!”

It was your turn to blush as the captain smirks from the side of you, and Kuroo has to swallow thickly when you smile your prettiest smile of the night in all of their direction.

“I’m glad I am too.”

Kenma glances at his gaping childhood friend, releasing a little sigh before turning to you. “Y/N-san, could you make sure the gym lights are turned off before you head home?”

You nod quickly, turning on your heel to break into a steady jog in the gym’s direction as Kenma shoves Kuroo, who was staring at your retreating figure with pink dusted on his cheeks.

“What are you doing? You look like a creep. Go talk to her.”

“W-What? Huh? She’s scary, Kenma. Say it with me, scaaaary-”

“I think it’s more scary that you don’t know what kind of faces you make when you look at her. Now go, I made this opportunity. Don’t be dumb.”

“...Kenma, that’s like the most you’ve said to me in a week. Are you being a supportive friend right-?”

“Kuroo, I will not hesitate to call her back this moment-”

“Right! I forgot something in the gym, you lot head ahead without me!”

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

“Toss me my pads, will you?”

You jump at the sound of the voice, relaxing slightly when you see that familar head of raven hair. Kuroo smirks, uncrossing his arms as he pushes off his leaning posture on the doorway as you bend and grab his knee pads.

“...I saw the end of the set when I came back with Lev.” You mumble, looking down at your feet as you hand him his pads. “You were really cool. Lev was shouting like a madman, but I don’t blame him.”

Kuroo’s breath hitches when you lift your face. The once stiff features were completely relaxed, giving way for your prettiness to shine through even more.

“I’m really, really happy I’m managing this talented team.”

The captain struggles to find the right words. The thing he said earlier? About the smile before being the prettiest of the night?

He was wrong.

Your eyes were slightly crinkled, and your lips stretched prettily. For him. Kuroo suddenly sighs, feeling something bouncing around his chest fiercely as he palms his face, covering his eyes.

“K-Kuroo-senpai-?”

“Kuroo.” The captain says, looking away off to the side with red on his cheeks. “Just call me Kuroo.”

“Alright Kuroo, can I say something?”

No, you might kill me.

“Go for it.”

“You lead this team well. I can tell they all look up to you...it makes me feel like I can too. You know? Be apart of something like this?”

Yeah. You killed him.

“A-Alright, can I say something now?” Kuroo takes a careful step towards you, heart pounding in his chest as you blink at the proximity between the two of you.

“Uh, go for it?”

“You’re pretty when you smile.”

Kuroo didn’t know what he was expecting. But it wasn’t for you to smile even wider, a bashful blush on your cheeks as it was your turn to look off to the side. The captain feels it all at once. Realization.

Shit.

“You think?”

Shit. Shit.

“Y-yeah.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I’ll keep that in mind...Kuroo.” Your eyes close when you smile this time, and you make your way around him and out the door, leaving Kuroo to stare at the now empty space before him as he lifts a hand to clench at the clothed part of his chest that covered his now pounding heart.

He sighs, turning to bolt in your direction.

“What-?”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you walk home alone, little lady.”

Yeah. You weren’t a challenge.

You were something he wanted to pursue.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu anime #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu nekoma #nekoma #haikyuu kenma #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

While You Were Sleeping (Okay, in a Coma)

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Derek Morgan & Latina Original Female Character Aaron Hotchner/Latina Original Female Character Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid Word Count: 2,058 Chapters: 1 of ? WIP Tags: SFW so far, Sophie is not in the BAU, While You Were Sleeping (film) AU, Coffee shop, Unrequited love, Canon-typical violence, Slow burn

Summary: What happens when Derek Morgan, the man Sophie Cortes is secretly in love with, goes into a coma, and everyone around them mistakes her for his girlfriend? As if things weren't complicated enough, his boss is sweet, kind, incredibly handsome, and makes sure she's taken care of while Derek is in the hospital. Plus, she thinks one of Derek's coworkers is more secretly in love with him than she is. Feelings shift, but how does Sophie explain to the world that she fell for Aaron while Derek was sleeping, without hurting everyone she's come to care about?

Read on AO3 or read more below! The morning that changes Sophie Cortes’s life forever begins much like any other: she wakes up at 3 AM to her blaring alarm, slides out of bed with a groan, tugs off the oversized t-shirt she slept in and pulls on a sports bra and leggings to go for a run. She knows this makes her sound like a lunatic, but with her schedule, if she doesn’t exercise before the crack of dawn, it just doesn’t happen.

After her run, she goes home to shower and change, grabs her bag and drives to The Busy Bean, the coffee shop she co-owns with her best friend Jocelyn. Jocelyn is the brains of the operation, the one with all the great marketing ideas, the one who handles the finances and vendors and supply issues and makes sure everything is Fair Trade or else—Sophie bakes cookies and makes macchiatos, but everyone’s got their strong suits.

She loves the coffee shop more than anything, its bright brick walls and dark wood floors, the smell of fresh beans and sugar, the bustle of regular customers they get from being so near Quantico; most of them are serious suit types, always in a hurry, but some of them are sweet, take their time to say good morning, like Sophie’s favorite customer, Derek.

She knows Derek is a fed of some sort, even though he’s not usually in a suit. He has that air about him, like he’s powerful and capable, like he’s seen things, but he never fails to flash her a megawatt smile, to lean against the counter while she makes his mocha and ask her how her morning is going. She’s a little bit in love with him.

Jocelyn knows this, and always makes sure Sophie is the one to wait on him; when she calls Sophie out from the kitchen specifically because Derek’s there, she knows he knows, and she flushes, but he says she makes his drink better than anyone, always asks her for a cookie recommendation on Fridays so he can take a box to the office, so she thinks it might not be completely one sided. Maybe. Or he’s just a really, really sweet guy.

On the morning that changes her life forever, he’s still very sweet, but she also sees a side of him she’s never seen before.

Someone tries to rob them. The man walks right up to the counter, no mask, no nothing, and tells her to put all of the money from the register into a cookie box or he’ll pull out the gun he’s got in his pocket and blow her face off. Her first instinct is to be pissed about this, which she knows is really stupid. She takes a step back, looks at the guy like he’s an idiot, crosses her arms.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know how hard we work for this money? We don’t sit around… playing video games in our mom’s basement, like you do, by the looks of it.” The guy is obviously not happy about this, slams his hands down on the counter, and Derek, who is two spots behind him, leans slightly out of line to get her attention.

“Sophie, is this guy bothering you?” Before she can answer, the guy turns to look at Derek; he takes one glance at his hot, strong physique, and then his gun and his badge thing, and books it out of the shop. Derek tears off after him, and Sophie can see this ending very badly, so she grabs Jocelyn, asks her to cover the register and tells her she’ll be right back.

She jogs outside, expecting to see Derek manhandling the dumbass robber, or at least still chasing after him; she does not expect to see Derek laying on the ground, bleeding out, a bullet wound in his stomach.

“Oh my god, Derek!” She skids to a halt next to him, pulls off her apron—it’s mostly clean, she thinks—and lifts up his shirt, presses it to the wound to stop the bleeding. “Are you okay? That’s dumb, you’re not okay, but can you hear me? Are you going to die?” He chuckles, and that makes her feel a little better, but then he coughs up blood, and that makes her feel much, much worse.

She pulls her phone out of her back pocket, calls 911, and just stays with him, talks to him about nothing and everything, until the police and paramedics arrive. At that point, he has passed out, looks drained and weak, so unlike the Derek she has come to know… and love. Fuck. If he dies because of something that happened at her shop…

“Excuse me, miss, but we need to get him on the stretcher,” an EMT says, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. She backs off, knows he needs to be attended to, but she can’t leave him, she just can’t.

“Can I ride to the hospital with him? Please,” she asks the other tech, and she glances at her partner, who nods. Sophie sighs a breath of relief, sends a text to Jocelyn explaining what happened and that she’ll need to be out of the shop for the foreseeable future.

She notices that Derek’s phone has fallen off of his belt, and she picks it up, since the paramedics don’t seem interested. She absently decides to look through his recent contacts, to see if there’s someone she should inform of the accident: the last number he dialed belongs to someone named Hotch, and she vaguely remembers him mentioning the name before. It might be his boss, or something? He dials the number frequently, anyway, so she figures it’s worth a shot.

“Hotchner,” the man answers after two rings, and Sophie sighs, glad she got through to someone. Even if he’s not the person she should be contacting, he might know how to reach them.

“Uh, hello. I’m pretty sure you’re Derek’s boss, but even if you aren’t, you’re the last person he called, so… There’s been an accident. Derek’s been shot. We’re headed to the GWU Medical Center; I thought you would want to know.” She can hear the man moving some papers in the background, banging something around on his desk, maybe.

“We’re on the way; how bad is it? Is he conscious? What happened?” The paramedics signal for her to hop into the back of the ambulance, so she does, and she takes Derek’s limp hand. Her eyes well up with tears, and it feels real, now, that she has to relive it.

“There was someone trying to rob the coffee shop, and—and Derek went after him; he had a gun, and I guess he shot him. I mean, he obviously shot him. In the stomach. He’s not conscious; I don’t know how bad it is, but he was coughing up blood. Oh, god,” she breathes, voice shaky, and the man on the phone makes a soft sound of reassurance.

“It’s alright. He’s a very strong person, I promise you. He’ll be okay. You said you were headed to GWU Medical Center; are you with him now?”

“Yes. The paramedics let me ride with him. I can text you an update when we get there, his room number if he has one.” She can hear him talking to someone else in the background, but it only takes him a moment to answer.

“Please do. We’ll be there as quickly as we can. Thank you,…?” He pauses, clearly wondering who the hell she is.

“Oh, Sophie. Sophie Cortes.”

“Aaron Hotchner. Thank you. We’ll see you soon.”

The paramedics push Derek into the emergency room entrance, and Sophie follows behind, feeling anxious and out of place, and worried about his injury. They push the gurney through a set of double doors, and Sophie goes to follow, but a stern looking nurse in gold scrubs puts a hand in front of her, doesn’t even look up from her clipboard.

“You can’t go in there.” Sophie’s heart-rate jumps, and she shakes her head.

“I need to go in there, I need to make sure he’s okay. Please.”

“Are you family?” she asks, giving her a once-over; she clearly decides that Sophie is not family, and she doesn’t want to lie, anyway.

“No, I’m not family, but—”

“Like I said, you can’t go in there. Family only.” She moves her arm, waits like she dares Sophie to try, but she just sighs, sags against the wall, and the woman walks away.

“But you don’t understand,” Sophie says weakly, to herself. “I’m in love with him.” She brings up a hand to scrub at the tears forming in her eyes, and another nurse, one with blue scrubs and braids and a kind smile, rests a palm on her shoulder.

“Come with me.” Sophie looks up at her—she looks kind of like an angel, but it’s probably just the fluorescent lighting—and nods, follows.

She takes her through a staff only door, sneaks her into the OR hallway, where they can peer through a window at Derek, surrounded by doctors, surgeons, nurses. Sophie has only seen this kind of stuff on TV, so she doesn’t know how it’s going, but the nurse who brought her tells her to stay there for one second and bustles off.

It’s really scary to watch: there are bloody cloths being thrown around, and tubes and clamps and other medical devices she’s not sure the use for, but after a moment, she can see a doctor lift up a pair of surgical pliers, and there’s a bullet between the prongs. That’s a good sign, she’s pretty sure.

The nice nurse comes back, and she scares the shit out of Sophie when she puts a hand on her arm, making her jump a foot. She smiles apologetically, and Sophie returns it.

“I found out his room number, if you’d like to go sit and wait for him to be brought in. It's an ICU, so technically visiting hours haven’t started yet, but I can make an exception—for an hour, okay?” Sophie nods, wraps her hands around the nurse's wrists.

“Thank you so much. Really—I just need to know he’s okay,” she says, and the woman nods understandingly and takes her to room 104, where Derek will be placed after surgery.

She texts the number to Derek’s boss, takes a seat on the chair in the corner of the room. She gets restless quickly, stands up, uses the bathroom sink to scrub at her hands, because they’re still stained with Derek’s blood. It’s quiet, eerily so, until suddenly it isn’t.

Derek is wheeled in on a bed by a couple of nurses; he looks a little better, all wrapped up in gauze, and they hook him to machines, displaying a steady heartbeat. She breathes a sigh of relief. He’s alright. He’s not dead. That’s incredible news. She takes his hand, wills herself not to cry, murmurs that she’s so happy he’s alive.

As soon as the nurses leave, a group of people who can only be Derek’s coworkers enter the room. There is a tall, serious looking man with dark hair and a dark suit; a woman with thick fringe, a kind face; an older guy with facial hair who looks worried and weary; a skinny guy who looks about the same as Sophie feels; a petite blonde woman with the bluest eyes Sophie’s ever seen; and another blonde woman with crimped hair and glossy lips who has absolutely been crying. They look at Sophie, and she stands, drops Derek’s hand.

“Um, hi, I’m—”

“Who are you?” a doctor says suddenly from behind the group. The kind nurse who let her see Derek is behind him. The serious looking man reaches into his pocket, flashes a badge with a no-nonsense expression.

“We’re with the FBI. We’re his coworkers.” He looks over at Sophie, and she takes a deep breath. Before she can explain who she is, the kind nurse steps around the doctor, flashes Sophie a smile.

“And she’s his girlfriend.”

Uh. What the fuck?

Derek’s coworkers exchange a look that says pretty much the same thing; the tall skinny one looks like his heart has been broken.

Sophie opens her mouth to correct that extremely incorrect assumption, but she can’t find the words, and then she passes out.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner/original female character #aaron hotchner x original female character #aaron hotchner fanfic #derek morgan #derek morgan fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #latina original female character #moreid #while you were sleeping #coffee shop au #derek morgan x spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid

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fiddlepickdouglas · 3 years

Text

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 20 - Just Kids

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, what consequences?, 4.9k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19

All too soon, two very familiar colors filled the back of the van. Alex’s heart immediately submerged into the dark ocean it always went to in despair, knowing they were all screwed this time. He could already see Bobby pulling onto the shoulder - they didn’t need the sound of sirens to tell them what was up. Willie still seemed like he wasn’t all present, and Alex squeezed his fingers and shook his hands to bring him back to the now. They had really hoped it wouldn’t happen. None of the guys could’ve anticipated the alarm, or that Caleb would be in town when they definitely thought he was gone, or that everything would go wrong.

Not knowing didn’t matter, though. Hours later, all five of them sat inside a holding cell at the LAPD, heads bowed as none of them dared to make eye contact with each other. It was early morning by the time all of them had been processed, and they were all varying levels of exhausted. The time passed at a frustratingly slow pace, although there was no way of telling what time it was. Thankfully, they were the only ones in the cell at the time; if there had been other inmates it would’ve sent Alex’s nerves past their threshold. A guard sat just outside a doorway to the rest of the station while another sat directly outside the cell.

Alex was tempted to wrap his arm around Willie’s shoulders, since he remained dissociated, but the eye contact from the officer sitting across from them was too unsettling. He didn’t like the thought that came through his mind - the one that made him feel like an even worse criminal, even though he knew he wasn’t. Stubbornly, Alex fought to push the feeling away, and settled for putting a hand on Willie’s shoulder. There was almost no reaction, but then Alex saw his brown eyes flicker in his direction and that was all the peace he needed.

“It’s my fault, you guys,” Reggie murmured, barely peering up from where his head hung dejectedly. “I was just so caught up in getting back - ”

“It’s not your fault, Reggie,” Bobby interrupted him gently. “He was waiting for us.”

Luke didn’t speak. His eyes couldn’t leave his empty hands. Alex almost couldn’t look at him; it was a sad image.

They had all been so sure that Caleb was finally out of LA, never spoke about their plans at the studio, had been so careful about the way they acted around him - there was no way. There was just no way that he could’ve been so ready to show up just as they were trying to get the master copies of their album out of his hands. And worse, now Alex had dragged Willie into it, and the guilt mounted even higher from there.

A female officer approached the cell with a clipboard, not bothering to look up from the page she had her eyes glued to.

“Bobby Wilson?”

Bobby raised his head at the sound of his name.

