#admintrepidationchance

Irina could count with one hand the amount of people she couldn’t seduce. Of course, she made a habit to chose victims that played right into her supple hands, dancing to her song while she pulled the strings with calloused fingers. It helped that they were the ones who let her. They were brought up that way; told that they could have everything in the world if they only just reached for it. If only they knew what they wanted. The media certainly made her job easier, as their appetites were fed in every poster, ad, and show. She could have been a hacked up carcass, but with enough dressup, why not let them see what they want to caress all night. And, caress they did, up her neck, down her thigh, across her back, over her shoulders… It’s funny, how they thought that one night was enough to claim something: that breaking a toy made it theirs. She didn’t hate it though; it lined her pockets, after all.

This man, however, was one of those.

Unshakable, uninterested, and most importantly, unimpressed. Whether it be their sexuality or their devotion to other commitments, Irina knew a lost cause when she saw one. Never again would she be fooled to think that she stood a chance against a workaholic who was completely unfazed by roaming eyes and bitten lips. Yet here she was, trying her best to flirt with the un-flirtable.

It was another school day, as per usual, where Koro-sensei continuously evaded the students’ valiant attempts to assassinate him and there was Irina, snuggling as close to Karasuma as possible. She had to applaud herself for her efforts because holding his hand was hard enough, let alone his waist. Slowly but surely, she was melting his ice cold exterior and before he knew it, Karasuma would be begging for a taste-

“Bitch-sensei, if you keep staring at Karasuma-sensei like that, your eyelids are going to fall out!” yelled out a student.

“Yeah! No need to continue batting your eyelashes when you’ve already ensnared your prey, Bitch-sensei.” said another. Irina turned to glare at the class, who were all cheekily grinning before focusing their attention back to their own prey. Karasuma sighed beside her, wriggled himself from her grasp, and walked out of the classroom.

“Hey, wait!” Irina cried out, following him into the hallway. She chased after his storming figure, before reaching out and grabbing his arm. “I said wait!”

Suddenly, he viciously wrenched it away and pushed her against the wall, slamming his hands by her head. She could hear the echo of the hallway ring in her ears and shuddered; if he had hit her…

Irina shivered as Karasuma inched closer, towering over her smaller stature. He leaned down and whispered into her ear.  “Look at you.” He drew back slightly, and hovered over her lips, before tilting down and brushed his cheek against hers. Soft puffs of warm air caressed against her neck, as his lips danced across her skin, not quite kissing her nape. Suddenly, she felt blunt teeth. She stiffened, taking in short breaths as he bit into her neck slightly, before letting his teeth slide over her skin, leaving a tingling trail as his mouth travelled up. He reached up to her ear again and she could feel him smile. “What kind of predator gets cornered?” he whispered.

The almost claustrophobic weight lifted off of her when Karasuma retreated.

“Leave me alone.” he drawled out, his back turned towards her. He straightened his suit, then calmly continued his way to the staffroom. “I mean it.”

He disappeared around the corner, leaving Irina frozen in the hallway, lost in thought. His eyes. She had never expected them to burn like that, scalding and suggestive and-

Irina was crying.

He wanted to tell her to stop, that professionals did not show weakness, not out here, but he couldn’t even muster the strength to open his mouth.

How embarrassing.

So the crying continued, as warm hands enveloped his cold ones. He felt her tears drip down his face as she curled around him, protecting him from the hurt but at this point, he couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. It was too late.

He didn’t marry a weak woman though. She wept while calling for help, for someone to save him, to stop the bleeding, to do something please-

He loved her.

He didn’t tell her that enough. Not when he realised, not when he asked her, not at the alter. Not even as he drew his dying breath.

It was too late.

John winced as his potions partner found another victim to poke fun at. Luckily, Professor Snape was out, otherwise Slytherin was bound to lose more than the 50 points Sherlock had already cost them that day.

