#I'M GOING TO BED NOTHING I DO TODAY WILL BE BETTER THAN WHATEVER HALF COOKED THESIS THIS IS

[wheels-of-despair]

Enough | A Make Up Story | Tom Grant x You | Series Masterlist

Chapter 6: Not a Fucking Word Words: 3k

On Monday morning, the clang of a pan woke you up. You sat up and looked directly into the kitchen, where Tom was struggling with something on the stove.

You got out of bed as quietly as you could and crept toward him. He was so focused on whatever he was screwing up, he didn't notice you until you were next to him.

"What the hell is that?" you ask, peeking past his shoulder at a smoking lump of something that was not smelling great.

Tom jumps with a yelp, then brandishes the spatula at you.

"Don't do that."

"Good morning to you too," you laugh. "What is that?"

"…not a pancake?" he winces.

"Dump it, you poor boy, and let me show you how it's done."

Tom lifts the pan, takes it to the trash can, and flips it over. The lump remains stuck to it. You use your hand to hide your smile as he curses and scrapes it out with the spatula.

"Not a fucking word," he warns playfully as he returns to the stove.

"About what?" you wink, reaching for the pancake mix.

You walk him through it. Starting with the batter, which was both watery and lumpy. And properly greasing the pan. You reach for his wrist when he goes to flip the pancake before it's ready. "You've gotta wait for it to bubble," you tell him. He stares at the pan, and when you give him the go-ahead, he carefully slides the too-narrow spatula beneath the circle of flour, lifts it, twists his wrist, and slaps it back into the pan with a triumphant grin. He did it. He really did it. Tom Grant has made half of a respectable pancake.

You'll have to buy him a better spatula before you leave, you think to yourself… before the dread settles in your chest again. You'd probably hear from the mechanic today. Your car would probably fixed soon. Then you'd have a massive bill to pay and no reason to stay.

Why do you want to stay?

You shouldn't even be here now. If you hadn't wrecked your car trying to avoid the drunk dumbass in the middle of the road, you'd be back home, riding out your vacation in bed with a tub of ice cream. You might've even gone back to work early, just for something to do.

But instead, you're here, with a sweet guy who just had his heart broken, making pancakes in his tiny kitchen.

"What?" he asks, giving you a strange look.

"Nothing," you snap out of it. "Good job on your first decent pancake."

You supervise one more, to make sure he's got the hang of it, and then go get dressed. Nothing to do today, but you'd feel like a bum just sitting here in your PJs while Tom had to work.

Tom waits until you sit at the table, and proudly places his stack of slightly misshapen pancakes in front of you. He serves you first, just like yesterday. You both douse your pancakes in butter and syrup… and then hesitate.

"Ladies first," Tom grins. What a gentleman.

"You're the one who made them. Shouldn't you get the honor?"

He scrunches his nose. "Same time?"

"Coward," you snicker, picking up your fork. You each ready a bite, and Tom gives a countdown.

"Three, two, one… do it."

You take your bites at the same time. You chew thoughtfully, like you're a judge on a cooking show. "Hm."

"Hm?" Tom asks, eyes wide.

"I'm detecting… hints of butter? Flour?" Tom relaxes, realizing that you're only playing with him. "The syrup is quite cheap, and obviously not real maple. Pity. Docking points for that."

"You bought it," Tom reminds you before shoving another bite in his mouth.

"Damn," you pretend to look crushed, then go in for another bite. "They're really good, Tom. Better than yesterday's, I think."

He beams.

"What are you going to do today?" he asks through a mouthful.

You shrug.

"D'you want a job?"

"What kind of job?" you ask hesitantly.

"Just for today. Doug will probably call and at least give us an idea of what's wrong with your car, so I'm not lookin' to hook you up with anything long-term."

You swallow and try to hide your disappointment. Why the hell are you disappointed?

"Sure," you fake a smile. "What is it?"

"I take my neighbor grocery shopping every Monday. I thought if you went with her, I could work through the morning and maybe get off a little early so we can hang out tonight."

You smile, and Tom continues. "Her name's April, she's in her 80s, and she's very sweet. I think you'll like her. She does tend to wander off sometimes though, so you need to keep an eye on her. And her eyesight's not so good, so sometimes she needs help finding stuff or reading labels. Is that alright?"

"Of course," you nod. "I can't wait to meet her."

And so you spent the better part of the morning grocery shopping with an elderly lady you'd just met. Tom had introduced you as his friend, proposed your joint shopping trip, and she'd agreed happily. He'd left you to get to know each other while he brought one of the caravan park's vehicles down to you so April wouldn't have to walk far. He'd advised you not to hit anyone with the car when he handed you the keys, which earned him a smack on the shoulder. He walked away cackling.

April directed you into town to her favorite supermarket, and talked the whole way. She spoke very highly of Tom. You suspected that he might be her best friend too. She told you about the husband who'd passed 22 years ago, and her children, and her grandchildren who sometimes came to see her during the summer. It's why she'd chosen to retire at Sleepy Sunrise - so that visiting her would feel like a vacation, and not an obligation.

You took your time shopping, helping April read labels and find things on her list. You picked up a few easy meals for Tom, too. You figured you'd be gone in a day or two, but he could still use something other than spaghetti and cereal on his sad little menu. You also found a nice spatula, which would make his pancake-flipping easier.

When you returned to the caravan park, you helped April put her groceries away, dropped your things at Tom's, then drove the car back to the office to surrender the keys, as instructed.

Which is where you ran into Shirley.

You'd met her once, when you were here with Jade last spring. She was an odd woman. Eyes like a cat. Always calculating. Might pounce at any moment. The kind of person you'd go out of your way to avoid.

"Hello, just returning your keys from April's grocery run, thank you for letting us use the car." You placed the keys on the counter in front of her and returned to the door quickly, hoping you could slip back out before she suckered you into a conversation. But you were here, in Hell, so of course you weren't that lucky.

"You're with Tom." You stopped and turned to her with what you hoped was a neutral expression and not one of desperately wishing you were dead.

"Yes, ma'am. Just for a few days."

"You were with Jade last time."

You nodded, feeling your throat go dry.

"How's that happen?"

You froze, having no idea what to say. How does what happen? How did Jade break your heart? How did Ruth break Tom's? How did you two wind up together, even though you're not actually together?

While your brain was whirring, the phone rang. Shirley's eyes narrowed further, but she answered it. You gave her an apologetic smile and an awkward wave as you ducked out the door, as if you wanted to give her privacy, and then walked back to Tom's van as quickly as you could. You didn't dare look back.

That panicky feeling didn't subside until you were back at Tom's, where he was eating a bowl of cereal at the table.

"You know I just bought real food, right?" you smile as you sit across from him.

"This is fine," he crunches. "Everything go alright?"

You nod. "April said she's gonna take a nap, and that I should come back around three to start helping her make dinner. She wants us both over tonight." Tom nods and keeps eating.

"Do you get paid for taking her to the store every week?"

Tom shakes his head. "She pays me in Monday Dinner. Shirley lets me use the car because… well, it means she doesn't have to take her."

"How considerate of her," you deadpan.

"I like doing it," Tom shrugs. "I'd do it even if I didn't get a meal out of it.

"I know you would," you smile.

He drains the milk from his bowl and takes it to the sink.

"I've gotta get back. Don't wash that, I'll do it when I get home."

"Yes, dear," you say sarcastically.

He shoots you a playful glare, then steps through the beaded curtains to return to work. You wash his bowl, put away the groceries, and decide to take a nap of your own while you're waiting to go help April with dinner.

The water was rising.

It was rising out of the sea and swallowing the caravan park.

It was up to your knees.

You were going to die here. Why didn't you get out when you had the chance?

"Come on, dove."

You looked to your left and saw Jade extending a hand from a rooftop.

"Come to me."

You reached for her hand, then heard a cry from your right.

Tom was drowning.

Tom, the man who'd rescued you when you had no one else, who'd turned the most awful situation into a wonderfully unexpected friendship, was thrashing about in the waves.

What the hell were you supposed to do?

You looked to Jade.

Whose tongue was down a redhead's throat.

You turned toward Tom, scanning for him among the crashing waves.

But he was gone.

"Tom!" you called.

You woke with a pounding heart and his name on your tongue.

You look at the clock - 2:47 - and decide to lie there for a bit and catch your breath.

Thinking about the dream makes you feel sick.

At 2:50, you get out of bed, freshen up, and walk next door, desperate to leave your nightmares behind.

Cooking with April was a welcome distraction. She talked nonstop, happy to have someone new to tell stories to, and you happily listened. She told you about all the dishes her husband used to love, which she hadn't had a reason to make for years, until Tom. Cooking for one is no fun, she said. She'd love to have him over every night, but she knew that young men don't really want to pal around with old ladies, so she limits herself to Monday nights and holidays.

You didn't doubt that Tom would've come over every night, even just to keep her company, if she asked him to.

He knocked on the door at 5:14.

"Do I smell pasties?" he asks when he steps into the kitchen.

"I had to teach my new friend how to make proper Cornish food, didn't I?" April smiles from her place at the table, where you'd finally convinced her to take a rest.

"S'pose so. Need any help?"

"Sit," you direct him to the table while you give the skillet of veggies a final stir and turn off the stove. Tom ignores you and begins pulling out the dishes he needs to set the table.

"Here I am, asking you two to be my dinner guests, and you're doing all the work."

"We don't mind," you say in unison, smiling at each other from your places at the counter. You transfer the vegetables to a serving bowl and bring it to the table, where April gives you a sly smile. You feel your face flush, though you'd rather not analyze why. You duck your head and return for the pasties while Tom pours drinks.

You take your seats and hold hands around the table as April blesses the food and her 'sweet young friends'.

"Oh my goodness," you say after your first bite of the pasty you and April had made together. "This is the best thing I have ever eaten."

"They're Tommy's favorites too," April says affectionately. His ears go red. What the hell is going on here?

"How was work today, dearie?" she asks. Grateful for the subject change, you listen closely as Tom launches into the story of his thrilling day in maintenance. Then you and April take turns filling him in on your journey to the supermarket. Although you'd just met April, and still barely knew Tom, it feels like you've been coming to Monday Dinner with them all your life. Like you belong here. Your heart swells with the realization. Is this what normal people are like?

After April's leftovers are put away and her dishes are washed, courtesy of the dream team, you leave her to wind down for the night with a large print book and a cup of tea.

"Tommy, huh?" you tease after he closes the door of his van.

"Shut it," he grins, ears going pink again.

The two of you settle on the couch and look for a movie. You let Tom man the remote tonight, and he picks yet another dumb comedy with a man-child lead. But you don't mind. You've got a full belly and a nice companion. This isn't even the worst vacation you've ever been on.

"Oh!" You jump at Tom's sudden exclamation. "Doug called the office today. Said he had to order a part for your car, but it should be in Wednesday, and you should be back on the road by Thursday or Friday."

"Great," you said with fake enthusiasm, not feeling great about it at all. You stared blankly at the TV. "I'll be out of your hair soon."

"What if I like you in my hair?"

You hold your breath and slowly angle your head toward him. He's focused on the TV. His ears look like they're about to bleed. You return your gaze to the screen and say nothing. Luckily, you both choose the same moment to fake laugh at something in the movie that was probably supposed to be funny.

The exchange is forgotten by the next commercial break.

And then you start trolling the movie. You take turns supplying fake dialogue and making bad guesses as to what would happen next, and you laugh your asses off. After the end credits roll, you take your time getting ready for bed in the tiny bathroom, then join Tom on his lumpy mattress. It's getting a little less awkward every night.

"I saw them today."

Or so you thought.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What did you do?" you asked.

"Ducked into the workshop until they'd had time to pass."

You smiled at the thought of Tom hiding, but you felt queasy at the mention of them.

"We can't avoid them forever, Tom."

"We can try," he says stubbornly.

"If she were here right now," you ask slowly, not sure you really want to know the answer, "What would you say to her?"

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, that's helpful."

He chuckles.

"I'd want to know why, I guess."

You nod your head in understanding. You know why, but hearing it from you won't do him any good.

"What would you say to Jade?"

You think about it for a moment, and finally answer: "Goodbye."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Not 'see you in a few months'?" You reach out with the hand closest to him and smack whatever's in reach, which you think is his hip. He chuckles again. Bastard.

"I can't do this with her anymore."

"Are you really going to end it? Before you leave?"

"I think I have to," you breathe. "Every time, in the miserable week that follows, I tell myself it's the last time. If she doesn't want to keep me this time, I'm not coming back. And it's always a lie. I get one look at her, she gives me one 'I love you', and it all just…" You heave an aggravated sigh. "I'm sick of being weak."

"You're not weak," he says quietly. "You're in love."

"I wish I wasn't."

"So do I."

A mournful moment of silence follows.

"Could you ever forgive her?" you ask.

"No."

"You sound awfully confident for someone who just admitted he's still in love."

"If you love a person, they should be enough. You shouldn't want anyone else."

Your heart grows heavier. Is that why you were never enough for her? She just didn't love you? You can't take much more of this.

"You deserve better, Tom."

"So do you."

You swallow, wondering how you're going to gain the confidence to do what needs to be done, when Tom speaks again.

"What if we did it together? Before we lose our nerve?"

You turn your head to look at him in the orange glow of the lamps shining in from outside. After a moment of thought, and a suspicion that he could read your mind, you give him a smile and a nod. He reaches for your hand above the covers. When you take it, you resume staring at the ceiling.

"We gonna psych each other up over this, or just fucking do it?" you ask.

"Let's just fucking do it."

"Get it over with."

"Get it over with," he echoes.

You both inhale deeply and let out long breaths together. No problem. Just going on a little walk with the guy you almost hit with your car to visit the girls who broke both your hearts and tell them to fuck off forever. No big deal.

#writings of despair #tom grant is enough #tom grant #tom grant x you #tom grant x reader

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 09 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.1 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (08)

Next part (10)->

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

For Better Or Worse

You sigh when you find yourself back in a hospital bed, eyes adjusting to the light. Blinking a little, a sharp pain on both your knees make you groan, pushing yourself up.

“Slow down, slow down.” Keanu is suddenly by your side, gently pushing you back down. “You need to rest.”

“I'm alright.” You mutter, a hand coming to lay on your stomach.

“I know, beautiful. But try not to get too agitated.” Keanu caresses your cheek, leaning down to peck your lips. “I'm so sorry about the journalists. I make some calls and I'll have them all fired.”

“No, Ke, don't do that.” Taking his hand on yours. “They were just doing their job, and it's not their fault I'm... Like this.”

“They know about your condition, is all over the news. That was unacceptable.” Keanu is angry. You've never seen this angry before. Pushing yourself into a sitting position, you place his hand over your belly.

“I'm fine. We're both fine.” With your forehead touching his, you assure him, keeping your voice soft and sweet.

“I know, I just...” His voice fades, his hand gently rubbing your belly. “When Laura called me I almost lost my mind.”

“Yeah, but I'm here now.” Kissing him again, you hold Keanu close. “Do you think you can take me home? I'm sick and tired of this hospital.” You plead, hoping the doctors won't make you stay.

“Don't worry, they'll discharge you later today. They just need to check if everything is okay with you and the baby.”

“Alright.” Feeling relieved, you lie back down as Keanu settles down on armchair placed next to your bed. “Ke... About earlier today...” Biting your lip, you can't control as your float back to that moment, and you're suddenly a little hot.

“It was yesterday. You spent the night here.”

“Oh...” That sucks. One more night away from home. “Well... About yesterday, I really–”

“I'm sorry, (Y/N).” Keanu cuts you short, elbows on his knees as he looks down before raising his eyes at you. “I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I should've controlled myself and–”

“I really liked it.” Interrupting whatever nonsense Keanu is saying, you speak up. Despite the burn in your cheeks, you need him to know it. “And I... I didn't want you to control yourself.”

“(Y/N), I–” He stops talking when someone comes in, and you look at the door, watching as Dr. Wright comes in.

“Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Reeves.” He says with a smile. “How are you two today?”

“I'm fine.” You answer, feeling as the bed moves up until you're in a half-sitting position. You're tired of this hospital since you're always coming and going for many appointments. “Can I go, home doctor? I fainted because of the questions and flashes, but I feel alright.”

“Don't worry about that. You're recovering well, physically at least, and since your exams came out good, I'll let you go home after we have a little chat, is that alright?” He stands by the edge of the bed, an expression on his face you can't read.

“Sure.”

Dr. Wright takes a deep breath, exchanging a glance with Keanu. You take a look at your husband too, and you wonder if he knows what this is about.

“Mrs. Reeves, we already told you that as times passes, lesser are the chances you'll recover your memories.” He begins, and you immediately sink, looking down at your hands. Of course, you remember it, you just didn't want to think about it. So you pushed everything back, focusing on what's happening now. The pregnancy, trying to fix things with a husband you don't know...

“Yes, doctor. It was one of the first things you told me.” Nodding, you mutter.

“From where we stand now, the brain is healing... So it means that, if absolutely nothing came back until now–”

“It probably won't.” You finish it off for him, trying not to let them notice how your hands are shaking, clenching them into fists.

“Well, there are extremely rare cases, but I can't give you false hopes. And since things have been going well for you, there's no reason to.”

“It's alright.” Clearing your throat, you take a deep breath. “Can I go home now?” Your voice comes out louder than expected, as anger starts kicking in. At what, you have no idea. Probably at yourself.

“Here are the papers.” He hands them over to Keanu, alongside a pen, and you watch as he signs them.

You're silent on the drive home, eyes on the city passing by, heavy gray clouds making everything a little monochromatic. When you get home, you take a long shower, hoping it would help. It didn't. As you come out of the bathroom, you make your way to the window, staring at the rain falling. That makes you finally break, bitter tears rolling down. This isn't fair. With a hand on your heart, you start moving. You need to be outside, you need to do something to get rid of the sadness, growing roots inside your heart.

Rushing through the house, on the tip of your toes not to let Keanu listen, you reach a door on the first floor that leads to the garden on the side of the house. Taking a deep breath, you slide it open, shivering when the cold wind hits your skin. But still, you step forward until the rain is soaking your clothes and hair. But it doesn't make you feel better. It only makes it worse, and you're crying, sobbing.

