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butcherknives-remade · 3 years

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Anonymous asked: Request for a reader(f! Or Nb!) patching up the sparda boys after they come home injured?

Tending to the Sparda men

ft. Gender Neutral Reader from the Devil May Cry Series

SFW - very fluffy

descriptions of blood/wounds

Dante

Although he regenerates skin cells, sinew, and bone on a molecular level that baffles you, when Dante saunters into the shop that day, you notice he has three long gashes like welted canyons serrated into the left side of his neck. The blood has coagulated, yet you see a rich shadow that taints the wound an unnatural purple.

When you ask, Dante waves you off with a sideways grin. Of course he does, you think. What were you expecting? Yet you catch the twist in his brows that expose the pain he’s masking, always blasé, and you refuse to let it slide even when he reminds you that hey, “My body heals itself, remember?”

When he removes his sword and jacket, you pull him into orbit to examine the wound. You can see the river of surrounding veins are a series of swollen blues. His skin seems pallid, and against the smattering of freckled blood stains, beads of sweat gleam.

Your concern is met with another dismissive click of his tongue. “Looks like I’m gettin’ old. Body’s slower on the uptake.” He shrugs. “Give it some time and it’ll be fine.”

Frankly, you don't care what he has to say. His jugular seems to pulsate with each heartbeat and even if he won’t tell you what happened, you’re still going to care for him; that’s your job, you say out loud. “So please sit down and let me do that?”

He doesn’t argue with you. His exhaustion is bruised beneath his eyes, so perhaps it’s a relief when he collapses on the couch. (He certainly seems to melt into the peeling leather.)

When you return, it’s with bandages and disinfectant, a clean cloth and a bowl of warm water; you place your items on the coffee table and sit at his left side while you survey the damage with clinical attention. “Seriously,” you say, wetting your cloth. “What did this to you?”

And Dante sighs through his nose as you gently dab his neck. “Hellhound.”

You pause, incredulous as you ask, “How?”

“Got me good,” he says with a derisive laugh. When you shoot him a warning glare, he raises his hands. “Look, I really don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine.”

You return to your work, diligent despite the concern that wraps icy fingers around your throat. “Does it hurt?”

His lips mesh together, his eyes sliding toward you. You can see the gears in his head turning as he weighs his options: Honesty or a bold-faced bluff? “Mm, I’d say... not as much as you seem to think.”

It takes roughly ten minutes until you feel satisfied. Until you place your bloody basin and cotton swabs down and observe the way his skin has begun to knit itself back together. Incredible. Anyone else would need stitches.

You’re so focused, you don’t catch the gentle smile twisting at the ends of his lips.

“How’s it looking, doc?” he asks as you squeeze preventative antibiotic - just in case he’s capable of getting an infection. “Will I live to see another day?”

You huff and cuff him gently on the arm as he snorts, but you find relief in his ability to jest through this. “Not if you keep giving me a hard time.”

He grins his mirth, yanking you into an unexpected embrace that steals the wind from your lungs. “Careful,” he says as you settle into his hold. “Who’ll patch me up if you try to kill me?”

You hum as if in thought. “You could always call your brother.”

This gets a laugh out of Dante. “Sure, so he can finish the job.”

“Finally,” you say with a chuckle.

“Finally,” he agrees.

And as you wrap your arms around him tighter, unbothered by the scent of his sweat and musk, you plant a feather kiss to his jaw. “Please be careful out there,” you tell him.

“So long as I have you,” he says as his lips brush against your crown, “I think I’ll be alright.”

Vergil

You don’t expect Vergil to burst into your home grasping the doorknob until his knuckles are white, his breathing ragged and teeth bared in agony. You startle and rise from your seat, at his side in a burst of horror. He’s bowed forward, hunched as he grapples for his torso, and you’re leading him inside with an arm around his waist.

Blood hammers through your ears. “What happened?” you ask, hurried, urging him to sit down.

“I miscalculated,” he grunts through his gritted jaw. “Arrived in a nest...” he swallows as you gingerly assist him into the recliner. “There were far too many.”

On his jacket you see blood staining the threading, yet when you reach for him, he jerks away. Your eyes flick up to meet his and within his guarded stare, you observe only the line of furrowed pain in that sea of otherwise unrelenting pride.

He says your name and you still your mind to listen. “Don’t trouble yourself. I only need time and I will heal.”

For a moment, you can’t help but endure the sting of rejection, yet you’re quick to recover; before anything else, he’s come here, to you, where he knows he’s safe to rest.

He trusts you. There are no words to express how profoundly this strikes your heart. It fills you, spreading like sunshine across the chords of your ribs until you buzz with breathless joy.

“Can I at least get you something?” You’re standing in front of him and you want nothing more than to be helpful, to show him how much you care, and as he studies you through his intensity, you are able to watch him make his conclusion. It’s a click in his irises; a spark of electric knowing.

“Your company.”

Heat floods your cheeks and with a nod, you take a seat at his side. You attempt to smother your smile, focusing instead on the way Vergil steals a moment of reprieve to close his eyes. Your worry lessens - you’re certain that he will recover.

“Will you take me with you next time?” you ask, intentionally quiet when you reach for his hand.

(He does not withdraw.)

His eyes part, that pale gaze shifting to observe you, mild and curious. “I wouldn’t actively seek to put you in danger.” His brow quirks. “I can heal. You may not.”

And while you know this is true, you wish he wouldn’t continue to venture on his own. Can he not take Dante? Nero? If he’s concerned with leading you to harm, surely his family can handle it? Yet you know Vergil too well, and with that comes the knowledge that he would rather take care of his own business because he thinks it’s easier than delegating tasks, or attempting to control two less malleable forces.

As your thumb strokes the back of his palm, you lean on your arm rest. “Can I make a request, then?” Although Vergil doesn’t answer, merely closing his eyes once more, you know that he’s listening. “Consider taking someone else with you? At least... Sometimes.”

He hums his acknowledgement. “Would it ease your fears?”

Your heart thrums. “Yes.”

Exhaling through his nose, he turns to look at you, and for a moment, he says nothing. He’s roving his eyes across your expression as if to read you, to piece together a detail he perhaps has missed, then finally, straightening his shoulders, he turns his palm over to press into yours. Your fingers lace.

“Then I suppose... I’ll consider it in the future.”

Nero

“For the last time, it’s not a big deal!” He tries to duck away but you’re persistent. “Ugh, quit it!”

“For heaven’s sake. Would you just stay still, Nero?”

You have your grip on his arm as you tug him toward you, but Nero has a stubborn heel in the carpet. His head is cast toward the wall but you can see him making a show of rolling his eyes regardless.

At least he’s fallen silent.

In your own tenacity, you crowd into his space and slide your hold to his hand. You have to use force to get him to relent, yet when he does, it’s with a long-suffering sigh that has you rolling your eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m not a -” but he catches himself, flushing, giving you a cantankerous stare before he scoffs and turns away once more.

Such a baby, you repeat to yourself.

There are a series of nicks in his knuckles from a particularly heavy-handed punch. His index finger is split open, a wound that spans across the entirety, and as you inspect it through the oozing blood, he huffs. “C’mon, seriously?”

“We need to wash it off,” you say with a sense of finality. “Come.”

And for all of his complaining, arguing, and - no matter what he says - whining, he follows you into your small bathroom where you twist the sink on. The water takes a moment to heat but when it does, you hold out your hand for his. He hesitates, lips flattened together, then wordlessly complies.

He stares at the flowing water rather than you, and in his expression, you can read the simmering shyness that he’s attempting to suppress behind a hardened glare.

“You shouldn’t fight me,” you tell him, patient despite the way he jerks in your hold as if burned. The water coasts along his knuckles, staining the sink a diluted crimson while you ghost the pads of your fingertips over the broken flesh. “I’m just trying to help.”

“But I’ll be fine,” he says, quiet against the rushing water. “I’ve been through way worse than this.”

“I know,” and you do. You’re peeking at him, smiling a touch while his muscles visibly ease. “But I’m here for you now and I hate seeing you hurt, so let me make it a big deal. Just a little bit. Please?”

A light brush of pink tints his face while he takes a sharp inhale, as if he’s irritated by the thought. You both know better. His eyes are giving him away and oh, they always do. There’s a glimmer of elation drawn there, the upturn of his brows belying the sweet spark of affection he feels.

You feel it, too.

“Here,” you say. “Keep your hand under the tap. I’m gonna grab some stuff to wrap your finger, okay?”

You slide past him, maneuvering through the tight space and tiled white walls to head toward your cabinet. Yet you get so far as the toilet before Nero’s snatching your wrist with his free hand, and when your gazes meet, his eyes dim with an outpouring of ardor that heats your cheeks.

“Thank you,” he says, and you tip your head with a demure smile. He gives you a sideways smile in return.

“You’re welcome.”

#devil may cry #dante #vergil #nero #headcanon request #I’m reeeeeally proud of this so I hope you all enjoy #ps likes and reblogs keep me in business!#(support your local content creators!)

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

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the in-between | i (kuroo tetsurou)

➵ it took you and kuroo 24,000 words and 69 pages of pure behemoth far too long to learn that love was never singularly defined. it can be both striking and understated, sudden and unhurried, gentle and all-consuming. and most of all, it can be anything else in-between.

wc: 9k (part 1 of 3)

warnings: f!reader, good old f2l (do i write anything else?), depictions of anxiety & depression, cursing

a/n: i cannot thank @w-yuren enough for all the love and care she poured into beta-ing this :( i’m honestly so touched you worked through this absolute monstrosity w me (and put up w my incoherence) ren u deserve the world <3 (also @jupiturde erin ilysm thank you for reading this over So Many times you’re incredible!!)

m. list | ch. 1 ↠ ch. 2

"I'll help you," Kuroo sighed. "On one condition."

The scant bit of confidence you’d worked up was starting to crumble. You clenched your fists, steeling yourself. At this point, you're willing to do just about anything.

"Manage the volleyball team for a while."

Your face fell. "What, really?"

"Mhm," Kuroo nodded, still slouched over his desk.

"You're kidding, right?"

He shook his head. "Nuh-uh."

This wasn't quite how you’d expected the situation to go. And quite frankly, you were just upset that you were even in this situation in the first place. But, who wouldn't be?

Begging Kuroo Tetsurou to help you with chemistry wasn’t a situation you’d envisioned yourself ending up in. But, something had to be done about those abysmal exam marks. Your grades in everything else were fine; good, even. Certainly high enough to earn you your spot in Class 5. But that chemistry grade was something to be concerned about. Your homeroom teacher had warned you as much on the very first day of the school year.

And for the handful of weeks since, you’d been driving yourself mad trying to think of a solution. Hard work had only gotten you so far, and none of your friends felt they were competent enough to tutor you. You needed help – desperately.

So there you stood, in front of the desk of a boy you’d never had a proper conversation with before, asking for his help – all while uncomfortably aware that this was cutting into his lunch break.

You hadn’t quite known what to expect from this interaction. You weren't really friends, after all; you’d been vaguely aware of him over this past year and a bit, but knew little, if anything, about him. All you knew was that he was topping the grade when it came to chemistry, and therefore, turning to him in this time of need might help.

You hadn't expected this ultimatum.

"Why?"

It was a genuine question.

"Hm?"

"Why ask me to be your manager?" You asked, tilting your head at him. "I know nothing about volleyball."

"You'll learn."

You frowned. "This is the only way you'll tutor me?"

"It's not the only way," Kuroo shrugged, raising an eyebrow at you. "But it'd certainly bump it up my priority list."

The worst thing was that it didn't even seem like he was trying to be a dick.

Right, you thought. Pros and cons.

Cons: being a manager would eat up a lot of your time. Presumably. Maybe. You didn't have any real idea.

Also, it would mean spending a lot more time around sweaty boys. That sounded kind of gross.

And what time did practice finish? Walking home after sunset was always a little scary. Certainly scary enough to stoke a bit of anxiety.

More importantly, it sounded like responsibility. Maybe you were overestimating just what being a manager meant, but it sounded like there was plenty of stuff you could mess up.

Pros: it'd look really, really good on your college applications.

Just like a passing chemistry grade would. Which you weren't going to get all on your own.

“It doesn’t have to be for long,” he offered, raising an eyebrow at you. “Just a couple of months. And I’ll be your resource to use as you please.”

You blinked at him, baffled at his choice of phrasing.

“How about you just drop by practice this afternoon?” He suggested, balancing his chin on his fist. “You can get a feel for it.”

You sighed.

“Alright.”

You were willing to do just about anything, after all.

✧ ✧ ✧

Teenage boys, no matter how polite or kind or accommodating, are always scary in packs.

That little revelation came to mind as you pressed yourself meekly against the wall of the gym, watching a gaggle of boys running back and forth, jumping and hitting and shouting. Part of you wanted to melt into the wall, hoping that none of these giants would pay you much attention.

You’re painfully aware of one of them staring at you; a first-year, judging by his use of honorifics. He’s tallish, but not enough to be scary, with close-cropped hair and grumpy eyebrows. There’s a certain intensity to him – he seemed like the sort of person with too much tenacity for his own good.

And yet, he seemed terrified of you. Was he the sort of boy who couldn’t talk to girls?

You smiled to yourself. Such dichotomy in one personality, huh?

There was another boy that caught your eye. A quiet one, with chin-length black hair who seemed to want to sink into the ground. He didn’t look like the sort of boy you’d expect to find on a high school sports team. He was a little shorter than everyone else – except for Yaku, who’d greeted you quite amiably when you’d first arrived.

But Yaku seemed like he wanted to be there. Like he enjoyed it. This kid? He looked like he just wanted to melt into the shadows. He always flinched whenever anyone called out to him. Hell, he seemed to flinch even when someone so much as looked at him. Was he okay? Should you ask if he’s okay? Should you point him out to Kuroo? But Kuroo had already spoken to him a few times…

Well, checking in with people’s well-being would be part of your job as a manager, right? It’d be your duty to make sure that the club members were doing okay.

But practice was still going. You’d have to put a pin in that thought.

The third years were frightening, as expected. But, you felt as though your upperclassmen would always be somewhat scary. The captain had traded a handful of words with you – hellos, nice to meet yous, a what are you even doing here – but he hadn’t made any particular point to help you out.

That job was left to the coach, who, thankfully, seemed quite kind. You had said very little to him, but you could tell that he loved his job just from the serene smile that graced his face as he watched his team go at it.

Practice was over before you knew it. The sun was setting outside the windows, the sky blushing orange. You bit your lip. Maybe you’d be able to get home before it got too dark…

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the gym floor. Maybe you should try talking to one of the boys… Yaku had always been friendly. Maybe he’d tolerate a conversation with you? Oh, what about Kai? He’d been very quiet, but he seemed nice… There was Kuroo, too…

You pressed your lips together, eyes scanning over the gaggle of boys in front of you as your mind ran through the pros and cons all at once.

You frowned. The third years were yapping at that quiet boy; whatever they were saying, it didn’t seem exactly friendly. You froze. Should you do something? Was this normal? Was it a problem? He looked terrified – not that he showed it outright, but it was in his eyes.

Kuroo was standing behind him, saying something to one of the third years. You couldn’t quite hear them, but Kuroo’s expression was… cold. Not confrontational, just unyielding. Whatever he’d said, the third years stalked away.

You watched closely as Kuroo’s expression softened as he looked at the shorter boy. He looked concerned. Were they friends?

“Oi, manager chick!”

You cringed. It’s one of the third years – not the captain, but someone you’d noted had quite the nasty serve.

“Help clean up!”

“Right!” You gave a quick half-bow, your head flicking around almost frantically as you looked for something to do.

You settled for collecting stray balls, rushing them back to the ball bins. All the while you watched the sky darken beyond the gym windows – and with it, your anxiety began to blossom.

By the time you were picking up your bag to go home, the sky was positively black. You bit your lip as you stared out the gym windows, your eyebrows a little furrowed.

“Hey.”

You looked up, a little startled. Kuroo, forehead slick with sweat and cheeks tinged red from exertion. You resisted the urge to scrunch up your nose. Being this close to a sweaty teenage boy wasn’t high on your priorities list.

“What’d you think?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck with a towel.

You shrugged. “Seems intense.”

“But you don’t hate it, right?” He smiled. It’s hopeful. Almost pitifully so.

You bit the inside of your cheek. In truth, you didn’t. There’s something quite fun about watching them play volleyball up close. They all got so into it. It was always nice, watching people care about something so deeply that enjoyment seeped through every part of their being.

“We’ll see,” you said. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.”

He smiled brightly at that half-promise. Brightly enough that you knew you didn’t want to let him down.

This side of him was already a far cry from that trickster-like figure you’d negotiated with this morning.

“Hey, uh…” He cleared his throat, one hand finding its way to the back of his head. “I was wondering… did you need me to walk you home? I know it’s getting kind of late, so…”

You felt something that’s not quite elation, but certainly a bit more intense than relief. Tokyo’s a safe enough place, yes, but that fact’s never enough to quell the anxiety you’d always felt from walking home in the dark.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” You tried to make your smile look relaxed and natural, but you knew some hint of tension had made its way in there.

“Cool,” Kuroo said, giving you a little nod as his eyes scanned your face. He relaxed his shoulders a bit, slouching down a little. Was he… trying to make himself smaller? “But, uh… where do you live?”

By some miracle, it’s not all that far from his place. You caught the relief on his face, even if he made an effort to hide it. Would he really have walked you all the way to your house, even if it wasn’t in the same area?

He didn’t give you time to think about it, turning around and waving a hand in the air.

“Hey, Kenma!”

Your brows rose instinctively as the shy kid scurried over, head hunched down and hands stuffed into his pockets.

“This is Kenma,” Kuroo smiled, nodding at him. “He’s my next-door neighbour.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled, tilting your head at him.

“Yeah,” Kenma nodded in a quiet response, not quite able to meet your eyes. You didn’t press it. You offered him your name quickly, a bit like an afterthought, but Kenma gave you a little nod in recognition.

“You guys ready to go?” Kuroo looked between the both of you, tilting his head at the door.

You glanced over at Kenma. He didn’t glance back.

“Yeah,” you nodded, relieved that you wouldn’t have to walk the dark streets on your own.

✉

[YOU] 7:21 PM: hello! Is this kuroo?

[Kuroo] 7:34 PM: you got it

[YOU] 7:36 PM: thank goodness! I just wanted to say, thank you for walking me home today. I was a bit worried about it, but I didn’t want to impose

[Kuroo] 7:38 PM: not a problem. I’m more than happy to do it again tomorrow

[Kuroo] 7:38 PM: since you are coming to practice, right?

[YOU] 7:40 PM: Sure :)

✧ ✧ ✧

Kuroo Tetsurou hadn’t been what you’d expected.

For one thing, he’d actually made good on your deal. You’d half-expected him to bail on tutoring you – though you couldn’t exactly say why. But, you supposed it would be hard for him to dodge the ire of his club manager. Regardless, he dedicated most afternoons to helping you study.

You’d meet up in the library before practice and you’d always start with chemistry. He was actually kind of good at explaining the concepts to you in a way you understood, without all the bells and whistles. He had a way of simplifying the concepts to their bare bones. That’s not to say that it wasn’t difficult; you still felt like you’d been left far, far behind. But, Kuroo was something of a comfort.

Somehow, you’d end up working on other subjects. Apparently, Kuroo’s surprisingly bad at literature. He was doing well enough, but it was something he just couldn’t wrap his head around. Maybe you’d been a bit gung-ho about offering your help, but you were just glad you finally had something to offer in this arrangement. Even though you were still managing the volleyball team, overwhelming as that could be sometimes.

But, you’d made a deal, and the whole manager business was less scary than you’d first thought. And you felt that with time, you’d get the hang of it. Maybe.

More often than not, your study session before practice wasn’t enough time to cover all the content you needed. So, sometimes, you’d continue it after practice, holed up in the library until you got kicked out. Kenma usually stuck with you guys, sitting in the corner with whatever game console he’d brought that day.

And without fail, Kuroo walked you all the way to your house every night. And during those walks, you talked. Rather animatedly.

“What I’m saying is that the divide between the arts and the sciences is arbitrary,” Kuroo shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “When they work together, incredible things happen. Genuine art happens.” He cocked his head at you, that perceptive grin of his spread across his face. “You’d really disagree with me on that?”

“I didn’t say I disagree,” you grinned. “I’m just surprised that you’re not one of those sciencey people who thinks that the arts are worthless.”

He scoffed at that, shaking his head. “Excuse you. I’ve got more nuance than that.”

“Sorry for doubting you,” you giggled.

“You better be.”

The thing you’d been most surprised about, above everything else, was just how enjoyable it was to talk to him. How easy it was to get lost in a conversation that most of your other friends might get bored by. It’s not that your other friends treated you badly, but Kuroo had a way of naturally drawing out your thoughts, and he usually treated them with enough respect to engage with them. Of course, there were times when he loved to tease, and you’d learnt to not take it too personally.

Kuroo Tetsurou was far more interesting than you’d first given him credit for. And you felt kind of bad for that. You’d known he wasn’t just some dumb jock – he wasn’t topping chemistry for nothing – but you hadn’t expected him to be so… clever. So playful. So fun to talk to.

You were beginning to feel that maybe, just maybe, he was someone you could end up being quite close to.

✉

[YOU] 10:41 PM: hey, kuroo?

[Kuroo] 10:46 PM: what's up?

[YOU] 10:47 PM: i was just wondering, why did you ask me to become manager?

[Kuroo] 10:48 PM: oh ahaha

[Kuroo] 10:48 PM: i thought having an extra pair of hands around would help the coach out a bit

[YOU] 10:48 PM: wait really

[YOU] 10:48 PM: that's it?

[Kuroo] 10:50 PM: ??????

[YOU] 10:51 PM: you were so seedy about it!

[Kuroo] 10:51 PM: was i?

