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sondepoch · 3 years

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Chapter 3

Hearts on Three (Satan x Reader)

The athlete and the nerd. The rich kid and the scholarship student. The girl who will constantly joke about breaking your knee caps and the boy who will actually do it. There are so many ways to describe your relationship with Satan. Too many, if you’re being honest. He’s your best friend. The smartest tutor you’ve ever had. He also spends thousands of dollars for you at the drop of a hat and holds your hand when you’re feeling down. And in the beginning, that's okay. Neither of you let yourselves get bogged down by labels, both of you content to just savor this newfound friendship. But deeper feelings always have a way of complicating things. And for better or for worse, you and Satan are no exception.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

MASTERLIST

A small part of you scoffed when Satan told you he'd be tutoring you while helping out with your volleyball practice. He may be the smartest guy you know, but the idea honestly seemed stupid. How did he expect you to pay attention to the ball in front of you and the words coming out of his mouth at the same time? It didn't seem possible; it didn't seem practical. You went along with the plan because he promised he'd help out with your practice, not because he claimed it would help his tutoring.

You should have known better than to doubt someone like Satan, though.

This may just be the best tutoring session you've had yet.

"It's important to note that the primary reason why Americans didn't want to join WWII was that the Nye Committee spread lies about America's purpose for entering the first world war," Satan explains, continuing to explain the chapter of history you're on while helping you stretch. "The Nye Committee essentially stated that America's purpose was purely economic, and that arms manufacturers encouraged the government to enter the war so they could increase production and raise profit."

You nod your head, grunting lightly as Satan coaxes your body lower while you continue to reach for your left leg. He's surprisingly good at this; not just the helping you stretch part, but also the whole summarizing the relevant parts of the chapter while cutting out the unnecessary information part.

You almost feel bad for having ignored him this past week during all his normal tutoring sessions.

"Do you remember the senator for which the Nye Committee was named?" Satan asks you when you finally pull out of your stretch and begin reaching for the other toe. "We discussed this earlier."

You frown. You certainly do remember Satan telling you something about the Nye Committee, but you can't remember what.

"Um…"

There's an exasperated sigh from above you as Satan's palm stops pushing your back lower and he groans to himself, but the sound seems to stir your memory. You abruptly recall him making that same groan of frustration just half an hour earlier when you first arrived at the student gym, when you interrupted his explanation of the Nye Committee to set a volleyball straight in the air to him, only for it to bounce perfectly off his head.

"Gerald Nye!" You exclaim, withdrawing from your stretch to beam at Satan. "You said it was named after Gerald Nye!"

There's a flicker of hope on his face, a moment of silent pride because this is perhaps the first time you've successfully answered one of his questions without requiring hints.

"Good job," He blurts, surprised. He clears his throat immediately after, quickly continuing his explanation of the global state of affairs during WWII, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

A peaceful grin crosses your face as you continue to stretch.

There's something therapeutic about having someone talk to you while you go through your preparatory routine. Having your body occupied with warmups actually makes it easier to focus on Satan's words. This is definitely something you could get used to, a form of tutoring you'd happily partake in because it's genuinely enjoyable.

"Alright," You interrupt once you've finished stretching your legs and are now just casually flexing your arms. "Let's move on."

"To what?" Satan glances at the textbook that's still open. There are a couple pages left in the history chapter, and you need to get through this material by tomorrow for your reading check quiz. "Can't you stretch a little longer so I can finish explaining the chapter?"

"I guess," You shrug. "But I have to do a warmup jog before I can actually get started anyway, so why don't you just keep explaining stuff while I run?"

Satan shoots you an unconvinced look.

"You expect me," He mumbles under his breath, shaking his head. "To believe that you'll actually pay attention if I read to you while you're running laps?"

"Eight of them!" You exclaim, nodding eagerly.

"I don't think that's—"

"Okay, I'm starting!"

You don't bother waiting for Satan's approval before jogging over to the red line that borders the student gym. You know he could easily catch up to you if he wants. All your efforts as an athlete have failed to make you a particularly impressive runner, and you're definitely among the slower side of your team. Of course, that's never set you back, given that you'll readily dive for a ball without a second thought if you know you're too slow to sprint there on time, but it still surprises you when Satan doesn't tackle you as soon as you begin to run your laps.

You understand why in a moment.

"Woah, you really are slow."

Your eyes widen when you see Satan jogging next to you, fists lose at his side. Somehow, he's maintaining your pace effortlessly, not a hair out of place as he moves his legs in what looks more like a brisk walk than your stuttering jog.

"How are you—" You have to cut yourself off to breathe, a bubble of frustration rising when you see how easily Satan jogs at your side.

"Alright. Back to our lesson."

The blonde barely takes any time to breathe as he continues to educate you on how Nazi Germany channeled success within athleticism into socialism in an attempt to make their regime seem more prosperous, easily continuing on to explain how the development of the radio only further strengthened Hitler's influence. He maintains the same tone he would have if he were merely walking, utterly undisturbed by the fact that you're jogging and now struggling to keep up with his pace.

"Slow down," You gasp at him when you're on your fifth lap. Satan had unintentionally picked up the pace to turn it into what looks like a real jog for him (which coincidentally ended up being your sprint), and you're not sure what's suffering more: your heart rate or your ego.

"Oh, my bad."

It's almost shameful when Satan drops his pace to yours, abruptly making your jog seem like a snail's pace as compared to the rapid speed he'd been pushing earlier. At the back of your mind, you consider trying to pick up the pace, trying to sprint faster, but the memory of Satan's untroubled lecturing even as you were struggling to keep up with him tells you that he's the last person you want to challenge.

Eight laps cannot be over soon enough.

You all but collapse on the ground when you finish, nowhere near as excited as Satan about the fact that he managed to time it so that his explanation of the chapter ended the moment you completed the last lap. All you can think about is the awful fact that your nerd of a tutor who quit track three years ago is still somehow better at running than you.

And yes, it hurts your ego substantially.

"How are you so fast?" You whine as you try to regain your breath on the floor, trying not to look up at Satan because you already know that he'll look nowhere near as disheveled as you.

"Born that way," He says with a grin, walking over to your duffel bag to grab your water bottle. He takes a sip before he gives it to you. "Sorry. All that talking made my throat a little dry."

You can't help but pout at that. Your mile-run was so slow that not only was Satan able to finish a whole history lesson during it—but it wasn't even the physical exertion that wore him out. It was the talking.

"Hey, don't feel bad." He frowns when he sees your pouty expression. "You're still miles better at volleyball than I could ever hope to be. No, really. Miles."

The thought does little to console you.

"Satan. Please," You begin, taking a long sip of your water and pulling yourself to your feet only so that you can clasp Satan's hands in yours. "Teach me your ways. I want to be as fast as you."

"Let go," Satan blurts as he pulls his hands free of yours, his nose scrunching up. "You have sweaty palms."

"Satan!"

The boy laughs, a rich sound that fills the empty gym. His grin is broad when he faces you next, pride decorating his features. "You're not that slow, I promise. I'm just…"

Ridiculously fast, you think to yourself.

"A little better at running than the average person. That's all. It's stupid for you to compare yourself to me when it comes to running, just like it's stupid for me to compare myself to you when it comes to volleyball."

"It's not stupid," You grumble to yourself, taking another sip of water before tossing the bottle back into your volleyball bag. "You still haven't told me why you quit track."

"And I'll never tell you unless you start getting better grades," Satan interrupts, briskly transitioning into his tutor-mode.

You open your mouth to retort, to shoot him a mischievous comment and maybe pull him back into a longwinded conversation, but the moment the blonde walks over to your volleyball cart, it's just head-empty, and all you can think about is practice.

There's a brief transition period where Satan specifically asks you what you want him to do, because "this is supposed to help you in both your tutoring and volleyball," so he "may as well do exercises that are actually helpful." It's how you finally manage to worm him into a downball exercise, which wounds up being pretty effective because Satan seems to be sufficiently muscular such that every ball flies to the ground with impressive force but also sufficiently terrible at volleyball such that every ball is several feet away from you, making for an excellent simulation of a real game environment.

There are, of course, the questions that Satan insists on asking you in between every downball. He's moved on to explaining physics to you, now, and you don't bother asking him how he somehow has all this information memorized, merely leaving the explanations to him because they do sound an awful lot like what your teacher has been explaining in the past week.

But somehow, the practice remains enjoyable.

Every now and then, the two of you need to take a pause so you can collect the balls from the ground. Satan only brought one cart over, so the two of you do have limited resources; but the overall experience is surprisingly smooth. So smooth, in fact, that the two of you end up moving on from physics to English, English to computer science, computer science to art appreciation, and you're about to tackle another subject when the doors to the gym abruptly open and you see the familiar faces of your teammates.

"It's time for practice!" You exclaim eagerly, your face lighting up. "Satan, I gotta go!"

The blonde raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You've already practiced with me for nearly two hours."

"That wasn't practicing, Satan. That was studying. You made us stop for so many questions that I could barely even get my heart rate up."

The blonde shoots you another concerned look, still hesitant. "Maybe you should sit this practice out. Or at least take a short break. I don't want to be the reason for you getting injured."

"Aw, what a sweet sentiment~" You coo, slinging an arm over Satan's shoulder. Your grin is bright as you tug him toward the bleachers, towards where you dumped your volleyball bag. "I'll be fine, don't worry. I'll have to practice much longer when our actual training season starts up, anyway."

You can see Satan frown at that, his lips curving downward as he doubtlessly wonders what you mean by the 'actual training season,' but he doesn't press the issue, merely nodding his head.

"Is there anything I can do to help out?" You see his fingers flex at his side, the boy eager to do something to appease his guilt for keeping you so long but clearly not sure what.

"I usually refill my water bottle before practice, so…"

"Let me," Satan interrupts firmly, taking the metal bottle from your hands. "And sit down, at least until I return. Try to rest, even if it's only for a little."

A soft smile spreads across your face at that. Satan might have been a Varsity runner in his freshman year, but it's clear that he's forgotten just how hard athletes at your school train. Still, it's endearing how concerned he is. You nod your head at him with a smile as you take a seat atop the bleachers. The action seems to pacify him, and he quickly jogs off in the direction of the water cart, easily slipping into a pace that would surpass all of your sprints.

"So~" A voice calls from next to you, oh so mischievous and oh so familiar. "What were you doing with our student president?"

"He's my tutor!" You respond brightly, smiling at your co-captain as she takes a seat next to you. "He brought me here because apparently, I wasn't responding very well to his normal teaching attempts, so he decided to throw volleyball into the mix. It's actually working out pretty well!"

"Oh?" The setter chuckles. "No surprise there. I can't really imagine you sitting at a desk and actually learning anything."

"Hey!" You smack the girl in mock offense, clicking your tongue in annoyance as you roll your eyes. "I'm not that bad. My grades have been improving, thanks to him."

"Is that so?" The girl grins, her eyes darting down as she doubtlessly checks Satan out. "And have they been improving because he's a good teacher or because he makes for such great eye candy?"

You snort. It's not like you haven't recognized by now that Satan is one of the most attractive people in your grade, but you find it hard to pay attention to that when there's so much else going on in his personality.

"He's a good teacher. Nothing else."

"So you don't want to maybe date him one day?"

"No," You deadpan. "I don't want to maybe date him one day."

The setter by your side deflates, leaning against you with an angry mumble about how unfair it is that she never gets to tease you about liking any boys. "So frustrating," She mumbles, doubtlessly in reference to you. "He's so cute, too. And smart. And popular. And rich. And perfect boyfriend material, from what I've heard."

"He's just a friend."

Satan has reached the athletic cart on the other side of the gym, already in front of the giant water cooler. He catches your gaze, shooting you his usual, broad smile as he continues to fill your water bottle.

Keep resting, he mouths to you, gesturing for you to remain seated when you attempt to stand.

"A good friend," You correct yourself.

Satan is a firm believer that there is beauty in simplicity. It is how he has approached life and it is how he has approached tutoring you: finding the simplest route and executing it with maximum precision.

In the present moment, this has translated to Satan's agreement with you: one correct answer, one toss. One piece of evidence that you're actually improving in your classes, and one chance to improve on your volleyball hitting form. One nod at academia, one nod toward athletics.

It's an ingenious agreement, simple as it is beautiful.

The execution, though, is anything but.

"You have to toss higher," You hiss, catching your ball in midair and throwing it back to Satan before your feet have even touched the ground. "The ball needs to reach my hand at the peak of my jump, not my head."

Satan scowls at your admonishment, grumbling under his breath before tossing the ball to you again, lifting it higher.

It's been precisely four days of this volleyball-meets-tutoring agreement, and Satan's hands have already begun to cramp from the hundreds of sets per day he's been tossing you. The manicure Asmo gave him right before he left the House of Lamentation has begun to chip off, the bright green nail polish now cracked and uneven. The blonde even has a bruise on the side of his torso from getting hit by one of your jump serves two days prior, just another battle wound in his war to make you pass your classes.

The only positive to this whole arrangement is that you really are beginning to improve.

"What were Caesar's last words?" Satan asks, consciously picking a straightforward question that he expects you won't remember the answer to.

"Et tu, Brute?" You smirk, quietly beaming because you know you're right.

Satan suppresses a sigh, ignoring the ache in his palms as he tosses the ball into the air and sets it to you, making sure the ball arches unnecessarily high because you jump like a goddamn frog.

"That's better!" You cheer as your palm slams into the ball with inhuman force, hitting it to the ground and letting the sound echo through the gymnasium.

Satan shudders, thinking about the bruise he's sporting on his torso from your serve the other day. He doesn't want to imagine how much pain he'd be in if he'd been on the receiving end of that spike you just delivered.

"Again," You demand, already backing up in anticipation for another serve as Satan brainstorms up another question to ask you for your cumulative Shakespeare test tomorrow.

The truth is that he thinks you're ready. A statement he never would have imagined one week ago, but it has become reality. By combining volleyball practice and academics into one, it's as if your brain is unable to differentiate between the two and you simply have to use your full energy on both, resulting in an impressive amount of progress.

"Why is Romeo banished?"

"For killing...Mercutio? No, wait! For killing Tybalt!" A triumphant grin spreads across your face, proud and happy.

Satan tosses you another ball.

He's genuinely impressed with the level of focus you've been able to retain during these past few tutoring sessions. When you first asked him to read you the plays from your literature class, the boy was skeptical. Particularly so because you wanted him to read to you as you cycled through your conditioning exercises, and Satan doubted that reciting Hamlet's infamous monologues while you did burpees would help you learn. The blonde was pleased to discover that he was wrong, though. By the end of the day, he had found that while there's nothing you seem to loathe more than properly sitting down to read a book, you actually enjoy being read to. It's helped him teach you material in nearly every subject.

"Explain why Cordelia was disowned."

"Cordelia...Cordelia...who?"

Ah, there it is.

Whenever Satan grows a little too proud of you, you always seem to dash his hopes.

"Cordelia," The blonde mutters, already sensing what your next words are going to be. "From King Lear, the book you were supposed to finish on your own yesterday."

"Oh, that." You hide your hands behind your back, smiling sheepishly. "I, um, didn't."

Satan sighs, letting the volleyball in his hands bounce back into the cart he picked it up from.

"Wait!" You cry, trying to stop him. "Just a few more tosses, please! I've been trying out this new hitting technique where I try to hit the ball straight down instead of with an angle and I'm finally getting good at—"

"Too bad," Satan blurts, crossing his arms and interrupting you. "If you wanted me to help you practice, you should have done the reading I assigned you. That was our agreement."

"But it was a whole play! How was I supposed to read all that in one night? That's just cruel!"

"What's cruel is you choosing to ignore that play for so long. You had weeks to read King Lear. You chose to make it difficult for yourself."

Satan grabs the volleyball out of your hands and drops it in the wheeled cart, already moving to the other side of the net to pick up the remaining balls from your hits.

"But Satan!" You continue to whine, still trying to tug him backward. For the first time, though, he manages to fight your grip, internally thanking his six brothers for having taught him the art of pushing people away.

He doesn't pay you much mind when you groan and flop backwards onto the gym floor, spreading your limbs out like a starfish. The sight only makes the edges of his lips quirk up in amusement because, really, as nice as it is to see you energized and full of life, it's still nicer to be reminded that even you have your physical limits.

"Come on," He mumbles, nudging your shoe with his own. "Let's go."

"Don't wanna," You mumble in response, closing your eyes. "Tired."

You emphasize the sentiment with a yawn, and Satan would almost believe that it was genuine if not for the sneaky smile that you have to fight off your lips.

He rolls his eyes.

The boy leaves you be while he cleans up the rest of the gym, picking up all the balls from your practice and depositing them in the cart before dragging it over to the room it's supposed to be stored in overnight.

The blonde is unfamiliar with the whole action of putting athletic equipment away, not having done any sports since his freshman year of high school, but he offers every time. The small amount of time it takes him to clean everything up is virtually the only break you seem to take, and while you don't appear to notice the way your legs have begun to tremble with overexertion at the end of every day, Satan notices. And he will not hesitate to clean up the entire gym if it means you'll take these few minutes of rest.

"We still need to do math," Satan says when he grabs your volleyball bag and sits down next to you. It's the one subject that the two of you can't do over volleyball practice, the one subject that you actually need to sit down and do yourself.

"I'll do it in the morning."

"You always say that, and you never end up doing it."

"There's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

Satan doesn't bother hiding how he rolls his eyes as he pulls your water bottle out of your volleyball bag and shoves it into your hands.

"Drink," He tells you, already getting out your day shoes so you can take your volleyball shoes off and get ready to go home.

"Don't wanna sit up," You drawl, your body still lying on the ground.

"Drink, or I'll make you do math the minute we get back to the dorm."

Satan has never seen you shoot up faster, a small smile gracing his lips when he sees you pop the lid off your bottle and begin chugging it down instantly.

"Ah," You mumble after you've drunk the whole thing. "That felt surprisingly good."

Satan bites back a quiet I told you so, instead opting to gesture for you to switch your sneakers.

He ignores your quiet complaint that he's such a slave driver, that it's unfair he's making you do all this. The truth of the matter is simple: you have a cumulative Shakespeare test in less than twelve hours, and you still haven't read one of the assigned texts.

Time, unfortunately, isn't something either of you have in abundance today.

"Up," Satan demands, grabbing your hand and tugging you to your feet before he drags you out the door.

The entire walk back, you're leaning on him for support, and the blonde staggers more than once as he tries to balance the weight of your volleyball bag in one hand and you in the other. The picture is one that's graced this sidewalk more than once in these past few days, but Satan can't bring himself to care as he internally frets over how he's going to get you to pass this test when you're clearly too tired to properly have a full-on tutoring session. If your nonstop yawning weren't sufficient, the way you practically fall asleep on Satan in the elevator is proof enough that you really are exhausted.

"Take a shower," Is what his final decision is when the two of you arrive back at the dorm, at the little hallway that separates the 665 of your room and the 666 of Satan's. "It'll wake you up."

"I don't want to be woken up," You argue, trying to push against Satan to flop onto your bed.

You clearly don't care about the test tomorrow, but Satan does.

"Either take a shower or wake up some other way," The blond hisses, glaring at you. "But you are not going to bed until you've finished reading King Lear. And unlike yesterday, I will personally be supervising you to make sure you don't fall asleep in the middle again."

You scowl at that, your earlier pout turning into a harsh glare as you realize that Satan has essentially left you with no choice.

"Fine." You blurt. "I'll shower."

It's only once you've gathered your clothes and toiletries and are gone from the room that Satan realizes just how in-character it would be for you to simply choose to sleep in the shower stalls.

The blonde instantly begins to panic.

He's pacing back and forth in your room by the time you've returned, trying not to bite his nails with his book discarded on the bed because he knows that there's no way he'll be able to get you out of the bathroom if you choose to do so, and that if you really do try to hide out in the shower stalls, it's almost certain that you'll fail your test.

When his eyes catch sight of you, the tension in his body visibly disappears.

"Why were you pacing?" You ask, a teasing laugh slipping from your lips as you dump your other clothes in the hamper. "What, did you think I'd just hide from you in the bathroom?"

"Yes." Satan doesn't bother hiding the truth. "And I'm quite surprised that you didn't."

You open your mouth to speak, but the way you avoid his eyes and fidget with the edge of your T-shirt speaks louder than your refusal to deny his words.