Your tears are mixed with the cold rain, and it doesn't take much until your soaking wet. But it doesn't matter. You need this. Dr. Wright is right, you won't remember. Nothing has come back. Not in dreams, not in flashes, nothing. When you sleep, your dreams consist of things you learned after. Before the accident, everything is blank. Forever lost. An entire life, childhood, teenage years, gone.

Keanu doesn't want to think much. There used to be a deadline for this lie. Until she remembers. Until she gets her old life back. And he bought the idea. He'd be her husband until that moment, and then, (Y/N) will probably hate him forever. But now... If that day never comes, what will be of them? Of him, whose heart is already on her possession?

Keanu doesn't want to think about that either. About the fact that he's falling for her, drowning in the fake life he built for her sake. As he sits on the kitchen table, looking for something different to cook for (Y/N), his mind takes him back to the day before, when he kissed her in a way he shouldn't have. He knew he had to stop, but he didn't have it in him. She's too beautiful, and she wanted him. At least that's what he thought. The feeling of her hands on him was too much, and if it wasn't for Laura's call, he doesn't know if he'd have stopped at all. His mind was a blur, completely overwhelmed by her.

Putting his phone down, Keanu rests his head on his hands, struggling to push those images away. Her kisses, her touch, her soft breathing. Her. This is driving him crazy, and part of him wants this to go on forever. Keanu wants (Y/N) to be his wife. He wants it to be real. He needs it to be real. He just doesn't know what to do.

A sudden thud makes him look up, and the low yelp that follows has him up to his feet, walking over the source of the sound. His heart almost stops when he sees (Y/N) on the living room floor, soaking wet, sobbing, hugging her knees.

Your thigh burns from the fall as you pull both your knees to your chest. Now, you don't know if you're shaking from the sobs of from the cold. It doesn't really matter. A sudden touch on your back snaps you out of your state and, looking up, you see a very worried Keanu staring at you.

“(Y/N), what happened?” He asks, but you don't have it in you to answer. So you just throw your arms around his neck, an apologize stuck in your throat for getting him all wet. “It's alright, beautiful. It's alright.” He whispers in your ear, softly rubbing the small of your back. “Tell me what's wrong, beautiful.”

“I-I want to remember, Ke...” You mutter, voice all messed up by all the crying. “I haven't had anything. Dreams, flashes, nothing... And I want to. I want to remember my childhood, school, and I want to remember you. Our life together, all of it. And I was trying not to give it must thought because I'm really happy right now, with you but–”

“Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.” As he speaks, Keanu picks you up, immediately carrying you upstairs. You're holding on to him, hiding your face on his neck, and trying to control the sobbing. He places you down somewhere, and you only notice it's his bathroom when he pulls away. You're seated on the sink, watching as Keanu takes a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders before taking another and starting to dry your hair.

“I'm sorry.” You mumble, finally calming down a little.

“It's alright. You needed this.” He stops before you, a towel in his hands, keeping a certain distance. You're about to question that when you notice he's trying not to position himself in between your legs. Keanu is such a gentleman. “You haven't broken down about it yet, and Dr. Harris warned me about this.”

“I just...” You don't know what to say, so you just take a deep breath, grabbing Keanu's shirt and pulling him to you. You don't mind him being this close. You need him, now more than ever. “If I didn't have you Ke, I... I don't know what I'd do.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you feel as the towel falls from your shoulders.

“You won't ever have to know.” He assures you, a hand caressing your chin. “For better or worse, in sickness and health. Forever, sweetheart.”

“I'm falling in love with you.” The words come out fast, as you look into his beautiful dark eyes. “All over again.”

His lips break into a smile as he moves even closer, his sides brushing on the inside of your thighs. “I love you, (Y/N).” He whispers before bending down to kiss you.

• • •

The whole sky is coming down tonight as you watch the flashes of lightning that light up your room every once in a while. You've been trying to sleep for quite some time now, but all you manage to do is toss around, uncomfortable. You know exactly what you want to do, but you can't seem to gather enough courage.

Pushing yourself up, you run a hand through your hair. If you don't do this now, you'll just sleep here again. And you're tired of the guest room. Keanu is right there, two doors across the hall, and it's stupid to be here all alone when you can just go there and be with him.

So you swallow your cowardice and move, leaving the guest room and only stopping when you're before his door. He's probably sleeping by now and trying not to wake him up, you carefully turn the handle and push the door open. Keanu keeps it unlocked in case you need him. But the moment your close it behind your back, he moves, getting into a sitting position and eyes easily finding you despite the darkness.

“Sorry... I didn't mean to wake you up.” You have to raise your voice a little to make yourself heard through the small distance and above the sound of the rain. “I just... I think I'm ready to sleep here with you now.” Slowly, you walk to the bed, stopping by the edge. “If that's alright.”

“Of course it is.” He says, and you climb on the bed, still timid, lying down next to him.

You can see his face when lightning crosses the sky, and it makes you smile. Even though you're right next to him, it's not enough. You want more, so you hold your breath as you move, slowly at first, snuggling closer to him. “I-is it alright?” You mumble, stopping suddenly, holding your upper body with your elbow.

“Come here,” Keanu says softly, pulling you down until you have your head on his chest.

That's when you finally feel comfortable, eyes closed as you feel his breathing, as you listen to his heartbeat. “Can I sleep here from now on?”

“You don't have to ask, beautiful. This is our bedroom. And it's great to finally have you here with me.” He places a kiss on the top of your hair and you softly caresses his chest.

“This is good.” A thunder swallows your voice, so you repeat. “This is very good.”

“It is, beautiful.” His huge hand comes to your belly, gently rubbing it. “It is.”

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves #imagine keanu reeves #john wick imagine #john wick fanfiction #john wick x reader

[giorno-plays-piano]

You were all I wanted

Pairing: mob!Peter Parker x plus-sized!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, swearing, kidnapping, human trafficking, slight mention of body shaming, allusion to non-con.

Words: 2195.

Summary: You are bought by the head of Stark crime family for a kid he cares about.

P.S. Peter is an adult!

__________

"We hope you are going to enjoy your new girl, Mr. Stark." The man loosened his grip on your shoulder as he let you march straight into the arms of a stranger in a fancy striped suit and big frightening men with guns surrounding him.

"Nah, this one isn't for me." The stranger who bought you brushed it off as if your presence meant nothing. "She's a present for the boy. Peter, where the fuck are you?"

You almost jumped at his loud voice, keeping your head low and watching your unstable feet. Well, you expected as much - before you that mysterious Mr. Stark bought one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your life. Her striking black hair was shining even in the dim lights of the dressing room where all captured girls were taken care of before the start of the auction. She costed twice more than you and had much more admirers - you remembered how men were shouting, trying to outbid each other. You weren't that popular, but still ended up being purchased by the same man she was. Now it all made sense.

"I'm here, Mr. Stark!" A young boy's head popped out in the crowd of other buyers, and he emerged right in front of you with a long men's coat in his hands. "I'm sorry it took me so long!"

"Look at this gent." The man smirked at him, and his guards laughed a little at the boy's enthusiasm. "So caring! I hope you're not going to take the girl straight to church?"

Now there was an inappropriately loud burst of laughter, and you bit your own tongue. They all were a bunch of bastards, but your life depended on them now. You needed to keep your mouth shut if you wanted to make it out alive.

The boy smiled brightly at his patron and looked at you with sparkles of happiness in his dark eyes. Oh, at least he was more or less pleased with the way you looked, you thought.

"Congrats with your first girl, Peter." Mr. Stark's smug grin suddenly turned warm at the sight of the boy who was almost jumping with excitement in front of him. "You're sure she's the one you want? I can still get a replacement if you've changed your mind."

"No, no, Mr. Stark, she's perfect for me!" Once the man in the suit nudged you to come closer to the boy, Peter gently wrapped your shoulders into the coat he carried and smiled at you widely. "Thank you so much for your present, sir!"

"Enjoy, kid." His patron smirked and motioned to the men waiting for him. "Let's get going then, I have business to attend to."

Judging by their nasty smirks, his business had something to do with that gorgeous black-haired woman they took somewhere earlier. You did your best not to throw up at the thought of him forcing her down her knees.

"Can you walk?" The boy suddenly asked you quietly, and you blinked. "Do you want me to carry you?"

Nice joke. The guy looked twice slimmer than you, skinny as a rail. You'd break him in half, probably. You weren't sure whether he was mocking you, but it was obviously not the right time to throw a temper tantrum.

"I can walk. Thank you." You mumbled and made a step towards those men who were already leaving.

"Ok. Come with me then." You thought his boyish smile looked pretty.

You walked past other girls dressed in expensive flashy lingerie adorned with glitter, sequins, and laces. Some of young women were as terrified as you were, their faces red with tears; the others seemed strangely happy, shouting something to each other and giggling in front of their new masters - you thought those girls were prostitutes or someone of the same kind because the idea of laughing happily after being bought like a piece of clothing didn't sit well with you. You spotted a few more ladies who were still unstable on their feet because they were given too much drugs, probably. Two dozens women, maybe more, were gathered in a place like that to become someone's property. Like you did now.

It was cold outside despite September being usually warm in New York. You had never lived here before, but one of your friends moved in the Big Apple two years ago and was always talking about nice weather they often enjoyed.

"It's right over there." The boy pointed to one of the cars in a long row of them, Mr. Stark already getting inside a ridiculously fashionable one. Peter's old Honda was nowhere near that, but you were relieved. It made you feel like you weren't taken to some scary place full of criminals waiting to fuck the shit out of you.

The kid opened the door for you like you were some fairytale princess or something, and you got inside, holding the coat that almost slipped from your shaking shoulders while the boy quickly landed on the driver's seat. You couldn't guess his age, but if he drove the car he was probably older than 16.

"I'm so sorry, I know you're cold." He glanced at your silk robe beneath the coat, your legs bare - you had nothing but fluffy slippers on your feet. "It'll get better in a minute."

What a considerate little guy. If he didn't show up with that overconfident mobster who looked like he owned New York, you'd think Peter was some sweet high schooler who spent his weekends working in an animal shelter. But you weren't stupid to believe his innocent looks.

At one point you thought he might be Mr. Stark's illegitimate son, but something told you  it wasn't that. The way Peter looked at him with adoration proved that the man was more of his patron as you suspected from the very beginning.

"I know they didn't feed you today, so I brought you some chicken soup." He said and reached to grab something from the back seat - you glanced at the metal food jar thermos that softly landed on your naked lap.

Did he bring you food? For real? No, it must be some trick - there were drugs or something like that there, for sure. Why else was this guy playing the role of your mother, for God's sake?

"You're not allergic to chicken, are you?" Kid looked concerned, watching the troubled expression on your face. "Oh shoot, I didn't check your allergies!"

"I'm not allergic." You quickly replied, afraid to make him upset.

He was getting restless too fast, you thought. Peter really behaved like a kid. What was that Mr. Stark told him after the auction? Something like "congrats with your first girl", wasn't it? So, it probably meant Peter had never been with a woman before. Not that you had been with a man, either. Maybe that's why he picked you.

But it also could be all an act. Teenagers weren't getting slaves to take care of their sexual needs. Maybe this Peter wasn't as young as you thought, and in fact he was some psycho who planned to drug, rape and murder you.

Either way, he would get mad if you didn't get started with that soup - you could read it in his face.

Opening the jar, you felt a delicious smell filling your nostrils when your stomach made an ugly sound. Damn, you had never been so hungry in your entire life.

The truth was the supervisors who took care of all the girls before the auction made you starve for two days "to get you in shape". They said you were too fat and they had to do something to make you at least a bit more presentable.

"Well, if I'm going to die, I will die with a full stomach." You thought gloomly and started gulping down the warm soup. It tasted heavenly good.

The boy watched you in awe as if you were becoming more and more beautiful with eash sip.

"I'm not much of a cook, but Aunt May managed to teach me to make a chicken soup." He said with a sudden warmth to his voice. "So, um, don't worry, you won't die of starvation with me."

You forced yourself to smile at his attempt to make a small joke. As far as you were concerned, your body was perfectly okay even after you finished eating. Maybe the drug took longer to start affecting you, but maybe you were just lucky and there was nothing in the soup at all.

All of a sudden, Peter's phone started ringing, and he took it from the pocket of his jacket immediately.

"Where the fuck are you again, kid?" You could hear Stark's thundering voice even from your seat.

"I'm sorry, sir!" The boy squeaked and adjusted his seatbelt. "We're coming!"

____________

The room he brought you to was fairly large and comfortable to your tastes: there were a comfy king-sized bed, a huge table with a dozen of oddly-looking gadgets and two screens, a chair, a drawer and a closet. There was also a newly-bought TV that wasn't set up yet, and a microwave on a side table.

"I'm terribly sorry for the mess." Peter apologized to you as if you were his parent who came to scold him. "Don't worry, I'll take it all away. Please come and sit here."

He briefly gestured to the bed, and you bit down on your lower lip nervously. The kid was fast.

You didn't talk much in the car since you were waiting for the drug to kick in, but nothing happened. As for Peter, you thought that he was too shy to talk, but maybe he just didn't want to. In the end, he asked his patron to buy you for a very different reason.

"The bathroom is over there. You can take your shower, if you want." He smiled childishly at you.

How could he keep such innocent face when he was about to rape you?

You gathered whatever courage you had left and said, "C-can we talk?"

The boy froze on the spot and dropped whatever gadget he was holding back on the table. You glanced at his skinny boyish figure, that dark ruffled hair and a really pretty face - he looked like your neighbor's sweet son who would climb a tree to get a cat stuck up there back to the ground.

"Of course!" Peter landed on the bed close to you, watching you with his undying enthusiasm. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Why did you choose me?"

You really wanted to know. You weren't the usual goods they sold on that auction, the human traffickers said. Though there were a few girls who weren't breathtakingly beautiful, most of the ones brought there were well above average women. They looked like they came straight from Victoria's Secret Show.

"Well... um." You could see his ears getting red. "You're... pretty. I like you."

Huh, funny. Why did you ask? The answer was obvious - you were cheap. Mr. Stark didn't want to spend too much money on a present for the kid, so Peter had rather limited choice, probably.

"Why are you getting upset?" He sounded so concerned that you made yourself smile again to calm him down. Anyway, it was better to be grateful. You were almost sold to some disgusting old man. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, you didn't. I'm sorry." You hurried to say. "I'm sorry you didn't get anyone better than me. That place was full of magnificent women."

What the fuck were you saying? Did you seriously think those poor souls deserved to be sold like cattle just because they were prettier than you? God, you were so messed up.

"Wait, no!" The boy grabbed your hands in his and made you flinch involuntarily. "No, no, you're beautiful! I chose you because I like you more than anyone else."

Bewildered, you looked at his worried expression, his eyes staring at you intensely while you squeezed your thighs together. Hearing the boy say that felt very odd, but kind of... comforting? Not many people ever called you beautiful, mind your mother and a few friends. It was stupid to think about it now when the one calling you that was the man whose property you had become, yet you couldn't help but get those little butterflies in your stomach.

You eyes watered, and you quickly wiped your tears away.

"People were treating you badly, weren't they? It's terrible." The boy pulled out a pack of napkins and took one, gently pressing it to your wet cheek. "But I swear I fell in love with you once I saw your photos on the website. You're the prettiest girl I've ever met, for real!"

When he removed the napkin, you saw his pupils dilating and felt his breath becoming ragged, heavy. One of his hands rested on your thigh as he leaned closer to you and sniffed your hair. Your body went stiff.

"No one gonna say anything nasty to you from now on. I'll make sure of that."

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint @msruchita @opheliadawnwalker3

#peter parker x reader #dark peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #peter parker #spiderman #spidey #yandere #tom holland

[firewoodfigs]

Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :) 

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai) 

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.  

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”  

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.  

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep? 

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #young royai #yesss I'm back with my young royai corniness... sorry not sorry... #what about it!!! uwu #also Roy Mustang vs carrots L O L

[pina-342]

Enemies?

CHAPTER 1

High-school AU+Modern AU+My own AU

Xiao and and Aether are deadly enemies. They see every action of the other as a challenge. Their enemy relationship is well known in the whole school and both of em have pretty much fan girls they even see that as a challenge, the:who has more fangirls challenge currently Aether has 124 and Xiao has 120.

Aether was just sitting at his desk in school and thought about different things, when suddenly a foot kicked his chair.

"hey dumbass I challenge you" it was Xiao aethers deadly enemy.

"to what you weakling?" aether asked

"who is faster I can't belive we've never did this after 7 years or rivalry"

"your right let's settle it right now"

Aether and Xiao both went to the schools sports ground.

After another student yelled:"1,2,3 GO" They both ran as fast as they could.

Fangirls were cheering and so did some of their friends. In the end Xiao finished with ease, while aether was out of breath. Aether wasn't much of the sporty guy but if he would've declined xiaos challenge he would have seemed even weaker.

Xiao was looking at aether. His shaking body and so out of breath gasping for some more air. Xiao smirked and looked away proudly.

"haha very funny Xiao just laugh at me if u wanna I wouldn't mind anyway"

Xiao looked at aether again with a serious face:"as if"

Dear lord Xiao is so h-annoying why can't he just let go of this challenge Thing? Alright Alright it's not as if aether would let go of it either.

When school was finally over, aether waited for his twin sister lumine so they could go home together.

"hey aether" a sweet voice called "hey lumi!" aether answered. his sister has appeared in front of him "soooo did sth happen with that idiot again?" well damn what do you think? He's such a pain in the ass" talking like that they went home together.

After they got home aether made them lunch, since it was his turn today.

His cooking skills were pretty awesome. Their parents were away on a business trip so they've made a cooking and cleaning plan and trx to make their best out that year without parents home. Hours passed and they are now sitting on the couch playing video games

"lumine how the heck are you so good at this game?!"

"hah no reasons I'm just better than you"she answered confidently

In aethers room

Before aether went to sleep he decided to try on some stuff. Stuff he wears in his freetime like crop tops. He would Never wear them to school or anything like that. The thought of Ppl seeing him in clothes like that would be embarrassing. He Slowly took off his tshirt as he suddenly was feeling watched. He checked his window Noone there...

Hm guess it was just my imagination

He continued to try on his new crop tops lumine brought with her for him when she went shopping with Noelle and amber last week but he hasn't gotten the opportunity to try the stuff on yet.

So he was standing in front of the mirror half naked with his hair down and crop tops he's just tried on in his hand.

What a nice sight.

