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ally-writes-many-things · 9 months

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You're Mine (X. Riorson) 18+

Xaden Riorson x reader.

Fourth Wing

Words: 1.9K

Warnings: Minor Spoilers for Fourth Wing

Summary: Xaden gets jealous of Garrick. It's also 18+

As Xaden and Violet engaged in their sparring session, a heavy sigh escaped your lips. It was evident that their connection stemmed from Violet's vulnerability and the promise he made to her older brother. If Violet were to meet an unfortunate fate, the likelihood of Xaden suffering the same fate was high. However, despite understanding the circumstances, a tinge of jealousy crept into your heart. Xaden had been devoting most of his free time to her, and it couldn't help but stir feelings of envy within you.

Releasing yet another sigh, you decided to leave the gym behind and make your way towards the third-year rooms. The sight of Violet fawning over Xaden had become unbearable to witness. She may try to seem disinterested, but it was evident to anyone with functioning eyes that she desired him deeply.

Immersed in the comfort of your night attire, engrossed in the captivating pages of a book, the distant sound of a knock reached your ears. You knew who it was but yet an overwhelming disinterest held you back from rising to greet them. Tonight, their presence was an unwelcome intrusion you wished to evade. Effortlessly, you extinguished the mage light with a flick of your hand, allowing the room to be swallowed by darkness as you delicately set the book upon the table. Rolling onto your side, you cocooned yourself beneath the covers and went to sleep.

***

As you sat in the bustling gathering hall alongside your squad, your eyes briefly flickered towards Xaden, who was seated among the other marked individuals. Curiosity lingered in the air as your comrades wondered why, as a marked one yourself, you chose not to join them. However, you had your reasons. You simply refused to make yourself a more conspicuous target by associating closely with the others.

"I came by last night," Xaden's voice came through your head.

You didn't even bother to look up from your tray. "I went to sleep early," You lied.

"I swore I could've saw the mage light,"

"I don't know what you're talking about," You said before placing the block between you and Xaden down.

You got up from the table and headed towards the flight field.

****

"Hey Garrick," you called out to Xaden's best friend, your voice echoing through the gymnasium. It was after class, and you were wanting to spar, though Xaden was noticeably absent. Most likely, he was off assisting Violet once again. However, Garrick was present, and you knew he made for a formidable sparring partner.

"What's up, (Last Name)?" Garrick responded, making his way towards you.

"Want to spar since Xaden is too busy with Violet?" you proposed, a hint of anticipation in your voice.

"Hell yeah," Garrick exclaimed, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "I always love sparring with you."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you swiftly discarded your jacket, tossing it aside. You rolled your neck, popping it before standing in front of Garrick.

You knew you were going to easily be taken down by Garrick but it was still a good learning lesson.

As Garrick rushed you, he swung a powerful right. You met him halfway, and lashed out with your own right. His punch was faster, and it caught you off guard. The punch landed on your mouth, you felt blood filling your mouth as you spat it out on the ground below you. “Good one but you won’t get another chance,”

You kicked out high and hard, catching Garrick square in the breastbone which you could tell knocked the breath out of him but Garrick recovered faster than you thought he would. “You gotta try harder than that,”

With fast reflexes, you skillfully evaded Garrick's oncoming attack, sidestepping his lunging right arm. Swiftly, you ducked under his extended limb and executed a graceful spin. This dance of evasion continued, leaving Garrick visibly disoriented. Sensing an opportunity, you swiftly drove your elbow into his side, causing him to double over in pain. Capitalizing on his vulnerability, you unleashed a powerful punch, connecting with his face.

However, in a surprising turn of events, Garrick managed to grab hold of you, causing both of you to tumble to the ground. As you found yourself positioned above him, ready to take action, he reversed the situation, and now he was the one on top of you, pinning your hands above your head, asserting his dominance in the sparring match. You locked eyes with him, a mischievous glint in your gaze. "Oh, is it too much for you to handle a woman taking charge?" You taunted, playfully lifting your leg to intensify the connection between you two.

A sly smirk crept across his face, his confidence evident. "Trust me, I can handle you just fine," he retorted, his voice laced with a hint of challenge.

A daring proposition escaped your lips, testing the limits of his bravado. "Care to prove it?"

Garrick's gaze momentarily shifted from your eyes to your enticing lips, but he abruptly released your hands and rose to his feet. "I'm sorry, but I can't," he muttered, hastily gathering his belongings and exiting the gym, leaving you with a mix of curiosity and disappointment.

***

Before you could even close your door completely, Xaden appeared in the doorframe. "Xaden," you greeted, shrugging off your jacket.

"What the hell was that?" Xaden snapped, his tone laced with an unfamiliar emotion. Jealousy.

Confused, you asked, "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You know exactly what I'm talking about," he seethed.

"Oh, you mean sparring with Garrick? I needed a partner while you were occupied with Violet," you explained casually.

Xaden's anger only intensified. "That's not what I'm talking about," he growled.

Frustrated, you turned to face him. "Then what are you talking about?"

In an instant, Xaden pressed you against the wall, his hand tightening around your throat. "You belong to me, and no one else is allowed to touch you," he snarled possessively.

Rolling your eyes at his territorial display, knowing what was going to happen, you decided to push his buttons further. "You never said we were exclusive," You taunted.

He firmly grasped your chin with his other hand, forcefully pressing his lips against yours. The intensity of his kiss was filled with a mix of possessiveness and longing, leaving no doubt that he desired you deeply. The passion between you both was so intense that you knew your lips would be swollen afterwards, but the thought didn't concern you. In fact, you reveled in the roughness of his touch, finding it incredibly arousing. The taste of him on your lips only heightened your desire for him, fueling the fire that burned between you.

You and Xaden have been close friends for many years. The bond between you two had always been platonic, until the overwhelming stress of the Rider's Quadrant pushed you both to give in to your desires during your first year here. Since then, you have being fucking.

As he gently withdrew his lips from your neck, his hand from your chin, and his touch from your neck, he traced a path with his lips along your jawline and down to your neck. Despite being aware of your sensitive spot, he teasingly licked from the nape of your neck to that sweet spot before playfully biting down. The sensation made you involuntarily press against him, feeling his presence against you. He continued to explore your neck, alternating between sucking, licking, and nibbling, leaving behind subtle marks that wouldn't draw too much attention.

With a surge of desire, you raised your hand and gradually unfastened the buttons of his leather jacket, one by one, allowing it to slide down his arms. Your fingertips trailed down his well-defined chest, and then you proceeded to unfasten his pants, eager to explore further.

You slipped your hand under his pants and started rubbing him. He moaned into your neck and let himself enjoy it for a few seconds before he pulled your hand out of his pants. He reached down and cupped your ass before walking over to the bed and laying on your back. "Sit up," He commands.

Complying with him, he proceeds to pull your shirt off and hurls it haphazardly somewhere in the room. With a forceful push, he guides you back onto the bed. In an instant, he pressed his lips against your boobz, roughly caressing your nipple with his tongue, while his hand squeezed the other harshly. This intimate exchange lasted for a fleeting moment before he switched his attention. A soft, voluntary moan escaped your lips, punctuating the shared pleasure.

You observed as he withdrew his lips from your boobs, trailing a trail of affectionate kisses along your body. His nibbles, carefully placed, left a mark of possessiveness, a silent declaration of claiming you as his, adorning your stomach. Aware of the limitations on your neck, he refrained from leaving any visible marks there. With a swift and confident motion, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your pants, where they snugly embraced your hips. In one fluid movement, he deftly lowered your pants and underwear. He spread your legs like butter and placed a kiss on your inner thighs before he rubbed your folds before slipping one finger in. "Who made you this wet?"

"Garrick," You teased as you threw your head back in pleasure.

He removed his fingers before placing his mouth on your core and just went to town without warning, licking your pussy in long, wet strokes. He takes one of his fingers and slides it inside of you. You gasp as pure bliss takes over. While he was curling his finger inside you, he was licking the nub of your clit. After a few seconds, he inserts another finger in you. He was hitting your g-spot every single time. As the familiar sensation was building up, so Xaden picked up his speed and roughen his touch. Once you came, he didn't stop there, he fucked you with his tongue over and over again until he knew you were thoroughly fucked.

You were left a panting mess before he finally removed his mouth, stood up and slid down his pants. He positioned himself between your legs and gave himself a few strokes to make sure he was hard enough for you before he pushed into you. Your eyes rolled back as Xaden softly said fuck. No matter how many times you and Xaden fucked, he felt just as good as the first time.

It didn't take long for him to start thrusting into you as fast as he could. He buried his cock deep inside of you as you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He thrust in and out of her at the perfect pace. “Just like that, Riorson,”

You started to roll your hips, moving along with him, matching his pace. You two move perfectly in sync, your bodies aligned, even your breath in rhythm. You were breathing faster and faster as your climax was nearing. He took his hands off your thighs and flipped you over to where you were sitting on his lap for a deeper angle. He buried his face in the side of your neck and bit you gently, right in that sweet spot he found earlier. That pushes you over the edge. You grinded your body hard against him, the rhythmic contraction of your pussy squeezing his cock. "Xaden!" You yelled out as your high hits

“I'm about to cum.” He said as you rode him until he let out a deep groan.

He rolled you back over onto your back and before he pulled out he grabbed the towel he keeps on the bedside table so he could clean you up. "Don't ever think Garrick can fuck you as good as I can, babygirl. I've been fucking you for the past three years. No one knows your body like I do,"

#fourth wing #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #smut

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honkytonk-hangman · 1 year

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What You Want

Summary: Rooster is aware that despite working together for a little over six months now, he doesn't really know you all that well. One late night walk to your car later, he thinks he'd like that to change.

Notes: just a little drabble for an idea i've been having for a while!!! let me know if you'd be interested in more! <3

Masterlist

“Wait! Hold the door!” a voice calls out, making Rooster jump, but he still manages to throw his arm out just in time, catching the elevator doors before they close. You come jogging into sight then, panting a little, your duffle bag hanging precariously from your shoulder as you hurry to reach him.

You thank him as you step inside, but do a small double-take when you realise that you recognise him. Rooster waves off your thanks, and shifts to one side so that he isn’t taking up so much space.

“I didn’t see you in there,” he says, jerking his thumb in the direction of the on-base gym. Granted, he knows the place was pretty damn big, and that there was a section reserved for women if they felt more comfortable there, but he’d really thought he’d be all alone at this time of night.

You look at him blankly for a second, before your eyes seem to travel over his attire, and realisation registers on your face.

“Oh! Ha, I didn’t see you either…” you tell him, just as the elevator at last closes its doors and begins its descent. “I don’t usually come so late,” you add after a moment, having hiked your bag higher on your shoulder. Rooster nods, but looks away from you as you seem to start nervously adjusting your workout shorts, too, pulling them lower from where they’ve clearly ridden up slightly.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he hears himself ask, keeping his eyes on the elevator panel ahead of him as it slowly counts down the floors. You’re quiet for a few seconds before humming softly and he can’t help but look back over at you at the almost sad ring in your voice.

“Something like that,” you reply with a small shrug, looking at your shoes.

“Everything alright?” he prods a little, sure now that you sounded down, but immediately feeling a little out of place for asking.

Sure, you’d been working together now for almost six months, and sure he’d met you once or twice before that, but if he’s honest, Rooster didn’t really know you that well outside of what he knows you can do in the sky. Up in the air he wouldn’t hesitate to trust you with his life, but on the ground, he wouldn’t even know what beer you drank at the hard Deck.

If you drank beer, at all, for that matter.

You shift uncomfortably for a moment, eyes dancing between his face and the floor before you give another little shrug and look away from him entirely, staring at metal doors ahead of you.

“I uh, told my boyfriend about being stationed here permanently now,” you begin, pausing to bite at your lip like you weren’t sure whether or not to keep going. There had been some back and forth in recent months over where Dagger squad would be stationed, but at last a few days ago the decision had been made to keep the squad on North Island.

“He broke up with me,” you finish, swallowing nervously, but shooting him a tight smile that Rooster does his best to return.

“I’m sorry…” he says, unsure if he should say more, or if it would even be welcomed. He hadn’t even known until just now that you actually had a boyfriend, but he finds that he likes that you’re choosing to confide in him. You shrug for a third time and shake your head.

“I don’t know. Things weren’t awful or anything, but they weren’t exactly great, either…” you chew on your lip again and scrunch up your nose briefly. “He never really liked me being away much.”

Rooster snorts at that.

“S’kinda part of the job description,” he says, receiving a wry smile from you.

“I know.”

Quiet pervades for a while until the elevator comes to a stop at last, and Rooster gestures for you to go ahead of him. You step out, but pause, waiting for him to join you again before you begin walking, and Rooster finds he likes that as well.

“Still, I’m sorry,” he offers sincerely, looking over at you as you let out a soft sigh. He’s almost embarrassed when you turn back to find him already looking at you, but you only smile sweetly.

“Thanks.” You say, beginning to pull a jangling set of keys out of your duffle bag. Rooster realises then that you must have driven here, and weren’t currently living on base, as he’d just assumed you were.

“Where are you parked?” he asks, gesturing to your keys when you look up at him.

“Oh, not too far, just over near the Services building,” you tell him, causing his brows to knit together. It wasn’t exactly far, but it wasn’t really near, either.

“I’ll walk you.” he says, making the decision out loud. You look back at him in what looks like surprise, already starting to shake your head.

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“–I’d feel a lot better if I did,” he cuts you off, but speaks truthfully, and he’s glad when you don’t argue further, simply nodding as he now starts following your lead.

You both remain in comfortable quiet while you walk, and Rooster consciously takes note of how dark this particular path through the base really was, feeling glad that you’d let him walk you back, but at the same time unable to stop from overthinking his insistence on the matter.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he blurts all of a sudden, causing you to blink up at him blankly for a moment. “I didn’t really give you much of a choice about walking with you,” he explains, not unaware of why a woman might actually feel safer going alone than with a man she barely knew. You jerk then, as realisation floods your features, but let out a chuckle as you shake your head at him.

“No, no, it’s really okay!” you assure him. Rooster lets out a relieved breath. “I appreciate not having to walk by myself. I know I’m far safer on base than if I wasn’t, but you know…” you tell him, trailing off. “I’m sorry if you didn’t actually want to, but that’s your fault,” you add, chortling playfully. Rooster laughs too, your words catching him slightly off-guard, your joke and general cheek entirely unexpected to him.

“It’s a good thing I did want to, in that case,” he says, laughter still in his voice. You look up at him sweetly, and he notices for the first time how your eyes crinkle slightly in the corners when you smile.

“I don’t get why people– Mostly men– offer things like that if they don’t actually want to do them… Why offer to pay for dinner if you’re really actually wanting me to insist otherwise, you know?” you roll your eyes and wave a hand, your voice light but he can sense the real underlying annoyance.

“I didn’t realise that was a thing men actually did…” he admits curiously, and watches as you give an even heavier roll of your eyes.

“Well, good. That means you’ve never done it,” you say, shooting him a wry grin. “My boyfriend… ex-boyfriend… He used to do it a lot at the start of our relationship. He’d always end up telling me later how he hadn’t expected me to accept whatever it was. I guess he learnt to stop after a while.”

Rooster stares down at you slack jawed and momentarily speechless, taken completely aback that your ex would admit to such a thing, but that he’d not want to do things sincerely for you in the first place.

“... And that wasn’t a red flag?” he finds his voice enough to ask you, not bothering to hide the disapproval in his voice. You look away, but hum.

“I guess it should have been,” you say softly, pursing your lips as you seem to think for a moment.

“When I was younger I found it really hard to accept people doing things for me. If a man offered to pay for dinner, I’d feel so guilty that I’d insist he didn’t, and we’d end up splitting the bill instead. I’d go home feeling so disappointed, even though it was my fault…” you tell him, shaking your head at your own past actions. “A couple years ago, I started trying to be more honest with myself about what I wanted when it came to dating, and men… not just what I was willing to accept.”