[YOU] 10:52 PM: i–

[Kuroo] 10:53 PM: :)

✧ ✧ ✧

“Kenma wants to quit.”

Your head shot up, turning to Kuroo with wide eyes. “What?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, one hand raking through his hair. “The third years have been giving him a really rough time.” He bit his lip, glancing at you. “You’ve seen it yourself.”

You swallowed. “I hoped I was just being too sensitive, but…”

Kuroo groaned, running a hand down his face. “They’re such assholes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. The third years had almost made you want to quit in the early days. They were scary, sharp, unrelenting. But they’d left you alone pretty quickly once you’d settled into the thrum of your responsibilities.

Kenma hadn’t been so lucky.

“Is he okay?” You murmured, brows knitted together. “I mean, I know he’s getting picked on, but is he… is he… I don’t know…”

“I get it,” Kuroo sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. He doesn’t really talk about that sort of stuff.”

You set your pen down on the dining table, shifting in your chair to face him directly.

Practice had been cancelled for the afternoon, and Kuroo had bustled you out of school before you even had a chance to ask why. You’d been surprised when he had asked if the two of you could study at your place that afternoon – and some part of you had dreaded what your parents might say about you bringing a boy home – but you’d conceded. He’d seemed stuck in his head; something not unusual for him, but he’d been just withdrawn enough to pique your concern.

This must’ve been why.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I don’t want to push him too hard or anything, but I don’t think he’s making the right choice.”

You bit your lip.

“Why?” You asked, feeling bold.

“Huh?”

“Tell me why you don’t want him to quit,” you said. “Other than the obvious.” You sat up a little straighter, grabbing your notebook and picking up your pen. “We can brainstorm together.”

“Other than the obvious?” He tilted his head at you.

“You know,” you shrugged. “I know you want him to stay around because he’s your best friend, but... there’s more to it, right?”

“Well…” Kuroo swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leant back in his chair. “We’re not gonna get very far without him.”

You scribbled that down quickly. “Why’s that?”

“He’s a good strategist,” Kuroo said carefully, “And he’s great at running through all the potential outcomes on the spot. And nobody on the team’s as observant as he is.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you transcribed. You weren’t narcissistic enough to think you knew Kenma better than Kuroo did. Nor did you want to presume you were closer to the second-year than you actually were. But you wanted to help.

“Why don’t you… explain that to him?” You asked, peering down at your notebook.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… just tell him the logical reasons you want him to stick around,” you shrugged. “I think he’d respond well to that.”

“I guess…” Kuroo pursed his lips, looking at you with a frown.

“What I’m trying to say is that… maybe putting it into terms that’ll resonate with him is the best way to go.” You weren’t quite sure if your point was getting across. You just had to hope that he understood.

“I get you,” he nodded, crossing his arms. “I dunno if it’ll work though.”

“He’ll listen to you,” you mused, propping your hand on your chin.

“Huh?”

“It’s obvious you mean a lot to him,” you shrugged. “Even if he doesn’t really use his words to express that.”

Kuroo blinked at you, a touch of pink to his cheeks.

“I mean, he’s stuck it out with volleyball this long, hasn’t he?” You smiled at him, watching his cheeks grow even pinker. “That’s because of you.”

He cleared his throat as he looked down at his lap. It was strange to see him so… speechless. He was the sort of person that always had a comeback. You were never able to get a one up on him. Sincerity, however, seemed to be his hamartia.

“I just… I wanna go as far as I can with this team,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “You know, me and the other second years… when we first joined the team, we were asked about our goals.”

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “We all said that we wanted to win nationals.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he was telling you all this. He didn’t know where it came from. But he knew he’s grateful to be able to just talk. To share this with someone.

“Yaku and I used to fight all the time,” he smiled sheepishly, casting his gaze at you.

“I can see that,” you giggled. There was always a little fire between the two of them; it’d given you a good laugh many times.

“It was kind of stupid, but… we got over it. We learned to work together,” Kuroo sighed.

“I feel bad for poor Kai,” you smiled.

Kuroo laughed. “Yeah…” He sighed as he leaned over the table, resting his chin on his folded arms. “Nekoma used to be hot shit, you know.”

“Did we?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Made it to nationals a couple of times. But, we sort of… fell off. We haven’t been as good as we could be for a while. And… I want to change that.”

He pressed his lips together, his brows furrowing. “We can’t do that if we don’t work together. And I know that sounds obvious, but… we need to focus on our teamwork more. We’ll only be great if we all learn to rely on and trust each other. We’ve gotta make the best use of all our strengths while covering our weaknesses.”

You nodded, making a little noise of agreement. You couldn’t help but smile as you listened to him. This side of Kuroo – this genuine, honest one – was quickly becoming your favourite.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, sitting up straight. “Didn’t mean to ramble at you there.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” You shook your head. “Ramble all you’d like.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you for that, but he was smiling.

“Hey, Kuroo?” Normally, you wouldn’t have thought to ask the questions that were currently poking at the back of your mind. But he’d just been so honest, so open with you in a way he’d never been before. Maybe it was okay to be a little bit curious. Just this once.

“Hm?”

“I have a genuine question,” you said, folding your hands in your lap.

He looked at you, pouting a little.

“Why volleyball?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, brow creased ever so slightly. Usually, he’d just dodge a conversation like this; not because he was particularly embarrassed by it or anything like that, but because he didn’t want to talk about himself too much. He didn’t want to be rude and dominate the conversation.

But, you were asking. And, you seemed genuinely interested.

A little bit of sincerity wouldn’t hurt, right?

“My family moved here when I was pretty young,” he said, shrugging. “And I didn’t really… know how to make friends. Before I moved, I’d been part of a volleyball team. All my friends were on it, and… I had to move away from them.”

It was a little strange, trying to pull up all these memories. And trying to condense them was harder than he’d expected. “When I first met Kenma, we just played video games. I didn’t really… know how to talk to him. But he agreed to play volleyball with me, and that made things so much easier. I had something to talk about.”

You smiled to yourself, the image of a shy little Kuroo more endearing than it should be.

“I even convinced him to go to a weekend class with me,” he smiled, looking down. “You know, I even remember when I first met Coach Nekomata.”

“Huh?” You frowned.

“The old coach who used to work here. Rumour is he’ll come out of retirement sometime soon,” he smiled.

You nodded, even though you didn’t quite understand.

We bumped into him at one of those classes,” Kuroo said. “He told me, ‘do what you love, and success will come.’ I still think about that.”

Do what you love, and success will come. Yeah, that definitely sounded like something that’d resonate with Kuroo.

“Anyway, I joined the team in middle school, and that made it a lot easier to make friends,” Kuroo shrugged. “I don’t know. I love volleyball. Have for as long as I can remember. It’s fun. And… it helped me connect with people, even when… even when I couldn’t find the right words.”

He looked at you, a bit more tentative than usual. But, you were smiling, your chin propped up on one of your palms as you listened to him talk.

“Believe it or not, but I was a really shy kid.” He didn’t know why he’s still talking. And honestly, he’s a little embarrassed by it. But, you’re still listening. And for that, he’s grateful.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you grinned.

His eyes widened a little. “Huh?”

“You think so much,” you mused, looking upwards. “But, like… in the way introverts do, you know?” You blushed, looking down at your hands. “Well, I mean… I tend to overthink everything I say, right?”

“No, really?” Kuroo gasped, covering his mouth with one hand.

“Shush,” you shot him a half-glare, suppressing the urge to stick your tongue out at him like a child. “It’s just that… I see a little bit of that in you, too. Not… massively, but it’s there.”

You couldn’t quite read his expression. It wasn’t one you’d seen before. And honestly, he wouldn’t know how to describe it himself. He was caught between the relief at being seen, at being understood, and the embarrassment of being called out. People didn’t tend to pick up on that part of him – and yet, you had.

He wasn’t used to being the one getting read.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I really didn’t mean to ramble so much.”

“Oi,” you giggled, “I said it’s fine, didn’t I?”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“It’s nice that you care so much about the game.” You were smiling at him. Nothing unusual. But the look in your eyes was so genuine, so bright that he could feel his face burning up from looking at it.

“Yeah,” he smiled, breaking eye contact with you. God, he really didn’t know what to do in conversations like these. “Anyway, should we get back to chem?”

✉

[closet introvert] 9:22 PM: so

[YOU] 9:25 PM: so

[closet introvert] 9:25 PM: i think i’m gonna try to talk to kenma after school tomorrow

✧ ✧ ✧

If there was one thing you were fairly decent at as manager, it was looking after the first and second years. Bit by bit, you’d worked up an adequate rapport with each of them, and you had most of their personalities sorted out. Most importantly, you knew what to do when they were down.

You just had to let Yaku rant – let him shout and gripe and swear, and he’d be okay. Kai liked a constructive conversation, had in soft, measured tones, and offering a solution or two. Yamamoto wanted fire and conviction, a challenge to do better, to be better. Fukunaga liked a distraction, something to take his mind off of whatever was bothering him. Kenma liked to be left alone to sort things out for himself – but you were permitted to make him a care package or two.

You’d known Kuroo long enough by now to know that he was rather reticent when it came to his own feelings. He wasn’t the sort to talk about them upfront; you had to peer at the silences and the spaces between his words to find out what he really meant. You had to look at his behaviour; he was never too straightforward. That sort of thing seemed to overwhelm him.

That presented a bit of a problem. If he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, he simply wouldn’t. He’d deflect the conversation, or downplay how he was feeling. Sometimes he gave you bits and pieces, but he rarely spilled his true thoughts and feelings. They were exceedingly difficult to draw out of him – he had to offer them up himself. And most of the time, he bounced back pretty quickly from his more melancholic moods on his own.

But not today.

Kuroo wasn’t exactly loud. At least, not in the same way Yamamoto was – or that rambunctious wing spiker from Fukurodani. It was well within Kuroo’s abilities to be obnoxious, but he wasn’t loud. But even for him, he was being uncharacteristically quiet today.

Practice had gone fine, as far as you could tell. Nothing had gone obviously wrong, and nobody had gotten injured. From your perspective, things had even gone well. Admittedly, your knowledge of volleyball didn’t run particularly deep just yet, but you were trying your best.

Kuroo was usually so bright after practice, always grinning or cackling at something despite his exhaustion. Half the time he’d point things out to you, explaining certain moves they’d practised or formations they were trying out.

But today, he’d just picked up his bag dourly, waiting at the door for you and Kenma to leave. He’d said very little on the walk to the train station when usually he’d be rambling about something or other. You and Kenma exchanged a look; he was just as concerned as you were.

And just like you, he didn’t know how to breach the conversation.

“So… how do they even work?” You asked, blinking down at Kenma’s DS screen.

You couldn’t stand the silence for much longer. And you knew that a sure-fire way to get Kenma talking was by asking him about video games – especially optimization.

“EVs are gained by defeating specific Pokemon,” Kenma murmured. “If you defeat a Pokemon with naturally high HP like Chansey, you’ll gain EVs towards your own HP. However, you can only gain 252 EV’s towards any one stat.”

You nodded, opting to let him ramble. Usually, Kuroo would’ve led the conversation between the three of you. But, you’d valiantly taken that task up yourself today – and the easiest way to help things go smoothly was to get Kenma on a roll.

“You can gain a maximum of five-hundred and twelve total, so realistically you can only optimise two stats at a time,” he continued, eyes still glued to his screen. You took a moment to glance at Kuroo. He was staring out the window of the train, his expression worryingly forlorn. Was he even listening?

“IVs are a Pokemon’s innate capabilities.” Kenma was still going. You made an affirmative noise in the back of your throat, nodding. “A Pokemon with a high attack IV will have a naturally higher attack stat than a Pokemon with a low attack IV, even at the same level.”

On the one hand, it was nice to know that Kenma was comfortable enough with you to ramble like this. It was also nice to see Kenma talking freely; a rare and precious sight.

On the other hand, it just made you more stressed about Kuroo. He hadn’t breathed a word the entire ride. He hadn’t even taken a moment to gaze fondly at Kenma while he was rambling. And he always did that when Kenma was on a roll.

You managed to ask enough questions to fill the distance to Kenma’s house. He was speaking more than usual. That much was obvious, yes – but even for a Kenma that was geeking out, this was unusual.

And with the way his gaze kept flicking to Kuroo, you knew it was because he was truly, deeply concerned.

Kuroo still made somewhat of an effort to say goodbye to Kenma, despite his mood. The usual “make sure you don’t go to sleep too late, okay?” and “make sure you drink enough water, so you don’t get a headache.”

But before Kenma walked through his front door, he looked at you. And when you looked back, he held eye contact. Then he looked very pointedly at Kuroo, who was staring up at the sky. By the time you turned to look at Kenma again, he was already scurrying through his front door.

“You ready?” Kuroo asked, now looking at you.

You nodded, half-jogging to join him on the street. Even today, even when it seemed like he just wanted to go home and sleep, he was still walking you home. Sure, your house wasn’t all that far from his, but he still went out of his way every night, just to make sure you felt comfortable.

That quiet thoughtfulness was part of who he was. You’d seen him direct it at Kenma all the time.

The same Kenma who’d just sent you a silent plea.

The Kenma, who never looked you in the eyes for longer than half a second.

The Kenma, who had just asked you to speak to his best friend.

That was all the push you needed.

“Hey, Kuroo?” You murmured.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” You asked.

Kuroo looked at you, one eyebrow raised. He was torn.

Should he really burden you with this? Was it right for him to worry you again?

But you’re looking at him with such genuine concern, such genuine care. And the advice you’d given him when he was worried about Kenma had been both helpful and effective. And surely, you wouldn’t have asked that question if you didn’t want a proper answer, right?

Fuck it, he thought.

“I feel like I’m not measuring up,” he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “My blocking hasn’t been improving. And I don’t know why. I’ve been trying to work on my read blocking but I just can’t get it down. I can’t even fix the problem because I don’t know what the problem is.”

He took a deep breath, his steps slowing to a stop. “I convinced Kenma to stay on, but I’m not a team-mate he can be proud of.”

“Kuroo…”

You looked at him, cloaked in the shadows of the street. His gaze was cast at the ground, his brow furrowed and the smallest of pouts on his lips. You wanted to hug him, but you weren’t sure if that’d help.

You didn’t quite know what to say. You knew what it was like to get caught up in your own insecurities – you were sure most people did. You knew he couldn’t see himself the way you saw him; tenacious, hard-working, passionate.

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” you murmured. No, that was too soft – too wishy-washy. “I know that it… seems kind of silly for me to say, but you are.”

You clenched your fists to steel yourself, taking a step closer to him. That got his attention – he looked up at you, eyes slightly wide.

“You feel like you’re not measuring up, or that you’re not improving… but I don’t see it that way.” It was true. You watched him push himself harder each and every day, improving little by little. And when he wasn’t, he’d learn from those mistakes.

“It must be easy to lose yourself on the court, but from where I’m standing… you’re improving every day.” Your eyes searched his face, looking for any indication that your words were having some kind of impact.

“And… you don’t need to be the world’s best middle blocker, you know?” You said, tilting your head at him. “You’re good, Kuroo. And you know you’ve got space to improve – that’s your strength. That makes you a team-mate worth being proud of.”

He was staring at you, eyes still wide. The dim light of the street hid the blush on his cheeks. For that, he was thankful.

“Uh…” He felt like he should say something. But he didn’t quite know what. ‘Thank you’ would’ve been the natural response, but those words just wouldn’t come.

“Sorry,” you blushed, your nerves finally catching up with you as you looked away from him. “I didn’t mean to… push your boundaries or anything like that, but… if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Had you overstepped his boundaries? Had you made him uncomfortable? Those questions plagued you for the rest of the way home, Kuroo still quiet and reticent at your side.

You hadn’t overstepped his boundaries at all. Kuroo just couldn’t find the right words, even as you closed the distance to your house.

In all honesty, he’s touched. Touched that you cared so much. Touched that you reached out, even though he could tell how nervous you were. Touched that you were paying that much attention.

As he walked through the door of his own home, he couldn’t get the image of you looking up at him so resolutely out of his head.

He’d have to thank some deity above for the fact you were bad at chemistry, wouldn’t he?

✉

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:57 PM: hey so uh

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:57 PM: i just wanted to say thanks

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:58 PM: for listening to me be all emotional like that

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:58 PM: i put a lot on you but you were really nice about it

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: so yeah

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: thanks

[YOU] 10:59 PM: NO! DON’T APOLOGISE!

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: !?!?!?!

[YOU] 11:00 PM: honestly, i don’t mind! and i’m happy to listen :(

[YOU] 11:00 PM: i’m here if you need to talk to anyone, okay?

[japan’s okayest tutor] 11:04 PM: you too

✧ ✧ ✧

You were alone.

Your sobs were the only sound fracturing the fragile silence of the empty gym as you slumped against the wall, your knees brought up to your chest.

Why did you have to fuck up so bad? You’d managed to survive your first year with no drama, the only cause of concern being your studies. They were overwhelming enough to deal with on their own. You’d certainly felt down about your grades and whatnot before, but those ruts were a little easier to pull yourself out of. ‘They’re just grades,’ you’d try and tell yourself. ‘You can improve next time. And they don’t define you as a person.’ Even if you didn’t quite believe any of that, it was nice to have some rhetoric to at least attempt to counteract those thoughts.

But now? Now you truly felt alone. Like no-one cared about you.

You felt like you deserved it. Like anyone who cared about you was wasting their time. Like you were taking up their time and attention undeservedly.

It was all too overwhelming.

The pain choked you. Every thought, every feeling you’d been trying to fend off for so long ripped through you like an arrow.

Fuck, why couldn’t you just hold yourself together? Why did you have to be so weak?

You let go. And you cried. And cried. And cried.

The sound shattered the vacuous silence of the gym. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there, letting your sobs rack through your body.

Your throat was sore.

Your eyes stung.

You were alone.

And you deserved it.

“Woah.”

You froze. You knew that voice.

“Hey.” Kuroo knelt in front of you, his hands finding their way to your forearms. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He was knelt in front of you, eyebrows knitted together as his eyes roamed your face.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Shit, why was he here? Why hadn’t he just headed home?

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. You didn’t want to worry them.

Kuroo’s arms found their way around you, coaxing you gently towards his chest. You collapsed into him, burying your face in his chest.

Fuck, that didn’t help at all. Your sobs came with more voracity, rawer and harsher than they had been.

He just held you, chin propped on your head and one hand rubbing your back. He didn’t say anything; he knew you didn’t need that right now. He knew that in moments like this, it was nice just to be held. To feel like someone’s there.

And then slowly, breath by breath, everything seemed to calm. Your sobs grew softer and softer against his chest, his gentle hums setting a new rhythm for your fractured mind. He was grounding you; each touch, each sound was an attempt to bring you back down to earth. You could tell it wasn’t the most comfortable position for him, crouched awkwardly in front of you while holding you to his chest, but he stayed.

He stayed until your breathing had levelled out, and your grip on his shirt had loosened.

“There you go,” Kuroo murmured, letting you go. He shifted to sit next to you, and you immediately missed his warmth. You found a little comfort as he looped an arm around your shoulder.

You took a long, shaky breath. You weren’t sure how long you’d keep it together for, but you were glad for the reprieve.

“What are you doing here?” You sniffed, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand. He shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have made him worry about you.

“You didn’t show up for our little study session,” he said, eyebrows knitted together. “I tried texting you, but you didn’t respond. And I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Shit. You’d forgotten to tell him you’d ‘headed home early.’

“I was worried about you,” he murmured, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

You swallowed roughly, the guilt bubbling up in your chest.

“I’m sorry–”

“No.” Kuroo shook his head. “Don’t apologize. If you need to get it out, you need to get it out.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. Your knuckles blanched pale as you clenched the fabric of your skirt.

“And,” he swallowed, “if you need to talk to someone… I’m here.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt everything rush back. The fight. The loneliness. The insomnia.

Kuroo didn’t need to hear this. And you didn’t want to burden him with this.

But God, you needed to talk to someone.

“I- I had an argument with Hana,” you sniffed, fingers playing with the hem of your jacket.

You could barely remember how it started. Something stupid, probably. Something immature. But it had blown way out of proportion, and she wasn’t speaking to you anymore. You’d been spending your lunchtimes alone, behind the gym or in an empty classroom. You didn’t have the strength to face the rest of your friends, nor did you know what she’d been telling them.

It had struck at the worst possible time, too. The usual anxieties about grades and the future had been compounding recently. You’d been a bit more down than usual, and this whole Hana debacle had exacerbated that. You were usually able to manage feelings like this, finding ways to keep your head above water.

But not this time.

“I just,” you swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut. “I just feel like something’s missing. And, and I’m… there’s… there’s this gap in my heart, and I don’t know how to stop feeling so empty.”

You took a deep breath, feeling it tremble through your body. “But… but I also just feel so numb.”

And all of it, even the numbness, was overwhelming. No matter how desperately you tried to distract yourself, you couldn’t. Nothing worked. You’d lost too many nights sitting at the bottom of your shower, letting the water run down your back as your mind ran in the same repeating circles.

You were exhausted.

“And part of me,” you swallowed, your throat rough and dry as your emotions tried to hammer themselves into something coherent. “Part of me feels like… like it’s wrong to feel like this.”

God, that felt stupid. Stupid, but true. On top of everything, you felt defunct.

And frankly, you couldn’t say why. Was it shame? Guilt? Something else?

“Hey.” Kuroo’s voice was low, almost soft as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You’re gonna feel what you’re gonna feel,” he murmured, “You shouldn’t feel guilty about that, okay?”

He felt you tremble as you tried to take a deep breath.

He knew that your pain wasn’t a one-to-one reflection of his own. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to understand exactly what you were going through.

But he knew what it was like to be a small child, so afraid, so alone, without an understanding of what was really going on around him.