“You can’t expect anything to happen with that lousy stirring! You need to go back and forth, not go around in circles like the dimwit we already know you are, Anderson.”

Said boy pulled his stirring stick out of his cauldron and shook it at the tall, lanky wizard, liquid flying everywhere.

“More like you’re not able to follow instructions like the illiterate you are, Holmes! Can’t you see that on line 59? Stir the pot clockwise 40 times before letting it sit-”

“Preposterous! That’s completely wrong.”

“Wrong?! This textbook has been used for decades and you have the audacity to question-”

“Everyone knows that stirring at a constant rate would only set the dissolving Newt Eyes and Aloe Thorns into an inertial motion, where it will ineffectively combine with the Salamander Blood and Yeti Tears. No, it is much faster and smarter, which I have no doubt you will never be, to stir back and forth 10 times before extinguishing the fire to avoid boiling the Tiger Lily Nectar out of the solution.”

Sherlock huffed. “Honestly, if you were muggle-born, then I could excuse your pathetic attempts of brewing one of the easiest potions known to wizarding kind, but knowing your ties with the Apothecary in Diagon Alley just makes me more disappointed than necessary.”

Silence filled the classroom before Anderson found his voice.

“How did you-”

“Oh please, that’s elementary. Do you honestly think I wouldn’t recognise that cast iron stirring apparatus you so kindly pointed my way? The fine work of Cassandra O’Hare is a luxury ordinary school students usually do not have. The production of the most inert, magic conducting equipment of this century is a lucrative business, which has accumulated a five month queue on top of the required two years to craft these, which I’m sure you never knew about. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be banging it against your equally rare, handcrafted cauldron, you ungrateful git.”

John was confused. “Inert, but can conduct magic? How?”

“Thank you, John, for always asking the right questions, unlike this one who doesn’t even seem to understand the concept of formulating one. Following instruction without question? How foolish.” Sherlock sneered. “You may as well be the founder of a dead suicider’s fanclub.”

“Sherlock!” cried out Molly, who had been sitting behind them the entire time. “That’s such a horrible thing to do!”

“I know right? Shame on you, Anderson.”

“What?! No! You’re the one who said it!”

“Well, you may as well have said it yourself, being your usual pompous self.”

“How did we even get to this?! All I said was that you’re not able-”

“-to follow the rules, yes I heard you the first time. Not all of us are deaf from squeaky beds and animalistic yelps, like a dog was kicked multiple times, non-stop for-

“Shut up, Freak!” Sally stood up, ears red with shame.

Sherlock looked at her with disdain. “Stepping up for your boyfriend-slash-sex friend-slash-coitus partner, are you?”

She sat back down, glaring at her cauldron and pretended she was boiling the infuriating wanker instead of some stupid colour changing potion. With that, the whole room was filled with silence again, before John spoke up.

“What’s wrong with instructions? They help you recreate something, don’t they?”

Sherlock nodded. “Very well, my dear Watson. I shall answer your enquiry.”

The entire class groaned. Here they go again, diving into the world that only seemed to consist of Sherlock and John.

“While following instructions can help us reproduce something, it does not allow us to innovate, change, or adapt. How are we to continue to improve our society when all we wish to do is follow instructions. It cannot be said that you can grow a flower just by planting its seed.”

John nodded. He could see some truth in that.

“It’s the same when you brew a cup of tea. No one person likes the same amount of sugar to milk ratio, nor the same infusion time or the temperature of their beverage. Perhaps, instructions should be perceived more like guidelines, to align our trajectory to, but with a different target in mind. Only through this, will it be possible to hone what is already known.”

A scoff echoed in the classroom.

“You’re delusional,” Jim’s smile looked painful to John, stretching his features tightly, “but that’s what I like about you, Sherlock; you and your brother both.”

Said Holmes sibling visibly cringed, despising the mere thought of Mycroft being liked. Jim misunderstood though and frowned. “Okay, I get it, you and John are a match in heaven, whatever.”