Rooster nods as you speak, finding himself genuinely interested in your outlook on these things, wanting to hear more about them. You take his silent agreement as permission to go on.

“If flowers, or paying for dinner, or whatever, if it was something that I valued, made me feel valued, I shouldn't feel guilty about that,” you continue, sparing an almost nervous glance up at him, but Rooster is still nodding, agreeing with you completely.

“Good,” he tells you firmly. “And like you said; if they didn’t really want to, that’s their problem,” he states matter-of-factly, feeling an undue sense of pride when you laugh.

“Exactly!” you giggle a little more before eventually you both sober.

You were at the Services building now, the car park laid out in front of you, only a handful of vehicles still scattered around the lot.

“I guess that’s something I’m going to have to put into practise again at some point…” you think aloud, and Rooster only realises that he’s started to frown slightly when you look back at him.

“I guess it is…” he replies, unsure of why he suddenly feels so bothered at the thought of you dating someone like your ex again.

“Don’t ever accept anything less than what you want,” he feels the need to stress himself. “If he’s worth your time, he won’t accept giving you anything else.��

You smile at him softly, almost looking shy for a moment, before you finally come to a stop by your car. Rooster watches quietly as you toss your bag on the backseat.

“Thank you for walking me,” you say once you’ve turned back to him.

“Thank you for letting me,” he replies, stepping closer when you open your door to climb in, closing it for you once he can see that you’ve settled inside. You give him another soft smile as you roll your window down to say goodbye.

“See you on Monday, Rooster.”

“Drive safe.”

#rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic

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susiephone · 2 years

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i see your “the best way to adapt dracula would be a found footage horror movie” and raise you “the best way to adapt dracula would be a mockumentary that gradually turns into a found footage horror movie”

this includes (spoilers ahead for those of you going in blind, my friends from the discord server, THIS MEANS YOU):

dracula never being seen on camera

sometimes you hear him talking, or see things moving around as if someone’s there, but you never see him

no one notices this until mina is rewatching all of jonathan’s transylvania footage for clues and almost chokes on her latte when she sees jonathan having a conversation with the air

Jonathan, in an interview: So everyone’s been really friendly so far, but people get weird when I mention where I’m going. [holds up a handful of at least twenty rosaries and good luck charms] And I don’t know German for “no thank you, I’m Protestant,” so... Also, I tried to say no to this one woman and she cried and told me to at least call my mom one last time before I went to the castle. So that was weird. I tried to translate what some of them were saying, but all I have to work with is half a Duolingo course and Google Translate. They can’t possibly be saying “demon,” right? [Cut to another interview.] Local farmer, in German with captions: Oh, yeah, no, he’s gonna die for sure.

someone saying some straight nonsense, followed by mina and/or van helsing staring into the camera

a cheesy local commercial for the law firm jonathan works at

he’s in the commercial and he wishes he were dead

Mina, in an interview: So, my boyfriend Jonathan is on his first-ever business trip! He’s gone to Transylvania to handle this huge real estate deal with actual nobility. I’m super proud of him! [Cut to footage of Jonathan looking around Castle Dracula, growing increasingly unnerved, and then to a scene of Jonathan shaving before his mirror apparently throws itself off the counter.] Mina, voiceover: He emails me every day with updates, and it sounds like he’s having a great time. His client sounds really nice, and he’s been a great host so far.

everything with lucy and the boyfriend squad is basically just the bachelor

except when the filmmakers do some dramatic narration to insinuate that there’s tension mounting and rivalry blooming between the boyfriend squad, it just cuts to them all playing mario kart or going to the gym or having lunch together

there’s a whole sequences of them helping each other text lucy

the moment when the genre shift happens is when Jonathan is first attacked by the brides, and he gets away, but the camera crew isn’t so lucky, thus explaining why he drops out of the narrative until he gets back to London

later on an interview with Mina about how worried she is about Lucy gets cut short when her phone starts buzzing and she sees that people keep linking her to a news story

and then it cuts to a local newscast about the mysterious attacks on local children

the boyfriend squad + jonathan telling mina she needs to stay behind for her own safety since they can’t risk their precious mina getting hurt and upset and then it just cuts to mina in an interview, except she’s silently staring at the camera visibly FUMING

before the final trip, everyone records their last requests and any final words they want to share with the world just in case things go south

in the end, we only see quincey’s

the final scene is a “where are they now?” where we see, among other things, mina and jonathan filming a home movie of Quincey II’s third birthday party

#dracula #dracula daily #feel free to add #dracula spoilers #dracula daily spoilers

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angstywaifu · 3 months

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The Lost Sister - Part 4

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time. Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: We all know I couldn't not throw some Imogen tension in there. I do apologise if the fighting stuff isn’t good, I found it hard to convey what I wanted but I think I got there in the end. I also went on a binge write yesterday and have a few parts written up. Let me know if you want to be on the tag list at all. The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

I squint into the early morning sun with the rest of the quadrant, listening to the names of the seventy one people who did not make it across the parapet yesterday. Violet and Rhiannon who are next to me as they read out the name ‘Dylan’. He must have been someone they had met before crossing the parapet.

Today we are all dressed in riders black, with a single silver star and fourth wing patch signalling my year and wing. As I look around, us first years did not waste any time in altering our uniforms to suit us. I don’t think I see a single stock uniform in the crowd.

As the sun shifts in the sky I am able to see properly. I feel a familiar feeling and look up to see Garrick staring at me from his place atop the stairs of the rotunda next to Xaden. Despite what they said last night, I had not seen either of them again that night. Clearly whatever they spoke about took longer than they thought. When our eyes meet he smiles at me but it quickly disappears as I feel a different feeling wash over me. I turn my head to see Imogen glaring at me. A second year in my squad. I had met her a few times during the rebellion, but I never knew her well.

“Why does it look like she wants to kill you already?” Violet whispers to me as she looks between Imogen and I.

Imgoen glances over at Violet before turning her head back to the front of the Rotunda as they finish reading out the death roll for the day.

”I wish I knew.” I whisper back as Dain starts telling us to head to our class and something about remembering our schedule.

She nods her head before leading the way to our first class of the day which is somewhere on the fourth floor of the academic wing. I really should have taken better note of my schedule.

By the time we get to the gym after lunch, I feel like my brain is about to explode with the amount of information I’ve taken in today. But I am thankful for the training Melgren had given me over the years. Most of it was in the books I had already read. I just had to apply it in a different scenario. His training really had prepared me for the riders quadrant. Almost as if he was setting me up for success. As we walk into the gym, most of the second and third years are already here and waiting for us. I immediately meet Garrick and Xadens eyes across the room, as if they were waiting for me to walk in. I follow my squad and stand around one of the mats as Professor Emetterio walks onto the mat. As he turns to face the crowd his eyes meet me and widen, almost as if he was shocked to see me here despite having been a part of some of my training with Melgren. Obviously Melgren had not mentioned his intentions with my training or who I really was. His eyes wander to the mark on my neck and now exposed arm with a questioning look. This doesnt go unnoticed by Garrick or Xaden either who look concerned at the brief interaction between us.

As each match ends, Emetterio calls up the next pair. Randomly selecting people from different years and wings. The only ones we are truly safe from are our own squad mates. Squad mates are not allowed to kill each other. A sickening crack rings around the room as Jack Barlowe snaps the next of a first year whose name I have not yet learnt. The only reason I know Jack’s is due to Violet and Battle Brief earlier today. A class where I had felt Garrick’s eyes constantly on me, but had refused to meet. Emetterio points a finger at Imogen, and my heart drops thinking I will be picked next. Her eyes had also been on me all day, and not in a good way. This girl had it out for me. Lucky for me but unlucky for Violet, I am not picked. But Violet is no match for her. Not even a minute later Imogen has broken her arm. Dain is at her side and taking her to the Healers Quadrant before I can even move.

I look up to see Emetterio pointing to me and his other finger at Xaden. “Lets see what you Riorson siblings can do.”

The gym goes quiet at his words. For the second time since I’ve arrived here Garrick goes to start forward and is stopped by Xaden’s arm. He immediately whips his head towards Xaden with a glare. A glare Xaden returns without skipping a beat. I can tell the words he gives to Garrick are stern. Garrick just nods his head and steps back. Xaden and I take our spots on opposite sides of the mat, the whole gym going quiet in anticipation.

I don’t need to look around to know all eyes are on us. The Riorson siblings. The commanding wing leader, and the one thought to be dead. Behind Xaden, Garrick’s eyes are on me but I don’t raise my gaze from Xaden’s. I do notice Imogen make her way around the edge to stand next to him.

Xaden and I start to circle each other. I know Xaden’s fighting style. I watched him train with our father, as well as Garrick and Bodhi. But he has no idea how I fight. To his knowledge I had no combat training other than run and hide. All he knows is I’m quick with some daggers after last night. Xaden makes the first move, rushing forward to make a grab for me, but I duck and roll to side while landing a kick to the back of his knee causing him to stumble before he turns back to me. This time I’m the first to move. He goes to block my attack but I duck to side again and land a punch to his ribs. I use the small window I have to place another stronger kick to his knee knocking him to the ground in a kneeling stance. As he goes to the ground I bring up my other foot and place a kick to the side of his head. I should probably go easier on my brother, but he’s underestimated me and I want, no need to prove what I have learnt. I can’t let him, Bodhi and Garrick treat me like the little girl they once knew.

Xaden is now kneeling with his hands on the mat trying to right himself. I raise my leg again to push him down by his back but he swings an arm out knocking my legs out from me. Sending me down down to the mat, my back hitting it with a loud smack. He goes to make a move I’ve seen him do many times in the past. As he leans down to put me into a hold I hook my legs around his neck and flip him so he’s face down on the mat. I twist and put pressure on his neck. He might be stronger than me, but the way I have twisted makes it hard for him to breathe if he moves too much. But he still his best to get out of the hold. I shift my stance as best I can to make an arch in his back, making him look towards to roof. 30 seconds later he taps the mat. He yields.

As soon as I release him from the hold the gym comes back to life with chatter and fights starting up. It appears the whole gym stopped to watch our match. As Xaden stands he holds his hand out to help me up which I happily take.

”You’re definitely not the little sister I use to know.” He says with a smile as he looks down at me. “I might even need to thank Melgren for the training he gave you.”

”That guy does not need his ego inflated more than it is. Please don’t.” Causing Xaden to laugh.

Foot steps to my left pull me from the moment with Xaden and we both look to see Emetterio looking at us.

”Definitely not how I expected that to go. I expect good things out of you Ophelia.” He says before walking off to observe the other matches.

As the next pairing for our mat makes their way over Xaden and I make our way off the mat towards Garrick and Imogen, and Bodhi who must have made his way over during our match. Bodhi and Garrick are beaming at me. Obviously happy I had just kicked Xaden’s butt on the mat. Imgoen on the other hand looks even more pissed than she has all day at me. As we get to them she huffs and storms off back to our squad.

”What’s her problem?” I ask the boys as I watch her pink hair disappear into the crowd.

The boys all share a knowing look which has me raising an eyebrow at them. Clearly all in on something I’m not.

”Probably just feels threatened by you. You’ve clearly shown you’re a fighter to contend with. She’s always boasted about being one of the better female fighters here.” Bodhi states.

”Right.” I am not even remotely convinced by his words. The glares she’s been sending me all day suggest other wise.

I turn to face the mats and watch the other matches, Garrick moving to stand next to me. Almost as if pulled to my by gravity. He’s presence is comforting and I look up and see him smiling down at me.

”Not gonna lie, was kinda hot watching you take you’re brother down like that.” He says to me as he winks at me making my heart skip a beat as he stares intently into my eyes.

”You did not just call my sister hot!” Xaden nearly shouts from the other side of me at Garrick, causing Garrick and Bodhi to burst into fits of laughter as I turn bright red.

I feel the all too familiar set of eyes on me and look over to see Imogen glaring at me. As Garrick places his hand on my shoulder as he responds to Xaden, it almost looks as if she starts shaking with anger. Something tells me in the next few weeks her and I are going to end up on that mat together. And it won’t be pretty.

Part 5 @riorgail @going-through-shit

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis #the fourth wing #the empyrean

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millenialfanfictionaddiction · 1 year

Text

Being Inarizaki’s Manager

🚑Miss Manager Breaks Her Hand🚑

Inarizaki x female! manager (she/her)

Warnings: mention of broken hand, pain relievers mentioned, crying, angst(?) to fluff

A/N: this idea stemmed from the 2k headcanon celebration and I loved it so much that I thought I’d indulge myself 💅

This team ranges from “protective dad squad” to “problem children”

It’s giving season 4 Seijoh x Shiratorizawa crossover

Like I’m both excited and scared for you

Now being their precious manager, you were literally worshiped on this team

The third years, Kita, Aran, Omimi and Akagi, absolutely adored you beyond all measures

You were the light of the team, the rock 🪨

The second years, Atsumu, Osamu, Suna and Ginjima, were the guardians of YN

They didn’t think anyone was good enough to breath the air of THEIR YN

And last, but certainly not least, our precious bby first year, Riseki, absolutely had the biggest crush on you

He looked up to you and worshiped every step you took

Needless to say, you were irreplaceable my dear Yn

Unfortunately “irreplaceable” does not equate to “unbreakable” as our lively Inarizaki was about to learn

Because you see, it happened so fast that absolutely nobody knew what to do

You sent the solid team that was slated to win nationals into the biggest frenzy ever

And it all started with a rouge volleyball 😌

You see, it was the end of practice and everyone was packing up the gym

Everyone except for a certain someone 👀

Now I know what you’re thinking ok? This is all Atsumus fault

It’s always Atsumu fault 🙄

And while 99.9% of the time it most definitely is, this 0.1% was not

Because it was someone else who accidentally caused the chaos

“Sumu pack it up! It’s time to go home!” Kita shouted as you picked up the remaining volleyballs

“Just a few more serves, I’m almost at my limit,” Atsumu said as you mindlessly continued your work

You were use to this, Sumu was Sumu and there wasn’t much more you could do

And by now, he had learned to avoid hitting you so you really didn’t mind

You just continued about your merry way, picking up balls and daydreaming

“Come on bro, let’s go I’m starving!” Osamu whined

“If you’d practice your serves as much as you eat, you probably wouldn’t have to worry about missing any!” Atsumu said before slamming a service ace into the opposing court

“What did ya say to me?” Osamu raged

“Oh boy,” Aran said 😐

“Knock it off you two! Let’s just finish up!” Ginjima yells

Suna 👉🏻👀 📱

Meanwhile, you are just lost in your own world, probably daydreaming of peace and quiet

“Give me that ball!” Osamu shouted as he grabbed the ball from Sumu before tossing it and slamming it into the opposite court

It looked like a good serve, a solid one even

It’s course was set to land right on the end line

Which was, coincidentally, right where you were 😃

Akagi, our star Libero, saw it first

“YN LOOK OUT!” He shouted as the rest of the team watched on horror

Thankfully, you manage to get your hand up quickly

The ball hit your hand, smack on and deflected towards the wall

A loud and almost visible sigh flooded the gym as everyone was relieved you didn’t get hit in the head

However the calmness lasted approximately .02 seconds when they heard you whine and grab your hand

“Crap Yn!” Omimi shouted as the team raced towards you

You were grabbing your hand as tears began to flow down your face

“YN I’m so freaking sorry!! I didn’t mean too!” Osamu said, coming beside you as he looked at your hand

Fun fact: a professional volleyball serve can be upwards of 120mph (193kph)

Osamu isn’t a professional but it’s safe to say he can probably reach at least 80mph (128kph)

Needless to say, there’s a lot of force behind a serve

I googled all the facts 💅

N E WAYS

You look at Osamu, tears in your eyes as you respond, “it’s ok Samu, I should have been watching.”