The next day

Breakfast

Hey aether! Did u sleep well?

Yeah yeah I did but I had this rlly weird feeling when I was changing and when I went to bed something was odd.

He decided not to tell her everything about yesterday night...

Pff as if ur just imagining things aether don't worry anyways im soo Horny rn

With lumine?! First of all why did u change the subject so suddenly and 2nd no dudes for u in this house till u turn 18!

Tf u mean till I turn 18? You've had dudes before u turned 18 too!

Well yea but at least dudes can't preggo eachother

Hmpf well maybe ur right can I at least bring a girl?

Wtf man why are u even asking lumine I mean it's good ur asking I guess but uh I'm not interested in ur sexual life sorry lumine

Well whatever

At school

Art class

In art class aether sits next to Xiao unfortunately

welp what could I do about it anyways?

You've got it! Nothing.

If already tried everything in my power to get a different seat but apparently it's "impossible" what a drag.

Xiao was looking at aether different today. Not the usual "hah im better than u anyways" face... Just different. In the past 8 years(one year without rivalry) they've known eachother aether has never seen That look on his face. He didn't knew what Xiaos face said or could mean. Xiao slowly turned to Aether and gave him an awkward smile.

Why woudl Xiao smile at me just like that? Aren't we supposed to be enemies?

Xiao would've liked to say something but then decided not to. This awkward situation was weirding aether out so he just said :well then uhhh...u gonna say sth or are we just gonna keep quiet?

Hah as if I'd talk to you Xiao said

But u just did

No I didnt

You did it again

Fuck off aether

Never.

So this was my first chapter of "Enemies" (Xiaoaether fic) and also this is my first fic ever in gonna try my best to make the next chapter longer than this shit and maybe ur questioning why I'm writing on mf Tumblr don't ask me ask the gods. I just can't write anything on ao3 yet.

Ly guys<3

#Xiaoaether #adeptus xiao #aether #genshin impact

[angelsswirl]

Whatever Makes You Happy

Chapter 8: can i be your line

And I wanna feel like you've let me go

The pounding behind your eyes doesn't allow you to sleep the day away as you would have preferred.

Instead it urges you to peel back your eyelids and take in your surroundings. You immediately notice you're not in your own room. You also notice that you're practically wrapped around Lisa's arm like a koala.

You immediately scramble back, the goings-on of last night slapping you in the face harshly.

"There's some pain medicine and water on the table next to you." Lisa said. Her voice seems to be void of emotion, void of grogginess like she's been awake for awhile.

She's staring at the high ceiling, completely still, and once you let go of her arm, she pulled it back into her own side, about as far away from you as the bed would allow.

"...thanks." You scarf down the medicine and water. Willing the capsules to dissolve and give you some relief about as soon as they hit the back of your throat.

Lisa started to speak again, "Your new friend is...lovely." The sarcasm is so evident you're not sure why Lisa didn't just say how she really felt. That's what she would normally do when you didn't want to hear it.

"Jennie is an aquired taste."

"Clearly. I would have slept on the couch in my office but you wouldn't let me go."

You swallow, "Sorry."

Lisa doesn't say anything further. Her face only grew pensive, then she unceremoniously climbed out of the bed. And into the hallway. Away from you.

It's then that you had notice she slept (or didn't sleep) in her clothes. She was still wearing the clothes she had been when you left the previous day.

You couldn't imagine that she had been that comfortable. You couldn't imagine that she had been that comfortable with you.

You wondered if her distance had been caused by whatever Jennie had said to her when she dropped you off. You knew she said something, she wouldn't be Jennie if she hadn't, but you had absolutely no idea what. A consequence of drowning yourself in glasses of Don Julio.

Eventually, you had gained enough wherewithal to trek out into the kitchen as well.

You watched as Lisa quiet scurried around the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

"I didn't know you knew how to cook. I thought I always did it because you couldn't."

Lisa's jaw clenched lightly, "Who do you think did it before you were hired? You do it now because I'm...always working."

You fixed your mouth to say something further, but the twins padded into the kitchen groggy and bleary eyed. Their pajamas still strewn across their bodies oddly from the inevitable movement in their sleep.

"Morning, mom, y/n." They said in unison. You still haven't figured out if twin telepathy is actually a thing or if they're just messing with you because they know it freaks you out.

They sit at the counter, their breakfast already in front of them. There is a plate sort of haphazardly scooted in your direction.

You sit down at the counter next to the boys. Eyeing your eggs and bacon. You have half a mind to switch your plate with Kijung's just in case Lisa poisoned it.

But you take a bite. And three seconds later you're still alive so you decide it's probably safe to keep going.

"I'm going to go into work. I'll be back sometime in the evening."

Dohyung groaned loudly, while Kijung glared harsher than you knew a seven year old to be capable of.

"But today is your day off!"

Lisa glanced at you briefly, "Well now it isn't."

Kijung angrily pushed his plate away before scurrying off to his room.

Lisa rubbed her face tiredly, "Could you go handle that."

Lisa was talking to you, but Dohyung frowned as if she had been talking to him. He decided to run after his brother.

"They're not my kids. I'm just the nanny."

If there was ever a time when Lisa was tired of hearing that, it was right now.

"You go talk to them. Then either take them with you if you insist on running away from your problems like a coward or take them to Chaeyoung or your parents."

Lisa didn't verbally acknowledge that she had heeded what you said, but she did stalk off to the boy's room.

Ten minutes later, the boys bounce back into the kitchen, as happy as ever and fully dressed.

And you wish you could have that type of resilience when it came to Lisa as well.

"We're going to my parents." Is all she says before locking the front door behind her.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

You stare at your food for a moment before pushing it away. You grab your phone instead and dial a number with a huff.

She picked up on the third ring.

"This better be important, I was totally about to fuck my girlfriend in the shower."

"Ew. Jennie."

"You called me!"

"Anyway. What the hell did you say to Lisa last night?"

Jennie hummed as if she was thinking back, "Hmm. Can't tell you that. But I can tell you that if she took my advice then you're either getting laid tonight or you're getting fired. Don't think there's any room for anything inbetween those two outcomes."

"Jennie!"

"That's not how you say 'Thank you'..."

"I'm not going to thank you for getting me fired."

"So you'll thank me if you get laid?"

"No!"

"Hmph."

"Look, I just whatever you said to her made her a hell of a lot distant than she normally is. As soon as she woke up she couldn't wait to get away from me."

"Sounds like she heeded my warning, and is thinking over what she wants from you."

"Warning?"

"Oops. I said too much. Bye, y/n. Love you. Jisoo said she loves you too."

You rolled your eyes at the dial tone.

If this ended up just as badly as it had started you were going to murder Jennie.

.....

It's almost 7 pm by the time Lisa gets home. Sans kids.

You noticed something different about her the moment she walked through the door.

Lisa was always determined and she rarely ever took a step down a street without purpose. But something about the way she was all but stalking toward you felt...different.

And you could never ever tell what Lisa was thinking but you always knew how she felt.

So, when she walked up to you, and took your bottom lip between hers and gripped at the hem of your shirt like if she didn't she would spontaneously combust, you knew exactly what was about to happen, and you knew that it was going to end terribly. Nothing was going to come of it. But you couldn't stand the thought of stopping it.

Because.

This is what you wanted.

Right?

For her to feel nothing but your skin under her finger tips.

For you not to know where your body ended and hers began.

For you to feel nothing but pleasure instead of the overwhelming dread you had been.

For her to come to her senses, and leave  the hot confines of the bed and the damp fog of the room almost as soon as it was all over.

That was what you wanted?

Pain. And pleasure. But mainly just pain.

And yes, you knew it wouldn't end well. And you were right. It didn't end well.

But this.

Is exactly what you wanted.

It had to be.

#jesssica's fanfic #blackpink fanfic #blackpink #lisa x reader #lisa fanfic #whatever makes you happy #nanny au

[nevertherose]

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight: Chapters 1-8

"All Roman wanted to do was take Logan on a Doctor Who LARP within the Imagination.

But with Thomas's Sides at their figurative breaking point after the disastrous wedding, the Imagination may just have a few ideas of her own..."

Hello, Tumblr fanders, it has been a while since I've poked around in here...mostly because, I've been writing another story!

Do you like Sanders Sides? Do you like Doctor Who? Do you like the idea of the Sides playing Doctor Who characters? If so, this story was written especially for you.

I found that the process of cross-posting Mahogany and Teakwood across three platforms, one chapter at a time, involved a lot of me spending too many hours squinting at html code. Not especially fun. This time around, I've only been posting on AO3 and Wattpad.

But I wanted it to exist here as well.

So! Today I'm going to post the first half (in two posts, because apparently Tumblr has a post size limit, who knew?), all the chapters that are up so far. Then, when the whole story is up on the other platforms, I'll post the other half.

Of course, you could head to either AO3 or Wattpad, if you want to read as the chapters go up.

But if you're like me, and like to read stories in nice, big, juicy chunks...here you go:

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight

Chapter 1- The Eleventh Hour

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still cooking.”

Midnight.

The witching hour.

Or was that 3AM? Roman wondered. No, that’s the devil’s hour…damn it, Virgil! You had to get them all mixed up!

It was nearly midnight on the Imagination’s border.

Moonlight, pearlescent and brighter than it could ever shine in the real world, streamed feather-light through the tall windows on Roman’s side of the Dream Palace. It made patterns of light and shadow over the black marble floors, made nighttime caricatures of the white ivory statues that lined the corridor.

Roman’s heeled boots echoed in the silence; Logan’s dress shoes, in comparison, were whisper-quiet.

Logan himself had been uncharacteristically quiet since they entered this place, Roman noted, glancing back. Normally by now the logical Side would have asked a million questions, made a million plans, or be several bullet points into a lecture about palace construction or the history of measurement units or some other nerdy, obscure subject.

And Roman would either pretend to be annoyed, or would interject witty counterpoints to make Logan stop and bluster and…

But not tonight.

Maybe he’s nervous about being here, Roman told himself, smoothing a hand over his red sash. He’s only pointed out a million times that Logic and the Imagination are anathema to one another. Maybe I should have planned something else…

Or maybe he’s just annoyed at you for dragging him out of bed in the literal middle of the night, a more insidious inner voice whispered. When you know he likes to keep a consistent sleep schedule.

Roman pressed his lips together, lifted his chin…he might be a mere facet of a single personality, but he was also a Prince, and Princes do not listen to inner demons. However, he also looked back for the dozenth time to make sure Logan was actually still following.

That was the only reason Roman kept looking back.

It had nothing to do with the way the translucent moonlight caught the other Side’s dark, immaculately kept hair, or glinted off his glasses.

In the real world, of course, and whenever they manifested near their Source, the Sides all had precisely the same face and body as Thomas. But deep inside the mind, where physical appearance was an illusion anyway, the Sides exercised much more control.

Thomas remained their base template, but each Side also tended to portray himself with features that Thomas associated with their core function. Like Patton’s fluffy curls and childlike freckles, or Virgil’s anxious, ever-changing eyeshadow, or Remus’s abominable comic-book villain mustache.

Like Deceit’s…no, Janus’s very real scales.

Damn that snake. Why did I have think of him now?

Hopefully the lying bananaconda had better things to do than pop up and spoil things tonight. Because tonight, Roman was finally fulfilling a longtime promise to Logan, and taking him on a grand adventure.

The thought made his heart flutter in anticipation, and he looked back again.

Logan within the mindscape was leaner than Thomas, an inch or two taller, and his neatly trimmed hair and intelligent eyes were almost black in the low light. His face was narrow and intense, the nose more aquiline, and he had a habit of standing straighter than any of the rest of them.

(A habit which constantly showed off his trim waist and chest muscles…not that Roman paid any attention to that…)

Roman, by contrast, was a bit shorter, but his shoulders were broad and he was more muscular, due to all the questing and sword fighting he did here in the Imagination. He wore his hair in longish disarray that paired devastatingly with his clean, square jawline; hair that could be turned loose and wild on quests, or pulled neatly back as befitted royalty. His hands were strong; with long, artistic fingers, as skilled at wielding pens and paintbrushes as they were at wielding swords.

He liked to think he was handsome.

He was also painfully aware of how little it mattered when a certain someone…ehem…never seemed to notice.

“Roman, I confess to still being a bit lost as to the purpose of this journey,” Logan said at last, breaking the high-ceilinged silence. “You said you were taking us on a…’lark’? If so, why are we wandering around the Dream Palace?”

“LARP,” Roman corrected, flashing him a smile. “L-A-R-P. It stands for live action role play, Specs.”

Logan’s nose wrinkled at the words “role play”, and Roman’s stomach lurched. He hates it, he hates the very idea of it, you haven’t even started yet and you’ve already failed…

“Oh, don’t make the scrunchy face!” he added, a bit louder than necessary, and waved a hand. “At least wait until you’ve seen it.”

Roman had only been planning this for weeks.

“You know, when you promised to take me on one of your ‘adventures’,” Logan said, making finger quotes. “I was not expecting to be roused from bed in the middle of the night.”

“That’s because this isn’t your average adventure.” Roman gestured around them. “I constructed a special dreamscape to get all the details right, and we can only use the Dream Palace when Thomas is asleep.” He turned and dared a wink. “Only the best for you, my detail-oriented friend.”

Logan adjusted his glasses.

“Let it be known that I am indulging your antics right now because you have, on occasion, had some good ideas. You will, in turn, have to indulge my skepticism.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but I’m gonna pretend it was a compliment,” Roman said with a wink, which Logan rolled his eyes at.

“Ah ha, here we are!”

Roman stopped at a set of iconic blue doors, nearly vibrating in excitement as he waited for Logan to recognize them.

The nerd did not disappoint.

“Roman…” Logan murmured, stepping forward to touch the white PULL TO OPEN sign. “They look just like the doors to the TARDIS. The attention to detail is exquisite. But why?”

“Because I’m taking you on a Doctor Who LARP!” Roman exclaimed, flapping his hands. “All we have to do is step through, and the Imagination will make us Doctor and companion, and whisk us away through all of time and space!”

Logan’s face was a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “Again…why?”

“Because it will be fun?” Roman bit his lip, looking at his toes. “I…I know you aren’t into swords and sorcery and dragon-witches and whatnot. I wanted this to be something you might actually enjoy.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, as it often did when he tried to process something that didn’t fit neatly into his graphed, notated, logical worldview.

Usually, it was an emotion.

“But won’t us enacting such an intense scenario at this time of night negatively affect Thomas’s sleep?” Logan asked.

“That’s the genius of adventuring in the Dream Palace,” Roman explained. “You can do hyperreal, immersive stuff, and if Thomas does happen to remember anything, he’ll just think he had a weird dream. The worst that could happen is he might post about it on Twitter.”

“Hmm. I can see you’ve thought this through. I am…flattered that you went to all the trouble,” Logan said in a quiet voice.

Roman had to bite back an ecstatic giggle.

Not…not because of the way his nerves skittered below his skin when his gaze caught Logan’s black eyes and soft expression. No, Roman was merely…excited! That someone like Logan appreciated his hard work!

It wasn’t like he was trying to impress anyone, like some middle school boy with, you know, a crush or whatever. For the last, well…two years.

…and then some.

Ugh. There was little point in denying his feelings; he’d only accidentally summon Janus and his oily smirk, and if that happened, Roman would most certainly die of embarrassment and that was not a lie, thank you very much.

The truth was, ever since Thomas had placed that jar of Crofters into Logan’s hands and inspired him to sing…not just rap, or begrudgingly harmonize, but actually sing…Roman had fallen, and fallen hard.

How could he not?

Logan’s words and ideas had always challenged him, pushed him to be smarter, sharper, better, just to keep up. Logan was the grounding anchor to his sails, the clarity to his excess. It used to infuriate Roman, the way he and Logan always came at problems from opposite sides and fought, sometimes bitterly, over the best way to meet in the middle.

But now?

Now Roman relished the way they traded words in a good fight, like blades in the hands of expert swordsmen. Logan, despite his dislike for anything fanciful, was a natural wordsmith…and Roman was a great lover of poetry. Even better, it seemed like Logan was also starting to enjoy their verbal sparring matches…

And then these last few months had happened.

The Decision, and Deceit, and the way that snake had let Remus out of the shadows to wreck havoc, and then the disastrous wedding itself…and Roman knew that Logan, through all of it, had been feeling pushed aside.

Goodness knew the logical Side hadn’t deserved to be shoved to the back of a courtroom, or relegated to a pixel-y shadow of himself before being removed from the discussion entirely. Worse, in both of those scenarios, Roman had either done nothing…or actively made things worse.

Roman knew he was guilty of letting his mouth run wild in his zeal to solve Thomas’s dilemmas…or in desperately hiding his true feelings. He knew his nicknames often came with barbs, his insults sometimes hit too close to home, that he often ignored or dismissed Logan’s cool, much-needed perspective.

He knew he needed to be better.

I’ll make it up to him tonight, Roman told himself as he laid a hand on the rough wooden blue doors and glanced back at Logan. The logical Side nodded, giving Roman a tiny burst of confidence.

He’ll get to play his favorite character and be his best nerdy self. This is going to be great!

Roman took a breath, and shoved open the TARDIS doors.

Chapter 2- Human Nature

“It’s all becoming clear now. The Doctor is doing the things you’d like to be doing.”

The blaring of a dozen sirens burst in Logan’s ears.

He was yanked across the threshold, Roman’s hand practically a vice around his wrist. Logan inhaled the sharp scent of metal and warm electronics, and a million figurative lights went off in his brain.

Being the physical incarnation of Logic, this wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar sensation.

The TARDIS shuddered…wait, TARDIS? We’re actually on the TARDIS?…under impact. Lights flashed; reds and greens over an ambiance of steely blue-gray, and Logan knew exactly what to do.

He shook free of Roman’s grip and strode to the center console…console, how do I know this is a console?…flipping several switches and turning the green dial to precisely 3.56 degrees to offset the radiation sheer from the M-class star they’d just spun past.

Because naturally they happened to be careening through an asteroid field.

The time rotor rose and dipped, Gallifreyan symbols whirling overhead; Logan adjusted shields and dodged rocks, striding confidently from station to station. He guided his TARDIS around the last large asteroid, one that easily could have smashed his beloved ship to bits, and then they were clear.

The TARDIS chimed reassuringly under his hands, relieved to be in empty space again.

Roman screamed.