“You have an older brother here to pick you up,” she said monotonously. “You’re free to go.”

The door to the cell was opened and Bobby made his way out in slight confusion. He threw a conflicted look back toward Luke.

“Did he say if I was taking anyone with me?”

“He came for Bobby Wilson and Bobby Wilson only.” Her tone shut down any further questions that he had. Looking back apologetically, his shoulders slumped as Luke shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke said, although not as assuring as he likely wanted to be. “I’ll be fine.”

Alex watched as Bobby’s eyes lingered for a few seconds on Reggie, who was still hunched forward with his gaze fixed on the concrete floor. It seemed so uncharacteristic for him, but Alex understood he was probably shutting down at the mere thought of returning home. The emotions ran high enough in his home as it was. They hadn’t really been given options as for who got called when they’d been brought to the police department. Finally, Bobby turned and took the car keys and wallet that had been confiscated and disappeared.

Luke moved closer to Reggie and put a hand on his back, and he began muttering something to him. They were just far enough away that Alex couldn’t properly hear what they were saying.

“Sheldon’s gonna be so freaked out when I get home,” Willie spoke suddenly. Alex turned to see him finally looking around the cell, fully aware of his surroundings.

“Hopefully he’ll be okay,” he assured. “They can only hold us for up to twelve hours; that’s what they said.”

Willie looked at him and nodded, eyes once again immediately training themselves onto empty space.

“How are you doing?” Alex asked carefully. Willie didn’t move his eyes, but he appeared to be brought back into focus again.

“I just have all these images running in my mind,” he said. “Things he did. Things I did. He decided to pretend I was dead rather than deal with my existence. It’s like he was already trying to bury me by taking away any connection to my past. Sometimes I wonder what I was like before the accident. What if I deserved this?”

For a minute, Alex merely sat with his jaw agape, as if he’d been slapped upon hearing what Willie was saying.

“Wha- ? No. Willie, that can’t be right,” he started. “You couldn’t possibly deserve any of this, no matter what happened in the past.”

Willie shook his head.

“I was in the foster system, Alex,” he argued. “From the few things I know, I was passed around a little bit. Caleb was someone who took difficult kids; he had a reputation with social services. I wanted him to be the bad guy because I got a taste of something better, but when I look around, Alex? I have no one to call. Not even family.”

It was the first time Alex had seen tears well up in his eyes since the night at the Stratosphere, but he felt that any comfort he wanted to offer wouldn’t be accepted. All he could do was look back at this beautiful boy who deserved far more than he believed, brow furrowed in silent protest. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Willie had a point. There was a possibility that the guys’ dislike of the man had become biased based on Willie’s story, as unintentional as it may have been. Still, Alex refused to believe that it was because Willie was the real menace.

“Look, we may never know the truth,” he started, trying to look at him as directly as he could. “But I’m the one who got you here; I take responsibility for that. And sometimes having someone to call doesn’t mean they’re there for you.”

Willie gave him a look that was mixed, but he mostly read concern. Frankly, Alex wasn’t sure what his own parents’ reaction would be, but he didn’t dare hope for any sort of understanding.

“Reggie Peters?” The same female officer approached the cell again with her clipboard.

Reggie turned away from his conversation with Luke, sucking in a nervous breath.

“Your mother is here to take you home; you’re free to go.”

Pressing his lips together anxiously, Reggie simply bowed his head as he was escorted out the same way Bobby had been. Luke promptly spread himself out along the bench, pulling his beanie over his face.

For a while, Alex let his mind wander as he kept his hand resting on Willie’s shoulder. What Willie had said made him want to reevaluate the whole situation with Caleb. It wasn’t that he thought Willie was as bad as he said he was, but it stood to be examined. He remembered the difference between his short first impression of the man at the diner, and the second time he’d seen him. He even remembered his own reasoning - how it was possible that Caleb could come off as so severe while running a diner but maintain such charisma while serving guests.

A pang of memory also came as Alex had noted he didn’t seem like a straight man and after months of actually working with him there was even greater evidence toward that notion. It had been what made Alex want to trust him in the beginning. Finding an adult figure who offered him a break from being constantly vigilant about the way he naturally felt had been a blessing. Not even Alex could ignore that. However, something still told him that just because they had that in common didn’t make Caleb trustworthy.

“Luke Patterson?” All three boys looked up in surprise when they heard the officer’s voice a third time. Luke clutched his beanie to his chest, confused most of all as he sat up from the bench. Instead of announcing who had come for him, the officer stepped aside as two familiar faces came toward the cell.

Julie Molina and her Aunt Victoria looked at the boys, both with stern expressions.

“Julie?” Luke uttered in surprise, standing up from the bench and slowly moving toward her.

Folding her arms, Julie had her eyes fixed on Luke with a brand of disappointment that appeared to burn like acid. She flashed the same look toward Alex for a moment and he was duly stung. Luke could make all the sad, pleading puppy faces he wanted, but ultimately was struck dumb by knowing he had no room to speak.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Julie told him, the chastising tone not to be missed. Luke’s face fell and he hung his head, looking back toward Alex with a similar apologetic look as Bobby had given.

Alex caught Victoria also looking at him. It was still stern, but more in telling him she was let down. Why it compounded his already guilty feelings even more, he couldn’t understand. Her expression changed, however, as she looked at Willie next to him, as though she were trying to recall where she recognized him. Immediately forgetting his guilt for a moment, Alex perked up and subtly pointed a finger toward him, mouthing the name “Willie!” to her. She looked at him incredulously, and it was a shame the officer was already escorting them out with Luke, because he was sure she had questions.

“Was that Julie’s mom?” Willie asked. Startled, Alex looked at him and cleared his throat.

“Ah, no, that was her aunt,” he told him. “Her mom is still in the hospital.”

“Oh,” Willie replied, casting he gaze to where they had left with a look of empathy. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed.

For the second surprise that night (morning? Alex couldn’t tell), and for the fourth time, the female officer returned.

“William Taylor?”

Willie looked at Alex in utter perplexity, and then back at the officer.

“Um…” he began saying. Before he finished, Flynn came around the corner accompanied by a woman both boys assumed was her mother.

“Hey big bro!” she said in a highly exaggerated tone, sending them a gigantic wink with a grin that was very out of place. “Looks like you messed up big time mister!”

Willie could only stare back in shock. Alex was too busy trying not to laugh at her poor acting skills. It was so obvious that she and Willie weren’t family.

“Hey...sis,” Willie said finally, still unsure what was happening just then.

Holding onto the bars and leaning close into the holding cell, Flynn dropped the grin immediately.

“Julie tipped us off and Alex’s parents aren’t coming, so we’re doing you guys a big favor,” she said to them in a low voice, laying on the irritation and topping it off with a tilt of her head and a smile that suggested murder.

Promptly, Willie stood up and was let out of the cell, still looking at Flynn and her mom in bewilderment. Alex sat with his hands folded in uncertainty.

“Him too,” Flynn’s mom nodded toward him. The officer opened the door for him and Alex sighed as he came out, realizing just how high his nerves had really been while sitting there for the past few hours. He could suddenly feel the blood rushing into his fingers again.

As he and Willie followed Flynn and her mom outside, he wasn’t surprised that his parents had opted not to come get him. If he guessed right, his father would’ve refused to go in some backward attempt to show tough love, and his mother would’ve been barred from going herself to show she agreed with the choice. Both he and Willie thanked Flynn’s mom as they sat in the back seat of her van.

Flynn turned around in the passenger seat as they drove off and Alex knew what was coming.

“How many times am I gonna save your ass?” she directed at Willie.

“Language, honey,” her mom warned. Flynn rolled her eyes, but backed down a little.

Willie smiled nervously at her.

“Third time’s a charm?” he offered with little confidence.

“There better not be a third time,” she cautioned. “Seriously, what were you thinking?”

Alex opened his mouth to respond but she put up a hand.

“Actually, save it. Anything I have to say is just what Julie will say to you guys later, and she’s the one who’s really mad at you. Right now, I’ve got permission to skip school and I’m not gonna waste it lecturing you two.”

Sharing a look with Willie, both boys were happy to at least not have to endure Julie’s wrath right that minute. It was only imaginable what Luke was going through at the moment.

“So, how did you know I was there?” Willie asked.

Flynn leaned back into the correct position in her seat and took in a deep breath.

“Julie’s aunt is supposed to be on sabbatical, but apparently she can’t stop doing little bits of work here and there. She’s an investigator. Anyway, I guess she was doing something at ungodly hours on a Sunday night for God knows why, and she was already in the station when Sunset Gets-Caught-Being-Stupid was brought in. I guess she tried to make sure nobody called the Pattersons because she promised Julie she won’t, and she found out there was a fifth kid with no emergency contact so she had Julie call me, and I had to wake up at six-thirty this morning to an angry Julie and while I, for one, don’t care that you were trying to steal something, the way y’all did it was just so dumb, I can’t even stand to look at y’all - ”

“Okay, we get it,” Alex interrupted.

“But the important thing is,” Flynn continued. “We can’t take you guys home. Sorry.”

“Wait, why not?” Alex asked.

“I have one hour before I need to be in the office,” Flynn’s mom told them. “So I’m putting my girl in charge of you two for the day.”

Flynn looked back at them smugly.

“Oh, I’m putting you two to work,” she said, not hiding how much she enjoyed being in a position of power.

Alex could only gesture with his hands in a manner of saying “ah, well,” and sighing in acceptance. This was loads better than dealing with his parents for the time being. And Willie seemed to have finally broken entirely out of the strange trance he’d been in ever since they’d seen Caleb.

“Do we get a nap first?” Willie asked. “‘Cuz we’ve been awake all night.”

Flynn’s eyebrows shot up in realization and she flopped back into her seat again with a sigh.

“That’s fair.”

It was well past noon by the time Alex opened his eyes. They had thanked Mrs. Taylor and then immediately passed out on the living room couch. Barely gaining his bearings, he found Willie still zonked on the opposite arm of the couch. He couldn’t help but admire his sleeping form, so much calmer than any other time he knew. The sunlight streaming in from the blinds glanced perfectly off his cheekbones and highlighted the rich brown tones in his hair. Alex had been struck by how handsome he was from the second they met at the diner, but he’d hardly gotten a moment to properly appreciate how beautiful he was.

Somehow there was something so lonely about him that brought an ache to Alex’s chest. Their conversation from earlier replayed in his mind. Willie really seemed to believe he didn’t belong anywhere when the only thing Alex wanted in the whole world was to keep him tightly in his arms. He really hoped to show Willie how much he meant to him some day.

“Oh my god, you are so in love with him,” he heard Flynn saying as she stood at the edge of the living room. He was too tired to give a proper response and could only turn to her still wearing a look of fondness. “Oh my god, stop, you are so precious!”

All Alex could do was lightly chuckle in return. Flynn tilted her head adoringly.

“And to think I was there from the beginning,” she reminisced.

Alex had a realization hit.

“I never said thank you, did I?”

She shrugged.

“No. But now you get to pay me back by doing all the chores my mom left for you.”

Heaving a sigh, Alex sank back into the couch and pressed his lips together, already reeling from exhaustion.

“Yep,” he muttered before reaching over and grabbing Willie’s hand, gently shaking it to kindly wake him up.

“Sheldon...stop,” Willie groaned as his tired face pinched together against the light. Alex giggled as he leaned over and tried shaking his shoulder instead.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said in a low voice, watching as Willie’s eyes fluttered open and immediately gazed back into his face. The absolutely enamoured smile that spread from cheek to cheek as he took in Alex’s face framed with his hair hanging down was more than Alex could take, and he felt honest-to-God butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey,” Willie murmured, his voice a pitch lower than usual from being asleep with just the right amount of vocal fry. It took all of Alex’s strength not to smother him right there on the couch.

“I really do hate to break this up, you lovebirds,” Flynn told them. “But it’s time to get to work!” She clapped her hands and the boys clambered off the couch, still sharing admiring looks at each other. She led them through her house, listing off the many things her mom had demanded: cleaning bathrooms, weeding the garden, and mowing the lawn were all there.

“And last but not least,” Flynn was saying as she led them upstairs. She flung the door open to an unfurnished room with bare walls and plastic covering the floor. “Painting!”

Alex saw Willie’s face transform from bleary task mode to shining with joy at the prospect of getting to paint. He wasn’t sure what it was, but everything Willie did was making him fall even further in a way he hadn’t thought possible. They were doing household chores for heaven’s sake. It made him consider doing all the rest of the chores just to let Willie do something he enjoyed. After seeing his reaction to Caleb, Alex thought it would lift his spirits more than anything.

“I say we divide and conquer then?” he suggested, putting a hand on Willie’s shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. Willie tore his eyes away from the unpainted walls to give Alex a puzzled look. Before he could ask questions, though, Alex simply looked him directly in the eyes and nodded toward the room before them, insisting he stay and paint without saying a word. He saw Willie’s expression soften and one corner of his mouth turn up in a delighted smirk once he understood the message.

“Okay,” Willie muttered to him, facing the bare walls with newfound glee.

Willie watched Alex head back down the stairs and he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend as much time with him as possible - looking into that angelic face as he’d woken up had spun his head more than anything else in his life - but it was just the thought of how he was suddenly in Alex’s world and it was so...different. It vaguely reminded him of hanging out with everyone after the show at the Pearl, but it appeared to be so much deeper and so tight-knit. Julie and Flynn and their families went so far as to stick out their necks for the guys when they really had messed up, and it wasn’t even an obligation. Even being made to do housework for people who were still practically strangers to him felt like he was being taken in with open arms. He had the intruding thought that he’d eventually wear out his welcome.

“So, are we painting everything the same?” he asked Flynn, rubbing his hands together. Flynn wagged a finger and smiled with excitement.

“No,” she teased. Going over to a corner, she lifted two cans of paint, handing one of them to him. Looking at the swatch smeared on the top of the lid, Willie smiled to see a lovely teal, and then sunflower yellow on the can in Flynn’s hands.

“Oooh yes, these are some good choices,” he said, rolling up a sleeve with his free hand. All the worried thoughts could be put aside as they began popping the lids off and mixing the paint. “Have you got a hair tie I could borrow?”

“There is something about a boy asking me that question that just feels amazing,” Flynn commented as she briefly headed out to fetch one. Giggling at her remark, Willie lifted the paint mixer and watched the color drip into the can in fascination. There was something familiar about the notion of painting that made him wonder if it was something he’d done often before. Before forgetting. Would putting the brush in his hand unleash some kind of muscle memory or sense of nostalgia for something he didn’t know he had? Flynn returned with the hair tie and handed it to him, and he immediately pulled his hair back into a small bun.

“Alright, so these walls are gonna be the teal green color,” Flynn instructed, pointing toward the walls furthest from the window. “And these over here are gonna be yellow. I’ll start with the yellow and meet you at the corner, sound good?” Willie nodded at her as she moved her paint supplies over to the opposite side of the room, putting her braids up into a ponytail as well.

“Copy that,” Willie replied.

Once the paint was all mixed they got to work, both silently focused on the task at hand. For a while, all that could be heard was the repetitive swipe of brushes against the texture of the wall. There had been no sweeping rush like Willie imagined, but a gentle comfort quickly took over as he watched the color fill the empty space. He heard a loud buzzing outside and for a moment, peeked out the window to see Alex steady at work mowing the lawn below.

“So,” Flynn started, almost making him jump as he turned his attention to her. “It looks like our skater boy likes to paint; do you do art too? I saw your face.”

Chuckling, Willie hadn’t realized he’d gotten himself stuck in a situation that warranted friendly banter. Out of all of Alex’s friends, though, she was the one he’d seen the most, now that he thought about it. Despite how aggressive she had appeared at first, he really enjoyed her energy.

“Yeah, actually I draw. A lot,” he told her.

“Nice!” she nodded. “What kind of stuff do you draw?”

“People...places,” he said thoughtfully as he continued painting. “Memories.”

Flynn kept nodding, her expression becoming more pensive. “Cool.... Memories are interesting. Did you do a lot of cool things when you were little?”