Meanwhile, your hand is beginning to swell and it hurts so bad

“Let me see it YN,” the coach says as he studies your hand

“Is she going to be ok?” Ginjima asks as Coach looks at you

“Riseki, grab an ice pack quick, Kita and Aran, take YN to the nurse now!” Coach barks as the team goes to work

Suna comes next to you, holding your hand gently as Riseski hands him the ice pack

You hiss and whimper as the ice hits your skin

Osamu and Atsumu stand to the side, visibly upset that their arguing lead to you getting hurt

“Come on Yn,” Kita said, putting his hand on your lower back as Aran took over for Suna, bracing your hand

Atsumu and Osamu wordlessly began cleaning up the gym with the rest of the team, feeling awful about what happened

“Hey!” Omimi says as the twins look at him, “it was an accident. She’ll be ok.”

Meanwhile, in the nurses office…

“We need to call your parents Yn, you need to go to the hospital,” she says as you look at her

“She’s ok isn’t she?” Aran says, concerned

The nurse shakes her head, “I think her hand is broken, she needs x-rays to confirm.”

Kita and Aran’s eyes widen as you hold your hand, crying a little as the pain continues to sink in

The team finishes cleaning up and they all run to the nurses office as they see you sitting outside with Aran

“Hey everything’s all right?” Atsumu says as you look at him

“The nurse thinks she broke her hand, her parent is coming to take her to the hospital,” Kita says as he walks out from the nurses office

Osamu immediately deflated, he feels absolutely awful about what happened

He realistically knows it wasn’t really his fault, accidents happen, especially on the court

You notice him looking sad as you stand up and walk to him

“Samu it’s ok! I’ll be ok I promise,” You say, hugging him as he hugs you back

It’s a sweet moment that is unfortunately interrupted 😐

“What about me YN?” I’m sad too!” Atsumu whines as Osamu and the team glare at him

You smile and giggle, hugging Atsumu and then the rest of the team

Your parent arrives and you are taken to the hospital

The guys all go home, worried about what happened to you

They all feel awful, knowing how much pain you are in

Suddenly, their phones all ring, the group chat lighting up as they all simultaneously answer

“YN are you ok?” Osamu shouts from his phone screen

Talk about turn of events 😅

“Will you shut up and let her speak?” Ginjima says

“How about everyone shuts up and let’s YN talk!” Kita finally says as you smile from the hospital room

“Hey guys, I’m ok! My hand is broken but I got a cast on it!” You say, showing the team your favorite color, now wrapped around your hand

They all go silent, feeling awful

Osamu feels the worst as he looks at your wrapped hand

“Damn Yn, I’m so sorry!” He says again, his face expressing immense concern

You laugh, an odd gesture given the situation, “Samu it’s ok! The doctor was super impressed that I managed to deflect a serve like that! It’s not a bad break and they said within a few weeks I should be healed!”

“Are you able to do volleyball practice YN?” Akagi asks as you nods

“No physical activity for a while but I can still write and do everything I normally do! So it means I get out of gym class!” You say, excited you won’t have to participate in running for a while

“Did they give you something for the pain?” Aran asks as you nod

“Yeah they gave me some good pain relievers but I won’t be in school the rest of this week,” you say as the boys all deflate

“I’m really really sorry Yn! I feel awful!” Osamu says again

“Samu it’s ok! It was an accident! I should have been paying more attention anyways!” You say as you smile

Thankfully, a certain someone knows just how to lighten the mood 😏

“Really if you think about it, it’s all Sumu’s fault,” Suna chimes in as Atsumu takes over Osamus phone

“What the hell Suna?!? How is it my fault??” He shouts

“Well if you wouldn’t have kept serving, this never would have happened!” Ginjima adds

“It’s true,” Riseki says

“Atsumu you are going to run so many laps tomorrow!” Kita says as

Atsumu 👉🏻👁️💧👄💧👁️

They are all just glad their precious manager is ok 🥰

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starsailorjannystan · 4 months

Text

in which you’re Kise Ryōta’s best friend, forced to watch him disintegrate before your eyes, his teeth growing sharper, his laughter going higher and his smiles getting faker. your friendship is one of the things you value most in your life. unbeknownst to you, he wants to ruin it.

long one-shot, alternate pov cheerleader!reader light angst, fluff, pining mellow, anime!kise because i’m delulu of his manga version (at least in this fic)

“What? What is it? Intimate? Private? Personal? But what are friends for, if you can’t talk to them about what really matters? All these nights we spent talking together… How could you? How?”

The Name, Matthieu Delaporte and Alexandre de la Patellière

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

You’ve known Kise Ryōta for as long as you could breathe.

Technically, you can’t remember your first meeting, since you were both in glass cribs in a Tokyoite hospital, blissfully unaware of the summer heat, but just as you were neighbours as babies in the maternity ward, you were neighbours as little toddlers in the sandbox, and neighbours as children, waving to each other from your window.

Then you had your first significant meeting in a gym. His elder sisters were taking ballet classes on the upper floor, and you were stuck together during stretching exercises in your rhythmic gymnastics class. You had offered your name, he had offered his, and it had been the childish equivalent of blood-brothering yourselves to each other.

Since then, you had been glued at the hip, like conjoined twins (without the unfortunate medical complications, of course), and people were more surprised to find you on your own than with each other.

You had followed Kise in every sport endeavour he had undertaken, from swimming to baseball, from gymnastics to volleyball, cricket to soccer, short-track and figure skating and cycling, and you watched as each time he mastered a sport and gradually grew bored with it, while you got into cheerleading in third grade and never regretted that decision. You waited for each other at the end of the school day, him on whatever sport activity had struck his fancy at the time, you running drills with the cheer squad, and you always stopped for drinks on the way back home, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your parents never minded the fact that your best friend was a boy, because they had known Kise since he was little too, and you weren’t short of girlfriends thanks to the cheer squad. Though one day you had come back home crying, and your mother had gone into full mama bear mode, until you told her Kise had choked on a bone fish at lunch. You had never been so scared in your life and you had really thought he was going to die. Your father offered to sign you up for first aid classes, and you had dragged Kise with you.

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

Middle school had been the first time you were separated. You went to Teikō Junior High, while Kise joined Teikoku Junior High, a school known for its invincible soccer team.

You made the mistake of briefing him on Teikō’s basketball team. To this day, you still don’t know if you forgive yourself or not. But in the end, you’ve decided that time in your lives had been necessary, and your relationship hadn’t been broken to the point where you couldn’t mend it.

Kise had taken on modelling, and as always you had been as supportive as possible, secretly hoping he would stick to it, that he had finally found a hobby that would keep his interest. He had wanted to get his ears pierced, because it would make him look cool, and you had decided against telling him that earrings could cause accidents. Two girls on your squad had been practising back tucks, and one had accidently caught the other's loop earring while spotting her, and you still remembered her shrill scream and all the blood that had dripped on the mat. However, you had had your own ears pierced a while ago as a birthday gift from one of your aunts, and you had noticed the way Kise looked at your ladybugs pendants. You had always done everything together, maybe he was feeling like he was missing out on an experience. So all in all, you hadn't thought it would be a bad idea, all things considered.

Hoo boy, were you wrong.

You had ended up in a café, sharing a tiny strawberry shortcake because you were both on a diet thanks to your demanding activities, and Kise was still sniffling over the pain of the piercing. You had left Claire's with him clutching his left ear, and your endless stream of comforting words had sort of calmed him, but he had refused to pierce his other ear. You had stopped on your way to buy disinfectant, and, without his knowing, a pair of small ring-like silver earrings. And, over the half-eaten shortcake, you had offered him an earring.

"You know, I think you'll look even cooler with only one. It's a style and I'm sure you'll rock it!"

He had looked up from his spoon, eyes still a bit watery, but glinting with hopefulness.

"You think so?"

"Of course! Here, take it."

You had made sure his wound was clean, and you had slid in the earring's pin. Then, you had slipped the other earring on your right thumb.

"Look, I'll keep it until you want to pierce your other ear. How about that?"

He had nodded, and both to change the topic and cheer him up, you had said:

"You know, my school has this incredible basketball program, and you haven't tried basketball yet, right?"

That's when everything started going south.

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

You didn't mind being small.

Sure, sometimes you wished you would be a bit taller, mostly because you couldn't afford to gain weight, as on your frame it would show immediately and your coach would double your drills, but you knew that your small height was what allowed you to be top girl. You could back tuck into next year any girl on your squad, and any boy on the gymnastics club. Your kneecaps had been stunted by tumbling, but you didn't mind.

Except when Kise joined the basketball team and suddenly every person you hung out with was way, way, wayyyyyy taller than you.

Even Momoi, who didn't even play basketball, was taller than you.

At least none of them were jerks about it. Most of the time.

"Come on, stop sulking!"

"I'm not sulking!"

Aomine was easily the worst offender. At least purple-haired guy (Murasakibara? was that his name?) wasn't really mean about it. Plus he towered over everyone so you never took it personally. Aomine however always seemed to have fun asking you how the snails were faring today, since you were so close to them. You had no idea how Momoi managed to put up with him 24/7. Though it was true that with his negative 20 IQ thing going on half the time, Aomine was mostly manageable. You’d offered to tutor him, and had been blown away by how many subjects he was failing.

“I thought Kise was bad at school,” you’d said, ignoring your best friend’s theatrical pout, “but you take the cake.”

“What cake?”

“Go back to sleep, Murasakibara.”

(You haven’t seen Kise smile like that in a while. You’re not sure Teikoku was a great place.)

So you hung out with the first-string after practice, head still pounding with the pyramid counts, thighs bruised by the bottom bases’ grips, your shoulder still smarting, pain lancing through your arm. You tried not to throw up the ice-cream you bought, and you turned your head when Momoi touched your arm.

“What do you think about this app? It could be useful.”

You shook your head, looking up to the pink-haired girl.

“Once, I’ve entered Kise’s data in it—”

“You what—”

“And it told me he was three months pregnant. So, those apps are weird. You’re better off tracking it manually on a calendar.”

(The truth was, you didn’t know. You hadn’t had your period yet. None of the girls on your squad had—except Sachiko, and you’d never seen her again after the day you’d heard her crying in the bathrooms).

Momoi smiled, before catching sight of Kuroko and launching herself onwards like a rocket, earning little more than a deadpan look, though you could see the fondness under it.

But truly, you didn't mind, because for the first time in virtually forever, Kise looked genuinely excited about his new hobby. You thought that this time he really found companionship and stimulation. You smiled back at him whenever he turned to you in the bleachers after a successful shot, marvelling at the way he seemed to light up the whole court as soon as he stepped on it. His happiness was your happiness. So you'd never shown defiance towards the basketball team. You really hadn't thought that one through.

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

You went shopping together because Kise had wanted a new phone and you were on your fourth store raid already. You didn't see anything wrong with his current phone, which still had on its back the Hello Kitty sticker you had given him when you entered middle school. Sure, it was peeling a little, but it was fine. Kise only asked for the phone's capacity and photographic quality each time, and off you were on your quest again. Munching on your fizzy drink's straw, you raised your head as he rushed towards you. Before you could ask him if he had finally found it, he slung one arm over your shoulders and told you to smile.

Heads bonking over the screen, you grinned at each other. You were both weak for selfies and your own phone didn't have any storage space left for them.

Kise made that one his lock screen picture, and turned fully to you.

"See, it takes pictures better than my eyes."

You had smiled, too, and you'd never questioned his enthusiasm over it.

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

Kise's modelling activities had several perks.

For one, you got to meet so many hot people it should have been illegal. You could also get reductions on self-care products, and you were too cute to be broke, so you accepted it without problems. You even got to meet (well, stare at from afar) the photographer of your favourite girl group. Half the pictures on his Instagram account were taken by you, and thank cheer practice for flexibility, because you had to contort like a circus artist to get the best angle each time.

However, his fangirls weren't one of them.

Even though your relationship was strictly platonic, you still got some really hurtful letters and even texts (how did they even get your number?), and after a while you simply blocked them out. You had lost count of all the people trying to get to Kise through you, using you as a means to an end, and you just tried to screen the people that had vile intentions.

Though you could still see how it weighed on your best friend. He was nice and bubbly with everyone, and even if you worried about the mental gymnastics he had to do, you knew he wouldn't turn into a people-pleaser. A few days ago, you had snapped at one of your squadmates who had called him a "two-faced asshole" after being (quite politely, might you add) rejected.

And across from you, he had looked glumly at his (fishless) bento, and you had asked him what was wrong.

"There's this girl that keeps following me," he had sighed. "I tried to let her down but she's incredibly annoying. And clingy," he had grimaced.

Vaguely, you'd remembered a brown-haired girl who was always lingering at the basketball gym's door when you came after cheer practice to go home with Kise.

"So she's bothering you. Want me to go talk to her?"

"No! No, it's fine."

You knew he couldn't be blunt because it would come across as rude and the rumours would kill him. Still, it made your stomach churn with anger.

When the girl had latched onto Haizaki, as you comforted Kise after his crushing loss, you thought that at least it was one less thorn in his side.

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

You had realised you were drifting apart at the end of your second year.

Cheer practice had been cancelled because your coach's kid was sick, and you were wandering aimlessly through the streets of the commercial district, half your mind on which high school you would have to go to.

And then you had crossed paths with Kise, who had looked like he was going in one of the glass-paned windows buildings, and you had stopped dead in your tracks. Not because he was where he wasn't supposed to be, but because he had seen you and smiled at you. You recognised that smile. It had the undercurrent of tension that was usually reserved for his fangirls, and it was directed at you.

"Shouldn't you be at practice?" you'd asked.

"Should I?"

That was how you'd known something was deeply wrong.

The basketball team wasn't exactly your friend group, since you hung out with the squad most of the time and without Kise, you didn't really have anything to say to them, except maybe for Momoi and Kuroko. And still you noticed how Aomine was nowhere to be seen, and even Midorima didn't bother with acknowledging you in the halls.

And worst of all, you'd watched Kise's eyes go back to being glazed over with boredom. Every time you asked him if he wanted to talk about it, and every time he reassured you, saying nothing was wrong.

Kise had never lied to you. He had always known all your problems and secrets, and you his.

Somehow, you felt guilty about what happened.

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

Teiko was not known for its leniency when it came to sports practice.

Still, it was you who’d foolishly risen to the bait of your squad captain, and here you were on a Friday evening, shrugging icy water off of you hoping for feeling to come back to your toes, when you could have been at home already soaking in a bubble bath.

One good thing: nothing hurt anymore, since your limbs had fallen asleep. You could still catch the last train, so you made it out quickly, grabbing your bag. You walked stiffly to the exit, unwittingly going next to the basketball gym, ruining all your efforts.

(You hadn’t taken the challenge to prove anything to that empty-brained tumbler. You knew it’d hold you back enough so you could miss Ryōta on the way home and pretend it was club stuff. You’d been avoiding him and pretending not to notice his hurt looks. You were unravelling.)

So, that day, walking past the gym, steeling yourself not to look inside, you heard those words.

“Next time we see each other, we’ll be opponents.”

You sped up, almost running to the bus stop, your ankle smarting again after your short run had warmed up your body, heart beating to the confusing tune of hurt and longing.

You weren’t sure you could handle three more years like this.

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

Sixteen and born to win, you hopped on the train right as the doors closed, slipping in without so much as a hair caught between the metal edges. Your nails flashed hot pink against the grey of your new uniform skirt, and your hair was tied neatly. You were ready to hit the mat before breakfast.

Of course, you dropped on a seat and immediately let your head fall against the window, catching up on your lost sleep.

Under your eyelids, you couldn’t stop your mind from flashing your phone’s black screen, Kise silent after you’d texted him you couldn’t walk to school with him because of club imperatives, your heart sinking a little in your chest. You couldn’t help but remember the knowing look Momoi had given you at graduation when you’d told her which high school you were going to. As if she were one to talk—you hadn’t made any comment when she’d said she would be going to Tōō! And anyway, it was either this or Shutoku, and you wouldn’t be caught dead on the same squad as your former cheer captain. That girl was going down this year or else.