"You did, didn't you?" Satan accuses. "You actually tried to sleep in the shower stalls."

"Madam Scream caught me." You explain quietly, refusing to meet Satan's eyes. "She told me to go sleep in my own bed, and when I tried to tell her I was trying to hide from you, she just got even madder."

A warm laugh spills from Satan's lips. He'll make sure to thank the dormitory administrator when he next sees her.

"Wonderful." He grins. "Now, sit. We have to get through this whole play, and I doubt you've even read the beginning."

"I don't want to, Satan," You plead, your hands flying together in a loose imitation of prayer. "Please, please, please don't make me read it all. I can't. I'll die. My brain will explode."

The blonde sighs. No doubt, you're being unnecessarily melodramatic, but he can see the tones of desperation coloring your eyes. That, and he's been tutoring you long enough to know that you really do loathe reading, enough to make you request to do math instead if that's what it takes to get you out of it.

"Alright," Satan mumbles, picking the book up himself. "I'll read it to you. How does that sound?"

You still look hesitant, and Satan can tell that this wasn't the compromise you were hoping for. Even after your shower, the pull of sleep looks strong, and he can practically feel your bodily exhaustion through the droop of your shoulders. Still, this is all the leeway Satan can give you.

"Fine."

Satan smiles, pulling out a chair and gesturing for you to sit next to him.

"No." Your expression is unchanging as you blink at him. "Bed."

You all but throw yourself onto the mattress, patting the spot next to you expectantly with an impish grin.

"This isn't a bedtime story," Satan hisses, trying to get you to take this seriously. "You need to actively listen to the play. You can't just—"

"I can't hear you if you're not on the bed."

The blonde is impressed with himself when he manages not facepalm.

As usual, Satan is forced to give in to your whims, and he awkwardly slots himself next to you on the bed with a scowl on his face, not bothering to be gentle as he pushes you closer to the wall to make room for himself.

"You have to stay awake," He tells you, voice even. "This is not a bedtime story."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it."

And so he finally does get on with it, awkwardly resting his back against the bed frame while you fiddle with the throw blanket on your lap and listen. It still feels awkward, reading a play out like this where he has to specify the character speaking at the beginning of every new line, but this isn't the first thing Satan has read to you and it certainly won't be the last, so he grows comfortable with the material easily.

The only issue is that you keep squirming your way down to rest your head on the pillow.

"Up," Satan snaps at you when you try to do it while he's in the middle of one of Edmund's Thou Nature monologue. "You have to stay awake."

It works to snap you out of your daze, and Satan resumes reading from a few lines earlier, occasionally glancing your way to make sure you're paying attention.

Of course, this only lasts so long. Satan is only on the second act when you lean your head back on the pillow, and he just barely resists the urge to flick you on the forehead to wake you up.

"Come on," He grunts, pulling you back up into a seated position next to him. "This will all be worth it tomorrow when you get a good grade on your test."

You grunt in response.

Satan doesn't know how long this goes on for—him shaking you awake and you quietly trying to fall asleep again—but you eventually seem to have had enough, because by the time Satan is halfway through Act III, you rest your head on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" The blonde instantly snaps, his eyebrows furrowing. Your hair is still wet from your shower, and you're getting his shirt wet.

"Just try'na read better," You slur drowsily.

Sure enough, your eyes are open and you do seem to be gazing at the words on the page, but Satan is doubtful of your true intentions. After staring at you skeptically for a few moments longer, though, it's clear that you're not going to be moving unless he explicitly asks for it, so the blonde merely continues to read.

It's better this way, he thinks to himself, feeling your warm breath tickle his neck. I can at least tell if she's awake.

He tries to pay attention to the rate of your breathing at the back of his mind as he reads through the remainder of the act, gently shaking his shoulder every time he feels the rise and fall of your breaths grow a little too steady.

"Stop moving," You grumble when he shakes you awake again.

"Stop trying to sleep" is Satan's snarky response.

In the fourth act, though, Satan can't help but redirect the attention he was allotting you towards the book at hand. From Edgar's compelling narrative to Cordelia's analysis-worthy decisions, the blonde can't help but forget the outside world as he delves into the play, no longer reading out the lines but softly mumbling them under his breath as his mind lights up with visualizations of every scene. It's truly not Satan's fault that he doesn't notice when your body abruptly feels heavier, your weight no longer shifted away from him but gracelessly deposited onto him, even the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his arm only serving to further lull him into the depths of the play where nothing exists but the characters and their deeds.

Satan only realizes that you're dead asleep when the act ends, when he turns to ask you what you think and you're peacefully laying on his shoulder, long asleep and long gone.

"Hey, wake…" The boy cuts himself off before he can try to shake you awake, a surge of guilt washing over him.

You really do look exhausted.

Which is understandable, given that you had regular practice today and then some with your training-tutoring session with Satan.

He can't blame you for wanting to sleep.

The blonde sighs reluctantly as he closes the book in his hands and awkwardly tries to maneuver you off his shoulder and onto his pillow. You try to cling to his warmth the whole time, but your sleep-addled hands are useless next to Satan's cautious fingers, and within seconds, he's got you under your blankets and atop your pillow.

He'll wake you up early tomorrow, the blonde decides. And he'll finish the play with you, and he'll make sure you pass this test.

But right now, he'll let you get some sleep first.

A good decision, because Satan doesn't think he'd be able to bring himself to wake you even if he wanted to.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 5.6k

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

Notes: okay so i’m trying to change my writing style so apologies if the flow of this chapter was awkward; i’m really trying to step away from some of my bad habits (while building some new ones!) so i hope that didn’t take away too much from this chapter

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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samsexualdeancurious · 3 years

Text

His Own Hands | Chapter Five

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 1,048

Summary: Bucky is settling in well with the Avengers but he keeps having nightmares - flashes of repressed memories of a girl being tortured by his hands and then vanishing into a swirling black portal. He's not sure who she is until Fury introduces them to their newest potential team member, a girl Bucky recognizes on sight and Fury calls "Portal".

Warnings: Hurt!Reader, Lack of Communication, torture, trauma, PTSD

Written for Nanowrimo 2020

Betaed by Saxxxology and Amory

Cover art edited by me

---

Tony barely glances up from whatever crazy new tech he’s working on when Bucky enters the lab. “What’s up?”

“I wanna do some combat training,” Bucky says, holding up the case with his arm. “Can… you help me?” Even though he and Tony are at least kind of getting along now, he still feels weird asking for help.

“One… sec…” Tony narrows his eyes at whatever he’s doing for a few more seconds before straightening up with a satisfied nod. “Sorry, I just wanted to reach a stopping point. C’mere, let’s get you geared up.”

Bucky relaxes, glad to know he’s not bothering Tony too much. It’s always a little hit and miss when Tony’s working. They quickly get things hooked up, the whole process made easier by the fact that Bucky’s dressed for a workout in a tank top and shorts rather than in his full Winter Soldier uniform.

Tony pats his shoulder once everything’s in place. “You’re good to go. See you in an hour or two?”

Bucky mumbles his thanks even though Tony has already turned all his attention back to his project.

The training room is blissfully empty when he arrives. He claims a bench near the punching bags and sparring ring, dropping his duffel onto one end. A quick swig from his water bottle and he begins some stretches. The last thing he wants to do is pull something during practice. Sam would never let him live it down.

“Bucky!”

When the sound of Y/N’s voice reaches him from across the training room, Bucky can’t suppress a sigh. He glances up from where he’s just noticed that his laces are wearing out to see her crossing the room. She looks comfortable and ready to work out, in her purple leggings and teal tank top with a black duffel slung over one shoulder.

“You’re wearing your arm,” she observes as she reaches the bench he’s sitting on.

“Gonna practice some hand on hand,” Bucky grunts, returning his gaze to his shoes.

“Sounds exciting! Want a partner? I could always use more practice, and tips from a professional would be awesome.”

He squeezes his eyes shut a moment, trying and failing to find a reason to say no, and then nods. “Sure. If you don’t have your own gear, Nat’s might fit you.”

“I’ve got my own,” she assures him, dropping her bag onto the bench beside him and unzipping an end pocket to pull out a pair of gloves.

Bucky nods and digs his own gloves out of his bag. They both do some light warmups before Bucky climbs into the ring. He turns to help her up just in time to see a portal close. He whirls and blocks her punch.

She grins. “So close.”

Bucky can’t help a chuckle. Her light moods are a bit contagious. “So close.”

Y/N is quick and really good. Not as good as Bucky or Nat but, then again, she’s much younger and she didn’t train in the Red Room. She has a lot of potential, though, and Bucky is more than happy to give her pointers as they go.

“You’re still leaving your left side open,” Bucky says, grazing her with a pulled punch. “If I had a knife, you would be dead. Drop your arm - good, like that.” He tries again for the same spot and Y/N lights up when she’s able to easily block him. “Good. Remember that.”

She does remember it. Bucky’s learning that Y/N is a quick study - she almost never makes the same mistake twice. Bucky still wins, though. Right up until she starts using her powers. She’s fast with the portals, much faster than Bucky thought, and she quickly gains the upper hand. He can’t bring himself to be frustrated at losing to the new girl, especially with how excited she is to finally beat him.

She’s still bouncing when Nat enters the training room, dressed for a workout. Bucky is doing some cool-down stretches, eager to get his metal arm off and shower.

“Nat, I beat Bucky!” Y/N says excitedly.

Nat lifts an eyebrow, sending Bucky a silent “did you let her win?” look. Bucky shakes his head, not bothering to suppress his own smile.

“She’s fast,” he says. “Especially with those portals. She’s gonna do great in the field.”

Y/N beams at him and that sparks a warm glow in his chest. He tries to smother the feeling but isn’t very successful.

“Gonna go shower,” he says briskly, already on the move.

“Bye, Bucky!” Y/N calls after him. “Thanks for the help!”

Bucky kicks off his boxers and steps into the shower, sighing contentedly as the warm water hits his skin. While he does miss some things from the past, the plumbing is not on that list. Stark invested in some high-quality stuff when he renovated this place and got those fancy control panels for all the showers. So not only is the water pressure amazing, it’s really easy to get the temperature just right.

The steady beat of the water feels amazing on his muscles and he allows himself to get a little lost in the sensation for as long as he can before his mind starts drifting.

He spent almost an hour with Y/N today and nothing he did seemed to trigger any sort of response that signified she remembered him. In fact, she never has. He’s done his best to spend as little time with her as possible but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been around him. They’ve interacted often enough. If she was going to remember him, she would have by now, right?

Bucky squirts some shampoo into his palms and begins scrubbing it into his hair, tilting his head back to keep it out of his eyes.

Should he tell someone? Probably. But who would he tell? Steve? Nat? Both would listen, he knows, but they would probably also want to know why he didn’t mention it sooner and he honestly doesn’t have a good reason for that. He should’ve told someone already. Now, about a month after Y/N’s arrival, it’s a little late.

No, he shouldn’t tell anyone. If Y/N really doesn’t remember him then no one ever needs to know.

Right?

---

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#his own hands #bucky x reader #my writing

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raendown · 5 years

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A collaboration with the ever delight @sinyaru, though her art would definitely only get flagged here on tumblr. Follow the link to see the story with art!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 6542 Summary: Madara rather enjoys going to this new 'gymnasium' that Hashirama insisted on building. He doesn't really work out very much but how is he supposed to concentrate on exercise with Tobirama walking around look like that?

Edit: my fingers wanted to press buttons and make that word count look reeeaaaaaally big. Oops.

Lift

“He’s doing it again.”

Izuna lifted his head with a very tired expression, refusing to look over at something he had seen a hundred times before. He knew exactly what he would find if he did. Why did his brother insist on dragging him along for this shit when he was only going to spend the whole time mooning over that albino asshole? And why was Tobirama always here when they came? Either Madara had memorized the man’s workout schedule or he just never went home after work.

Duly ignoring the fact that he was being ignored in turn, Madara dabbed at the corners of his mouth to make sure he hadn’t started drooling again. Last time he’d sat and watched like this Tobirama had almost turned around and caught him with drool on his face. If he had then Madara would have ended his life right then and there. Some things were just too embarrassing to live with.

He really hoped Izuna hadn’t figured out that the only reason he made the other come with him to the indoor workout center was so it wouldn’t be suspicious that he showed up every time Tobirama did and yet never actually got around to working out himself. Madara snuck his own workouts in on his lunch breaks and during the nights when he couldn’t sleep; he never got around to it here in the actual gym because getting anything done with such a gorgeous specimen walking around sweaty and sleeveless was impossible. It just wasn’t fair how hot he was. Hashirama should make it illegal.

No, Hashirama could never know how desperate Madara was to get his tongue on that body. Or to have that tongue on his own body. Either would be appreciated.

“Spot me, Romeo.” Izuna shoved at his shoulder as he moved to lie down on the bench press.

Madara moved in to position without taking his eyes off of where Tobirama was still going through his warmup stretches. He had just gotten to the good part at the end where he rolled effortlessly up in to a handstand and then did pushups from that position. It was like a religious experience every time he got to witness it.

“Can you take your eyes off him for two damn seconds? If I drop this on my own face I’m going to make SURE you stay at the hospital for every hour it takes to heal me.”

“Quiet!” Madara shrieked, glaring down at his brother. “Don’t let him hear you!”

“Then spot me, damn it!” Izuna glared right back with equal fire.

He did have a good point though. As hard as it was, Madara forced himself to tear his eyes away so he could be a proper workout partner for a few minutes. Obviously he wouldn’t last very long, they both knew he would get distracted and go back to staring in short order, but when he did he would brace his arms with chakra so he could at least deflect the weight bar should it fall. Not the best plan but it was better than potentially getting both of them hurt.

As compensation for the annoyance he heaped on the younger man every time they came here Madara very generously allowed Izuna to throw what snarky comments he could in-between heaving for breath as he lifted perhaps more weight than he should have. Without chakra to enhance their muscles they were only stronger than most civilians because of the sheer amount of time they spent on their bodies. None of his insults were anything too creative or new anyway so it wasn’t that hard to let them roll off like the sweat rolling down the sides of his neck. Madara smirked and nodded along, letting him have his moment.

“What rep are you on?” a familiar voice asked from just over his shoulder. Madara startled so badly he knocked his brother’s elbow and only just barely managed to catch the bar so it didn’t crush his head. Swallowing nervously, he peeked over to see Tobirama staring back with a judgmental expression.

“Shut up! None of your business!” While he did refrain from dropping his face in to both hands with shame, it was a close call. Why did he have to fail at communicating with this man so consistently?

“Those machines are for public use,” Tobirama ground out. “Which means you have to share, Uchiha. Ugh. Just let me know when you’re finished. Everyone else just started their reps and I have things to do, I can’t hang around all day waiting.”

“Why not?”

Izuna snickered and Madara glanced down with narrowed eyes, trying to project his willingness to let this stupid weight bar drop.

“Unlike you, apparently, I have important things to do. I can’t spend every damn evening at the gym just hanging out.” Tobirama huffed and turned away, heading over to scout out the other machines while he waited, and Madara very carefully set the bar down in its resting position before covering his face to muffle a frustrated scream.

Patting him mockingly on the leg, Izuna snickered again. “Why are you like this?” he asked.

“I wish I knew,” Madara groaned in reply.

“You know you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Maybe you should try, oh I don’t know, not screaming in his face every time he gets near you?”

“I panic!” Scrubbing both hands down his face and dropping them, Madara sighed. “Every time he looks at me my stomach leaps up in to my throat and my brain falls out my ass and then I just start screaming so he won’t realize I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes wondering if he likes to hold hands.”

“Sweet Sage you’re hopeless. And a secret softy. I wonder what you might pay to stop me from marching over there and just telling him so I can end my own suffering.”

Madara slowed his movements just enough to give Izuna time to brace himself as he knocked the bar off its perch and stormed away in a huff. Dirty rotten no good brother. He could find a different spotter if he was going to be like that. Madara did a lap around the gym trying to figure out how to look busy before eventually settled on the floor mat Tobirama had just been using, pulling out some of the equipment to set the scene and then hunkering down to keep watch. He had to make sure Izuna didn’t actually follow up on that threat.

Fortune appeared to be smiling on him now, however, as Izuna had given up on the bench press without someone to spot him and moved away to quietly work with one of the rowing machines. Even better, Tobirama spotted the open bench and made his way over. Madara’s attention was immediately and completely given over to watching those glorious muscles and the way they shifted deliciously under all that pale skin while the other man loaded the bar with much more weight than Izuna had used. Those corded arms of his were far from just for show.

Built for speed and no stranger to training for it, Tobirama had recently been packing on quite a bit of muscle as well. As his favorite sparring partner Izuna had mentioned he was trying out a new combat style for no other reason than to see if his body could take it. Madara was of the opinion that you shouldn’t try to fix what wasn’t broken but he was far from stupid enough to say so, especially when he personally was getting the most out of this change in pace.

Had there ever been a more fuckable human being than Senju Tobirama? Madara was pretty sure there had not. The fact that such a perfect body came packaged with a brilliant mind, a family-oriented heart, and more biting wit than Madara could hope to parry in any given argument only served to make him more desirable.

If only Madara could close his dumb mouth for two seconds he might have even been able to finagle at least one date to soothe his stupid yearning heart.

So caught up in his admittedly creepy habit of staring, he failed to pay attention to anything else beyond those flexing arms until it was too late. When Tobirama suddenly paused in the middle of his third rep and Madara looked around to figure out what might have distracted him he happened to look in to the mirrors that lined one entire wall of the gym – Hashirama’s idea, something about providing visual encouragement for the people who used the facilities. In the mirror he found the image of Tobirama’s head tilted up and back to use the reflective surface. Using it to meet Madara’s hungry stare head on.

He’d been caught.

Tobirama gave him no time to escape, using the few moments when he was frozen in horror to narrow those pretty red eyes of his, set the bar down, and crook a finger in his direction. Madara swung his head from side to side just to make sure it was him the man was calling over. Not at all ready to face his doom, he stood up and shuffled over reluctantly. Hopefully Izuna wasn’t looking. He really didn’t want his only little brother to watch him die doing something embarrassing like saying “thank you” while Tobirama crushed his head between those glorious thighs.

When he shuffled over with his head bowed in childlike shame – more to hide his embarrassment than because he was actually sorry for looking – the other man curled himself in to a sitting position and indicated the weights that Madara was now standing next to.

“You get that side?” was all he said before he began removing the ones on his end.

After flustering for a moment Madara figured he might as well do as he’d been asked. Whatever was happening was definitely worth it for the chance to see those muscles from close up. Every time Tobirama lifted one of them to set it aside his arms flexed and Madara’s heart did a backflip inside his chest. For each one the other man pulled off Madara took away the corresponding weight in front of him, keeping the bar balanced so it wouldn’t fall on either of their innocent toes, until finally everything had been put away.

He was utterly confused to see Tobirama lay down on the bench and get in to position as though he intended to press the bar with nothing on it, even more confused when the man looked at him very pointedly without saying anything for a full minute.

“What?” he grumbled eventually.

“Get on,” Tobirama said.

“Um…huh?”

“Sit on the bar.”

“But I don’t – okay! Okay! Don’t give me that face, I’m doing it. Even if you’re being weird. I mean, you’re already on the part that you’re supposed to sit on. Am I going to get in trouble for this because I think this technically counts as abusing the equipme–WOAH!”

Cut off right in the middle of his anxious rambling, Madara had to windmill both arms just to keep his balance as Tobirama settled his grip and lifted the bar, human occupant and all. His body rose steadily in to the air, held for a moment, and then lowered back down just as steadily with nary a twitch. Underneath him Tobirama’s face was held in a grimace of concentration offset by the single bead of sweat dribbling down his temple. Despite their proximity and all the efforts he had put in to not being obvious Madara was helpless to do anything but crane his neck and stare below himself with awe. Those arms should be considered lethal weapons on visuals alone.

Worse was the fact that Tobirama refused to look away from him, holding his gaze like a challenge and quirking his lips up in that knowing smirk that had always driven the general populace mad. For most people it was an annoyingly smug look that meant they were about to be told exactly why and how their mistake had been the stupidest thing to ever happen within the bounds of Konoha. For Madara it meant he was going to spend the next half hour trying to conceal an erection while holding up his end of a screaming match, usually somewhere very public.