He knew what it was like to feel as if something was missing, like there was a constant gap in your heart. He’d felt that way when his parents had split up. He’d only been a kid, too young to properly comprehend why that had been happening.

All he had known was that his family had crumbled to pieces around him. And then his mother was gone, half a world away with little more than a kiss on his forehead as a goodbye. He hadn’t been ready for it. He had felt like he might never be.

That feeling of separation had followed him, even into his teen years. It was quieter now, a half-whisper on the bad days. Usually, he could ignore it, setting his mind to more productive concerns. But, it never quite disappeared.

Kuroo knew what it was like to be lonely.

And he hated seeing you go through the exact same thing.

Lonely. Afraid. Probably hoping that someone, somewhere, would acknowledge your pain.

That was the worst part. Wanting your suffering to be known. Wanting someone to look at all of it, to see it for what it was. But no matter how palpable that desire was, how desperately you wanted it, it was too terrifying. To speak up was to be a burden. To speak up was to expose yourself to pity; and that was always the last thing you needed.

Pity’s useless. All you were asking for, all you really wanted was understanding. Acknowledgment. To have someone see.

He knew exactly what that was like.

“You, uh…” The sentiment caught in his throat, somehow both persistent and reticent.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

They were the very words he’d wished someone had said to him all those years ago. The words he’d wanted someone to offer him, a child who didn’t know how to reach out. To cry out for help.

And in that moment, with his arms around the manager who had looked after him and his boys so well, Kuroo felt that call.

✉

[passable at best] 8:30 PM: hey

[passable at best] 8:30 PM: how are you feeling?

[YOU] 8:45 PM: alright

[YOU] 8:45 PM: i ate dinner and i’ve just been watching youtube

[YOU] 8:46 PM: and i’ve been drinking a lot of water

[passable at best] 8:46 PM: i’m glad to hear that

[passable at best] 8:46 PM: make sure you get an early night, yeah?

[YOU] 8:47 PM: i’ll try

[passable at best] 8:47 PM: and if you need anything, please text me

✧ ✧ ✧

"Come to the temple with me."

The surprise was evident on your face. You’re glad he couldn’t see you. "What… just us?"

"Yeah." There's a pause. An almost painful one. "I couldn't get Kenma to leave the house, so…"

You pretended you weren’t disappointed. If anyone could see you, they wouldn't be convinced.

"Oh, well, uh…" Your fists curled into your nightgown. "Sure."

"Great!" You could hear the smile in his voice. It's the one you like best; full of sunlight, pure and whole. The one that reached his eyes. "I'll, uh… see you at eight?"

Usually, if someone had called you at seven-thirty in the morning, you would've simply ignored them. But when you’d seen that it was him, you’d answered immediately. The lack of hesitation was almost frightening.

There was no reason that your fondness for a certain Kuroo Tetsurou should scare you. You just knew that you adored the guy. In less than a year, he’d become one of your favourite people. And, he’d been such a solid support for you. Of course you’d go to the temple with him.

But as you stood at the temple steps, swallowed up by a coat and two jumpers, you wondered if anyone was worth being this cold for.

“Sorry I’m late.”

You glared up at him, nose embarrassingly red.

“What?” He groaned, hands dug deep in his pockets.

“It’s cold.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“Hey,” he grinned, reaching up and ruffling your hair with a gloved hand. “You could’ve said no.”

You huffed. Unfortunately, he was right.

“Well, I’m touched,” he chuckled, looking up at the sky. “It’s a nice morning, though.” He looked back down at you with a grin. He was far too peppy for this hour of the morning. “You ready?”

The walk up the steps was almost laborious, given just how cold it was. Your breath misted in front of you as you told each other about your first dreams of the year; he’s still regaling a tale about Kenma turning into a dragon with five heads and chasing him through the streets of Tokyo by the time you reach the fortunes.

You tried to shake off the superstitious jitters as you carefully chose one of the knots on the string. Kuroo showed much less care.

As you read the fortune written out on your strip, you let out a surreptitious sigh of relief. You looked at Kuroo, tilting your head.

“What’d you get?” You sniffled. You hoped you wouldn’t get a cold from this.

“Bad luck,” he said, turning the strip towards you.

You snorted. “Oh, ow.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.” His expression said otherwise; it was that half-grimace he had whenever he didn’t want to admit he was wrong. Or that Bokuto had done something cool.

“Really?” You grinned, tilting your head at him. “You’re not bothered by it at all?”

“Alright, what did you get then?” He peered down at you, puffing out his chest.

“A little luck.” You held your strip towards him, and he scowled.

“Bad luck’s more exciting,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be mad about it,” you smiled, nudging him with your elbow. “God just likes me more.”

“Oi,” he huffed, ruffling your hair with a cold hand.

“Hey!” You wacked his hand away, but he just cackled.

“Anyway, you’ve forgotten the most important part of a temple visit,” he yawned, looking back at the fortunes lined up on the strings.

“Hm?” You frowned.

"You gotta make a promise," he sniffled, his fortune scrunched up in his hand.

You pouted, your hands dug deep in your pockets. A promise, huh? Did he mean a wish? You weren’t about to argue the point. He’d win it, anyway.

“You go first,” you mumbled, a little embarrassed by the fact that nothing was coming to mind.

He paused, staring at you for a moment. You squinted back, perhaps half as a challenge.

"Hm," Kuroo puffed his cheeks out, looking up at the sky for a moment. "I promise… to always be there for you. No matter what."

You blushed. What sort of promise was that? And why did it make you feel like… this?

Thwump!

You were only half aware of it as you punched him in the stomach.

“What was that for?” He wheezed, hands clamped on his stomach as he stumbled back a few steps.

“You can’t say things like that!” You whined, feeling the colour in your cheeks growing deeper.

“Why not?” There was something a little too genuine in his frown.

“Because I was going to say something really lame!” It was only eight-thirty in the morning, and Kuroo had already worked his way under your skin. And you weren’t entirely sure he’d meant to. “If I knew you were gonna say something like that, I’d’ve said it back.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “You still can, you know.”

“Oh.” Yeah. You could.

That was all he needed. In an instant, that familiar grin was once again adorning his face, and he was towering over you. A little closer than maybe was appropriate.

“Is that… a blush I see?” Oh, he looked far too pleased with himself. You had half a mind to punch him again.

“Shut up,” you huffed.

“Aw, have I made you all embarrassed?” He grinned, ruffling your hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words spoiled by his fake pout.

“If you don’t shut up, I won’t say it,” you threatened, glaring at him as resolutely as you could. The weird twang in your chest made it more difficult than it usually was.

He shut his mouth immediately, eyes a little bigger and much more expectant than usual.

“Kuroo Tetsurou–”

“Are you about to propose?”

“You know what? Nevermind–”

“No, no, no! I’m sorry!” His shoulders were slouched towards you, head tilted to the side and a bright smile on his face. “I’ll shut up.”

You took a deep breath. It certainly felt a bit like you were trying to propose to him. You shuffled that thought out of your mind as quickly as you could. Once again, Kuroo had put you in a situation you hadn’t quite anticipated.

“No matter what comes, and no matter how irritating you are–”

“Hey!”

“–I promise that I’ll be there to support you,” you managed to say, cheeks flaring and fists clenched. “I… really care about you.”

You couldn’t bear the look he was giving you. It was the look you’d give something you positively adored – something you believed would bring nothing but light to your life. It was a look so full of affection that you felt like you might shatter beneath it.

He reached out and wrapped you in his arms, pulling you gently into his chest. You snuck your arms under his jacket, circling them around his waist. You’d done it mostly on instinct, but you weren’t upset about it. It’s warm, and it’s nice, and you didn’t want to question it.

There’s too much to worry about – studies, volleyball, the fact that it’s really not all that long until you’re third years. That took precedence. Whatever’s going on here – whatever this was – couldn’t take priority.

All you knew for certain was that you loved Kuroo Tetsurou. In what way didn’t matter. And this in-between, this unnamed space was comfortable. And, as far as you could tell, it belonged to both of you. If he didn’t want to say anything about it, then neither did you.

✉

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: hey hey

[YOU] 5:21 PM: hey hey hey!

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: no don’t do that

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: anyway, i just wanted to make sure you’re practicing appropriate after-cold care

[YOU] 5:21 PM: why do you always have to phrase things Like That

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: no idea what you’re talking about

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: anyway, drink a tea or two, stick a heat pack (or seven) in the microwave, and rug up

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: can’t have you going and catching a cold

#haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuuwritersnet #once again what are tags #i didn't want to cut this up but it got Too Long i'm so sorry #n e way hope you like it??#the in between

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leisurelypanda · 3 years

Note

Fantasy AU where Steve is a prince who's arranged to marry Thor as part of an alliance with Asgard. Custom dictates that their consummation must be witnessed by the senior members of the court, and all through the ceremony and feast, he's uncomfortable with the idea of a crowd of old men witnessing his first time, on top of it being with a man he only met this morning.

But when the time comes, Thor squeezes his hand reassuringly as he leads the way to their chambers, his touches reverent as he lays Steve down on the bed and undresses him. He caresses Steve's face and tells him to focus on him, that he'll keep Steve safe. And against all the odds, Steve believes him. Forgets the crowd watching him and feels his heart open up as the world narrows down to him and his husband, their bodies and souls joining together.

This ticks all the fluffy boxes I've been needing lately. I always think of these scenarios as being a/b/o since arranged marriages are usually set up for having babies back the ye olden days.

Steve has always known that his husband was chosen for him when he was young. He's never been able to meet the man, but his family and tutors have kept him abreast of his accomplishments. It was mostly to spur his own, since Steve's kingdom would hate for Asgard to be disappointed by the match they set up.

Steve spends his whole life learning how to be a good husband for this Thor. Supportive, quiet, demure, industrious, and most of all, fertile. Unfortunately, Steve has never been any of these things. He's loud and opinionated, and while he is hardworking, he's dedicated himself to swordplay rather than needlework. By the time he's of age to married off to Thor, Steve is big enough to be mistaken for an alpha and as strong as any knights of his own kingdom.

He secretly hopes that Thor will dismiss him, so he can go back to training in combat instead of becoming a kept omega husband meant to bear heirs. However, when he sees Thor for the first time, he finds an alpha even bigger than him and breathtakingly handsome. He moves with strength and grace, his long golden hair and short beard framing his face beautifully. He's heard that Thor was a mighty warrior, but now he actually believes it.

To his shock, Thor seems pleased with him and doesn't revoke the agreement. Steve isn't sure how to feel, but the wedding will be held in three days in the morning. That's two days to either get used to the idea or change Thor's mind... if Steve still wants that.

On the first day, Steve sneaks out of wedding planning to go to the training yard. He finds Thor there training with his knights. Before he can sneak off, Thor invites him to join them. Steve gets outfitted and grabs a training sword and shield. The fight between him and Thor is long and grueling, but in the end, Steve manages to come out on top as he pins Thor to the ground with his shield to Thor's neck. Bizarrely enough, Thor looks and smells pleased... and Steve himself has to admit that he enjoyed himself.

On the second day, Steve was surrounded by attendants and courtiers. He had to spend all day schmoozing with Asgard's nobles, saying how pleased he was to be marrying Thor. When the day finally ended, Thor arrived to gift him a token or his affection. For any other alpha, Steve might have expected useless trinkets like necklaces, jewels, or tapestries. Thor, however, gifts Steve a shield painted in the colors of Steve's kingdom and the crest of his family emblazoned on it. He tells Steve how pleased he to be marrying such a fierce warrior and that he hopes they will have many happy years together.

Steve hardly sleeps that night. He tosses and turns. His heart is pounding and he's confused about how he feels. Thor is so kind and powerful, yet he didn't feel threatened by the fact that Steve was as strong as him. He felt seen for the first time in his life.

He has to rise early to prepare for the wedding. He practically drowned in scented baths. When he's dry, attendants dress him in the absurd wedding attire typical of male omegas in Asgard. Steve can't tell if it's supposed to be a robe or a dress. They don't put on makeup, but they do adorn him with expensive jewels, mostly sapphires and diamonds. It feels overblown, but he goes along with it. There was no getting out of it now.

When Steve arrives at the alter, Thor is already there. He looks amazing. The attire accentuates Thor's strength and he's adorned in countless medals and symbols of his numerous victories in combat.

Steve barely remembers the ceremony. Asgard apparently has relatively little for the omega to do during the ceremony. His part would come later... He wasn't sure he was prepared for the court to watch him and Thor consummate their relationship.

The first time they kiss, however, Steve practically melts. Thor's lips are gentle and soft and his hands on Steve's face cradle him like he's precious. It's better than what anyone told him it would be like.

The rest of the day is spent feasting and celebrating. Each member of Thor's court gives a speech about Thor and his fortune. Steve suspects more than a few of them aren't well pleased with the match. Especially King Odin. Thor doesn't seem to care. He showers Steve with affection and proudly recounts how Steve fought with valor and tenacity. Steve actually blushes during the speech.

The time comes at sundown. The court escorts Steve and Thor to prince's chambers. As they made the journey to Thor's bedroom, Thor squeezed his hand reassuringly.

At any other time, the bed would seem enormous. With the senior members of Asgard's court gathered around, though, the room feels claustrophobic, even with as big as it is.

"Worry not about these men," Thor murmured. "All that matters tonight is you and I."

He undresses Steve slowly and lovingly. It feels like nothing less. Steve easily let's the world fall away as he moves against Thor. When he's finally naked beneath his husband, he doesn't even notice the men leering down at him. Thor makes love to him with gentleness and passion. It's overwhelming in the best possible way. Steve clings to him and for the first time in his life, he submits and his soul sings as Thor sinks his teeth into Steve's neck.

Their marriage is like nothing either of their nations have seen before. Steve fights right alongside his husband against monsters, bandits, and other foes. He quickly becomes a distinguished warrior of Asgard and none boasts of his accomplishments more proudly than his husband.

#thundershield #ask #cinderellasfella #thor #steve rogers #arranged marriage au #fantasy au #alpha!Thor #omega!Steve

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volexis · 3 years

Text

⤷ december 14 ▸ don’t leaf me hanging ft. bakugou

summary: holiday parties aren’t the best way to spend a pleasant, snowy evening, especially when you bump into your frenemy practically everywhere you go. your evening takes a turn for the worse when you’re stuck together beneath the most odious sprig of the season: mistletoe. how will you get out of this one?

warnings: slight hint of college au, some cursing, mentions of drinking, unwanted advances

wc: 1.9k

a/n: this was horrible but terribly gratifying to write at the same time,,, low key my first time writing for both bakugou and bnha and high key v nervous about posting this since its like a billion years late but i guess its a christmas present?

note: find the rest of the advent calendar here!

Idle chatter rings in your ears as you cradle a mug of now cooled hot chocolate. The room was pleasantly warm, but the onset of partygoers stifled you. Everything was swelteringly suffocating and you gave Mina a sheepish smile. “I’m gonna go refill my drink, I’ll be right back.”

“(Y/N), you haven’t even touched—”

You paid her no heed and all but bolted towards the kitchen. Immediately the atmosphere quieted, the living room’s noise dulling to an easily ignored thrum. You leaned against the marbled counter, fingers skimming the slight pores of the mineral.

“What’re you doing here?” You heard a growl from the other side of the table, the tenacity of its timbre almost making you drop your cup. You spun to meet scarlet eyes that practically burned into you. Immediately, a scowl pulled at your lips. Of course, it was none other than the resident pain in your ass, nuisance extraordinaire: Bakugou Katsuki.

He had it in for you the day you’d met, that much you knew. It was as if he took one look at you and dismissed you as what he generously liked to call ‘an extra’. As if he couldn’t be bothered to dignify you with his presence, let alone a conversation. Normally, you’d brush it off but something about it all irked you to no end. You made it your mission to be around him as much as possible, learn what makes him tick as well as what made him hate you so. Initially, he reacted as predicted. He practically leveled the building that first day in his booming voice and irate fury, to which you responded with nothing but a laugh. As enigmatic as he may seem, Bakugou was surprisingly predictable.

The weeks passed by and you’d come to notice his yelling had toned down, not significant enough to be perceptible by the rest, but his words no longer held the same sharp edge as before though his aggressivity was as boisterous as ever. Soon enough you began to feel more at ease in his presence, even going as far as looking forward to the next time you’d see him at your lectures, in the halls, out at lunch. Catching yourself scanning the area for his presence every time you’d enter a room. In short, you had fallen for him. Hard.

Together you fell into a steady rhythm. He allowed you to remain in his vicinity unscathed and you didn’t have to tiptoe around his easily detonated temper.

You quickly learned his moods were more fluctuant than you ever could’ve guessed. The days leading to the small holiday party you found yourself in were riddled with the same explosive disposition from when you’d first met. Every stinging barb and taunt wounded you a little more than you’d like to admit. And then, radio silence. You no longer studied together, he no longer met your eyes when you had made a particularly interesting comment. Back to the very beginning when he didn’t even know you existed. You didn’t know what hurt more.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath and smooth your words into a clipped, polite speech.

“I’m in the kitchen, same as you. Do you have a problem with that?”

The blonde balked, opening his mouth to spew a retort, when Mina stumbled into the kitchen, bright smiles and full of boundless cheer. “(Y/N) since you’re in here would you mind getting me and—”

Her words died on her lips, tripping over each other as he planted her hands on your shoulders and tugged you away from the blonde, an uneasy grin on her face. “We’ll be going now.”

You gave him what you hoped looked like a sincere smile; one that hid the painfully evident panic that shot through your limbs. You knew well enough not to provoke him nor did you have the energy to do so.

Mina stopped pulling once you were safely outside in the hallway. Silence followed as her hands slipped from their perch on your shoulders to your own, shaking them lightly to force you to look at her.

“What was that?” The incredulity that filled her words matched her bug-eyed expression, swerving as she alternated from staring at you and the room you’d just exited.

“Actually, I don’t know.” You were equally as shocked and stumped as the poor girl.

“Well, in any case, I don’t think it’s worth ruining Kirishima’s party over whatever it is that’s been going on between you two lately. Just in case, it’ll be safer to avoid him for the rest of the evening, yeah?”

You nodded numbly and allowed her to take you back to the living room now outfitted with a hastily put together dance floor. Mina was right, anyhow. From just one quick look towards the rest of the room, you could tell everyone was enjoying their evening, basking in the warmth coming from the central heating as well as the close proximity. There’s no need to need to spoil the festivities with a silly quarrel you could fix any other day. However, there was one slight issue with your plan. Out of the corner of your eye, you’d catch a glimpse of spiky blonde hair. No matter where you’d go, he’d still be there, somewhere. Every move you made seemed to draw him closer. With a huff, you maneuvered around the throng of dancers to make your way back to the kitchen. There’s still a chance he’d follow you, but at least you’d be further away from the vigilant stares of the crowd.

As you thought, Bakugou was already leaning against the marbled counter once you stepped in.

“Mind telling me why you’re avoiding me?”

Before you could answer him, someone else stumbled into the kitchen seemingly towards you, all wobbling steps and inebriated smiles. His drink sloshed in the dented plastic cup he held onto so tightly, rivulets of it spilling down the side and splashing onto his clothes. “You’re really pretty, would you give me your number?”

You scoffed at his sudden forwardness, a scowl pulling at your lips once you had fully registered his words. “Why should I?”

The man, startled at your response, was silent for a beat. Seemingly regaining his composure, he pressed closer into you, backing you further into the counter. “Well,” he leaned towards your ear as if his next words were to be shared only with you. “If you do give me your number, maybe I can call you up and I could show you a good time. Whaddaya say, pretty thing?”

Words failed to form, tripping over each other as you stumbled away from him, away from whatever he thought he was doing. You bumped into something solid as you backtracked, turning around to see that it had been the fiery blonde himself.

“That’s not happening, asshole, we’ll be going now.” absolute venom dripped from his words as he smiled cruelly, his lips contorting into something akin to a sneer as he takes your hand in his, tugging you away.

Despite the constant abrasiveness in his everyday mannerisms, you couldn’t help but marvel at the gentle manner he used to intertwine his fingers with yours. He wasn’t rough in pulling you from the kitchen, he didn’t crush your hand in his grasp or practically pull your arm out of its socket. He was almost sweet, coaxing you away from the situation.

He only stopped once you were a safe distance away, turned in the direction you’d come from, to presumably make sure the offender hadn’t followed. You’d been too preoccupied with the softness of his touch to notice him watching the kitchen doorway and then the rest of the crowd once he noticed the other student sift in, glaring sharply every time their eyes met. Suffice to say, you were probably not going to hear from him in a long time.

“Bakugou?” He let out a noise of acknowledgment, eyes still trained on something across the room.

“You can let go of my hand now.”

He blinked owlishly, looking down at your fingers as if he now just realized what he had been doing. “You never answered my question.”

“And you haven’t let go of my hand.”

His next words were drowned out by tumultuous cheers and wild shouts of the other students. They’d formed a crowd behind the two of you. Why?

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” You looked to Bakugou in confusion, who responded by pointing up to the top of the doorway to spot a small tangle of mistletoe lies poorly taped to the wood.

Realization dawned on you and frustration ebbed into your rapidly spiraling thoughts. Of all people to be stuck under that odious herb, it just had to be the one who sent your poor heart into overdrive every time you’d catch one of the softer, more peaceful looks he’d sport around you. Part of you wanted to grab him and plant your lips on his, that part of you had longed for such an opportunity for a while now, longed for him. The other part of you was caught up in trying to process Bakugou’s radical change in behavior. From one minute to the next he had gone from his usual brutally harsh demeanor to holding your hand so tenderly as if he was scared to hurt you.

“We don’t really have to do this if you don’t want to,” You were unsure of what you wanted, what you thought of him. He said nothing as he gently placed his hands on your cheeks, drawing closer till his lips met yours. The world drowned out around you. Electricity surged through your every nerve and you shivered as you felt him nip at your bottom lip. You drown in the taste of spiced cinnamon and his tongue swiping along the roof of your mouth. It’s dizzying and you almost couldn’t believe it had happened once he pulls away.