High school was going to be a good time, you’d make sure of it. New place, new people new rules, new you.

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

When Kise Ryōta was five years old, he learnt that little girls could bend in half.

He saw one of them do it, in the gym where his oldest sister had left him while she took her dance classes on the upper floor.

She had bent so far that, for a second, he had been worried she would snap in two.

He would never forget that moment—the moment he discovered what extraordinary meant.

He would never forget any of the moments that came after, when you had told him your name and became his friend at a time when he was so lonely it hurt.

As you both grew up, he’d started to worry you would move on. Find someone better, someone more interesting. Someone truly gifted in something the way he wasn’t—copying is the lowest form of the wit, after all, or however the saying went.

Or maybe he would get bored of you. Get bored of seeing the same face day after day.

Unfortunately, as the years passed, he didn’t grow bored.

Kise discovered a new sentiment: frustration.

And you were painfully oblivious to it, wrapped up in your own worry.

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

First-aid classes with you were horrible for his blood pressure.

Sometimes, the instructor felt merciful and let you practise on mannequins. Other times, the elderly man fancied himself a hotshot cardiac surgeon or something and forced you to practise on live bodies. “A mannequin can’t prepare you for the feeling of ribs breaking under your hands,” he had said, dead serious, with a dozen teens looking uncomfortable as hell.

You insisted on signing up every year in order not to forget the manoeuvres. He knew where that came from, and sure, if he was to choke on a bone fish again or go into cardiac arrest from a bad collision, there’d better be someone who knew the Heimlich manoeuvre and CPR. But if you were the one doing it? He was going to choke anyway.

You hovering over him, eyes on his mouth, gaze focused and jaw set? Yeah, every session was torture and you didn’t even notice. Were you even his friend? Did you even care a little bit about his feelings? How could you not feel the way his skin burnt under your fingers when you pulled him into a practiced recovery position?

As he drifted away from his own teammates, from the new passion basketball had kindled in him, he decided against telling you the only thing keeping him coming to practice was the thought of walking home with you.

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

He didn’t have a clue most of the time.

Everything was fine, and then something switched. The day he started undressing you in his head—absent-mindedly, like it was nothing at all, like you weren’t his most precious friend, like he wasn’t unravelling the last thread of his reality—was the day he knew he was fucked six ways from Sunday. You were stuck in a push-and-pull with each other, and he didn’t know what to do.

It seemed Kise could not keep his friendships going smoothly.

You holding his hand or hugging him was never a problem before. He refused to spoil your relationship like with the other Miracles. On the other hand, throwing it all away was so tempting, the easy way out, burn all the bridges and pretend it never happened. If you had been someone else, he’d already have done it. But you were you. You were not some girl he could just toy with, speeding it up to get faster to the break-up.

On a good day, he would psych himself into trying to talk to you—and always failed miserably to follow through with his plan.

When you were younger, you’d hold sleepovers at his or your house, in the dark, by candlelight, giggling uncontrollably until his sisters or your parents came to scold you gently.

He appreciated candlelight even more now, some seven years later and several hours a day spent under the unforgiving blinding flash of a photographer’s camera. He liked the warm flickering glow of it, how the candle slowly died, and you’d agree on going to bed, but would end up talking again until either of you fell asleep. He liked catching glimpses of you in the dark, piecing you back together in his head, fragments of you in this soft glow haunting his dreams, and he'd wake up with strands of your hair in his dry mouth and his hands uncomfortably close to you and he'd go straight to the bathroom. Being overly enthusiastic at breakfast didn’t quite make up for it, unfortunately, and he’d pretend not to notice the question in your gaze.

At the height of summer, he gave up on faking indifference at the way your shorts rode up on your thighs, showing blue and purple bruises where you’d been gripped countless times, propped up by bottom bases for a pyramid. Lying on the grass, he tried to focus on your words despite the blood rushing in his ears, thinking about how much he wanted to make those bruises his doing, how he wanted to—

He came later and later when you were having sleepovers, photoshoots and practice eating away at his time, smiling sheepishly to your father working in the living-room, you were already half-asleep on your covers spread on the floor, near your open window, aquarium glowing softly purple, pump-pump-pumping water. Your eyes two bright spots on your lit-up face when you pulled gently on his sleeve to make him lie down next to you. He complied every time, exhaustion making his limbs weak. He tried to sleep and not think about how hard it was to not touch.

School was no respite for him. When he managed to hide from his fangirls, you spent the break stowed away, pressed against each other like when you were little, and life was a river under a rainbow. You leaned on his shoulder in the hallway, staying still until the motion-activated lights turned off.

You would both pretend everything was fine, and that this wasn’t the worst time of your lives.

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

You looked at him but you failed to notice how he looked at you—how his gaze followed the hair catching at your mouth whenever you landed a tumbling pass, ponytail flipping, how he trailed close when you walked on railings by the road on the way home, how his breath hitched when you dismounted with an aerial walkover as if a car didn’t zoom past you at one hundred miles per hour, looking back at him and shooting him a cocky grin, how you were always confident and invested in a single thing, laser-focused on your passion.

The hardest thing in cheer was not the tumbling passes, or the pyramids, or the hours or the gruelling practices, the injuries or the rivalries. It was the smile hiding the lactic acid building in the muscles, it was the spring in the step on hardwood floor, the unfailing cheerfulness.

“Why do you like it?”

He’d asked one day, at the end of cheer practice, which for once had overrun basketball—they needed to prepare for regionals, especially with Shutoku’s squad firing on all cylinders on the circuit this year.

“I’m part of something,” you’d said. “I’m part of something and I don’t have to look at myself.”

After a moment, you’d asked:

“Why do you like basketball?”

He’d paused to really think about it for a minute, and realized he’d finally settled on an answer long ago. He just had to acknowledge it.

“I’m part of a team.”

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

Highschool saw you fall into a tentative, sincere routine that was an attempt at going back to the way things were.

(When will you both admit things changed? You were waiting to see who would break first.)

You walked to and from school together. Ease came back as you stopped awkwardly greeting each other, picking up the conversation where you’d last left off without missing a beat, like before. It felt safe, comfortable.

You came to Kise’s games with a spring in your step, happy to see him interact with his teammates, happy to see that Kaijō was free of the currents of tension that had plagued Teikō’s last days.

You went back to your favourite hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, sharing food the way you used to. Everything clicked gradually back into place like synchronizing heartbeats, and even though you knew things would never be the same again, you did your best to make up for what happened, and he did too.

Maybe this was your way of apologizing. Maybe it was his, too.

“I think I need a new lock screen photo,” Kise said one day, gauging your reaction.

“Yeah, I think you do,” you answered.

You grinned at each other.

Things always looked up eventually.

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

One second you were soaring in the air under the blinding lights of the stadium, so high, high, high up you could have sworn you touched the rafters, your whole body tight and arms crossed on your chest as you completed your flip, heart rattling against your ribcage partly because of the booming music and partly because of the sheer excitement you’d been feeling.

The next second, your head was meeting the unforgiving, hardwood, polished floor of the court, your squadmates desperately scrambling for you, painted nails scratching at your arms, thighs and waist, clutching and leaving crescent-shaped indents in your skin, and as you were propped upright, you felt sticky hot blood coating your forehead and hairline, and you blurted out: "Oh, that's not good."

The good side of things was that you didn't really feel the pain, since you were living an out-of-body experience. It had started when your squad got on the court, as always, your body slipping out of your mind's control to execute the choreography, the tumbling passes and pyramid beats, and even your injury couldn't jolt you back to reality. Adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, and the hallway was swirling a little. One of your squadmates was standing guard near the bench you sat on, trying not to lie down, and your coach had called an ambulance. You had started debating internally whether falling asleep and risking not waking up was worth it or not when you caught a blue and yellow blur at the periphery of your vision.

A split second later, two strong, callused hands softly cupped your cheeks and you tried to focus on the two worried brown eyes staring at you. It took three long seconds for you to piece it back together—pretty in blue, perfectly winged eyeliner and the hand that held your own when he dragged you from mall to mall—your best friend was here.

You smiled brightly, though you weren't sure if your numbing body had followed the motion since Kise's brows furrowed further.

"Ryōta!" you chimed, your own voice sounding far away. "Is the match over?"

"It's still half-time. They're cleaning your blood off the court."

"Oh," you muttered, nodding in understanding, the movement sending pain flaring through your nerves, kind of bumped out Kise hadn't won yet, because then you would have headed out for celebratory drinks, and you knew you had to talk to him about something, but what? You were sure you had planned to talk…

You heard Kise calling out your name, and the edge of panic to his voice made you realise you’d been zoning out.

"Are you okay?"

As you tried to focus on his gaze and the feeling of his fingers on your cheeks, you caught sight of your squadmate beckoning your coach over.

"I'm perfectly fine," you beamed as you started falling over, the siren of the ambulance blaring painfully in your brain even from behind the stadium glass gates, blue and red lights flashing on your face, and your vision went black.

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

Kise could barely focus on the rest of the match.

Of course, it didn't mean he threw it. He blazed across the court in his usual, miracle-curb-stomping-mortals fashion, but he was off, half out of it. Even though the team they were facing was nowhere near a threat to Kaijō, he knew Kasamatsu wouldn't have hesitated to drop kick him into next year were it not for the too-shiny spot near the half court line where you bled out. Okay, maybe there was no need to be dramatic about it but you'd been whisked away by an ambulance and even the cheer coach, who didn't blink at splintered shins and broken arms, had looked worried. Head injuries could be lethal in this sport. You weren't paralyzed or anything, but he remembered the dried blood near your hairline and your unfocused eyes, glazed over with pain and what was probably the beginning of a concussion.

After the game, he put his clothes back on in autopilot mode, wordlessly letting know Coach Takeuchi he was going straight to the hospital and not getting on the team bus.

The receptionist looked at him with downright unwarranted distrust when he told her he was waiting for you, and that you’d suffered a head injury.

“Let me guess: she fell down the stairs?”

Kise didn’t even know what to say to that, mind coming up blank with worry, and so simply went to sit between a sniffling child and a man who seemed fine despite the axe planted in his head. He belatedly remembered to text his manager he was not coming to the shoot after all.

His chest deflated with relief when he saw your coach step back out in the waiting room, with you right behind her, bandages hiding under your bangs. He sprung up, ignoring the eyes of the receptionist burning holes in his back, and waited until your coach had left you near your house before talking to you. The blood trickling from your forehead where you’d split skin had been spectacular but harmless, as you’d only suffered from a little head trauma. The hematoma would disappear in three weeks all on its own. His throat felt choked up with relief and all the unnamed emotions he’d let simmer during all those years.

You arrived in front of your apartment complex, street lights falling on the street walk, splashes of light on the dark pavement. Silence blanketed you while you were trying to muster the courage to talk.

At the same time, you both said:

“I’m sorry.”

Kise blinked. Sorry? About what? What even—why couldn’t he even apologize properly—

“I wasn’t there for you,” you said, feeling your eyelashes brush against your bandages. “I should have tried to help you instead of watching it happen.”

“What—no, no! I—”

Come on, get your shit together, Ryōta.

“I was avoiding you,” he finally admitted. “Because… I can’t be friends with you anymore.”

You were stunned into silence, coming to a halt before the steps leading to the entrance of the apartment complex. For a second, you convinced yourself you’d misheard. That you’d actually suffered a concussion and were hallucinating this whole part. That this wasn’t happening.

“It’s not because I don’t like you!” He scrambled to save the throw, trying to get all his thoughts out faster upon seeing the way you’d reacted. “It’s because I like you…too much.”

Kise bit on his tongue. He was messing this up. He was messing this up so badly. He felt so stupid, where was his casual flirtiness when he needed it, you would never talk to him again—

You silently hugged him tight, something you hadn’t done since middle school, and the air flew out of his lungs like you’d just punched him.

Humiliating tears pricked his eyes and he closed his arms around you, burying his nose in your hair, your game-day shampoo’s scent wrapping around him, and he found the strength to say, so quietly you could have not heard it: “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Stupid, stupid you to worry about him when you literally split your head open. But it was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t need to be dragged to practice, you’d timidly gone back to hanging out together more often, and he found that he actually liked those Kaijō lunatics (though he still did not appreciate Kasamatsu’s cage fight skills).

“See you tomorrow?”

Kise reluctantly let you out of his arms, and nodded, heart swelling with relief. Relief, relief, relief. You still wanted to talk to him.

“See you tomorrow.”

You turned, but halted, one foot still lifted over the first step. Did your heart hurt? Did he need to call your parents? His hand went fishing for his phone in his pocket, set on dialling your mom’s number, but he went still when you turned again and took one step closer to him, your hand gripping his jacket, and he mindlessly bent down, eyes widening as you got closer and closer until your lips pressed against his.

Every coherent thought disappeared as his brain turned to mush, and he let out an undignified noise as your tongue anxiously, timidly slipped into his mouth. He’d become the embodiment of non-resistance, hands cupping your face as a wave of heat washed over him.

Then, as quickly as you’d started, you stopped and took a step back.

Kise distantly thought he was probably as red as Kagami’s hair, brain rewiring to produce full sentences again.

“See you tomorrow,” you said, with finality this time, smiling softly.

He nodded, watching you go inside.

He’d see you tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#knb #knb x reader #kuroko no basket #kuroko's basketball #kuroko no basuke #kise x reader #kise ryota x reader #kise ryota #gom #knb imagines #knb scenarios #knb one-shot #reader scenario #knb fanfic #plot bunny status: out of my head and that's all that matters

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wackyharpy · 4 months

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Solicitude

Eric (Divergent) x Fem! Reader

Summary: Eric takes care of his girlfriend after the hard day.

To find more stories — masterlist

A/N: English isn't my native language. I'm obsessed with this man, oh gods! Needed to write something like this. I'd be very happy for your comments and reblogs. Enjoy :)

Warnings ⚠️

NSFW 18+, fingering, p in v sex, she/her pronouns.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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She enters their shared apartment late in the evening locking the door. Muscles all over the body ache after hard trainings with the squad she's part of. Their commander always keeps them fit.

She finished her initiation taking the third place on the rankings board. Such success for a girl, who was one of the two among other male initiates, ended up with her becoming a part of the squad of the special purpose for secret missions.

Since the day their commander chose her, he has never regretted. It was a right decision. She is smart and witty — former Erudite — calm and placid — a perfect person not to blab plans and inside scoop.

Additionally, she's the youngest leader's girlfriend.

To start relationships with Eric wasn't an easy decision, but two years have already passed and they're still together. Unexpectedly, Eric has turned out to be a simple person to live with. Yes, the character he has, sometimes drives her crazy, although it's not the problem that can't be solved. He's dominant, intimidating and frightening, as he was the first time she met him during the initiation.

Nevertheless, she's discovered much more other facets of his personality. He's not just that cruel leader everybody is used to seeing him. Eric can cook — the first thing that surprised her a lot. He's a good listener and adviser. He motivates her to work and to become a better version of herself — she appreciates time they spend together in the gym where he shares his knowledge of how to obtain skillfulness in fighting, shooting, plotting plans and strategies.

They've learned how to be a leader and a subordinate, a mentor and a student outside the walls of their apartment. But here, they're only Eric and her. Just a boyfriend and his girlfriend.

She walks deeper in the room greeting Eric who is finishing dinner in the kitchen area. Dim lights of lanterns illuminate the space along with the moon whose rays permeate into through the panoramic windows — their apartment is situated on the upper floors of Dauntless compartment.

She rubs red weary eyes with her calloused palms, and sits at the table in the dining area. Exhales heavily. Eric places a plate with baked salmon and veggies in front of her. He constantly pays attention to her diet for her to have energy and be healthy.

"Thanks," she smiles warmly.

Being a leader, he's never provided her with advantages that may assist her easily gain a position in Dauntless. Some people may consider, she got her place in the squad because of Eric, though that's not true. Her efforts are the reason she's there. The only benefits she has is access to products of high-quality, good clothes, domicile and protection.