The sound echoed off the metallic walls, causing Logan to whip around and nearly lose his balance.

“What happened?” he said sharply, leaving the console. The creative Side stood near the railing, staring down at himself in obvious dismay. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at me, Logan!” Roman said shrilly and gesturing at his body. “Just look!”

Logan examined his fellow Side. There were no obvious injuries he could see, no blood, no bruising, nothing that would merit a scream. There was just Roman, unfairly handsome as always.

(He still wasn’t sure how Roman managed that feat when they all literally, at least some of the time, had the same face.)

“I…don’t see a problem?” Logan asked slowly.

“I meant, look at what I’m wearing, Calculator Watch,” Roman snarled, and turned to yell nonsensically at the ceiling. “Am I a joke to you? When I said I wanted to be a companion, this is not what I meant!”

Logan focused on Roman’s clothing, which had shifted rather drastically since passing through those doors. His normal princely attire was replaced by a denim cutoff skirt, overalls, pink leggings, and a tight pink blouse that clung to his muscular chest and arms...

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Roman murmured, scuffing a combat boot against the metal grated floor. The motion drew Logan’s gaze again to the way the cutoffs hugged his hips and wow, that skirt was really short, wasn’t it?

And those tights, the way they accentuated Roman’s legs...

Logan frowned, his face feeling unusually warm. Why did he keep noticing these things? Of course Roman was more fit than the rest of them.

Perhaps it was simply that Logan didn’t usually see the evidence of it so…plainly.

Stop, Logan told himself sharply. You might be gay and allosexual, but that is no excuse to be disrespectful.

He cleared his throat.

“If I may, Roman?” he said, approaching, and made a closer examination of Roman’s outfit.

“I gather from your earlier ranting that you instructed the Imagination to cast you as one of the Doctor’s companions for the duration of this scenario?”

“Well, yeah,” Roman admitted, “but I was thinking someone like Jamie McCrimmon, or Rory Williams, or maybe even Jack Harkness!”

“You know there is some debate over whether Jack Harkness would be considered a proper ‘companion’, as he was never full time on the TARDIS,” Logan argued absently, still eying Roman’s ensemble.

It was attractive but also familiar; he just couldn’t quite place it…

“Neither was Clara Oswald at first, but nobody had a problem handing her that label from the start!” Roman folded his arms and Logan had to look away because wow, short sleeves and arms…

“Just because she was a girl and the writers obviously intended for her to be a love interest—”

“A girl, of course!” Logan snapped his fingers. “Roman, you are a companion. Specifically, you are Rose Tyler.”

“What?” Roman frowned, smoothing the overalls across his middle. “I…Hmm. You might actually be right.”

“Of course I am right.”

The creative Side scoffed at that, but continued to frown.

“I think it’s a good choice,” Logan added. “Rose is arguably one of the most beloved companions in new Who; bold, kind, and intelligent in her own way. She was pivotal to the Ninth, Tenth, and arguably the War Doctor’s character arcs.”

He laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder. (To convey reassurance, of course. Not because he suddenly wanted to touch…)

“Hers are not the worst shoes you could be given to fill,” Logan said, “idiomatically speaking.”

“Only you would drop a word like ‘idiomatically’ in everyday conversation,” Roman grumbled, but some of the spark returned to his caramel eyes.

“But look at you!” Roman said in a brighter voice, gesturing. “All proper and Doctor-ish. At least the Imagination let you keep your tie, or, whatever that thing is around your neck.”

Logan glanced down at himself for the first time.

His sensible polo and jeans had become a clean-cut black suit, with a warm grey waistcoat, a crisp white undershirt, and a silver pocket watch. A navy cravat was knotted around his throat.

His knee-length suit jacket was also black, with a striking cerulean lining.

He retrieved a slender, metallic something from the jacket’s inner pocket: of course, the Doctor’s signature sonic screwdriver. Specifically, the Tenth Doctor’s screwdriver.

Logan chuckled, remembering all the times he’d ranted to Roman about how impractical and flashy Eleven’s screwdriver became, and don’t even get him started on Twelve’s, it was practically a lightsaber…

“Interesting,” he murmured, stretching his arms to turn in a slow circle, letting the jacket flare. “Fashionably, I appear to be a cross between the Eighth and Twelfth Doctors, which I appreciate, as they are the two most sensible dressers of the bunch. And by the way, Roman, this is a called a cravat, not a tie…”

He’d lifted hands to his neck but the words died on his tongue.

Roman had summoned a mirror and was, quite literally, checking himself out. He swayed his hips, tilted one toward and then away from the mirror, pouted, did a tongue smile, and…and Logan realized he had been watching for more than a socially acceptable length of time.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat again. But he was saved from having to speak by a loud crackling at the center console.

Both Sides rushed over, Logan seizing the TV screen and pulling it down. Gray static skittered over the polished surface. He flipped two switches and turned a dial, trying to zero in on the signal.

“I meant to ask earlier…how do you know what to do?” Roman asked, tilting his head. “You were piloting before I think you even realized we were on a TARDIS in the first place.”

Logan froze in the middle of winding one of the cranks.

“I…I really do not know.” In fact, the more he thought about it, the less sense any of the controls made. “Now that you’ve drawn my attention to it, you are correct: rationally, I should not know the function of any of these…gizmos.” He gestured at the crank he’d been winding.

“Yet somehow my hands just…know.”

Roman leaned casually onto the console.

“When I built this LARP, I gave the Imagination quite a bit of leeway in how it wanted to construct our characters,” he said. “I’m thinking it took things a step further than costume changes, like making me the companion it thinks I most resemble instead of the companion I wanted to be.”

Roman bit his lip as though troubled, then clearly shook himself out of it.

“And it must have imparted some of the Doctor’s knowledge upon me.” Logan added, not sure how he felt about the Imagination having such a direct influence over his mind. He supposed if it didn’t get too invasive, and was confined to this one night, he could deal with it.

It had proven useful so far, after all.

Roman shot Logan a fierce grin.

“Indeed! So engage that big Doctor brain and let’s see who’s trying to call us. Allons-y, adventure awaits!”

“You know ‘allons-y’ is my line, right?” Logan said dryly.

He had to use his screwdriver on the screen before the picture came clear. The stream of static acquired the cadence of a voice…and then a disturbingly familiar face stared back at his own, looking equally shocked.

Roman, for the second time since entering the TARDIS, let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Chapter 3- The Witch’s Familiar

“If you’re going to take my stick, do me the courtesy of actually killing me. Teamwork is all about respect.”

Janus had just settled into his favorite chair with a mug of chamomile tea and a political science book when he was yanked…rather rudely, he might add…onto the deck of a spaceship.

He sighed, and dismissed his drink.

When one lived in the same mindspace as the literal embodiment of chaos, one unfortunately learned to expect such interruptions.

“REMUS!” he roared, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did I not specifically ask to be LEFT ALONE tonight?”

Silence.

Deeply annoyed now, Janus took a moment to look around himself. This was not a normal spaceship; no windows, for one, and it was laid out in levels around a translucent column at the very center. His mismatched eyes followed the center rotor up and down, his mind almost placing it…

Something clumsily rose up from the deck with a clatter, causing Janus to summon his crook with a yell.

Only…the object that dropped into his hand wasn’t smooth wood, but a slender metal instrument just barely longer than his hand. A…sonic screwdriver? What the actual heck?

Well. It was what he had.

“Get back!” He pointed the instrument at the…figure…who still slowly climbed to its feet. It was an android or robot of some sort; humanoid, and the same kind of weirdly familiar as the ship.

“Janus?” the robot said, tilting its head.

Janus froze, all the scales standing up on his body. That was…that was Patton’s voice. Flat, mechanical, but unmistakable.

After all, Patton was the only Side who consistently called Janus by name.

“Patton?” Janus whispered.

“Oh, that was so weird-feeling! Thank goodness I’m not all by myself,” Robot-Patton said, putting a hand over his…well, where his heart should have been…in obvious relief. “But why are we both suddenly on the TARDIS?”

Janus drew in a sharp breath.

Of course, he should have recognized the stupid time rotor immediately. He’d never admit it to any of them, but he was as much of a Doctor Who nerd as Logan or Roman, sometimes going so far as to spy on them when they argued over episodes together.

To learn their arguing styles, of course.

Not because he had any desire to join those discussions.

And now, looking at Patton with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Janus deduced exactly what he was: a Mondasian Cyberman. They were older and cruder in design than the reboot versions…no wonder he hadn’t put a finger on it right away.

That wasn’t really the issue.

“REMUS!” Janus shouted again, more angrily this time. Bad enough his pleasant evening of solitude had been interrupted by…whatever this was. But putting the sweetest, most emotional Side into a canonically unemotional shell, a robot?

That was cruel. That was insulting.

It was too far, even for Remus.

“Janus, is everything okay?” Patton asked, coming closer. Janus shivered at the sound of that warm voice coming from a blank metallic face with empty eyes.

“Do you…feel all right?” Janus said in a hesitant voice.

“I’m a little chilly, but otherwise I’m in ship shape!” the other quipped, giggling. “Get it? Cause we’re on a ship?”

Is it…is it possible that he doesn’t know?

“Hilarious,” Janus deadpanned, but inside his thoughts spun.

He sensed they were in a dream construct within the Imagination, which meant this had to be Remus’s doing. Remus, who reveled in gore, despair, disturbing imagery, angst, and who was in charge of Thomas’s nightmares.

Remus could…and would, given the chance…recreate the experience of being a Cyberman down to the Last. Grim. Detail.

Maybe he hadn’t meant to ensnare Patton specifically to fill this role…Remus didn’t generally pull other Sides in for nightmares, come to think of it…but meanwhile, Janus didn’t want to find out what this might do to Patton’s head.

Worse, it was becoming clear that Patton was somehow oblivious to the state of his own body; he’d used his metallic hands to clutch at his metallic chest and found nothing wrong with either. He couldn’t hear the electronic rasp in his own voice, or the heavy clanging of his steps on the grated floor.

Should Janus say something?

Would Patton believe him if he did?

Ever since Thomas’s near mental breakdown after the disastrous wedding, Patton and Janus had orbited around each other in a state of tenuous truce. They talked now, sometimes, and those talks didn’t always end in arguments. Patton began to leave space for him by Thomas’s blinds when he was called up, and he…and by extension Thomas…occasionally actually sought his input.

But Janus, well.

Janus was still a liar.

The others still called him Deceit, either by accident (Logan) or out of spite (Virgil). Then there was Roman, who invented a colorful, wounding ego-jab for him every day, and Remus, whose fond nicknames tended to double as sex jokes.

Having no other real allies in the mindscape, Janus really, really didn’t want to screw up his tenuous alliance with Patton. Why sabotage his figurative “seat at the table” over one of Remus’s stupid nightmares?

Patton would assume Janus was slipping back into his old ways, lying just because he could, and Janus would never be able to prove otherwise. And later Patton would make that sour, pinched face he always made when he was disappointed, the one that made Janus want to crawl into a hole…

So.

Best to keep his observations close to the chest, for now.

“Do you have any idea what we’re doing here?” Janus asked, striding to the center console. True to dream logic, the controls made no sense and simultaneously made perfect sense.

Patton shrugged; a strange, clanky motion of his shoulders.

Janus sighed. “Although Remus has dragged me into dreams before, even he generally understands the concept of consent.” He casually flapped a hand. “And he always leaves you ‘light sides’ alone.”

“Honestly, this doesn’t feel like a nightmare to me,” Patton said, nearly making Janus choke. The Cyberman clanked over to stand by the console.

“It’s too clean,” Patton added. “Roman let me glimpse Remus’s side of the Imagination once, not long after he showed himself to Thomas, and it was…”

Patton trailed off.

“Fragmented? Chaotic? Disturbing?” Janus supplied.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Patton said quietly. “This,” he waved a hand around, “feels more like Roman’s work.”

“I suppose you would know.” Janus ran a thoughtful thumb over his face, tracing the ridge that ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

“And I would almost have to agree,” he added slowly. “If this was a nightmare, surely something ghastly would have happened by now. But my being pulled into one of Roman’s creations makes even less sense. He literally cannot stand me.”

“Maybe this is one of those dreams Thomas has sometimes after binge watching a show?” Patton suggested. “When there’s enough material in short term memory that the twins don’t get much input? Did Thomas binge a season of Doctor Who yesterday or something?”

And to think the others still view you as stupid, or slow-witted.

Janus bit back a smile.

“It’s a good theory, Patton, but no,” he said. “Thomas hasn’t really binged on much of anything lately.”

Patton ducked his head.

“You don’t…you don’t have to rub it in, you know,” he said lowly, the metallic rasp grating on Janus’s ears. “You and Logan have both made it pretty clear that I’ve been too strict with Thomas’s time.”

Janus fought to keep his expression neutral, but his stomach twisted.

Damn it.

Leave it to Patton to find guilt where none was meant. Even if Janus claimed he hadn’t meant it like that, Patton would probably not believe him.

Patton tilted his metal head as he examined Janus’s face.

“Did you know you have a mustache now? And a little goatee?”

“I have a what?” Janus felt at his face and groaned, his gloved fingers tugging at hair that most certainly did not belong on his face; with the scales, it probably looked hideous.

His entire outfit had altered in subtle ways, he realized. His usual plum tunic and trousers were now a brown suit and waistcoat ensemble, crossed with yellow pinstripes, with a black collared undershirt. A brown, knee-length suit jacket replaced his caplet, with subtle gold trimming. His yellow gloves were unchanged, thank goodness, and his hat…?

His hands flew up to his head and found something perched over his hair, sitting at an angle. Janus yanked down a screen at the console and stared. His beloved bowler had shrunk into a tiny, flat, rakish thing with a wide brim, festooned with a cluster of yellow rosebuds and black beads.

“What on earth, Remus?” he grumbled, turning his head from side to side. Well, if he had to be honest, pinstripes and a hatinator weren’t a terrible look.

“Well, if we’re on a TARDIS, I guess you’re supposed to be the Doctor,” Patton pointed out. “Which would make me your companion.”

Janus stroked his goatee and examined their surroundings in more detail. But am I a Doctor? he wondered. And if so, which one?

And whose TARDIS is this?

Because while it was clear they were on a TARDIS…what other class of spaceship had a time rotor?…he wasn’t almost certain this was not the TARDIS.

Every corner of the Doctor’s ship, no matter which face it belonged to, tended to overflow with bright, shiny, eclectic whimsy. By contrast, this one was plain, stark, with exposed metal beams and sharp angles.

Too dark, too full of shadows.

An awful suspicion rose up in his mind.

He crossed to one of the bookshelves, ignoring Patton’s soft inquiry, and his jaw clenched. There was the Necronomicon, shelved between the Liber Inducens in Evangelium Aeternum and The Black Scrolls of Rassilon, Book of Vile and its Black Appendix, The Ambuehl Lores and the Insidium of Astrolabus.

Janus finally looked at the sonic device he’d been holding all this time; seeing now that it wasn’t a screwdriver at all, and thanked every god he knew that he hadn’t tried to use it on Patton earlier.

It was a sonic laser.

Once again, even in a stupid, nonsensical dream, Janus had been cast as the villain.

His fist had collided with the bookshelf before he even realized he was moving, books falling to the floor. He punched it again, and again, until a cool rigid hand closed around his wrist and yanked him back.

“Janus, Janus, stop!” Patton yelled in his ear.

Janus wrenched his arm away and stalked back to the console, running gloved fingers over his scales, pushing them up and smoothing them down. The familiar sensation grounded him.

“You were right, Patton,” he threw over his shoulder. “This is definitely one of Roman’s dreams, and he definitely fucking hates me.”

Patton’s heavy footsteps clattered behind him.

“Language. And how do you know that,” he asked. “…Doctor?”

Janus whirled, lips curled in a snarl.

“I am not the Doctor, Patton, and we are not on the TARDIS.” He spread his arms to encompass them both, gesturing to the dimly lit spaceship. “Look around. Look at me!”

He turned, slowly, and eyed his mustached visage in the dark view screen.

“Clearly, I am the Master.”

Chapter 4- Nightmare in Silver

“You think he knows what he’s doing?”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

Patton rested his arms against the console and sighed.

Once again, someone I care about is upset, and I don’t know what to do. I guess I should be used to it by now.

It didn’t help that it was so cold in this TARDIS. He folded his arms around his middle, which felt strange and heavy, to combat the chill that seemed to have settled deep in his bones.

Janus stalked past again, grumbling to himself.

“Of course the Prince would pull me into one of his little ‘adventures’ without my consent. He probably needed an antagonist. And naturally the slippery snake would have been the first person to come to mind!”

Patton opened his mouth…though he had no idea what he was going to say…but Janus drowned him out.

“Come on, Roman!” he shouted, throwing his yellow-clad hands up. “You’ve had your fun. Yes, I’m evil, I’m the villain, I’m the bad guy, blah blah. Let’s have our epic confrontation or whatever nonsense you have planned, as I would very much like to get back to my reading sometime tonight.”

Silence.

Patton didn’t know what Janus was expecting.

“Look, maybe we should just play along for now?” Patton said aloud, wincing when Janus turned his murderous expression on him. The deceptive Side had such deep, cutting golden eyes, the human one so much darker than the other…cynical eyes that were, ironically, almost impossible to lie to.

They’d see straight through it.

“It takes a liar to know a liar.”

The glare quickly softened, though, which in Patton’s opinion said a lot about how far Janus had come.

“And how do you propossse we ‘play along’?” Janus said, hissing his s’s in frustration.

“Well, we’ve kinda decided this is Roman’s dream, right? And since we’re in his part of the Imagination, we know he won’t let anything bad happen to us…”

Patton trailed off at Janus’s pained expression, reminded of just how badly Janus and Roman’s last encounter had gone.

“What are you, a middle school librarian?”

“Thank god you don’t have a mustache.”

And I just stood there and did nothing…no, I can’t dwell on that right now. Patton shook himself out of the memory.

It was surprisingly easy; even his emotions felt a little heavy and muted. He supposed he wasn’t used to being in a dreamscape; unlike Roman, who played in them all the time.

I know Roman, Patton reasoned. He might hold a grudge for a while, but he wouldn’t actually be out to hurt Janus.

Right?

“So, if we’re on a time ship, on some kind of adventure leading up to a confrontation like you said, the first thing we’d have to do is figure out where we need to go,” Patton finished, shrugging.