Still with no idea what Tobirama was actually up to or how this odd little scene was meant to play out, Madara only barely resisted the urge to squirm while he watched the impressive display of strength, sticking himself in place with a touch of chakra just in case the distraction was too much. And then, because apparently he hated himself, because he was a doomed individual who lacked any sort of brain filter, he spat out his thoughts without considering them first.

“Kami that’s hot. I bet you could hold me up against the wall for hours.”

The bar underneath him faltered, still not unsteady but pausing in the repetitive up and down. Madara burned from the inside out as his own words finally registered when he saw the staggered look on Tobirama’s face.

“Wait! No! I didn’t mean–! You heard nothing Senju! NOTHING!” In his panic he lost all semblance of concentration and the precaution he had taken with his chakra was immediately rendered pointless as he lost control and pitched over backwards.

Sending him, of course, straight down on top of the other man’s body. And when he managed to sit up he was, of course, straddled directly over Tobirama’s lap.

In his last life he must have done something horrible, terrible, despicable, utterly unforgivable. It was the only explanation. Karma hated him down to the roots. Madara very much wished he could reach back in to whatever previous life that had been and throttle himself for the trouble now. Clearly erasing his own existence would be less painful than whatever method by which death was about to find him, whether it be at Tobirama’s hand or choking on his own airways as he scrambled to swing one leg over and stand up. Doing so ground his ass against some very interesting parts of Tobirama that, no matter how hard he tried not to be, he was still very interested in.

His entire life flashed before his eyes when Tobirama caught his wrist. At full mental capacity he could wipe the floor with this man but conversely he knew that all Tobirama had to do was flex once and he would happily walk straight in to a blade aimed for his own heart. There were definitely some sort of blades in that sharp gaze pinning him in place.

“Did I hear you correctly?” Tobirama asked under the sound of the active gymnasium around them. Madara gurgled.

“Kami I hope not!” he shouted. When the fingers on his wrist loosened with surprise he wriggled free and bolted for the locker room.

Finally the gods appeared to be smiling on him because the entire room was empty. Not all that many people were at the gym right now, most of them having dinner with their families or still wrapped up in some duty or another. Madara, on the other hand, was scrabbling at the padlock barring him from the clothing he had worn on the way here, hoping that his fingers would remember the combination because his brain was a little too scrambled to think about anything other than how it felt to have his legs spread over Tobirama’s hips.

The sound of footsteps had him scrabbling harder, twisting the spinner on the lock in random directions as though he might stumble upon the code by accident. He stopped when a pale hand gently placed itself over his own. Madara wondered if it was possible for a human being to actually swallow their own tongue.

“You wouldn’t be trying to run away from me, now would you?” Tobirama’s voice murmured in his ear.

“No I’m running in defense of my own sanity,” Madara whimpered. He shivered when the other man chuckled darkly.

“Funny because it felt as though you were running from me. Could it be that you were embarrassed to reveal something you didn’t want me to know?” His chuckle deepened and his other hand came around to press against the lockers on the opposite side of Madara’s body, trapping him between cold metal and warm body.

His breath was hot and Madara could feel the rapid beating of Tobirama’s heart against his back, a rhythm his own heart seemed determined to outstrip. As two men who used to stand on opposite sides of the battlefield he thought it probably would have made sense if he were uncomfortable in this position, if being pinned face-first against the lockers had set off his instinct to fight. It was probably a bad sign that instead all he wanted to do was cant his hips backwards and beg for just a little bit of friction.

No one – no one – should have the power to make the Uchiha clan head beg. Kami but he was pathetic sometimes.

Madara did his best to clamp down on a whine as he took a quick peek on either side of himself, looking for a way out of this mess before he made an even bigger fool of himself than he already had. Unfortunately Tobirama had him fairly well pinned and the only way he could see himself getting free of this would be to either wrestle his way out, which would result in an even more embarrassing erection, or to cover himself in Sasunao’o, which would of course destroy a part of the building and Hashirama would give him another lecture on inappropriate levels of property damage. Neither sounded like an attractive option.

Tobirama leaned a bit further in to him and Madara was in the midst of desperately adding fainting to the list of things that might get him out of this situation when his body froze, eyes blowing wide, hardly able to believe he was feeling what he thought he was feeling.

“Are you…hard?” he choked out. Tobirama hummed and the sound was so close to his ear it might as well have been a lover’s whisper.

“How could I not be when you spread yourself over me so nicely just a moment ago? I can’t help but wonder what you would have looked like doing that with no clothes on.”

Madara squeezed his eyes tightly and prayed for strength. He wasn’t entirely sure what was about to happen to him but he did know that it would probably kill him. What a way to go, though. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t always thought he would die at the hands of a Senju but he’d always thought it would be a different Senju angry on a battlefield not a delicious sweaty beefcake who refused to wear sleeves for the health of the general public.

Somewhere in the frantic scrambling of his brain he realized he needed to say something. Ideally it would have been something cool and suave, something intelligent and smooth, a line or a quip that would let Tobirama know he was not only down for whatever this was but ready to make a good showing of himself. Instead all he said was–

“Why are you so hot!?”

“I…am not sure how to answer that question but I will gladly take it as consent to go on.” Tobirama’s chuckle was accompanied with the brush of his lips against the top of Madara’s shoulder, one hand pulling away from where it was braced to graze down the length of his side in an agonizingly slow glide.

Madara closed his eyes. There wasn’t much room for him to do anything, caught as he was between body and steel, so he did the only thing he could and squirmed helplessly while his mouth fell open to let out a soft moan. He didn’t want to think about how long he’d been fantasizing about having those hands on his body – partly because he would then have to think about how long he’d been wanting those hands woven in to his own and that was much too embarrassing to get in to right then. Now was the time for taking what he was being given.

Pressing his face against the metal locker helped cool his burning cheeks, a perfect counterpoint to how hot Tobirama’s hands were as they slipped under the hem of his work out shirt. Not having actually worked out paid off in an unexpected way when Madara sent a prayer of thanks that he wasn’t disgusting and sweaty where those hands were groping. It definitely would have ruined the moment if he smelled like trash from too many pushups, no matter how nice he thought his own arms were. Tobirama’s arms were definitely nicer, wrapped around him as they were, and Madara cracked his eyes back open to allow himself a moment to roam over the perfectly shaped biceps he’d been drooling over from afar. Then he rolled his hips back and grinned when he felt the hardness there rubbing between his ass cheeks.

Unsurprisingly, Tobirama felt the need to retaliate. That was pretty much the entirety of both their personal and professional relationships, constantly reacting to each other and struggling to gain the upper hand, though lately their squabbles had shifted away from violence and more towards silly pranks and half-hearted teasing. Now he did so by sliding his hand down to cup Madara through his loose pants even as his hips rolled forward to press the older man just a little bit father forward.

“You’re playing with fire,” Tobirama growled.

“I’m an Uchiha. I played with fire in my cradle.”

“Don’t bring your cradle in to this.” Tobirama paused to snicker against his back. “Picturing you as an infant is not sexy and I am trying very hard to be sexy right now.”

Madara whined and dropped his head lower. “Everything you do is sexy you stupid asshole.”

Laughing a little louder, Tobirama stepped back just enough that he had room to spin Madara around and push him back against the lockers again, stepping forward until their bodies were flush with each other and dipping his head for a kiss that curled the ends of Madara’s hair. This time when he rolled his hips it was to grind their lengths together, both of them hard enough to feel that sweet friction through the layers of clothing between them.

“Oh sweet Sage,” Madara whispered. His hand clenched around the biceps he had just been admiring, shudders rippling through his body to finally have them under his palms. Tobirama grinned and shuffled his weight to force one of his thighs between both of Madara’s while he trailed kisses along his jaw.

“I don’t suppose you happen to have any objections to our current location?”

“Don’t you dare stop,” Madara growled. “I don’t give a fuck who comes in here, you are not stopping!”

“Normally I would say ‘fuck you’ for ordering me around but I think actions speak louder than words.”

Tobirama smirked wider when the meaning of his words filtered in to Madara’s brain and made his knees go weak, eyes rolling back in his head as he prayed for guidance from his ancestors. Then he went in for another kiss and both of them forgot all about anything that wasn’t the writhing of their bodies against each other or the wandering of curious fingers.

Hands slipped inside each other’s clothing and pulled hair, mouths devoured and commanded in equal turns, and Madara tried to ignore how much sound he could hear spilling from his own throat. It was embarrassing to be so obvious about his enthusiasm but there wasn’t much he could do. He’d always been a passionate person; this was hardly going to be the one activity he approached with a calm demeanor and a clear head.

About the time he realized that his shirt had somehow been slid up to bunch around his collar bone without his notice Madara opened his eyes to see Tobirama lick his lips and bend to gently close his teeth around one nipple. A grunt escaped, fading quickly in to something like a gasp when Tobirama began to nip and suckle. He wanted very much to bow upwards and push farther in to the sensation but he was foiled by the large hands on his hips keeping him from moving around too much. Madara grumbled under his breath about cruel Senju but it had less effect when he followed his words with a demand for more.

Probably just to be an asshole, Tobirama pulled away from what he was doing, leaning over to lave his tongue over the other nipple for a quick tease and then straightening to pull Madara in for a slow, deep kiss.

“Jerk,” Madara gasped as soon as his mouth was free.

“Would you have me any other way?” Tobirama asked. The knowing in his eyes said there was no point in answering him, he already knew. “I thought so. Now, I don’t suppose you happened to bring lubricant to the gym with you?”

Gaping for a moment, Madara only just managed to lower his voice to a strangled shriek. “Why would I bring lube to the gym!?”

“You seemed quite involved in that staring contest you had going with my biceps. I thought perhaps you might have come prepared for certain eventualities.”

“I didn’t think this was an eventuality.”

“Ah. Well there’s something we’ll have to clear up. But not now, we’re a little busy now. Don’t move.” With a pointed look to ensure Madara stayed put, Tobirama took a half step back and reached over to another locker several feet down the line. He twisted the spinner until the padlocked popped open, pulled it out, then dropped it carelessly to the floor while he rummaged inside.

When his hand came back out he was holding a small tub of what Madara assumed to be cream. The lid spun off easily – also tossed unceremoniously to the floor – and the inside revealed a shiny lotion that gave off a pungent smell of herbs.

“For sore muscles,” Tobirama muttered as he dipped his fingers in and swiped out a generous dollop. “Drop ‘em Uchiha. I can’t give you sore muscles if I can’t get to them.”

Madara spluttered a little but he did scramble to undo his pants and shove them down, taking his underwear with them. As soon as he had kicked the garments away Tobirama was slotting their bodies together again and drawing one of Madara’s leg up over his hip to make room for his fingers to reach around and press against the puckered entrance there.

“Hng – bastard.” Madara closed his eyes and let his head fall back, breathing through the sensations, doing his best to have a quiet yet stern conversation with his cock about the difference between interested and overexcited.

“I thought you wanted this, hm?” Tobirama said in a teasing voice. He punctuated his words with the slow glide of his finger sinking in to the hole he’d just slathering with lotion.

“Just…just always a bastard…I don’t know, alright? Just don’t stop!”

“As you say.” Then, because he truly was a bastard, he slid another finger in so Madara could feel the stretch, making him writhe and press down on the invading digits as though he intended to ride them to his completion.

Which actually sounded like an excellent idea that he would need to bring up some other time.

For now he allowed himself to be distracted with filthy kisses as Tobirama worked him open with a maddeningly slow speed that said he was taking his time on purpose. Every time Madara tried to snarl at him to hurry up his words were interrupted with a sharp bite on his lower lip, the side of his neck, even his ear once. It was a disgustingly effective tactic. Having done this sort of thing only a handful of times before, Madara hadn’t realized until now that he seemed to have a fetish for biting. Perhaps that was something else they could explore together later.

Tobirama rolled his hips like an afterthought when he slid a third finger in, chuckling darkly when Madara spewed a litany of curse words, overwhelmed by the dual sensations. Rather than let up he continued the rhythm and shifted his arm until he could curl in to an angle to press against Madara’s prostate, swallowing the resulting shout with a heated kiss.

“Fucking fuck you fuck fucker fucking piece of fuck!” Not that it stopped him. He was grinding out more expletives as soon as his mouth was free.

“Bad language is the mark of an uncivilized beast,” Tobirama chided him.

Madara jerked his head down to glare at the man. “If you are not inside me in point five seconds I swear I’m going to set your head on that fire I’m supposedly playing with. Stop testing my patience you – oh! Shit, that. Do that again!”

His rant paused before he could truly get a good rhythm going, foiled by the extra pressure on the one spot guaranteed to shut him up. Madara supposed he would have been angry if it weren’t for the fact that it felt so damned good. It was almost worth the smugness in Tobirama’s grin – or it would have been if he hadn’t pulled his fingers away entirely a moment later. When Madara snarled he only hummed and kissed him briefly.

“You need to make up your mind. Is it stop or don’t stop? Fuck or fingers? If I’d known you were going to be this difficult about it I would have brought along a muzzle to keep you quiet.” He bent to swipe his fingers through the herbal cream again and opened his own pants to lather in on himself while Madara searched his mind for an acceptable comeback. Nothing came to mind.

“Just get on with it,” he settled for instead. “I don’t have all evening.”

“Oh? So you weren’t planning to come back to mine after, then? A pity. I was going to make soba noodles for dinner and I thought you might like to join me. But I suppose I won’t perish from sleeping alone tonight.”

“What the hell do soba noodles have to do with sleep– oh. Ooooh.” Madara swallowed thickly as he tried to wrestle his face in to more of an affronted look rather than the soppy expression trying to take over. “Look, don’t you dangle the dream and take it away. You’re going to fuck me, you’re going to feed me soba – I fucking love soba – and then you’re going to take me to bed and fuck me again. Got it!?”

Tobirama’s answer was to bend far enough to grasp under each of his thighs and lift him without warning, sending his bodyweight crashing backwards against the lockers since he was unprepared to support himself so suddenly. When he was through flailing he got with the program enough to wrap his legs around the other man’s waist and lift himself up for a better angle. Then he squirmed until he felt Tobirama’s cock line up in just the right spot and bore down carefully.

Both of them groaned when the head finally slid passed the first ring of muscle. Madara let gravity pull his weight down and closed his eyes at the sweet sensation of being gradually filled. He could admit that he’d seen bigger cocks but Tobirama was just the perfect size, big enough to feel the stretch yet not so thick that it hurt. Teeth nipped at his collarbones and he shuddered – doubly so when the movement slid him further down – and then he paused for a moment like he could memorize how it felt as he bottomed out. It seemed Tobirama did not need a moment.

His partner hiked him up against the locker door without warning, pulled his hips away, then pressed in again with a deliberately slow glide. Madara tightened his arms around whatever the hell he was currently gripping and gave up on the idea of staying quiet. At the very least Tobirama seemed to enjoy the sounds he made every time he was filled again, grinning in to his shoulder and fucking him just a little bit faster.

“Should have been”–Tobirama broke off with a hiss when Madara tightened around him–“doing this years ago.” He mouthed his way up Madara’s neck to take his lips in a kiss that almost erased any snarky reply from his mind. It took a few minutes for him to respond

“Maybe you should have been paying attention!” Madara growled after shaking his thoughts back in to working order. Tobirama huffed and retaliated with a particularly hard thrust.

“Well maybe you should have spoken up instead of staring at me like a lovesick puppy.” Tobirama bit his lip once before tilting his body away. It set them at such an angle that he was able to make a direct hit against Madara’s prostate and earned him a howl that choked off between clenched teeth, not wanting to draw attention from any of the idiots still exercising in the gym.

Too distracted for conversation after that, both of them descended in to animalistic grunts and frantic rutting. Metal rattled with every harsh movement and the heat between their bodies was only worsened by the florescent lights burning overhead. Every sound they made echoed in the otherwise empty room, fueling them both on with a chorus of lewd gasps and moans. They would have sounded right at home in the center of the red light district under the strict rule of a jaded Madame.

Madara dragged Tobirama closer for breathless, sloppy kisses as he wondered why all the filthy novels hidden under his bed were filled with heroes and lovely ladies who were never ready for things to end. The tension coiling in his gut wanted nothing more than to boil over, driving him to writhe and struggle, chasing his end as fast as he could. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on. No toy or even his own clone had ever been able to turn him on half as much as just watching Tobirama could; being held up against the wall and fucked senseless was more than a dream come true.

It was pretty damn close to nirvana.

An actual sob of relief escaped when he slipped a hand between them and took himself in a light grasp just this side of not enough, taking up a rhythm that couldn’t hope to match the rocking of their hips with how caught up he was in the way his partner was falling apart beneath him. Clearly he was not the only one chasing something.

He had barely a handful of strokes to admire the bliss in Tobirama’s expression, the way his head had fallen back and his eye has fallen closed, jaw hanging loose to pant, unashamed of the pleasure he was taking from another. Then Madara’s thighs gave a telltale shake and his muscles tensed, his free hand slamming back against the metal supporting him as he cried out the intensity of his orgasm.

Tobirama followed half a dozen thrusts later, pulled along by the tight heat clenching around him, refusing to fall still as he continued to send white hot pleasure streaking through Madara’s veins. Yet even as he shook his way through his own ecstasy his stance never faltered and Madara’s weight never shifted once. Somehow that only made the entire thing hotter.

“Shit,” Tobirama muttered when he finally came to a stop. He leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together and their unsynchronized gasping drew hot breath back and forth between them. “Seriously. Should have been doing that ages ago.”

“Nnnggg.” Words seemed a little far away still for Madara.

“That was not quite the workout I had in mind when I came here tonight but I can’t say that I mind.”

“Hnn.” Madara blinked up at the ceiling and fished around in his brain for words to expression the only vague want left in him at the moment. After a minute he gave up and simply murmured, “Soba?”

When Tobirama laughed it made him look down just to watch the mirth twinkle in those pretty red eyes. “Yes, alright. Let’s get cleaned up and you can have your soba. You know, we’re lucky no one came in here. I don’t want to know what sort of lecture we’d get if we’d been walked in on during…that.”

Madara wasn’t sure if he was shuddering more for the sensation of Tobirama sliding out of his ass or for the thought of those lectures the other had mentioned. Whether it came from either of their brothers – or worse, from Mito – it would surely have been minimum an hour of screaming and embarrassment. He realized finally how reckless they had been and forced his trembling legs to bear his weight as he hastily wiped himself down with the unused gym clothes, opening his locker with the combination he finally remembered so he could dress in his usual clothing to leave.

“Come on,” Tobirama held out his hand. “I think I even have a little sake at home to make it a proper date.”

“Hmph. You’d better treat me proper. I deserve it.”

A hand caught his middle to pull him flush against a hard body once more and Madara flushed when Tobirama whispered in his ear, “Mm, that you do.”

“Shut up! Of course I do! Get off of me with your…with your…emotions!” It took batting at the arm around his belly with both hands for Tobirama to release him. Madara refused to look over at the other man for fear of the laughter he would see there; it wasn’t his fault he didn’t know what to do with his emotions! Just because he had them did not mean he was prepared to chat about them like a casual conversation.

Rather than answer Tobirama waited silently until Madara had everything he needed to bring with him before pouncing again. One arm slid back around his waist while the other lifted to make a hand sign and between one moment and the next they were gone from the room as though they’d never been there in the first place. The only evidence left behind to mark the beginning of something so momentous was a small tub of lotion meant for soothing sore muscles left unnoticed on the floor, cap tossed carelessly aside, and the pungent scent of herbs mixed with the heady scent of sex.

It was an unimportant detail, really. They could always get more cream. But there would only ever be one first time and Madara was already planning how he would gloat to Izuna about his success later. His persistence had paid off, after all.