She eats every now and then looking at sharp features of Eric's face, at his perfect nose and slightly plump lips, at his cheekbones which she adores to contour with the finger. Her eyes go down viewing vividly black tattoos on the neck. She feels how something is tugging in the lower abdomen.

"Eat your meal. Stop gazing at me," she hears his voice's deep timbre. Abruptly, her cheeks turn pink and she chuckles. She sees how a perfect line of Eric's lips twitches in a smirk.

"Salmon is really good," she praises dinner.

"Mhm... received two fresh fish this morning."

***

They finish dinner and clean the table, then do the washing-up together. Eric hides two plates in the shelf above the faucet and turns to her immediately embracing her little petite figure with his strong arms.

"Tired?" The serene tone of his voice soothes her.

She cuddles closer to his chest smelling a pleasant male scent, and just nods. She feels a soft kiss on her forehead, and then Eric rises her from the ground taking to the bathroom.

After brushing their teeth — they've got used to do all this plain routine together, the couple gets ready to take the shower. Eric turns on water and begins to undress her. She yawns finally feeling how much her muscles are strained, in need of rest. Hooded eyes watch how Eric attentively takes off all of her clothes, then undresses himself.

He's not a type of guy to say "love you" and other sweet nothings about his feelings, but she doesn't need that. She's got used to his own tongue of showing love and affection.

Before stepping into the shower cabin, Eric checks the temperature of water, only then leads her inside along with him. She closes her eyes relaxing under warm streams realizing how much her body's got exhausted. Eric massages her shoulders gently once in a while placing kisses on them, her neck, or back. He helps to soothe knots in her strained muscles. She sighs contendetly leaning back on his powerful chest. She feels that Eric is smiling, feels his tender touching on her hips and stomach. She enjoys such moments when he takes a lead, dominates but gently, and looks after her. At times like this, she feels safe and peaceful.

After the shower, he dries her wrapping in the soft towel. Eric takes her face and kisses her affectionately and possessively.

"Fancy sex?" His look is demanding and piercing.

She bites her lower lip that doesn't escape Eric's attention.

She nods, also adding:

"But I'm too tired to be active in bed."

He is silent for several seconds, just rubs her cheeks with the thumbs. Then responds:

"I'll take care of you."

With these words, he leads her to their bed that stands opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows. She sinks in the black linen that smells of them. After coming into contact with the duvet, her head and eyelids suddenly feel heavy. Drowsiness washes over her, foggy curtain falls onto her eyes.

Eric lies beside her and she immediately snuggles her nose into his bicep closing her eyes, giving her whole body to him. He unwraps the towel revealing her steamed, after the shower, body.

His calloused hand creases her breasts, plays with her already hard nipples and then goes down reaching her labia. Eric rubs them leisurely watching her reactions. She's a bit sleepy, though still reacts to his movements gasping quietly. He finds her pulsating clit giving it proper attention until her pussy is wet enough to insert two fingers inside. Her moist insides welcome them and he starts gentle but steady movements back and forth. She breathes out, moans a little, and Eric looms his head over brushing his lips against hers.

"Like it?"

"Mhm," she cuddles closer, still keeping her eyes closed.

"Open your legs wider," he commands whispering.

She obediently does as he orders. His thrusts become faster. She feels hotness rushing to her core, something tugs, then her walls clench, and she releases sticky juices orgasming. She exhales heavily feeling pleasant relief.

Eric takes out his fingers spreading clammy liquid of her pussy all over her entrance and inner labia. He pumps his already hard dick for some time and settles himself comfortably between her lean legs. He rubs pinkish head of the cock against her drenched folds, then starts intruding with his member inside.

Eric bites his lower lip feeling how her enjoyable tightness wraps his member. They both gasp. He looms over her hiding her safely from the world conquering all her senses with only his presence.

"Eric..." sweet moan of hers.

His thrusts are slow and gentle — he's not planning to make rough sex tonight. He wants her to enjoy herself, relax, and ultimately sleep peacefully.

#eric coulter #eric divergent #eric x reader #divergent movie #divergent fanfiction #divergent fandom #divergent #jai courtney #jai courtney fanfiction #jai courtney imagines

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fourthwingfan · 2 months

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Madness - Chapter 4

Warning: It's a war college so don't read it if you sensitive to violence death etc.

Note: We have finally a "decent" conversation between Xaden and Aelin. And guess what? We have a new nickname. From Xaden. Soo goood. 😍

Enjoy :)

The sparring ring is where riders are made or broken. After all, no respectable dragon would choose a rider who cannot defend themselves, and no respectable cadet would allow such threat to the wing to continue training.

-Major Afendra’s guide to the Riders Quadrant

(Unauthorized Edition)

“Elena Sosa, Brayden Blackburn.” Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll, flanked by two other scribes on the dais as we stand in silent formation in the courtyard, squinting into the early sun.

This morning, we’re all in rider black, and there’s a single silver four-pointed star on my collarbone, the mark of a first-year, and a Fourth Wing patch on my shoulder. We were issued standard uniforms yesterday, summer-weight tightfitted tunics, pants, and accessories after Parapet was over, but not flight leathers. There’s no point handing out the thicker, more protective combat uniforms when half of us won’t be around come Threshing in October. The armored corset Mira made us isn’t regulation, but I fit right in among the hundreds of modified uniforms around me.

After the last twenty-four hours and one night in the first-floor barracks, I’m starting to realize that this quadrant is a strange mix of we-might-die-tomorrow hedonism and a brutal efficency in the name of the same reason.

“Jace Sutherland.” Captain Fitzgibbons continues to read, and the scribes next to him shift their weight. “Dougal Luperco.”

I think we’re somewhere in the fifties, but I lost count. This is the only memorial the names will get, the only time they’ll be spoken of in the citadel.

There are a hundred and fifty-six of us in the first floor of the dormitory building, our beds positioned in four neat rows in the open space. Private rooms are like flight leathers - you don’t get one until you survive Threshing.

“Simone Casteneda.” Captain Fitzgibbons closes the scroll. “We commend their souls to Malek.” The god of death.

I blink. Guess we were closer to the end than I thought.

There’s no formal conclusion to the formation, no last moment of silence. The names on the scroll leave the dais with the scribes, and the quiet is broken as the squad leaders all turn and begin to address their squads.

“Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you’re not going to get another chance before lunch,” our squad leader says. His name is Theo as we learnt after yesterday’s events. For first impression he seem to be a pretty calm guy. He talked about the rules but not like Dain based on what Violet said last night. I swear the rules are his gods.

In our squad there are third- and second-years besides us, marked and non-marked ones. We’re a really mixed group.

Yesterday I didn’t have a chance to observe our squad mates because when Theo’s briefing was over I went to find Violet. We succeeded securing beds next to each other. Rhiannon too. We talked about a lot of things due to the fact that we’re not in the same squad. I can’t be with her for every lesson, our schedule is different. Vi helped me memorising the order of my lessons. It’s a luck that at least I have good memory.

“Second- and third-years, I’m assuming you know where to go” Theo continues as the scribes wind their way around the edge of the courtyard to my right, headed back to their quadrant.

There’s a mutter of agreement from the senior cadets ahead of us. As first-years, we’re in the back two rows of the little square that makes up our squad.

“First-years, at least one of you should have memorized your academic schedule when it was handed out yesterday.” Theo’s voice booms over us. “Stick together. I expect you all to be alive when we meet this afternoon in the sparring gym.”

We only have the gym twice a week, so there should be time to help Violet learn a little more self defense. She’s smart and quick. She can do it.

I’m more worried about my own lessons. I have to put in so much extra hours to be up to date in our reading materials. Before Basgiath, Violet helped me to study. She often read aloud the texts while I tried to memorize its content. It’s easier. When I’m trying to read, it often makes me so frustrated. I’m trying to read, but I can’t. It’s a really slow process. But because of this I’m good at making notes. I only write down what is really important ‘cause later I have to read it again.

I hope the lessons will be tolerable. I can’t have Violet with me all the time. It’s same for her. She needs to practice her skills before we’ll have to handle the Gauntlet - the vertical obstacle course they told us we’ll have to master when the leaves turn colors in two months.

If we can complete the final Gauntlet, we’ll walk through the natural box canyon above it that leads to the flight field for Presentation, where this year’s dragons willing to bond will get their first look at the remaining cadets. Two days after that, Threshing will occur in the valley beneath the citadel.

I glance around at my new squadmates and can’t help but wonder which of us, if any, will make it to that flight field, let alone that valley.

Don’t borrow tomorrow’s trouble.

“And if we’re not?” One smart-ass first-year behind me asks.

I don’t bother looking, instead I turn to Liam and roll my eyes at the stupid’s girl comment.

He snickers but doesn’t say anything.

“Then I won’t have to be concerned with learning your name, since it will be read off tomorrow morning” Theo answers with a shrug.

A third-year ahead of me snorts a laugh.

Yeah, I totally understand you. It was funny. Or just my sense of humor is sucks.

“You have about twenty minutes to get to class,” Theo says to the seven of us first-years. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Get your shit together and don’t be late.” Our squad breaks apart around the same time the others do, transforming the courtyard from an orderly formation to a crowd of chatting cadets. The second- and third-years walk off in another direction, including Theo.

“Go, grab your stuff and meet me here okay?” Liam says

“You’d be lost without me anyway.” I reply while heading to the doors.

“And here I thought you’d be kinder with a good night sleep, Snappy.” He sighs.

“Damn, I told you to drop this ridiculous nickname.” I hiss at him.

“Or what? We’re squadmates, you can’t hurt me” he winks.

“No. I can’t kill you. It’s completly different.” I say smiling.

“Whooah look at that. You can smile.”

“Shut up. Go grab your pack or I leave you here.” I roll my eyes.

I go to the dormitory where my bed is, and pick up my rucksack from under it.

When I walk out the door I see Violet at the center of the courtyard and her expression make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She’s looking at somebody.

Oh shit.

Xaden Riorson is watching her with narrowed eyes, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up his massive arms that remain folded across his chest, the warning in his relic-covered arm on full display as a third-year next to him says something that he blatantly ignores.

Garrick was he?

There’s maybe twenty feet between us. My fingers twitch, ready to grab one of the blades sheathed at my ribs.

His head tilts and he studies me with those impossibly dark eyes, like he’s deciding where I’m most vulnerable. So he noticed me when I exited the dormitory. Interesting.

He smirks then his attention shifts to Violet, and Dain who emerges from behind the pillar.

Shit, do they have to be so obvious? Someone might misinterpret it.

Violet says something to Dain, then his gaze snaps up as the crowd thins out around us.

„I already knew your parents are tight,” Xaden calls out, a cruel smile tilting his lips. „But do you two have to be so fucking obvious?”

I told you, I sigh when the few cadets who are still in the rotunda turn to look at them.

„Let me guess,” Xaden continues, glancing between Dain and Violet, „Childhood friends? First loves, even?”

„I expected you to do a better job hiding where your affections lie, Aetos.” Xaden moves, walking down the steps.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I need to do something.

„Come on Riorson, you have eyes, now use it. You really think that Violet and Dain? I thought you’re smarter than that.” I sigh with feigned disappointment.

„Melgren?” He turns to me. „What are you? A watchdog? Always at Violet’s legs?”

Fucking asshole.

„Now you’re trying to insult me? How kind of you.” I smile at him sweetly. „And no. Violet can protect herself. I just don’t like the fact that now everybody thinks that they have something between them because of you. I didn’t know you liked to gossip.”

„With this attitude you won’t last long, Melgren. Throwing insults at everybody who dares to talk to you or Sorrengail.” He tilts his head to the side. „It’s like you’re a fucking ray of sunshine.”

„Then forgive this little Sunshine and her friend because we’ll have a lesson soon, and it would cast a really bad light on us if we were late. Don’t you think wingleader?” I gesture toward Violet to come with me.

„Hm. Then we should continue our interesting conversation later.” He says slowly with a smirk and I have a bad feeling about it. „And don’t forget to watch your back, Sunshine.” He turns and walks away.

Sunshine? A nickname? Really?

Damn, he’s handsome for sure but at the same time an enermous prick.

#fourth wing #fanfiction #fourth wing fanfic #garrick tavis #liam mairi #the empyrean #the fourth wing #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #xaden x oc #oc

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whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst · 1 year

Text

The Artist and the Fan: Further Meta of Tiny Moments in Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

So it’s possible I did a third rewatch just because I’m convinced my favorite character is queer-coded. And that’s fine. I’ve written about Guangyan as queer-coded before. But what if it’s not just him?

Behold the first scene where Guangyan gets hit by a ball during gym class:

Before the first hit, the camera focuses on him subtly watching something as he runs around the track. What is to his left? The field where Yiyong is. Guangyan is surreptitiously eyeing Yiyong as he runs.

Right after Yiyong smacks the ball at him, the camera chooses to focus on Yiyong’s face. No comment on the expression here...EXCEPT we know later in the series that Yiyong didn’t push him down the stairs, is very gentle inside and wasn’t actually sure whether it had been Guangyan scoffing about his dreams the first time they met, so this is probably not revenge. When some kid brushes past Guangyan in the hall, he automatically thinks it’s Yiyong, meaning Yiyong pushes past him a lot. So given the comedic twists of this show, my queer little brain jumped to, eithrr he has the worst pattern of aim and walking in history, OR he is trying to get Guangyan’s attention in the dumbest “doesn’t know his own strength but maybe third times the charm” kind of way. Think about the dumb shit kids do on the playground to get someone’s attention. We’ve talked about Guangyan nursing a quintessential “of course I don’t like him, I absolutely hate him and his beautiful eyes” crush on Yiyong since high school, but a specific aspect of the rewatch made me think…maybe Yiyong, master of hiding his feelings and desires, master of expressing himself in writing and drawing, wasn’t entirely immune to Guangyan in high school either.

AND I HAVE EVIDENCE *jams tin hat on head* (although I respect that this could also just be a really solid non-romantic bond, see my note at the bottom)

Yiyong’s comic:

Literally two seconds after Yiyong (post coma 1) shuts down his comic, Guangyan (who is, as we later discover, the only reader of the comic) is frantically trying to get him to continue it.

Because it’s a cute little subplot that we know Guangyan is a fan, I got curious about what Yiyong’s art is all about, so I paused on his comic when he clicked on it shortly after waking up from coma 1; we surmise that the last time he worked on it was back when he was in high school, right before the accident.

A thank you to a translation by @betty5271 for explaining what Yiyong’s comic is supposedly about, according to the title and summary he has written for it on his page. The title is King of Flashfire, with the summary “What kind of bloody storm will a gifted high school student unleash on the campus?"

(Genres listed are battle, school life, and comedy)

Hmmmmmm. So it’s a story Yiyong wrote as a student…about a gifted student who gets into “battles”….

Now look at his two characters that are the figures from his comic. Remind you of any two people’s hairstyles and clothes?

*adjusts tin hat*

Guangyan is the only reader of the comic Yiyong has written about a stormy bond between two high school boys. A comic Yiyong wrote before ever having an actual conversation with Guangyan.

It makes this moment even more precious:

Now, to be clear: I do see this as a coded pre-romantic relationship, BUT this could also be an incredibly sweet friendship, too. Just as amazing. I would love a second season where they get their shit together, if that’s where the story is meant to go. Even if it never heads in that direction, I would still love this show so much and I can’t wait for their relationship to grow as they do. Our boys are soulmates, this comic subplot shows their coming together on the monster squad was meant to be.

(Chuying’s main meta is next if anyone has requests or thoughts on areas to cover with her)

#oh no! here comes trouble #whomst

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snitchesnsneeds · 3 days

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Bethany's Bizarre Miraculous Baseball Episode!?

I decided, while I was readying myself for the finale and Chloe's character death, why not write one of the Miraculous ideas buzzing in my head not related to my fic? This one's a baseball episode because I like baseball episodes.