Janus pursed his lips…which looked downright weird with a mustache and goatee, almost making Patton giggle…and began pushing buttons on the console.

“You are definitely incorrect, Patton,” he said, pulling up another screen and flipping a few switches. “If I have been cast as the villain in this ridiculous charade, that means Roman is likely prancing around as the Doctor right now, on the proper TARDIS. Which, as the Doctor’s nemesis, I should be able to contact…ha!”

The screen burst into static.

“Doctor, oh Doctor, do you read me?” Janus crooned, and if Patton hadn’t known just how angry he was in that moment…well, he would have never known.

Janus had tucked it away entirely, in half a second's time.

That’s the scary thing about him, Patton realized uneasily. He’s smart, nearly as smart as Logan. Smart enough to run circles around me, that’s for sure. And he’s easily as good an actor as Roman.

Those attributes, combined with his naturally manipulative nature, made it difficult to trust him.

Patton was trying.

He’d been trying since the wedding, and well, since everything else that had happened. (Patton still cringed when Thomas encountered even a picture of a frog.) He’d done a lot of thinking and growing that day (in more ways than one!), and he’d come to a disturbing, but inevitable conclusion.

Janus wasn’t evil.

He never had been.

Just like Virgil had never been evil. Mean, sure; and sarcastic, and spiteful…but at his core, Virgil had wanted what was best for Thomas.

They all did.

And then there was the uncomfortable corollary to that: Patton, despite his best efforts, despite his core Purpose…Patton wasn’t entirely and automatically good.

Two weeks ago, Janus had proven beyond a doubt that Thomas needed him…ruthlessly, cuttingly, but no one could say he hadn’t made his point. It had been Patton who’d inadvertently pushed Thomas to the brink of a breakdown, and Janus who had to pull them all back.

Despite Patton’s unease, and the little voice in his head telling him that Deceit couldn’t be trusted, could never truly be trusted because it was in his nature to deceive…Patton remembered how they’d pushed Virgil so hard he decided to duck out, and how much of a tragedy that could have been if they hadn’t all intervened to bring him back.

With a pang of guilt, he pictured Thomas lying on the floor, crushed under the metaphorical weight of everything Patton needed him to do to keep from being a bad person…

He would not make those mistakes again.

If Virgil could learn to work with them instead of against them, so could Janus. If Patton could learn to recognize when his own Purpose did more harm than good, so could Janus.

Patton had to believe that.

He’d made too many mistakes lately to believe otherwise.

The screen in Janus’s hands cleared to reveal…

“What? Logan??” Janus exclaimed, as a scream echoed somewhere in the background.

“D—Janus?” Logan countered, then looked over his shoulder. “Roman, for the love of Archimedes, will you stop shrieking? I cannot hear.”

The screaming cut off and Roman’s fuming face squished into the frame with Logan.

“Deceit! I should have known you would show up to ruin this!” he managed to shout before Logan shoved him away.

“Ruin…I’m sorry, what?” Janus glanced at Patton, looking honestly confused. “Is he roleplaying right now? We assumed this scenario was Roman’s creation.”

Onscreen, Logan placed his whole hand against Roman’s mouth to prevent him from interrupting.

“It is. But to my understanding, it was only supposed to involve myself and Roman, and…wait. You said ’we’.” Logan peered around. “Who else is with you?”

Patton started to wave, but his view was blocked by Janus bending close to the screen to whisper something. Suspicion flared in Patton’s stomach; old, familiar, but after the talk he’d just given himself, he purposefully pushed it down.

I won’t assume he’s being shifty unless he actually gives me a reason to.

Lifting his chin, he crept forward until he was next to Janus’s shoulder.

“Hey, Logan,” he said brightly, waving.

“Ah…hello, Patton,” Logan squeaked after a moment, his eyes still wide.

“Wait, Patton’s there? With the snake?” Roman’s voice yelled from the background, and then there was Roman’s face again.

“Patton?” Roman said, narrowing his eyes. “But why are you—?”

Both faces disappeared for a moment as Logan yanked Roman out of frame. Patton thought he heard a rapid, hushed conversation. He glanced at Janus, who only shrugged, looking at puzzled as Patton felt.

Roman’s face reappeared, solemn and deeply annoyed.

“Patton,” he said, and hesitated. “D—Janus. You two…well, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Very reassuring,” Janus quipped.

“This was only supposed to be a two-person adventure: Doctor plus companion. I have no idea why the Imagination brought you both in as well; I certainly didn’t tell it to.”

“Aw, that’s okay, kiddo,” Patton started gently. “It’s not your fault—”

“Oh, sweetie.” Janus folded his arms. “I’m sorry, but that’s bull. Putting me in the Master’s shoes? Are we seriously going to pretend the Side who unashamedly hates me had nothing to do with that?”

“I didn’t!” Roman argued, his voice going high. “You really think I wanted you here, in any capacity?”

“Deceit…er, Janus, you are being unnecessarily antagonistic, and as such, unhelpful,” Logan cut in with his low, reassuring voice. “But Roman, it might behoove us to consider the role of subconscious influence. You may not have intended to pull the others in, and yet here they are.”

Roman looked at Logan, aghast, and Patton almost flinched at the raw hurt in his caramel eyes. The creative Side backed out of frame.

“So you’re on his side, too,” his voice said quietly. “Is that how it is?”

“I am not on anyone’s side,” Logan argued, raising his hands. “We are all currently in this situation together, and as such—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by another garbled transmission, taking over the screen and blocking out Logan’s face with crackly, purple static. A gray, snarling face flashed out of the haze, making Patton shriek in surprise and even Janus took a step back.

Then it was gone, dissolving back to static…and the sound of someone laughing filled the connection.

“Hellooooo, nurse,” a familiar sing-song voice crooned. “Did you miss me?”

Chapter 5- The Long Game

“You can’t just read the guide book, you’ve got to throw yourself in. Eat the food, use the wrong verbs, get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers. Or is that just me?”

Logan sighed.

He knew that voice; they all did. Even Thomas, unfortunately.

“Remus,” Roman hissed.

The mustached Side filled the screen, grinning madly. “Boo!”

“Get out of my scenario,” Roman said, his eyes flashing. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“Your scenario?” Remus echoed, faux-outrage in his expression. “Yours? The Dream Palace is my domain, too, brother, whether you like it or not.” He leaned closer, letting his nostrils and a single radioactive green eye fill the screen. “Did you really think you could keep me out?”

Roman made a sound of disgust deep in his throat.

“Am I to assume, then, that you are responsible for bringing in the other Sides?” Logan asked, careful to keep his voice even. Remus thrived on getting a rise out of people.

“Of course he is!” Roman snapped, throwing up his hands. “He loves to ruin things, especially my things.”

“Now why would having the others here ruin anything, brother?” Remus asked in a sickly sweet voice, propping his head on his hand. “Unless you intended for this nighttime romp between you and Logan to be private?”

Roman sputtered and glanced at Logan, red-faced, as Remus giggled.

“It was meant to be so, yes,” Logan supplied, unsure why Remus would find that funny…or why Roman would find it embarrassing.

“As amusing as this all is—” Janus’s crooning voice cut through the speaker.

“Great. You’re still here, snake?” Roman snarked, his arms folded around himself.

“We’re all listening, kiddo,” Patton’s metallic voice said.

Roman’s lips always curl into a pout when he is angry, Logan thought, eyeing him without turning his head, and he gets a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Why…why am I noticing such things all of a sudden?

Maybe it was the stress, or the unfamiliar environment.

Or maybe it was the Rose Tyler outfit.

That skirt ought to be illegal.

Logan deliberately focused on the screen, his cheeks warm.

“So this is kinda new,” Patton went on, “all of us actually talking—”

“If Remus is responsible,” Janus cut in again, “then perhaps he would be so kind as to explain the objective of this late night group therapy session?”

Despite the biting sarcasm, Logan did appreciate Janus’s insistence that they get to the point, even if it did mean talking over Patton…

Speaking of, why would Remus have paired Patton with Janus?

Surely he should have grouped Patton with Logan and Roman, and put Virgil with Janus? Or…maybe not, given how Virgil hisses if Janus so much as enters the same room.

Ugh. Interpersonal drama. Logan was thoroughly sick of trying to keep track of who carried a grudge against whom, especially when it seemed to change from day to day.

And on top of that, why would Remus make Patton a Cyberman? None of these decisions make any sense…

“Right?” Roman agreed softly next to him, and Logan realized he’d said that last bit out loud.

“If anything, I should have been the unfeeling killer robot,” Logan murmured.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Specs.” Roman shot him a strange look, both warm and troubled. “And frankly I don’t give a stinky rat’s ass about my stinky rat brother’s sick thought process. What I want to know is why Deceit doesn’t want us to mention it around Patton?”

Logan, who was still mentally stuck on rodents and donkeys…Roman’s metaphors were always something else…shook his head slightly.

“There’s no logical way Patton is unaware of his condition,” Logan pointed out. “So I can only guess he wishes to protect Patton’s feelings on the matter, by not allowing us to talk about it in front of him.” He shrugged when Roman’s frown deepened. “Those two have been getting along much better these last few weeks.”

“I think you’re giving the snake too much credit,” Roman muttered. “Even after he impersonated you, Logan? C’mon. It has to be something else.”

Logan bit back a sigh.

He doesn’t understand, he thought guiltily. Because he doesn’t know what really happened…

#

“This is unacceptable, Deceit,” Logan snapped, flinging the crook away from his body. “I was in the middle of a discussion—”

“He won’t listen to you,” Deceit had said, and there was no sarcasm or snark in his voice.

“Patton asked for my opinion!”

“And he dismissed you from the conversation the moment that opinion went against his preconceived notions!” Deceit snapped back.

Silence.

Logan could hear the others still talking, out in the real world…without him…as the misty dregs of subconscious curled around their feet.

“You tricked him.” Logan folded his arms. “He was scared and off balance and you gave him an out.”

“I didn’t make him take it!”

Deceit sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Logan. You know he is wrong on this. You know what this is doing to Thomas. His unquestioning, black-and-white, juvenile morality; it’s not working anymore. Thomas needs to grow up, and Patton is not letting him.”

Logan bit his lip.

“Logan.” Deceit moved closer, dismissing his crook into mist and setting both gloved hands on Logan’s shoulders. Logan stiffened.

“Logic. Please. I am…no good at this.” Deceit dropped his head, his hat obscuring his eyes. “I operate through deceit because that is the only way I can make them acknowledge me.”

“They don’t acknowledge you because you operate through deceit,” Logan pointed out.

“A perfect catch 22.” Deceit let out a bitter laugh. “But a snake cannot change its scales and I don’t…I have tried everything I know. I cannot fix this from the shadows. I am out of ideas.”

A strange thought entered Logan’s mind.

“You care. You care what happens to Thomas.”

Deceit looked up, his mismatched eyes glittering with stinging intensity. “I am the literal representation of selfishness. Why the hell else would I go to all this trouble if I didn’t care?”

“Well…” Logan trailed off, troubled.

He’d let the others get to him, he realized in that moment. He’d let Roman get to him, with his talk of evil and Dark Sides and how they were always trying to tempt Thomas off the right path.

But…they were all part of Thomas, even the so-called “dark sides”.

Of course they wanted what was best for him…well, what Remus wanted at any given moment was debatable…even if they didn’t always go about it in the healthiest of ways.

Deceit had laughed then, high pitched and bitter.

“Really? Really? Even you think so low of me?”

“You are manipulating me right now.” Logan frowned. “You are using my concern for Thomas to make me trust you.”

“Yes! I am!” Deceit got in his face, fangs flashing. “I am a manipulative bastard because that is the lens through which my Source perceives me. But that doesn’t matter because you, Logic; you see through me, always have. And you know perfectly well that logically, any objection you have to my personality or my methods does not change the fact that I. Am. Right.”

He punctuated each word with a poke to Logan’s chest.

“Deceit—” Logan started.

“Janus.”

“What?”

Deceit sighed. “My name. My…real name. It’s Janus.”

Logan blinked. He knew the mythology, of course: Janus, keeper of doorways and thresholds, looking simultaneously to the past and future. Two faces. Seeing things from every angle.

Self-preservation.

“It suits you,” Logan said quietly.

Tension bled out of Janus’s shoulders, a stiffness Logan hadn’t even realized was there until it was gone.

“Thank you.”

“Why am I here…Janus?” Logan asked, glancing away. “What do you need from me?”

Janus looked at him intently.

“Let me speak to them as you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, and Janus sighed, waving a hand.

“I know, I know, more deceit, more lies, but—”

“No, it’s…” Logan pressed his lips together. “You already pointed it out. They don’t listen to me, either.”

The bitter twist that accompanied those words was becoming an all too familiar sensation in Logan’s chest.

Janus snorted.

“Oh, they do. Eventually. They heeded your advice on how to deal with Remus.”

Logan shrugged uncomfortably.

“Look,” Janus added, “honest people know how to tell the truth, but liars…” he smirked, not especially nicely. “We know how to wield the truth to accomplish an end. I can pull Thomas and the others out of this rut, but they have to be receptive to my tugging on the reins.”

Logan pursed his lips.

“You won’t fool them. If you recall, you tried to impersonate me once already and barely lasted two minutes.”

“I didn’t have your blessing.”

Janus fixed Logan with his intense mismatched eyes again, and held out a hand.

Logan stared at it, torn.

This was Deceit, the master liar: Thomas’s entire capacity for deception condensed into a single, snake-faced Side. How could Logan possibly trust him to not make things worse, after all the falsehoods, the impersonations, how he’d manipulated them all in one way or another to get his way?

But…as much as Logan, personally, didn’t understand why that callback had been so important to Thomas…he could not dismiss the fallout Thomas had suffered as a result of missing it. The decision to attend the wedding had turned out to be a bad one.

Patton had been wrong to insist upon it over Janus’s objections, and over Roman’s.

Those were just the facts.

Janus sighed.

“I’ll unmask myself when an opportunity arises, if that would help,” he offered, and to Logan’s shock, slowly tugged off a glove. “I won’t…I won’t let it go on as long as it did with Patton.”

He offered his now bare hand to Logan again.

Out in the real world, Logan could hear Patton’s increasingly desperate and ridiculous responses to Thomas’s and Roman’s questions, and winced. Janus did the same.

“Please,” was all he said.

Logan sighed…it really couldn’t get any worse, could it?…and shook Janus’s hand.

#

In his TARDIS, Logan let out the sigh he was holding back.

He might have personal, concrete evidence that Janus wasn’t evil, but he also knew Janus had wounded Roman, badly, that day. The creative Side was simply not currently capable of viewing any situation involving Janus with any sort of objectivity.

Passionate, sensitive people like Roman tended to have an unfortunate habit of hanging onto grudges.

As Logic, Logan needed to remember that.

“Oh, all right,” Remus said, his voice crackling over the connection. “Since you’re all here—”

“Actually, Remus, we’re not all here,” Patton’s voice pointed out. “You all know perfectly well who we’re missing; we’ve done this before.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “‘Where is Anxiety?’” he quoted.

“You mean Tickle Me Emo isn’t with one of you?” Remus asked, looking delighted. “Oh dear, oh dear. Is he lost?”

“I mean, TARDISes are huge,” Roman pointed out. “He could be somewhere on one of our ships.” His voice dropped again. “I’ll bet Deceit stashed him away, because we all know how he hates Virgil.”

“Excuse you,” Janus’s voice interrupted, annoyed. “It is Virgil who hates me, not the other way around.”

“Let’s both scan our ships,” Logan suggested, hoping to head off an argument. Honestly, if Roman and Janus didn’t stop picking fights with one another, he was going to lose his marbles.

The scans pulled up nothing.

“Oh well,” Remus said with a shrug. “Guess the emo gets to miss out.”

Janus grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “lucky”.

“All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” Remus leaned close to the screen. “I’ve crash landed on a lovely snowbound planet that’s crawling with psychotic tin cans who like to roll around yelling ‘exterminate’.”

“Daleks? A snowbound planet, so not Skarro, but where else…” Logan narrowed his eyes.

“He’s on the Dalek asylum,” Roman said lowly. “That was one of the episodes I had in mind when I plotted this adventure.”

“Very good, brother.” Remus clapped his hands. “And up there in orbit is a ship full of people who’d really like to blow up the whole planet. Oh, woe is me, whatever shall I—”

“Save it,” Roman snapped. “You’d probably enjoy getting blown up.”

“Hmm, true.” Remus’s green eyes sharpened. “Think of the mess! Little bits of intestines floating through space, long pink ropey—”

“Or?” Logan interjected, before Remus gave Patton nightmares.

“Or you have to come rescue me!” Remus’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “Because otherwise it’s nighty-night for me and all the other aliens in the asylum.”

There was a beat of silence.

“As terrible as that sounds,” Janus drawled, sounding anything but worried, “given that none of this is real, and at least one of us would very much rather not be here at all…why exactly should your plight concern us?”

Logan secretly agreed, but felt his stomach clench when he glanced at Roman’s troubled face. None of this was real…right? Would something concretely bad happen to Remus if the planet he inhabited was blown up?

Surely not.

This was only a dream. Perhaps, then, Roman was merely upset that his twin had usurped his adventure for the night?

“Also.” Remus buffed his fingernails. “You should know that the Imagination will only release us if we complete the objective. In other words,” and he sneered, purple-shadowed eyes glittering, “we’re all stuck in this scenario until we’re all reunited.”

Remus giggled as Logan exchanged a shocked look with Roman.

“I don’t believe you. This was my dream,” Roman said darkly. “And I’ve just about had enough of all this!”

He stepped back and snapped his fingers with a flourish. Frowning, he did it again, and again, his face growing paler with each try.

“Roman, what—” Logan started.

“I can’t end it,” Roman whispered, still snapping. “He’s right. He’s…he’s sealed off the dream’s boundaries somehow. Remus!”

This he roared at the screen.

“Keeping Thomas trapped in a dream state is going too far, Remus!” he yelled. “I don’t care what kind of demented game you want to play with us, but we don’t bring Thomas into it.”

“Oh, you think I created an unbreakable dreamscape?” Remus snapped. “You let the Imagination have too much reign, my dear brother, and now neither of us have the power to end the dream ourselves. I estimate we have about ten hours before Thomas wakes up.”