Once you look into his eyes you’re suddenly aware of the crowd’s roar behind you. The full weight of the past few moments settle in and you don’t know if you want to slap him or kiss him again.

“You never answered my question, but I have been treating you like shit all week. You don’t deserve it. You really don’t,” he repeated, tapering off as he fumbled for the right words to say.

“I got scared of my feelings, of what they meant, and I pushed you away because of it.”

“That’s putting it lightly, Bakugou,” You let the ghost of a smile pull at your lips. After all, that’s probably the closest he’d get to an apology.

“Dumbass, don’t interrupt me while I’m trying to tell you that I like you—” His cheeks burned once he realized what he’d said. You mirrored his reaction, eyes widening at his words.

“You like me?” Your smile quirked into a full grin as you pulled him back towards you in another kiss. Immediately his hands shot to your waist, pressing you closer to him as you lost yourself in the way his lips melded against yours. He’s everywhere, up the curve of your spine and down your arms, kissing you with a fervent urgency you’d never known before. The feeling of melting so deliciously against him made your nerves sing. A sudden giddiness spun through you as you pulled away and mirrored Bakugou’s radiant smile.

“Luckily, I just so happen to like you too.”

taglist: @tsumuseum @amoroushero @mrslordexplosionmurder @ssat0ris @osamusriceballs @seraphgabrielle @1642lux

strike through means I wasn’t able to tag you

additional note: event taglist is open! send an ask if you’d like to be added <3

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keelywolfe · 3 years

Text

FIC: Snowdrifts ch.7 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Uncle Red is always up for babysitting, but is pitting Red against baby Snow the wisest choice?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Rescued Child, Babybones, First Time Parenthood, Idiots to Lovers

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

No matter what the boss thought, Red couldn't actually read anybody's mind. Not that he minded keeping up the illusion, nah, that was pretty fucking useful and back in Underfell, his bro wasn't the only person mostly convinced that Red was able to look right into the dirtiest corners of their mind and see what dust bunnies were lying around.

It was a perk he was gonna miss, at least for a little while. Shouldn’t be hard to get reestablished around these parts, hell, prolly a lot easier. His bro might be having some regrets about abandoning the old place, but Red was more’n happy to set up as a cuckoo in their shiny new nest. The rubes in this ‘verse were ripe for a little mystery and already the gossip was flying about the kid, where she was from and who played incubator. Smart money was on his bro as mama; word around town was that Stretch’s slutty ways took a downward trend a few months back and everyone was real damn interested in seeing who the local bird went cold turkey for.

Red gave ‘em a week before the locals started showing up with casseroles and curiosity. Never underestimate boredom and a hearty rumor mill when making plans. Red never did and he would bet good money he’d have the folks in this Snowdin watching him with awe and suspicion in no time.

Well, more than they already were.

Except Muffet but that didn't surprise him none. Multiverse theory could go hang, he figured she was gonna be a sharp slice of cheddar no matter what world she was from. ‘Least if this one was gonna suck you dry it only meant your wallet. Gal had an eye for talent, he’d give her that, hired him on right away, and Red was looking forward to a long, mutually benefitting relationship.

Anyway, mind reading, eh, not so much. What Red had was a carefully cultivated skill in knowing when people were carrying around a steaming load of bullshit. He'd been learning that knack since he was in short pants even if his pants only got wider over the years, not longer, and right now, there was a week-old baby bones trying to convince him her little soul was gonna break if she didn’t have her daddy close by to lug her around.

Kid was putting on a hell of a show. Lying on her back in a pile of blankets on the living room floor that was also Red’s part-time bedroom, feet kicking up a storm and her little hands clenched in fists that she waved like a prizefighter. Fat tears were rolling down her chunker cheekbones as she howled, awful loud for someone without a set of lungs. Kid was pissed, sure, but pissed ain’t hurt and Red might’ve been kinda impressed by her tenacity if it weren’t for the simple fact that his bro needed some rest. Here they were in marshmallow world with two extra bods helping foot the bill and his bro was still exhausting himself trying to do everything. Difference was, here Red had Stretch running interference and between the two of them, they’d shake the ants out of his brother’s pants.

‘Course, Stretch had a different way of doing it and there was a thought Red wasn’t gonna examine too close. His baby bro’s pants and Stretch could do whatever they wanted out of his line of sight.

Only problem was, the two of them were only upstairs. Kid was getting pretty loud and Red scooped her up into his lap, giving her a gentle bounce. “gonna have to do better than that, snowmonster,” Red told her. “i survived my bro and he’s an expert pain in the ass.”

The wails paused as his voice caught the baby’s attention. Snow goggled at him her mouth still open, and after a moment the cries began again, this time with an uncertain waver.

“nope, try again.” He propped his chin in his hand. "you got my bro fooled, but i ain't the gullible type. might try a little sweettalking, sweetheart.”

A short, shrill cry only got her a chuckle. "sorry, honey, it ain't gonna work on me."

The tears dried up pretty damn fast without someone to break down the dam. Kid hadn’t quite given up yet, Underfell tenacity must be built-in from creation. She gurgled out a pleading cry, her tiny hands reaching for Red’s face. He let her pat his cheekbones, wincing at a particularly firm little slap.

He took the offending hand and gave it a loud kiss, earning a smile for his troubles. "nah, your daddy bears are tired, kiddo, they need a nap. you got 'em both dancing like popcorn on a hot plate, not bad for your first trick."

Hm, daddy? Paps hadn't been too clear on that yet, and fuck them all anyway for renaming his little brother Edge, keerist, might as well name him Gloomy Ass Kissy Pants. Already took himself too fucking serious as it was.

Eh, that probably wasn’t gonna change, Red didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that; he’d been that way since he was about the size of this one, and someday he was gonna show Stretch the pics that were saved on his phone of his lil bro back when he was little. Might have to wait until they were more settled in for that, though.

He’d give it a week.

Red looked down at the baby in his arms, her wide, pale eye lights gazing back up at him. Always watching, this one, learning, figuring things out. When she learned how to crawl, she was gonna be an ever-fucking nightmare for his bro, exactly how Paps had been ever since the very instant he got mobile. Kid hadn’t stopped since.

Red couldn’t wait. Payback really was a bitch and this bitch was gonna slap it right on his little brother’s ass.

“tell you what,” Red told her, “let’s get you a snack, kiddo, and see what other toys the mutts brought over for you, how about that?”

Kid was clearly disgruntled, but she accepted the bottle when Red handed it over, suckling noisily. Red dug into the bag that was still in the corner. Blocks were well and good, but he’d bet there was something in all this junk that made some real noise.

~~*~~

Despite his brother's innuendo when he’d shooed the two of them upstairs for a nap before another night of baby-watching began, there was nothing sexual going on in the bedroom and for that, Edge was guiltily grateful. He would admit to being exhausted, his first day as a caretaker left him as weary as if he’d spent a day running the traplines, and if Stretch had given any indication at all that he was interested in sex, Edge would have been torn over his response.

The answer was a difficult one. On one hand, Stretch had been utterly appalled even a hint of the idea that Edge might pay some of the debt he owed the Swap brothers in that fashion, but on the other, Edge did feel some sense of obligation to Stretch that made him reluctant to beg off. Best not to say that aloud, it wasn't a difficult guess that the very notion would upset Stretch a great deal.

There was also the fact that they'd been sleeping together for some months now, anything at this point would have a diminished value.

Not that it mattered in this situation. Stretch didn’t give any indication that he was hoping for anything past a solid eight hours of putting the mattress to its more traditional use and barring that, at least a couple hours of decent rest.

Still, Edge couldn’t help teasing, “Are you sure you want to use our time to sleep? My brother seemed to think we could make other use of it.”

There was a tiny sprinkle of bright freckles across Stretch’s nasal nodule and Edge could privately admit that the way they scrunched together when his face twisted was rather adorable.

"baby, you know i'm always up for it," Stretch grimaced. "but i don't think i can get it up right now. unless you want to drive…?"

Tempting as the idea of being inside Stretch was, whatever desire the image managed to rouse was closer to a wet firecracker than a spark. "To be honest, I think I'd rather nap," Edge confessed. If he even could, through the closed door he could hear Snow’s wails and it was only his brother’s firm edict that they were not to come back downstairs for at least two hours that was keeping him in this room at all. The penalty for disobeying a direct order from Red was not usually a subtle revenge and Edge didn’t care to see what sort of creativity his brother might come up with in new surroundings.

"nap it is then." Stretch scrambled into the bed, sprawling across the mattress. He turned back to Edge, both arms spread wide, "since we ain’t taking off, you may as well come on in for a landing!"

Edge rolled his eye lights but crawled in with him. Stretch squawked as Edge firmly rolled him over on his side and snugged up behind him. He murmured against the smooth, sensitive bone at the base of Stretch’s skull. "I believe it's my turn to be the big spoon."

The way Stretch shifted against him nearly made him rethink his urge for sleep. Stretch laughed, a touch unsteadily, "sweetheart, you can handle my silverware anytime you like. after a nap."

After a nap, yes. The crying from downstairs had petered out and Edge pulled the blankets over them both and settled in. Napping was still unfamiliar to him and he didn't sleep so much as drift, resting in the fog of exhaustion. That alone was an unaccustomed pleasure and there was no telling how long he drifted before he resurfaced to unexpected movement.

The faint shudder of Stretch in his arms didn't wake him so much as nudge him from that fog and the loss left him disoriented and surly. Edge pushed up on an elbow, frowning down at the other skeleton and his irritation faded as he caught his breath at what he saw.

Stretch was crying. He was curled up on the mattress, still sleeping while tears seeped from his closed sockets and left wet trails down his cheekbones. His breath was clotted with the quiet sobs racking him and without the pressure of Edge’s arm holding him down, he curled up tighter into a fetal ball, his long legs drawn up against his skinny ribcage as he wept at whatever his dreams were showing him.

No amount of rest was worth this kind of pain and Edge gave him a gentle shake, saying softly, "Stretch? Stretch, wake up."

He did not anticipate Stretch lurching up and scrambling away from him, his joints lit with magic and his eye lights flaring wildly as he flung both hands out as if to ward him away, brilliant orange engulfing his fingertips like candle flames.

Edge kept still, waiting for the dregs of sleep to clear away. Long experience with his brother’s occasional bad turns at night had taught him that while his HP could easily survive an attack, the guilt that followed was always so much worse.

Sure enough, recognition slowly filled Stretch’s gaze, followed almost immediately by horror. Stretch sank back against the wall with a heartfelt groan, the flames of his magic extinguishing as he buried his face into his hands. "fuck, i am so sorry."

"If I don't need to thank you for all you’ve done, then you don't owe me any apologies for this. Come here?" Edge held his arms open in gentle offering and after a moment, Stretch did, crawling back into his arms. His bones were chilled, clacking against Edge's as he shivered, and Edge tucked the blankets back around them both.

"There we are," Edge said, as softly as he would have to Snow. He set his chin on the top of Stretch’s skull, careful not to let it dig in painfully. "Was it a bad dream?"

"more like a memory." Stretch shifted against him, his cheekbone pressed to Edge's sternum. He did not look up as he asked softly. "do you remember anything about the lab?"

"Only from recently,” Edge admitted, “not as a child. My brother doesn't talk about it much, but I do know I wasn't there for more than a couple days before he fled with me in tow."

"yeah." Stretch said nothing else, no commiseration, and Edge did not ask it of him. He didn't need to press for an unneeded explanation, not when the answer was so obvious. Memory dredged up by those numbers on one of Snow's fragile ribs, engraved too deeply to easily heal. He only held Stretch close, petting from the back of his skull down his cervical vertebra with gentle fingertips as those bone-deep shudders slowly eased.

Petting shifted to a careful massage, rubbing at the delicate cartilage between the spinal joints until all the tension wound through Stretch faded, leaving him as boneless against Edge as a skeleton could manage. He sighed, his warm breath gusting humidly over Edge’s collarbone, and his long limbs wound around Edge in a bony sort of cage, loosely holding on.

Edge was drowsing himself, his stroking gone idle, when Stretch spoke again in a low, barely audible mumble that Edge nevertheless heard very clearly, snapping awake as his soul began to pound in his ribcage. Couched on an exhale, three words that were so complex in their very simplicity.

“hnnnn,” Stretch sighed out, “i love you.”

There in the darkness, Edge lay with wide sockets staring up at the ceiling as every thought of sleep fled to the corners of his mind, leaving it utterly empty. Obviously, such a declaration required a response, and yet his thoughts were a panicked blank, his hands still on Stretch and surely he was already regretting saying such a thing, surely he was rethinking his choice as Edge only lay here like a useless fool, unable to reply.

“Stretch,” Edge choked out, faltering, and before he could manage to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth came an unexpected reply. A faint snore that rumbled through them both as Stretch snuggled in closer, his sockets closed in sleep.

Edge almost sagged in relief, letting out a slow, shaky breath. But he knew the reprieve was a brief one. That declaration would come again, he should have already been expecting it, and he would need a ready reply.

He wasn’t fool enough not to know what reply Stretch wanted. He just wasn’t sure it was one he was able to give and what consequences would come if he couldn’t? Their place here was so precarious despite what the Swap brothers said, they couldn’t be expected to stay here if there was resentment between them. Snow needed a safe home, free of arguments and snide verbal attacks and Edge meant to see she had one. No matter what it cost him.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #drifters

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avocadolouie · 3 years

Note

do you think you could post a snippet of the awcdikb sequel 🥰

oh yes! I can indeed do that! fair warning though, this is utterly unedited at this point so there are probably some mistakes mingled in lol

to set the scene, (because I just yanked it out of the middle lmao) this is on Avery’s first day as an intern and harry basically shows up to Louis’ office feeling emotional about it and begs Louis to page her.

I hope you enjoy it! more to come soon!

“Dad?” Avery asks, brows pulled together in confusion as she walks into the office. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong, sweetheart!” Harry rushes to clarify. “I just—I missed you this morning. You left so early that I didn’t get to send you off properly.”

Avery turns her gaze to Louis next, knowing this was all his doing. “So, you paged me! Really, Papa?”

“Well, yes, because your dad really wanted to see you.” Louis explains, trying to justify paging her away from the rising mountain of work she already has on her plate. It may be her first day but she’s a surgical intern after all, the hustle never stops. “Humor him please, he’s emotional.”

“No, I’m not, Louis!” Harry adamantly defends once again, even though they both know it’s a boldface lie. But he soon quickly proves Louis right as he gets a good look at his eldest daughter and practically melts into an overly emotional mix of pride and fond. “Oh my god, Munchie! Look at you in your little blue scrubs and your white coat! You’re so cute!”

“Dad!” Avery whines, her face blushing red instantly. “Please, you can’t call me Munchie—I’m at work, I’m a doctor.”

“I know you are honey, I’m just so proud of you.” Harry gushes again, softly cupping her flushed cheeks in his palms. “Can I be proud of you please?”

“Yes, but, like, not when I’m literally trying to make it through my first day! I have work to do!”

Louis leans back against his desk, unable to keep himself from laughing fondly as he observes the two of them go back and forth with each other. He’s getting flashbacks to the days when Avery was still a teenager, a very argumentative and independent teenager. She had an answer for just about everything and she did not have the time for distractions. Avery has always been determined and focused, working harder than anyone to reach whatever goal she set for herself. And the thing about Avery is, she always, always meets her goals. Louis has always admired her steadfast tenacity.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Harry requests, playing the part of the overly proud parent almost to a fault. But Louis knows his husband isn’t even playing the part, he is genuinely bursting with pride over everything their daughter has accomplished so far, they both are. And with how much she has already overcome in her life, no one can really fault them for ever being a little over the top when it comes to Avery’s achievements.

“Daaaddyy.” Avery throws her head back and groans, looking exasperated and embarrassed and maybe even the slightest bit endeared all at once. “Whyyy?”

“Please, Avie!” Harry begs of her, with earnest, pleading eyes. “Just one and then I’ll let you go be an important doctor.”

Avery reluctantly lifts her chin back up to meet his gaze. “Fine. Just one picture.”

“Deal.” Harry beams so wide his face threatens to split down the middle with delight. He pulls his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, lifting it up as he opens the camera app. “Ok, now pose.”

“Pose?” Avery blurts, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Dad! Just take the picture please!”

“Avery.” Harry eyes her seriously, lowering the phone for a moment. “This is a very important day. You’re going to look back on this day and wish you had documented every second of it.”

Avery crosses her arms over her chest, giving her dad an incredulous look. “I’m going to want a picture of me on my first day as an intern? Posing? Really?”

“Yes, Avie. Really. Just listen to me for once.”

Louis shakes his head fondly, chuckling as his husband and daughter continue to bicker amongst themselves, both always and forever stubborn. It’s such a Styles signature trait, making a timely appearance nearly as often as their dimples.

Avery turns her attention to Louis, honey-colored eyes practically begging to be rescued. “Papa.”

“Just smile, Aves.” Louis encourages gently, giving her a knowing look. “That’s all you need to do.”

Avery sighs, dropping her arms from her chest only to stuff her hands in the deep pockets of her white coat embroidered with her name. She stands up a little straighter, tilting her head slightly to the left as her face erupts into the most brilliant, heart-stopping smile.

“Gorgeous, love.” Louis whispers, feeling that same bit of emotion slowly creep back up on him again. But for the life of him, he can’t help but see his little baby whenever he looks at her and it never fails to make him some level of emotional.

Harry snaps the picture and then just stares down at the image on his phone, studying it like he can’t quite believe it. “Aww, Avie…” His eyes start to water the longer he looks at the picture and before long he’s sniffling as a quiet whimper escapes him.

Avery closes the space between them, slipping both of her arms around him. “Don’t cry, Daddy.”

“I’m just so proud of you, Avery...” Harry whispers simply, as if he doesn’t even have the words. Which is quite rare for him, he always has more to say. Instead of more words, he holds his daughter close, squeezing both of his eyes closed as he takes in the moment.

And they stay that way, Harry and Avery wrapped up tightly in each other’s loving embrace for several minutes and Louis doesn’t say a single word or attempt to intrude. While Louis already had his overly emotional proud parent moment with Avery last night, Harry hadn’t properly gotten his chance up until this point and Louis is not going to stand in the way of that or cut it short in any way.

“I think we need another picture.” Harry decides suddenly.

“I thought we agreed on one picture.” Avery comments as she pulls back to look up at him.

“Yes, one picture of you.” Harry nods, swiping under his still teary eyes. “Now we need one of us.”

Avery sighs, shaking her head, but her smile is soft as she gazes at him. “Oh, Dad…”

“Lou, come here.” Harry beckons, reaching out instinctually for Louis’ hand. “You have to be in it.”

“Ok baby, whatever you want.” Louis clasps onto Harry’s hand and Harry tugs him in close to his side.

Avery positions herself in between her proud parents and Harry extends his arm to snap a selfie of the three of them, all smiling happily. It’s a lovely picture, one Louis will probably have printed so he can frame it and put it on his desk next to all of the other pictures of his beautiful family.

“I love you, Aviebug.” Harry peppers her entire face with gentle kisses before hugging her to his chest once more. “You’ll always be my little munchkin no matter how old you get.”

“I know, Daddy.” Avery grins, keeping her head rested against him.

Harry takes a deep breath, giving Avery one more squeeze before finally letting her go. “Ok, go change lives. Be as incredible as I know you are.”

“I love you both so much.” Avery leans in and kisses each of her parents on the cheek. “But please don’t page me again unless it involves actual medicine.”

Louis nods, suppressing a laugh. “Promise. Have a wonderful first day, Dr. Styles-Tomlinson.”

“Thank you, Chief Tomlinson.” She answers professionally, although a knowing smirk plays on her lips as she heads towards the door. And before she leaves the room, Avery turns and blows them one last kiss, smiling warmly.

As soon as she has left the office and the two of them are left alone yet again, Harry lets out the longest, drawn out sigh. “Lou, when did she grow up?”

Louis just shakes his head, absolutely mystified by the concept. “I wish I knew, H.”

#avocado asks #awcdikb

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otp-armada · 3 years

Text

Right before I woke up this morning, for a moment, my mind dreamt of a scene of Clarke on the Ring. She makes it to the rocket on time. It's her and Bellamy standing at the observation window, watching Earth burn. It's the two of them looking to the future, their people's and their own, together. 4x13 ends with a flash-forward of six years, but one of Spacekru as a family. As we see the eight of them laughing together at a dinner table, the camera pans to a weighted, happy glance shared between Clarke and Bellamy, him lifting their joined hands to his lips, two matching, thin rings of gold metal on their fingers. And that's how the audience comes to know they have coupled up. Boom. Out.

My ears are ringing from the collective shrieking we would have done.

My waking hours are here, and I'd like to play this scenario out to my specifications.

The first half of 5x01 is Spacekru flashbacks, showing us how they bonded to become a family and how Bellarke got together.

In the long, quiet comfort of the Ring, our heroes give voice to their past traumas and heal old grievances.

Clarke tells Bellamy about her father, Bellamy shares stories about his mother. She tells him about her father's kindness and gentle nature, his limitless heart. Jake's teases about Clarke drawing on every plain surface she could find, a habit that began with her childhood. Passionate as she was for sketching, she was in the midst of early medical training. Her exposure to the Council and the Chancellor is what gave Clarke her political acumen. Clarke recounts the games they used to watch with the Jahas. Before long, she's explaining the rules of soccer to a confused but amused Bellamy. Bellamy tells her what little he remembers about his parents before his father died. Aurora's smile. Her sacrifices for her children. Her tenacity. Her love of mythic stories she passed onto him. The overwhelming sense of responsibility she instilled in him from too early an age. Bellamy talks about the challenges of a life spent hiding a little girl under the floorboards from the Ark. Bellamy shares the rewards of being the only pair of siblings to have existed in nearly a hundred years. Unbidden by the role of big brother in Clarke's company, he gives voice to the constraints placed on his life. The hardships of living in Factory Station, while Clarke shrinks in guilt over her bountiful upbringing in Alpha. They both recall the pain of watching their parents get floated. There, in front of their eyes one second, gone forever in the blink of an eye. Clarke discloses that, while privileged, she was a lonely child. Were it not for Wells, she would have had no friends. She talks about him, what Bellamy never got to know about Wells Jaha.