In terms of background plot, the Peacock Miraculous is fixed and Hawkmoth (no, not Shadowmoth, this is my canon,) has whittled down the identities of Ladybug and Chat Noir to being in Mme. Bustier's class. He doesn't immediately think Ladybug and Chat Noir are the only two students unakumatized in class because he knows Miraculouses can be swapped around, and Miraculous wielders can change their appearance. As for the episode prior,

Ms. Bustier's class is playing baseball for whatever reason. Gym class or something.

Hawkmoth, knowing Ladybug and Chat Noir are in the group, decides to strike, but instead of the overdone and constantly-failing akuma method (not to mention no one's having that bad of a day,) he decides to get creative.

Hawkmoth shows up at the baseball field the Miracuclass is at, in full baseball gear as well? The exits are blocked off by a mass of mold created by the peacock Miraculous, and Ladybug and Chat Noir have trouble running and transforming due to said mold having eyes everywhere, including, yes, the toilets.

He's also created a full robotic baseball team with the peacock miraculous, with 7 basic robot players, 1 armored catcher, and 1 pitching machine on wheels. The latter wields a bat by having it duct-taped to its "head," btw.

Hawkmoth merely wants to wager a game of baseball. If the home team wins, Hawkmoth will leave the class alone. No more akumas or amoks targeting them. However, if Hawkmoth wins, and he might, he gets to take all their accessories! Necklaces, Bracelets, Jewelry, Earrings, Rings, etc.

After the initial cries of shock, confusion, and "Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!", the class decides on what to do. Some members see this as a low-cost high-gain game, not to mention they were already playing baseball in the first place.

Marinette and Adrien, being Ladybug and Chat Noir respectively in the first place, realize Hawkmoth's plan and are not for playing, although they have problems explaining why for reasons that don't expose themselves. Same with the classmates that have figured out their identities (Ivan, Nathaniel, Juleka, and Max,) although they fare a bit better in the reasoning department. Also Chloe is on team no for obvious reasons. As is Sabrina.

Lila's with team 'no' at first for the same reasons as Chloe, but changes sides when she figures out Hawkmoth's scheme and comes to the same conclusions as him.

Ultimately, not willing to risk what would happen if they said no, the Miracuclass takes up Hawkmoth's offer. Also they have uniforms now. From the power of baseball or something.

Since a baseball team only needs nine players and Ms. Bustier's class has fifteen people (six too many,) Chloe, Sabrina, Rose, Mylene, Lila, and Marinette form a cheer squad instead with uniforms as well. Very modest uniforms. Like at the lightest no sleeves and yes modesty shorts.

In terms of positions (because I care deeply about this,) Alix is the pitcher (a great one at that!), Ivan is the catcher, Nino looks over first base, Max looks over second base (he can catch and throw well by calculating the trajectories), Adrien looks over third base, Alya, the girlboss that she is, handles Shortstop, while Kim, Juleka, and Nathaniel are all outfielders. While Kim's highly athletic and a runner and Juleka is frequently at the right spot to catch the ball in midair, Nathaniel is an art kid that wants nothing to do with this and would rather doodle comics.

As for batting, it's as you'd expect. The students that are muscular, sporty, or have spent time as superheroes (mainly Alya and Nino for the latter,) bat better. Ivan's a bit on the slow side and Juleka's a deceptively fast runner, however. It helps that her girlfriend's cheering her on.

Finally, the cheer squad. Chloe, being a talented gymnast and Mean Girl, kills it as a cheerleader, with Rose and Sabrina not being too far behind. Mylene's doing her best, Marinette keeps on tripping over her own feet, and Lila's doing the bare minimum and using faked health conditions as excuses. She also tries to take the other cheerleaders' earrings and rings in case they're Ladybug or Chat Noir, and makes more fake excuses when noticed. At one point Chloe and Lila start fighting. Sabrina tries to break it up.

Hawkmoth's really getting into the sport, by the way. Yelling, telling the enemy team what to do when they mess up, getting mad when his robot baseball players try to cheat, etc. Mostly because some of Gabriel's best times with Emile were at baseball games. He even proposed to her after a game!

Adrien, sweating a bit: "Why does Hawkmoth keep on looking at me? Has he figured out my identity?"

Hawkmoth, looking at Adrien: "My son isn't doing as well as I'd hoped. A pity. Is he not interested?"

Also the bleachers are filled up with some audience members, let in by the Mold. Not a full crowd by any means, but there's people! It helps Nadja is broadcasting the game as well. Marinette's parents are there. The Gorilla is whistling in support of Adrien and has a foam finger. Nathalie isn't there, though. She was never into the sport.

Of course, a bunch of middle schoolers don't fare too well against a team of lifeforms designed to be good at baseball. Alya, using her own form of Ladybug vision (or whatever it's called,) on the cheer squad, determines that Marinette should join the team in place of someone else. Nathaniel seems like the best choice due to being the worst player.

Nathaniel: "NO! I am not becoming a cheerleader! Can't I just sit on the bench or something?"

Alya: "We need six cheerleaders. We can't have a full pyramid with only five!"

Murmur of agreement from the others

Nathaniel: "...Well can't you get someone else to be a cheerleader instead? Why can't it be someone like Jule-Gets hit by a thrown baseball mitt and shoe-OW! Hey!"

Adrien: "Everyone, calm down. I'll be the cheerleader. I've never liked competitive team sports like baseball anyways. I'd rather be my own rival."

Adrien walks over to Marinette and hands her his hat and baseball mitt

Adrien: "Win the game for everyone here, okay?"

Marinette: (Internally) Adrien's counting on me. I can't let him down again! I'll win this game not just to keep my Miraculous, but so I can rebuild Adrien's trust in me!

For the record, I decided in my canon this episode takes a while after Marinette and Adrien got together before having a horribly messy break-up three episodes later, and in general this is meant to be platonic, but if you make art of this and change that dialogue a little for the sake of Adrienette, I won't be cranky.

But yeah. The entire cheer squad welcomes Adrien in with open arms because they're nice girls, Lila, Chloe, and Chloe's girlfriend. Also maybe I'd have Adrien in a skirt but I'll need consultation on that.

As for Marinette, her passion and muscle give the team the nudge and morale to outplay Hawkmoth's team and ultimately win. Taking the pitcher position from Alix, she throws fast, unpredictable balls to strike out the basebots, and she manages to outbat the pitching machine and hit a home run at the ninth inning while three of her teammates are on each of the bases.

Hawkmoth, is a man of his word, thankfully. A pretty good sport, too. He was pretty impressed He dispels his baseball team, skedaddles away, and finally dispels the Mold so Ladybug and Chat Noir can't immediately chase him.

At the ending part, in the Agreste Manor, Gabriel goes over to his son and said he heard all about his game, including what he said about competitive team sports.

"Did you mean all that?"

"Yes, father."

"Would you rather be a cheerleader than be in the basketball team?"

"Yes!"

And so Gabriel puts Adrien in the cheer squad instead of playing basketball and the two of them play a game of catch because Gabriel realized he's never done that with his son.

With baseball mitts and a baseball.

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00127am · 2 months

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@ cupidshootstokill! pretty boy point guard huang guanheng is far from a hopeless romantic. or so he thinks until he's struck by cupid's arrow (literally and metaphorically) for the ace archer of NCIT : you. the only problem is that his newfound cupid seems to be shooting to kill.

huang guanheng. ⤷ affectionately called the pretty, prince point guard of ncit basketball-- a nickname which has provoked him into a very much one-sided rivalry with the archery team's prince: kim doyoung (who has no idea who he is) ⤷ the most talented at free throws, a fact that he constantly holds over his other teammates heads (especially marks who is the most envious of them all) ⤷ constantly pushing for the team colors to change to pink and white rather than green and white, an endeavor that jaehyun constantly shuts down ⤷ wants to be able to look in yn's direction without feeling so dizzy that he might just pass out (it's a bit counterintuitive to his aspirations of wooing her)

johnny suh. ⤷ center johnny is the it boy of the basketball team, though he doesn't have a fan club--he has no shortage of admirers ⤷ joined at the same team as mark and jaehyun and is often considered an unofficial third captain ⤷ seems to rarely do anything at practice, yet somehow still manages to be one of the best starters on the team ⤷ wants to bleach his hair blonde for what feels like the millionth time but he's fairly certain that if he does bleach it again, it might starting falling out in clumps

nakamoto yuta. ⤷ mark's self-proclaimed biggest fan, you'll never not find yuta hanging all over the underclassmen whether thats in or out of practice ⤷ yuta has an uncanny ability to rack up six personal fouls and get himself disqualified in the blink of an eye--it's for this reason that he's often only put in towards the end of the game, to score as much as possible, as quick as possible before he's flagged and tossed out of the game ⤷ has a obsession with the archery team's xiao dejun, mainly because he loves to fluster the underclassman, something that's as easy done as it is said ⤷ tells any and everyone he's the captain of the team (he is not even close) ⤷ wants to explode ten with his mind ... that's it, really

chittapon leechaiyapornkyul. ⤷ the swoon worthy small forward is perhaps the most popular member of the team (even superseding jaehyun) despite his inability to take the sport seriously ⤷ contrary to his go-lucky, nonchalant nature: he picks fights with yuta constantly, bickering like cats and dogs or ... really just cats (they actually are very close but you would never be able to tell from any outside perspective) ⤷ takes part in five different extracurriculars, how he has time for all of them with his busy schedule is a mystery to everyone ⤷ the most agile member, ten currently holds the highest consecutive number of points scored in a single game (begrudging correction: he's tied with yuta) ⤷ wants to endlessly torture hendery over his embarrassing crush on yn

jeong jaehyun. ⤷ captain of the basketball team ⤷ has his own cheer squad which will often attend practices and games, if they're lucky, they'll sometimes receive a wink and a smile from the campus heartthrob (an action enough to make their hearts nearly beat out of their chest) ⤷ he's not quite sure how he became captain in the first place but it doesn't seem to be a position which he ever had the option to decline ⤷ wants to watch yuta and ten bicker, there's something so entertaining about their incessant arguing that jaehyun can't help but provoke it

mark lee. ⤷ vice-captain of the basketball team ⤷ says he doesn't have a favorite but very clearly likes yuta more than anyone else on the team (though no one is really surprised) ⤷ got banned from watching the archery team practice when they share the gym after teasing renjun about being cute one too many times ⤷ wants to score a three pointed (and win the game) right when the buzzer sounds, man ... that would be so cool

lee jeno. ⤷ was ultimately forced by chenle to join the team, contradictory to popular consensus--jeno's membership is utterly involuntary ⤷ the 'samoyed' joke begin quickly after he joined the team but has evolved into something much more authentic over time (in fact, sometimes he catches himself thinking that he really is a dog--mark does not help with that) ⤷ the homebody desperately wishes that practice was only two or three times a week rather than five ⤷ wants to figure out a way to skip practice without mark or jaehyun coming down on him or worse ... dragging him there

liu yangyang. ⤷ joined the team because ten, hendery, and chenle did, yangyangs more there for fun than any actual commitment to the sport ⤷ despite the above fact, he's actually very good at basketball ... though he tends to get too amped up during games and hogs the ball ⤷ much to the chagrin of his teammates, yangyang seems to have endless energy--everyone always tries to avoid rooming with him during away games unless they want to be kept up all night with his chattering ⤷ he wants to change his jersey number from 22 to 00 and despite all statements that 00 simply isn't a number you can have, that doesn't seem to deter him

zhong chenle. ⤷ the most talented member of the team, chenle's reputation as king of the court precedes him in every game and practice match ⤷ he often brings his dog, daegal, to practice which has a tendancy to cause an upheaval by whoever else is using the space ⤷ most wonder why chenle isn't team captain despite being the ace of the program but the basketball star simply doesn't want to hold the responsibility of his nuisance causing teammates--he'll leave that to mark and jaehyun ⤷ he wants to custom order a jersey for daegal and bring him to games (something that seems completely out of regulation)

oh sion. ⤷ the newest member of the team, power forward sion has skyrocketed to jaehyun-esque popularity after his debut at a game earlier in the semester (people often say they look alike but sion doesn't see the similarity) ⤷ he mainly joined after seeing daegal but he loves basketball too! he swears! ⤷ likes jeno the most out of everyone on the team and often hangs out around him, even though the pair rarely talk ⤷ he wants yuta to stop getting kicked out of games so easily so he can have more than five minutes of rest on the bench between quarters

@ ncit archery @ home @ prologue

taglist. @yangasm @trourevaille @ikozen @90s-belladonna @hyuka-bby thank for you for supporting cupid shoots to kill! ♡

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khaleesa · 9 months

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Hallo friend. Have one of the writing prompts from the list you reblogged:

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

What a great prompt! I had so much fun writing this one. Thank you! And thanks to @bratanimus for betaing.

(TW: disordered eating.)

~*~

Faint Heart, Fair Lady

"Chrissy, take ten!"

The voice seemed to come from a long way off. Chrissy might not have heard it if it hadn't said her name. Blinking away blackness at the edges of her vision, her eyes, a little blurry, focused on Coach Johnson, who wasn't very far away at all. In fact, she was standing right in front of Chrissy, front and center on the basketball court. She could feel the eyes of every other member of the cheer squad--her squad--in formation all around her, staring.

Judging.

Tightening her sweaty grip on the handles of her pompoms, slack at her sides, Chrissy perched them on her hips and pushed out her chest. "I'm fine, Coach. Just a little light-headed. I don't need a break." "You're clearly not fine," said Coach Johnson. "You're sluggish and out of sync. You're sweaty but pale. You look woozy--"

Chrissy latched onto that. "I am a little woozy, that's all. It's so hot…"

After school practices in the un-air-conditioned gym in August were like cheering in a sauna. The propped-open doors at each end didn't do much to help catch the breeze.

"Exactly. Put a cool, wet towel on your neck. Drink water. Get some fresh air."

When Chrissy started to protest, Coach Johnson lay a hand on her shoulder and spoke softer. "You're not in trouble, Chrissy. I'm not kicking you out of practice or off the squad. Or demoting you from captain."

Behind her, Chrissy heard gasps and whispers from the other cheerleaders. If she'd been pale before, now her cheeks burned flame red. She'd worked so hard to make captain this year, and Dana Holloway probably thought this was her chance to take over.

"I just want you to take care of yourself." Coach Johnson released her shoulder with a squeeze.

Chrissy staggered out of the gym as fast as she could, but her legs were heavy, slow, like in those dreams where you needed to run away but couldn't. Her vision blurred. She blinked against what she assumed to be tears, but her eyelids were dry. As she pushed through the swinging door and stepped into the hallway, the darkness was creeping in again.

A buzzing in her ears; she swept her eyes around the hall for the source of the sound, but there was no one, nothing there, school out for the day and the students and staff gone home. Everything looked wrong, orange and white tiles tilting toward her, too close, at a strange angle to the striped walls. Or was it her who was wrong?

She saw her own hands flail outward, scrabbling for balance or something to grab onto, so pale against the orange linoleum square. Was she falling? It didn't feel like falling. She was moving downward in slow-motion, there was gentle pressure at her back, around her waist, like a pair of strong arms supporting her.

Then, only black.

~*~

"Chrissy. Chrissy, wake up."

The voice seemed to come from up close. Very close. Like, right up in her face. It said her name, but wasn't a voice she recognized.

"Chrissy." This time, the up-close voice was accompanied by a hand on her cheek. The skin was warm, a little rough. Fingertips lightly tapped her cheekbone. "Come on, Chrissy, wake up…"

Her eyelids fluttered open, the black receding as she blinked up into a face she did recognize, framed by a wild, dark mane of hair. A pair of worried brown eyes peered down at her.

"Eddie?" her voice creaked from her throat.

Eddie Munson--third-year senior, loudmouth, social pariah (except when dealing weed)--was touching her face.

Eddie Munson was…holding her.

"Surprise," he said in a sing-song voice.