For a moment, all Logan could hear was the soft whoosh of the time rotor, and Roman’s shallow, angry breathing at his shoulder.

“So I suggest you all pilot your ships to these coordinates,” Remus added, and a series of numbers and strange symbols flashed up on one of the smaller console screens. “And get started.”

The main screen blipped, and Remus’s face was replaced by an expressionless Cyberman and a snake-faced Side who looked extremely pale under his scales.

“Well,” Logan stated. “This is a problem.”

Chapter 6- Asylum of the Daleks

“You’re going to fire me at a planet? That’s your plan? I get fired at a planet and expected to fix it?”

“In fairness, that is slightly your M.O.”

“Don’t be fair to the Daleks when they’re firing me at a planet.”

The familiar wheeze of the TARDIS materializing filled Roman’s ears as he waited by the doors. Logan joined him a moment later.

“Ready?” he asked, smoothing a hand over his cravat.

He looks good as the Doctor, Roman thought, eying the slimming black and navy, the graceful arc that hand made as it adjusted a pair of glasses…

He shook himself out of his distraction. “Let’s do this, nerd.”

Logan opened the doors and the two stepped out…not onto the asylum, but onto a spaceship. Shiny copper terraces lined the vast walls in curving rows, leading the eye up to a domed ceiling with a clear view of black, star-studded space. Like a huge amphitheater, or stadium. Even Roman had to admit, the Imagination had really outdone itself on the realism.

Of course, given that the ship was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of Daleks calling for violence…realism wasn’t exactly comforting at the moment.

“Surprise, surprise, I don’t see my stupid brother,” Roman commented over the dull roar of the crowd.

“No. But I recognize where we are.” Logan waved a hand. “You were right about Remus’s location; this ship is from the episode ‘Asylum of the Daleks’, in Season 7. If we are following the basic plotline, Remus is likely somewhere down on the planet below, and we will be sent to him in due course. However…I am curious as to why all the other aliens are here.”

Roman looked around again, seeing that Logan was right. Daleks formed the majority of the crowd, but he also spotted Zygons, Sontarans, Silurians, other Cybermen, Ice Warriors…and quite a few aliens from older seasons he couldn’t remember the names of.

(Logan probably could.)

A second TARDIS materialized near their familiar blue box: plain, gray; a squat column of a ship. Janus emerged first, a silver instrument gripped in one gloved hand, followed by an old-school Cyberman…Patton. Roman frowned. Seeing that metal…being…and having to remember it was actually his friend was going to be difficult now that there wasn’t a screen separating them.

“Nice work, Roman,” Janus said, sidling up next to him and faux-clapping his hands. “A ship full of aliens who want us dead; always an excellent starting point for an adventure.”

“This is how the episode starts, Mr. Oh-I’m-Such-an-Expert-in-Doctor-Who,” Roman retorted. “Accuracy is important.”

“But this isn’t accurate,” Logan pointed out. “There should only be Daleks here.”

Roman folded his arms, stung.

Damn Logan and his damned need to be right all the time.

“I…well, I didn’t model this adventure after just one particular episode,” Roman admitted. “I wanted it to be a challenge, and it wouldn’t be if Logan and I already knew the ending. So no, I can’t exactly explain why all the other aliens are here, okay?”

Logan sighed.

“I was not criticizing you, Roman,” he said in a gentler voice. “As this has apparently become as much Remus’s and the Imagination’s handiwork as it is yours, it would be unreasonable to expect you to know what comes next.”

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH THE SUPREME DALEK,” a grating robotic voice boomed across the ship, making them all whip around. A large white Dalek with an antenna on its shell loomed on a raised stage near the center of the amphitheater.

“They were expecting me, too?” Janus raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

The lights on the Dalek’s head flashed as it spoke again.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH WITH THEIR COMPANIONS.”

The four Sides exchanged a glance, and weaved through the assembled Daleks to the raised stage. The White Supreme Dalek was not the only occupant; it was flanked by an Ice Warrior, an Emojibot (which made Patton giggle), and…

“Look, a Janus,” Roman chortled, nudging the snake-faced Side in the ribs and pointing out the two-faced alien.

“You are all nerds and my logo is a two-headed snake,” Janus complained, rolling his eyes. “I literally do not know how all of you missed that obvious clue to my name.”

“DOCTOR,” the White Dalek said as they climbed the dais. “MASTER. WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DALEK ASYLUM?”

“I’m just impressed my rat-faced brother wasn’t lying about his location,” Roman grumbled, and sputtered when Logan placed a hand over his mouth.

“According to legend,” Logan said, “you have a dumping ground, a planet where you lock up all the Daleks that go wrong.”

“The battle-scarred, the insane. The ones even you can’t control,” Janus clarified. His voice dropped to a hiss. “No wonder they ssstuck Remus there.”

Roman covered his mouth to keep from snorting.

The snake would not make him laugh.

“CORRECT.” The Dalek pushed a button and a hole opened in the middle of the floor. A snow-covered planet lay below them, pristine from this high up.

“Ooh, that’s,” Patton started, and let out a metallic gulp. “That’s quite a drop. Do we, ah, have to go down the same way? Cause I remember that part, and—”

“How many Daleks are down there?” Logan asked.

“A COUNT HAS NOT BEEN MADE,” the white Dalek said.

“Millions, certainly,” a new voice chimed in. The tall, robed, dark-skinned Janus stepped forward, their front face addressing them. “But they will not be your only concern. The population of the planet consists of more than just Daleks.”

Roman exchanged a suspicious glance with Logan. This wasn’t in the episode. This is new.

“What do you mean?” Janus, their Janus, asked.

The alien Janus turned to a nearby monitor, pulling up some information. The backward-facing face continued to address them.

“Some time ago, the Daleks began noticing a curious phenomenon,” they said. “Random people, from all different races and species, started turning up on various planets in this quadrant of space, including the asylum. No ships, no technology, and no knowledge of how they’d gotten there. At first the imprisoned Daleks on the asylum simply killed them off as they appeared—”

Patton visibly winced, even with his metal body, and Logan’s eyes grew flinty.

“—but the new arrivals eventually became too many to exterminate,” the alien Janus went on, unconcerned. “By now we suspect the planet has a population of over a billion, far too many for its automated systems to handle.”

They turned their forward face to the four again.

“THE ASYLUM IS COMPROMISED,” the Dalek Supreme proclaimed. “IT MUST BE CLEANSED.”

“Hang on, you’re still going to blow the whole planet up?” Roman protested. “A billion people?”

“To be fair, that is what they did in the original episode,” Logan pointed out quietly.

“But that was just Daleks!”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Ah, so genocide is fine when it’s only the evil aliens getting blown up?”

“You know, somehow I’m not surprised to hear you defending the bad guys!” Roman snapped.

“That is enough!” Patton snapped in his robotic voice, stepping between them and raising both his hands. Laser pistols popped out of both of them, making both Roman and Janus step back in alarm.

After a tense moment, Patton lowered his arms again; the guns clicked and vanished into their casings.

“Uh, sorry kiddos, I don’t know what came over me,” he said in a sheepish, more Patton-y voice. “Can we please not fight? It…it kinda makes me feel weird and jittery when you do.”

Roman stared at Patton’s blank Cyberman face and armored Cyberman body and swallowed, hard.

Their Patton would never deliberately aim a gun at anyone, let alone his family. But Cybermen were created to eliminate…or rather, delete…anyone who got in their way.

Did Patton even realize what he’d almost done?

What would happen, if and when he was forced to confront the reality of his body in this realm? What if he didn’t figure it out until he accidentally did something terrible? It wouldn’t be real, of course, but to Patton…that wouldn’t matter.

If his Cyberman programming forced or tricked him into hurting someone, the guilt of it would devastate him.

All I wanted to do was take Logan on an adventure, Roman thought bitterly. A fun little dream adventure where he could play one of his heroes. Was that too much to ask, Imagination?

He folded his arms and glared around the Dalek ship, anywhere but at his fellow Sides.

Whatever the hell this has turned into, I want no part of it anymore.

“In order for us to destroy the planet, we will need you to disable the planet’s forcefield—” The alien Janus started, but Logan held up a finger.

“Excuse you,” he said sharply. “We have not agreed to do anything, least of all help you murder a billion people whose only crime is to have accidentally turned up in your prison. Have you even attempted to solve that mystery?"

"And why do you care what happens down there?" Roman added, sneering. "If the insane Daleks are armed—”

“DALEKS ARE ALWAYS ARMED,” the white Dalek proclaimed.

“—then why can’t they defend themselves?” Logan finished, shooting Roman a questioning glance.

Roman huffed, and looked away.

“At first they did,” the Janus explained. “But as I said, the automated systems cannot keep up with the influx. Wars are being fought over food and other resources as we speak. A starliner crashed on the surface mere days ago, and—”

“Ah,” Logan said slowly. “You’re afraid, with all the shifting alliances and new activity, that the mad Daleks will escape in the confusion.”

“We do not know who or what is behind the influx,” the Janus said. “But eventually, they will start coming with ships, or they will build them on the surface, or reach out to those who could attempt a rescue.”

“‘If sssomeone can get in, everything can get out’,” their Janus quoted darkly.

The other Janus nodded. “Even the Daleks agree, their mad brethren cannot be allowed to escape. We, of this assembly—”

They waved to the assembled crowd of aliens, who observed in eerie silence.

“—have decided that one planet must be sacrificed for the greater good of the universe.”

Roman slowly and deliberately drew his sword (which the Imagination had kindly left as part of his outfit). It rasped as it emerged, the sound hair-raising in the sudden lull.

Instantly every Dalek gunstick and alien weapon on the ship was primed and pointed at the four Sides.

“And if we refuse?” Roman said evenly.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL COOPERATE,” the Supreme Dalek warned, its lights flashing balefully.

“COOPERATE! COOPERATE!” the cry was echoed by the other Daleks, filling the ship with a cacophony of robot voices.

The alien Janus shrugged, spreading their hands.

“You don’t really have a choice. If you want to live, that is.”

“Is that so.”

Roman tensed and sprang at the white Dalek, not giving himself time to think. He dodged a blast from its gunstick and leaped, bringing his sword down hard. This being the Imagination, the katana cut through the Dalek’s metal armor like butter, and it clattered to the deck in two pieces.

There was a shocked silence…but no retaliation.

“Well?” Roman shouted, spreading his arms and turning in a slow circle. “This is me, not cooperating. What are you waiting for? Are you really going to shoot us?”

If they all died on this spaceship…the worst that would happen is they’d be kicked from the Imagination, and that was what they wanted, anyway.

“Roman,” Logan warned quietly, pointing.

Roman looked.

The white Dalek’s shell was…laughing?

“Oh, Roman,” Remus’s crackly voice emerged from the fallen Dalek’s casing. “Roman, Roman, Roman. My poor brave brother who thinks he can solve all his problems with steel and bravado. Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Each word bit like sandpaper against Roman’s ears.

He growled, and stalked to the Dalek’s top half, snatching it up and quickly locating a tiny speaker.

“C’mon, Remus. End this stupid charade,” he said quietly, holding the casing to his face so he could speak quietly. “You’ve had your fun at my expense. Go back to your pile of severed limbs and gloat if you must, but end this. For Patton’s sake, if nothing else.”

“I’ve already told you, it’s out of my hands,” Remus responded; typically, annoyingly casual. “If you want to end the game, you have to come down here and find me.”

Roman exhaled, resting his head against the cold, bumpy metal for a moment. His eyes burned, but he was Prince; he wouldn’t cry, not here.

“Why must you make everything difficult?”

“Roman, in all seriousness,” Remus’s voice dropped. “I didn’t know you were taking Logan on a date tonight—”

“It’s not a date,” Roman hissed, glancing at the other Sides…one in particular.

“The Imagination brought me into this without asking, just like it pulled the others in,” Remus went on. “I am aware of what has to happen, but I did not cause this.”

“You’re lying,” Roman said tonelessly.

Remus’s whiny voice grew hard.

“I don’t lie, and you despise that about me. You hide so much shit from yourself that it baffles you when I refuse to do the same.”

“Look,” Remus added when Roman didn’t respond. “The Imagination is clearly trying to get our attention. Sure, it usually goes through one of us first, but it doesn’t have to. When it comes down to it, Thomas’s mind answers only to Thomas. ”

“How are you so sure?” Roman frowned.

Was Remus seriously suggesting the Imagination they both oversaw had gone rogue somehow?

“Because I don’t curate my side as meticulously as you do, brother.” Remus chuckled. “I listen. I let the Imagination do as she pleases, free from all those pesky ethics and morals and other boring boxes you always force her into, so that our sweet Thomas doesn’t fear the contents of his own head.”

“You expect me to believe that you know what’s going on because,” Roman let every ounce of disdain seep into his voice, “the Imagination talks to you, and not me…because you don’t make her behave?”

“You should try letting her loose sometimes,” Remus drawled, “or you’ll end up with a cane up your butt like Nerdy Wolverine over there.”

“Don’t call him that,” Roman spat.

“What you so-called ‘light sides’ always get wrong,” Remus went on, “is that the juicy stuff, the gruesome and grim, the ‘bad’ thoughts that filter up from the subconscious; they can’t all be locked away and ignored.” His voice dropped ominously. “Repression can be very bad indeed, you know.”

Roman’s reasonable nature knew that his brother, despite his infuriating attitude, was actually making some good points. Thomas had been dealing with a lot lately; the tension in the mindspace felt like a ticking clock, counting down to the next disaster.

But at that moment, Roman had no desire to humor his twin.

All he wanted to do was lock himself into his own room in the Dream Palace and spend the rest of the night writing sad poetry about love, or listing his mistakes to himself until he fell asleep.

“I just wanted to show Logan a good time,” he said aloud.

“And oh dear, apparently you couldn’t even manage that correctly,” Remus said, implacably. “So maybe you should use this opportunity to get your head out of your poopy ass, and reevaluate yourself.”

Roman slammed the Dalek shell against the floor.

It cracked upon impact, the wiring inside sparking and finally flickering down to darkness. He ran his hands through his hair, reminded, once again, why he hated talking to his brother.

Like looking in a funhouse mirror…

“Roman…” Patton sidled up behind him, laying a cold hand on his back. Roman shoved the metal arm away and stalked back to the others.

“Let’s just get this done,” he said in a low voice.

“You will need these,” the alien Janus said, pushing a button on a nearby console. A translucent vertical tube rose from a gap in the floor, holding three bulky black bracelets.

“Ah yes, I remember this,” Logan said, striding forward and taking a bracelet.

“They will prevent—” the Janus started.

“The nano cloud from converting us into Dalek puppets, yes?” Logan interrupted, snapping the bracelet onto his wrist and handing another to Roman.

The nerd is getting into this, Roman thought as he put it on. I guess that’s something.

“The cloud is only active in certain areas of the asylum,” the Janus warned them again. “And those change as different factions seize control of different areas and weaponize them.”

Patton hesitantly raised a hand.

“Um, Mx. Alien, I can’t help but notice that there are only three bracelets, and four of us?”

Logan frowned. “But Patton, why would you—?”

“I’m sure it’s because I’m part snake, Patton,” Janus interrupted smoothly, swooping in to grab the last bracelet and snapping it onto Patton’s arm.

Roman exchanged an alarmed look with Logan; that was the last bit of confirmation he needed. Patton really was unaware that he was a Cyberman.

But why on earth would Janus go to such lengths to keep him in the dark about it? Even leaving aside the fact that Patton was a walking weapon; being a machine, he didn’t need protection from the nano cloud at all.

Whereas Janus…probably did.

But when Roman opened his mouth, Janus shot him a look full of daggers and promises of pain, and shook his head. Roman rolled his eyes and mentally washed his hands of the situation.

Typical Deceit. Protecting his lies.

At least Patton would be twice-protected. If the snake wanted to risk his life for a lie, let him.

“The gravity beam will convey you close to the crashed starliner,” the alien Janus said, and then there were Dalek blasters being shoved into their backs, propelling them toward the hole in the floor.

“Oi,” Roman protested, “get your freaky little eggbeater appendages away from me, you AAAAHHHH!”

There was a push, and they were falling.

Chapter 7- Oxygen

“Look at this. Classic design. Pressure seals. Hinges. None of that ‘shuk shuk’ nonsense.”

“Space doors are supposed to go shuk shuk.”

“Are you gonna be like this all day?”

Janus was done.

He sat up with a groan, brushing snow from his jacket and vest, making sure his hat and gloves were still in place. Everything ached. Bad enough he never wanted to be part this stupid dream game in the first place; now he was probably going to literally turn into a Dalek.

All because the Imagination is being a dick and Patton doesn’t know he’s a killer robot.

Wind gusted around him, making Janus glad that the Master, like the Doctor, usually preferred long sleeves and a coat. He stood, turning in a slow circle as he took in the lay of the land. Nothing but snow and rocks; true to the episode, still.

The gravity beam had split into four as it hurled them at the planet, but Janus was reasonably sure at least one of the others had landed nearby.

He hoped it was Patton.

Not because he was concerned or anything. It was just that either of the others would be absolutely insufferable company, that’s all.

“Janus!” a metallic voice called, and Janus breathed a sigh of relief.

Patton’s Cyberman body clattered awkwardly down a nearby snowbank, sliding the last few feet to land in a heap.

“It is all kinds of chilly down here.” Patton stood, and waved rather nonsensically. “Hullo there, Janus, so ice to see you.”

Janus rolled his eyes. (He would deny to his dying day that the corner of his mouth twitched at the ridiculous pun.)

“If this scenario is consistent with its source material,” he said, gesturing to the closest ridge, “there should be an escape pod from that crashed ship nearby. Come on.”

He set off across the snow, Patton following in his wake.

“Say, what do snowmen call their offspring?”

Janus exhaled carefully. Hoo, boy, maybe Logan wouldn’t have been so bad…

“I haven’t the faintest.”

“Chill-dren!” Patton chortled at Janus’s grimace. “What did one snowman say to another?”

“St. Genesius spare me,” Janus grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What, pray tell, did one snowman say to another?”

“‘Do you smell carrots?’”

Janus quickly covered his mouth.

“You smiled,” Patton crooned.

“I most certainly did not.”

“Okay, okay, one more.” Patton scurried ahead and turned around, so that he was walking backwards. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Janus said flatly.

“Snow.” Patton hooked his thumbs into the metal rim at waist, like one might on a pair of pants. Janus swallowed and looked away.