The atmosphere shifts, and their conversations progress to contemporary times.

They discuss their respective tendencies to want to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. It takes time, but Clarke finally divulges why she felt compelled to leave Camp Jaha. How bereft she felt. Her nightmares and loneliness in self-imposed exile. Wandering around the freezing cold of the woods. Bellamy can't rein in the pain as he reminds Clarke that she didn't bear it all on her own. She couldn't have, not when he was the one left behind to pick up the pieces Mount Weather shredded. He was the one seeing their faces every day. She asked him to come back with her, to their people, once before, and he did. But when he asked her to do the same, she left. They both know it's not apologies he's looking for. It's a promise, a reigniting of an old promise made between two lost souls needing the other when the world threatened to drown them. They readily give in.

Their conversation takes an unexpected turn when Clarke explains why she gave in to Bellamy's plan to go undercover in Mt. Weather. For her to be strong enough to save her people, she couldn't let love hold her back, make her weak. From the second Bellamy left her sight, she regretted it. They both recognize it as the confession she didn't intend to say. Shock settles in. With newfound confidence, it triggers an admission of Bellamy's own feelings. Cue canon Bellarke.

Once the air between them is clear, it was only fair that the effects of Mt. Weather be a topic Clarke and Bellamy discuss with the third member of the room that fateful day. It leads them to the complicated subject of Jasper, the three of them breaking down in tears over their fallen friend.

Six years of peacetime spent in Clarke's company shapes perspective on the girl herself. She's not Clarke Griffin, the fierce and stoic Skaikru leader, equipped with all the answers. She's not Wanheda, the great legend. She's just a girl, with vulnerabilities, insecurities, fears, and demons, just the same as any of them. She becomes a person to them. Real flesh and blood. A human being who does indeed break. And no one is more startled by this revelation than Raven. It's another contentious relationship of Clarke's requiring time to mend. Although sharing feelings doesn't come easily to Raven, the two eventually crack their sibling-like rivalry where Abby and Finn are concerned.

It's the presence of a fellow cockroach well-versed in the glamourous lifestyle of isolation that gets Murphy out of his self-destructive streak. In their own ways, they have both been the outsiders. They make an uncanny pair of confidantes, so says the rest of the kru. But somehow, it works. Trust doesn't come easy for Murphy, and he and Clarke have their fair share of issues. Close quarters force the two of them and Emori to work it out. For all that Clarke excels at contrition, deserved and undeserved, she's also never been one to beat around the bush, no matter Murphy's preference to lash out in his signature style of sharp sarcasm at moments of his choosing. As it is for Bellamy, Clarke's belief in Murphy as a good man is an overwhelming force, one he is not sure he's worthy of, but privately welcomed nevertheless. In time, there arrives a sense of respect and loyalty between them no one foresaw.

Clarke's penchant for extending her hand to the outsiders doesn't end with Murphy and Emori. Clarke was the first to bring Echo on board and, she is the first to treat their errant Azgeda former spy as family. Post-season 4 to the series' end, Echo's character development is at the forefront of her story arc, never filtered through a subpar pairing needed to fuel an insipid love triangle where her leg of it is marked for eventual demolition.

Since I am bound by limitless imagination, let us pretend this was a 2-hour season premiere.

The flashbacks take us through the six years to the present. Spacekru's happiness is juxtaposed, as we transition to below the ground, by the hellscape Wonkru is trapped in. The second half of 5x01 is Wonkru flashbacks, a la 5x02.

5x02 takes us back to Eligius IV, to the passing of Order 11 (is that what it was called?). A young pilot named Shaw chooses to defy his captain's orders, releasing their prisoners. They proceed to take over the ship, killing Shaw's crewmates and captain, Charmaine Diyoza assuming command. She corrals Paxton McCreary and his men to her side. With their mutiny a success, Diyoza tells Shaw to plot a course for Earth. All the while, we see Shaw wrestling with the bloody aftermath of his decisions. They reach Earth's orbit, ready to go home, unknowingly under the watch of 8 survivors in space.

The Eligius prisoners touch ground on the last arable patch of land on Earth and quickly find themselves ensnared in a series of traps by an unknown number of assailants. Their assailant turns out to be a solitary preteen. They capture her, interrogate her. She speaks a language they've never heard. I'm making it a point to emphasize those infernal shock collars do not exist in my little world.

5x03 plays out similarly onboard the Eligius mothership. Our kru arrives, not to borrow a cup of sugar, but to steal the hydrazine for their journey home. Clarke, Bellamy, and kru debates the morality of killing 300 strangers in their sleep before deciding to use them as leverage. Raven and Murphy stay behind. Six Spacekru members fall to Earth and are captured by Eligius. They are taken to Diyoza, where they find a little girl dressed in Grounder garb. Bellamy and Clarke use their trump card to free themselves, Madi, and use their resources to locate Wonkru, with an additional promise to share the land and their knowledge of life on Earth.

5x04 plays out the same, more or less, without the awkward tension of a Bellarke trying to reacclimate themselves to each other's presence again. Diyoza brings Madi, Bellamy, and Clarke to Polis, where Bellarke negotiates for Wonkru's release. They meet Blodreina and her cult of warriors. Fandom squeals seeing Octavia greet her sister-in-law. Wonkru (and Blodreina) comes to realize that they have found a surviving Nightblood. Diyoza betrays the accord, taking Abby and Kane to Shallow Valley and leaving Bellarke and Madi at odds with Octavia.

5x05 sees Bellarke continuing to act in concert as a team, eager to reunite with their lost people while keeping a protective eye on Madi. Tensions brew between them and Blodreina. Marper and Echo return and they all turn back to Polis.

Blodreina refuses to grant pardon to Echo. Spacekru fights on her behalf, while Echo is willfully recruited for Octavia's mission. Madi meets Gaia under Clarke's watchful eye. When Madi is introduced to the Flame, Clarke tries to persuade her not to be swayed by the Flamekeeper's influence. Because this is my fantasy and I can do what I wish, it turns out that Clarke and Bellamy are expecting their first child. Clarke, believing the Flame to be a curse for its bearer, wants to spare Madi a bloody fate. She wants to abolish this aspect of Grounder culture, fearing the chances her child may become the next natural-born Nightblood. She dreads the possibility of her child as the next participant in the Conclave or the next Commander.

Another sidenote I am interjecting. Here, toxic motherhood isn't a defining characteristic of Clarke's, to aid in her isolation and subsequent, continual emotional decline. In my world, she gets to be a protective mother, a loving wife, a compassionate friend, and a caring daughter, all rolled in one little blonde package. She gives love freely, as she does in canon, but receives it in kind. She doesn't sink to rock bottom, nor must she, to be the heroine she is. She draws on the good and the bad experiences she's had to teach others. She imparts her lessons to those in need. Love is a commodity her life isn’t devoid of.

Clarke and Bellamy argue over what to do about Blodreina. Neither wants her to be harmed, but Bellamy maintains that she is, above all, his sister. He needs to believe Octavia is still within reach. He cannot abandon her now that they're together again. Clarke petitions Bellamy to take their family to Shallow Valley before it's too late. They compromise, agreeing to remove Octavia from the board long enough for Indra to take Diyoza's proffered deal. Their plans fail, as per 5x08, and Octavia arrests Clarke, an execution set for after the baby’s birth. We retain the glorious Blake scene of 5x08. It breaks Bellamy's heart to hurt Octavia, but she forced his hand. He has to protect his wife and their baby.

Tensions come to a head between husband and wife, courtesy of 5x09. Bellamy, having exhausted all other options, decides Madi must ascend to Commander to accomplish their goals. It is the only way to protect them all and save the valley. I am once again interrupting my spiel to remark that Clarke knows, unequivocally, she is included on the shortlist of family Bellamy is most ardently trying to protect. Forget "included," she's at the top. Clarke, ever the protective mother, disagrees, citing endangerment to Madi from Octavia and her patriots. Clarke argues that, of Diyoza and Octavia, Diyoza is the lesser evil to their family. As long as they remain within Diyoza's rules, they have nothing to fear from her. Bellamy, seeing Clarke's deep-rooted fear, agrees.

They are delayed by Marper, who wish to stay within the bunker, living off the revitalized algae farm. Bellamy and Clarke don't want to leave them behind until Monty points out that they, for once, deserve the chance to choose their fate, as all of the people of Earth. Octavia recuperates in time to arrest Bellamy, sending him to the fighting pit. Clarke fights to defend him but is detained. Clarke wants to fight alongside him, but they both know she has to live to raise their baby. They are permitted a final goodbye, and they have an emotional last exchange, a.k.a. Kabby parallel. Like Kane before him, Indra is forced to separate another family.

Octavia assures Bellamy that the baby will be under her protection. By now, Bellamy has reached the end of his rope with his baby sister. He loves her, but he can't distinguish her from the monster she's become, and it's about to cost him a life with his family. Disgusted, Bellamy scoffs at her overtures. He reminds her that his child deserves to have its parents. Clarke's earlier words come back as he tells her that she is his family's worst enemy. It wasn't enough for Aurora to leave him responsible for raising his sister at six years old. For the first time, his life is right, and she's the one who's about to take it away. He reminds her what it was like to lose her mother at 17, to never know her father. She knows how devastating it feels. Yet, left up to her, his child would be an orphan. He finishes with a devastating blow: it'll be those he holds as his family who will take care of his wife and child.

Clarke breaks free of her restraints, making plans to cause disruption to the bunker and getting Bellamy out in the ensuing chaos. She is stopped by Monty, who wants to use the opportunity to give Wonkru a better choice. Clarke tells him she isn't gambling Bellamy's life. Monty breaks again, pointing out that the last time he helped her and Bellamy, they split blood, and their plans still failed. Clarke reluctantly relents out of guilt, knowing how Mount Weather continues to haunt Monty. She does, after all, trust him with her life.

Bellamy fights Indra in the pits until the proceedings are interrupted by an intervening Monty, brandishing a pure, white flower in a sea of blood and darkness. Just as he begins to sway Wonkru to his non-volatile solution to the impending war, Blodreina forces compliance by burning the algae farm.

As Wonkru mobilizes for war, the fractured Spacekru and Madi take the rover to the valley to find their friends. They destroy the worms in transit.

They save an incapacitated Abby, who later recounts the Dark Year. Bellamy can't stop the horror he feels at the ordeal his sister has lived through. He feels a pang of guilt he knows is irrational while wrestling with the knowledge that she is still responsible for her choices now.

They reunite with the rest of Spacekru and are surprised to learn McCreary has taken control of the camp. With Diyoza and Kane's assistance, the eye in the sky is reinstalled, giving Eligius the advantage. As much as they want to prevent this war, they cannot leave Wonkru to die in the gorge. The group breaks off. One team is sent to disable the eye in the sky. The other team uses Madi's knowledge of the valley's layout to head off to fight alongside Wonkru in the gorge.

By the time they arrive safely, only Octavia, Indra, and Gaia are left alive. Bellamy convinces Octavia to retreat instead of sacrificing herself. He tells her she has to live with what she's done instead of taking the easy way out. For the most part, I'm picturing the scenes play out as they did in canon. At base camp, Wonkru is in disarray. Too many bodies are left littered from this war, with Blodreina at fault. To stop the in-fighting, Madi attempts to assume control by invoking her natural right to lead as a Nightblood. Some dissent, claiming she is not yet Commander. With support from Gaia, Octavia, and Bellamy (who makes sure this is what she wants), they sway Wonkru to Madi's side. Freshly invigorated, Wonkru prepares for a second assault.

Back on the Eligius ship, Clarke, Raven, and Shaw release an imprisoned Diyoza. They allow themselves to be captured and taken to the ship's central control. While McCreary attempts to force Raven to pilot their ship, she and Clarke regain control. Meanwhile, Bellamy convinces Madi to let the prisoners live.

From here, may I present two alternatives:

Scenario 1: Clarke kills McCreary before he can launch the missile from the mothership. With Spacekru controlling the ship's weaponry and Wonkru overtaking the prisoners, Eligius capitulates. After much deliberation, a new accord is reached, allowing for all survivors to live in peace as a singular society. Spacekru gets their 80 acres. The last of the 10(2) become parents to the next generation. It takes time, but Bellamy and Octavia's relationship heals. Eventually, she earns back her place in his life as his sister. She becomes one of many to welcome Bellarke's little one to the world, ecstatic to be a loving aunt. Generations later, the Earth recovers.

Scenario #2: The missile is launched. Earth's survivors must escape to space to survive. Marper opts out of cryosleep and has a son. It takes Monty ten years to realize Earth may never recover from its last doomsday. He wakes Spacekru+ to determine options. Between him, Raven, and Shaw, the three configure a self-running algorithm to decode the Eligius III mission files. They wire the pods to awaken its occupants every decade to check the algorithm's progress. The McIntyre-Greens go into cryosleep with some gentle persuasion from Bellarke. They won't leave their people behind. Thirty years later, Earth remains dormant. The files reveal the existence of a planet that could support human life, lightyears away, in the binary star system in the Goldilocks zone. They plot a course.

No, it's not as thrilling as the original ending. But if our heroes are going to traipse across the universe, only to return to their home planet, then Marper will not be sacrificed for nada. They will live out their days, a little older, a little wiser, but surrounded by their friends. They will not say farewell to their son at his ripe old age of 26.

There isn't much I would change about season 6, not where its major storylines are concerned. Clarke meets Cillian for his insight on Abby and Kane's deteriorating conditions. I would alter Madi's arc to where she takes the Flame in Sanctum and uses the time while the grounders are in cryosleep to train under Gaia's tutelage. Madi becomes attached to Bellarke, and it leaves her susceptible to Sheidheda's influence when her newfound familial figures find themselves at risk from the Primes. She'd see Sheidheda as a necessary evil to save her people, not unlike Clarke submitting to Lxa's clout. I would have Sheidheda preying on Madi's fears that she'd be alone again as she was during Praimfaya if she doesn't respond with vigor.

Season 7 gets a similar, substantial overhaul I've been thinking about for months but haven't yet written down.

The end.

(When am I going to stop with these sidenotes? After this last point, I promise.) Jason ran too tight a ship to let his post-apocalypse masterpiece become overtaken by frivolous romance. Without this pitfall, what stopped him from coupling Bellarke up before the end? Nothing. He could have a Bellarke that remained symbolic of the show's themes and mythos. A show that thrives on chaos would never run out of conflict to stir the pot. Falling apart and weaving themselves back together has been the model of their relationship since season one. Why couldn't they do this and be a couple? Why couldn't they have the Memori Model? They could have, but Jason chose the path of the slowburn. There's no fault in this. There is a fault in choosing to rescind the previously established story when it comes time for the threads to finally tie together. And I will never forgive him for it.

#bellarke #the 100 #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #clarke x bellamy #bellamy x clarke #my post #sandy's musings #this is awful i know and i'm sorry #I just needed a happy fix-it and this happened #the 100 fix-it #alternate season 5

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omg-imagine · 4 years

Text

⊱ Forget Me Not (8/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: Angst

A/N: I kept thinking this would be a short chapter but then BAM! words ahaha. Once again, thank you for the feedback! It truly means the world to me. I hope you enjoy!

Part 7

Since the spontaneous beach date in Santa Monica, time seemed to blend seamlessly from one day to the next. Nearly three, blissful weeks had flown by in a blink of an eye, and your relationship with Keanu blossomed like a fresh flower in the spring. The connection had grown more profound when the two of you crossed the line between friendship and romance, the sweet kiss on the sandy shores being the final push you needed.

The days that followed felt something akin to the beginning of the honeymoon phase in a relationship. Your parents had been right; Keanu was a good man who loved you very much. Each day he was winning over your heart more and more. He treated you like a queen with a tender adoration, unlike no other. He made you feel things you didn't believe anymore, pulling you away from the past you've known and despised, and replacing it with moments much better.

Keanu had made it his mission to bring you to all of the favorite places you used to go together. He took you to a fancy restaurant up in the hills, an art gallery you spent hours at, and most recently, a botanical garden where you found out about your newest affinity for flowers. Everywhere you went, Keanu shared with you cute little anecdotes from the last time you visited, adding more stories to cherish in your heart forever.

Along with that, you were also unable to keep your hands off of each other. Touches seemed to linger a little longer, and holding hands while out in public became the norm. You realized how much you were addicted to kissing Keanu, and how your heart would melt with every adoring look he gave after pulling away.

Sometimes, you would steal a kiss from Keanu when he least expected it. He would be in the midst of telling you about his day at the Arch office when suddenly, you would lean in and kiss the living daylights out of him. After a moment of surprise, he would quickly kiss you back, his lips perfectly melding with yours as he held you close. You didn't know of another man who could kiss you breathlessly like Keanu, and deep inside, you didn't want to.

You only wanted him.

Though the two of you had gotten closer over the last few weeks, you didn't miss the slight sadness hiding behind his eyes. Whenever you tried to get Keanu to open up about his feelings, he was often reluctant to do so, answering with short, vague responses that barely skimmed the surface. Something was clearly troubling him, and it was a bit worrisome that he couldn't tell you why.

But you still trusted him. Perhaps it was quite naive of you to believe that he has done nothing wrong, but he never gave you a reason not to. Your best guess was that he continued to blame himself for your accident. There could have been a quarrel that night, causing you to leave the house, which wasn't unusual for you to do so. After all, you did have a bad temper, and a bad temper was typically followed by impulsive decisions, usually unfortunate ones.

Such as driving in the dark, in the middle of a nasty storm.

And if you were correct, then Keanu shouldn't feel guilty about what had happened, and he needed to understand that.

"Y/N?"

A gentle voice spoke your name, and you glanced up, seeing Harry, the receptionist at the office. Your doctor had cleared you to return to work earlier that week, and you were excited to finally have something to do rather than stay at home all day. You weren't sure what exactly your job entailed, but being that it's related to one of your passions, you couldn't wait to get started.

"Hey, Harry," you smiled as you stood up from your seat, smoothing out the wrinkles from your blouse.

"Nicholas is ready for you in his office," the older gentleman informed you. "It really is great seeing you again here. Everyone was so worried when we got word of your accident and the amnesia. I almost didn't believe it until you walked in here and didn't recognize me right away. But all that matters is that you're fine now, and you're back."

"Thank you. I appreciate the card you sent me while I was in the hospital. It was lovely of you to do that."

"Of course, honey. You and I were inseparable, and I wish you could remember the shenanigans we've done here."

"Me too," you added. "Don't worry, one day we'll get lunch together and catch up."

"I can't wait." Harry beamed brightly, leading the way to Nicholas' office.

Stopping in the hallway just several feet from your boss' door, Harry turned around to face you. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," you answered, sensing the slight jitters in your body.

"Don't worry, Nick is a nice guy. You're going to love him," Harry responded before approaching the office and knocking lightly on the wooden door. "Sir, she's here."

Seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a tall man with a bright smile, joy and relief emanating from his face as his eyes settled on you. He was younger than you had expected him to be, more charming and good-looking, too. You felt Harry softly squeeze your shoulder before walking away, leaving you alone with Nicholas.

"I can't believe that you're back," he said, stepping to the side and allowing you to enter his office. "When Harry mentioned that you were coming to visit today, I was ecstatic. We've missed you around here. Well, mostly me because I thought I had lost the best assistant I've had."

Sitting down in front of his desk, you studied the walls around the room. It was decorated with what you assumed were his best works, as well as the plaques, certificates, and awards he had received for his talent. According to Molly, Nicholas was very well-known in the industry, and you were lucky to have worked alongside him.

"Impressive, huh?" You heard him say, and you shifted your gaze forward. "It took years of hard work and dedication. Not impossible as some people may think."

"I didn't pursue a career in this at first because that's exactly what I had thought—it was impossible."

Nicholas nodded. "That wasn't your mindset any more after you started working with me. You have the talent and tenacity. I could see you owning a successful business one day."

"Really?" You smiled at him.

"Surely," he replied, sliding a portfolio towards you. "Here, these are your most recent works. Back in January, we were doing this big fashion shoot in Prague. Soon after it was over, we went to Paris and then Milan. Your gift really shone at that time, and I'm very proud of how far you've come."

Flipping through the photographs, you couldn't believe that this what you were now doing for a living. It certainly was a step up from those boring 9 to 5 jobs you used to have.

"We actually have another project for a client coming up soon. It'll be a week in Japan, and I was hoping that you'll be well enough to come."

"That sounds amazing, and it would be an honor," you began, closing the portfolio and handing it back to Nicholas. "But I'm not sure if it’s the best idea to do so soon. I don't think I'm as good now than I was before the crash."

"Nonsense," Nicholas chuckled. "You are a natural, and I've known that since the very first day you walked in here. I'll tell you what, just think about it and get back to me in a week or two. I would really love to have you back on our team again."

"Okay," you nodded your head, accepting his suggestion. "I'll think about it and let you know if my decision changes."

"Good," he grinned, giving you two thumbs up before getting up from his seat. "Now, let me show you around and re-introduce you to everyone else. I'm sure they're all excited to see you."

---

You were practically skipping out of the building at the end of the day, overwhelmed with excitement knowing that you would be officially back to work next Monday. Although you wouldn't be doing everything you were usually responsible for, Nicholas was willing to use the time you're there to train you again.