It certainly was. They were posed like the Gone With the Wind poster, for goodness' sake! Chrissy tried to push herself upright, but although her feet were on the floor, her legs were like jelly. She settled for raising her head.

"What happened?" she asked.

“So, uh, the strangest thing. I was coming out of detention…"

Figured.

"...and, uh, you fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

"I didn't want your attention," Chrissy snapped.

Eddie's hand left her face and he held it up, palm out. A gesture of innocence--a word that didn't fit with what she knew of him at all. "Just a joke. But, uh, you're probably not really in the mood for jokes, huh?"

She shook her head--a bad idea, as it made her dizzy. "Not really."

With unexpected gentleness, Eddie eased her to sit on the floor. The linoleum was dirty, but blessedly cool against the backs of her thighs and calves, bared by her green practice shorts, and Chrissy pressed her palms to it, taking deep breaths as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

"So why'd you faint?" Eddie asked.

Chrissy opened her eyes to see he'd dropped to a squat in front of her, a black metal lunchbox and backpack beside him.

"Did the sight of me make you swoon? I hope it was that and not, like, low blood sugar." With a toss of his head, he added, "Please tell me it was the dashing good looks and not the diabeetus?"

Chrissy really wasn't in the mood for jokes, but Eddie had come to her aid, and she felt a little bad for being rude to him before. She opened her mouth to tell him she'd overheated during cheer practice, but her stomach let out a deep, rumbling growl.

Eddie's round eyes darted comically to her stomach, then back up to her face. "That came out of you?"

"I didn't bring my lunch today." That sounded like she'd forgotten it, right?

"Okay? They sell food in the cafeteria. I mean, they call it food, anyway."

"I didn't bring any money, either."

Eddie gaped at her like he was illustrating the meaning of incredulous in the dictionary. "Do you mean to tell me that your boyfriend, God's gift to Hawkins High, just let you go hungry? What a dick."

"It's not a big deal to miss lunch now and then." Chrissy crossed her arms over her chest.

Who did Eddie think he was, criticizing her boyfriend? She couldn't decide whether she was more annoyed about that, or the realization that Jason hadn't even noticed that she wasn't eating lunch, because it was so normal for her. He used to ask, but at some point, he'd stopped.

"Believe me, I've missed lunch more than a few times," Eddie said. "But then I don't go do back handsprings and stand on top of human pyramids with one foot in the air."

"Only when you've had lunch first?"

"Thought you weren't in the mood for jokes." The corner of Eddie's mouth edged upward in a grin, and Chrissy felt the muscles of her own face mirror his expression.

"Apparently I am."

He was kind of funny. Not like she'd thought he'd be, from the unhinged rants she'd witnessed in the cafeteria.

"I'd offer you some of my lunch," Eddie said, indicating the lunchbox, "but unfortunately, all that's left in it is, uh…" He made a show of casting his dark eyes up and down the hallway, before leaning in to stage whisper, "weed."

Was he joking? Was she still unconscious? This whole thing had the bonkers quality of a dream. Maybe this was just what talking to Eddie was like. She never had before today, at least not that she could remember.

"Wait here," Eddie said.

With the jangle of his wallet chain, he bounded off down the hall like someone who didn't run often—or ever—disappearing around a corner. Chrissy could hear the squad in the gym, chanting, Pump, pump, pump it up, pump that Tiger spirit up! She should probably get back. It had to have been ten minutes by now. How long had she been unconscious? If Coach Johnson was really so concerned about Chrissy, why hadn't she come to check on her? Before she could work up the energy to push to her feet, Eddie clattered back around the corner clutching something in each hand.

"For the lady," he said, a little winded, bowing and presenting with a flourish a can of 7 Up and a packet of peanut butter crackers.

Chrissy's stomach clenched. It wasn't a diet soda, and peanut butter was so fattening, and crackers were just empty carbs. But…she hadn't eaten anything all day. A little bit would be fine, wouldn't it? She'd burn off the calories when she went back to cheer practice.

"You didn't have to do that, Eddie," she said.

"Ah, but I did. For you are the Queen of Hawkins High, and I am but your humble servant."

He bowed again. Was he making fun of her? Eddie made fun of the athletes all the time, but maybe he didn't have an issue with cheerleaders? Whatever was happening, Chrissy didn't care when she cracked open the 7 Up and took a cold, sweet, citrusy sip. It was the best thing she'd tasted maybe ever, until she bit into a peanut butter cracker.

"Thank you so much," she said. "I feel better already."

Eddie picked up his lunchbox and slung his backpack over one shoulder. "I, uh, hate to lunch you and leave you, but I gotta get to practice."

"Practice?"

"Uh-huh. My band."

He stood staring at her, like he was waiting for her to say something. As Chrissy swallowed another sip of soda, a memory sprang from some dusty corner of her mind.

"Corroded Coffin!"

Eddie's face lit up. "Wondered if you remembered the middle school talent show."

"With a name like that, how could I forget?"

He ducked his head almost bashfully, hair falling into his face and hiding his grin.

"Take care of yourself, Chrissy." He turned to go, then the soles of his Reeboks squeaked on the linoleum as he wheeled back. "And if the queen should ever again find herself with neither lunch nor money, she has only to ask, and I'll happily split half my sandwich."

"I thought you only had…" Chrissy's voice dropped to a hush. "...weed."

Eddie's delighted cackle followed him through the hall to the exit. The door had just shut behind him when the gym door swung open and Coach Johnson poked her head out.

"Chrissy! There you are. You look better."

"Surprise!" Chrissy heard herself say in a sing-song voice not quite her own.

As she took another drink and pushed to her feet, her gaze drifted down the hall in the direction Eddie had gone. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm that she wasn't sure had anything to do with her fainting spell.

And that was the most surprising thing of all.

150 Random Writing Prompts

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheersource #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #chrissy x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #my fic #ask fic

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kookicat · 10 months

Text

Hair Braids and Bloody Bandages

They're worried, and it's making him uneasy under their gaze. Nate is the best at hiding it; head buried deep in Rucker's file, legs crossed, with one foot resting casually on his other knee. It'd fool the best, if that foot didn't keep twitching in a way that screams nervous energy. Eliot counts five twitches, feels his heart rate ramp up with each one and has to look away before number six, because there's already a coating of cool sweat starting to form on the curve of his spine. He downs the last of his beer, thinks about grabbing another and decides against it. He's already on his third, and the next day is going to suck enough without a hangover too.

Parker is busy picking the locks on a pair of battered wooden chests; Eliot isn't sure how or if they're relevant to the case, and he's not about to ask, because while she's busy with them, she's leaving him alone. She probably understands the best, because out of all of them, she's the only other one who regularly puts herself in physical danger to get the job done. The only one who relies on her body just as much as her mind. Her hands are steady, but there's a nasty little crease between her eyebrows that he doesn't like one bit. One chest clicks open, and she glances at him.

Eliot nods, tips his empty bottle at her, and forces a reassuring smile that he doesn't really feel. But even then, it's not like this. Not going in knowing she'll be bruised and bloody when she gets out, he thinks. Not knowing there's a damn fine line she has to walk, between selling the con and getting beaten to shit.

Sophie passes, neatly taking the empty beer bottle out of his hands and replacing it with a bottle of water that he doesn't really want, heading back to the couch she's claimed. She gets the same smile as Parker, the one that's carefully cultivated to hide the buzz of adrenaline dancing through him.

Sophie's the most anxious; her dislike of the sport clear and well stated, along with her opinion on Rucker. He opens the water, and she nods, once, before returning to the trashy romance novel she's pretending to read, though she hasn't turned a page in minutes. He's pretty sure she picked the book up at the airport on one of their jobs, and this is the first time she's even cracked the cover. The pages dance under her hands, and he realises that she's shaking. It makes him swallow hard, a sudden flare of nerves stealing his breath for a second before he gets his body back firmly under control.

Hardison is packing the ring bag with the same meticulous care he does everything, and something about the sight sends a quiver of nervous resignation through Eliot's gut. It’s the same feeling he used to get before deploying somewhere without a name, just a problem his squad needed to eliminate, on some foreign soil that's already soaked and stinking with blood.

Damn it, he thinks, and swipes his hands on his jeans. Not the first time I've taken a beating. Hell, it's not even the first time I've taken a dive, he thinks, but the nervous energy is only building. He glances at the clock, and knows the gym will be empty, because it's getting late.

"I'm going to the gym," he says and eases to his feet, almost flinching when they turn to look at him as one.

They're all talking at once, words mingling, but he catches their meaning easily. It’s touching, makes something deep in his chest go dangerously soft and tender and that’s the last thing he can afford to be, because the battle that’s coming can’t be won with kindness or compassion, just the penance of blood and bone-deep bruises. They know it as well as him, will be paying, even if the cost isn’t coming directly from their flesh.

"No, I'm fine," he says and makes himself smile. "I'll be back in a bit, don't worry." He wants to growl the words, but he can't do it, not while they're all looking at him like he's going to his execution in the morning. Like this might be the last time they see him.

Their eyes bore into his back all the way out of the door. He closes it quietly behind himself and tries not to sigh too loudly in relief. Love can be a burden as well as a blessing, and right now he’s feeling the weight heavy on his shoulders. Thank you, he thinks, sending it out to a God he’s not sure he still believes in, not after all the bad shit he’s seen and done. Still, he’s paying for that, a debt he’ll never repay in full, not that it’ll stop him from trying. Blood and sweat and pain are fine currencies, and ones he’s well versed in paying. Time to pay some more, he thinks, and heads towards the dark, rainy parking lot, and the gym beyond.

---

He doesn't bother flipping the main lights on in the gym; the moon is full and low, throwing enough light to illuminate the space as he moves through the jumble of equipment towards the changing room. The gym smells like sweat and effort, cut with the tang of leather and rosin. It's a familiar, comforting scent, loosens the tension in his shoulders, and by the time he reaches the changing room, he's feeling much steadier, the armour he spent years building firmly back in place. Like it or not, him and violence have an unbreakable and undeniable link, and he's been spending and receiving that particular coin for more of his life than not.

Putting himself on the line isn't anything new; he's been doing that since he was nine years old and big enough to get between his Pop's fist and his Mother's face. And yet, it is different, because he knows they're all blaming themselves for not finding a different way and that's the bit he's not used to, not used to people caring for him, past the skills he brings to the job and how capable of applying them he is at the right time. It’s disconcerting to realise they care for him as a person, that his wellbeing matters. He shakes his head, dismisses the thoughts, because they're the opposite of helpful and to pull this off, to keep the balance right and not walk away too broken, he needs all the focus he can get.

He strips off his hoodie and hangs it neatly, bending to take off his shoes. He's only sparring, so he doesn't feel the need to tape his feet, and he wants to feel the mat under them, get his bearings on any soft or slippery spots. Hair tangles around his fingers as he scrapes it back and he pauses, letting it fall as he digs in his bag for the tiny elastics that he keeps there.

He can't remember, exactly, when the braids started, just knows it was post Moreau, back when he didn't like himself very much and when connecting with something clean from his family history felt just like another way of hiding how far he'd fallen. There's still a bit of the shake in his fingers when he parts the hair, smoothing it under his fingers before he starts to braid. It's a soothing, methodical process and he makes quick work of the first, securing it with an elastic from between his teeth before he moves to the other side and starts again. Once it’s done, he pulls the rest of his hair back from his face in a messy half ponytail, and stands, rolling his shoulders to loosen them as he heads towards the ring.

The floor shifts and settles under his weight as he makes a quick lap around the enclosed space, and he bounces a little, listening to the ring creak. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to collapse, so he shrugs and stoops to pick up his gloves, slipping them on and flexing his hands against the mild constriction. It’s been a while since he wore gloves and they feel strange against his skin until he starts moving, gets his blood pumping. He starts off slow, gives his muscles the chance to warm up, which is a luxury he doesn’t often get, not when he’s punching bad guys to keep his people safe.

The moves are familiar, soothing and he gives himself over to the routine of them, letting them build the walls he uses to protect the soft parts of himself high and wide and thick, knowing he's going consenting to the sacrifice. A better man, or a worse one, would see the nobility in that, but he's right in the sweet spot where the blood on his hands weighs heavily enough that there's no grace in this act. It's simple, and terribly complicated all at once, brings to mind a Spanish proverb he'd read once, in a book with pages so brittle they crumbled under his fingertips; take what you want, God says, as long as you pay for it. He's not sure exactly how much want played into what he'd taken, but need certainly had, and he's paying the cost still. Isn't sure if he'll ever clear his slate, isn't sure if he even wants to, because the things he'd done feel like they should never be repaid.

The door creaks, and he tips his head, wondering which one of them it'll be. He's a betting man, and his money is on Sophie, so when her perfume wafts through the gym, he can't help but crack a smile. He expects her to speak, but she doesn't, not right away, just finds a comfortable spot next to the ring and watches him. He's vain enough to want to show off a little, display the skills he'd spent a lifetime building in a way he usually doesn't get to, because he's too busy using them to keep everyone safe.

He starts slow, running through a simple routine of punches and feints and dodges, can feel her eyes on him as he moves around the ring, one bit of his mind tracking changes in the floor even as he trades punches with his imaginary opponent, finishing with a one-two combination that would put even the toughest fighter down. He lets his hands drop, rolling his shoulders to ease the mild lactic burn in his muscles, and walks over to the edge of the ring.

She offers him a water bottle. "Don't worry, I brought it from the hotel," she says dryly.

"Thanks," he says and swallows a few mouthfuls. It's cold and sweet, and goes down easy.

"Eliot-" Sophie starts, and he's been around her long enough to know that they're about to have a Conversation, so he leans against the ropes and waits for her opening gambit.

---

The fight is awful; brutal in a way she doesn't expect. There's blood on Eliot's face, and bruises already blooming on his shoulders and arms. He takes a punch he would have usually blocked, the sickening crack-crunch of knuckles hitting unprotected flesh making her stomach turn. Another punch smacks into his cheek, snapping his head back hard enough to splatter blood on the ropes and send him reeling backwards until he catches his balance, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear the stars from his eyes.

Parker, beside her, is pale, sleeves pulled down over her hands as they watch Eliot get pummelled. It doesn't hide how tightly her fists are clenched or the way she keeps swallowing, like there’s something foul lodged in her mouth that she can’t force down.

The fight flips in an instant, the man they're more used to seeing breaking free and taking Tank down, hard, in a flurry of moves that have some of the hardcore wrestling fans cheering in awe. Tank goes limp under Eliot’s hands and the dark haired man looks up, eyes distant and dazed until he blinks, shaking his head as Hardison and Nate gather him up like a load of dirty laundry.

None of them relax until Hardison gets his hands on Eliot, nodding once as he cups the back of Eliot's neck, because it's the only place without blooming bruises.

"You good?" the hacker asks, and Eliot nods once, wearily, swiping a gloved hand over his bleeding lip. There's a shake in his fingers he can't quite control, and he shivers, heated muscles quickly going cold and stiff in the chilly gym air.

Hardison hands over a tshirt and hoodie- zip through, because he thinks of everything, and Eliot pulls them on, carefully, because he's battered enough that he's already hurting. Knows that once the endorphins and adrenaline wears off, he’s in for a bad time, but the thought of swallowing any meds makes his already dicey stomach churn even more.

"You good?" Hardison asks again, shoulders tight with concern. His fingers play over the strap of his bag, eyes running over Eliot.

Eliot isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but the other man seems to find it, because his chin dips in a tiny nod, but he doesn’t move away.

"Go," Eliot says, voice hoarse, and offers a hand for their usual handshake. The contact hurts, because even with the gloves, Eliot’s hands feel bruised and battered.

It's enough. It has to be, because Hardison is needed elsewhere, if they're going to pull any sort of success out of this mess. He claps Eliot once, on his shoulder and steps away, making room for the doc.