“Snow who?”

“Snow laughing matter, Janus, I don’t know why you’re smiling.”

Janus snorted before he could hide it, and cleared his throat.

“I am not smiling, how dare you.”

“That’s twice now!” Patton cackled, the sound coming out all distorted. “Admit it.”

“I refuse,” Janus said, drawing himself up. “You won’t make a liar out of….”

Liar.

He felt the joke fall flat and cringed. Even though Patton’s metal face couldn’t react, those metal shoulders visibly stiffened.

Too soon.

Liar.

Too much history between them.

Besides, you are a liar, his mind whispered. Lies of omission are still lies, Deceit, and you’re doing that right now.

Janus gritted his teeth. They topped a ridge; the expected escaped pod lay half-buried near another ridge, across a flat stretch of snow. The two Sides glanced at each other and continued their journey in silence.

Patton seemed disinclined to continue his little pun war.

Janus badly wanted to say he hadn’t minded the punning, but truthfully, keeping silent was easier. Patton’s baffling ignorance over the state of his own “flesh” was starting to wear on Janus’s conscience. He knew the longer he kept it secret, the worse the fallout would be when Patton finally learned the truth.

The urge to come clean was an unfamiliar one for him, and extremely uncomfortable.

Ironic, the master liar, conflicted about maintaining a lie.

The old him would have laughed, but…the old him hadn’t heard the sincerity in Patton’s voice, when he’d spoken Janus’s true name aloud for the first time. The old him had assumed Thomas would reject him forever…because of Patton.

And then, with Janus still smarting from the sting of Roman’s mockery, Patton had said his name.

Patton had trusted him to take care of Thomas in his stead, when the moral Side knew he had failed at it. The memory still made all Janus’s scales tingle and his heart beat a little sideways.

The new him…this him…couldn’t find it in his small, shriveled, but very much present heart to risk pushing Patton away.

They reached the pod.

Muffled shouts and something that sounded like blaster fire filtered up from inside, making them exchange another glance.

Janus set a hand on the ice-crusted latch.

“Remember, we’ll have to fight our way through a bunch of dead Dalek puppets,” he reminded Patton.

“That’s a lot of noise for just a few puppets,” Patton said softly. “That canonically shouldn’t even be awake yet.”

“I know, and that is strange,” Janus agreed. “Maybe someone got here before us. But we won’t know exactly what to expect until we get down there.”

Patton sighed, a cloud of frost puffing out of his small, rectangular mouth.

Janus pushed the latch, popped his head in, and was met with a scene of utter chaos.

About six or seven human-Dalek puppets, with stalks sticking out of their heads and blasters sticking out of their hands, were locked in a fire fight with a horde of robotic humanoids that looked like they came from the Fourth Doctor’s era, if Janus remembered correctly. Round, bulky shoulders and faces that looked like metal sunbursts.

Both puppets and robots were using the seats as cover, blaster fire zinging back and forth and exploding against the walls in little showers of sparks. Janus and Patton would be directly in the blast zone when they jumped down, a little closer to the robot side.

“Well, someone definitely got here before us,” Janus muttered.

He withdrew his head and studied Patton. Honestly, with his metal body he’d be in far less danger, and those guns in his arms would actually be useful in this situation…but telling Patton he was a walking weapon, now, would definitely not go over well.

“The hatch down into the asylum should be in the cockpit of this thing,” he informed Patton. “There’s a lot of blaster fire, though, so—”

“—don’t get cold feet and hesitate?” Patton finished.

Something in Janus’s heart twisted…something he didn’t dare examine too closely.

“Say, Patton,” he said softly, looking away.

“Yes?”

“What did the hat say to the scarf?”

Patton turned his black Cyberman eyes on Janus.

“What?”

“‘You hang around, and I’ll go a-head’.” Janus let a smirk curl his lips.

Patton was silent for a moment, but then he began to giggle, covering his mouth.

Janus pulled out his sonic laser.

He dropped into the pod with a swing of his legs, catching one of the robots in its metal chest. It fell with a screech, careening into another of its kind, but by then Janus had gained his feet and ducked behind a seat. Patton clattered down behind, with less grace and far more noise…and a random Tivolian tumbled in directly after him.

Patton caught the rodent-faced alien with a startled shout, immediately dropping them again when they screamed and struggled. Janus blinked; where the hell did they come from?

The Tivolian tumbled across the pod’s floor, only making it a few feet before getting cut down with blaster bolts. Janus saw Patton cry out, and caught the Side before he could leap out and draw more hostile fire.

“It’s too late!” he shouted over the noise.

“I should have hung on!” Patton, if he’d had a proper face, would probably be in tears. He hated death. “I don’t know why they were so scared of me!”

Janus could answer that…

“I’m more curious about where they came from,” he said instead, frowning. “They surely weren’t up on the surface with us. It’s like they just teleported in, but Tivolians don’t teleport. They don’t have the technology—”

A blaster bolt exploded across the top of the seat they were hiding behind, showering them in sparks and forcing them both to duck.

“Janus!” Patton snapped. “We need to get out of here!”

“Right.” Janus brandished his sonic. “We’ll just have to run for it.”

He leaped out, activating his weapon, and discovered that a sonic laser had a very satisfying range and kickback. Forget the Doctor’s screwdriver, he thought, blasting a Dalek puppet aside and ducking another gun blast. I wonder if the Imagination will let me keep this…

A cold, dead hand seized the collar of his jacket, yanking him back.

Then there was a yell, a clatter, and Janus turned in time to see Patton blast a puppet with a fire extinguisher. The moral Side chuckled at Janus’s shocked expression.

“I’ve seen this episode too, you know,” he pointed out.

Janus huffed.

The two dodged and fought their way to the cockpit; Janus used his laser to seal the door behind them. For a moment they simply stood there, catching their breath.

(Well, Janus caught his. Did Patton even breathe, in that form?)

“Unauthorized personnel may not enter the cockpit.” Remus’s high-pitched voice came over the speaker system. “Unless it’s an actual pit full of cocks, in which case, where’s my invitation?”

Janus was going to need something a lot stronger than tea, once they finally got out of this mess.

“Remus, for god’s sake,” he grumbled.

“God has nothing to do with my cock, but if that’s how you want to roll…” One of the cockpit screens flickered to life, and there was Remus in all his ruffly, sparkly, mustached glory. Clara’s warm, messy cove spread out behind him, reds and yellows clashing horribly with the green of his sash.

Janus moved so that his chest and shoulders blocked the screen, to prevent Remus from catching sight of Patton. If Remus saw Patton as a Cyberman, Janus would never be able to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

“All right then, where do we find you?” Janus said. “And where did the others land? Not to mention our dear missing ball of anxiety.” He leaned forward, putting on his trademark smirk. “Come on, Re. You must know. One Other to another, you can tell me.”

“Aww, Jan Jan,” Remus crooned, also leaning forward. “You care.”

“I most certainly do not!” Janus sputtered, and cleared his throat. “Patton was worried about Virgil, that’s all.”

“I was?” Patton asked from the other side of the space. “I mean, of course I am, but—”

“But surely you can at least tell us why this scenario isn’t playing out quite like the episode it comes from,” Janus interjected smoothly. He didn’t want Remus to notice the metallic quality of Patton’s voice.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve already told you everything that I know.” Remus shrugged. “Roman really did give the Imagination too much freedom.”

Janus frowned.

“Then how do you know the scenario will end when we find you?”

“I actually don’t! Isn’t it great?” Remus crowed, clapping his hands. “I love stories where anything could happen. We could all get vaporized, or have our flesh eaten by—”

“Remus, focus.” Janus pitched the bridge of his nose. “So, given what we know of this particular episode, you’re assuming that our main tasks are to come get you, and to drop the forcefield on the planet so the Daleks can blow it up.”

“That’s the idea, Double Dee!”

Behind him, Janus heard Patton make a weird, choked noise, and grimaced.

“By the way, Roman and Logan are already inside the asylum.” Remus grinned, the whites of his eyes flashing. “So if you want to catch up, you’d better scute those scaly asscheeks along. Check the floor for a breach; that will be your way out. A breach, ha! Like a butth—”

Janus pointed his laser and fired on the screen, cutting the transmission and sending sparks flying all over the cockpit. An awkward silence fell in which he turned to face Patton, who of course wore no visible expression.

This, and all the reasons for it, annoyed him further.

“I swear if you ask one question about scutes or scales,” he warned, holding up a finger.

“I wasn’t…going to.” Patton held up his hands. “Logan kind of taught us how to tune out the more, er, naughty things Remus says. But I am wondering,” he added hesitantly. “Are you…feeling okay?”

“Fabulous. Peachy,” Janus said flatly, kneeling to feel around on the floor. “Fantastic, allons-y, geronimo, what have you.”

“It’s just, you seem a little angry,” Patton went on. “And you remember, that’s, that’s the first step in being converted. Maybe you should wear the bracelet for a while? We can trade on and off…”

Patton’s fingers went to his wrist, but Janus stopped him with a gloved hand on top.

Tell him, an inner voice whispered. Tell him now, before this gets any more awkward.

“That’s sweet of you, but no, I’m merely frustrated,” Janus admitted. “I would very much like to get out of here, so I can return to the pleasant evening I was having before all thisss.”

He gestured irritatedly around them.

Patton joined him on the floor and together they found a person-sized hole, with a rope ladder hanging down.

“Hey, Janus,” Patton murmured, as they were about to start the long climb down. “Can I ask you something?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to ask no matter what I say?” Janus said wryly.

“Do you remember when that puppet attacked you in the main part of the ship, and I fought it off with the fire extinguisher?” Patton ducked his head.

Janus raised an eyebrow.

“They hesitated, when they saw me.” Patton’s unnaturally black eyes met Janus’s. “That’s why I had time to grab the extinguisher.”

Janus swallowed, his heart starting to pound.

“Well, I’m sure they aren’t used to anyone fighting back—”

“No, they hesitated like…like I scared them or something,” Patton pressed. “It was weird, Janus. Please. If there’s something you need to tell me…you know you can.”

Janus’s mouth compressed into a flat line and he looked away, bitterness welling up inside him.

“Can I, Patton?” he asked softly, holding up a gloved hand. A yellow indictment of everything he was. “Can I really?”

Patton sighed, long and deep.

“Touché.”

Chapter 8- Extremis

“Something’s coming. And I’m blind. How can I see them when I’m lost in the dark?”

Logan awoke to someone shaking him.

He opened his eyes to an expanse of blurry blobs and color splotches, and Roman’s sharp, frantic face very close to his. His eyes have amber flecks, his brain noted inanely. But why is he clear when nothing else is…?

Roman threw his head back and exhaled in obvious relief when Logan groaned, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Singing chimeras, Specs, I was starting to worry.”

Logan sat up and touched his bare face. Ah, there’s the problem.

“Where are my glasses?”

Roman was quiet.

Logan leaned closer to the other Side, squinting. Bad eyesight was such an annoyance. If only Thomas’s developing brain hadn’t decided early on that “smart and logical” also meant “stereotypically nerdy”, and pigeonholed his own sense of Logic into actually requiring corrective eyewear.

“Roman?” Logan tried again.

“Um. About that.”

Roman bit his lip, and handed over a smashed set of frames. Logan’s stomach sank as he examined them; the lenses were shattered beyond repair.

“I found them next to you like that, when I woke up,” Roman explained. “I’ve been trying to summon another pair, but for some reason the Imagination won’t let me!”

Logan pushed down a growing sense of dread, that he’d have to navigate the rest of this adventure half-blind.

“My glasses getting broken is obviously not your fault. We did fall down a rather deep hole,” he pointed out. “But what do you mean, the Imagination isn’t letting you?”

“I mean it’s not letting me!” Roman threw up his hands. “I could summon things on the TARDIS just fine, but now…” He sighed. “I am Creativity, right?”

Logan tilted his head and frowned.

“Is that…Roman, that is a nonsensical question. Of course you are.”

“So summoning a tiny object in my own dream scenario should be easy.” Roman hung his head.

“How long have you been trying?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe?” Roman shrugged, still not looking at him. “All that time, and yet still I fail.”

Logan resisted the urge to point out that twenty minutes should be long enough to realize a thing might be outside of one’s control, and to start brainstorming other options.

Stubborn fool.

“Maybe it’s just as well we picked the wedding over the callback,” Roman added darkly, an uncharacteristic glower twisting his face. “When Thomas’s Creativity apparently can’t even control his own dreams.”

Oh…this isn’t about glasses at all, is it? Logan swallowed around an achy sensation in his chest; the one he always got when something was wrong and Roman made that face and he just…needed to fix it.

Native English speakers have a passive vocabulary of around forty thousand words, he thought, frustrated. So why, in situations like this, am I constantly struggling to find the right thing to say?

The resigned set to Roman’s jaw prompted Logan to try.

“Your inability to summon things may not be your doing,” Logan said, laying a hand on Roman’s knee. “Perhaps the Imagination is attempting to impose a sense of realism on this adventure.”

“Realism,” Roman echoed flatly. “In Doctor Who.”

Logan huffed. “You must admit, summoning objects out of thin air does defy even time-traveling alien logic.”

Roman’s face twitched in the tiniest of smiles. “So why did it work before, Teach?”

“Maybe it only worked on the TARDIS because the ship already defies every known rule of physics.” Logan shrugged. “I admit I cannot possibly intuit the inner workings of the Imagination; I can only theorize from what I have observed thus far.”

Roman chuckled softly to himself, and bumped Logan’s shoulder.

“Aww, Nerd, I’m touched. You’re trying to logic me into feeling better.”

“Is it…working?” Logan asked.

“Kind of?” An unreadable expression flitted over Roman’s face. “At least one of us is still grounded in reality.”

“Where else could one possibly be grounded?”

Roman laughed outright at this.

“Oh, Logan. Never change, okay?”

He stood up, and pulled Logan to his feet as well.

“Where are we?” Logan asked, squinting.

He could tell they were in some large, open space; all blacks and browns and dull grays. Blurry domes of copper were scattered amongst what could be bits of fallen scaffolding or machinery.

Logan was also hyperaware of Roman’s warm arm pressed against his, and his own hand clasped tightly within the Prince’s larger grip. With everything else blurry, physical sensations were all the more distracting.

“Don’t panic, okay?” Roman started.

Logan scoffed.

“You are fortunate that I am not Virgil,” he commented wryly. “Because starting a sentence like that would almost certainly have caused him to panic.”

“Well, it’s just, do you remember that scene in the Dalek asylum episode where Rory wakes up in the hanger full of dead Daleks who turn out to be not actually dead?” Roman said in a rush. “Because…yeah.”

Oh. Logan swallowed.

“So, I am guessing that those copper domes are actually Daleks?” he said softly.

Roman snorted.

“Copper domes? Jeesh, your eyesight sucks.”

“I am aware,” Logan said flatly. “Which means you will have to guide us out. If I remember correctly, as long as we are quiet and don’t kick any pipes on the ground, we won’t wake them up.”

Roman let go of Logan’s hand… and replaced it with an arm wrapped around his waist. Logan only held back a squeak because it would have been extremely undignified.

“Hey, relax, I got you, Specs.” Roman’s breath ghosted over Logan’s ear. The Prince’s shorter stature allowed him to fit snugly against Logan’s side; if Roman turned his head, he could comfortably tuck his face into the crook of Logan’s neck.

Not…not that Logan imagined him doing any such thing.

Roman drew his sword with a metallic rasp, prompting Logan to pull out his screwdriver, and they set off across the floor.

It was a strange, vulnerable sensation, Logan thought, being this close to another, being forced to rely on him for direction…or maybe it was just that Roman’s Rose Tyler outfit left so much more skin on display than his usual royal attire…

To be fair, Roman’s bare arms and short skirt and leggings were the only non-blurry things in Logan’s line of sight at the moment.

“You know, I am not sure how much good a sword will do against a Dalek now,” Logan said dryly (to distract himself). “Since it would seem that the Imagination is now attempting to be realistic.”

“It’ll be a lot more useful than a screwdriver,” Roman retorted. “Honestly, the War Doctor had a point. The later seasons really do start to treat the sonic like a weapon, and it looks ridiculous. There’s an oily-looking puddle to your left.”

They dodged around it.

“The sonic screwdriver is an ingenious, multipurpose tool,” Logan argued. “Fitting for a character who is, at heart, a pacifist. In the right hands, it most certainly could serve as a weapon. For example one could scramble a Cyberman’s circuits, short out fuses, or calculate the precise amount of blunt force needed to take down an enemy.” Logan waved the hand with the screwdriver around them. “All things that a sword could not accomplish.”

“Sure,” Roman drawled, leading them around one of the still, silent Daleks, “but you don’t point a sonic at an oncoming Dalek and expect to survive. Even the Doctor had more sense than to try that. At least a sword could cut off its blaster arm.”

“We don’t know how strong Dalek amor is down here,” Logan pointed out. “You could end up breaking your sword and then where would we be?”

“Better off than we’d be while you assembled a cabinet at them!”

Logan’s foot collided with a metallic something that made an awful CLANG and went skittering across the floor. Roman pulled them up short, his face going pale.

All around them, round blue lights began to flicker on, one by one.

“I kicked the pipe, didn’t I?” Logan said, his heart starting to pound.

“You kicked the pipe,” Roman confirmed in a sick voice.

“EGGS…!” a crackly Dalek voice next to them stuttered, making them jump. “EG-EG-EG-EGGS…!” Its twin lights flashed erratically as it spoke.

“Roman,” Logan started.

“‘Eggs, you may laugh and that’s great…’” Roman sang in a wavering voice. “‘Your smiles are what make my day’…”

The Dalek rolled toward them creakily. “EEEEEGGS!”

Logan’s breathing sped up. Another Dalek rolled in from the other side, causing him to stumble. All around them, mechanical creaks and groans and a chorus of digitized voices rose up…

“EG…EG-EGGS…TERM…”

“Roman, I believe we need to run.” Logan could see the Dalek almost clearly now, its eyestalk glowing, its gunstick rising up.

“…IN…ATE…”

Blurry, flashing lights closed in.

“‘My self-worth’s fragile like an egg,’” Roman sang. The hand gripping Logan’s middle tightened painfully. “‘When it breaks it’s tough to put together again…’”

“EX…TERM…IN…ATE!”