As you walked to the quiet parking lot across the street, you heard the clicking of a camera shutter, a sound that was unmistakable in your ears. There was a sudden flash of bright light, followed by another click, whirr, and repeat. It was coming from behind you, you could tell, and your feet began picking up the pace. You could already spot Keanu's car which you had borrowed parked at the very end of the lot, and you quickly searched for the keys inside your purse.

"Damn it," you muttered when you stumbled, dropping your bag and its contents all over the concrete.

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest as you caught a glimpse of the stranger approaching you. It wasn't that you were scared that he might hurt you. You had become somewhat used to the presence of paparazzi whenever you and Keanu were out and about. But this was the first time that you were alone, cornered by one, and you didn't know what to expect.

"Here, let me help you, Y/N," the man's deep voice sounded as he crouched right beside you, a camera ready in his hand.

"No, it's fine," you gruffly spoke, grabbing your belongings and tossing them back into the purse as fast as you could. "Please, just leave me alone."

"Hey, there's no need to be worried," he assured. Though he wasn't menacing, you could tell that trouble lay ahead the more he spoke to you. "I only want to talk, that's all."

Finally, you stood up and swung your purse over your shoulder, walking briskly towards your vehicle. "No, I don't want to talk to you."

"Listen, Y/N, I'm running a story here about you and your boyfriend Keanu," the man trailed closely behind you. Merely a few steps more, you thought to yourself, and you would escape his bold intrusiveness. "There's been reports of your break-up before the accident—"

"Break-up?" you halted for a brief second, the mention of it catching you off-guard. Turning your head, you looked at the man in the eye. "You must be mistaken."

You didn't know why you were still talking to him. What you should be doing was getting inside the car and driving back home.

Back to Keanu.

But your mind couldn't shake away the strange feeling unexpectedly washing over you. You drew in a shallow breath, unable to ignore a certain uneasiness. You dared not to ask anything further, afraid that the man's answer would be nothing but hearsay. Yet, you remained intrigued, not fully understanding why. It sounded familiar as if it wasn't the first time you had heard it.

"Yeah, break-up," the man carefully nodded. "The two of you hadn’t been seen together in months. There were reports of tension between you and Keanu for a while. Surely this rings a bell, yes?"

You stayed silent. According to Keanu, no one outside your family and a select number of friends knew about your amnesia. His team hasn't caught wind of any article mentioning your current condition either, and you wanted to keep it that way.

"I-I have to go," you stammered out before promptly opening the driver's side door and sliding inside.

From the rearview mirror, you could see the man taking more pictures of you, even as you pulled out of the parking space. You drove away from the building and further down the street, turning into a convenience store lot once you were sure that you had gotten far enough. Putting the car in park, you sat there for a moment, hands still gripping the wheel as doubt gnawed at your guts.

The quiet purr of the engine filled the empty air, offering itself as a fleeting distraction from the hurricane of thoughts swirling inside your head. You didn't want to believe what some stranger had said to you, but you couldn't easily brush it off. It perturbed you, causing you to second guess everything you know, what Keanu has told you.

The perfect relationship you had painted— the one deeply ingrained in your mind for some time— was now falling apart. It crumbled down the more you tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle, your heart both seeking and fearing the truth. You had always ignored the possibility that Keanu could have been lying to you, pushing the idea of it away because you wanted to hold onto the happiness.

But perhaps you were indeed that naive after all.

---

Keanu flipped back to the first page of the script he had finished reading, thoroughly enjoying the plot and the storyline of the character he was being asked to play. He could see himself accepting the role and working on the movie scheduled to shoot early next year. The only thing holding him back once again was you.

Things between him and you were going great, to say the least. It felt like everything was back to normal. The kind of normal which Keanu had missed so dearly and at one point, thought that the two of you would never get to experience again. This entire journey of showing you the memories that you've lost was also reminding him of what was special about you. It reminded him of why he fell in love with you, something he had forgotten before the accident.

You would be coming home anytime soon, so Keanu decided to simply wait and discuss with you about the upcoming project. As he sat there on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through the hundreds of emails on his phone, another text came in from Molly, and he heaved out a sigh. Opening the notification, he then read the words on the screen, realizing that it was the same question she has been asking him for weeks.

Have you told her yet?

No, Keanu typed out and quickly hit send.

When will you? It's been weeks, Keanu. She deserves to know the truth.

Ignoring Molly's response, he deleted the messages and set his cell down on the coffee table. Keanu was lucky that she had not mentioned anything about it yet to you despite how often you and Molly were talking now. He knew it would only be a matter of time before she told you, however, either on purpose or a slip of the tongue. Keanu should be grateful that Molly was giving him the chance to confess to you himself instead of hearing it from someone else.

As if it fared any better the last time.

Keanu was mulling over his predicament when he heard the car pulling into the driveway. Quickly, he got up and headed to the front door, ready to greet you and ask you how your day went. But when he stepped outside and saw the crestfallen look on your face, the smile he had on faltered, withering away as he hurriedly met you halfway.

"Hey, what's wrong? Did something happen?" Keanu probed, bringing his hands up to hold the sides of your face. You didn't even glance up as you pushed him away, silently walking past him. You almost made it to the door when you paused, your body tense as it slowly spun around to face him.

"Ke," you said his name in a whisper, your teary gaze meeting his own. You opened your mouth again to speak, but no other words would come out. Keanu waited as you attempted to collect yourself, but your chest continued to rise and fall with rapid breaths. "I-I can't… There are just too many thoughts in my head. I-I feel so scattered."

Exhaling deeply, Keanu recognized it almost immediately. You were clearly overwhelmed, and he knew a way to calm you down. Closing in the distance between you and him, he placed a palm on your cheek, urging you to look at his eyes. "Do you trust me?"

"I-I don't know," you stuttered lowly, much to Keanu's shock. "I don't know what to think anymore."

"Then let me help," he spoke softly. His hand moved down to grasp yours, tugging it slightly as he began heading towards the garage, encouraging you to follow.

Punching in the code, the door opened slowly, revealing his array of motorcycles inside. Keanu led you to his most treasured bike, his sleek and elegant black Norton Commando which had become your favorite one to ride with him. He caught the hesitation etched in your features, so he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I need you to trust me right now, can you do that?"

You shrugged, eyes remaining downcast. "What are we doing?"

"We're going for a ride," Keanu answered before swiftly retrieving two helmets and the keys by the back wall. "Here, put this on while I wheel the bike out."

Moments later, Keanu was on the motorcycle with you sitting behind him. Your arms were tightly wrapped around his waist, afraid of losing balance. The bike idled underneath as he glanced over his shoulder, seeing you looking back at him.

"Don't worry, just relax and hold on," he said over the rumbling sound of the engine running.

Pushing the kickstand up, Keanu twisted the handlebars and smoothly pulled out of the driveway and onto the quiet street. Usually, he would have gone at a faster speed but decided to drive a mile or two under the posted limit. He wanted you to get used to the feeling of riding a bike again, which he hoped was currently working.

He felt you leaning in close, your chest resting on his back as he carefully navigated up and down the winding roads. The cool nighttime breeze blew gently into Keanu's face, but all he could focus on besides the path ahead was the heat radiating from you. A familiar warmth spread throughout his body as you clung on to him.

Yet another thing he has missed.

Reaching a red light, Keanu placed a foot down to steady the bike, waiting for the signal to change. He then looked back at you, noticing how your eyes had softened and the small smile on your lips. "Are you okay?"

You gave him a nod. "Yeah. I actually quite like this."

Keanu removed a hand from the handlebar and placed it above the one splayed on his abdomen. He intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing the simple touch to bring you comfort and reassurance. Eventually, the light turned green, and he started to drive again, the destination in mind just another mile up ahead.

Slowing down as he reached a bend, he brought the bike to a stop along the side of the road and shut off the ignition. Keanu slid his helmet off, brushing his messy locks back as you did the same.

"Is this…" you trailed off, seeing the bright lights of Los Angeles in the distance, the scenic view in front of you nearly taking your breath away. "This is the overlook from that picture back at the house."

Keanu smiled as he took your hand and began strolling through the grassy hill, bringing you closer to the edge. The sky was like a dark, infinite canvas with millions of twinkling stars painted upon it. They shone brilliantly in your eyes that were filled with wonder and awe. He led you to a wooden bench, gesturing for you to sit before taking the space next to you.

There was silence, and as much as Keanu wanted to break it, he let you bask in it for now. The overlook was a special place for both of you, not only because it was where he kissed you for the first time. It was the place you went to when life got too stressful, and you needed peace. It was a place for you to get away for a little while just to think.

"When I left the office, something happened," you revealed, your attention still on the skyline. "A guy approached me, one of those paparazzi, and he said we broke up before the crash."

Keanu's breath stalled as your glossy gaze slowly shifted to him.

"I know I shouldn't be paying them any attention or believe a word that they say," you sighed. "But it stuck to me and left me wondering if there's any truth to it."

This was it. It was Keanu's time to finally come clean. This was his opportunity to tell you what truly happened that night and the months leading up to it. As he sat there staring into your pleading eyes, he could already sense the hurt in them, and Keanu knew he would only be adding more.

"We didn't break up," he said tautly, his voice thick. "But for a while, we were in a bad place in our relationship."

"A bad place?" You repeated shakily. "What happened?"

Keanu licked his dry lips, his eyes flickering down in shame. "We were fighting a lot. I was doing a movie out of town, and the distance made it worse. I'd promise that I'd be home to spend time with you but never followed through. When I did come back, I let out all of my stress on you and pushed you away whenever you tried to get close. You were growing tired of it—of me. Meanwhile, I just ignored it."

Truth.

"The night of your accident, we got into a huge argument. I had said so many hurtful things to you that I still can't believe those words came out of my mouth," he continued, running a hand over his face.

Half-truth.

Keanu still couldn't force himself to admit it, the real truth. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't say it. It was already difficult for him to tell you pieces of the story. The memories of you and him screaming at each other and hurling insults broke his heart all over again.

If there was one thing Keanu had learned that night, it was that he couldn't lose you. He has gone through tragedy after tragedy for years, and he didn't want you to be another one of his devastating losses. He believed that he'd make up for his mistakes later on and prove to you how much he regretted making them.

Prove to you that he still loved you despite what he had told you before you stormed out of the house.

"Y/N?" He murmured, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, gently shaking you out of your daze. "Please, say something."

You blinked at him as you placed your hand on top of his. "We all make mistakes, Keanu."

"I know, and I didn't want to tell you because I was scared."

You knitted your brows. "Scared of what?"

"That you'd leave me. I was scared that if I told you that we were at the end of our ropes, you wouldn't stay. But I need you, Y/N. I love you, and I can't see myself spending a day without you."

"I don't like lies, Keanu." Shaking your head, you cupped the side of Keanu's face, the pad of your thumb brushing against the prickly scruff along his jaw. "You should have told me this earlier."

A single tear streaked down his cheek, and you wiped it away. "I know."

“But is that all?”

Swallowing thickly, Keanu nodded once.

Lie.

“Okay, I believe you.”

He exhaled a long breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep that from you.”

"You don't have to be perfect, Ke, because no one on this earth is. I might not remember how I felt back then, but all that matters is what I'm feeling now."

"And that is?"

You smiled softly at him before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. "I feel like I'm falling in love with you."

With his free hand, Keanu tilted your chin up so that your eyes could meet. Though there was less weight on his shoulders now, he had yet to share with you one last important detail of the story. He's now caught in a battle between telling you to clear his conscience or let the secret be forgotten but risk dealing with the consequences if you end up finding out on your own.

But when you leaned up to his face, your soft lips sweetly molding to his, Keanu saved the fight with himself for another time. Because god forbid you do uncover the truth and leave, he wanted to at least savor every moment he has left with you.

Part 9

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @fanficsrusz @toomanystoriessolittletime @awessomness @meetmeinthematinee @ringa-starr @ficsnroses @iworshipkeanureeves @keandrews @greenmanalishi @feminine-machinegun @thehumanistsdiary @lussdew @rdjloverxxx @flaminasteroid @danceoftwowolves @allie1804-fan

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves x you #my fics #reader insert #rpf

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years

Text

A Powerful Enough Dream (Ch. 8)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 4,177

Summary: Aqua traces Terra’s steps to what only seems like a nightmare, wedged into a dream for the future.

Read on AO3

A/N: I will be taking another break from this fic in order to work on my other WIPs, which are each incredibly time consuming, so I apologize! I hope everyone has been staying safe.

~*~*~*~*~

Stones, pt. 2

Seventh Heaven is a mosh pit of uneven stone, its renovated extensions made steady of wood, draped with drabby awnings of well-worn linen. It’s hard to tell if it always stood here and was damaged when Radiant Garden fell, or if it was built after the fact. Either way, it could tip over from one gust of wind.

The front door whines as Aqua steps inside. Wooden chairs are flipped on top of wooden tables, and the booths are empty except for salt shakers. It’s part-restaurant, part-bar, with a space free of clutter for dancing.

“Is anyone here?” Aqua calls out.

Footsteps hurry from the back, and a pretty woman in dark, long hair appears behind the bar.

“We’re not open quite yet,” she says. “Come back in a couple of hours.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Aqua holds her hand to her chest. “I’m not a customer.”

The woman cocks her head. Her smile is pleasant, but her red eyes narrow. “Then, can I help you?”

Aqua clears her throat. “I heard Terra stayed here with someone named Tifa.”

“I am Tifa.” She steps out from behind the bar, her stride confident and gracefully brisk. Her biceps are toned, and her fingers flex with the familiarity of someone who knows how to fight. “And who’s asking?”

Aqua braces herself - she’s not sure if she’s preparing for a punch to the face but it wouldn’t hurt to foresee it. Such protectiveness over Terra from someone he should barely know and yet is close to (and someone this curvy), sends a spike to her chest.

“Aqua,” she says with a tremble to her voice. “I’m Aqua.”

Tifa gasps, her stride slamming into thin air. “He found you,” she whispers. Closing the gap between them, she takes Aqua into a firm embrace - not tight, not suffocating, but motherly: a gentle reassurance that everything in the world will be okay. Aqua can’t help but to be moved to tears. Hugs are something people do. She just forgot.

“Where are these things supposed to go, Teef?” a man’s voice calls out from the back. In his hands is a box of metal spouts with curved ridges meant for pouring liquor. His spiked hair is jet-black, and he has the most familiar bright blue eyes; he’s just taller now, more imposing, less scrawny, but he wears that same goofy smile.

“Zack?”

He looks up and drops the box, steel clamoring and popping in sharp echoes. “Aqua?”

At first, silence thrums between them.

“You haven’t aged a day, either,” he says, mostly to himself. “Something weird’s going on.” He scratches his head, arguing something over in his mind before shrugging it off and coming at her with that indestructible grin. “Whatever. It’s hugging time.”

He yanks her in. Aqua grunts; his hug is like being shoved into a brick wall. It’s his shoulder plates, his muscles, his childish fever of gripping his favorite toy that crushes her ribcage. Terra is just as hard and strong, if not moreso, but he never feels like this. He’s warm, too careful of what he’s holding. Terra is the unseizable fort that promises a quiet night away from the danger. Zack is the tank that rolls over the threat, whooping all the way.

Aqua laughs. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Zack pokes her forehead. “Why did I have to wait twelve years before things got interesting again? I deserve good stories and better drinks.” He looks behind her, toward the entrance. “Where is the ol’ champ?”

Tifa nods. “A celebration is in order. I’ll make him the best steak he’s ever had.”

They’re so expectant, so ready to shower Terra with congrats, that Aqua can’t bring herself to give them the white lie of, He’ll be here soon.

“He’s…” she starts, not looking into their eyes, but in the spaces in between.

The way her voice wavers is truth enough. Zack’s immortal smile dies, and Tifa stares at a lopsided picture on her wall.

Aqua tells them what she can without confusing them: that he’s succumbed to shadow in rescuing her, in a parallel world where only the dark exists. So far, he’s still there.

She tells them that the only reason why she was in that lonely world to begin with was because she lost a terrible fight that warped the fabric of existence. She leaves out any mention of Xehanort or Unversed. In a world of Heartless, these people don’t need to be scared of anything more.

When they ask how quickly they can free him, Aqua says that it’s only a matter of time - it’s just difficult and very dangerous. But if he can do it, so can she.

Zack has helped himself to a booth, leaning back on the tabletop. Tifa stays standing, her eyes hard as gems and her arms tightly crossed like she’s using them as a crutch.

Tifa scoffs when Aqua finishes. “How many child soldiers have to sacrifice themselves before the worlds set themselves straight?” She heads back to the bar.

“Tifa,” Zack calls.

“Terra is too young to suffer that much,” Tifa shoots back. “So is Aqua. So are all of them - you see how young these Keyblade wielders start. Would the same happen to Sora or Riku?” She picks up the box he dropped earlier, twisting spouts onto glass bottles and slamming them back in their place with a loud clunk.

Zack sighs, rubbing his neck.

Aqua has never considered herself a soldier. A knight, certainly, someone gallant and faithful to a calling - not an ant that follows orders. But if she frames her calling as something akin to a general, or a king, then she could see what Tifa is getting at.

“Terra would have done the same whether he was a soldier, a Keyblade wielder, or an ice cream server,” Zack says softly, tossing a weak smile to Aqua.

Aqua sits across from him. She only nods in response.

Zack leans over, elbows on his knees. “I told Terra he looked like a hero. At the time, I couldn’t articulate why. He just seemed like the type.

“After hearing about this, I can say that’s the reason why. It’s not his seriousness or his determination… he just has balls. Even when he’s afraid - and I’m sure he must have been, saving you - he goes for it. No second thoughts. Staring the demon in the face even when he’s getting dragged all the way down.”

It’s not the most eloquent explanation, but Aqua smirks.

“I wanted to be like him one day.” Zack stands up, squats once, and stretches his arms, heading on his way to join Tifa. “I’m going to have to up my game.”

Aqua follows. “You’re a hero now?”

Zack snaps on a huge grin from ear to ear, fists triumphantly on his hips. “Finished work in progress, I’m kicking Heartless to the curb and helping the Radiant Garden cause.” He sits at the bar, not minding how Tifa has ducked under the counter to connect a tube to a spout. “That reminds me.” He brings his hand to his chin, measuring Aqua with his eyes.

Oh. She had hoped he forgot.

“How old are you?” he asks.

Thirty? Aqua sits alongside him. “Eighteen.”

“Then it’s fine.” He waves an arm dismissively. “Now that I’m bona fide… You remember our deal, yeah?”

Aqua tries her hardest not to laugh or blush. She’s relying on using Ven as an excuse this time. “Maybe?”

“One date for hero-hood.” He holds a finger up.

Tifa slams two glasses on the surface of the bar, studying Zack incredulously. “I’m not sure You-Know-Who, and,” she glances at Aqua, “You-Know-Who-Else would like that very much.”

Thank goodness, she’s saved.

“Aerith would love to join us.” Zack shrugs. “I’m not sure on the Who-Else, though.”

Tifa smirks and rolls her eyes. “There’s still packages to be brought here, Hot Stuff.” She gives him keys. “You can try strutting your swag when she’s actually interested.”

“Heroes doing chores,” he protests, dangling the keys in his hand.

“You should have asked Cloud for more munny before he left,” Tifa reminds him.

Zack groans, rolling his shoulders. Before leaving, he places a hand on Aqua’s shoulder. “I meant what I said. About Terra.” He’s serious, and it’s reassuring. “He’ll get through it. He’s made of the best stuff.”

Aqua dams the tears. Coming from someone they’ve all known from a previous lifetime, it matters. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Tifa offers Aqua a warm smile when they’re alone. “That was a close one. You’re too prim for most people I know.”

“E-excuse me?”

“You carry yourself a certain way.” She chuckles, nodding over to the way Aqua fumbles with her hands, properly layered over the other. “You know, Terra had dropped off something here.”

Aqua’s heart skips a beat. “My Keyblade?”

“Mmm, no.” Tifa eyes her curiously. “For you and Ventus. Some fruit from another world. I have it frozen in the back.”

“Oh.” She takes a moment to let the disappointment roll off, and focuses on the thoughtful gesture. “I’ll wait to have it - at least until Ven is with me.”

“Fair enough.” But as Tifa grabs a rag to start cleaning, she doesn’t follow through. Instead, she hangs her head and sniffs. “I only finished it yesterday.”

“Come again?”

“I had Terra on a rare potion to help him sleep. It kept him sane and in control.” She brings her head back up, wiping her eyes with her glove. “I didn’t have a second batch finished the last time he was here, so I told him to ration what he had left. I only finished it yesterday…”

“Did you know what was going on with him?”

“No,” Tifa says exasperatedly. “But I didn’t need an explanation. I saw it in his eyes. He was haunted by something very powerful.” She rests her head on the counter. “And I know someone who goes through the same. I wanted to help.”

Aqua traces at the grooves on the wood with her finger. “You kept him going. You helped him find me.” She doesn’t know if it’s true, but it’s a beautiful story for a person needing a prayer answered.

Tifa inhales like she’s meditating, her tears silent and sparse. She wills a smile on her face, and Aqua has to admire that tenacity - she can’t do the same so smoothly. Leaning her elbows, Tifa studies Aqua, from the crown of her head to her chin. She’s looking for something beyond just her face, and while Aqua normally doesn’t feel discomfort in staring anyone down, she finds the emptiness of the bar stealing her glances.

“I still have it,” Tifa says, “if you think it might be helpful.”

Does ‘Crazy Insomniac’ read well on the face? Aqua thinks grimly. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

Tifa nods, but she’s not approving. “Well, I’ll keep it safe just in case.” She settles her attention to a bar that needs to be wiped. “Terra stayed upstairs. It’s not the fanciest, but I try to make it comfortable. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

She points to the back, beyond the kitchen, where a rickety staircase bends over the corner, just as narrow as it is steep. The railing wiggles as she leans on them, and the steps moan with every climb. The top is a dense wooden hallway only populated by two doors. The one closest to her to the right is a washroom, its tub cracked and tiny.