That and his innate clumsiness but he certainly wouldn’t be including that in his dramatic retelling later.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction #collaboration

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lunatens · 5 years

Text

pepper partners

part 2/?

word count: 2162

genre: fluff

pairing: reader x johnny (minor ten x jaehyun on the side)

summary: you weren’t planning on joining your high school’s co-ed volleyball team, but when you find out the one and only johnny seo is playing, you can’t help but be grateful ten was able to convince you to join after all.

~~~

the week goes by fairly quickly--you practice on monday and wednesday mornings and play games with the other co-ed teams every friday after school. on tuesday afternoon, you have your weekly "study session" (which usually involves less studying and more netflix watching and gossiping) with ten and lisa. the hangout this week is hosted at ten's, and although you bring your physics textbook with you, you already know it's going to end up untouched for the next few hours. the three of you spend the night watching "to all the boys i've loved before" and having random casual conversations.

"ooh, y/n, how's your english essay coming along??" ten asks you.

"well, it's due next wednesday and... i haven't started," you reply sheepishly.

"WHAT?!? y/n, it was assigned like a month ago!" lisa pipes in.

"ugh guys, i KNOW!" you groan in frustration. "i just don't know what to write about! you know english isn't my strongest subject...i feel like i need like, a tutor or something."

ten goes quiet for a moment, thinking, then you see a playful smirk grow on his face.

"i know that look.... what are you thinking..." you ask.

"oh nothing, nothing at all y/n, just the fact that jaehyun mentioned to me today that a certain boy *cough* johnny *cough* in our english class just happens at the top of the class and is really smart, that's all."

"oh." is all you can say as your cheeks erupt in a bright blush.

"oh my gosh y/n, you're so obvious." lisa rolls her eyes at you. "you should ask him to help you though! then you'll get to spend some quality one-on-one time with him!"

"no! You guys, i hardly know him! I don't want to be weird." you whine. ten and lisa exchange a look.

"okay fine, but i can't help if i accidentally mention to jae that you need help." ten says, sipping his tea.

"you guys are impossible," you say, rolling your eyes and then picking up the remote to choose another movie to watch.

by the time the movie finishes, you realize you don't even know what it was about; your thoughts had been occupied by daydreams of johnny helping you out with your essay, alone in your room, perhaps brushing hands once in a while or exchanging shy looks, maybe you're sitting together, really close, and he locks eyes with you, leaning in slowly and-

"helloooo, earth to y/n, do you want a ride home or not?" ten asks, jangling his car keys in front of your face.

"oh yeah, uh, sure." you respond, your fantasies sadly replaced with reality. ten drives you and lisa home with promises to pick you both up early in the morning for practice. you know waking up early won't be an issue from now on, knowing that you'll get to see johnny again in just a few hours.

***

walking into the gym again, you find yourself scanning the court for johnny--although he's not hard to find, being the tallest person there. he catches your eye from where he's sitting on the floor stretching with jaehyun and waves, flashing you a bright smile. you smile and wave back, a warm tingly rush filling your body.

"oh y/n, you are WHIPPED for that boy!" ten says, patting you on the head. You swat his hand away in faux annoyance.

"i'm gonna go warm up with rose, see you guys later!" lisa says as she leaves to join the other girl, who is stretching alone in the corner, looking around awkwardly but face lighting up at lisa's approach.

"come on y/n, jae's waving us over to go stretch with them--maybe his shirt will ride up and i'll get to see his abs..." ten says, pulling you over in the boys' direction.

ten and jaehyun make (flirty) conversation as they stretch, while you and johnny stretch in silence. you try really hard to not stare at johnny's arm muscles, but you fail miserably. luckily ten is too busy chatting up jaehyun to notice your pitiful staring.

"man, those two really hit it off, eh?" johnny says in a hushed voice to you.

"ugh, i know right? It's like they've known each other for years! like, we, their BEST FRIENDS, are sitting right here! when they're with each other, it's like there's no one else in the world," you comment, watching the pair chat happily, never taking their eyes off each other.

"must be nice," johnny mumbles, looking down at the hardwood floor. "i'd love to have someone like that, someone you just click with, someone you can talk to about anything and everything for hours, you know?" he says, bringing his head up and gazing into your eyes.

"i--y-yeah, that would be really nice. i'd love to find someone like that, but sometimes i'm worried there's no one out there for me, you know?"

"y/n, i think there's someone out there for everyone, and there's DEFINITELY someone out there for you. i mean look at you--i'm surprised you don't have more people falling head over heels for you."

it's at this moment that coach lee blows the whistle, and you couldn't be more grateful for the interruption--you have absolutely no idea how to respond to johnny's comment, but you know your cheeks are giving your internal screaming away because ten gives you a pointed look. coach lee tells you to play pepper as a warmup, mentioning that from now on you can just move straight into pepper every practice to warm up without his instruction. he blows the whistle again, and everyone disperses, frantically scrambling for their partners.

"hey y/n, let's go! i mean, as long as you still wanna be my pepper partner, i'd totally understand if you-"

"johnny, of course i still wanna be your pepper partner--i mean, we can always be partners if you want,” you reply.

"pinky promise?" he says, holding up his little finger.

"pinky promise." you reach up and lock pinkies with him, trying not to squeal at his touch. he grabs a ball, and once again you warm up together, the promise of being pepper partners forever sparking a new excitement in you.

***

practice ends, you say goodbye to johnny, and the week continues as usual. ten and lisa continually poke and prod at you to ask johnny for help on your essay, but you refuse, saying you aren't close enough yet and besides, you don't even have his number. soon enough, friday comes around, and you couldn't be more excited. the school day seems to drag on forever, and when the bell finally rings, you bolt to the changerooms with lisa chasing after you. you and her end up being the first ones in the gym, so coach lee asks you to help set up the net.

you're trying to loop the top rope of the net over one of the poles, but despite your best efforts, you just can't quite reach. you're about to call lisa over for help (ten is too short and is also talking to jaehyun, so any attempt to get his attention isfutile) when you feel a body press against you lightly as arms reach over your head, taking the rope and setting up the net for you. you turn around to face johnny--or rather, johnny's chest. the proximity has your heart racing.

"sorry, i couldn't help but notice you needed help--i didn't mean to do your job for you, i'm sure you're fully capable of setting up a net, but you're also kind of a pipsqueak." johnny says with a small laugh as he backs up a bit.

"hey, i'm only like 3 inches shorter than you, and you're a giant! I'm still tall!!

"okay, whatever you say, pipsqueak," johnny says, his eyes creasing as a huge grin appears on his face. you feign being upset, sticking your tongue out at him.

"we'll see who the pipsqueak is when my team destroys yours today," you respond.

"hah! I'd like to see you try. let's make a bet--whichever of us loses the game has to buy the winner snacks at the movies tonight." johnny challenges, sticking his hand out towards you.

"deal. i hope your wallet's ready to buy me some popcorn," you say as you shake his hand, accepting the challenge.

"oh, we'll see who's buying who popcorn," johnny says. "good luck--you'll need it" he grins, walking away to join his team. you turn to look for yours, spotting taeyong waving you over, and you can't wait to see the look on johnny's face when you beat him.

***

the games go by fairly quickly--you started at 3 pm, and each game was only best 2/3, so all 3 games were finished by 5 pm (luckily they didn't go much longer, or else you might've been late to the movies). first, your team, dubbed neo culture team by taeyong (or ncteam for short), was up against the team of juniors, or the dream team as they were called. as good as they were for a bunch of grade 9s and 10s, your team defeated them easily. next, johnny's team, simply called team daebak, played the dream team--once again, winning with no problem. despite losing twice in a row, the dream team was still just happy to be playing and learning from their seniors. finally, the time came to play johnny's team. since both of you played middle, there were times you'd be facing off against each other--you'll never forget johnny's look of shock and amazement when you blocked him, the roars of your team cheering you on hyping you up even more. in then end, your team pulled ahead and won--although it was a close game, with the final set ending up 25-23. you line up and shake hands with team daebak, winking at johnny as you pass him in the line.

ten ushers you out of the gym, calling to jaehyun and johnny that he'd pick them up at 6 after you all shower and get ready. he drives you home, parking in your driveway and coming inside with you. ten promised to help you choose a cute outfit for the movies tonight--although t's not a date, you keep reminding yourself, no matter how much ten insists it is.

you hop out of the shower, drying your hair as fast as you can, and your towel-clad self walks into your room to find ten digging through your closet, a small pile of clothes on the bed.

"okay i picked out a few options, so let's do a stereotypical movie scene where you try them on and i rate your looks--even though you look spicy in anything." ten says, throwing you the first outfit. you sigh and shake your head at your best friend, grateful he was willing to help you out.

you end up settling for a simple outfit, comprised of some ripped high waisted skinny jeans, a cute crop top (not super cropped, just enough that some skin is exposed, which ten says is crucial to helping make johnny fall for you), some boots, and a light jacket all finished with your favourite necklace.

"oh my god y/n, you look so good!! If johnny isn't already head over heels for you, he will be after tonight. i'm gonna shower real quick while you finish getting ready, then we'll go pick up our boys." ten says before hopping into the shower, leaving you alone in your room. you admire yourself in the mirror (your butt really does look great in these jeans, ten wasn't lying) and can't help but smile, feeling really good about yourself. even though it's technically not a date for you and johnny, you really do want to look your best for him, and you feel super cute in the outfit ten chose.

you finish getting ready and ten doesn't take long to get dressed--he's had his outfit planned since monday night, he tells you--so you two wave goodbye to your mom and hop in the car, ready to go. you go to sit in your usual spot in shotgun, but ten shoos you into the backseat.

"sorry, shotgun's reserved for jaehyun tonight. don't worry, you'll get to sit in the back with johnny. oh, and don't mind the boxes that conveniently take up one seat leaving only two in the back of my small car for your guys to sit!" ten says with an innocent smile.

"god, you're such an idiot ten. what would i do without you," you smile and say to him, appreciative (and slightly embarrassed) by his efforts. you pull out of your driveway, and the nerves finally begin to hit you as the realization that you are about to go on a "date" with the one and only johnny seo, captain of team daebak (and the senior boys’ volleyball team) and, more importantly, your pepper partner.

~~~

i really hope you guys liked part 2!! i’m not sure how often i’ll be able to update but i’ll try my best! of course please please let me know your thoughts on everything, next part will be the movies!! yay!! <3 stay tuned for more

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watolocke · 6 years

Text

Watolock Figure Skating AU

So this all came to me at once and I wrote a lot of plot points and possible moments down. I’m not much of a fic writer so if you want to force yourself through this disconnected block of text, have fun! I sent this to the Miss Sherlock Discord but I’ll give it its moment in the Tumblr tag lmao.

Sherlock began as a rising star in the junior figure skating community when she was 15, holding an excellent track record of consecutive wins. She had excellent technical skills and creative flair. Her interaction with fans was minimal but she remained popular regardless.

Unfortunately her teenage years appeared to be the peak of her career when her abilities began to crash after the death of her parents (and some other secret angsty backstory involving figure skating) soon after she turned 20. She began crashing in competitions and her renowned self-choreographed routines fell flat. Her heart and soul was no longer in it.

The only time she feels fully at ease on the ice in her early 20s is in private.

Wato is a hobbyist when it comes to skating. While she is fascinated by the sport she is by no means a religious competition follower and while she could probably list a handful of names she's read about, she wouldn't be quick to recognise. Admittedly she is a bit of nerd surrounding the physics of figure skating jumps.

She uncovered years old tape recordings of the Olympics in her parents' attic and pored over the figure skating footage in her free time while getting through high school. (I honestly just needed an excuse for her not to be a Figure Skating Fangirl who would know Sherlock immediately).

She continues to practise into her college years when she has short breaks between working for her medical degree. It's always in public rinks and it is never more than a hobby.

Kimie Hatano is the rink owner. Gentaro Reimon is Sherlock's coach. Tatsuya Shibata is a pairs skater.#

Their first encounter is at the end of Sherlock's private rink time. She begins to unlace at the back to avoid being rudely talked to or god forbid, asked a question.

Enter the public. Among the groups of friends and couples, a shorter frantic woman stumbles in. She's hefting an assortment of bags and dressed terribly in Sherlock's opinion. Sherlock watches her hastily tie her laces connected to her ratty old skates and push in earphones before she steps onto the ice amidst the rush. For some unknown reason she seems to stand out despite the lacklustre attire. Her expression is just so full of will and determination.

She is soon gliding effortlessly and stepping rhymically across the ice the best she can amidst the admittedly sparse public. There are stammers and blips occasionally and it would be a lie if Sherlock didn't admit one or two falls escaped the woman. It wasn't completely fluent but the beauty and luminescence of the her character easily erased the most minor of errors.

She begins to slide into more advanced step sequences before launching into a series of single jumps. Sherlock hadn't been aware, hadn't even considered the thought, that what she'd seen had simply been a warmup for this assumed amateur. She throws herself without almost any hesitation, catching herself when she underestimates a landing. She continues, never letting the proud glow leave her eyes.

There's a moment where she seems to *prepare* herself, remaining motionless on the ice and taking a breath before she sets off again. Moving with unexpected strength and a spark in her eye. Jump. Sherlock holds her own breath as she sees this woman take off with the clear ambition of a toe loop. One revolution. Two. Three. Landing. Slicing into the ice on the right back outside edge, she lands with only a slight wobble. An almost flawless triple toe. Sherlock is enraptured. Of course, she can do such moves in her sleep but, here she is... Awestruck.

Frozen in place, Sherlock doesn't appear to notice the glee and surprise on the woman's face as she pushes herself to the exit, breathing heavily and reaching for a discarded bottle of water by her bag.

Sherlock practically falls out of her seat in an attempt to catch the woman during her break. Sherlock knows how much she herself despises being interrupted. She fills with a strange emotion as she approaches slowly in the building afternoon crowds. Nerves? She has not been noticed. She could still turn away. No, not Sara Shelly Futaba! She's a figure skating prodigy... with nerves of steel! And really she should take note of potential competition that could jeopardize her consistent wins.

Sherlock: Who's your coach?

Wato, pulling out her earphones: Eh? Sorry?

Sherlock: Do you have a coach?

Wato, looking bemused.

Sherlock, taking in Wato's scuffed and worn skates and attire: No! Of course you don't. What am I thinking!

Wato, quickly growing angry and scoffing in disbelief.

Sherlock, failing lamely: No no... No! Sorry I just... Uh, what's your name?

Wato: Tachibana... [Sherlock is clearly waiting for her to elaborate] Wato.

Sherlock: [to herself] Tachibana Wato... Listen- [cut off by phone buzzing, glances away] Ugh..! Listen- [Wato has disappeared; initiate frustrated Sherlock stomps and hair mussing]

Sherlock rushes out instantly, knowing she has no time to hunt down this newly named mystery girl without incurring the wrath of her ballet instructor. She spends the whole lesson a little out of focus and enamoured by Wato. It certainly doesn't go unnoticed. She's endlessly teased by Shibata on the sidelines as her (usually flawless) form is corrected. Sherlock obviously gives him a murderous look and already has 4 possible scenarios in which she can end his career.

The next time she's at the rink, she casually attempts to ask around about a Wato Tachibana. Yet we all know that Sherlock lacks any semblance of discreetness and of course Kimie Hatano, rink owner and Sherlock's designated moral support, knows the "sweet girl who has been showing up for about a week now and oh! She is so lovely, she'd probably even like you, Sherlock! Whoops, I didn't mean that..! Anyway, since you like her so much I'll introduce you both!". Cue Sherlock indignantly denying any interest but not denying the offer.

Mrs Hatano is endlessly encouraging Sherlock to speak to Wato but let's face it... She's a hopeless lesbian.

Wato has just returned from a gap year in Syria she took in pursuit of her dream as a doctor. She was doing training as a nurse and was further encouraged to chase a higher medical career. Now in the summer building up to her final year in university before she enters medical school she is taking her free time to pursue an outside hobby she enjoys to lessen the pressure of such a demanding course.

She becomes close friends with Mrs Hatano during her visits and praises Wato each time she sees her but Wato is much too humble and even unaware to admit she's any good. Mrs Hatano remarks on her days as an ice dancer and all the many incredible men and women she met (in more ways than one). Wato laughs along at her stories that would be unbelievable if they weren't coming from her lips. Sherlock is often seen moping in the sidelines lamenting her inability to approach Wato after their awkward first encounter.

After some long, hard talks with Mrs Hatano Wato decides that she can afford to fish out money for a few lessons, purely to occupy her summer *obviously*. Sherlock, who is usually opposed to assisting any beginner's lessons jumps at the chance when Mrs Hatano mentions Wato.

However, the instructor insists she just show what she can do first lesson while Sherlock is lurking in the back of the rink seating. Wato gets off to a shaky start due to her nerves but is soon smoothly gliding across the ice and doing moves, slowly increasing in difficulty. Amid this she is periodically throwing out single and double jumps. Sherlock is convinced she needs to speak to this girl and maybe advise her on how to improve her technique. Sherlock can already see the magic if Wato were to improve her rotations and unstable landings. Although these things never come out quite as smoothly she skates...

So unfortunately the first time they speak sherlock unintentionally comes off as pretentious and the two get into some verbal combat despite being interested in each other.

Kento definitely approaches Sherlock later and she pouts and mopes about how badly she handled that situation but that Wato was *totally* in the wrong too..!

Sherlock thought she was being constructive when advising wato on her technique but she was just pointing out everything wrong. She didn't have time to get to the positives before Wato was offended and began the verbal warfare.

They also both make the mistake of going to Mrs Hatano, wondering how they could apologise. Mrs Hatano, of course, has a genius idea: Coffee. However, when both women arrive and suddenly there's four coffees between the two of them. There's a lot of uncomfortable fumbling and light blushes as they talk over each other attempting to defend themselves. Sherlock tries to act cold and unaffected but they're eventually both giggling.

Conversation is still awkward as they both lace up before Wato's first proper lesson but Sherlock lightly nudges Wato before shoving a piece of chocolate in her hand. Before Wato can reply Sherlock has turned away, shoved on her skate guards and marched off. And lucky she did because she may have melted if she saw the soft smile Wato had on her face.

Next thing you know Sherlock is pretending nothing happened and patiently leading Wato in a beginner's class. Sherlock notoriously doesn't have the patience for *anyone*. Period. On the side we have a slightly stunned Mrs Hatano. Sherlock is so caught up in explaining successful landing technique in detail that she doesn't even notice them. Shibata films it as "blackmail material" but Sherlock steals his phone. Before deleting the video she sends it to herself... because Wato looks so cute in it but she'll never let anyone in on that.

As first professional lessons usually go, Wato falls over an unimaginable amount of times by over-rotating on her jumps and Sherlock rushes over each time to check that she's alright.

Wato, grinning: You know I'm getting a medical degree, right?

Sherlock, holding the sides of her face gazing very intently at Wato's pupils: You can't determine your own concussion!

They probably look in each other's eyes for a few moments too long before clearing their throats and getting back to practice.

Sherlock leads Wato through the appropriate motions by lightly placing her hands on Wato's hips and waist and demonstrating the leg and arm movements for better balance. It's all in the name of sport yet it ends up achingly intimate.

By the end they are both glowing and Wato is gazing up as Sherlock rambles about everything and nothing all at once and she can't take her eyes off her. They end up beside each other once again, yanking off their skates and mindlessly discussing breathtaking routines from *decades* ago because of course Sherlock has endless knowledge on all her interests. They end up sat there late into the afternoon as the public passes in front of them and Mrs Hatano brings them drinks and snacks.

Wato talks about her school life and how exhausting it can be but how much she adores it. Sherlock laughs at her affably for not following modern skating competitions. Wato jokes that Sherlock isn't as popular as she claims she is. Conversation is cut short when Wato cheekily requests to see one of Sherlock's apparently *incredible* routines. Sherlock stalks off with a less than friendly farewell and Wato has to use all her energy not to chase after this woman she's barely known a day.

Sat speechless she confides in Mrs Hatano who halfheartedly mentions Sherlock's "moods", although it seemed like more than a mood to Wato.

They each spend that night pondering the fun they had and just how much they want to see and speak to each other again.

The next time that they meet Sherlock stomps up to Wato with a phone number and a proposition. The number is to organise additional practises with Sherlock who gets extra rink access because "it's practical, Wato! Don't be dense!" The proposition is an invitation to witness one of Sherlock's routines privately during one of the previously mentioned additional practises. Sherlock requests that she set the date for it but Wato quickly agrees.

It takes a week more of practises in the presence of Mrs Hatano and various instructors before Sherlock finally approaches Wato to make good on her offer that night.

When Wato enters the rink it is the quietest she's ever seen it. She doesn't even see Mrs Hatano shuffling about. Admittedly it is quite late in the evening on a Sunday. She calls out, spotlights flash and as she blinks Sherlock appears from the other side of the rink all booted up with a long, *extremely fashionable* coat draped around her. Wato laughs loudly at her dramatics and Sherlock badly covers a smile as she skates to the centre of the ice.