Willie chewed on his tongue for a minute, realizing she still didn’t know. Even now that he’d been away from Caleb for a while and Alex’s reaction had been so kind, sometimes speaking of his amnesia still felt like something that wasn’t allowed. Regardless, it was a pretty important detail.

“I actually don’t know,” he stated. Flynn’s eyebrows knit together in response. “I was in an accident a little over a year ago, and I don’t remember anything - well, I remember a few things, but not a lot. Whatever I can figure out, I try to draw it so it stays with me.”

She gave him a long sympathetic look. Every time it was different; Alex had been a little shocked but then really sweet, Bessie had merely brushed over it like it wasn’t anything crazy, and now Flynn had her big brown eyes staring with such sadness in them. Again, he wondered how much he had really lost along with his memory. It seemed to be a thing everyone else could properly mourn, knowing the difference, but he couldn’t no matter how much he tried.

“That’s really awful,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Willie only nodded, accepting her words.

“It sucks, but I manage,” he said. They both resumed painting after noticing they had stopped for a moment.

“I mean, you made it here, which is pretty amazing,” Flynn told him. “Well, not here as in we just picked you up from the police station, but you know, you left Vegas and have your sweet job at the record shop.”

He shrugged, trying to be casual. Those thoughts were getting to him today in a way they hadn’t ever before. The ones that said he was still messing everything up anyway. He was just in a different city with a different job. It was great that he’d miraculously found Alex, which had been his entire goal, but now that he’d passed that step in his plan, life went on. And it hadn’t really become so different, now that Caleb had his hands on things again. There were still so many questions about that as well, because he really did wonder if maybe he had made everything out to be worse in his mind. Caleb had been his guardian for three years and Willie was one of numerous kids - he couldn’t be that insidious, could he?

“I said, ‘you’re dripping paint on your shirt!’” Flynn repeated to him, enunciating loudly and snapping him out of his train of thought.

“Oh,” he started, looking down at his now ruined shirt and then continuing to work on the wall. He could live with it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I just keep thinking.”

“Uh huh. Whole lot of nothing to think about in there.”

Willie shot her a slightly wounded look. She rolled her eyes.

“Sarcasm, sorry. Looks like you have so much on your mind you can’t even function. So what’s up?”

He looked at her, unsure where to begin. It was great that she seemed easy to trust, because it made him less hesitant about talking, but he didn’t want to turn the painting session into something else. His mouth betrayed him though.

“I just keep thinking that maybe I have everything wrong and I brought all the guys down with me,” he confessed. Flynn didn’t respond, but listened quietly. “I met Alex and it was amazing! And I got it in my head that maybe being here with him would make everything better. But it looks like I’m just a bad influence.”

Flynn had nodded along until that last sentence, to which she tilted her head and squinted.

“Hold up,” she said. “Alex told me Caleb was your guardian, right?”

Willie nodded.

“Who also told Alex you were dead for no good reason?”

He nodded again.

“And you think you’re the bad guy here?” She had set down her brush and placed her hands on her hips.

Taking in a deep breath, Willie prepared to explain.

“Well - ”

Flynn simply held up both hands to shut him up.

“Willie. Buddy. You’re just a kid.”

You’re just a kid.

The words echoed around in his brain for a little bit as he let them settle in. She was right. Somehow he’d lost sight of that.

“You made some mistakes, I get it,” she continued. “But you’re not the bad guy. You’re still figuring things out. Actually, you know what I first thought of you? Well, actually, my first thought was that you were some creep who was trying to get into my friend’s concert, but after that, you know who I saw? A really good guy trying to show someone he cared. And bad people don’t do that.”

For a long time Willie just stared back at her in amazement. Somehow Flynn had managed to completely obliterate any other self-deprecating thought he had. It was the most human he’d felt all day. There was a sticky thud as his brush landed on plastic and he rushed to throw his arms around her.

“Oh!” she cried in surprise, slowly accepting the hug in return and patting his back. Willie squeezed her tightly and then stepped back, chuckling to himself as a small wave of embarrassment hit.

“Julie has good taste in friends,” he told her. “You’re really good at those pep talks.”

Flynn beat her chest with her palm and graciously took the compliment.

“Thank you.”

Willie picked up his brush again and continued working. He almost laughed when he had the thought that while he technically already had a boyfriend, Flynn was his first real friend. He was going to make that count.

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

Small Buff Girl Sightings Ch. 1

Summary: The first thought that comes to mind as he looks at the scene in front of him is: wow, she’s cute. The second thought is: holy shit, did she just flip a six foot, two hundred fifty pound man into the ground without blinking an eye?

Thank goodness there’s time for second… and third.. And fourth impressions?

Seriously, how many creepy people and criminals does this girl deal with on a daily basis?

1(you are here) | 2 | 3 | ao3

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Damian Wayne is sure that if his elder siblings were watching him right now, they would be screeching at him to go help the girl. But-- well. His siblings and his father aren’t watching, and he isn’t sure whether or not the girl needs his help. The weirdly hooded man who is rapidly closing in on her might just live in the same direction. Surely, this time, his instincts are wrong. He’s only following them for peace of mind. Nothing is going to happen.

Otherwise known as: Damian isn’t particularly feeling up to saving another girl outside of his Robin costume and then being come on to. Why girls always have to have a Thing for people who saved them, Damian will never understand. He can’t imagine attempting a relationship with somebody who saved him, though admittedly the pool of candidates of people who are superior to him in capability is small, and far too annoying or old for him to ever consider dating them. And even thinking about having a relationship with somebody who couldn’t take care of themselves gives him the chills.

This leads to a very contemplative two minutes of walking the same path that the girl and the hooded person were taking-- he is not following them--until the girl who is being stalked darts into an alleyway. Of course, the hooded person follows her.

Is she trying to get herself killed? Damian can’t believe the sheer idiocy of the girl. At least the last girl he saved hadn’t done anything as stupid; her attacker cornered her near her home. Gotham girls know better than to duck into random alleyways. There is too much crime in Gotham for anybody with self respect to be so dumb.

With a sigh, and a wish that his brothers and father hadn’t beat a moral conscious into him, he lopes over to the alleyway, expecting to have to break up whatever futile struggle the girl put up with her stalker, or maybe even knock out the guy because by now, she must either be unconscious or on her way to other unpleasant circumstances.

Except.

By the time he gets over to the alleyway, the girl walks out unscathed, phone pressed to her cheek.

“Yes, you should check 12th arrondissement, two streets down from the Opera Bastille. He’s 6 foot, blonde haired and brown eyed. Wearing a grey hoodie and adidas.” The girl brushes past him, blinked at his appearance, then continued on the phone. “No problem, officer.”

Damian looks into the alleyway and there the man is, head lolled to one side. Unconscious, probably. His hands are tied up with a pink plastic zip tie. He looks out of the alleyway, eyes trailing after the girl who just left. She barely reaches his shoulder. Maybe, Damian thinks drily, Parisian girls are different.

At least Damian won’t get another adoring fangirl today.

Damian is sitting at a coffee shop across from the Louvre. It’s overpriced, and the coffee tastes awful, but it’s still coffee, and he’s tired. He’s here to check out the akuma that the Paris media keep reporting about, even though the Justice league of America shouldn’t have to deal with Europe’s problems, and also largely believed that it was a publicity stunt on Mayor Bourgeois' behalf.

Now, the Justice League of America isn’t really sure what is happening, but surely it can’t be that bad if the city has no damage, right?

What a joke. Damian has been here three days (count them-- three) and he is almost sure that he has been transported into some alternate dimension where some little kid’s imagination went wild and plopped the ever loving conundrum of Paris, France into Damian’s hands.

On the first day he arrived, there was a pigeon akuma-- apparently, one of the more frequent ones that popped up. Ladybug-- one of two consistent Parisian Heroes-- made quick work of him once she arrived on the scene, but it took her a while to arrive. Almost a whole half hour. Which meant that the streets of Paris were filled with bird poop and flooded with more pigeons than Damian knew existed, and he lived in Gotham. The other hero, Chat Noir, arrived after Ladybug, but handled the situation more warily. He later found out that this was due to the superhero being allergic to feathers, as witnessed by a video on this site called the Ladyblog.

Due to some freak magic power called the Miraculous Cure that Ladybug called after her battles, the streets had been blessedly cleaned, and the pigeons flew back to their mostly hidden existence. The world was right, once more. Then, on the second day, he tried and failed to save that weird girl who knocked out a man who had a good hundred pounds on her. He’s not sure that tried and failed is applicable to the situation, as the girl seemed competent enough to take care of an issue like that on her own.

Today, another akuma appeared. His name is Deliverer, a postman who had one too many customers complain about a package not being delivered in a timely manner.

Damian isn’t really sure how he felt about having people turning into villains over such trivial things. He is also no longer sure whether he is the best choice for this mission. His emotions tend to run hot, and there is the chance that he might become compromised. Because if there are people out there turning into villains over not being able to feed some pigeons, there is no way that Damian’s own annoyance with his family and the random people on the streets won’t be taken advantage of. However, out of his family, it’s not like there’s any better choice. Dick, maybe, but he’s busy with Kor’i and his daughter, and they won’t want to move to France. And he doubts that the superheroes of Paris want a metahuman trying to solve the case in Paris after seeing how much damage a normal citizen can do when akumatized.

It only takes ten minutes for Ladybug and Chat Noir to arrive on the scene this time. Whether it is because it is a new akuma, or whether it is because they were closer to the scene of the crime, Damian can only guess. He thinks it to be a combination of the two; Mr. Pigeon is a very common akuma and the people deal with his issues quite often, thus he is probably lower on the priority list. The heroes have their own lives to deal with, Damian is sure.

In any case, Damian rushes to the akuma when he gets an alert from the Ladyblog and is able to catch the tail end of a battle where Ladybug doesn’t even have to use her Lucky Charm. She just takes the clipboard after some bizarre yoyo moves and snaps the clipboard over her knee. When the butterfly flies out of the clipboard, she purifies it. Easy breezy, and no involvement from Chat Noir, yet again. The cat looks tired and Ladybug says something to him, her posture reminiscent of a mother scolding her child, after which he flees the scene.

Then, Damian gets caught up in a wave of exhaustion. Forgoing sleep for the past two days trying to catch himself up on the situation in Paris before making any major reports back to the league will do that. He needs coffee, badly, which is why he finds himself in this tourist trap coffee shop with some of the worst coffee-- wait. That girl seems familiar.

He spends a few seconds trying to place her. Short, pig-tails, part asian, blue hair and blue eyes. The girl he saw coming out of the alleyway yesterday. Of course. She is on her phone walking slowly and frowning, purse hanging at her side. Damian traces her movements. She is naturally graceful, but closes in on herself. He looks a little closer. Her eyes look red. Perhaps she is dealing with the aftermath of yesterday’s situation.

From the side, a guy darts out at her, reaching for her purse. The girl drops her phone to the floor in shock, clutches her purse, and then side-swipes the guy. A hand to his neck, a foot to his knees, and then her arms pulling his behind his back. She pulls a zip tie from her purse and ties his hands up, then picks up her phone almost exasperatedly and before calling someone.

Vaguely curious, Damian picks up his coffee and approaches the girl and criminal. Several others have done the same, only to be waved off with a blindingly bright smile and a yes, she’s fine, thank you very much.

“Need help?” More of a courtesy than anything else.

“No thanks, Monsieur.” The girl looks down at the time on her phone, then scrunches her face up. Freckles dot her pale skin. A text message alert from her phone causes her to scowl, and she looks down at her phone, then back up at Damian.

“Actually, could you do me a favor? I’ve really got to get back with my class, and I don’t really want to leave this guy in the middle of the street like this. I just called the police, and they should be here any minute. Stay with him?”

It’s not like his research on Ladybug and Chat Noir can’t wait a few minutes.

“Sure.”

Then, the girl runs off without another glance backwards. True to her word, the police do arrive a few minutes later.

“Where’s the girl that called?” The policeman asked with a furrowed brow.

“She had to leave.” Damian eyes the man, who has barely looked at him. The policeman is assessing the scene, taking in the handiwork of the pigtailed girl.

“Half-asian, blue eyes, freckles?”

“Yes.”

The policeman handcuffs the criminal. “That poor girl. She always seems to attract these street thugs. It’s really a blessing that she can take care of herself.”

This piques Damian’s interest. “This happens often?”

“She’s almost like an urban legend, at this point. Whenever we find a criminal tied up with a neon pink zip tie, we know it’s her. A real shame, too. She’s such a nice girl.”

He’s not sure if nice was the word to use. She looked slightly stressed and harried. Polite enough, but she certainly has no trouble putting guys twice her size down.

“Well, thank you for your help.” The policeman tips his cap and makes his way to the patrol car.

Damian goes back to drinking his coffee and scrolling through the Ladyblog on his phone.

“I’ve heard you do this quite often.” Damian appears at the girl’s side like a ghost, but she doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even flinch. Just takes a step back to reposition herself and gives him a side eye. Tactically, a good decision if he is another potential attacker. She created just enough distance that it would make it harder to attack her, but had moved in a smooth fashion that said she wasn’t going to run and was prepared to stand her ground. Her body half faces him, like she is ready to put up her guard at any moment.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Her victim this time is unconscious. Damian isn’t exactly sure what happened, but the quivering girl only a few feet away from them made him think that the girl in front of him has a bit of vigilante in her, because it is clear that this time she hadn’t acted in self defense.

In an act of goodwill, Damian takes his hands out of his pockets slowly, showing that he doesn’t have anything to hide. In response, the girl-- who Damian mentally decides to call Pigtails, since she’s had the same ridiculously childish hairstyle for their past three encounters-- relaxes, just a little, and turns her attention to the crying girl instead.

“Do you want me to call the police?”

Pigtails eyes flicker towards the man on the ground, who is what Damian approximates to be six foot three and two hundred and fifty pounds, and then towards the crying girl looks to be in her mid twenties.

Pigtails hasn’t tied this one up, yet, but she has flipped him onto his stomach. Judging by the lingering look that she gives the man’s unbound hands, and the ziptie that she pulls out of her small purse, she’s ready and willing to tie him up at the slightest movement, or at the other girl’s command.

“I’m going to tie him up, okay?”

The other girl manages a yes, please. And so, Pigtails brandishes her ziptie, directs Damian to call the police; tell them they’re on Barbes Boulevard.

Damian assesses the situation before the operator comes on. The would-be victim is somewhere around twenty four, is slender and full of what his brother, Dick, would call French girl charm before getting hit by Cass or Barbara. She has brown hair that’s a mess on the left side of her hair, probably from the man grabbing her on that side, and is lightly tanned. There are bruises on her wrist and on her cheek that are quite visible and continuing to darken.

Now that Pigtails has tied him up, Damian nudges the man’s face with his foot to see what he looks like. Average looking at best, and he reeks of alcohol. Damian crinkles his nose. Midday drinking is not a good look on anyone. His clothes are also cheap. Fast fashion, but bad.

Then, there’s Pigtails herself. Evidently she trusted him enough to look after the brute, because after giving him a once over and nodding, she goes over to the other girl to comfort her. Damian is sure that Pigtails can’t be much older than himself, but he's not sure. She has a sort of timelessness about her, between the lightness in her step and the sharp, intelligent look in her eyes. Her sense of fashion is simple but chic, and whatever she is wearing looks pretty high end. Designer, even.

After relaying the information that he has gathered to the operator, he is told to please wait there with the victim and the attacker, and if he could have the other party involved stay there as well, that would be fantastic.

Pigtails is surprisingly good at calming people down. The other girl seemed seconds away from a complete breakdown and was rocking back and forth, muttering to herself before Pigtails started talking to her. Already, the other girl’s crying turns to hiccups, and then stops. She is then embraced by Pigtails, circles rubbed soothingly on her back, and a gentle smile that makes Damian purse his lips. He doesn’t see that kind of smile often in Gotham. Everybody is harder there, less willing to help. If they see somebody in danger, most times citizens hurry on their way because they don’t want to get involved. When citizens do get involved, their aftercare is fairly rough, if there is any aftercare at all. Even as a vigilante, Robin didn’t often comfort victims afterwards. He helped them to police stations or the hospital occasionally, but never stopped to talk with them.