The door farther from her is the bedroom, where every floorboard creaks. A small window twice the size of her head opens outward, looking over rooftops and watching dusk blend into night. The only table shelves three books, all with the titles worn out of their covers. Skimming through them, Aqua learns they’re romance novels. She lights the lantern by their side, burning it bright enough to ward away the shadows.

The bed is short, even for Aqua - Terra’s legs would have dangled off of them, but knowing him, he wouldn’t have complained or even noticed.

He had slept here. She only missed him by several days.

Aqua breathes in the pillow, looking for him. It’s freshly cleaned and air-dried.

“You’re not here,” she says out loud. She knows better than to expect different, but the words burn through her eyelids.

She pulls both blue and orange Wayfinders out.

Rolling Terra’s Wayfinder in her fingers, she layers it with hers, perfectly shaped and identical, except for the colors. Making them was supposed to tie a tether between them, a psychic link that lets him stay close. She focuses on that magic, praying for the sensation that he’s watching her, or a whiff of his scent, sandalwood and yeast, entering the room.

“Terra,” she calls. No one answers. She really failed with it.

Having bonds is supposed to brim a Keybearer’s heart with power. What if Xehanort’s beliefs are right? Aqua still has that bond to Terra, and all it’s doing right now is pinching her heart until it swells with an infection, crumbling it so that she has to scatter to keep it together.

If bonds really do make the heart weaker rather than stronger, then Aqua doesn’t have a proper defense for her Master’s teachings.

So Aqua stares at these Wayfinders until the busy noise of a crowd fills the room. Music plays downstairs. Some conversations are giddy and drunk, others are aggressive and drunk, but they blend into a chorus that performs without ever knowing she’s sitting a floor above them, thinking about all the existential magic that doesn’t make a difference in their lives.

So Aqua watches the stars twinkle through the window, a gentle breeze coming in but not threatening enough to blow the lantern out. People dance - it reverberates on the walls. She considers going downstairs and joining the fun. She decides against it. With all the ruckus, Aqua can’t really say she’s alone.

And Aqua rejects Tifa when she knocks, offering a hot plate of food. Tifa leaves her with a small bowl of strawberries just in case, letting her know that Sora is looking for her.

“I need rest,” Aqua says. “He’ll understand.”

Two hours after that, the night starts to quiet, its inhabitants straggling off for adventures.

But there’s always a few left, chattering. Everyone needs someone to talk to.

“Terra,” she calls again. No answer.

Maybe if she plays his music box, he’ll find a way to her.

On his bed, she stares at the ceiling, the music box playing the song of the missing and the missed, the chatter downstairs peaceful, the lantern burning strong.

Dozing off is like blinking, the hours nonexistent and the rest groggy and unfulfilled.

It’s silent. The candle in the lantern is halfway through its life, the music box needs rewinding, and there’s not a voice or movement downstairs. Tifa doesn’t stay overnight, so Aqua is truly alone this time.

She rolls over, and contemplates reaching over for the music box. Both Wayfinders sit idly on the table, side by side.

Aqua inhales. She smells smoke.

The flame on the candle flickers black, suffocating all the light in the room. Aqua whimpers.

Something grabs her from under, pulling her into the mattress as though a hole beneath her body is feeding.

“No!”

But there’s no one to hear her ripping the bedsheets or scratching the surface of the table as she fails to grip it. Eventually, her defiant cries are muffled by pillows and fabric, until she sinks, much like she’s done for years.

Aqua knows that to swim back up to the bed is futile. The Realm of Darkness must have waited for the right opportunity to bring her back to where she truly belongs... Or it was clever this entire time and really got her where it hurt the most. Being in the Realm of Light was too good to be true; it had to have been a dream, right? A Keyblade Master should have known better, should have anticipated the enemy’s movements.

She lands on nothingness. Her only choice is to choose a direction, but in a sea of black, it never matters.

No, something is different this time.

She whirls. Behind her is that girl in white, her blonde hair wrapped around her shoulder, smiling. Nothing smiles in the Realm of Darkness.

“Hello,” Aqua says.

The girl nods in return, her glow intensifying. Then she disintegrates into a cluster of white, holy butterflies, fluttering away.

“Wait!”

Through the nothing, Aqua chases the butterflies, and for a moment they’re too fast for her - if she loses sight of them, she’ll be stuck here forever again. She urges her legs to pick up speed no matter how it feels like she’s slogging through molasses; she’ll thank them for their service later with a real bath, as soon as she sees the Realm of Light again.

In the distance, the butterflies settle, illuminating a silhouette of a figure on the ground, one arm draped over one knee.

Terra. He’s admiring the tiny wings across his arms and shoulders. There’s one nestled in his hair, but he doesn’t notice. Aqua’s footsteps don’t make noise, yet he looks up when she approaches.

His eyes are blue: A gorgeous, deep blue that Aqua used to say was like the river before she saw the ocean for the first time. She’s told him to try wearing the color. It would bring his eyes out more, but he’d scoff at her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. He stays still, not disturbing the butterflies. “Please tell me you’ve escaped.”

“Depends on where I am,” she says, sitting on her knees and giving him a smile. It widens without her permission, with every glance at his jawline, his brows, his nose, as though the darkness around them can’t hurt her anymore.

“This is…” He shrugs with his head. “My existence.”

This was his prison for twelve years? The Realm of Darkness at least gave her something to do. “There’s nothing here.”

“I suppose it suits me.”

She doesn’t like how defeated he sounds. “I did escape, Terra. Don’t worry.”

He smiles in the way a person does when they find their bed after a long, hard day. He doesn’t have breath: this vision of him is compensating with a sigh in the only way it could. “I’m glad,” he says, as though the relief is heavy on his shoulders.

“And you? Are you safe?”

“As long as I sit here and do as I’m told, then sure. For the most part.” He has the gall to smirk. “He’s knocked out right now, actually.”

Aqua gapes. She never considered that Xehanort could sleep, or would even want to.

She should ask more pressing questions: something about Keyblade business, about the fate of the world, about Xehanort and Mickey, about Ven… But it’s the simple moments that she misses, that she wants to take back for a few seconds, to indulge in this dream before she has to play the Master. And it’s Terra, who always undoes her to a layer that no one else can see. He’s the only one who can.

“Does he snore?” she whispers, the words slipping out naturally.

Terra lifts a brow. “The man who will destroy everything and everyone in the next Keyblade War does, in fact, snore.”

It’s like a usual night, when they’ve snuck together into a dark library past curfew. “That’s because it’s your body. You’re the one who snores.”

“Just a little.”

“Just enough.”

He smiles. The look of it punches Aqua in the gut, dragging her beating heart down along with it. It’s meant for her. It’s meant for his best friend, and dare she wish that it could mean something stronger and closer and more. She steals one precious, little moment to study the way it never stretches to his ears. Most who don’t know him would assume it’s because he’s shy, or too polite. But Terra’s just the type that prefers his smile to ignite his eyes. She’s daydreamed about it for many nights, but this is a tiny detail she’s forgotten, and the sight of it sends another crashing bolt.

He’s really here.

“Terra,” she croaks, “I’m so sorry.”

He falters. “What for?”

What for? She’s replayed all the words she threw at him in her mind, especially the last ones. Of course he’d take them to heart and never direct the blame back at her. Sweet Terra.

“For not believing you when you said you were going after the darkness. For accusing you of doing terrible things in other worlds.”

“Aqua.” He shakes his head, and the butterfly that dug itself into his hair flounces before it measures if it’s safe enough to land in the same spot. “I know what it’s like to be forced to choose between your best friend and your Master.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have told you - I shouldn’t have even insinuated that you would keep going astray and keep doing stupid things. It was cruel of me. It was senseless. Please forgive me.”

He shakes his head again, and the butterfly opts to hover next to his ear this time. “I bet you counted on lecturing me all the way back home before we could go on as normal,” he says, brushing off any sign of hurt. “And I did do some stupid things. We couldn’t have known it would end that way, Aqua. There’s nothing to forgive. Everyone that’s important to me is now safe. I’ve made my peace.”

What is that supposed to mean? There’s no solace to be had if he’s not part of it.

In a flash, Aqua reaches for him. He reciprocates with the same desperate attempt, all the butterflies now in an uproar, enveloping them. Their hands pass through each other, through air.

Aqua gasps. The only thing she’s grabbed is one solitary butterfly, fluttering its wings.

Terra stares at his hand in disbelief, a wave of self-willed reassurance passing over his face. “It’s okay.”

It’s not.

She’s about to say so when he whips his head to the left as though he’s hearing movement. She looks over: there’s nothing but empty, inky space.

“He’s waking up.” Terra scowls, his voice laced with the disgust of someone robbed, and the disappointment of someone faithless. “He’s very paranoid. He doesn’t like it if I talk or move too much.”

“Terra-”

“I don’t have much time.”

There’s a finality in his statement that Aqua chooses to ignore. “But Ven-”

He catches her gaze, his eyes urgent and commanding. “Ven is with Sora.”

Aqua snaps her eyes wide open at the wooden ceiling above her. The morning sun beams through the window. The lantern has been entirely spent.

He never was here.

She jolts up, searching each corner for signs of him (though she knows better. She always knows better, and still she denies it). “No, Terra, please. I need my Keyblade.”

Silence. Tifa hasn’t arrived to start the day. Aqua’s Wayfinder sits alone at the table; Terra’s is on the floor. She must have knocked it over while she slept.

Throwing herself on her knees, Aqua holds his Wayfinder to her chest. She tries using it to feel for him, but even her heart won’t answer. “Come on, Terra, I still need to get to Ven.”

She won’t give in to despair. She won’t think about how she’ll never see him again; it’s just a reaction to the circumstances. She will continue to hold her chin high, continue to teach herself not to cry, continue to look forward. She knows better. Only when she’s sure she won’t fall apart does she relax, letting her head hang.

Something shines from the sunlight through the floorboards she’s sitting on. Aqua peers closer - it shines blue.

It’s desecration but she doesn’t care. Aqua nudges her fingers through the cracks, and it shifts. These floorboards aren’t well bolted, so it takes little effort to pull one out with a giant shriek. Then another. Then a third. Good thing she’s alone for now.

“Stormfall,” she gasps. Along with her armor, all kept together.

Her Keyblade is as familiar as an old friend who has waited for a visit for years, yet as alienating as clothes that no one believes used to fit. It’s much lighter than the Master’s Defender, much sleeker that it feels almost delicate, even though Aqua knows better. It’s sturdy, but groggy, as though it’s waking up from a decade-long slumber. It burns at the touch of her hand, slowly but surely recognizing who is holding it this time. It answers back; it’s home, and glad she’s returned.

She runs her hands down the blade, and traces the shapes of the key ridges at its end. At last, she hugs her Keyblade, and her heart remembers how beautifully the water glistens in the sunshine.

Within the hour, after she’s taken enough time for herself, Aqua will take one step forward onto solid ground.

#terraqua #aqua #tifa lockhart #zack fair #terra #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfic #i planned on releasing this last week #but held it because of what was happening #my fic

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dewitty1 · 4 years

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Just a Matter Of Time

@gracerene09

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Additional Tags: Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Hogwarts, Time Travel, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Age Difference, Divorce, Travel, Italy, Roma | Rome, First Time, Loss of Virginity, First Time Bottoming, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Top Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Implied Switching, POV Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Time Turner (Harry Potter), Cooking, Research, Drinking, Wine, Riding, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Secondary Theme: Travel Fair, Divorced Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Ministry of Magic Employee Harry Potter

Summary:

Draco's in a bit of a rut. He's nearing forty, divorced, and he still can't figure out how to make his Time Turner reconstruction work. He's bored, he can admit it, so he's not nearly as concerned as he should be when his pet project malfunctions and sends him twenty years into the past. That is, until he ends up relying on a nineteen-year-old Harry Potter for help and starts developing some very inconvenient—and possibly reciprocated—feelings.

Bookmarker's Notes:

Gorg💖😘👌

Excerpt:

"Not that I don't appreciate all of your help," Draco told Harry later that night as he cleared their plates from the table with an efficient flick of his wand. "But you've stayed in to help me research every evening for the past three weeks. Please don't feel you have to stay in on my account, especially as I believe we're in the final stages of the reconstruction. I've noticed the owl invitations out to the pub, and surely your mates will grow suspicious if you keep avoiding them." He gave Harry a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sure they're much better company than poring over musty tomes with an old man like me."

Truth be told, Draco very much enjoyed Harry's company and would keep him entirely to himself if given half a chance, which was precisely why he thought it best to encourage some time apart. He was becoming too attached, and nothing good could come of it. Reminding Harry of their age difference and pushing him to spend time with his friends, with people who still hated Draco Malfoy, was probably best for them both.

Harry's cheeks grew rosy, and he reached for his wand, cleaning off his plate before Draco could get to it. "Well maybe I like old men," Harry muttered, his flush darkening when Draco raised a single brow, doing his best not to show the sudden thrum of his pulse. "I just mean that staying in is a bit more my speed. Right now…" He shrugged, looking strangely self-conscious. "I don't know, everybody seems to be focused on reclaiming our lost youth or something. Lots of drinking, and clubbing, and making utter tits of themselves. I'm happy for them, and I definitely don't fault them for it, but I can't really relate. Everything's always so crowded and loud; it's too much. I'd rather…" He cleared his throat and looked boldly into Draco's eyes, his gaze determined. "If I have a choice, I'd rather stay in and spend time with somebody I care about."

Draco's already racing heart kicked into overdrive at the unguarded affection in Harry's eyes. This was so clearly a moment, and a momentously terrible idea, but fuck if Draco had ever wanted to kiss somebody so badly as he did just then. Harry swayed forward, barely even an inch, but it was enough to pull Draco into his orbit, and Draco leaned in to meet him, their lips brushing together in a feather-light caress. The kiss was tender and sweet, a gentle prelude to something more, and Draco desperately wanted to follow it through to the bitter end. And it would be a bitter end, how could it be anything else between the two of them?

Harry made a quiet noise of pleasure, and moved as if to press closer, to kiss Draco more deeply, and Draco's senses returned in an unwelcome rush. He placed his palms against Harry's chest and pushed, carefully easing him away and breaking their kiss.

"Harry…" Draco began, his chest squeezing as Harry's expression began to fall. "This isn't a good idea."

"Why not?"

Draco gave him a pointed look. Harry was smarter than that. "You know why not."

Harry sighed heavily, looking lovely in his petulence—Draco hadn't known Harry was even capable of petulence, and he found it all rather charming, much to his disgust. Salazar, he really was gone on the boy.

"Yeah," Harry said, his tone forlorn. "I suppose it's going to be pretty soon, then?

"I think, so, yes," Draco said, feeling similarly reluctant. "My old professor finally wrote me back and said I was welcome to visit as soon as I was ready. I was thinking I'd go this weekend."

Harry's eyes widened—he'd clearly not expected it would be quite that soon. "To Rome?"

Draco nodded. He'd planned to leave it at that, but instead found himself opening his mouth and offering, "Would you like to join me?"

The sadness that had been encroaching on Harry's expression was brushed away like dust off a bookshelf, and he grinned, excitement glimmering in his eyes.

"Really? I won't be in the way?"

"Not at all," Draco said, unable to bring himself to regret the offer. Some small part of him thrilled at the opportunity to show Harry the city where he'd begun to remake himself.

"I've never left Great Britain before."

"All the more reason for you to join me," Draco replied, officially warmed to the idea. "Though I should warn you, the journey is apt to be an exhausting one. I can't register for a Portkey, and I'd rather not risk creating an unauthorised one, which means we'll have to go either by broom or via Apparition. I'm thinking Apparating might be the best bet, though we'll need to do it in several stages."

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind." He slanted a sideways look at Draco, a sly smile on his face. "Though we should probably Side-Along instead of Apparating separately, since I won't be able to properly visualise somewhere I've never been before."

Certainly nobody had ever accused Harry of a lack of tenacity, Gryffindor that he was.

"Yes," Draco said dryly. "I suppose that would be best.”

#Just A Matter Of Time #gracerene #Drarry #Drarry fic rec #fic rec #Drarry fanfiction #Drarry squad #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Carey's bookmark fic recs #Carey's personal bookmarks

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hclywater · 4 years

Text

⟨ 💌 ⟩ @sweetmarzipan ! valentine’s meme, NOT ACCEPTING. 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 . 💋 + mickey & charlie

it’s nearing the end of the night, charlie knows that, but he aches knowing just as well that other will inevitably return home and both will sleep alone tonight.

why was it so hard to let him go tonight ? they’ve done this before, haven’t they ?

‘ a thousand times, ’ he tells himself, ‘ we’ve done this a thousand times ’ — spent the evening together, playful banter and laugher filling their lungs, lazing along busy streets, milling through groups of students enjoying their weekend. like a thousand times before, cheeky boy shuffles closer to mickey’s side, arm slipping around him to guide him through distracted groups ; just so i don’t lose you, head turned and neck craned to whisper, lilt of a smile evident in softened voice.

by now, he’s forced himself to let go, give him the space to walk freely. yet as they approach intersection, charlie tests just how close he can walk beside other before knees go weak. tenacity mounts as their hands brush against one another’s, fingers momentarily tangling by happenstance ; as he spots the entrance of yeouido park, he purposefully slots digits between slender ones to tug him in new direction. gently does he pull him away from the crowds to secluded spot, away from prying eyes. couples dot the street lined with cherry blossoms, snapping photos to remember their night together, oblivious to anyone but each other. he thinks to do the same, that he wants the same, but perhaps not on film. mickey is still talking as they walk, something about a video game they’re playing, but all he can hear are own thoughts, urging him to his own point, and the thump of heart pounding in ears.

he can feel his stomach knotting together as gaze flickers from wide, brown eyes to plush tiers that move with enthusiasm about something he’s still struggling to put together. finally joined pair stop after strangers’ conversations fade out of earshot and they’re left with the muted sounds of the city beyond blooming park. reluctantly he releases gentle hold on mickey’s hand. abruptly lips stop moving in response to charlie’s peculiar behaviour, lost is his chance to clue into conversation. why are you so quiet ? reticent question remains unvoiced, though other’s�� brow wrinkles in intrigue ? perhaps, frustration as he’s realises how tuned out other is.

‘ kiss him, dumbass. ’ a chorus of his friends’ voices echo in his thoughts.

never has he been good at lying, or hiding anything for that matter, he had a tell – or a few ; elder’s aptitude didn’t fare any better in face of best friend. with breath meant to clear his thoughts, every one of his anxieties retching up from the recesses of his mind, arms extend until wide palms have found the small of younger’s back. now he’s left with no excuse with bodies so close, moments eclipsing with no protest to gentle hold, no rejection to his sudden advance.

“ i’m . . i’m sorry. can i – ” kiss you ?

he wants to finish with grit, but words fail him, fading at the tip of tongue. so instead, he garners strength to finish with action — carefully, so carefully, do lips find mickey’s, tips of trembling fingers hooking into the fabric that clings to lithe waist as opposite digits rise to slot through the hair at the base of his neck. eyes fall shut to luxuriate in a moment he thinks to be a singularity, an idiosyncrasy that will only end with an awkward explanation.

despite nagging thoughts to the contrary, mickey remains steadfast in his place, leaning into his touch ? anxieties melt away with each tender brush of plush tiers against own, lips slowly moving together, falling into brief rhythm. every part of him craves for more, to remain in this moment a world away from reality, yet he knows it can only be fleeting. so it’s with reluctance he pulls away. eyes fluttering open as a woozy smile ebbs across features, attention immediately flickering down to mickey. searching other’s eyes for affirmation ? assurance he hadn’t muddied the waters of their increasingly peculiar dynamic. the ghost of a smile toying at the edges of mickey’s lips eases immediate worries, eliciting muted sigh of relief.

hand once locked in dark tresses, shifts to smooth thumb along supple skin of younger’s cheek, lingering against his jaw as gaze flickers from dark hues to the curve of dreamy smile. “ what if you didn’t go back to your dorm tonight ? would i get ‘ the look ’ from isaac the next time i see him ? ” nose brushes against other’s, warmth of breath and airy laugh filling the space between, “ we could play luigi’s mansion and - ? we can cuddle while we do . . . ” bashful does he become with next words, “ and i finally don’t have to pretend i’m distracted by the mice . . . and not you. ” cheeks, still brushed a soft pink, arch impossibly high as lips pull back to reveal the lopsided smile he’s famous for.

#i . ..#got carried away u/////u #╰ ｓｈｉｐ ⑊ charlie + mickey #𝘧𝘵 . sweetmarzipan #long post tw*

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evien-stark · 4 years

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✧I Need You✧ Chapter 96

While tensions were middling and approaching high, you thought it might be a good time for a team get-together. A little reminder that you were all in this together, no matter what challenges came for you. So you put out a small invite amongst your little family. The Avenger side and the Stark side, and luckily for you, everyone got back with a warm approval. So. With the end of December holiday out... A New Year’s party was on the docket. Almost immediately after Steve had confronted you. The quicker you could get everyone in a room laughing together, the better. It was almost a little disheartening to see how they all sort of… drifted when you and Tony weren’t directly around.

But, after the next day, you yourself had something to make up for. And you were glad Thor hadn’t spited you by disappearing yet again. You may have deserved it, after all that- even if he had deserved it initially. But if you kept playing that game in an endless circle, who knew where the two of you might have ended up?

He was on the deck in the freezing afternoon air, sitting on the edge. Noticeably absent, you couldn’t help but mention, as you drew your coat around you tightly and moved to sit down. “Where’s Jane?” You really had wanted to speak with her a little more. Get to know her.

His smile was faint but fond as he turned to look at you. “It’s good to see you, Lady. Jane had to leave to attend a conference. She will be unable to attend the festivities. She asked me to send her apologies.”