Wato shades her eyes from the lights as she tries to see who's in the tech booth although she's almost certain she already knows. She hears a yell of "catch!" before feeling the impact of a coat on her face. Before she can protest Sherlock has assumed her opening position and she is... *dazzling*. Her outfit is delicately sequined and elegant.

The music sets off at a somber pace and Sherlock possesses all the majesty and grace of a prima ballerina. The pace picks up and though she feels slightly wobbly in front of this new audience she slices through the air, elevating herself half a metre off the ice and landing with perfect balance.

Sherlock does the most impossible choreography and Wato is *beyond* amazed. She is void of speech or even breath to fully convey the beauty of what she'd just seen.

Sherlock bows deeply after showcasing one of her early successful routines and twirls, waving timidly to the audience of one.

As Sherlock begins to exit the ice Wato rushes over and grabs her arm as she sings her praises. Sherlock goes to shake Wato's arm off in habit but is stuck halfway through putting on her skate guards by Wato's fascinated expression and sparkling eyes.

Since this is just a very long sneak peak of my ideas... I’ll stop here. Feel free to send me asks with your thoughts and questions about this AU though. I am very invested in it.

#why am i posting this... i might post my royalty au if yall like this #miss sherlock #sherlock futaba #wato tachibana #watolock #my writing #that's a strange tag to write gfsjdka #au #my au #skating au #mine #this is so cheesy... why am i such a romantic

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shanceshancerevolution · 6 years

Text

shance high school romcom

shiro is the star quarterback in the top 10 students with the highest gpa, and lance is a cellist whose grades are kind of slipping because he spends the majority of his free time practicing.

halfway through the football season as a junior, shiro sustains a brutal injury to his arm and must spend a lot of time recovering so he can play again next year as a senior for the last time. on the off season, shiro works as an after-school tutor in the library and decides to jump on that early since he can't do much else. that november, lance, who is in the same year as shiro, happens to come in for help. he’s really stubborn about admitting he needs help, but keeps coming back anyway because even if he's the best musician in the county, his talents and skills alone won't help him get into college. he needs to raise his grades if he wants a chance at a fancy music school.

at first, shiro is exasperated with lance’s whining but keeps telling himself he’s getting paid so he has to do this. besides, he really does like helping others. lance is just one of the few that are hard to work with. after spending a week helping lance, shiro starts to understand that lance’s bad study habits are the main obstacles keeping him from actively learning.

shiro makes a deal with him. if lance can improve his study habits to the point where his grades increase, shiro will pull some some strings so lance will be guaranteed a practice room throughout the entire next school year.

lance asks shiro how he can even do that but shiro winks and says he “has his ways”. and boy does that wink make lance feel some kind of way, not now gay thoughts. (in reality, shiro just knows how to use his position as the goody-two-shoes star athlete and model student to his advantage. also this is a high school romcom so anything goes)

lance, motivated by a year-long reserved practice room and shiro’s praise, slowly improves his study habits. they’re not perfect, but after a month of tutoring, lance already has better habits. obviously orchestra and spanish were already A’s, but his english and physics grades start rapidly improving. he could easily excel in other subjects, however...

“history is cool and all but, come on! does anyone really care about these dead cis white dudes?? and math isn’t even fun so what’s the point?”

shiro knows lance’s problem isn’t that he’s not smart, he just hasn’t been applying himself to reach his full potential. so he keeps encouraging lance and maybe starts to enjoy the way lance’s face lights up when he thanks shiro for helping him because he’s really starting to see results! and maybe enjoys it even more when they take breaks and lance rambles about his favorite pieces they’re playing for orchestra and lets slip that he's nervous-excited (but mostly nervous) about his brief solo in the orchestra's winter concert. shiro tells him he'll be great and wishes him good luck, effectively calming lance down for the moment. he makes plans to go to the concert, but decides to surprise lance.

it's the night of the concert and lance is so nervous that he might actually shit himself mid-performance, but the audience (and shiro) can't even tell.

shiro very quickly realizes how dazzling lance is on stage. his movements are effortlessly fluid and just the way he plays is so beautiful. shiro feels his mouth getting dryer and dryer with each passing second. and when lance plays his solo for the final piece, shiro's breath leaves him and he's suddenly struck by how stunning the other boy is. he's glowing from the stage lights and thriving off of the deep melody he produces from his cello. shiro's feelings at this point are pure admiration of and pride in lance. (never mind the fact that he can't deny that lance looks damn fantastic in a suit.) the song comes to an end and if shiro could applaud any louder than his injury allowed, he would.

after being congratulated by his family and literally every person he knows who attended the concert, lance finally catches a break outside. the multicolored rose bouquet (very obviously purchased from the little orchestra fundraising table in the school theatre's lobby but a sweet gesture nonetheless) proffered to lance is definitely a surprise, but even more so is the fact that it's from his tutor.

shiro is so much at a loss of words that all he can say to lance is, "you were amazing." he feels a bit inadequate at being unable to voice just how much he enjoyed lance's performance, but is rewarded with a smile as lance shyly accepts the bouquet and says a quiet "thanks." shiro coughs to hide how flustered that makes him feel and changes the subject by reminding lance to remember to study over winter break. "way to ruin the good vibes here, shirogane!" but he's still smiling. they decide then and there to exchange contact information in case lance has any homework questions for shiro over break.

homework related questions quickly turn into casual daily conversations. through text, shiro finds out lance's break is a flurry of nonstop holiday cheer and getting a little too turnt at the family new year party, but he manages to finish his break assignments before going back to school (for once in his life). shiro's break is less hectic, spent studying, going to physical therapy, and celebrating hanukkah and the new year. by the time they return from break, they're much closer than before and tutoring sessions feel more like study dates (between friends of course, not like date dates, they're just good friends in the library, studying like friends do). they laugh a lot more together and studying becomes fun for both of them, even getting shushed by other students. they accumulate a ton of inside jokes (lance finds out shiro is a closet meme lord and exploits the fuck out of that) and shout them out when they pass each other in the hallways.

by the time mid february rolls around, lance had solid A's and B's again. to celebrate, lance drags shiro along to the deserted orchestra room after school and tunes up his cello. after going through a few scales, the first thing lance plays for shiro is the john cena theme. shiro laughs so hard he cries. lance has never been more pleased with his decision to print out sheet music for a meme. from then on, study sessions always end with lance playing something for shiro, ranging from saint-saëns to actual cannibal shia labeouf, and always end with smiles.

one particularly cold afternoon in early march, shiro notices lance shivering in only a tshirt and can't help focusing on this. "cold?" "yeah, somehow thought it'd be warmer y'know? it's supposed to be spring, but i'll manage," and goes back to geometry formulas but shiro hears nothing past "yeah". he slips out of his letterman jacket and drapes it around lance's shoulders. every student in the library is seriously side eyeing them like smooth, shirogane, smooth. lance is so focused on the math that he kind of reflexively snuggles into the warmth of the jacket and it's so endearing that shiro finds himself full-body blushing. he doesn't know what to do with himself so he makes up having to leave early for some half assed excuse and tells lance he's sorry and that he can text him if he needs help.

15 minutes into slouching in his car in front of his house with his head pressed against the wheel, shiro receives a text.

u forgot ur jacket but dw i'll bring it tomorrow!

shiro buries his face in his hands. he's so cute??

thanks lance, i'll see you tomorrow :)

meanwhile, lance is no longer distracted by math and can only focus on this jacket and how warm it is and wow it really smells like shiro and it's so nice. he spends the rest of the day wearing it and dodges questions from his nosy family on where he got it. he tries and fails to not analyze every possibility of why shiro lent him is letterman and ends up getting very little sleep as his brain goes a mile a minute.

the walk to school the next day is colder than lance had anticipated so he bundles up in shiro's jacket, figuring he won't mind since he let him wear it the day before.

shiro nearly has a heart attack seeing lance walk up to him in the hall wearing his jacket again. luckily, lance doesn't seem to notice. he tries to return the jacket, but shiro notices him shiver as soon as he starts to take it off and insists he keep it for the day.

it continues like this until the weather warms enough that the jacket becomes too heavy, but lance is so used to having it by now that he just wraps it around his waist like an accessory. shiro doesn't complain.

they both know lance doesn't need the extra help anymore, but can't bring themselves to stop the system they have going together. they meet up and talk in the morning before first class, yell memes and jokes at each other in the hallways, study together during after-school tutoring, and hang out in the orchestra room (lance practices and shiro listens, sometimes does pt exercises). at one point, lance tells shiro he doesn't really need that solo practice room next year.

"i enjoy your company too much to give this up," he says between warmups.

"me too," is all shiro can say. to be perfectly honest, he forgot all about their deal. he's come to genuinely care for lance and wouldn't trade these moments with him for the world.

a few days before spring break, shiro finally works up the nerve to ask lance out but lance beats him to it. they're about to part ways for the day and shiro's silently pep talking himself when lance says, "hey, i was wondering if you maybe, possibly wanna go to the movies with me some time over break?"

"i would love you," shiro blurts. "i-i mean, i would love to!" fuck. fuck, fuck, what the fuck, takashi, what the fuck?

"oh, great!" lance flushes but doesn't mind the slip up. "we can talk details later. see you tomorrow, shiro!"

shiro's torn between screaming at himself for his fuck up and fist pumping because he has a date with lance. he waits until he gets home to do a strange combination of both. his moms don't ask.

when spring break is over, no student is surprised to see lance carrying his cello case in one hand and holding shiro's hand in his other.

#shance #text #admin yells into the void #shance romcom #high school au #it's almost 4am so please forgive me if anything seems off!#gn now lmao

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i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 6 years

Text

The New Romantics Ch. 9

(If you have songs I can add play to a playlist for this fic please let me know!!)

Formerly known as Frenemies

Part 1 Here

Part 8 Here

Remember, you can commission me for continuation of stories or a new story by transferring money through my Facebook (Ally Phoenix Lopez) !!

Also, if you’re enjoying this story GO GIVE @klancedup A MAJOR THANK YOU BECAUSE THEY’VE BEEN COMMISSIONING ME FOR THIS OKAY> OKAY. Actual saint right there mhhmm

click the OP if the read more link doesn’t show.

It was understatement to say that the entire team was split. Even Hunk and Pidge weren’t talking to each other. She’d kicked him out of the lab several times and Hunk spent most of his time experimenting in the kitchen. Keith spent his time in his room reading, drawing, and listening to music. He managed to make a few playlists but he tended to listen to his angry one more often. Shiro and Allura tried for more meetings but it got nowhere since none of the paladins would speak to each other and if they did, it ended up being Pidge and Keith pitted against Hunk and Lance.

Then one day, while he was drawing in the lounge, Coran came and sat beside him. He glanced at him, but didn’t say anything.

“What’s that?” he asked Keith.

Keith tilted his sketchbook. “I’m drawing Red as if she were a real lion.”

“May I see the other works?”

Keith handed his sketchbook over without thinking. Coran flipped to the first page. The galactic war. Keith remembered drawing that one with Lance leaning on his shoulder. Coran turned the page to the icy blue expanse of pastels. Keith had been thinking of Lance’s eyes.

Coran continued to flip through the pages and mused over each one. “You have a lot of emotions, don’t you?” Keith frowned and looked at him questioningly. “You can’t make art like this without having some deep emotional sense of understanding. And you’ve had plenty.”

“I guess.” Coran continued to turn the pages. “Are you going to ask me what Allura and Shiro have been?”

He shook his head and mused over the latest work in progress. “No. I don’t think you’d tell me. Although I think you need to ask yourself. The problem seems to be everyone else getting involved. And this isn’t about everyone else, is it?” Keith shook his head. “So figure it out for you. Not for the others, not for Lance. For you. If you can do that, things can be easier. Lance is someone who needs to talk to others to understand himself. You need to be alone. I will say this; you should never purposefully hurt someone you care about in whatever way you might. I at least ask you to apologize for the violence.”

Keith couldn’t refute that. He knew he was the one who threw the first punch.

“This is incredible work,” he said, returning the sketchbook. “Perhaps if you can be as honest with yourself as you are with your sketchbook, things can be a little easier.” He smiled and stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to soak in a nice Altean bath.”

Coran left, somehow affecting Keith more than Shiro, Allura, or Pidge could’ve.

Although, he had been honest with himself. He recognized these feelings, and recognized that they were fickle and simply a result of stupid choices. If that were true, then why hadn’t they gone away? It’d been another week since their little meeting that resulted in even more bickering. His bruises were lighter, his cuts were scarring, and still, Keith didn’t hate Lance. He still felt his heart clench around him. He still felt his chest constrict when he was near. He still missed him.

He needed someone who could see through the bullshit he couldn’t see himself. He needed Pidge.

He went to the control room where she tended to spend her time if she wasn’t in the hangar or the lab. When he got to the entrance, he heard Pidge talking in quick, angry bursts.

“-need your help, I can do it alone. Just get out. Why would you want to work with a kid anyway? Go do something else and leave me alone.”

“Pidge, you know I didn’t mean that.”

“Then why did you say it?” Keith really needed to stop eavesdropping. But he also wanted to know where this was going.

“I don’t know! I was just…. Look, I’ve known Lance for a long time. And I keep seeing him get hurt over these girls that don’t pay attention to him or just mess with him. Now, Keith is the one making him cry? It made me… mad that you were defending him when it’s his fault Lance is hurting so much. So I just wanted to say something to discredit you. And I know it was stupid, but I was thinking about Lance at the time. I didn’t think it bothered you so much.”

Keith shrunk into himself. This was why he wasn’t supposed to eavesdrop. Was Lance really hurting? Was he hurting like Keith was?

“You can be so stupid sometimes, Hunk,” Pidge muttered. “I know that I’m the youngest. And I know you all see me as the little sister-”

“No, wait, Pidge. That’s not true. You’re the smartest of us all, and you’re a paladin just like us. You’re… you’re one of my best friends. And I hate having you angry with me. Will you please forgive me? I miss spending time with you.”

Keith stepped away from the control room. It seemed things had worked out for Pidge. He turned away and started down a hallway, suddenly feeling lonelier. He noticed footsteps passing him and tensed. He could see Lance’s shoes. This wasn’t a first. They’d walked past each other without a word a few times already. And each time, Keith hoped he wouldn’t talk to him. And each time, his heart broke a little when he didn’t. It was very confusing.

Just like every other time, Lance walked past him without a word. Keith sped up his pace to get away quicker. And then he stopped. He turned around and called out before he could chicken out.

“Lance.”

The taller figure at the end of the hallway came to an abrupt stop. Then it pitched forward before stopping again. He hadn’t meant to stop. He wanted to ignore Keith, but he’d been caught off guard. Keith took a few tentative steps forward while Lance remained with his back to him. “I know you’re angry with me. And you have every right to be. I said stupid and terrible things to you. I… hit you. And I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I wanted you to know I regret it. And I wish I could explain why I did all of that-”

“Then explain.” Keith’s mouth snapped shut as Lance turned. “Why did you hit me? What did I do?”

Keith’s brows furrowed as the answer danced on his tongue. Instead, he shook his head and took a breath. “I’m so sorry.” He turned back around and went to the training room, hoping to clear his head a bit.

He started without warming up, finding the beginning levels enough of a warmup to bother. He tried to figure himself out. He tried to pinpoint the moment everything had decided to go to shit. But he had no answers.

As he continued to swing, hit, and kick, his mind wandered. What exactly was he even trying to answer? He’d never stopped to really ask himself anything.

He began to make a mental list as the training continued.

When did he start having legitimate (or illusionary- it was still unclear, but that would be another question) feelings for Lance? Before or after they’d…? Why was he always going in circles with Lance, wanting to be around him and wanting to cut himself off completely? How, why was Lance hurting if it was supposed to be a fling? A simple frenemies with benefits deal? Did Lance feel the things (also, what were the things?) Keith felt? And if he did, was that good or bad for Keith? Was he angry that Lance had kissed Rosa? That question sparked an emotion that made him attack the next drone with a bit too much force, so he crossed it off his list. Yes, it made him mad, because he was feeling things, whatever they were. Next question…. What was he trying to accomplish in hurting Lance? Hating him? For what? Why didn’t he hate him if his face had the proof of angry punches from the same hands that had once caressed his face, his sides, the most sensitive parts of him?

And most importantly, what should he do now?

---

It took a long time before Keith managed to reach a conclusion, even if he couldn’t answer all of his own questions. He let his personal inhibitions down and ended up getting distracted, the wind knocked out of him by a hit he failed to block, and then a tired mess on the floor, yanking at his hair.

He went in search of Allura or Coran before finding the latter and asking him to get him in touch with Kolivan in the Blade of Marmora.

After a long, heated discussion with the leader, Keith asked Allura to call a meeting in the lounge. He stood tensely in a corner as the paladins came in. Pidge and Hunk seemed to be back to normal, and with Lance, it almost looked like the first time they’d met, when the trio were closest to each other, wary of Keith and idolizing Shiro.

“What’s up, Allura?” Lance asked, pointedly avoiding Keith’s gaze. That was fine.

“Actually,” she began, giving Keith a hesitant glance. “Keith asked for this meeting.” Pidge was the first to look at him suspiciously, and Keith almost saw the turning of gears in her head as she tried to figure out what he was doing. “Keith, go on.”

Keith cleared his throat and decided between going for the big punch or leading up to it.

“So, we’re all well aware of the problems we’ve been having as a team. I’ve been living up to my rep of being impulsive and reckless and short-tempered.” He kept his eyes narrowed, refusing to look at the ground. He had no doubts. He would not be talked out of this. And he was not afraid. “I’ve created a rift among us as paladins due to both my lack of social and communication skills. Not only between me and Lance, but even between Pidge and Lance and Hunk.”

“Is this an apology speech?” Shiro questioned.

He met his eyes and managed a small quirk of his lip. “Only partially. I am sorry. But I’ve been thinking and I’ve reached the conclusion that I need to… get to know myself better. I need to figure out how to understand my thoughts and emotions and the relationship I have with all of you. I keep feeling half distracted by wanting to know my past and being bitter about it, and… I need to figure it out. I also need distance so I can stop coming between your roles in Voltron.”

“Your?” Pidge echoed, but Keith ignored her.

“I… I talked to Kolivan from the Blade. And he’s agreed to train me and help me piece together what I can of my past.” He straightened his stance and clenched his jaw. “So I’m… leaving Voltron.”

“What?” came a chorus of six voices and even mousy squeaks. But Lance was the one who had gotten to his feet and even taken a step toward him. “What are you talking about?” Pidge demanded. “You can’t just- You’re the one that said I couldn’t leave because this was bigger than me, than all of us.”

“And we came to the conclusion that we can’t force each other to be here. That a team doesn’t work like that, and I’ve already fucked this team up enough.”

“Keith, this was a two person problem,” Lance said, eyes blown wide. “It’s not your fault alone. I messed up too, that doesn’t mean you have to leave.”

“When did you talk to Kolivan?” Shiro demanded.

Keith sighed and rubbed his temple. “Keith, if you leave, then we really won’t ever get a chance to form Voltron again,” Allura said, touching his arm softly.

“Lance has piloted Red before. He can do it again.”

“That was an emergency,” Lance hissed. “And even if I did, I’m not leaving Blue.”

“Then find someone else! I’m not changing my mind. I need to do this. For me.”

“You’re being selfish,” Hunk said, crossing his arms. “You’re just thinking of yourself. You’re part of this team, and… and yeah people fight and they argue, but they work through it! You can’t just run off over a breakup.”

“It wasn’t a breakup!” Keith groaned. “Look, I’m going. I have to. I… I need to be honest with myself. And not try to just live up to what you guys expect from me. It’s more than this, but I’d rather keep it to myself.”

“When do you plan to leave?” It was the first time Coran spoke, and when Keith looked at him he felt guilty. Coran’s eyes were tired and sad, seeming to have aged those 10,000 years within the last ten minutes. He hadn’t told Coran what he was asking Kolivan. And it’s because of what Coran told him that he decided this in the first place.

He bit his lip and took a breath. “Tomorrow. He said he would come in a pod to get me.”

“Well then,” he nodded. “How about a final team dinner to see you off?”

Keith’s stomach clenched and he shook his head. “Thanks, Coran. I really should get packing though.” He let out a tired breath and turned away.