By the time the police get there, Pigtails has the girl standing with a watery smile on her face. What a feat. Damian wonders, briefly, if having Pigtails’ social capabilities would help victims back in Gotham.

“Ah, Marinette,” the police officer smiles warmly. “We meet again.”

“Officer Raincomprix,” Pigtails inclines her head.

The officer is of stocky build, red headed and green-eyed. He cuffs the man, lugs him to the back seat of his cruiser, locks the door, and then comes back out. “I’d like to take your statements, now.”

Damian learns that the attacker, Fraser Barbot, was in several of Nicolette Deanne’s master classes this year. Both were studying business with an emphasis on fashion, which resulted in a lot of time spent together. Fraser thought that a relationship was the inevitable next step. She refused, because besides their master’s emphasis, they didn’t really have much in common. She also just wasn’t interested in him. He became slightly more hostile to her after her rejection. Then, as the months went by, they started vying for a lot of the same job opportunities. Nicolette had gotten the most prestigious one, and had many other companies attempting to persuade her into joining their business instead. Fraser had gotten very few, and was convinced that Nicolette had stolen those job opportunities away from him, had seduced her potential employers, and asked her why she wouldn’t do him if she was so willing to put out.

That was when Marinette had come in. She was walking to a fabric store when she heard the commotion and saw Fraser hitting Nicolette. By the time she got over to them, Nicolette had already acquired several bruises on her arms, shoulder, and face. After arriving, she promptly knocked him out.

By the time the three of them finish their statements, nearly ten minutes have passed, and Officer Raincomprix bids them farewell.

“If you ever feel like you’re in danger again, Miss Deanne, feel free to call. Since you want to press charges, we’ll be in contact with you soon. Call us if more than three days go by without hearing from us. A taxi has been called for you, so you can get wherever you were going in peace.”

Officer Raincomprix turns to Marinette and Damian with a slightly sunnier disposition. “And thank you two for helping. Especially you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. If you ever change your mind about wanting to go into law enforcement, just give me a call. I should really have Sabrina do whatever training you’re doing, because it’s clearly effective!”

Marinette laughs. “The bakery is magic. Between lifting bags of flour, running around the city for deliveries, and Maman’s cooking, anybody could do what I do. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the studio down the street from our school, though, so you could have her look into that.”

This, Damian thinks, is such a bald-faced lie he almost chokes on his own spit. There is no sort of magic food that imbues a person with the ability to fight like Pigtails does and lifting flour bags in a bakery doesn’t suddenly allow people to take down people with ease. She has to have had some professional training, though if he is being honest, her movements feel like they have more of an origin in street fighting than they do in any martial arts.

She’s remarkably good at lying, mixing jokes with statements that had the possibility of truth. Maybe Damian is just being paranoid. Maybe she trained at some studio that she didn’t want to mention and the studio taught amazing self defense. Maybe she is just an excellent study. Somehow, Damian doubts that was the truth of the matter, but there isn’t much of a reason for Damian to spend his precious time determining the reason why this girl lies to policemen. It’s her business. It doesn’t concern him.

Then, Officer Raincomprix heads back to the police cruiser and Nicolette gets into the taxi she ordered for herself, looking worlds better. Marinette turns to him with a smile. The smile is so blindingly bright and pure that he suspects it lets the girl get away with a lot of things. “Thanks for the save. It was a lot easier to calm Nicolette down since you handled the call. I’m Marinette, it’s nice to meet you.”

Damian nods in return to her wave and smile. “No problem. I guess this answers my earlier question. You do get caught up with criminals quite often.”

She flushes, and it makes the freckles on her pale skin show even more. “What do you mean by that?”

“You seemed to be on very good terms with that police officer.”

“Oh, that. He’s a classmate’s dad. I’ve seen him around plenty of times.” She waves him off.

A very good liar, indeed. Pigtails keeps to half truths and vague statements. Damian gets the feeling that she definitely saw him more often in the capacity of a police officer than he did as a friend’s father. Understandable to lie to him, though. He is just a stranger, and he certainly doesn’t go around telling every person on the street his life story. Maybe Pigtails values privacy, just like he does.

The movement of the police cruiser catches his eye. Fraser has woken up, and he is not happy about being handcuffed in a police cruiser; they can hear him screaming at Officer Raincomprix from the street. Marinette’s eyes jump to the cruiser as well, eyes narrowing as she sees a butterfly approach the cruiser.

“Oh, for--” Marinette glances at Damian, at the butterfly, and then at Fraser. She makes a split decision. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This is not going to be pretty.”

“What do you--” Pigtails is pulling his arm with more strength than he thought possible. If this is just her pulling him, it’s no small wonder that she fares so easily against all her opponents. She definitely has strength behind her small frame.

“Fraser is probably going to get akumatized and we have to get you to the nearest shelter. Then, you’re going to wait there until the all-clear alert is given, got it?” She pushes him into a building, says by way of explanation to the bewildered looking employees, “Akuma,” and then rushes off, saying, “I’m going to go home, because clearly I’m not going to be able to go shopping for fabric today.”

Damian doesn’t stay in the shelter that Pigtails has so kindly guided him to, and there are a few people who look at him in confusion; people should be entering the building if there’s an akuma attack, not leaving. But Damian has a job to do and watching the battles up close is much better than watching the footage on the Ladyblog, which, in recent years, has turned into little more than poor speculations and attempts to stoke relationships between heroes that haven’t been used in years. When he looks at the information the website had up years ago, Damian finds a bunch of interviews that clearly haven’t been fact checked done with a girl named Lila, who is in the class he’s going to be transferring into, and despite the fact that they’ve been taken down since then, he doesn’t trust most of the Ladyblog’s information without video evidence. Not the most reliable news source about akuma, however, most other blogs he found didn’t have any videos taken up close. The older footage of past battles on the Ladyblog were pretty good quality, but they had gotten worse and worse, which meant that Damian and the Justice League didn’t have a clear picture about the heroes’ or villain’s capabilities.

By the time Damian arrives, back on the scene, Ladybug is already there in her red and black spotted glory. She has pulled Officer Raincomprix to safety.

“I am Shackled! Burdened by unfair double standards that allow incompetent tramps to get jobs before other, clearly more superior candidates do and by the corrupt justice system that wants me to go to jail, I desire what I should have been given to begin with! The affections of ladies clearly below me, and jobs that were made for me.” Convenient. If every villain explains their modus operandi to the heroes, it is probably easier to take them down. “Give me your Miraculous, Ladybug!”

The hero scoffs, avoids the chains that Shackled controls, and crouches atop a car a fairly good distance away.

Chat Noir lands, quick to make a pun. “If you feel so tied down by society, why don’t you just bug off? No woman wants to deal with somebody who has such a su-paw-riority complex.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes, but allows the pun. “Chat Noir’s right. You need to get taught a lesson on ethics and morality. If a woman got a job and you didn’t, that just means she’s better than you. Your interviewers probably saw that you had an awful attitude and work ethic. Nobody wants such a toxic person in their work environment.”

“Don’t you mean clawful, m’lady?”

“Chat,” Ladybug reprimands. She tosses her yoyo in the air. “Let’s get this over with. Dealing with misogynistic akumas is annoying. Just talking to them uses up all of my common sense.”

She throws her yoyo in the air, and calls, “Lucky Charm!”

A pack of zipties falls from the sky. Ladybug groans. “You have got to be kidding me. Zip ties? Really? You couldn’t have given me anything else? This is going to take forever. Chat, grab some of his chains and zip tie them together.”

“You’ve got to be yanking my chain, m’lady. We can just take him out without using the Lucky Charm.”

“No, the akuma is in the chain that’s between his handcuffs. And we can’t get there unless we immobilize all of these.” She gestures around wildly, then begins the process of grabbing chains and zip tying them together. As she continues to tie more and more together, it begins to get harder and harder for Shackled to move them as he wants, and a butterfly mask flashes over the akuma’s face.

After almost thirty minutes of tying and avoiding the few free flying chains that there are left, Chat Noir and Ladybug finally get all of the chains in one messy bundle that is too heavy for Shackled to control. At one point in the battle, Ladybug darts towards Chat Noir, a concerned look on her face, but he brushes her off and they continue working. Chat Noir cataclysms the chain between Shackled’s hands, and sure enough, a butterfly flies out. Damian watches as Ladybug shoves the butterfly into her yoyo and feels his eye twitch as the black-purple butterfly comes out white. He hates magic. It makes things so much more complicated than they should be.

“Bien Joue,” the two superheroes say to each other before heading off in opposite directions.

Damian sticks to his first thought. Whatever is going on in Paris is definitely the equivalent of some kid having a series of very weird dreams.

______________________________________________________________________

All the way up to ch 4 is already posted on ao3! I’ll be posting this fic daily up until i catch up :) also how do you decide where to put the keep reading for all you experienced tumblr users? idk where a good place to break is

#miraculous ladybug #daminette #dc #mlb x dc #sbgs #ch 1 #maribat #original content #adrien agreste #lila rossi #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne

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weeklyfangirl · 4 years

Text

Frat Boy Pt. 20

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19

Happy New Year!!!!!! Here’s a party and a hot guy loving on you - and you don’t even have to leave your home ;)

I haven’t been to many therapist offices after I started high school. This one was free, on student-life. Reproduced images of the sea were comforting enough, but it was the dreary stained carpet that reminded me where I was.

“Do you think they’re related to the night you were assaulted?”

“Yes. But I don’t know how to get rid of them. I lose sleep and then when I do sleep, I have these nightmares and I wake up more restless than if I’d just stayed up all night.”

“Hm. And how do you feel about Harry?”

“Harry?”

She nodded. “Yes, the boy in your dreams.” Her French manicured nails squeezed the top of her clipboard.

“That’s not an easy question.”

“Try.”

I sighed. “Okay…” The painted seagull in her office looked like an on-clearance print at TJ Maxx, and suddenly I wished I’d called my mother for her own version of therapy instead. Bargain shopping. “I think I hate him. But then I know I don’t. But then… I don’t necessarily like him either.”

“Do you love him?”

I laughed. “No, I don’t love him.”

“Why do you laugh?”

“I said I almost hated him and you ask me if I love him!” But my voice was a little too loud. The question stayed with me, stirring in my mind. “I think I’d know if I loved him.”

“Love looks different to different people. Finding a healthy version of love for yourself and your partner is where things can go awry. Or right.”

I remembered Harry and I talking at Alta about Madame Bovary, and how I’d told him that people love to the best of their abilities, from what they’ve learnt by their circumstances. Silence weighed in the room, and I knew she was waiting for me to elaborate on my feelings. Bleh.

“I don’t know,” I finally said. “But if this is what love looks like to him… We’re not even technically dating so this question doesn’t even apply!” I laughed again. “But then… even if we were, then... it’s not enough.”

“And what would be enough for you?”

“Stability.”

“And do you think this is possible with him?”

“Umm…” Zayn’s voice popped in my head - Harry was a magnet for infamy - and I laughed. I laughed, and I laughed...“No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he self-sabotages. And he says things he doesn’t mean.”

“Such as...?”

A puff of breath left my lips. “Like last night, he said I didn’t have a life. And then he was comparing me to another girl. Viv. She’s like his… sister, basically. She grew up with him. But… he got really defensive and said at least she fucks me. But the fact that he said I don’t have a life?? A LIFE?? I mean shit, it’s not my fault he’s infiltrated my dreams is it?”

She shook her head. “It’s very important for you not to blame yourself. Show yourself the same kindness you’d show your friends. Renny, for example.”

Be kind to yourself.

I nodded. Those were the words my mother would say whenever I’d critique myself. Just like all those times before, the words registered, but it didn’t change anything about the frustration I felt. I was the one dumb enough to let him in. I’d let myself be dragged into him, even with every red flag hitting me in the face. I was collecting them for a meme bouquet at this point!

“Do you believe him?” she asked.

It took me a minute to hear her.

“The words he said to you,” she said. “That you don’t have a life.”

A timer beeped on her phone. She muted it. “I’d like you to write out what you want in your life for next time. Not what anybody else wants. But what Y/N wants. When you see it written out, no matter how silly it seems, having concrete answers might help.”

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

I was staring at my notes page, trying to think of what I wanted. I didn’t exactly have the chance to ask her what she meant by that. Did she mean career goals? Education goals? Relationship goals? What did this have to do with ending my nightmares?

A text at the top of my phone distracted me from the blank page.

Kiki: “Don’t worry, we didn’t forget about you. Get your hands on the special airhead pills from Harry’s and bring them to the DG Pretty Please Party next week. On the DL obvi.”

Viv chimed in on the group chat. “Congrats bitch! It’ll be fun for all of us.” She included the devil emoji.

This is what I got for stalling up until the last minute to walk into work. The practice was now a blatant reminder that Harry was out of my life and it didn’t help whenever I saw Lionel. It felt weird that I was seeing his dad more than him. Wrong, even.

Voices carried through the lot along with the clicking of heels. I turned my head.

Boss Lady Samantha was headed towards the elevator.

Shit, Y/N. Shit shit shit.

I got out, quietly closing the door. Better to walk with my boss than walk in late after her, right? Her red hair was let down today, ringlet curls in full effect. I could meet her at the elevator before it arrived.

But right when I was about to shout out hold the elevator Lionel walked right behind her. And I mean RIGHT behind her - there was hardly room for a Bible between them.

I hid behind my car, unsure if I was supposed to be seeing this.

Their voices were too low to hear, but his arm lingered at her lower back before the elevator opened. She got in. Alone. Lionel looked over his shoulder and I ducked further.

Through Grandpa’s windows, I saw the elevator door close. Lionel waved goodbye to Samantha and he pressed the button again.

Before chickening out, my shoulders straightened. I shouldn’t have to be the one hiding. I jogged to make it. His brows shot up in surprise as he held the elevator for me. The kindness I’d gotten used to seeing in his eyes looked hesitant this time.

“A little late today?” he asked, as soon as I’d made it in.

I avoided his eyes, nodded. It was a quiet elevator ride.

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

My family’s house was a ten minute drive from the practice. Enough drive time to sit on what I’d seen outside Coast Shores Medicine. It could’ve been friendly. I didn’t have to do anything about this. But in my bones, I knew that friendly isn’t what I’d seen. Lionel avoided me the rest of the day, assigning me to print out billing statements. I hadn’t seen them make out or anything, but there was a certain intimacy I couldn’t write off right away. Did Mrs. de Saude know about his close work relationships? Did Harry?

The sickening uneasiness dissipated when I heard my parent’s Home Improvement HGTV hour. Dad was already passed out on the couch, snoring at a whopping 8 PM when I walked through the door. Ignoring Mom’s tutting of “they keep you too late,” we went to my bedroom.

“Pick the nude ones,” Mom said, adjusting the spectacles she only pulled out on rare occasions (magazine reading and shoe selections). “It makes your legs look longer.” It looked like there was something more she wanted to say.

I adjusted them in the mirror, wearing the blush dress I’d bought for my aunt’s beach wedding almost a year prior. It’d never been worn. Her Spanish fiancé she’d met three months prior stole her TV set and ran off with his gay lover a week before. As I stood, the dress just barely touched the floor. Simple, really, but the way the thin straps exposed my chest rendered it elegant. I felt like I needed a long cigarette and fur coat to make it complete.

Without context, Mother suddenly burst into an annoyed huff.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Hm?” Her lashes fluttered as if she hadn’t realized she’d made a noise. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Your father just took another one of those sleeping pills. You should never get too dependent on medication, Y/N. Drink warm milk or something.”

“Mom.”

“I’m serious!” Her stony face certainly wasn’t comical.

“I know.”

She looked me over in the dress again and caught herself, pulling me in for a rushed hug. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. She rocked me a little. “It’s just been a little rough this week.” She squeezed me tighter, then let me go. All negative energy shoved into a box that’d spring open when we all least expected it. “Have a good night tonight. Say hello to Harry for me!”

When I walked to the car she threw out, “And tell him next time he can ask you with a Cartier ring! HA! I’m joking!! ... Kind of!!!”