Eliot submits to the exam quietly and that's enough to set alarm bells ringing in Sophie's head. She threads through the crowd, one of her biggest, softest scarves in her hand. He's still sitting, elbows on his knees, hands clasped around the back of his neck like he has a monster headache. There’s blood on his knees, and she can’t tell where it’s from, hopes it isn’t his, until he shifts, looking up and she spots the cut through his eyebrow that’s steadily dripping. Even with the hoodie draped over his legs, he looks chilled and all Sophie wants, suddenly, is to go back in time a few hours and find a way to stop this fight from happening.

Parker is digging through their bags by the side of the ring. It’s not her usual, methodical search, but a semi-frantic hunt as she drops things on the floor next to her. She looks up, eyes flicking to Eliot, and Sophie nods, but keeps going, knowing Parker will catch up.

"Here," Parker says, and presses a bottle of ibuprofen into Sophie's free hand as they cross the ring. "We left the prescription stuff in the hotel room," she adds softly.

"He looks like he needs it," Sophie says, quietly, and Parker nods.

The doctor steps away, touching Sophie's arm as he passes. She glances at Eliot, wordlessly handing over the scarf with a quick nod, then turns her attention to the doctor. "What's the verdict, doc?" she asks.

"Concussion, for sure. Some cracked ribs, maybe a busted cheekbone, though it's impossible to tell without an x-ray and he's refusing that…" the Doc pauses, lips pressing together before he shakes his head and moves on. "He's going to be sore as hell in the morning, but I'm guessing he's been through that once or twice before. Damn fool thing he did, but damn brave, too." He shakes his head again, pats her arm and slips away to check on Tank.

Parker has claimed the closest seat, so Sophie sits down on the other side of Eliot, nails digging into her palms as she surveys the damage. He's halfway into the hoodie, face carefully blank as he tries to get his left arm in the sleeve. Parker reaches around, tugging the sleeve into place, neatly evading his hands as she fastens the zip, and sits back.

"What do you need?" Sophie asks, simply and he blinks at her like he was expecting a different question. She holds up the bottle of ibuprofen, and he shakes his head, mouth twisting, because he’s pretty sure the pills wouldn’t stay down.

There's blood in his mouth, tasting like old copper pennies and he swallows hard, touching the cut in his lip with the tip of his tongue. The fierce pounding in his head makes it hard to think, and his stomach is churning in a way that screams concussion. He's cold, despite the hoodie and the silk scarf that's magically spread itself over his legs.

"Can we get the hell out of here?" he asks at last, and the team - minus Nate, who is still tying up loose ends - gather around him like swirling leaves, gathering him up so that he's on his feet and heading towards the cool, dark parking lot before he has chance to think.

The gym door slams closed behind them and he closes his eyes, lets out a breath that he didn't know he was holding.

It's done, he thinks and pushes the gnawing ache in his bones to the back of his mind as he starts walking. Each step jars through him, like he has ground glass filling his joints, and the gatorade he’d swallowed churns uneasily in his stomach like it’s not quite sure if it wants to stay put. Just thinking about it makes the nausea worse, and he has to stop, pulling in slow breaths through his nose until the sensation passes.

A warm hand lands on his back, rubbing circles that are more soothing than he thinks he deserves. “Okay?” Sophie says, and he’s not quite sure if it’s an order or a question. Decides it’s an order, because he’s never been able to disobey one, and right now, he needs all the help he can get.

The hotel lights shine through the night like a sanctuary, and he fixes his blurring vision on them, nods once and starts walking.

---

The hotel is only a short walk away, but he's sweating and seriously uncomfortable by the time he gets there. Parker walks one one side, Sophie on the other, and it should bug him, but he's stiff and sore enough to almost welcome the mothering. The phantom warmth of Sophie’s hand on his back is a comfort he’d never admit to needing, but it helps, because it means she cares, and he’s battered enough for the affection to slink through the chinks in his armour. Knows how dangerous that is, to allow the softness in, but after what he just did, the small bit of grace feels hard earned.

Parker unlocks the suite door and he shuffles in, feeling three times his age. Hardison squeezes past them, heading for the bathroom to get the tub running while Sophie pulls out meds and ice packs. Parker digs in his duffle for the soft, worn sweats he only wears on really bad days and something about the entire, rehearsed routine makes him want to run back out into the damp night. Sends something like panic clawing at the back of his throat, because in his line of work, getting too close is dangerous, and he’s fallen for that trap once already, can’t forget the dark path it sent him down, or the things he’d done because of the attachment. They’re not like… him, he thinks, knows it for a fact, just like he knows his eyes are blue or water is wet or that the glinting silver edge of a knife can cut you deep without you feeling it. Still, he can’t help glancing back at the door, wonders if he could find another room and hunker down until the worst of the pain eases, slink back to the team like a stray when he’s feeling more himself. Not let them get so close, even though in the deepest part of himself they've already wormed so far into his heart he'd have to cut it out to be rid of them.

He blows out a harsh breath instead of retreating, limping over to the recliner so he can toe his sneakers off. Halfway down, he realises that sitting isn't his best idea; it's been a while since he wrestled and his muscles are protesting the abuse in a way that tells him standing back up is going to be about as much fun as a root canal, sans lidocaine. His ribs hurt, a bright flare of pain, and he presses his elbow to them as he sits down. The overhead light stabs into his brain like an ice pick, and he closes his eyes, waits for the throbbing to ease.

“Sorry, man,” Hardison says, and clicks the main light off, leaving the bathroom light on so the room is filled with a soft glow that's much easier to handle. “Better?” he asks, and Eliot peels his eyes open, blinking in relief.

“Yeah,” he says, hoarsely, and takes the wrapped ice pack Sophie offers him, pressing it against the gnawing ache in his cheek.

Hardison sets a bottle of lemon-lime gatorade down next to him. It's not his favourite, exactly, but it's the flavour he finds the least objectionable and that bit of thoughtfulness makes his chest ache for a whole new reason.

Parker is pawing through his duffle for the pouch of meds he keeps in there, stocked with painkillers, anti sickness drugs, and the allergy pills he uses to help him sleep on the really bad days. He fishes through his options, weighing up, because he knows a couple of the options will knock him out and he's hurting enough for that to sound appealing.

He settles for a well used combination of muscle relaxant and painkiller, swallowing the pills with a gulp of yellow flavoured gatorade. Lemon-lime, my ass, he thinks, because it's easier than looking up and facing his team. He shifts, biting the inside of his lip, holding his breath until the flare of pain passes.

"Do you want the bath?" Hardison asks.

Eliot knows the hot water will help, but the thought of moving makes his stomach roll. He's not exactly comfortable as he is, but everything has faded to a background ache and he knows that'll change as soon as he stands. He's itchy, through, sweat and blood dried in his skin in an irritating film. "Yeah," he says and eases his feet down, breath hissing in between his teeth.

Fuck, he thinks as he stands, joints popping as he gets upright. It's ten steps to the bathroom and every one of them jars him.

The tub is full and steaming softly, scenting the air with the herbal Epsom salts mix he uses. Three faces stare at him from the doorway, and while he’s never been shy, the thought of stripping down to his birthday suit in front of them isn’t exactly appealing.

“I don’t need an audience,” he rasps, trying for his usual gruffness, but he knows he’s not quite getting there. Not with the touch memory of them taking care of him still lingering on his skin.

They glance at each other. Sophie breaks first, wagging a finger at him. “Fine,” she says, and turns, towing Parker with her. “But I’m sending Hardison in to check on you in half an hour.”

She closes the door softly behind her, leaving him alone in the steam filled room. The bath is big and deep, the water steaming gently, and he suddenly can’t wait to sink into it. There’s a big mirror on the wall above the sink, and he rests his aching hands on the cold porcelain as he leans close, taking a look at the damage.

One eye is already starting to swell closed, bruising spreading from his cheekbone right up to his hairline. He presses his fingers to his cheek, a vague memory of a heel contacting with his face rising up. The inside of his cheek is raw and bloody, bitten even with the mouthguard. He grabs one of the paper cups and fills it, sloshing cold water around his mouth with a wince. It’s pink when he spits it back into the sink.

Let’s see the rest of the damage, he thinks, and unzips the hoodie, sliding his good arm out first before working it down his left. He’s sweating, breath straining through his teeth by the time it’s off, and he leans against the cool tiles, letting his pounding heart settle. The drops to the floor and he glances down, thinks about picking it up, but the long muscles down his spine are already starting to stiffen and he’s not sure he can bend that much.

He lifts the hem of the t-shirt and stops as the motion pulls on every abused bit of his torso. Thinks about the small silver nail scissors Sophie keeps in her washbag, but he’s pretty sure it’s in the other bathroom. Any of them would be glad to help - except maybe Nate, who tends to leave the Eliot wrangling to the others- but the idea of asking and letting them undress him like a toddler… I’d rather gnaw my way out of the fucking thing, he thinks and sits down on the closed toilet seat. By the time he has the t-shirt off, he’s sweating bullets. Black spots swarm the edge of his sight, and he bends carefully, leaning his forehead on the cool edge of the sink until they stop.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he thinks, and closes his eyes, just breathing until everything feels a little less awful. The soft joggers come off easy and he stands, glancing down at his body in appraisal. He’s had worse, he’s sure, but that doesn’t make the blooming bruises any less ugly. Or painful, he thinks, pressing the flat of his hand to a livid purple welt across his ribs.

Despite the steam, he’s chilly, goosebumps rising on his bare skin until he sits on the side of the bath to carefully lower himself in. The hot water envelops him in a soothing cocoon, and he sighs in relief, tipping his head back and letting his eyes close.

He's not sure how long he stays like that, in a doze too light to be considered real sleep. Knows at some point that one of them has been in to top up the hot water, because when he rouses himself, the water is still warm rather than cold like he'd expected. Parker, probably, he thinks, damn women is like a cat. It should unnerve him that she came and went without disturbing him, but it doesn't, and he's too tired and sick and sore to figure out why.

There's a neat stack of fluffy blue towels and his softest joggers in the vanity, a small, thoughtful touch that makes something dangerously fond bloom in his chest. Getting attached is asking for trouble in their line of work. Too late for that, he thinks, because he might lie to other people, but he never does to himself.

Standing hurts enough that he almost gives in. Not the first time I've slept in the tub, he thinks, and probably not the last. He's hungry, in a vaguely sick sort of way, so he keeps going until he's up, clinging white-knuckled to the handy grab rail until he's sure his knees aren't going to give out on him.

The water is vaguely pink around his feet, darker drops hitting the surface. He lifts a shaky hand, feeling the cut through his eyebrow. Needs a stitch, he thinks, and sighs, because being poked and prodded is the last thing he wants.

"Eliot?" Sophie calls through the door, and he startles hard enough to make his breath catch.

"Yeah?" he croaks, then swallows hard and tries again. "Yeah?"

"We're ordering food - do you want anything?" There's a thread of concern in her voice and it makes him feel warm and trapped at the same time.

"Baked potato?" he asks, because the thought of chewing anything isn't appealing.

"Got it," she says, and he can practically feel her worry through the door.

"I'll be out in a minute," he says, trying for gruff, and failing, because he just doesn't have the energy. Instead, his voice comes out flat and a little hoarse, a clear sign of exactly how exhausted he is.

He holds his breath until she moves away from the door, setting the shower running before he lets out the heartfelt groan. Hair clings to his face and he tips his head back, carefully, letting the warm water sluice over him. It feels damn good, soothing out of all proportion, and he’d stay under it longer if his legs weren’t already shaking with the strain. Even with the painkillers, he aches, ribs and face and knees and wrists all throbbing like a bad tooth.

If this wash wasn’t as symbolic as it was practical, he’d step out of the shower, come back later, when everything didn’t feel so raw, so terrible, but there’s a need in him, deep inside, to wash off this latest bit of violence and so he clings stubbornly to the grab rail. He’s not naive or stupid enough to think washing away the physical signs can remove the cost of what he’s done, knows there’s not enough soap and water in the world to do that, but just like the hair braids, somewhere along the line bathing became just another way to lock away the bad shit in the vault in his head, separate himself as a man from the acts he commits. Somehow, somewhere, it became a ritual, and it’s one he can’t think about too hard or the whole thing will unravel.

There's shampoo in easy reach, and he picks it up, fumbling one handed, because his left shoulder doesn't want to bend. He lifts it, gets his elbow to shoulder height and stops with a pained hiss, closing his eyes until the streaks of red fade from his sight. Fuck, he thinks, and blinks, trying to remember if he packed a sling for this little jaunt. Rubs the faint scar that runs from his collarbone to his armpit, breathing through the rush of phantom pain until the clock in his head nags him into moving. Because if they come in here and see you like this, the little cautious voice in his head thinks, and he lets his hand drop, grabbing the shampoo and getting to work.

It stings in a dozen little scrapes and cuts he didn’t know he had until they start screaming at him, and he grits his teeth, doing the best he can one-handed. Any of them - minus Nate, because he tends to dodge anything too personal - would have helped him, but the thought of asking - no. It skates too close to too many things he can't let himself think about.

He rinses, giving himself thirty seconds to just stand under the hot spray, letting it soothe what it can, before he shuts the water off and steps carefully out of the tub, grabbing a towel because the steam-filled bathroom is chilly after the hot water. The clothes- soft as they are- feel like armour as he slips them on, draping a towel around his neck to catch the water running from his hair. The braids are still there, and he touches one, grounding himself before he swings the door open and shuffles out into the hotel room, shoulders a little hunched, like he’s expecting an ambush.

It doesn’t come- Parker, Hardison and Nate are all missing, leaving Sophie alone, in the same spot as earlier, the same book in her hands. If he had a gun to his head, he’d say she hasn’t read a single page.

“Where’s-” he starts, limping over to the recliner and easing down. Sitting feels good, takes some of the strain off his bruised and battered legs.

“Small town.” Sophie shrugs, keeping her voice carefully bland. “Only one delivery driver, and he’s off sick, so they’ve gone to collect.”

It’s a neat bit of thoughtfulness, slickly arranged, and he can’t help but smile because of it. “Thanks, Soph,” he says, and picks up the new bottle of Gatorade sitting on the table by the recliner.

The movement pulls at everything that hurts, and he feels his face go blank as he breathes through the pain. Knows he’s not fooling Sophie, but it’s an old trick and one he can’t quite shed, back from the bad old days.

She activates an instant ice pack and wraps it in a hand towel before passing it over, picking up his med bag on the way.

“Here,” she says, and he takes the pack, blinking down at it for a long second while he tries to figure out which throbbing bit needs it the most. Settles on pressing it to his cheek, breathing out a shaky sigh as the pain radiating through his head eases.

“Eliot-” she starts, and he shifts, tipping his head back against the slowly warming leather. Taps the button to lift the foot rest, because his lower back is killing him in his current position.

“Yeah?” he rasps, because this feels like another Conversation and he’s not sure he’s up to it.

“How do you do it?” There’s genuine concern in her voice that stops his impulsive sarcastic remark in its tracks.

Do what? he almost asks instead, but he knows what she’s asking. Just doesn’t have a good answer for her. Shifts the ice pack while he thinks, breath catching when the movement jostles his ribs.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he says at last, biting his lip when a shiver runs through him. The hotel room is chilly and the ice pack isn’t helping. Exhaustion drags at him like a sail that wants to haul him away. He yawns, tasting blood as the cut in his lip opens again. Can’t keep his eyes open, so gives in, letting them close, letting the darkness soothe the ache in his head.

“As simple as that?” she asks, and draws the blanket over his legs.

“Has to be,” he murmurs. “I take the punishment. It’s what I do.” There’s none of his earlier bravado in his voice, none of the cocky, well earned confidence, which somehow makes his words hit her all the harder. It’s soft with exhaustion, burred with sleep.

Eyes closed, bruised and bloody, curled carefully around his broken ribs, he looks a totally different man. The duality strikes her, brings tears to her eyes for reasons she can’t quite name. He shivers again, and she takes the ice pack, carefully, setting it down on the table and pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.

“You take the punishment,” she says, softly, “and we’ll be here to pick up the pieces. Always.”

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