“That’s alright.” It kind of sucked, but it wasn’t the end of the world. “It’s good to see you, too. Uh… I hope you’re not mad Tony and I took off like that.” Just deciding to get this over with now.

A small huff of laughter escaped him as he shook his head. “Not at all. Although I think I would have liked your help around here a little more than anyone else’s.”

“They picking on you?” Teasing him a little.

He grinned. “They would be foolish to try. No. I just thought… you built this for us, didn’t you? It would have been nice to see it through your eyes.”

You weren’t sure what he was getting at, really. It was just some living quarters. Not bare, pretty well put together- if you did say so yourself (and you did). But it wasn’t like a kingdom or anything. “I built it for us, yes- although- technically- Tony did a lot of the actual building.” As if he’d ever let you forget it.

“As did the hands that put down the stone, I’m sure. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” He turned half aside to look at you, so you returned the gesture, sitting back a little to look at him. “How are you, Lady?”

It would have been nice for him to expand on whatever he was trying to get at, but with the subject change you found yourself shrugging. “Just got back from a little retreat, and I already feel like I need another one. How about you?”

“I am… managing.” You really weren’t expecting this- although only just now did you remember what he said to you on the phone a month ago, before you caught up with him. Blue bloomed forward from him and he settled his hands together. “I was given free reign- I am no longer tied to Asgard. But my heart aches every time I think of it.”

“Are you- are you debriefing me right now?” Worried he was just giving you an update because somebody told him that’s what he was supposed to do. “Because you don’t have to do that. We don’t have to talk about- ...any of that, if you don’t want to.” Not wanting him to feel forced into sharing.

He found another smile, raising a hand to clasp your shoulder. “I am grateful for your care, as always, Lady. But… If you wouldn’t mind…” He seemed to be having trouble saying whatever it was he wanted to say.

Trying to suss it out was difficult, but you tried your best. “I’m here, if you wanna talk to me, Thor. I’m not going anywhere. ...even if it is freezing up here.”

You were rewarded with a short clap of laughter. “Shall we go inside?”

“I can make hot chocolate. And you can tell me whatever you’d like.”

“I’d like that.”

He offered a hand to help you to your feet, and the two of you went inside. Instead of staying in the Messhall, you took him upstairs to the penthouse. Tony was downstairs in the lab working, so you expected that would be the most private place to be. While you set some water to boil on the stove and he sat down at the table, he started off quiet.

The last battle- the one that had brought Malekith to earth- had been a hard fought one for him. As you assumed it would be. He had told you that Loki had lost his life in trying to aid him and Jane, and you expected that’s where his sadness was coming from. Though Loki was by no means your favorite person, and you would have liked to speak with him, the fact that he was Thor’s brother and Thor’s love for him was no secret, made it that much easier to understand his grief.

But then…

Then he told you of Frigga. His mother. Warrior Queen. Not a woman to be trifled with. And how she had come to perish by Malekith’s malice.

You settled your hands over his then. “Thor, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes avoided yours, downcast, yet he bravely showed a soft smile. “I think of her- often- there is so much still I wanted to say. So much I fear I still needed her for, and now…” You remained quiet, to let him talk. But he looked up suddenly and locked eyes with you. “She would have adored you.”

“Me?” The word popped out of your mouth before you could try to stop it. Incredulous and confused. Thor was the teammate you’d known for the least amount of time. Though it didn’t mean you liked him any less- surely not. You really did enjoy his company, and you trusted him, like you did the others. But for him to say this to you knowing it was equally true from his end?

“You remind me of her strengths.” “Thor-” You were sure he needed to go to therapy. Very soon. Not sure why he was meshing you with his deceased mother, no disrespect meant- but…

“-when you were yelling at your leader. Ellis. It was then I knew you had the tenacity to lead everyone.”

“To be fair, I don’t consider him my leader.” Quickly throwing this in. Because. Come on now. “He calls me for help more often than I call him. Which is never.”

“Because you are wise. And you know the measure of what it takes to get things done. And this team- the people you’ve brought together- they look to you for guidance.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I think we sort of help each other out the best we can.”

“A great leader is also very humble. So I’ve been told.” Grinning at you then. “Do you remember what I said to you that day?”

You paused, eyes drifting as you tried to think about it. It was probably important if he was bringing it up. So you felt bad for not remembering it in total. “Something about how leaders worry about their people.”

“It is the wisest and strongest of leaders who worry how they will heal their people after war. This was a wisdom that my mother passed to me, meant to cull the heat of blood and battle brewing inside me. Meant to help me look at everything else aside the swing of a blade. And when I spoke it then, I was sure of its truth.” Ah, that explained it. He’d passed an idiom from his mother to you the last time the two of you had really spoken. That’s why he was thinking of her, and you, in such a capacity.

But it still didn’t sit right with you. In fact it made you feel a little weird. If you kept turning him down about it he might get his feelings hurt and he was no doubt in a sensitive place right now. But… but. “Well- ...thanks. And- I’m sure I would have liked Frigga, too. Mn… who knows. Maybe I would have even liked Loki. Had I meant him under normal circumstances.”

Though at this, he let out a genuine bark of laughter, and gave a hard pat to your back. “Now you’re going too far. For all I knew and loved of Loki, trust me when I say the two of you would never have gotten along.” He softened up, smile gentle. “But thank you. For your kindness.”

---------

Unlike the last party you’d thrown in the Tower (and not thinking about it… not thinking about it…), you let your support staff help you far more. It wasn’t like everything needed a personal touch and, even though you knew it was highly unlikely another event would occur- you made a promise to yourself to not leave the building. Because you didn’t need to. No need to go out and get anything- so why go? Right?

...it seemed like everyone else was of the same mind. Your attention was always divided or taken up by one or more people. Never alone for too long a time. It was almost a little frustrating, that everyone kept checking in on you, even though they were making great attempts to make it not appear that way. But… it was also endearing. But. Again. Frustrating. Like you couldn’t be trusted to not leave if no one was keeping an eye on you? You weren’t a child.

However. When Nick Fury and Maria Hill came over to you- invited because… you thought it might be a good idea to maybe have them a little more on the team than off it- your attention was snapped up by someone else in a literal matter of seconds. Just about as soon as Fury said, “I need to talk to you.”

Steve tapped your shoulder. “Hey, mind if I cut in?”

Fury threw a dry look his way. “Crazy coincidence, don’t you think? Though other people might call it bad manners.”

Maria sipped at her drink. “Just wanted to say hi. And thanks for the invite. It’s nice to be included in these fancy parties.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll be sure to throw some more often. It’s better to see each other at a party than a war, I think.” Not sassing her because she really hadn’t done anything. But you did smile in just such a way at Fury. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Sure thing.” Taking a long pointed sip of his own drink as you were whisked away.

It was lucky that Steve had a cover that probably seemed familiar to him. Though it wasn’t really that kind of party, apparently the small little section of empty floor near the lounge had attracted a few couples shuffling their feet. Rhodey was dancing the evening away with his plus-one. Some woman by the name of Alison Green (you reminded yourself to check into her later). Big soft eyes and long brown hair. Seemed alright. Pepper had some man toting her around by the waist- though she seemed happy so you decided not to say anything about it. And even Clint and Nat were getting their steps in together. Though their murmurs clued you in to the fact that they were probably gossiping.

There was slow but jingly music playing, a playlist that you’d curated for the evening. Just enough to pretend to dance to, as Steve took your hand in his and settled the other one just slightly above your waist. You followed suit, not wanting to be rude. But…

“Could you have been more obvious?”

“What’s the harm in a dance?”

“I might as well tell Fury I quit, at this point. Or that you want me to quit. With a stunt like that, he’s going to think we’re plotting something against him. And I’d really like to not start barking up that tree.”

Steve, wonderful man that he was, actually looked right over at Fury. Who looked right back. “You think he’s that suspicious?”

So you stepped on his foot purposefully. “Eyes here. Really. And they let you do field work?” Teasing him but also feeling your frustrations mounting.

Though you hadn’t hurt him in the slightest, he looked down at you with a grin. “Ouch. You don’t know a simple waltz? I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth and I-”

“Hey neither did I. Thank you. I just think you should probably try being a little bit smoother about all this.” He had the best of intentions, of this you had no doubt. Steve had a good heart. A very big… sometimes- well certainly not stupid but… innocent? If that was the word? Naive, maybe. It was why you didn’t doubt him. Or mistrust him. But this was all becoming a little too much.

Tony’s voice flitted in between the two of you. “I teach a class in smooth. Every Wednesday and Friday. We should hang fliers up.” Standing there at your side so suddenly, martini glass in one hand, the other in his pocket. Eyebrow popped. An appropriate look. Not to mention devilishly handsome, as he took a sip of his drink. “So. What needs smoothening? Old man need some tips?”

Steve let go of you, rebuffed. “I was just trying to get her out of his way.”

“She can handle herself.” Grinning a little. “She takes my classes.” Holding his drink Steve’s way, “Here, hold this.” And when Steve took it without question, Tony took your hand in his. “Thanks. Now stay there and act casual. You might just get the hang of this yet.”

As Tony’s arm came around your waist, you smiled up Steve’s way. “Thank you for the assist. But seriously. Enjoy the party. I’m good. Don’t worry about you-know-who.”

“I don’t think he’s read Harry Potter, honey.” Pulling you away towards the windows that faced the deck. It was nearing midnight. The fireworks would start soon. Once there he angled a look your way. “He’s really that nervous?”

“That obvious, huh?”

“To just about everyone in the room. This isn’t that kind of party- no offense to the drifters over there. Asking you to dance was the worst move. Might as well just have said the kitchen was on fire.” Though Tony was rambling, a little quickly, his usual go to for either a mountain of frustration or anxiety, you sensed neither from him.

“I tried to tell him that.” Reaching up, you smoothed your hands across his chest. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m not trying to invite more discord into our house. If Rogers can’t grasp the art of the double-face, he’s in real trouble.” His hands came to your hips, pulling you in just a couple inches more.

You couldn’t help the light smile. “I told him that.” Made fun of him, really, about his ability to do field work. But he’d taken it in stride. “Besides… I like that he’s so honest.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Oh. Are we doing evaluations now? Let me throw mine in- he’s asking for trouble.” Just there you caught the hint of what he was feeling. And it wasn’t frustration. Or anxiety. It was anger.

On your behalf.

If there were a moment for your heart to melt… “You’re mad at him? -because of me?”

“You know, I heard Thor thinks you’re the leader around here. I’m inclined to agree.”

“Where did you hear that?”

He ignored your boggling and continued. “He’s peacocking. When he needs to be little-mousing. You can handle yourself.”

Damn it all, you couldn’t help your smile. “Yeah. I think you said that to him already.”

“I’ll say it as many times as it needs to be said.”

A hum escaped you, playful, as your hands shifted up, touching along the sides of his neck, drawing him down closer. “If I can handle myself… shouldn’t I be handling this? And not you? Seems like you’re doing a lot of speaking on my behalf…” Tone warm, not offended or upset in the slightest.

“Yeah, well…” A countdown was starting behind you. People had their champagne glasses raised. “That’s my job.”

“Oh is it now?” He was so close as some giggles escaped you. Your noses brushed.

“Yeah. It is. I’ll tell anyone off for you. Call it returning the favor for faithful years of service.” Doing the same, he meant. Even before your entanglement. That had sort of been your job. And you were still doing it for him. Of course. Not even just news reporters or the usual ill-wisher. But…

Anyone. Anyone who said anything poor of him. Because you loved him. And you’d protect him no matter what.

The room lit up in cheers, and outside over the city fireworks touched the sky. “I love you.” Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in for one of those ever-so-sweet New Year’s kisses. But, heat was not too far behind. “I could do with a little service.”

He hummed a little laugh against your lips. “Good news, the mechanic is in. Time to sneak off?”

“We’ve been here long enough.”

“A record amount of time, I’d say. We deserve a reward.”

You nipped at his lower lip, tone breathy. “Take me upstairs. I’ll give you a reward.”

The sparks that flew off him were immediately contagious. Or was that you? Cycling into him, back into you? You didn’t really care. But it could potentially be dangerous. “Yes, ma’am.” One last lingering heated kiss while the room around you was still celebrating. And then he took you by the hand, bypassing curious eyes with a slide around one of the bookcases and down the back staircase away from the elevated lounge.

After that it was pretty much free game to get to the elevator.

True to your word, reward you did, after the two of you stumbled out of it, discarding clothes as you went, locked to one another in deeper and deeper kisses. In the bedroom you pushed him with an easy hand to his chest, and followed closely after. And- as promised- on your hands and knees, fireworks just finishing their grand finale, you rewarded him. A steady hand, firm grip, and wet lips.

His hands tangled in your hair, suddenly finding it very hard to catch his breath. When he finally could, when you were done, he wasted no time in turning the tables quite literally. But you eased him up closer for a lock of lips, your arms around him, his weight just bare above you. Warm and complete. With a shaky groan, his head at your shoulder, he found his usual stamina up to par, but you kept him slow as he filled you almost to bursting. Just something about him. Always him. And that light between you. You wanted to ride it forever. So you did. At least, for as long as you could.

A very wonderful start to a brand new year. Maybe this one would be better than the last.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter Ninety Six

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raendown · 5 years

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 1957 Soulmate au: The one where you have a black stain where your soulmate will first touch you and when they do it bursts in to color

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Chapter 199: Madara/Tobirama

Madara wore gloves. The habit was a common one among both shinobi and civilians not willing to risk find their soulmate in unwanted places, a habit that Tobirama himself followed religiously everywhere but inside his own home, so it wasn’t something that should had stuck out as much as it did. Yet on the days his eyes lingered he couldn’t help but notice that Madara wore gloves no matter where he went. More than that, he clothed himself in the traditional Uchiha garb even when many of his clansmen began following other fashion trends which meant that he was covered from head to toe. If one were hoping to discover Madara as one’s soulmate there were no visible marks to give hope.

It was lucky, then, that Tobirama was clearly not hoping for anything of the sort. Obviously.

No matter the hopes and distractions that so often filled his mind to never be given voice, Tobirama’s thoughts today were tainted with a somber, maudlin sort of flavor as he lounged on the sill of his office window, fingers picking at the leather gloves that covered them. The day was hot and his palms had been sweating uncomfortably since noon. If he were bolder he might have taken after the new trend of leaving the gloves at home while inside the confines of the village, if he were more trusting he would have recognized that anyone who lived here in Konoha would at least be a safe match. If he weren’t clinging to dreams with all the stubborn tenacity of a child he might have been able to move on from the fantasy of an impossible match.

Turning away from the window and leaning back against the pane of glass, Tobirama lifted his hands to stare at the gloves covering them. He’d been holed up in his own office since midmorning with no one to disturb him, busy as they were with the festival raging through the streets below, so it couldn’t possibly hurt anything to let his palms breathe a little while he was alone. Anyone who might bother him here was occupied with festival activities. Most likely none of them had even noticed the lack of his presence – except for Izuna, maybe, but only in the sense that his old rival had promised to chuck sweets at his head and was probably disappointed that he hadn’t had the chance to yet.

Peeling the gloves away from his skin outside the safety of his own home felt akin to the thrill of breaking a rule. Feeling much like a naughty child doing something he knew he wasn’t supposed to, Tobirama smiled bitterly and with affected carelessness tossed the gloves away from himself towards the desk. He didn’t need company. It might have been nice for someone to notice his absence, might have even been nice for someone to want his presence enough to drag him down in to the festivities despite how he would surely protest, but it wasn’t necessary. There was plenty to keep him occupied here and all of it was necessary to the survival of the village. Perhaps Tobirama did not have a large social network quite the same way his brother did but he had more contacts in more places than any spy could dream of. He performed so many functions without which the infrastructure of the village would collapse and he didn’t need anyone’s acknowledgement to know that he was vital.

That was enough for a man like him.

On a whim Tobirama retrieved the papers he was meant to be working on and settled back in to the window seat rather than read through them at his desk. The seat here was more comfortable and without anyone here to see him so casual he could be productive without risking a back ache for once. That was nice. As it always did, time passed him by almost unnoticed once he sank himself in to reports of orphancy in each of the clans and budget proposals for how many orphanages would be needed. Could he request foster homes in the interim? He wondered if some of the families might be encouraged to adopt if offered a tax benefit for doing so.

With his back to the window Tobirama had only the shadows in the room to judge how much time had passed when the door to his office opened and startled him out of his work coma. His guess would be somewhat more than two hours, just long enough for him to sink so deep he hadn’t felt Madara's chakra approaching. It was hard to tell who was more surprised between the two of them when their eyes met.

“The hell are you doing here?” Madara demanded.

“I would posit that such questions apply more to you. This is my office.”

“Quit being wordy and keep quiet, I need to hide! He’ll never look for me in here!” With no more explanation than that Madara slipped in to the room uninvited, closing the door behind him with exaggerated care.

Tobirama canted his head to one side curiously. “Do you know that you have flowers in your hair?”

“Yes,” the other man hissed. “Your brother is high on spring or whatever and he’s determined that everyone else should share in the joy. He’s been growing flowers in my hair all evening. I can’t get them out!”

“Ah. He does that. It’s the main reason I learned to keep my hair short.”

Well, that and he’d looked terrible every time he tried to grow it out.

“Hilarious as it is trying to picture you with long hair”-Tobirama really hoped he couldn’t-“I’m more concerned with my own at the moment. Izuna absolutely cannot see this or he’ll start those ridiculous rumors again about me and your stupid tree of a sibling. Can you just…”

“Get them out for you?”

“Please,” Madara whimpered, the sound of a broken and desperate man. He must have been trying to escape Hashirama for some time to have reached the level of asking someone else for help.

Tobirama sighed and waved him over, setting his paperwork aside without looking to make sure it all landed together. Normally the tidiness of his work was the highest priority in his day but right now Uchiha Madara was begging for help with flowers in his hair and that was definitely something he wanted burned in to his memory as deeply as possible.

Without waiting for any words to rub it in Madara was moving across the room as quickly as he registered that he was allowed to, eyes lowered grumpily to the floor. It was a terribly adorable look on him to see the way he stomped in a little circle and crossed his arms with a huff to await the offered help. Tobirama held back until the man couldn’t see him before allowing his lips to twitch. He would definitely be revisiting this memory more times than Madara needed to know about – and for reasons that would surely upset him.

After surveying the damage Tobirama shook his own head with a small amount of pity welling up in his chest. It was no wonder the man couldn’t get the flowers out on his own, Hashirama had twisted them all together with vines woven in between the locks. They were probably all snarled up and hurt to pull on. He would need to be gentle.

“Other than my brother’s idiocies, how is the festival? Are the people having fun?” Perhaps some conversation would relax the atmosphere around them.

“You’d know for yourself if you would deign to crawl out of your office for even one evening,” Madara snapped back. Apparently he was not in the mood to relax. With a sigh Tobirama lifted his hands and reached for the bottom of the thick hair before him. It would be better to start from underneath.

“I have no one with which to attend,” he murmured simply as he lifted the mass of dark locks.

Then he froze and whatever Madara had been about to say what cut off with a panicky, “What? What!? The hell kind of noise did you just make? It didn’t sound good! What is it!?”

“Your hair–!”

That was all he could choke out, wildly unhelpful for the now frantic Madara. He watched with shock numbing his limbs as the man cast about for some kind of reflective surface and practically dove for the decorative little mirror hanging on one wall. It was lucky, Tobirama mused in an effort to focus on anything but the reaction about to roll over him, that Hashirama had decorated the office in a fit of despair after realizing his little brother had no knack for such things. Without Hashirama's décor there would have been no mirror to show Madara the brilliant rainbow sheen cascading out from the top of his head.

“My hair!�� he squeaked, both hands snapping up and patting at the locks like he expected them to be poisonous.

“I didn’t mean to…”

Tobirama looked down at the hands that he only now realized were still not wearing gloves. He had touched Madara's hair without wearing gloves. Deep black hair that he may or may not have spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about it non-work capacities. Hair that now shone with every color of the rainbow, catching the light as he turned side to shift and shifting like a kaleidoscope.

“Oh sweet mother of chakra…my hair…”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Well no damn wonder I never had a stain!” Madara spun around with a light in his eyes Tobirama couldn’t quite interpret and he wasn’t given much time to. “My whole hair is a stain. And you’re- you’re my soulmate!”

Instinctively hiding his hands behind his back, Tobirama licked his lips nervously. “Sorry about that too,” he whispered. Madara gave him an incredulous look.

“Why the hell would you be sorry!?”

He didn’t wait for whatever stupid answer Tobirama might have come up with, lunging back across the room to twist still gloved hands in the front of his shirt and drag him upright. For a frantic moment Tobirama thought they were about to kiss – not something he would have exactly protested – but he found the obi of his shirt being untied and honestly did not possess the faculties to stop it at the moment. Without the ability to protest he simply sat there and allowed his chest to be exposed for Madara to see the bright splotch of black curling over one shoulder.

And after that he definitely didn’t have it in him protest as he watched the other man peel off his leather gloves for the first time to reveal pale and surprisingly thick fingers, fingers that reached out to curl themselves over his shoulder to line up with his stain. He didn’t need to look to see the results. They were obvious enough in the wonder that played across Madara's face.

“You don’t look particularly upset,” Tobirama noted with his own measure of wonder.

“Upset? Why would I-? I’ll show you upset!”

Fingers clutched at the back of his neck and then he really was being pulled in to a kiss, the world around him erased by sensation and the fruition of more hidden fantasies than he cared to admit. Madara was kissing him, Madara was his soulmate, and as he tried to convince his body to unfreeze from shock Tobirama couldn’t help but think that he was so glad no one had dragged him out to that stupid festival. He was much happier here waiting for the moment it occurred to Madara that he would spend the rest of his life with hair the color of shifting rainbows.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

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