I smiled, waving to her at the gate as I got into my Grandpa mobile. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Golden Boy wasn’t my date.

---------

There were two cops for every solo cup I could see littered on the ground. They patrolled the streets, but the frat house seemed unphased and restored to its former glory as I walked with Andre. Club music pounded beyond the doors, practically shaking the windows. Girls huddled up outside, holding each other’s hair back and trying to block anyone’s view from the bile, as the guys snickered over their shoulders and some pretended not to see. But the cops weren’t here to reprimand for underage drinking and public intoxication tonight. They were on watch. Stationed around the perimeter of the house and on either end of the street.

They were waiting for something else. For somebody else.

Andre seemed oblivious, practically skipping past them he was so excited. I, on the other hand, was already limping from the nude pumps.

“Wanna switch shoes?” he called back.

“Don’t make a deal you aren’t willing to keep,” I smiled, quirking a brow. “The nude would actually match your navy suit…”

He’d already walked on, fist bumping the bouncer who raised up a professional-grade camera and snapped a photo of us. When my eyes recovered from the flash, I spotted Officer Ramirez from the uniforms just beyond the frat’s ramshackle fence. He was already watching me. He raised two fingers above his brow and I nodded, curtly, even though I wanted to shrink inside myself. I hadn’t had the time to think about what I would say if he contacted me again, or if I should be the one to reach out to him.

Andre led me inside, and for once, I was glad I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. It raised ten degrees just from stepping inside. The boys were in Bond suits, but most had abandoned their jackets wherever they could - on the banister, the couch beneath the staircase, or the entrance hall. The girls had dressed up, too. This was the most covered up I think I’d seen some of them, though others still opted for above-the-knee slips.

“Oi, where’s your drink?!” Niall’s familiar voice shouted above the bass.

He pulled Andre into a side hug before we reached the dancefloor. When he saw me, Niall practically fell over.

“Y/N! What’re you doing here?” He spluttered, whiskey in his breath. The knot of his tie was already to his chest, but he loosened it even more. He looked over his shoulder, then back to me. “Renny’s just gone to the bathroom.”

“She’s my date,” Andre stepped in, placing an arm around my shoulder. It was completely platonic but Niall’s face went to stone.

Suddenly it cracked, and he laughed, running a hand over his stubbly chin. “Oh, shit.” He laughed again. “Shit!”

Andre smiled, unaware of anything else besides the fact that Niall must be proud he showed up with a date. He patted Niall’s shoulder. “We’re going to see the big bro, I’ll find you later.” Andre nodded his head for me to follow, leaving Niall cackling to himself in the entranceway.

“Niall’s THE. MAN,” he put his hands up for emphasis. “He’s my favorite in the house besides my big. We gotta say hi, then you can run off. Oh, Renny’s here too!” He squeezed my shoulders as if to excite me, as if she’d be the reason I’d stay. Loved the girl, but I knew she’d be back on top of Niall five minutes after she was out. I just didn’t want to have to watch.

I wrung my hands together, growing nervous. I knew the reason Niall had reacted that way was because Harry was going to be here. I knew this coming into it. But I’d been expecting him to ignore me the entire night. With Niall’s reaction, I wasn’t so sure anymore. What had Harry told Niall?

Someone sloshed their beer on me as I passed, and I turned sour, rolling my eyes as Andre pushed us forward. I picked up the pace before he could notice I’d stopped and wiped the glare off my face. Or, tried. I probably just looked constipated now.

WHY WAS HIDING EMOTION SO HARD??

I felt bad feeling so annoyed. Andre was excited. I should be excited, right? Sloshed beer and sweaty bodies came with the territory. Though I’d forgotten how humid it got in here. Hell and Florida were probably cooler. I picked up the ends of my dress, hoping for some sort of ventilation to reach parts of me that were on the verge of overheating.

The coffee tables and couches had been moved from the center of the living room to the fringes beneath the stairwell to make designated smoking and dancing sections. I could’ve stayed on the outside of the dance crowd. Hell, I could’ve joined the spaced-out smokers on the couch. But I didn’t. I followed Andre to the middle of the dance floor. I could barely see above the tops of people’s heads until we reached a bit of a clearing. And by clearing, I meant the sweaty dancers in front of us who made a break for freedom and gave us about ten seconds of space before other bodies rushed to fill it.

I felt him before I saw him. A tiny prick of consciousness that directed my gaze. And Andre’s finger.

“AYYYY!!!!!” Andre pointed to the DJ booth, waving his hands as he hollered.

Even with the rocking vibration of the bass that chattered my teeth, each nerve in my body went alert. Harry stood, flashing a white smile to the crowd before downing the rest of whatever potion was in his cup. I hated how my stomach clenched just by seeing him. He saw Andre and his smile grew, grabbing the mic. I was still unnoticed, hidden by dim lighting and nameless peers.

“Who’s ready for us to win tomorrow!?” His voice was low, demanding. It was a question for the crowd, but he was looking at Andre. I could sense the intensity even there, and it was then I realized it couldn’t be just me who feels so vulnerable around Harry. Each person he traps in his gaze stays there, until he lets them go.

The house erupted in cheers, but I was locked in place. The suit he was wearing looked similar to the one from the Halloween gala, and every bit of him looked just as stunning. His beautiful body swayed on the makeshift stage.

“Then let’s see you jump in-” His hand held up 5, 4, 3, 2… He spun another song and the crowd sprung from the floor before crashing back down. They jumped to the beat he made. A modern-day puppet master.

Andre wrapped an arm around me as he jumped. So I did, too.

“That’s my big!!” he yelled, mid-air.

“WHAT??”

He pointed to the DJ booth, but there was no one there besides Harry.

“.... HARRY??! HARRY’S YOUR- your…” I stopped jumping the same second Harry saw us together. It’s funny. It takes only a second to flip a dime on its head. His party boy mask dropped in an instant. The low lighting turned his eyes black, but they couldn’t conceal the daggers he shot straight at me.

“I have to use the bathroom,” I muttered.

Andre nodded. “S’UP THE STAIRS!” He found a friend nearby and latched on to him instead.

The small (okay, medium) part of me filled with nothing but Petty™ wanted Harry to see me with his little. But another part of me couldn’t handle his judgmental glare. Somehow, I was embarrassed. I didn’t want him to think I’d come here tonight to make him jealous. That I was so obsessed with him I’d found another in to the frat. I didn’t want him to think he controlled any part of my heart. What did it say that I ran away at first sight, though?

I’d already done it. It didn’t matter. Either way, I didn’t win.

I raced upstairs, weaving my way between couples sitting on the stairs, hoping that the line for the restroom was really long and Renny hadn’t already left. It was, and she was next in line.

“Oh my God, what are you doing here?!” she screeched, arms out and eyes squinted until I could no longer see her pupil.

“Why do people keep asking me that.”

She pulled me into an extra-long, extra-tight Renny hug. “Love yousoooomuch,” she rushed. Her breath smelled like Niall as she pulled away. She lifted the cup to my lips and I shook my head. She frowned.

“I talked with Niall,” she said. “He says Harry’s just going” - she hiccupped - “through a lot right now. S’best to leave him alone.”

The other girls in line perked up at the mention of his name, subconsciously leaning closer. I huffed. “Trust me. I am.”

When three girls stumbled out of the only bathroom stall, Renny rushed in. “Thank God I was about to pee on the carpet.” She tried tugging me in with her, but my eye was on the end of the hall. And the stupid DG pretty please.

“I’ll be back,” I muttered, squeezing her hand.

“Nooooo,” she drawled.

I squished her cheeks, checked her pupils. She didn’t need me to hold her hair back this time. I gave her cheek a lil slap.

“I’ll go with you next time you have to go. Which will be in like... twenty minutes. You broke the seal rookie!” I teased.

I didn’t even bother looking over the railing at the party below to see if he was watching me. I still had my DG task and a nonrefundable deposit to think about. I didn’t think I’d get many chances to be in this house again unless I swindled Andre or Niall into letting me in. But that would require an explanation, and I wasn’t sure I could tell them that.

Forget explanations. I needed to do it now. Lots of noise. Tons of distractions. I’d just think of it as… borrowing?

His door was locked and I groaned, kicking it and leaving a smudge beside all the others. I reached for a bobby pin in my purse and put it to work. I’d done it before in his bedroom, I could do it again here. The curve of the hallway protected me from onlookers waiting in line in the bathroom. Downstairs was a mixed bag. People could probably see through the railings running along the top floor.

Not that they’d think to look.

My knees were starting to hurt by the time I heard it click. I crept in, and for some reason, I expected his room to look different. But it was still the same. Dusty desk across from a queen-sized bed. Only one photograph atop his bedside mantle. And it didn’t smell like sweaty soccer clothes, but clean. With hints of a woodland spice and books. It felt like eons had passed since I was first here, undressing him like the drunken baby he’d been. As an act of betrayal, my body rushed at the thought of how his fingers had looped around my belt loops, tugging me closer. I swallowed, the image of his tightened pants expanding in my head. He’d almost been hard, then.

It was then, at that moment, that I decided that the one sip of alcohol I’d had must have been spiked with SOMETHING because I would NOT be that girl. I would NOT. I reFUSED TO LET MYSELF-

Seconds later, my fingertips grazed his soft gray sheets. He’d been sprawled out right about here, and the rush of seeing unseen skin on Harry had been too intoxicating an offer to refuse. The ghost of that rush flowed through me again as my memory played it over like a movie. Close-ups and panning shots - Down his toned chest to tattoos speckled along tan skin, tattoos that had been seemingly doodles, but now held much more meaning now that I knew of his history with the ocean. For his sister. My body leant down before I knew what I was doing, and I inhaled. The lingering aroma of his body chemistry altering his cologne: musky, a little spice, and warmth.

Even if every ounce of me wanted to dislike him, the legitimate biology behind my body responded to a chemistry I couldn’t control.

“What are you doing?”

He caught me on my knees, with one hand clutched in the sheets.

Fuckity FUCK-

He could whip out PSYCHO magazine informing people of highly-dangerous murderers with my mugshot plastered across the cover - and I’d believe him in that moment. Oh my gosh. Omgomgomg. He didn’t say what I expected him to say when he swayed in, though.

“Andre. Really?” He laughed to himself, but it was cold. “Fucking” - he stumbled, leaning on the desk chair to catch himself- “really?”

It wasn’t the alcohol that’d put him on edge. I’d seen him handle liquor before, but this time he looked… different. I stood up, realizing his eyes were racking down my dress. I crept towards him, hoping to make it past the door. Not because I was scared of him. But because I was mortified. I’d just looked like an absolute fucking psychopath AND I’d snuck into his bedroom. Maybe I could distract him. Maybe he was too drunk to ask me-

“What’re you doing here?”

“What are we… all doing here? At parties?”

“…in my room,” he clarified.

Welp. My philosophical question fell flat. Wouldn’t be the first time.

I waltzed past him, tight-lipped. In defense of my dignity, I still didn’t owe him anything. Not after how he’d treated me.

“Hey,” his arm jutted out, blocking my way. His brows crossed as he turned to a petulant boy. “S’rude to not answer.”

My blood boiled. “You are not about to give me a lesson on how bad it is to ignore people right now. Nor on being rude.”

“Can give you another one.”

He reached for me, but I stepped back, somewhat living in the hurt that flashed in his eyes at my rejection.

“You’re not leaving.” But his demand sounded like a plead.

“Thought you didn’t want me around you,” I scoffed, tearing past him. “Just because you’re drunk or high or whatever the fuck it is you are right now, doesn’t mean you can just… get a free pass! For a week! A whole week of awful-” I turned quickly, too frustrated to find the words. I took a step towards the door but-

“Y/N.” He was right behind me. His breath warmed the nape of my neck, the delicate hairs standing on end. No matter how much of an absolute mess he was, my body didn’t know better. I could practically feel him behind me, his presence radiating an alarm that blared through my veins. I wanted him. Badly. He trailed a finger down my arm, and his hand brushed against my own against my side. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

His fingers gingerly interlaced with mine, turning me around.

Something wet was on my cheek. I touched it, quickly rubbing it away in horror. Why were tears running down my face?! What unfair cruelty was this!? He saw my tears and leant down, suddenly defeated, pulling my body with him.

“Why did’ya ever want me hm?” His nose went along my jaw. Full lips pressed against the base turned my legs weak. There was an underlying desperation to his words though, a prayer in his kiss. But my thoughts were turning anything but holy.

“Who says I did…” I wanted to pull away, ask him why he’d used past tense or why he’d completely ignored me this past week, but I was frozen by the softness of his hands. Self-respect was surely slipping away each moment I lingered. I could literally see Jane Austen parting the heavens and sticking her angelic head through Harry’s room to shame me with a glare. I do all this mental work to try and figure this guy out and… for what? I should be waltzing out that door, declaring I’d never talk to him again. I should give up messy and confused and pursue my own sanity. But the air only ever turned electric with him, in all his messiness, in all this confusion… and each time the spark appeared, it pushed us closer together until he was here, like this, soft hands gently running along my lower back, skilled fingertips feeling the dress fall slightly inwards at my waist, tracing a map of uncharted waters…

“You’re not thinking straight,” I breathed. And that went for both of us.

“Au contraire, I’m thinking clearer than I ever ‘ave.” There was a swirling madness shining through, but he bat his eyes and it was veiled again, vanished beneath the dark surface. He tilted his head, appraising my body, noticing my legs were no longer tensed to run, but in apprehension for another reason completely. A smirk settled in. “Why do you still want me?” he demanded, pulling me against him towards the bed.

“Arrogant ass,” I sniped, but I landed on him anyway. His fingers tightened around my waist, a hand snaking up behind to entwine with my hair. I felt him harden beneath me as he pulled my head to the side, just the right amount of rough. But he stalled over vulnerable skin, lips ghosting featherlight up to my ear. He let out a soft breath and I clenched in anticipation. For once, I had no thoughts. “You should be with me,” he breathed. “Should be mine.” His voice grew frustrated and he practically growled, lips kissing my neck, steady, before they started to suck in a rhythm. The shock of the sensation masked the shock from his words and my back arched, a spider’s shiver crawling down my spine. He stopped suddenly, shooting back like he’d been shocked. His grip softened ‘round the nape of my neck, and he looked so… confused. “Can’t mark you again,” he noted, despondent. But then the corners of his lips twitched up in a smirk. “Least where it’s visible.” My breath caught. His black ink eyes showed the slightest ring of green. I don’t remember lifting my hand, but fingers trailed along dark circles. These were a new development. I shook my head lightly. Something was wrong. This was wrong. I leant in, resting my head against his. “Harry-” but his lips cut me off before I could mention it.

I felt like I’d been feeling his lips everywhere but my own. They were eager, but kept pace, switching it up just when I was getting comfortable, slowing to make me feel the soft fullness of raspberry-pink lips. They were pillows, and clouds, and everything else soft and wonderful that I’d want to feel forever. He slipped in his tongue, deepening the kiss, and I ground my body against him, using his shoulders as leverage.

This wasn’t me. But I didn’t care enough to think about ‘who I was’ anymore. What did I want?

I felt him pulse between my legs.

“Harry,” I bit my lip, and I knew then. I’ve been wanting more, I’ll always want more. I was more aware than ever of an emptiness he could fill.

“Been hard ever since I saw you bouncing in that dress,” he said gruffly. “With fucking Andr- ahh...fuck.” I rocked my hips against him in spite, putting a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

But his head jutted back and came forward again. He looked at me through hooded eyes, and just like that I was sedated by his gaze, my body pausing. He looked like he was about to scold me. “Do it again.” His voice was low. I stalled, looking at the way his lips barely parted. “Don’t be shy now, Y/N.” My hips replied on command, but rebelliously, slowly, feeling the length of him run between the thin underwear that’d cocooned itself against my ridges and folds. I ran my hips back down against his thigh. “Fu-uhck-” He jutted his hips up, turning something wicked when I moaned. The friction from the dress and pressure from my own body rocking against Harry built a tightly coiled knot I wanted desperately to release. And then we were kissing again. Fervent. Eager. A skilled tongue slipping in to dance with my own. He was rock hard against me. I could feel the full outline pressed tight against his slacks now, creating my own mental map. My hands wrapped in his hair, and I pulled, relaxing our pace, rutting myself up with purpose to rotate in a circle at his clothed tip. The noise from his throat wasn’t human, and I felt heavy and light all at the same time when his thumb dug into my chin just under my lower lip.