He made a few makeshift packs from the cloth they’d used to dress as space pirates when they went to the mall for the first time. When he packed what little clothes he had, he began packing the books and art supplies he was gifted.

Suddenly, his door slid open. He turned in confusion, his breaths coming to a halt when he saw Lance looking angry and tired at the same time. “I didn’t let you in-”

“What the hell is your problem?” Keith frowned and backed up against the wall. “What, you can’t even look at me so you just decide to run away?”

“You’re the one who isn’t talking to me, Lance.”

“Because I am tired of being the first to apologize! I don’t even know what to apologize for this time, because you don’t talk to me!” Keith sighed and let his head fall back. “But I didn’t want you to just run off. I don’t get it, Keith.” He stepped closer, his blue eyes searching his face almost frantically. “Why do you have to leave? We can fix this, we can….” Keith raised an eyebrow and held his gaze.

“We can what, Lance? Pretend nothing happened? Pretend we haven’t done what we’ve done?”

Lance furrowed his eyebrows and stared at Keith. Then, “Why did you hit me?”

Keith winced and stared at the floor. “That’s… complicated.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m scared to say it out loud, I don’t know how to say it. It makes sense in my head but my words get all jumbled and….” He took a breath and met his eyes. “Coran said I need to be honest with myself before I’m honest with anyone else. And I can’t figure it all out in my head.”

He thought Lance would get angry and leave. He thought he’d tell him off for being selfish or for not knowing how to think. Instead, Lance bit his lip and seemed to think for a moment. Then he said, “Okay. Then just tell me what’s in your head, even if it’s jumbled. Please. Just… at least tell me… do you really think I only wanted to be your friend because of the stuff we did?” He met Lance’s eyes and gulped. He shrugged and lowered his gaze. “Because I promise that’s not true. It’s just… I got to know you a little more. When we’d train or hang out together and goof off. When we’d just talk into the night until one of us fell asleep. It was because of those things that I wanted- that I want to be your friend. Not the sex.” Keith didn’t respond. “Why did you hit me? I’ve made you angry before, but never enough for you to hit me.”

Keith’s lips parted and he let out a breath. “I wanted you to hit me back,” he croaked. “So I could hate you.”

“H-hate?”

Keith nodded. “But it didn’t work.”

“Why do you want to hate me?”

“So I don’t feel what I feel now!” He pushed Lance away, freeing himself from what was quickly becoming a trap between the wall and Lance. “I don’t know what to do with these feelings, and I don’t want to feel them. I never would’ve if…. I don’t even know when they started and I just….”

It was quiet. And then he heard movement and suddenly Lance’s warm hands were on his wrists, turning him back. “What feelings?” Keith stared at him, not wanting to answer because he wasn’t completely certain but… at the same time he was. “Keith.” His hands came to cup his face and Keith felt his heart hammer against his chest, craving the touch he’d missed so much without realizing it. “Do you… feel something for me?”

Keith felt the answer lodge in his throat. Saying it meant being vulnerable. It meant the feelings would be real even if they weren’t supposed to be. It meant-

It meant Lance was kissing him, letting his answer bubble up in a sigh too quiet to be heard. Lance’s hands came around his neck, tugging him closer. Keith slipped his hands into his hair, into those curls that had so often helped him fall asleep. He felt Lance step forward until he managed to press Keith against the wall, the tips of his fingers digging lightly into his skin, his thumbs at his jawline. It was like he was desperate to hold onto Keith, but wanted to be gentle because he didn’t want to hurt him in the slightest. It made the smallest whimper slip through Keith’s lips.

He leaned his forehead against Keith’s, close enough so they shared breaths and their lips touched if only barely. “I do too,” Lance said softly. Keith could hardly hear him over the rush in his head, the pounding of his heart. “I see you, and my heart picks up. And I get so happy when you smile at me. I’m fucking ecstatic when you laugh. I feel like I can take on the world each time you kiss me.”

“Lance-”

“Being away from you made me feel empty, and-”

“Lance, I can’t stay.” Lance pulled away and Keith forced himself to stay still instead of reaching for him. “I’m so confused with everything right now. I want to have time to figure myself out. And I can learn about my past and this part of me that I’m so terrified of by going with the Blade. I don’t even know if these feelings are real.”

“What do you mean real? Don’t… don’t you feel these things for me? Don’t you-”

Keith cupped his face, seeing his pain reflected in ocean blue eyes. “Lance, right now, all I know is… that it physically hurts to be around you. I’ve never felt these things before, and I don’t know if I can trust them because- Lance, please let me finish.” Lance had pulled away and sat on Keith’s bed. Keith knelt in front of him, taking his hands in his own.

Lance’s hands were dark, smooth, and slender. Long thin fingers, with smooth palms and long nailbeds. Keith’s were pale, calloused and scarred, wide instead of slender, his own fingers long but thicker with short nails. Seeing them intertwined was like trying to fathom themselves together. Weird. Awkward. Mismatched.

And yet they had been together, in some sense of the word. Their bodies had been intertwined, connected. They’d been so close there was no understanding of where one body ended and the other began.

“I’m just afraid that these feelings are in my head. That I concocted them because you’re the only one who’s seen me the way you have. I’m afraid that even if it’s not the case for me, it is for you. I mean you never even liked boys until now.” Keith let his head fall against their hands. “When I saw you with Rosa, I saw the reality. The life you’d been living before isolation came along. Even if these things are real, how can you know it’s real for you too?”

“Because I can feel it,” Lance insisted, nudging Keith’s chin so he’d look up at him. “Because it’s not in my head that I’m happy with you. It’s not in my head that I get nervous and jittery around you.” He leaned down slightly, looking Keith in the eyes. “With Rosa…. I can explain all of it. My family is really religious, and it sort of slapped me in the face when we went back. Everyone was expecting there to be a girl, and if I even tried saying there was a boy…. It’s hard enough being into the same sex. Add being Hispanic and religious to it?” Lance freed one hand and tugged on a strand of Keith’s hair. “My mom caught on, though. And she told me to be careful. Not to let you slip if you made me happy. She also said you were a huge step up from Rosa.” That managed to get a small chuckle out of Keith. “I knew you were upset over her.”

“You kissed her back.”

“My family was watching.” Keith hummed and laid his head on his lap. “Why does this feel like a breakup, Keith?”

Ignoring the question, Keith took a breath and gripped his hands tighter. “This is something I’ve actually thought through. I’m not being impulsive. I want to go. I want to train and I want to get in touch with the Galra part of me. And…. I want to see what happens to these feelings if I go away. I want to figure out if they are illusions. We both should.”

“Keith…”

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘in love with the idea of love?’”

“Yeah, in that Twilight movie,” he scoffed. “Like the third one.”

Keith raised an eyebrow and smiled in exasperation. “I read it in a book. I just want to be sure I’m not being overwhelmed by the idea of something. That the things I feel are real and won’t just go away because we’re further from each other.”

Lance sighed and looked at Keith in defeat. “Nothing I say will change your mind will it?” Keith shook his head. “Stupid, stubborn Mullet.” Keith breathed a laugh through his nose and shook his head. “I missed that smile.” Keith bit his lip and couldn’t help the blush that rushed to his cheeks. “Hey,” he said with a lighter tone. “Isn’t this the position that started it all?”

Keith furrowed his eyebrows before realizing he was completely right. “Funny that it’s also how it’s ending.”

The joking smile faded. “Yeah. Funny.” Keith pulled himself up and sat beside him, resting his head on his shoulders. “I’ll take care of Red.”

Keith nodded and murmured a thanks into his shoulder. He took a tired breath and shut his eyes. “This is selfish of me, but…. Do you think you could stay with me one more night?”

Lance’s hand came up to caress his cheek. “For you, anything.”

A few hours later, Keith finished packing most of his books and Lance had taken the liberty of messing with his iPod. When Keith tried to see what he’d done, Lance smacked his hand and told him he wasn’t allowed to look until he was no longer on the castle ship.

Then they laid facing each other on the bed, a small distance between them. Lance’s thumb ran along Keith’s lip and Keith tried to memorize the angles of his face, the exact shade of blue in his eyes, the curve and swell of his lips. He was itching to draw it, but his stuff was packed up. Lance’s hand caressed up and down his arms slowly. It made Keith’s breaths hitch as he laid with him.

It wasn’t sexual. He didn’t feel dramatically turned on like he had before. It was intimate and sweet, and it made Keith miss him even though he was still touching him. Keith scooted closer and nuzzled into the crook of his arm and against his chest where he could hear his heartbeat. “Can you sing to me?”

Lance dipped down, pressing his lips into the unruly hair at his forehead and began to sing softly, his voice broken and off-key as he sang in Spanish. Despite the imperfection, Keith found it soothing and easily one of his favorite voices. He slipped his hand up to wrap around his shoulder, his fingers twirling the curls at the nape of his neck around and around until he fell asleep.

***

The next day, Pidge walked out of her room at the same time Keith and Lance left his. She froze when she saw them, but when Lance opened his mouth, she lifted a hand to shut him up. “I really don’t wanna know.”

The three of them walked to the table where Hunk had laid out a nice breakfast. He gripped Keith’s shoulder and gave him a smile. “I’m sorry if I acted like a jerk before. It’s just….” Keith gave him a smile and nodded, saving him from having to explain himself.

Kolivan showed up shortly after breakfast. He waited patiently while Keith said his goodbyes again, surrounded by the paladins and Alteans and mice after Hunk called for a group hug.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Pidge sniffed, her arms wrapping tighter around his waist.

“Yeah. Who am I gonna make fun of now?” Lance added. He was smiling, had long accepted Keith’s choice. But Keith saw it in his eyes- the pain and longing and sacrifice this really was for Lance.

Keith had never been one for so much physical contact. And when he’d craved it, it’d been sexual, or limited to Lance. Now? He understood what family was supposed to be.

“I’ll miss you guys too. Thank you for understanding.” He pulled away and managed a smile before turning away to follow Kolivan. As he walked down the hall, leaving the others in the control room, he heard footsteps running after them.

“Keith, wait!” He stopped as his brain registered Lance’s voice. He turned and saw him come to a sudden stop in front of him. He managed a pained smile and pulled him into a kiss, making Keith’s eyebrows go up while his eyes closed. He pulled away and pecked his lips lightly. “I wanted one last kiss.”

Keith let out a nervous chuckle and found his fingers curling around the fabric of Lance’s jacket. “Better make it memorable, then.” He pulled Lance into a deeper kiss, letting every confusing emotion fuel it until he couldn’t breathe. Because even if these feelings weren’t real, Lance was right; he still felt them. And kissing Lance made things like that not matter for a little bit.

He pulled away and squeezed his hand before leaving to board the pod Kolivan had brought.

As the pod shot off into space, Keith looked out the window and watched the castle ship get smaller and smaller until he couldn’t discern it from the stars. Then he remembered his iPod. He tugged it out from the pocket of his jacket and scrolled through the songs trying to figure out what Lance had done. He went back to the albums and then back to the playlists when he saw it.

And so the Moon fell for the Sun

He clicked it and found it filled with romantic songs. It varied from heartbroken to longing to sweet and Keith couldn’t help but smile as he scrolled through the list. He put the earphones in and began playing the songs, his mind filled with blue eyes and wide smiles and soft kisses.

Click Here for the next chapter

#klance #laith #vld #voltron #au #fic

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scarecrowsbasementceiling · 6 years

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Hunt Me Down And See What Happens: Prologue

A Marvel/Beauty and the Beast crossover

(Y/N) Quill, Peter’s sister on their father’s side is sent by Fury to another world to retrieve a magical item. Thing is, it’s in a different dimension all together.

No pairings yet.

Words: 3,053

Characters: You, Nick Fury, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Peter Parker.

Mentioned: Belle, Gaston

The sunlight shines through my curtains, successfully blinding me into wakefulness. I let out a light groan as I slowly sit up and stretch my upper torso, sighing at the cracking sound it makes. Jumping out of bed, I stretch each leg out.

My clock reads: 8:30am

Holy shit! Did I seriously oversleep again?!? How can one human oversleep as much as I do? Oh wait, I’m not human. Oops, guess that slipped my mind.

I grab a grey tank top, along with a black sports bra and some black spandex shorts then head to my bathroom for a shower. If I’m late I might as well take my time. Besides it ain’t like I’m missing anything special today, as far I can remember I don’t have any meetings and I know Tony won’t say anything to me about not being there.

The hot water hits my back and I feel my muscles relax almost instantly. Damn hot showers feel good, but I can’t spend too much time in here, I’ve got some training to do. Well not training, just working out, but I consider it training.

I lather my head with shampoo, running it through my hair and roots. The soap swirls down the drain as the water washes it out of my hair and scalp. I begin to rub my entire body with Winter Candy Apple body wash from Bath and Body Works, it might not be winter but it still smells good.

Turning off the water and wrapping a towel around my body, I got to the mirror and begin to dry my hair. Thanks to being part god I don’t need a hair dryer. Take that girls! As soon as my hair is fully dry, I run a comb through it to get all the tangles and stuff out of it before going to brush my teeth. I normally brush them before and after I eat, I can’t stand how my mouth feels when I first wake up in the morning, it’s honestly disgusting.

A noise rings from my room, it’s my cell phone. It was probably Natasha wondering where I am, she knows I’m at home so I don’t worry too much about it. I usually zone out her lectures sometimes, if they aren’t important of course. Oh well I’ll call her later.

Quickly getting dressed and heading out to my room, I pick up my phone and head to the training room, time to get some action, wow that sounded wrong.

As soon as I enter the training room, I begin my warmups:

Squats

Climbers

Jumping Jacks

Push Ups

More boring stuff.

Panting and slightly out of breath, I call out to FRIDAY,

“Alright sweetie, time to start the real stuff. Begin simulation number 4 please.”

“As you wish (Y/N)”

Suddenly the scene changes. The training room is no longer visible, instead it’s a deserted street in Florence, Italy. I smirk at the scene change, straight out of Assassin's Creed. I snap my fingers and music fills the room in an instant. (Fox On The Run by Sweet)

Guards come out of the alleyways and from the roofs of multiple buildings, quickly surrounding me. I grin and click the button, allowing my mask to cover my face as I take out my sword. This is only the first part of the simulation, but my adrenaline is already sky high.

They run at me, shouting in Italian. This one never fails to trick me into believing it’s real. Tony’s technology is almost as good as my illusions, they fool me sometimes.

I tap my foot to the beat while I dodge each sword strike, countering them with a slice from my own sword. It isn’t long before half of them are down. Child’s play, but it will get harder. More will come soon, I know it.

I feel a hand reach for me and I duck, grabbing ahold of the guard’s leg and throwing him at the guards in front of me, knocking them all down. I allow my energy to flow to my hand, creating electricity throughout my hand and down my arm.

The guards are quickly taken care of as I shoot the energy at the fallen pile of men. I whoop as I continue taking out guard after guard.

After that, guards come out, two with swords, and a few others with different weapons; along with new moves and faster reflexes. Now it becomes challenging.

I flip and take a guard between my legs and slam him onto the ground hard before stabbing him. Another one charges at me full speed, catching me off guard. He hits me, throwing me back into the wall of a building. Wow these dudes have gotten a lot stronger now. Time to step up my game.

“How about some target practice? I could use it,” I taunt them as I whip out my gun blasters. My mask and guns were identical to Peter’s, a gift from him once I helped him kill our father. What a bonding moment.

I begin to shoot each guard one by one, watching as they all fall down continuously. Oh yeah, I still got it. I fly up and look down at all of them as they scramble to reach me, guess flying hasn’t been added into this one. That’s a shame, oh well guess I should get this over with and go see what Nat wanted.

After all of them are taken out, the simulation ends and I’m back in the training room. I notice how hard I’m panting, wow I really wore myself out didn’t I?

My phone rings, knocking me out of my euphoria. I check the caller ID, looks like I don’t gotta call Nat after all. I take my mask off and put the phone up to my ear,

“Hello?” I answer with a sickly sweet tone.

“Did you just get out training (Y/N)?”

“You know me so well,” I giggle as she lets out a groan.

“Well you’d better be here soon, Fury has a mission for you.”

Natasha hangs up and I roll my eyes, a mission huh? Oh boy I wonder what it could be this time around. Probably taking out some HYDRA agents or tailing a lead on some magical object they need. Boring. Better head to the meeting anyway I guess.

As I stroll leisurely down the hallway, I pass by the youngest member of my little team, Spider Boy. His real name is Peter Parker but I call him Spider Boy most of the time. The kid hates it, always insists on me calling him Spider MAN, and I always tell him the same thing. Not with that voice you’re not.

“Hey (Y/N)! Where you headed?” He asks curiously, a little bit of drowsiness in his voice. He’s so cute. Always wondering what’s going on all the time, he just wants to be included in things, I have respect for him. He’s honestly just happy to be here and that’s okay.

“Just to a meeting, nothing special. Sorry kiddo, maybe we can do something cool another time, yeah?” I tell him. I gotta admit, he is fun to hang around with, even if there is a HUGE age gap.

“Oh ok! Have fun with that, you didn’t do anything bad this time around did you?” Peter asks me with concern. I laugh and shake my head.

“Not this time around Spider Boy.”

He pouts a little at the name, but nods his head and goes on his way. I watch his figure fade into the distance with a small smile on my face, I have a great team. Better than the other Quill’s for sure!

Speaking of him, I haven’t seen my half brother for awhile now. That’s odd, he usually visits me once a month. He’s probably busy collecting bounties on random criminals across space, flirting with Gamora the entire time.

Finally, I get to the meeting room in the tower and bust through the doors with a smile on my face. I make my way to my seat and put my feet on the table like I usually do, ignoring the scowl on Fury’s face.

“I see you’ve gotten comfy haven’t you agent?”

I smirk and nod my head, “super comfy sir! Thanks for asking.”

He rolls his eyes and begins relaying the mission to me. I perk up when he mentions an important object with magical properties. He wants me to retrieve it? Awesome!

“I’m in! Where is it though?”

“It’s not only a matter of where, it’s also a matter of when too,” Fury tells me. My brows knit in confusion, time travel? I can do it, but I’ve never had to before. This thing must be super important then.

“Alright. But first before you tell me when and where, what exactly is it again?”

“A mirror.”

“A… mirror?” I question him slowly, not knowing if this is a joke or not. Is it April the first yet? No no, it’s June.

I look into Fury’s eyes and see that he’s dead serious. What the hell does the thing even do? Well, judging from the fact that it’s a damn MIRROR, it probably has some sort of glamour effect perhaps?

“What does it do exactly? Change appearances?” I inquire quietly to myself, only to be heard by Fury. Damn, I gotta work on being a lot more quiet. But then again, it is a valid question. Ugh I’m tired I want to take a nap, but I can’t, this mission is important. At least I think it is.

“Close, it can show you where anything or anyone is at all times should you wish it. We believe it could come in handy for future use,” Fury answers me. I frown at his answer, disdain clear on my face.

“So you’re gonna use it to spy on people?”

“Yes, but only when needed. Don’t worry, we’re not going to do routine spy checks on any of you, agent.”

I lean back in my chair and ponder to myself, should I decline? Nah, this is too good to pass up! Well, it could be dangerous, I don’t even know where the thing is! I look up at Fury and nod for him to continue explaining.

“It’s in France. But not our France, a certain fairytale France,” Fury informs me. Fairytale? Like Disney and stuff like that? Wait a minute…..

“NO WAY I’M GONNA GET TO MEET BELLE?” I scream out in joy. Ever since I was little and I got away from the insane father, I’ve always loved the Disney princesses. Now, Belle was never my favorite, I was an Ariel fan myself, but I did admire and respect her. I will never admit it to anyone, but I’ve always had a little crush on Gaston.

Yeah he’s the villain and a seriously evil dude, but I couldn’t help myself! I’ve always attracted trouble so it was only natural to like the bad guys and girls. Now I can’t believe I’m gonna get to possible meet him, this is almost unreal. But then again since I’ve been working for the Avengers and knowing my lineage nothing really seems unreal that much anymore.

“Now you will be leaving here shortly since you don’t really need to pack anything. Plus it’s going to be just you, don’t let me down on this (Y/N)”

I shoot him a big grin and nod my head and stand up from my seat to face Fury. Oh this is going to be so much fun!