John turned around, sputtering with disagreement, before he quickly swallowed his anger. Professor Snape had returned for goodness knows how long now, eyes drilling straight into the back of Sherlock’s head. Anderson noticed too, and gave the curly haired wizard a smug look.

“5 points to Slytherin.”

Professor Snape then proceeded to walk up to the whiteboard and began writing a different potions recipe for the next class. Sherlock’s eyes were as round as saucers while a grin crept up onto his face. He then began clapping while laughing wholeheartedly at Anderson, before turning to John, his face reading see I told you I’m right John look I impressed him I got points I got validation I-

Every time, he felt tempted to look at the artwork as it wasdrawn on, but he realised after the first few times was that it was a waste oftime; there were only generic lines after the hour passed. He checked each timeanyway, only to see different configurations of simple shapes.

Time’s up.

The itch stopped, prompting him to pull up his shirt and lookedin the mirror. This time, there is a triangle in the middle of his back, with afew seemingly randomly placed dots. Curved lines branched out all over his back,which he recognised from a few weeks ago.

Are they completingthe curved lines from two weeks ago? Why not finish it then?

He shook his head; his soulmate never talked to him, so hewouldn’t be able to ask. He was just glad that he had one, proven by theweekly itch.

Don’t ask questionsthat won’t be answered.

He pulled his shirt back down, ready to start studying again when he felt the phantom press of a pen on the back of his right hand.

Sorry

More words began to appear.

Does it hurt?

Roy looked at the message in shock. There were words on his hand. Words written by his soulmate were on his hand. He scrambled to his desk for a pen.

What hurts?

The tattoo

They were being tattooed? One tattoo? Every week?

No, it doesn’t

He paused.

Does it hurt you?

Nothing happened. Then he could see ink slowly tracing out letters, almost as if the person writing them was hesitant with their words.

As long as you’re okay

He froze. Someone was causing his soulmate pain.

Who’s hurting you?

It’s okay, it doesn’t matter

Yes it does

They didn’t reply for a while.

Don’t worry about it

Roy shook his head, about to respond when more words started to race across his skin.

It’s important that it’s done

He breathed in slowly before letting out a long sigh. His soulmate was in pain, but didn’t think it was an issue. Whoever was tattooing them was not on Roy’s list of people he wanted to meet.

He placed the pen nib onto the skin of his forearm, as his entire hand was now covered in writing.

If you need help, don’t hesitate to ask me

His heartbeat echoed in his ears as he stared at his arm, willing for new words to appear. He didn’t want his soulmate to think they were alone in this, that they had his full support and that he would help them whenever, no matter what.

Nothing happened.

Many weeks passed, and the tattooing sessions have become longer. Now there were words scribbled all over his back, which he took the time to jot it all down. Roy cursed himself for not doing this earlier, as he ends up with an incomplete version of the tattoo that must take up his soulmate’s entire back.

Suddenly, a week passed without the familiar itch. Then two weeks passed. Three weeks, four weeks, five weeks. It has now been months since he last felt his soulmate’s back being tattooed.

Finally, they aren’t in pain anymore.

It has also been months since he last saw the handwriting of his soulmate.

He rubbed his eyes and placed his head in his hands. He was still staring at the half completed tattoo in his notebook, trying to fill in the blanks with fuzzy memories of his ignorant youth, back when he thought they were just random doodles drawn on by a friend or something.

It didn’t matter what he reasoned them to be. All he could see was part of what must be a transmutation circle.

Who would tattoo alchemy onto someone’s back?

Just as he thought this, he felt something - a pen - press into his skin. He jumped up, bringing his hand around to look at the message his soulmate was writing. 

His stomach dropped.

Help

I hope this makes sense!!!! It’s been a while since I last saw anything FMA related, so I hope I did Roy and Riza justice. I’ll probably check out the live action for it when it comes out~