“Wanna help you,” he rumbled. “Will you let me? Won’t you do that for me?”

I nodded, wordlessly, and with both hands tight on my hips, he tugged us further back until he was against the pillows, and me, repositioned above him. He pulled us down and we built a rhythm against his thigh, the determination in his stitched brow as he did half the work making it even sexier. He was almost needier than me. There was an urgency to his strong hands as they hiked up my dress, fingertips dancing around and just beneath the band of my underwear. He didn’t pull it off, just gently pushed my hips up and down, then harder, faster, to the damp patch already on his slacks. I was buzzing, every inch of me, the wound coil growing bigger, tighter, the build of release making my heart race. He stared at me as we moved together.

“Tha’s it. So good at this,” he mumbled. “So beautiful.”

My breath caught, and his wide eyes watched wondrously as I moved frenzied above him. His chest rose, bits of tattoo spilling past the white button-down collar. My hand clutched his shirt as I felt myself begin to peak. This was as intimate as I’ve been with someone, and the pressure of being seen through his eyes like this was a lot of pressure. I didn’t want to think about how many other girls had been in this position before. What he spoke to them, how they looked, what they’ve done, or how recently they’d done it. His hand cupped my face and brought me down, lips claiming me to the point of bruising and silencing voiceless thoughts. The pull of his lips, and the sturdiness of his thigh made me whimper. My swollen bud hit his clothed cock with each surge upwards, his hands guiding me, making sure my breath hitched each time. And each time, I’d feel him tense. Again, and again, just knowing his thick hard cock was against me, right against me, almost…

“Almost… Harry…”

“Y/N,” he rasped. I felt his hot gaze as I shuddered above him. He kissed me, slow, swallowing another whimper as a current of electricity ran from the crown of my head to my toes. His hands helped me ride out my high, slowly coming to a halt.

He opened his arms, letting me cuddle up against his chest. Silence stretched on over quiet breathing. “Been waiting a long time for that,” he finally mumbled. I quirked an eye open, realizing he’d been watching me. I almost didn’t recognize his eyes. For once, they seemed sated. Unhaunted. The clouds had seemed, for a moment, to have parted. “To see you cummm.” He hummed the last word, leaning down and nuzzling the nook of my neck. Still nuzzling, he quirked half his face to look at me. We shared a long kiss, then a shorter one to my forehead. “You’re magnificent.”

Though I hadn’t removed a stitch of clothing, I hadn’t felt more naked. And for all the times I’d felt embarrassed around Harry, at least in this moment, he made me feel comfortable about what we’d just done. We lay there, my scent now mingling with the rest of his in the room. I still felt him hard beneath my legs that were strewn across his lap, and I wondered if it was … painful. He stirred, placing one hand behind his head, the other wrapped around me.

I traced shapes into his chest. He hummed, smiling softly. It was his boyish smile. The one I’d hardly seen, the one that you want to wrap up and cuddle and protect from the world to keep this one second of pure happiness intact. I pecked the corner of his mouth and his smile broke, squeezing my side. “Thank you,” he mumbled. I checked to make sure his eyes were still closed when I looked down at the black slacks. Since I finished, he should, too. I swallowed nervously as my fingers traced lower, down the button down as I tried to remember the porn Renny and I had watched together one late summer night. His eyelashes fluttered open, and he watched me, curiously, darkly, until I stopped at the tip of his pants. I slipped my fingers beneath the belt, just barely feeling the coarseness of hair before he took my wrist in his hand. He practically hissed and I stilled, not noticing I was holding my breath. I couldn’t possibly be doing this wrong…

His index finger stroked the top of my hand, and I relaxed.

He looked at me gently. “Tonight was for you. S’all I wanted.” His touch was just as gentle, and he placed his thumb between my lips, running over them gently. I didn’t want him to see me as some pure untouched thing he should be scared to do anything with. My lips parted as seductively as I could make them appear, and I moved to let his finger in my mouth, but he cheekily closed my lips instead.

He stroked my cheek, almost giggling at my attempt. “This just isn’t how I picture it happening.”

The way his eyes were memorizing my lips told me he’d thought about this before, but I didn’t miss that he said how, and not where. Muffled EDC music vibrated his door, and faraway voices travelled through his open window from the yard below. The cops were waiting there, too. Was that the situation he was referring to?

“You deserve a lot, Y/N.”

I heard the hesitancy in his voice, some unforeseen disappointment he wouldn’t just spell out for me. “What’re you saying.”

“Just that there’s few things I want t’be sober for these days.”

The thought hit my stomach like the sharpened blade of a knife, and it hurt worse than any wound from my nightmares. “Why would you say something like that?” I demanded.

“Because it’s true.” His eyes searched mine, and I saw the sadness pulling him in. Like the tumultuous water of the middle of the ocean spirally inwards into itself. A treacherous water hole that’d carry you into its deepest abyss.

I shook my head as if to find a way out, as if that would clear away what I was seeing. “I never… know what’s going on with you,” I admitted. I thought to the interaction with Lionel and Samantha. “Is home life really that bad?”

“What home?” He huffed when I looked at him. “M’serious. I feel more alone when I walk in there than I do when I’m here. And nobody even fucking knows me here.”

“Everyone knows you.”

“You’re smarter than that, Y/N.”

“What’d you take tonight, hm?” I cooed. My hand traced the dark circles under his eyes, and he leant against my touch before looking to the window, still allowing me to touch him. No doubt from whatever stimulant or depressant he’d taken, his words had been more candid than ever before.

“A cocktail of sorts. Will fucking regret it in the mornin’. Probably.”

He looked back to me, and I didn’t have time to wipe the concern from my face. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” he stated.

He really believed it when he said it, and the way there didn’t seem to be enough energy left in him made me settle back in his arms with a frown. Because it did matter. It mattered a lot. A few moments later, he squeezed my sides. “You didn’t answer my question,” he mumbled.

“What question?”

He waited until I looked up at him, and even then he was hesitant. His voice was quiet when he spoke, intimate, so if even if someone was standing at the foot of the bed they couldn’t hear what he was about to ask.

“Why do you want me, Y/N?”

The vulnerable question hung in the air. And though it was presumptuous of him to ask, he wasn’t wrong. His eyes read me like a book he’d read a hundred times over. He saw me. I swallowed, my brain and heart at an all-out war. Unfortunately for me, they captured my tongue in a stale-mate. “I don’t know what I want.”

And it was true. The dilemma was the following:

The only thing my body wanted was him.

But my brain didn’t know if that’s what I should be wanting anymore.

And my heart was left in the middle of them both, not sure what it was feeling.

I felt him shrug. “I get it. I have so many opinions shouting at me in my head right now. About soccer, my fucked family, about” - he threw his hands between us.

After Niall had greeted me at the door, I was sure Harry had talked about us in some capacity. But how many people had opinions on our relationship? “Let me guess. Viv shares her opinion about us.”

“I don’t listen to hers.”

“But hey, at least she fucks you right.”

He sucked in a breath, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that.”

“But it’s true, right? So no need to apologize.”

The room froze over. Just the thought of her whispering in his ear was enough to trigger an entire week’s worth of pent-up animosity.

“So maybe people are confused why Viv and I aren’t together but I couldn’t give a fuck about what they think. I fucking hate that we’re even talking about her right now.”

“What do they say?”

He rolled his eyes, hurriedly slanting his voice, “Viv’s gorgeous mate, she clearly wants you. What the fuck are you doing now?”

I flinched. He noticed. “Look, I seriously hate talking about this. Can we talk about the fact that I didn’t invite anyone tonight?”

“Aw, was Viv busy?”

“Alright, stop.”

A chill shot down my spine at the rejection. As much as I wanted to appreciate the fact he didn’t invite anyone, it didn’t help. This wasn’t helping at all. “I’m sorry if I want to talk about your relationships that directly affect me,” I said, rolling out of his arms.

“Y/N, please. It’s not like that.” His voice was tired, pleading, coaxing me to forget.

“But why are you like this? Why did you just say what you did to me?”

“You asked me-”

“It was very belittling.” I changed my voice to a dopey British accent, “Viv’s gorgeous what the fuck are you doing with Y/N?” I ignored his scowl. “Really, thanks for the best compliment of the night.” I pushed against his chest, annoyed. “And why are you being like this now? All cuddly and-”

“It’s not one-sided.”

I felt my cheeks heat. “Not tonight. But it’s one-sided any other time.”

“S’that what you really think of me?” He pulled me closer, and I fought the urge to twist away. His forehead pressed into my hair. “Firstly, you’re fucking beautiful Y/N. You have to know this. And you have to know you’re important to me. And secondly…”

“Thirdly,” I corrected.

His eyes turned somber. “They’re watching,” he mumbled, pleading. “This is hard for me, too.”

The gang, the cops, both, whichever it was, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same. No matter how special he claimed I was to him, we always went in circles. Maybe he had gotten it right. Maybe it was better for both of us if we weren’t together. “Why is it so hard then?” I whispered.

“Nothing good comes easy.”

I remained silent. It was a cop-out response.

He ran a hand down his face and sat up. “Because I’m fucked! I’m fucked, Y/N and there’s only so many people I can hide from. And you aren’t one of them.”

It was the most candid he’d ever been with me, without revealing anything at all.

A knock sounded at the door.

I went to move, but he kept me against him, covering my ears as he shouted-

“FUCK OFF!!”

But even with his hands over my ears, it wasn’t very muted. The knock grew louder, more obnoxious.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, moving to open the door. When it opened, a boy wearing a snapback around the same height as Harry leant against the doorframe.

“Wassup, man-” Snapback almost burst in.

Harry’s back went stiff as the stranger’s snapback practically poked Harry in the eye. If their overcompensating confidence and too-familiar smile told me anything – freshmen. At least Snapback’s friend wore a Bond-inspired bow-tie t-shirt.

Harry put a hand to Snapback’s chest, backing him back out of the room. They watched me walk up behind him.

“Hey, relax man, we just wanted to get some zombies,” Bowtie bargained.

“You’ve got some fucking balls,” he snarled.

My ears pricked. He was looking for the same thing, then. From Harry. My heart sunk to the lowest part of my belly after remembering why I’d come here in the first place. The sliver of hope I’d had was that maybe what Zayn had witnessed was just Harry’s past. A summer blunder. A summer fling with an illegal hobby. You know, some kids did drugs, some kids sold drugs... It was a ridiculously stupid comparison now that I thought about it. But still, I had hope. Now my undeniable denial was being shred up right in front of me.

The cops, the gang, the drugs circulating campus…

Harry had made his bed, and I was lying in it.

I squeezed past him.

“Wait, are you leaving?” He still blocked his doorway.

I ignored the pang of guilt I felt at his boyish disappointment. He looked at me, body still intimidatingly rigid, but his eyes, impossibly soft. Snapback tried to move past him again and Harry whipped his head back with a growl. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Excuse me?” Bowtie came closer, puffing out his muscled chest. Testosterone, angst and alcohol were never the best combination. I grew nervous at the tension, looking from my escape at the end of the hall, back to Harry.

“C’mon, we have the cash. We’ll pay double!” Snapback whined, cornering him.

The words made me nauseous, conjuring the image of Viv sliding Harry the cash. I didn’t want to see this again. I didn’t want to see anything again.

“I don’t do that shit anymore.” He strode through their barricade, determined, but Bowtie tugged him back. His nostrils flared and I could tell he was trying to keep his cool. He could ruin these guys if he wanted to. I don’t know why he was letting them keep him. But I also didn’t know why I didn’t run away. It was like watching a train wreck seconds before it happened.

I stood alone, in the center of the hall, the only person on Harry’s horizon. A lighthouse hoping to steer the sailor home.

“C’mon, please man, everyone’s talking about them. We just need one,” Snapback exhorted. He put up his hands, pleading. “We’ll split one. We’ll seriously cut it in half.”

Even from here, I could see the muscles in his neck tense. I tried doing to him what he did to everyone else. I trapped him, wide-eyed, anchoring him to me. He didn’t break our stare.

As if each word scraped against his skull, “I said I don’t do that shit.”

“That’s a fucking joke. Mark got some last week,” Bowtie barked.

I saw the moment I lost him. In what world I thought I could be enough to harbor him, I had no idea. Harry snapped, kicking the steroid-pumped kid so hard in the knee, it knocked him down. It wasn’t a broken bone, but it’d leave one hell of a bruise.

“Dude, are you crazy?!” Snapback cried.

Harry raised his fist, bringing it flying. I gasped and hid my face. But I didn’t hear an impact. I faced them again.

Harry’s fist froze inches before his cheek. Facing what would have been a badly broken nose, Bowtie shook on the floor. Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry relaxed his hovering fist and folded his arms, squatting next to the quivering guy. “You’re fucking welcome I was in a good mood ‘fore you came, otherwise I wouldn’t be acting so polite.”

The squeak of a floorboard shook Harry back to Earth. He caught me walking away and his whole body straightened, once again hyper-focused on me, trying to tune in and trap me exactly where I stood. Taking advantage of his distraction, Snapback and Bowtie ran for it. Bowtie limped, running into me and knocking me off-balance as he passed.

In a second, it was just us.

“Y/N,” he began, walking towards me cautiously.

“No.”

He stopped in his tracks. He was tall, but his shoulders hung in despondent defeat.

“You were right, Harry.”

I could see how tired he was. I could see the broken pieces fitting into something beautiful. He looked so sad and regretful, I already felt guilty for saying,

“You can’t hide anymore.” And with one last look at the broken boy before me, “You are fucked.”

Suddenly, the beer on the floor was just stale and sticky. The couches were filthy from strangers’ mistakes. And the air would never be clear. Harry had been right. This entire house was filled with people who didn’t care and if they did, they were trying to forget; a place more empty than if it were vacant. It was a mess just like the boy living in it. And just like the grand house, impressive at first glance, not all of his parts were beautiful.

I ignored the way his broken pieces seemed to shatter as soon as I said it and the way it hurt me ten-fold. I ignored him calling out my name as I maneuvered through the blur of bodies, until I lost his voice on the dance floor. I could breathe better outside and I walked past the cops without acknowledging them.

From complete chaos to relative quiet, my ears rung, filling the new silence.

Maybe this was the last time we’d speak. Maybe this was how it all should’ve ended that first day in September. Because in that house, that wasn’t the Harry I thought I’d knew. That was a boy far-gone, confused, and I was falling down with him. I was ANGRY. I PITIED him. And I was angry for feeling something else I should never have felt for him.

Somehow, in this fuzzy ringing world buzzing with heated thoughts and cop lights that blurred my vision, I heard a notepad scribble as soon as I passed a squad car.

Lucky for me, Momma always said I had selective hearing.

part 21

427 notes · View notes

backtobackbakubabe · 4 years

Text

Baby its Cold Outside (PART 6)

Bakugo x Reader

Fluff. Smut.

Just taking it one day at a time.

PART 1 HERE, PART 2 HERE, PART 3 HERE PART 4 HERE PART 5 HERE , PART 6 HERE PART 7 HERE PART 8 HERE PART 9 HERE PART 10 HERE PART 11 HERE PART 12 HERE PART 13 HERE PART 14 HERE

Words: 2821

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Bakugo had been woken up by a nurse the next morning. She pulled him into the hallway where a doctor was waiting with a clipboard. Looking every bit the stereotype from the dumb tv shows y/n always watches.

The doctor smiled and held out his hand, “Ah Mr. Bakugo I presume?”

Bakugo just stared back, not bothering to shake the mans hand, “Yes, can I help you with something?”

The smile never left the doctors face as he pulled his hand back, “Yes, so I understand Y/n lives with you. Is that correct?”

Bakugo smirked, “As of a few days ago, yes, she officially live with me.”

“Oh perfect! So we are expecting her to wake up any time now and I just wanted to go over everything you might expect in terms of taking care of her while she heals. As you know she suffered a major concussion as well as multiple gunshot wounds to the stomach.”