“Don’t you worry bout a thing boss, I’ve got it covered!” I wink at him and give a mock salute with two fingers, skipping out of the door and into the living area. I’m then interrupted by a growl coming from my stomach. Oh yeah that’s right, I haven’t eaten yet. Looks like I have one thing to do before I leave.

I bump into Tony as I enter the kitchen, I give him a wave as I move towards the fridge to get the milk for cereal.

“I heard you had a meeting with Fury, what was it about?” Tony asks me while peering over my shoulder.

“Oh nothing really serious, just a little mission.” I lie, but doesn’t last long as I let out a loud squeal and jump into the air, almost hitting my head on the ceiling.

“Doesn’t seem like it from that jump,” he jokes with a finger pointed at the ceiling. I snort and roll my eyes playfully before hitting him lightly on the shoulder while I pass him with my cereal.

“I’m gonna get to meet one of my favorite Disney princesses dude! Imma meet Belle yo! THE Belle! I can’t wait this is gonna be awesome,” I bubble with joy as I let him in on the news. He raises an eyebrow at this. Dude probably doesn’t believe me, which is kinda weird for him but it’s Tony so…

It isn’t long before more of the team shuffles into the kitchen while I sit at the island enjoying my cereal. I can hear Tony announcing my mission to the gang, which produces gasps from some of the team and silence from others. Clint bursts out of the kitchen and slides into the stool next to me.

“You’re gonna see a damn princess and you’re not taking me? I am OFFENDED!” Clint complains and I only point at him and snicker in victory. A hurt expression forms on his face before it’s quickly overtaken by laughter.

“I’m just kidding, not really but I know I can’t come with. Good luck and don’t give away too much information. Also get me an autograph from Gaston and Belle. Thanks, I gotta go now.” He waves at me before leaving. I shake my head and take my bowl and put it in the sink.

Once I finish cleaning my bowl and putting it away, Nat comes up behind me and grabs my shoulders, causing me to jump and scream.

“Damn it Nat, don’t do that! I could’ve shot you ya know,” I mutter while catching my breath.

She lets out a quiet laugh and lets go of my shoulders while taking a step back,

“No you wouldn’t. If you had though I could stop it with ease.”

“Yeah but can you stop my guns AND my foot?” I question her.

“We’ll see when you get back. If you get back that is,” she says, I detect a bit of worry in her voice.

“I will be back Nat, have no fear,” I assure her gently. She smiles and touches my hand gently before walking out of the kitchen to who knows where.

I’m left to my own thoughts before I feel another presence coming towards me.

I perk up as Wanda comes near me, I really like her, she has powers almost similar to mine so we could relate a lot easier than anyone else in the tower.

“Come with me (Y/N), I’ll be teaching you how to get to your destination for the mission,” she tells me. I give a small bow and motion for her to lead the way.

We walk along a hallway that leads to an enclosed space, with walls made of metal. There wasn’t anything in the room, minus us and a pad in the middle of the room. Jeez this place looks boring, it is in serious need of a makeover.

All of a sudden I feel really blue, I haven’t gotten a chance to see my brother before I leave. He’ll probably worry his ass off once he finds out what I’m doing. He knows I can handle myself, and I know he can handle himself, but we’re siblings it’s our job to worry about each other.

“Wanda, can you do something for me?” I ask her gently.

“What is it?”

“Can ya tell Quill where I’m going and that I’ll be back soon, I don’t want him to worry too much.” I say, “Just a little bit of worrying is good enough,” I add, trying to lighten the mood.

She squeezes my shoulder and gives me side hug, that meant yes in Wanda language I suppose.

“So what are we gonna be doing?” I probe, staring at her with a glimmer of adventure in my eyes, the sadness slowly disappearing.

“This is how you will be travelling to the world. I know you can do it on your own, but the thing is you haven’t done it at all, so you are out of practice. The pad will help you direct your energy to a spot so you can make a portal and get there, it’s simple. All you have to do is imagine creating a portal that will take you to the place you need to go and focus the energy on the pad.” Wanda explains, pointing at the pad and staring at me.

I swallow, slowly becoming nervous. Wanda was right, I had never done something like this before. Will it even be stable enough for me to go through? Your eyes widen as another thought crosses my mind, when will I be getting there?

What if the whole Belle and the Beast thing will have already happened when I get there? Will that make things easier or harder?

“Do not worry, you will be in control of that too,” Wanda assures me with a short smile.

I nod and give her a thumbs up, signalling that I’m ready to do this. She takes a step back and allows me to get in front of the pad. I close my eyes and begin to focus my energy on the pad.

I can feel the energy course through my veins as I direct it onto the pad, the place already burned into my mind. A whirring noise begins to appear, getting louder with each blast of energy I pump into the pad.

“Good, it’s ready. You can go through now (Y/N), good luck,” Wanda tells me. Once my eyes are open, they close instantly at the bright light now in front of us. I slowly walk towards it, and then take a big leap into the portal.

Let’s get this party started...

Next Chapter

Tags: @antlers-inallofmy-decorating

#beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast imagine #gaston #gaston imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #tony stark imagine #tony stark #clint barton #clint barton imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #peter quill #peter quill imagine #peter parker imagine #peter parker

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lucier1032-blog · 7 years

Text

Baby, I’m Howling For You - Chapter Six

”A wise woman wishes to be no one’s enemy; a wise woman refuses to be anyone’s victim.”

-Maya Angelou

“Harry! Wait for me!”

“Come on you slowpoke! We’re going to be late!”

“You’re going too fast! Don’t leave me!”

“I’m not going to leave ya darlin!” Harry slowed to a trot, a smile reaching from ear to ear and dimples on both cheeks. His emerald green eyes sparkled in the rare London sunshine as he waited for his best friend to catch up. Pushing his newly wild coffee colored curls from his eyes, he pivoted on his heels to see the flushed brunette finally catching up to him. “You should know better by now.” His chuckles made the young girl illuminate with warmth as she joined his pace, giving the giggling boy an eye roll.

“Why does everything always have to turn into a race with you?” The two slowed to a casual walk along the pavement path, both breathing heavily.

“I like a challenge.” Harry shrugged casually as the pair walked further into the park. The two youthful teens were on their way to their first football match of the season, their identical blue and white jersey’s giving away their agenda.

“Oh, come off it, you just like to win and you know you’ll beat me every time.”

“Hey! I’m just trying to help build up your stamina so you can move up to offense this season!” Harry sent a wink in her direction before she shoved him off the path playfully.

“I don’t know if I’m going to make it past this season.” The tone of their conversation instantly turned discouraging as Ryder shoulders slumped inwards. “My dad doesn’t want me playing, thinks it takes up too much of my time.”

“What else does he think you’re going to do?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, but he’s got some kind of master plan thing he’s always fighting with my mum about. He already has Liam on some ridiculous training regimen; he’s in the gym every hour he isn’t in school. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t been pulled from school to follow my dad around at all hours of the day. I barely even see him anymore.”

“So…I take it he isn’t coming to the game today then?” “Nah, as usual he’s sucking up to our father.”

“Always a kiss ass that one.” Harry elbowed the girl in the shoulder spiritedly in hopes of lightening the mood. This is what Ryder loved about their friendship; Harry never pried into her home life and always offered a cheesy smile or silly face to brighten her day. Their budding friendship came so naturally; never forced and never questioned. They had formed a solid bond that you could attribute to shared crayons and peanut butter banana sandwiches. Even at eleven years old now, the two’s likes and dislikes mimicked each other, stitching their paths together for eternity.

When the friends finally reached the football pitch, Harry quickly snatched up a ball and pulled Ryder into a warmup. They joined the rest of their team on the left side of the field, casually kicking the checkered ball back and forth on the dry grass. “Speaking of your dad…” Harry began, but chose his words carefully because he knew how touchy Ryder was with the subject, “Did you ever, you know, find out what his job is?”

“Hi Haz!” A little blond girl with a bright pink backpack half the size of her stood at the edge of the field. Her lemon-yellow rain boots and butterfly hair clips sparkled in the sunlight and rivaled the smile spread across her rosy cheeks.

Harry stopped the ball and rested his foot on top of it as both he and Ryder turned towards the girl. “Hey Quinn. Just go sit over there and I’ll be over in a bit, yeah?” The tiny blond nodded encouragingly, pulling her backpack up tighter on her shoulders.

“Hi Quinn!” Ryder gave her the friendliest smile and a wave. Only to be returned with a scowl and the cold shoulder. The girl turned her back and headed towards the stands without another word. “She hates me, doesn’t she?” Ryder turned back to Harry with a head tilt and a frown.

“She’s just jealous of all the time you get to spend with me darlin.” Harry’s cheeky little grin made the brunette wish she had the ball so she could power kick it right into his stomach. “She’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“I highly doubt that.” The brunette jumped to the side to block Harry’s pass from disturbing the pair behind them. “And to answer your earlier question, no.” She kicked the ball back, quickly trying to force her dark fringe from her eyes. “Liam told me it was none of my business, mum told me not to worry about it and dad told me to stop spending time with you.”

“What?” The boy scrunched his nose in confusion. “What do I have to do with anything?”

“Probably nothing, but you’re always his go to subject change when he wants me to go away and stop pestering him.”

“I am nothing but charming! The perfect specimen of a man to bring home to parents.” Harry tossed his curls around, pretending to model across the grass.

“You’re so cocky!” Ryder hollered before kicking the ball a little too hard towards him. “I can only imagine what you’ll be like when you start dating!” The ball caught Harry on the hip, making him loose his balance and trip over his own feet.

*****

Hooooowwwwllllll

A loud noise startled Ryder awake sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her. She took in a sharp breath, eyes darting open only to be met with the same dark room and ratty old mattress as before. There was another muffled howl on the outside of the door accompanied by loud banging. Ryder sighed to herself, rolling over onto her back but being careful not to move her chained bruised ankle much. The captive brunette was overcome with exhaustion and yet was unable to sleep.

It’s hard to sleep over the sound of your own thoughts.

The Howlers had grown accustom to waking her up with loud noises within minutes of her eyes closing. She was more physically and mentally exhausted than she had ever been in her life. Even worse than the time her father forced her to box with Bauer for over three hours.

In the early days, she tried to maintain some knowledge of time; paying close attention to how long passed between visits from Louis or small portions of food or water being delivered from one of the other Howlers. But as the minutes, hours, days ticked by it became more challenging for her to keep track. With no windows or any glimpse of daylight the time passed freely and on no schedule.

It’s hard to count the days when your buried alive.

She tried everything she could think of to gain some concept of how long she had been held captive. Ryder would pretend to sleep sometimes, hoping that she wouldn’t be woken which mean it was night and everyone else was asleep. But without fail, someone always made noise; she was being watched 24 hours a day. The woman was slowly losing all concept of time, of life outside these four walls. But then again, isn’t that what Harry wanted?

Harry had not made another visit to her after the first night. He laid down the law, pushed fear into her bones and then left her to sink in her own confusion, weighed down by her own thoughts….a dangerous thing. He withdrew himself from her life years ago, leaving the faintest of trails dancing through her shiny black waves. The man left her the good and the bad; their friendship jumping off a cliff only to be met with jagged rocks, tickles of blood filled with smiles and tears staining their clothes. Their friendship would never be remedied and that probably killed Ryder the most. Harry was no longer the boy she knew, the boy who carried her on his shoulders through childhood.

He was now the black coffee before she added the sugar. The brewing storm before she washed him clean with droplets rain. The Devil’s venom was slithering up his arms and across his stiff shoulders; its poisonous sting playing into his weakened state; tearing him apart limb by limb, bone by bone, snaking its way into his thoughts. His thirst for revenge becoming a slithering assassin, an all-consuming idea for his own retribution. One shiny bullet shot on command altered Harry’s course, leading him to the life of darkness.

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

Ryder sought light even in her darkened room though; drawing on the memories of her closest loved ones; swimming in the feelings of happiness, the touch of passion, the sip of sweet wine and the taste of his lips. Perpetually sentimental for the embrace of tenderness and the warm sunshine hopping across her pale cheeks. She refused to play into Harry’s twisted games of revenge, refused to be a victim of the Howlers empty threats.

The woman broke her time into tiny, manageable pieces; for the whole being entirely overwhelming. As exhaustion crept further towards her she drew strength from the knowing feeling that Liam would fight for her. No matter their continued distance in the past years, she held on to the vision of her older brother, her protector, storming through the bolted door and never letting go of her again. She made promises to fulfill once this was over; to be a better sister, a better team player, to stand next to her only brother instead of across from him. Even with her distant, difficult relationship with the men in her family, she knew they would fight for her and that was the best feeling in the world.

If you were to ask what one thing Ryder drew her light from though, you would receive an instant and definite answer:

Niall.

The sunshiny blonde brought hope to her bruised and battered state. With one blink of the eye she saw his face, complete with lopsided toothy smile and glimmering baby blues that put the stars to shame. With one inhale of murky air she smelled the faint mix of laundry detergent and his cologne; as if she were resting her head against his chest in their bed. With one lick of the lips she could taste the watermelon chap stick he always insisted he didn’t like but stole from her the feeling of his soft lips pressing against her neck and across her collar bone. With one moment of deafening silence she could hear his boisterous, full bellied laugh bouncing off the cold walls. She held on to every memory of their existence together, every touch and every laugh, the luxury of having him constantly within grasp. The thought of being reunited rumbled in her chest making her heart ache for the security he provided.

Ryder shifted on the bed again, pulling herself into an upright position and closer towards the edge to allow her ankle the tiniest bit of relief. The banging and howling slowed, fading into the darkness soon after it began. Ryder rubbed her sore muscles and sleepy eyes, stretching upwards to release the tension in her neck and shoulders. It was then that her stomach rumbled, a reminder of the constant hunger that pained her. It was only a matter of time before someone brought her the standard bowl of chicken and rice and a plastic glass of water. Entering the room and leaving without a single word. Harry and the Howlers had cut off all human interaction and communication, they were isolating her even more than being held captive and chained to a bed could do on its own.

The Howler delivering her meals usually changed, Ryder noticing a pattern which meant they were taking shifts watching her. She had seen three men rotate in and out, all possessing unique body structures and tendencies. A bigger man with a permanent scowl usually thumped through the door, throwing her food on the floor and causing it to splatter everywhere. Going down in size, the next was a muscular boy without the height. He carried himself with confidence, shoulders back and head high but weighted with his unruly hair. The last was a much smaller boy, almost looking like the other two’s younger brother rather than their equal. He lurked along the walls of the room, blending into the shadows with his tiny frame and slumped shoulders. He was the most cautious of the three, placing her meal gently on the floor in front of her but never making eye contact before running out. He didn’t seem to fit the typical Howler reputation, which struck Ryder as odd.

As if on cue, the door locks began to click on the other side. Ryder sat up straighter, shoulders back and jaw tense. Four. Five. Six. The door swung open slowly, a bit of pressure released from the brunette’s body as a small figure snuck his way through a barely open door. He held one bowl and one cup in his hands as he slowly moved forward. Ryder watched his movements; his small steps carefully calculated and shaking hands as if he was almost afraid of the chained-up woman.

“What’s your name?” Ryder spoke quietly, not to startle the boy. He looked up to her for the first time, his light eyes soft. The woman let a small smile glide onto her face, an offering of peace, yet the boy remained silent. “Mine’s Ryder…but you probably already knew that.” She folded her arms in her lap as he placed the bowl on the floor in front of her. “Thank you.” She gave him a gracious head nod and he showed the smallest sign of a smile. Ryder knew he was the easiest alley to acquire in this situation. He might not have much pull when it came to the three in charge but it was a start that gave Ryder another glimmer of hope.

“Bug, out now.” A nasty snarl startled the two, sending the boy running out of the room as if he would pay for his mistake later. A breeze of cold air rushed in, sending shivers through Ryder’s exposed skin, but the coldness of the voice shocked her even more. Every muscle in her body stiffened at his shadow in the doorframe, leaning to one side like the cocky man he was now. Ryder stood her ground at the edge of the bed, refusing to cower from him. “Been a few days huh darlin.”

“Just a few, is that all?” Ryder spoke with the same cockiness he exuded. She tilted her head to the side, a clear signal that she wasn’t about to deal with his shit.

“Oh, so suddenly you’re so tough?” Harry moved further into the room, pushing the door so that only a small crack of light shone through it. “Trying to be little miss badass?” He moved through the room, tapping at one of the lightbulbs and sending it swinging back and forth. The light cast shadows across his face as it swung, only giving Ryder more of a reason to stand her ground. His scare tactics were not going to work on her anymore. “You really think you’re going to win this one?”

“I’m sure as hell not going to let you win.” She spit in his direction. “I know this isn’t the real Haz, I know he would never really hurt me.” She tried to play their friendship again, fingers crossed that even an ounce of her old friend still lived. “You can talk the talk but it’s all just empty threats.” Harry stopped in the middle of the room, chest tight and hands balled into fists.

“You think so?”

“My Haz is still in there somewhere and I know he would never, never intentionally hurt me.”

“You don’t think this is hurting you? Chaining you to a bed, leaving you alone for days on end? Slowly tearing away every layer until you’re an empty blank space with nothing left to offer? No emotions, no memories. You don’t realize that I win no matter how this plays out.” Harry’s tone growled with confidence as Ryder stayed quiet. “I’m going to tear you down; break you into so many pieces that you’ll never be able to be whole again.” He took three steps forward. “I’m sending you back to your brother in a hand me down box, an empty shell of a person. See, he’ll never get the closure of visiting your grave; the pain ever so slowly fading with each passing day. No, he’s going to have to look at the face of his sister, to live with the torture every single day; to be reminded of what he did.” The woman couldn’t help the tears stinging her tormented eyes, the lump building in her throat.

“And that boyfriend of yours? You can say goodbye to him.” Harry came closer and closer until he was towering over her, their knees bumping into each other. “Because, let’s be honest here…” He let out wicked laugh, “who’s going to want to stay with someone so damaged? Someone who can barely feed themselves or even take a piss alone. Who’s going to want that responsibility? Who’s going to dread waking up every morning only to have to care for you? You’re going to be left with nothing.” The tears fell freely down Ryder’s dirty cheeks, Harry’s words slicing through her like razor blades. The thought of Liam having to see her shattered porcelain face every day, or of Niall leaving her in search of a new happiness were more hurtful than any physical pain Harry could cause. “But if you don’t think any of that is hurting you, then maybe we should try a different approach.

Ryder didn’t even have time to look up before Harry was pouncing on her and pushing her weak frame up against the wall. A shriek of pain rocketed from her mouth as her ankle pulled at the restraint; the air being stolen from her lungs due to Harry’s sheer force. He braced himself on his knees, using his thighs to hold the girl’s legs still. Ryder gripped at a veiny arm connected to the strong hand that was wrapped around her neck. Harry pressed further into her windpipe as wheezes and gasp for air filled the room. Ryder’s chest grew tight, fighting through the most basic of instincts to breathe. The man’s eyes filled with animalistic hunger when he used his free hand to grab at the collar of Ryder’s filthy shirt. He released her neck but not before slamming he head against the concrete wall.

Ryder scrambled for air, eyes mechanically closing due to the agony of pain throbbing in her head. Harry used her moment of weakness to rip her shirt down the middle, exposing her black lace bra a bruised belly. Ryder was quickly aware of her now exposed skin, her hands hastily pushing against Harry’s chest, trying to create space between them. This only made Harry push further into her. He gripped both her wrists with such force she could have sworn she heard a bone crack.

“STOP! PLEASE! STOP!” Ryder screamed and pleaded, but Harry’s eyes were as black as night; he was gone. “HAZ!” The raw screams only attracted the man to her more, she was now his pray; a true wolf at heart. “NOOO!” He slid her back against the wall until she was pressed into the mattress once again. Harry dominated over her, in both physical strength and mental. “Haz.” She wept a continuous stream of fresh tears.

There was a small moment of stillness between the two, as if for a split second the true Harry had come back. He stilled on top of her, loosening his grip just enough to still maintain control. Ryder’s chest heaved with sobs as she looked up to his olive-green eyes. The brunette froze under him, unsure if what was happening. Harry let go of one of her wrists and the girl surprisingly stayed still. A soft and gentle hand ran across her tear-stricken face, his thumb brushing away a fallen tear. It was almost as if he cared for her again; as if he was trying to comfort her. “Haz.” She whispered, which was a bad idea.