Bakugo flinched at the memory but nodded anyways as the doctor continued his speech. “When she wakes up she’ll likely be confused and a little frustrated. Because she’s been in a bed for several weeks it may take a while for her to regain normal range of motion but that’s nothing to be concerned about. We recommend having her go to physical therapy, as well as possibly seeing a mental health professional if she needs help coping with the trauma. As the person who will be living with her just make sure she takes her medication and for the first couple of days she may need your help with daily tasks such as showering, getting dressed, picking up anything over fifteen pounds, and so on. Are you prepared to take on these tasks?”

Bakugo was almost offended, “Of course! You think I can’t take care of my own girlfriend? I basically take care of her already!”

The doctor just nodded, “Very well then. Here are some pamphlets on everything I just spoke to you about. I find they can be very helpful and informative. I understand you are a very capable man Mr. Bakugo and I think Y/n will be in great hands. We will more than likely be able to discharge her within 24 hours of her waking up and in the event that you are not here, we will make sure to give you a call to let you know when she has woken up.”

Bakugo’s heart raced at the idea that you would be waking up soon. He had said any time now. He would have sat his ass down in that chair and not left until you woke up, but he knew he has a few things to finish up at the apartment. He also knew he was in desperate need of a shower.

He had officially gotten all of your stuff moved into his place he just needed to go meet with the landlord and turn in your keys. Not that it mattered you never used them anyways seeing as you would just teleport through the door.

Bakugo was skimming through one of the many pamphlets the doctor had given him the day before, sitting in your old apparent when the landlord showed to collect the keys. He gave Bakugo a smile but his eyes looked sad. He liked y/n and was sad to hear of her accident. “Well son, I’m sure the place is in pristine condition. I’ve seen you comin and goin for weeks now to clean it up so here's a check for the security deposit and I’ve waved the cleaning fee.”

Bakugo thanked him as he pocketed the check. He was about to insist that he charge him for the cleaning fee because you were a messy gremlin and he was sure the place could use it but he was interrupted by a weird noise. It was a loud thump from his apartment. “What the fuck...”

He sprinted out of the apartment, bypassed the elevator, opting for the stairs instead. He was practically out of breath by the time he reached his door. Wow he really needs to hit the gym soon. He tried the handle but it was locked... which would mean the person in his apartment didn't use a door...

His hands shook as he ripped his keys out of his pocket and swung the door open. “Y/N!” He ran around the corner to his bed and there you were. Sitting on the floor with your head in your hands.

“Katsu...?”

He was at your side in an instant pulling you to him. “Oh my god. Shit you’re awake. You’re okay. Fuck I’ve been so fucking worried, you have no idea. I love you. I love you so fucking much, and I need you to know that.” He kept kissing the top of your head while he rubbed his hand up and down your back. That’s when he noticed the hospital gown. “Y/n... how did you get here?”

You looked at him with very sleepy and confused eyes, “I don't know. I woke up in the hospital and I was really scared. I couldn't figure out what happened or where I was and I just wanted you... and I guess I accidentally teleported here.”

He took your head in his hands and looked at you like you were crazy, “Y/n we live across town from the hospital... you’re telling me you just teleported 15 miles...”

Your eyes widened, looking just as bewildered as he did, “Yeah I guess I did.”

Next thing you know he’s hugging you so tight, “You know what? I don't even care right now. We’ll figure that out later, right now I just want to hold you. I’ve missed you so much. Dont you ever do something like that again, do you understand me. Ever.”

His phone started to ring but he let it go to voicemail. Whatever it was could wait. He hadn’t held you like this in weeks. He gently scooped you up and brought you to the bed that now had a few of your girly pillows. “Katsu? Are these my pillows? Is that my lamp? Wait what is my stuff doing in your apartment? Did you loot me while I was out?”

He chuckled as his face turned red, “Yeah about that.. I uh.. I kind of moved all of your stuff up here and terminated your lease downstairs.... surprise?”

You knew you should be irritated, but honestly you were just too exhausted to care. You barley spent time in your apartment anyways. So you just shrugged, “Oh okay I guess. I mean if you’re sure...”

He pulled you close to him, “Oh I’m sure. I need you here where I know you’re safe.”

You winced as you giggled still a little sore, “I literally lived in the apartment right below you. It wasn’t exactly a long distance relationship.”

Bakugo ignored your quip instead focusing on your face as it pinched a bit with the pain from laughing. “Are you okay? Do I need to bring you back to the hospital. Shit I probably do. You just up and left...”

You reached up and squished his cheeks together to get him to stop talking, “One thing at a time babe. Yes I am okay. I am really tired, and truthfully I’m very sore. But it’s not anything I can’t deal with. I would kill for some water though...”

He was up and in the kitchen before you could even finish your sentence. You wondered how long this over protective phase would last. Bakugo was never the kind of boyfriend who waited on you hand and foot. Before the accident he would have told you to get off your ass and get it yourself.

He came back with a huge camelback water bottle with a straw. You expected him to hand it to you but instead he crawled into bed next to you and held the straw up to your mouth. “Uh.. Honey. Not that I don’t love the fact you want to take care of me, but I can hold it myself.”

He blushed slightly muttering a sorry as he handed you the water bottle.

So you sat like that, his hands never leaving you while he caught you up on what had happened since you were out. Avoiding the topic of the accident because neither of you were ready to rip off that bandaid yet.

Your conversation was cut short by a banging on the door. Bakugo groaned and went to go answer it. Periodically turning around to look at you. Almost like he was checking you were still there. He flung the door open, “WHAT?!”

There was a very nervous Kirishima rubbing the back of his neck raw, “Okay listen man I have some bad news, but I’m going to need you to stay calm because we’re going to fix it I promise... but... uh... Y/nIsMissingAndWeDontKnowWhereSheWent....” He flinched like he was ready for Bakugo to blow up. But instead Bakugo just laughed. “Oh shit he's really lost it.”

“Oi shitty hair, you can relax, she's okay she’s here. She teleported. We’ll head back soon so they can officially discharge her and give us her medication.”

Kirishima looked like he was going to faint with relief, “Oh thank god. They only sent me because I’m indestructible. They really thought you were going to rampage. You should have seen it. First she’s mumbling in her sleep right? Next thing we all know her eyes shot open and she was asking where you were. When no one could answer her she just teleported out. They were all panicking and running around looking for her. I’ll let them know she’s safe.”

You had snuck your way over to them with very wobbly legs, “Thank’s for checking on me Kiri!”

“Oi what the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Get your ass back in bed!”

You glared at your over protective boyfriend, “I've been in bed for... for...”

“Three weeks” Kiri filled in you.

“Thank you Kiri... Three weeks! I don't think it’ll kill me to stretch my legs!”

Kirishima bit his lip to keep from laughing, “Good to see you still got your spunk. Well I’ll leave you two love birds alone. Try not to kill each other.”

He realized that was not a good joke to make when Bakugo’s eyes bore into him, “Too soon.”

*************************

It had been two weeks since you woke up. The first week Katsuki refused to leave your side for more than 30 seconds. Everywhere you went he was right there behind you like a clingy shadow. He even took showers with you insisting it was “doctors orders”. It got real old real fast. You practically shoved him out the door the other day joking about how one of you needed to work or you wouldn't make rent and you just moved in. You still had nightmares, and any loud noise made you jump. Bakugo was trying really hard to not yell at you or be any added stress while you adjusted but you honestly hated the way he treated you like glass. Never in his life has he ever seen you as anything but strong and now he tip toes around you. That ends today.

You dressed up in your sexiest underwear and robe and waited for him on his....your bed. You kept forgetting you actually lived here now.

You heard his keys in the door and your heart started to race. “Hey baby I’m home! I was thinking about maybe making some stir fry for dinner. What do you think?” You took a deep breath and reminded yourself this was Bakugo... there was no reason to be nervous.

You stepped into the kitchen and tiptoed up to him. He had his nose buried in a grocery bag pulling out ingredients. You took the bag from his hand and put it on the counter. He froze when he saw what you were wearing.

“I think I’m hungry. But not for food.” You grabbed him by the belt loops and pulled him to you.

He smiled but his eyes gave him away. He looked nervous.

He cupped your cheeks and gave your forehead a kiss. “You look amazing babe. But you need to take your pills soon and you can't do that on an empty stomach.” He pulled away from you and went back to sorting the groceries on the counter in front of him.

You huffed and smacked him the back of the head.

“Oi! What was that for?” “You know what for! Other than our morning showers you won't touch me! And even then it’s not even sexual....” You don't know why but your were suddenly hit with a wave of insecurity. “Do you not find me attractive anymore...?”

He was at your side in an instant. He put one hand in your hair while the other one gripped your chin rubbing soothing circles on your cheek. “Are you crazy? of course I find you attractive! You are the single most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”

Tears threatened to spill out, “Then why won't you touch me?”

He sighed as he thought carefully about what he said next. “I guess I’m just scared of hurting you. I’m the reason you were hurt in the first place and the thought of causing you any more pain... it... it drives me crazy. You just woke up from a medically induced coma only two weeks ago! I didn't want to do anything until you were ready!”

You looked up at him with needy eyes, “Well I’m ready now...”

And that's all it took.

Bakugo’s lips crashed to yours as his hands gripped your ass. You knew you were needy but you had no idea you were this touch starved until the feeling of his hands on you practically made you melt.

He pulled back just long enough to tell you to jump. You eagerly compiled as you wrapped you legs around his waist. He walked you over to the couch and laid you down.

Your robe was long forgotten on the floor and his shirt and your bra was quickly joining it. Katsuki worshipped your body. He always had. He showered you with kisses starting at your neck and trailing downwards. He took his time with each of your breasts. Taking one nipple in his mouth while he rubbed the other between his fingers. He had you soaked and squirming with seconds. Your hips bucked up and he grunted as you made contact with his growing erection.

He continues his path down briefly pausing to give every single one of your scars the softest kiss imaginable. You could see the pain fast through his eyes briefly. You wound your hands through his hair, “I’m okay baby. I’m here and I’m okay and I need you. Please.”

He tugged your underwear off along with pants. He put his arms on either side of your face holding all of his weight off of you. lined himself up with your entrance and in one sweet snap of his hips you were seeing stars. His mouth covered yours as he swallowed your moans. He let you adjust before he set a slow, deep, rhythm.

You’ve been dating for three months now, and you don't think you had ever had sex that want heated and rough. He was taking his time, showing you with every thrust how much he loved you. Even the moans you let out were soft. This wasn't fucking, this was making love. And the thought made your head spin.

He leaned down and nibbled on your ear before whispering, “You’re so fucking beautiful. I want you to know that. You’re it for me. Do you understand me?”

You pulled his head back to face you, “I understand. You’re it for me too. I couldn't do this with anyone else.”

He smirked, “Damn right you couldn't.”

Yours hands made their way to his strong muscular back, “Now fuck me like you mean it Katsuki. I won't break I promise.”

His dick twitched at your words before he picked up the pace.

You both got lost in the sensations you both had been craving. He pounded into you relentlessly. Hitting the spot the way it seemed only he could. It wasn't long before you felt yourself unraveling.

“Yeah thats it baby! Cum for me! Let go!”

You were overtaken by the most intense, toe curling orgasm.

You could feel Bakugo start to pull out but through your pants you yelled, “No cum inside me!”

His hips stuttered a but before he finally released inside of you.

He rolled to the side and pulled you on top of him so you could both fit on the couch.

After he caught his breath he looked over to you and kissed your forehead, “That was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

#bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki imagine #bakugo katsuki imagine #bakugo imagine #bhna #bhna bakugou #bhna imagine #bhna x reader #mha bakugou #mha #mha imagines #mha x reader #my hero academia

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synvamp · 4 years

Text

HAPPY PLACE 5

This was hard to write... I went ahead because it helped me to feel happy for a little while. I hope it gives you some joy too my sweet fair gamers <3

Slow burn, lots of flirting and fluff - it’s time for a dinner date

(Part One HERE)

Title: Healing

Fair Game – Part Five / 5? More?

Rating: M

---xxx---

The meal was relaxed, easy. Talking to Clover was effortless somehow. It almost felt weirdly like being alone. The meal was good and the fire leant warmth and comfort. Qrow enjoyed watching the light change on Clover’s face. He was so clean cut… too good to be true.

I’m a terrible influence, thought Qrow happily. I’ll fix him up.

“Tell me about Harbinger,” Clover said, leaning forward.

“What, you two on a first name basis now?” Qrow asked.

“After sparring with you I looked it up,” Clover looked away.

“You really need to get more hobbies,” Qrow said, enjoying the attention just a little.

“I’m good,” Clover smiled.

“Well… there isn’t much to tell. I made it myself. Took forever but worth the time. We get along pretty well.”

“Yourself!? The file didn’t say that…”

“Nice to know I still have a few surprises up my sleeve.”

“But it’s so complex! How did you get the choke on the shot gun so tight? Why don’t you use the scythe when you’re sparring? How the hell do you just wave it around like that? It must weigh a ton!”

“Easy there, soldier. One question at a time.”

Clover looked at him, eyes shining, “I can’t even remember what I asked.”

“You told me you were smooth but you’re just a dork,” Qrow said, with affection.

“I only look like a dork next to you. It’s not my fault you’re Mr Cool. How am I supposed to compete?”

At that moment a passing waitress tripped on a piece of the carpet and drenched Clover in soup.

“Yeah, I am just SO cool,” Qrow sighed.

“Ah,” Clover scrunched his nose up as he scraped peas off his black shirt, “no dessert then I suppose.”

“Oh Sir! I’m so sorry! I don’t know wha..” the waitress cried.

“Don’t worry about it,” Qrow said, standing, “I think we were leaving anyway.”

Clover grabbed a napkin and helped to clean up the mess while Qrow, true to his word, paid for the meal.

Clover held the door for Qrow to leave and they fell in step easily, auras keeping them warm in the biting snow. Clover reached out and took Qrow’s hand. It felt strange to have a hand bigger than his wrapping his fingers. Reassuring.

“So, you sick of all the bad luck yet?” Qrow asked.

“Nope.”

“Yeah, I asked for that. What are we up to now? Two rubble slides, two falling grim, one lightning strike, the stampede, one giant hole in the ground and…”

“One bowl of soup,” Clover said cheerfully.

“You don’t sound bothered,” Qrow sighed, the warm fingers squeezed his hand.

“I’m not. It doesn’t matter what the world throws at me. Nothing has even scratched me.”

“The soup got you pretty good.”

Clover looked down at his shirt, “Yeah ok, I am completely saturated.”

“How do you think the teams are going?”

Clover stopped walking, sensing the change in mood, “I think they’re going well. They have all learned a lot from training together. Blake and Yang did a combination move yesterday which sent Elm flying. That’s nothing to sneeze at.”

“Yeah, they’re smart girls,” Qrow said, not meeting his gaze.

“They’ve had a great teacher,” Clover put a hand out and cupped his chin, lifting it so he could look Qrow in the eyes.

“When will you stop going on about that?”

“When you acknowledge how great you are.”

“Ok. I’m amazing. There.”

“Hmmm,” Clover smiled, “Think we can work on your delivery,” he leaned forward and Qrow lifted his chin. The kiss was tender, sweet. It made his chest hurt feeling Clover wrap his arms around him, pull him into his warm embrace.

Finally Clover stepped away, “We should get you out of the cold.”

“I’m not the one covered in pea soup.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m invincible.”

“That so?” Qrow asked.

A piece of masonry separated from the building above them. They both looked up, then Clover met Qrow’s gaze and smiled.

“Hey ar..” Qrow started, panic rising in his eyes. The stone block dropped inches behind Clover’s head and slammed into the pavement, sending a cloud of dust and snow high into the air.

“See?” Clover winked.

Qrow just stood there and looked at him. He had never felt a greater urge to just hold someone.

“You ok?” Clover asked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I might worry you. I’m actually very careful, though it might not look it.”

“I’m not worried! Just don’t do that to me you jerk!” Qrow grumbled.

Clover looked at him, “You are so cute when you’re angry,” he whispered.

“And you’re cute with your ears still attached so come on, let’s get home,” Qrow said.

---xxx---

“Can I clean myself up in your room?” Clover asked.

“Sure… don’t want the Ace ops hearing us stumbling around this late?” Qrow teased.

“Something like that.”

Qrow walked in his door and hit a light, grimacing at the state of the place.

Clover took off his shirt slowly, peeling the wet fabric from his chest. He held the shirt in the air and Qrow was momentarily struck dumb, Clover’s bare chest was a perfect map of anatomy, every muscle as defined as if it were sculpted in glass…

“Uh… Qrow… where should I put this? Sink?” Clover waved the shirt in front of his glazed eyes and laughed, “I like it when you look at me like that. Maybe we should have dinner more often.”

Qrow shook his head, “And let my bad luck ruin everything?”

“Once again, your bad luck is my good luck. I was beginning to think that I’d have to schedule a bunk inspection just to get in here.”

“Man I would really fail a bunk inspection,” Qrow sighed.

“Yes,” Clover nodded, a little grossed out, “Yes you would.”

“Do you have a cloth that I can use to get the rest of the soup off?” “She really got you good, huh?”

“It’s a whole bowl.”

Qrow laughed.

“That’s better,” Clover smiled, “I love hearing you laugh.”

“Well, it might be a long time between drinks.”

“I can live with that. Do you like pea soup?” Clover asked, one eyebrow twitching.

“Not really. Why?”

“If we don’t find something to wipe this off with soon, you might end up eating some of it.”

“Just… come and have a shower. The bathroom is cleaner than…” Qrow gestured to the chaos.

“Yes Sir,” Clover snapped off his salute and marched off into the bathroom, throwing his belt out the door as he entered.

“You coming?” Clover called out, “There’s this one spot on my back…” “You are so impatient,” Qrow grinned.

---xxx---

Qrow rolled over, a sleepy smile finding his lips before he’d even opened his eyes. The bed was warm with the heat of two bodies but as he stretched, he could feel that the other side was empty. Where’s Clover? He sat upright, panic clenching his gut.

Clover was standing a few metres away, doing something at the sink. He was topless and even in the slanting morning light, he looked amazing.

“Morning gorgeous,” he said without turning around.

Qrow blinked and rubbed his eyes, “Wait… are you cleaning my room?” “I woke up early… didn’t want to wake you,” Clover grinned and held up a dish cloth, “I haven’t made much of a dent yet but I can always come back later…”

Qrow pushed the sheets off and stood, remembering a little too late that he was still completely naked.

Clover looked him up and down, “Well, good morning to you too,” he grinned. Before Qrow could figure out how to make his boner magically disappear, Clover had closed the space between them. He put his hands on Qrow’s bare hips and kissed his forehead. “It’s still early…” he whispered.

Qrow’s bare chest touched Clover’s and his whole body thrummed with the rush of hot skin on skin.

“I don’t know… I wouldn’t want to be late to the briefing. My boss is a real hard ass.”

Clover lifted a few strands of dark hair from Qrow’s brow to look him in the eyes, “I’m sure he’d understand.”

---xxx---

They were both late this time. It made Qrow laugh so much watching Clover stride in trying to be all Mr Professional. He had a big love bite on his neck that he hadn’t noticed yet.

“Ok then, apologies for the wait,” Clover brought the screen up, offering no excuses.

Yang kept waving and trying to meet his eye. After realising that she’d do this all day, Qrow looked. She was pointing at Clover with wild gestures of “what happened?”

If you’re too young to figure that out, then I probably shouldn’t tell you, Qrow thought. Then again, what’s one more inappropriate story?

“Huntress Xiao Long,” Clover’s voice echoed through the room, calm and in control, “If you could hold off for a few minutes the briefing will be over.”

Yang snapped back in her seat, grinning.

As soon as Clover stopped talking, Yang bounded up to Qrow and hurled herself into the next seat. “You two are suddenly very cosy!”

“What can I say? I’m a friendly guy.”

Yang lowered her voice, “I saw you smile before.”

“You take that back.”

Yang looked at him, assessing him with a critical eye. “You have it bad!” she cried, chuckling.

“I hate mornings,” Qrow said.

“You have it bad! It’s ok I won’t tell anyone but… no stories, ok? Just… no stories,” she pulled a face.

“I thought you liked my stories,” Qrow pouted, mock-hurt.

Yang nodded furiously, “Yeaaaaahhh we do! Of course we do! Just not...”

Qrow laughed, “Alright kiddo, I’ll spare you the details, hey?”

“Yeah! No worries!” she said hastily, standing and striding off.

Ha! Finally managed to embarrass her! Ruby was so easy to shock but Yang… Sometimes he’d worried she was better with women than he was.

“Are you ready to seize the day?” Clover asked, strolling down from the front of the room.

“No. Why would you even ask that?”

“I guess I forget who I’m talking to…” Clover got a little lost in those red eyes OH SO BEAUTIFUL WHY!? “…would you like to work in a different team today?”

Qrow looked at him, puzzled. He doesn’t want to work with me…

“You’ve already done the missions. The whole… clipboard thing? Remember that?”

Clover laughed, “I can add you anywhere, no one will ask about it. Plans change.”

“You sick of me already?” Qrow tried not to let the hurt into his voice.

“No. Of course not, I just thought… We’ve been in each other’s pockets. I’ve been taking up all your time… Maybe you’d like…” Clover started to slowly turn red, “About what I said at dinner…”

“What did you say?” Qrow asked, baiting.

“You are so mean,” Clover continued to turn pink.

“I’m sorry,” Qrow smiled, “but I have to be mean. You turn pink. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen…”

Clover stepped closer and they stood together in the middle of the room, unable to touch but feeling all the same.

“Uh… I guess we should go,” Clover gestured at the door, “do you want to… come with me?”

“You’ve already put us together. Clipboard thing.”

Clover shook his head, “I guess I did. Qrow, I…”

“No. Morning. I’ve done enough. Come on Sweet Cheeks, lead the way.”

---xxx---

Part Six

#qrow branwen #clover ebi #fair game #rwby spoilers #rwby 7 #fanfiction

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roseamongroses · 4 years

Text

W.A.L: “We Won’t Eat Our Words (they don’t taste so good),” (16)

s u m m a r y:

Eden was the lowest of the low, a monster, hardly human, and was set to be executed. Roman was on trial, perpetually stuck in time until it was time to atone for his families sins.

Neither cared much for staying trapped.

So when a Stranger offered freedom, offered peace, offered power, it was hard to say no.

Even if it put them on the wrong side of history.

v i b e s :

time is irrelevent, homophobia who?, magic and beasts, demigods

w a r n i n g s

Imprisonment, Mentions of execution, Blood/ injuries, Mentions of past Death, minor character death/suicide, repression, cursing,

c h a r a c t e r s

Deceit(Eden) Sanders, Remy Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Emile Picani

Ship: Roceit

1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

(12) (13) (14) (15)

It’s a closet.

A glorified closet, so Deceit honestly doesn’t know what to tell you about it other then it's dark, it's cramped, and that Logan is insistent that they absolutely cannot eavesdrop on Dr. Picani and Lazy Cow and instead must stew in this dark, did he mention cramp closet?

Deceit was reaching the point of boredom where he was tempted, ever so slightly to just leave and keep walking. He felt that impulse as well as the impulse to get nostalgic because Deceit had been shoved into a lot of closets for a lot of reasons. Some not good, some...more enjoyable, but most a tantalizing mixture of both.

Before he could indulge, the door abruptly opened, light streaking inside. Dr. Picani was a stark shadow looming above them. He seemed to have aged several years within the past few minutes, but his expression was the same pleasant, not quite a smile, not quite a frown so that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed a change if they were under the assumption that Dr. Emile Picani was a pleasant person. But Deceit didn’t think many people were pleasant, himself included, so he assumed the worst and didn’t question it further.

“Oh,” Dr. Picani said, but not to them, “You didn’t turn on the lights,” he said, snapping and like that, Deceit felt exposed, one by one candle on either side of a long aisle lit up, seemingly forever.

Dr. Picani didn’t step inside, “Take as long as you want, but know that I’ll be busy if anything arises,” He handed them a phone, “Use this if you have an emergency, but only if you have an emergency,” He handed the phone to Logan, not even waiting for protests or goodbyes, it felt familiar.

He was gone leaving the three of them in this long corridor, light flickering gently, beckoning them forward into the stretch of darkness.

---

“Back so soon?” The Stranger asked from the floor. Their dark hair spilled over his shoulders, long, much longer then it had been when he first came here. His clothes hung loosely from their now gaunt form, their blue eye focused on the unending white space above.

Emile clicked his pen, “I’m here for your evaluation,” he said.

“Sure you are, “ The Stranger batted his eyes, lips curled, predatory.

Emile ignored them, not even a glance up from their clipboard, “He died.”

The Stranger faltered, “He resigned?” he asked.

“Yes,” he said, “He found out about Dot and I guess he...I don’t know what he thought was going to happen. But I certainly didn’t stop him, it was his right.”

“It was his--” The Stranger scowled, “Why are you justifying this, the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed, standing all at once, “Did you even try to stop him? Did you even try to console him or did you just sit there like a fucking bitch on a leash again--”

“Oh, you’re trying to lord over me,” Emile sneered, “You use her, you’ve used him, every step of the way and you dare to say I don’t care,” He glanced down at his clipboard surprised, ink running as tears ran hot down his face, “She wouldn’t have been in the situation if you’d just… just,” he wiped his eyes, “Leave it be. Whatever you were planning, let’s just leave it behind.” he choked, running his hands in his hair, “Let’s --Let’s,” he stumbled forward and the Strange caught him, surprised.

“Emile?” The Stranger, wrapped his arms around their shoulders, feeling them shake, “Emile, you’re not making any sense, it’s too late for any of that...”

Emile looked up and The Stranger’s breath caught. His hair was messy, their face all blotchy and glasses askew, they were like a little kid, “I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I don’t want to fight anymore I don’t know what I, what I...”

“Darling, how exactly do you plan to get us out of this then,” The Stranger reasoned, smoothing their bangs back with soft touches, “It won’t last, we never do--”

Emile kissed the Stranger, hard, desperate like how the Stranger’s kissed him so many times before. And the Stranger kissed back. He ached, as Emile’s hands cupped his face, tugged his body as if trying to get him closer as if for the first time he was trying.

“Em, ” The Stranger felt his back hit some sort of wall, and he groaned feeling Emile press into him again, “Oh, that’s one way to say you're happy to see me,”

Emile laughed between his hiccups, hands gripping The Stranger’s hips as he rested his head in the crook of their neck, “Mm, “ he hummed, “Something like that.”

“Y’know, what you said about me…” The Stranger swallowed, “ About me being no better than you, about how I used them…”

The Stranger could feel them frown against his skin, “You know I didn’t mean it,” Emile promised, it was so strange to hear him be the one to promise such things. It’s been so long, too long.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” The Stranger reassured them, because after so many messy breakups, and messier arguments they said a lot of untruthful things about each other, “But I mean it when I say, I did use him,” he admitted, fingers tracing careful arcs in Emile’s chest, eyes bright, “The Old Man tried so hard to prove that I was worth something, but I did use him. And I would’ve done it again,”

“That’s not true…” Emile’s words were disconnected, his mouth like cotton as he looked up to meet the Stranger’s eyes, so desperate, so pleading, so...vulnerable.

“I mean it,” The Stranger said cooly, “I used Dot, but she knows that she’s fine with that--and,” he did not stutter, “I love you, you know that? I loved you for so long, but--”

“But? What are you--” Emile’s eyes grew wide as he tried to move away, to let go, but his body remained firmly in place, holding the Stranger so gentle as the Stranger’s soft touches grew cold.

“I love you, Emile,” The Stranger repeated as if it’d change it all, as if years from now they’ll laugh at this and it would be fine because he did love Emile and some time ago Emile may have loved him just as much, “But we we're never meant to last, I’m building something that will last.”

Emile’s eyes flickered with recognition, feeling the all-too-familiar probing of his mind sneak up on him all at once, “No-no-no, you can’t,” He pleaded, “why can’t we leave it--”

“Elliot.” The Stranger’s command was sharp.

And Emile, his team-mate, his jailer, his stubborn lover who was all too persistent and steadfast in all the wrong things, was out like a light.

---

It was a long trek into the darkness, the candles providing little light and even less warmth as they walked down the corridor. Virgil first, who navigated easily, his many eyes dilated, flickering at every shadow and noise. Then it was Deceit because it would be foolish not to keep an eye on him, and then Logan, the one keeping an eye on him.

“Does this go on forever,” Virgil complained.

“Are your legs bothering you?” Logan asked, and Deceit groaned. They were doing the thing where they talk through Deceit as if that makes their relationship any less awkward.

“No it's my-I didn’t say that,” Virgil sniffed, catching himself again, though Deceit could tell he was getting slower or at least he was more distracted. Still, whether that was attributed to fatigue was anybody's bet.

“If you didn’t want a response, you shouldn’t have said anything,” Logan replied.

Virgil spun around at that, now walking backwards, “How do you know I was talking to you, huh?” he said, face pinched, “I could’ve been talking to the snake-fucker for all you know.”

Logan sighed, “Were you, Virgil?”

Virgil snorted, “Of course not--Shit-” As he spun back around he slammed into a wall, Deceit slammed into him, and Logan slammed into Deceit.

“What was that…” Virgil groaned, staggering to their feet.

“A wall,” Deceit drawled, eyes flickering over the heavily carved wall.

“I think he means,” Logan stood up, readjusting their glasses, “What does it mean,” Deceit rolled his eyes, “It looks ancient, Alesener maybe.”

“Oh great, “ Virgil sighed, “It's not like they stopped teaching Alesener, years ago.”

“I’m sure there’s another way,” Logan said, inspecting the carvings, frown growing deeper, “Maybe I can pull up a translator,”

“On ancient Alesner?” Virgil's nose curled, hands tracing the markings, “Sure.”

“Well I don’t see you having any ideas--”

“It's a riddle.” Deceit cut in. Normally he’d just, let them figure it out and play dumb, but he didn’t want to stay here in a children’s maze with these two bickering.

“A riddle,” Virgil echoed lamely.

“A riddle.” Deceit confirmed glancing at the wall again, mostly for show.

Wall carvings were a common form of decoration in the Alesener village, but they were usually nonsense since the art was less in the meaning and more in the elegance the words form. Dot, however, seems to enjoy both. Her walls were littered with puns and riddles, all of which seemed profound at first, but after the extensive translation was more often than not children’s puns at best or dirty jokes at worst.

“How would you know that?” Logan asked, but in a tone that sounded more like a demand than anything.

“Yeah, you're not exactly a scholar,” Virgil said with a skeptical look.

“Like it's any of your business,” Deceit scoffed, before thoughtfully scanning the riddle again, “What I’m getting is that we need a map and the map is most likely…” Deceit frowned, “The truth?”

“Ah, it’s that type of maze,” Logan nodded as if that made perfect sense, “To enter each new part of the maze, someone in the group needs to admit a truth, the stronger the truth, the faster we get out of the maze.” he recited without faltering, “Usually it's harder then you realize to tell a perfect truth, so we have to be careful, these usually have some sort of...difficulty increase if someone lies.”

“Difficulty?” Deceit eyed the wall cautiously as if it’ll burn.

“Monster’s perhaps,” Logan shrugged, “Or it might make it harder to get out.”

“Fantastic,” Virgil sighed, “So how do we, y’ know, get goin’?”

“Easy,” Logan approached the wall, raising a hand and pressing it in the center of the deep markings, “I am an Apprentice,” he said and at first nothing happened.

Then there was the groaning, the stone wall scraping, inch by inch open, before revealing two pathways. Logan stepped forward, and the others followed.

If they had looked behind them, they would have seen the candles flicker behind them, getting taller, their golden flames unruly and leaving puddles in their wake. And once the wall shut again the dancing flames went out all at once.

#ts sides #sanders sides #roceit #ts deceit #ts roman #deceit sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #Winners Among the Losing

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