The man snapped, his body stiffening and eyes fading into black. Ryder started to squirm and fight, kicking her legs in every direction but he held tight to her with such malice. He pinned her arm between his knee and her thigh, limiting her movements and allowing his free hand to explore her stomach. Never in a million years would Ryder imagine being in this situation. For one, being held captive and taken advantage of was not the ideal situation for anyone and caused enough PTSD for a lifetime. But here Ryder was, not only being held against her will but being tortured but her once friend now turned foe.

“This is only step one darlin.” Harry gave her a deadly smirk, his touch leaving her bare skin to reach around to his back pocket. Ryder went rigid beneath him, preparing for the worst, but when his hand came back into view her eyes went wide with fear. With the swift flick of the wrist, a visible silver blade caught the dim light. Ryder fought with all the strength she had left as Harry drew the knife closer in towards her bare stomach, making contact right above her left hipbone.

Shrills of pain seeped out of the room and into the hallway, filling the basement with such agony. The remaining Howlers were on the edge of their seats, such discomfort and apprehension swirling in their glasses of alcohol. The screams only worsened as Louis poured himself another drink. Zayn looked up to his best friend with such hopelessness. It was in both of their personalities to run to the aid of damsel in distress but Harry had forged such a rock between the Howlers in the last few days that they both stayed seated and silent. Their friendship being tested repeatedly at Harry’s show of dominance. Louis still withheld secrets from his best friend, but to keep Harry from going over the edge it was about time they had a heart to heart

#one direction #fanfiction #Harry Styles #Niall Horan #liam payne #louis tomlinson #Zayn Malik #1dff #1d fanfic #LRW1032

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iciisms · 7 years

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Agape, 1

as it turns out, I can’t even ship without writing some angst in. @tsundere-yurio consider this a parallel universe, so don’t feel our thread has to go in this direction :)

warning: this is LONG

The rink, which she was used to seeing dark and quiet save for her and Yuri’s conversations, was now filled with an anticipation that suffocated her lungs with every breath she took of the heavy air. She had forgotten what the rink looked like during the day. During the warmup, she had opted to get some last-minute jump practice in for her triples, rather than reveal too much of her program.

This time was different. Most skaters prepared two programs for the Grand Prix Series and Final. She had prepared three – two with Yuri, and one by herself, without his knowledge. She had been going to another rink at lunchtime during the week to practice her final program, since she wanted to surprise Yuri.

She stepped forward to the rink, an invisible circle around her. People stayed away from the place she stood – not that she minded. At tournaments, her focus was entirely within, only paying enough attention to her surroundings to know when her turn to perform was. She was usually alone; she had no family to cheer her on, nor a coach to speak to. Early on, the nickname the announcers had decided to give her had been something referencing an “ice sculpture,” likely due to her aloof nature in public.

She absently stared at the procession of performances before her, occasionally shifting her weight as she leaned on the rink wall. Her eyes followed the skaters before her, but her thoughts followed her own program. Although she had not scored particularly memorably in the technical aspects of her scores, her presentation scores had been high enough to just barely push her over into the final –

It was her turn – she vaguely heard her named called, and the in next moment she was conscious of, her skates had already hit the ice and were pushing her towards the center of the rink. Her eyes looked around for Yuri – he should be here, even if she couldn’t see him during the early afternoon.

Yuri, are you watching? This is for you.

She closed her eyes and delicately crossed her arms in front of her, extending her right foot behind her.

Unconditional love, was it?

Yuri’s face flashed through her mind in all its myriad expressions – his anger when she messed up and he screamed Russian curses at her, his pensive face when he was thinking about something, his smirk when she finally landed a jump. Actually - her lips twitched upward for a moment – it had been a while since he last scolded her that severely about a mistake, wasn’t it? Of course, she liked that last expression best – it’d felt different to skate for someone’s happiness besides her own. It empowered her, gave her motivation – but it also made her more vulnerable. She couldn’t disappoint him. She could not – she would not – let all the effort he’d put into her training go to waste.

So this was the infamous pressure of the Grand Prix Final.

“… With a different program, Agape, with the theme of ‘unconditional love,’ previously used by….”

She stopped listening to the announcers. She knew what they were going to say – inevitably, when she chose her theme and music for the season, she would be compared to Yuri Plisetsky, previous winner of the competition.

They were wrong though. She wasn’t trying to use his persona to boost her own, nor was it a poorly devised and concealed marketing trick. Like the music’s theme, she –

The music began with the first lyrics, and she pushed off the ice.

First was a quick, aggressive step sequence – then a quad.

The same one she had been doing – or attempting, he would claim - when she met Yuri.

A more sweeping segment, with spins and wide turns.

For his frustrations and burdens, which she wanted to share – as his protégé and friend.

A step sequence, more playful this time, when she began to genuinely enjoy his company.

Second half –

Yuri, I’m… so grateful to you. I hope I can show you this, in the only way I can.

She laughed internally at herself – she never had been very good at realizing, much less expressing, her own emotions. At least she could skate – it would speak for her.

Quad number two, with a double Lutz, single loop, and triple Salchow –

She almost landed wrong, but she managed to make the slight trip less obvious by immediately doing a spin that wasn’t in the original program to cover it up.

She inhaled sharply as she came out of the spin – she needed all the technical points she could get in order to make it on the podium, she couldn’t disappoint him. She didn’t care about the crowd, and she might be able to get a sponsor after this season even if she didn’t make it on the podium simply by getting this far, ostensibly by herself. But she had to do some justice to Yuri, or else everything would be for nothing. No, wait -

Agape.

She chided herself; she was getting too worked up.

Breathe.

She was reaching the finale.

Last step sequence and quad –

Come on, show him all the unconditional love you’ve got.

She closed her eyes and melted into the music again, trusting her body to remember the pure choreography. All those hours of practice wouldn’t fail her. She would never forgive herself, however, if she failed herself, and Yuri.

Why am I so fixated with Yuri?

The thought bubbled up from her subconscious before popping and disappearing in the face of the much-needed concentration for her last quad – the only one with two triples.

As she pushed up off the ice, Yuri’s instructions flashed before her mind, and she threw her confidence into the jumps.

When she hit the ice for the second time, she smiled. She’d been worried she would mess up the last quad, but she’d gotten lucky, it seemed.

Okay, Aruenaristy – almost done, just dance.

She took her original choreography, from the program she’d first shown to Yuri, and let herself go. After all, if it could impress him, surely it could impress the judges. Of course, she’d changed some elements – having Yuri as a companion had really helped ameliorate her frustration with herself lately, and she thought it showed in the choreography. And it was nice to have a friend.

She fluttered her eyes slightly open for a second, peering out at the vast blurs of people in the crowd from between her eyelashes –

Woah, she was going faster than she anticipated – but she didn’t mind. If she ran out of music, she could just improvise. She smirked, just subtly enough to be unnoticeable to the audience. When had she gained so much confidence?

“Oh, I’ll just improvise the ending to my Grand Prix Final program.”

She could never have imagined herself thinking that before she met Yuri. Maybe his confidence was rubbing off on her – they certainly had been spending enough time together for that to happen.

Ah, she was almost out of choreography. Time to improvise!

Might as well add another jump for fun – hm, a double Lutz would do nicely with….this step sequence. She could vaguely hear the announcers scrambling to cover the unexpected additions to her program, and almost laughed out loud before controlling herself. Honestly, they would probably wonder why she was having so much fun with the theme of “death,” but she didn’t care.

… I should have put this step sequence in the Allegro Appassionato, she thought regretfully.

As she moved into her final pose, she tried to control her breathing.

Yuri, did you see that? My Agape isn’t for anyone in that crowd, you know? It’s for you.

Wait, what? No, he was just a friend. But… no, friends didn’t dedicate a song about love to each other.

I… I love Yuri.

The realization almost broke her. Her arms went slack, and she slowly collapsed to the ground.

Of all people, it had to be him, didn’t it? We could never be together.

A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, and she suddenly realized the crowd didn’t understand. Unable to bear the thought of anyone – especially Yuri – witnessing her grief, she quickly rose, wiped away the tear, and smiled out at the crowd. But then the smile disappeared, and she glided quickly to the rink exit, all but ignoring the stares. A path opened in the small crowd of coaches and skaters to allow her to pass through to the kiss and cry, but she stopped when she saw the small bench.

She turned and spun around, heading to the locker area, paying no heed to the surprised whispers.

The kiss and cry was not for her. She had no one to kiss, no one to cry with – she had no one.

Just as she was about to leave the view of the arena, however, she heard her results and stopped again, straining to listen.

“Aruenaristy Delaney, with a score…. Record… presentation….”

No way – had she broken a record in presentation points? The crowd’s cheers made it seem so. However, instead of bringing her happiness, the recognition seemed to only prove something deep inside her, and she suddenly wanted to be anywhere but at the venue of the GPF.

She barely remembered anything of the awards ceremony, besides the weight of the bronze medal in her hand. The bronze, of course, was a little disappointing, but she knew the gold was unrealistic, and that she should be grateful she made it onto the podium at all. It didn’t lessen her frustration, though – she felt she hadn’t done justice to Yuri’s memory. The figure skating commentators probably thought so too.

She found herself kicking the back of the arena building afterwards – she still had time until the banquet, after all.

Her present problem, however, was gnawing away at her. She’d left the building as soon as she could, although she knew Yuri probably had expected her to stay and talk to him a bit.

Sorry, Yuri, but this is something I need to do without you watching me.

She kicked the exterior of the building again, watching with satisfaction as a few small fragments of stone sprinkled onto the pavement. Her back hit the wall as she leaned into it to look up at the sky.

Her eyes closed then – what am I going to do?

She loved Yuri – once realized, she couldn’t go back to the way things were. Did he love her back? She hoped not; it would only make it more painful.

Sliding down the wall, she huddled up with her knees pressing against her face, as a torrent of tears flowed down her cheeks.

Aruenaristy Isadora Delaney had never cried before in her memorable life – she had always been inclined to solve a problem, rather than crying about it. This time, though… she couldn’t solve her problem, no matter what. Yuri was dead. She could do nothing about it; even if they did love each other, they would never be able to do the things normal couples did. They’d never get to hold hands, or make their relationship known, or kiss –

What was she even thinking? Her hands clutched at her jacket sleeves as she rocked back and forth – was this the result of suppressed feelings? Of all the times at night she caught herself wondering if Yuri would like an idea of hers, of all the times when he was showing her a jump but she caught herself staring at his breathtaking form instead, of all the times when they bantered under the moonlight and she admired how his emerald eyes sparkled when he talked about his cat, or his grandpa, or an embarrassing story about his previous rinkmates?

She felt a new pinprick of tears to come threaten to overcome her, and she mustered all her strength, both physical and emotional, to rise. She picked up her bag shakily, and took a few steps towards home to change into a suitable dress before the banquet. She wiped her tears away with her sleeve once again – and broke into a run.

She could run away from the arena, but not from the epiphany. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself into a sprint, letting her long hair trail behind her, exposing her neck to the cold St. Petersburg air even as she pulled her jacket closer to her body.

First things first- get a sponsor at the banquet. Yuri can wait.

She knew she was lying, but the biting wind was a sufficient distraction for her. Pushing away her personal problems? Her specialty. She ran a little faster – if only she could outrun death.

#drabble #tsundere-yurio #yuri plisetsky #yurio #yuri!!! on ice #au #yuri on ice

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soclosewiz · 5 years

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Proper Nowhere

El Salto was the place where everything changed for me on my first trip south of the American border. One year ago I traveled here expecting the unexpected, but I never could have guessed how much it would change my life. Before that trip, I had been living my life in a very predictable way: work during the week, climb during the weekends, and plan semi-annual trips with a few close friends. After a particularly successful vacation to the Red River Gorge in November of 2016, I came back to Seattle knowing I needed to get away again as soon as possible. Somehow that led to me planning a trip to Mexico with two people I barely knew that December.

That trip changed me forever. Even a year later it’s no exaggeration to say I fell in love. Every day, in every moment, I was consciously aware that I had somehow unlocked a level of happiness I had never felt before. It lit a fire inside me for not just climbing itself, but travelling, meeting new people, experiencing new things, and all that the dirtbag lifestyle encompasses. I could feel that my life was about to change, as long as I was willing to let it; something that doesn’t come easy to me, yet I felt like I’d subconsciously been waiting for it for a long time. I eased into it over some long and influential spring travels until I was ready to fully move into my car and let the road lead wherever it did at the end of summer.

Deciding where to go on my travels came easy for a while, until suddenly it wasn’t. Cold weather and the winter holidays loomed on the horizon, and I was faced with a decision: to return to Mexico, or to attempt to find psyche in places where I either had no partners, or no desire to climb in the States. All along I knew there was only one answer, but I felt a strange reluctance to return to the place where it all started. I was afraid of what I would find upon returning to a place that had changed my life in such a big way—what if it wasn’t the same? What if it was? Christmas came and went and I still couldn’t commit to going farther south than Arizona, until finally one day I learned all my partners had cleaned out the gear we had stashed at the crag and were leaving within 48 hours to a place I knew I didn’t belong. It was time to face the music.

On December 26th as I walked out the door of the Chipotle in Sedona to knock a few hours off the drive, I got a message from a friend overseas asking if I would be in El Paso the next day and if I could help out his stranded friend. I had my doubts about picking up a hitchhiker, especially when I learned it was actually two of them plus a dog. Nonetheless I discarded my inhibitions and allowed the pair to curl up on my bed as I ferried them across the entire state of Texas. I got them through two border patrol checkpoints and a whole lot of what we called “Proper Nowhere” until we parted ways in Laredo. I thought it fitting, that my return to Mexico would start with an experience so far outside my usual status quo. I took it as a good omen of things to come, because Mexico was always about learning how much better life can be outside my comfort zone.

Waiting for me in Mexico was a diverse blend of the usual suspects from last year, plus many of the people with whom I’d been climbing over the last few months. Both groups were people who had gone from complete strangers to like family in just the few weeks I’d known them. I guess that’s what happens when you spend almost all of your time with people, camping, eating, climbing, relaxing, even working—friendships get fast tracked. I had come to El Salto for two main reasons: to party with these friends, and to try and send a specific route: El Infierno de Dante.

I had tried the route before and walked away uninspired: long runouts at the cruxes make it hard to work the moves when you are just beginning the process and the route is at your (my) limit, plus something about it just didn’t light that fire in me to make me want to really sink my teeth in. At the same time it’s hard for me to ever really let a route go, and it had been sitting in the back of my mind for the last twelve months as reminder of a time that I had given up. Unlike other climbs of the upper 5.13/lower 5.14 range I’d done, this one I knew was within my ability if I embraced the projecting process and approached it with commitment and patience.

I find in my climbing that I go back and forth between two different phases—mainly what I consider to be project mode and vacation mode. In vacation mode I am out climbing purely for the love of the sport and all it entails. Failure or success, at the end of the day I’m still having a big dinner with my friends, drinking beer, and focusing on enjoying every moment of this beautiful life. In project mode I am an athlete, disciplined and focused, willingly sacrificing all indulgences in pursuit of whatever climb has become my latest obsession. The tricky thing about these two modes is that they both make me feel really good in very different ways, and I often wonder if I’m focusing on the right thing. When I’m relaxing, I miss feeling strong and in shape, having big successes in my climbing and feeling confident about myself. When I’m dedicated and honed in on an objective, I wonder if my sacrifices are worth missing the fun nights of drinking, staying up late, and eating excessive amounts of chocolate.

Perhaps the fiddliest part of the split-climbing-personality conundrum is that I can’t just choose to flip the switch between the two modes on a whim. Vacation mode is easy, but entering project mode requires a goal, and it has to be one that really inspires me. There’s a certain feeling I’ve found about my proudest sends during the process that made me really truly care, and it doesn’t come around all that often. I may decide to work a certain route, but at the end of the day if I don’t want it bad enough that I fall asleep thinking about it, doodle its name in the margins of a notebook, and feel my face light up whenever someone asks how it’s going, the relationship is doomed to fail.

The last spark I’d chased before Mexico was Rude Boys (which was perhaps a bit forced), and before that City Park. I’d done a few low 5.13s here and there, but nothing had really struck me on that level in many months. I did want to go out there and see just what I was made of, test my limits and try and be my best self as a climber, but I had to wait for the calling. Finally it came, and I was ready and eager to answer when it did. Day two in Mexico I quested up Dante’s Inferno and felt the stirrings of that feeling I had been so long without. I was inspired.

Dante’s Inferno is perhaps the most well-known hard climb in El Salto, which adds a certain aura of history that always draws me to a climb. It consists of 40 meters of resistance climbing, passing through two very sustained cruxes to the mid-way anchor, and then one last sting in the tail a few bolts from the top. The moves are hard, not getting too pumped is even harder, but simply keeping your mind engaged for that much climbing is perhaps the hardest part.

After a week or so of effort I slowly built up enough endurance to know I had a shot, yet I battled with bad skin that didn’t seem to recover on my rest days. After a long mid-day nap one day, I tied in with fingertips so raw it hurt to take my jacket off for one last fitness burn (aka an attempt with low hopes of success but done anyway for the training benefit). My friend Tanager had just told me that all of her best sends had been after a nap, and another friend who had just sent the route said he had done it with terrible skin as well, so I decided to go ‘a muerte’ even though it was my fifth attempt in two days and I was exhausted.

Screaming on every move, I managed to battle to the first anchors for the first time and partway to the second. By the time that I fell, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t even get through the final crux to work out beta for any redpoint attempts on the extension. It was success nevertheless, resulting in much celebration after a local adventure movie led to a wild dance party lasting late into the night.

One extremely hungover rest day and a mini break climbing on other routes later, I knew it was time to go back for the extension. The weather had gotten hot, and many people were losing psyche for Las Animas, the wall on which Dante’s is located. I had a few partners still interested, but as the morning stretched on they remained at camp, going about their day in leisurely style while I paced around in agitation. I watched minutes tick by as calculations ran through my mind—if we leave right now, there will still be time to warm up and have an attempt before the wall goes into the sun.

When it became clear that things were not happening, I left for the crag by myself, hoping to beg a belay off someone already there. Up until then it had been so crowded that you could barely weasel your way in line for a warmup, but suddenly there was no one at the wall when I arrived. I sat around for a while before deciding I was wasting my time, letting toxic thoughts flood my brain as I began hiking out in defeat.

Just then, two friends rounded the corner and called out a greeting and that they were there to belay and support. Having stopped by our camp that morning and heard of my tragic plight, they were happy to help. The sun was already creeping across the wall towards Dante’s, so I decided to forego a warmup and just go for it. I needed to work out that upper crux, so it wasn’t a send go anyway. It wasn’t a send go, except the higher I got the more it felt like maybe it could be. The rock was cool but not cold, I was fresh but not shaky, and moves that had felt desperate felt completely controlled. Before I knew it, I was staring down the upper crux with no choice but to wing it—no real beta, but I wasn’t that pumped and the sun still hadn’t made the route too hot to climb.

I pulled into the final hard moves of the boulder problem, toeing down on glassy pebbles so carefully that I knew I’d never let a fall happen because of slipping. Suddenly it was all over and I called out to my friends in excitement that “It’s going down right now!” even though I still had a few bolts of easy climbing to the top. I knew wouldn’t fall there.

Afterwards as I traded my climbing shoes for a belay device to support another no-warmup send by a friend, I couldn’t help but stare at Dante’s and feel a strange sense of melancholy. I felt like I had only just started to get to know the climb and it was already over. I was beyond proud of how quickly I’d done it; five or six days of work to clip the chains on my second 5.14 is pretty exciting, but I wasn’t ready to let go of that powerful inspiration I had finally managed to track down. I had been mentally prepared for a brutal battle, in which I fell at the upper crux dozens of times, went home in tears day after day, and questioned the meaning of life as I fought highs and lows of self-doubt. You know, the usual projecting M.O.

Ever since last year, a part of me knew that Dante’s was one of those routes that I just had to come back for. Who can say why, but there are certain climbs that sit at the back of my mind, waiting for the day when I’m ready to lay it all on the line and go to war. Luckily I still have a few weeks here to see if the next inspiration lies somewhere between these limestone tufas and calcified stalactites, and if not, to simply bask in the warm Mexican sun eating Elotes and being grateful to not be freezing in the Seattle winter rain. I had my doubts about returning to Mexico, but in the end and as always, the Wash provides.

#soclosewiz #focusonyourability

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