“Roman!” Logan shouted. “Get us out of here!”

“EXTERMINATE!”

A blaster bolt warbled past and exploded over their heads.

Roman shuddered and seemed to snap out of it, seizing Logan’s arm and pulling him so hard he nearly fell. Logan staggered, hanging onto Roman’s hand for dear life as they ran, and ran, and blaster bolts burst at their feet and shattered around them.

“This way, boys and boys,” Remus’s voice sing-singed across the room. Roman yanked them hard in that direction.

“REMUS!” Roman shouted as they ran, and Logan was impressed he had the breath for it. “Remus, you better open that door like you’re supposed to or we are DEAD!”

“Oh, keep your pants on, brother,” Remus snarked, sounding a little closer. “Although maybe Logan would prefer that you didn’t—”

Whatever else he said wasn’t audible over a hanger full of jabbering Daleks and firing blasters.

They reached a wall and Roman shoved Logan down.

“Straight ahead, crawl. Go, go, go!” he said, turning and brandishing his sword.

Bless that Prince and his stupid, stupid bravery.

Logan went, nearly tripping over his coat as he crawled under the barely lifted hatch door. Once he was past the threshold Roman flung himself under and through, knocking into Logan and sending them both sliding across the floor.

There was a hiss and a heavy thud that Logan hoped was the door shutting behind them, and finally, blessed silence. They both leaned against the wall for a moment, catching their breath.

Roman thunked his head back.

“Jesus Christ Superstar,” he muttered.

“Your welcome.”

Remus’s voice crackled through the hallway. Roman growled and sat up straighter, looking around as if his brother would magically appear.

“I did just save your lives,” Remus added. From the direction of the sound, Logan guessed he was talking through a speaker somewhere on the far wall.

“Yeah, and I’m still gonna whip your butt when this is all over,” Roman groused.

“Oooh, do I get to choose the instrument?”

Roman sputtered, but Logan grabbed his arm before he could yell back.

“You know he just likes to get under your skin,” he murmured, and raised his voice. “Thank you for opening the door, Remus. We are grateful for your help.”

There was a silence on the other end, with a quality that Logan would have described as shocked.

“Well. You two lovebirds better move along,” Remus drawled finally, shrill as ever. “Before the Silurian army shows up.”

“Excuse me, the WHAT?” Logan exclaimed.

No answer.

“Remus!” Roman clambered to his feet and helped Logan up.

Nothing.

Except now that Logan was listening for it, he definitely heard approaching footsteps and murmuring, heavily-accented voices. And they were getting closer.

“That dick,” Roman grumbled through gritted teeth.

“To be fair, I think he is trying to help,” Logan pointed out. “In his own way.”

“Don’t be fair to my brother when he’s just led us out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“We are neither in a pan nor on fire, Roman; I have never understood that saying—”

The lights dimmed and flashed an eerie purple; Roman silenced him with a hand over his mouth. There was a voice…not Remus’s, not alien, not like anything Logan had ever heard. It chanted something, over and over again, before fading out.

The lights flared back to normal.

Logan waited, counting Roman’s shallow breaths against his neck.

Nothing.

“What was that?” he asked softly.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Roman responded. “But I guess that’s our cue to go. Stay close, Mr. Magoo.”

Logan grumbled, but allowed Roman to recapture his hand and lead them in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps…which had resumed the moment the purple light vanished.

Next time Roman asked him to come on an adventure, he was bringing a spare set of glasses.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #ts fanfiction #doctor who #thomas sanders #canon compliant #action #adventure #romance #roman sanders #logan sanders #deceit sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #ts sides #ts roman #ts logan #ts deceit #ts patton #ts remus #ts virgil #logince #moceit #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #bickering #enemies to friends #rivals to lovers

[quirkdotcom]

The Arrangement //

Shoto Todoroki x Fem! Reader

Part One: The Mall Incident

Part Two

Summary: Your father is a particularly strong pro hero, and owns his own agency, however, he seemingly has picked an opportunity for you to be the tie between his agency, and pro hero Endeavor's agency.

Authors Note:

One; I'm planning this to be a three part fic, my next update hopefully on Friday May 15th ! Let me know if you'd like to be on this specific taglist, or even a taglist for anything I post !

Two; I wanted to have a little fun in this, so I added in an OC of mine! I made the reader attend an unnamed school, where her friends wouldn't be main characters from MHA, and decided to throw in Maiko (my OC) anyways, I hope you enjoy !

"A student from UA? Is father okay? I thought he hated that school?" You had to stop yourself, had you really heard your mother right?

She sighed heavily, shaking her head slightly, "He does, however, your father is willing to look past the fact as long as everything goes according to plan" 

This time, it was your turn to sigh.

This 'plan' was one of you meeting some student, your parents meeting, and at the end of the day, agreeing to a marriage after graduation.

You knew that you really had no choice in the matter, which is why you had never put up a fight about it, but it didn't mean that you were particularly happy about it.

Quietly, you stood up, excusing yourself from the table and your mother, leaving the dainty tea cup where it sat.

"Well, since the meeting with this student will be this weekend, I'm going to go out and buy an outfit for it." You bowed your head slightly before turning and leaving the room.

Now out of sight of your mother, you stretched, stifling a yawn as you made your way to your room, grabbing your phone from your pocket, sending a quick message to your closest friend, asking if she'd accompany you to the mall.

The two of you attended a private academy focused on teaching it's students to not only strengthen their quirks, or accelerate their academics, but also in etiquette and manners. Everything was about being proper and elite.

It was the very same school that your father had transferred to after his time at UA.

You personally didn't quite like it there, at times some students tried to pick on you, or the teachers would reprimand you for even the slightest mistake.

But, just like the marriage arrangement, you had no choice in what school you attended, your father was hellbent on you following his steps, and staying the hell away from UA.

Regardless, you had eventually made some friends, and for the first few years, you scored in the top of your class.

"Oh, (Y/n) while you're out, would you mind picking up a few things for me?" Your mother's voice rang out from behind your door, breaking your train of thoughts.

"Just make me a list, and leave it on the counter!" 

It didn't take long for you to change out of your uniform and into something comfier, or for you to grab your messenger style purse, or to find the list from your mother. With your father gone, there were no distractions or unnecessary lectures.

What took the most time was getting to the mall. You could have driven, but it was nice out, the sky was clear of clouds, and there was a light breeze that flowed through the leaves in the trees.

So, you took to walking. Though, when you got to the mall, your best friend was standing with her arms crossed and a bored look on her face.

"(Y/N)! There you are! I've been waiting for hours!" She gave a dramatic sigh as you walked over.

"Calm down Maiko ! " you chuckled, she was almost always over dramatic, something that had drawn you to her in the first place.

She gave you a playful wink, and nodded her head to the doors, starting to walk inside, "Whatever, we both know that I can't calm down," she paused, giving small jazz hands, "I've got constant anxiety" 

"Ah, the curse of having a third eye quirk," You followed behind, then moved to the side of her. 

"Oh! What's the occasion for today's trip?" Maiko tucked a piece of light brown hair behind her ear, eyeing you as she waited for a response.

You hesitated, she still didn't know about the whole arranged marriage, and it had been about a month since you had found out.

"Oh...my family and I are meeting another family for some business thing, so I needed to get a new outfit in case they have a son or daughter our age, " You spouted off a lie, knowing that she'd fall for it, only because she trusted you.

"Ooooh another potential merger for your dad's hero agency?" 

You nodded, pausing as your stomach gave a quiet rumble. 

Despite the lunch you were having with your mother earlier, you didn't really eat. 

"Hey, let's get something to eat first," You point to the nearest food outlet.

Before you know it, Maiko and you are each tossing fries to the other, both failing to catch most in your mouth, but you are having a good time regardless.

Once out of fries, you and her are left with your milkshakes, hers chocolate, and your's strawberry. Something kind of impulsive as you haven't had one strawberry flavored in a few years.

"Hey, I think we could probably take these with us to go look for an outfit," Maiko picks hers up, already a third of it gone.

With a nod, you stand up, grabbing your shake and bag, waiting for Maiko before heading off to your favorite store.

"Hey what about this?" She held up a pleated, light blue skirt, it would stop just above your knees, and complimented you very well, "It even has real pockets!"

"And I could wear it with this shirt...and maybe the jean jacket we found earlier?" You smiled happily, holding up a plain white t-shirt, a small v neck cut, nothing too extreme but not too plain.

Your friend placed the skirt into your basket, and you followed suit with the shirt. All that was needed now, would be to grab the jean jacket from earlier.

However, as you turned, you ran into a...hard surface and along with you, came your half finished milkshake.

You stumbled back, eyes wide as you realized what had just happened.

"Oh my gosh, I am so-"

But the male cut you off, his voice monotone as he did, "Save it, just move out of the way, I need to clean my shirt," 

You quietly moved to the side, watching as the moody stranger walked away, leaving you and Maiko to recover.

He had red hair...well only half of his hair was red, and the other half was white, leaving you to wonder how much hair dye it had taken to get it to look so perfect. 

"Well...I wish I could've helped you see that coming...but uh..I got the jacket?" She smiled sheepishly, causing you to let out a nervous laugh, releasing the tension you didn't know you had.

"Okay, cmon lets go pay!" You turned, still reeling from the encounter with that guy..but hey, at least you wouldn't be seeing him again! 

So, with that thought in mind, Maiko and yourself brought your chosen outfit to the front counters, paid and left the store.

"Hey, are you doing anything tonight?" You turned to Maiko after some five minutes, a thought in the back of your mind, nagging at you since you had left the house to meet her. 

"I don't think so! Why, is your mom cooking tonight? Anything she makes is always better than your dads...or yours," she poked her tongue out at you.

"Wha?! Hey! Im not that bad of a cook!" You pouted and crossed your arms, turning away from her, "Well I did have something to tell you but now its not happening," 

She immediately moved in front of you, "Wait no! Your cooking is good! Just tell me the news!" 

"It'll have to wait for my house, it's kind of big news…"

And with that, the two of you set off for your house, Maiko calling her mom and letting her know where she'd be for the night. 

The walk was spent talking about anything and everything, and at one point Maiko tripping and you having to catch her, but hey, that's what friends are for. 

As you approached your house, you spotted your fathers car in the driveway, causing you to screw your face up in dread. 

Hopefully he didn't have a lecture for you, especially if Maiko was here. You had always hated how he seemed to pick on you whenever your friends were over.

And much to your dismay, when you walked inside he met you with a sour look, "(Y/n), where have you been? Don't forget about this weekend's meeting, not to mention the exams coming up," 

You bit back a response about how the exams were two months away, and instead just nodded your head, busying yourself with slipping your shoes off, "I was buying a new outfit for our meeting. I told mother before I left."

He paused, now eyeing you and Maiko, "And came home with...Fujino was it?" 

She nodded, even though she practically lived at your house for a week at a time due to the amount of sleep overs you had, your father had barely bothered to remember her name. 

"Im sorry for not telling you ahead of time, Sir." She bowed her head slightly, only really apologizing because she knew that if she didn't, it would come down on you. 

"Make your way to (Y/n)'s room, I still need to have a few words with her," he commanded, waiting for her to go up the stairs before he continued.

"And (Y/n), do not forget how important this marriage arrangement is. The Todoroki family is powerful, Endeavor is rising in his ranks as a hero, and his son will follow suit. You have to make sure that you are seen as exemplary, no mistakes can be made. Do you understand?" 

You paused, heart hanging heavy, "Yes father…" 

Once he let you go, you made your way to the top of the stairs, seeing that Maiko was waiting for you, a worried look in her eyes, "So...a marriage proposal?" 

"Welcome to the news I had for you…" 

You two moved into your room, the bag of clothes dropped onto the floor, and you climbed onto your bed, grabbing an orange bunny plush, hugging it to your chest.

"Okay so I wanted to tell you about the arrangement but...I dunno, its hard. I'm having my choice taken away from me and for what? So my father and this other hero to have a more powerful agency?" 

"(Y/n)...im so sorry that you've been going through this alone. I'm here for you, whatever you need!" She moved to a swinging chair you had, sitting in it carefully as she thought for a moment, "So, you've never met this guy or his family?" 

"At most I know his family name. But Im too busy focusing on school work to pay attention to how his father is "So high up the ranks" or whatever. Its like my father thinks that this 'Endeavor' guy is the number two pro hero or something…" You puffed out a breath of air, pursing your lips as you thought quietly. 

Maiko stared at you for a few minutes, blinking a few times as she tried to break the news to you. 

"Uhh..Endeavor...as in Enji Todoroki?" 

You looked up, nodding quietly at her puzzled look. 

"(Y/n) he is the number two hero...or wait..if All Might retired a few years back... then number one actually!" She hummed as she herself started to think but eventually shook her head, eyes widening. 

Maiko quickly pulled out her phone, typing hurriedly into it and gasping, "(Y/n) wait! His son goes to UA! His son is reportedly one of the Big Three of his class!" She stopped, scrolling, "uh oh…" 

At this, you scrambled from your spot to her, pulling the phone from her hand to look at what the cause of this 'uh oh' was. 

It was a picture.  A picture of Endeavour's son. He had red and white hair, and a glare so deadly it probably would kill someone on sight. 

But what got you more was the fact that this was the guy from the mall earlier.  You had totally spilled a strawberry shake all over the number one hero's son, and the guy who you would be marrying after graduation. 

"This is...this is fucked. Im so screwed! Not only did I embarrass myself but now I've probably made it seem like im a clumsy girl who likes to shop all the time and now this...Todoroki guy is going to tell his father about me and then it'll ruin the arrangement and my father will kill me." You spouted off more worries until Maiko grabbed your shoulders, shaking you lightly.

"Hey! We aren't planning your funeral yet! Maybe we can meet up with him before you have to meet with his dad! I think I know one of the students at UA!" 

You looked to her, your breathing returning to normal as you nodded along, maybe that could work after all.

"Okay so, we ask whoever you know to get his number and text him about how it was me who spilled the drink and I wanted to apologize...and that Im also the girl he's meeting this weekend!" 

Maiko punched her fist into the palm of her hand, "Okay, lets set this plan into action! I'll text Kirishima!" 

You eyed her, realizing that you had never questioned how she knew anyone at UA, "While you do that, mind explaining to me about whoever this Kirishima is?" 

She only smiled for a moment, putting her phone down after sending him a message about Todoroki, "Oh! He and I work in the same coffee shop! Not everyone is super rich you know, but he's pretty nice guy, kinda cute too. But, you know how my mom is. Im surprised that she let me be friends with you, I swear, she's scared of anyone!" 

You gave a 'Mhhm' to her, knowing full and well that this was the coworker who she tended to talk about but never named, knowing that you'd probably show up to her work to try and get more information.  But hey, you'd leave it at that for now. 

"Well...I guess that now we wait for Kirishima to hopefully send us Todoroki's number?' 

"Now we wait! And with our good luck, by Wednesday we can smoothen out what happened at the mall…" 

You nodded once, as much as this plan seemed rickety, you were willing to take the chance. While you hated the idea of a marriage to whoever this young hero may be, you know that if you messed it up, your father would never let you live it down. 

#The Arrangement #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha todoroki #bnha todoroki #bnha shoto todoroki #mha shoto todoroki #mha shoto x reader #Todoroki shoto #x reader #mha #bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shoto Todoroki fic #mha fic #bnha fic

[lunar-jimin]

i am my mother’s child, i’ll love you til my breathing stops                                     i’ll love you til you call the cops on me

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: smut, tiny little glimpse of fluff, a lot of angst, stalker!reader, ex!namjoon

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: penetrative sex, softdom!namjoon (kinda), sub!reader (also kinda), quickie in a bathroom, lots of feelings, generally sad ones, this is fairly depressing, reader is stalker, so there’s that, also she has drunk sex with a stranger, but she propositions him so

Summary: It was your obsession with your job that drove him away. It’s your obsession with him that drives you.

↳ moodboard   ↳ playlist   ↳ series m.list   ↳ m.list 

The world outside your window was dyed in the murky blue of four in the morning. You didn’t notice. Your eyes were glued to the glaring screen in front of you, begging for your undivided attention. Instead of working like you should be, you’re creeping through your ex’s Instagram page, desperate to know every minute detail of his life after you. The couple staring back at you from the screen made your stomach twist itself into knots. You had known he would move on, find someone to love him better than you could, but you never thought this would happen in a million years.

Engaged? Really? They had only been dating for a year, only a year and a half since he had left you, but sure enough, the giant diamond on her ring finger spoke for itself. Jealousy tore through you. You knew you didn’t deserve his affection, but that hadn't stopped you from holding on to the small glimmer of hope that one day you would find a way to be together again.

Despite it all, you had long ago admitted to yourself that she was a much better match for him. Your mutual friends would often regale you with their complaints of how clingy they were, how much they loved each other. The pictures of them that filled your feed testified to this. She made sure the world knew how much she loved him. A twinge of regret sparked in you when you thought of your own Instagram page, bare of any images of the two of you. You were never one for shoving your relationship into other people’s faces.

Your eyes flicked from the post to the clock in the corner of your screen and you groaned inside at the prospect of getting only two hours of sleep. Turning back to your computer, you noticed the tired burn in your eyes and the lethargy that spread throughout your limbs. With the last bit of energy you could muster, you drug yourself out of your way-too-comfy computer chair and into your welcoming bed. You fell asleep before you made it under the covers, still in your jeans.

The next thing you knew, your alarm was blaring out some loud pop song you had picked a long time ago and never bothered to change, uncouthly interrupting your precious slumber. Sitting you, you already began to feel the consequences of too little sleep: today was going to be a long one. You silently swore to yourself that you were going to fix your sleep schedule, before managing to drag yourself out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom. The warm water from your shower did little to wake you up, but it did sooth your tense muscles. A half an hour later, you were at the bus stop, apple in hand, trying valiantly to keep your eyes open.

Your morning passed quietly. Somehow words appeared on your screen, despite the fact that you didn’t recall typing them. You had never been more grateful for your lunch break in all your life. You wearily made the slow trek to the cafe three blocks down from your office. All you could think of was the toasty panini and cup of coffee calling your name. The apple you had gulped down for breakfast wasn’t doing much for you anymore.

The cafe cheerily greeted you with the smell of espresso and a warmth that comforted your bones. You had been coming here since you began your career as a journalist for the newspaper. You swore they made the best sandwiches in this hemisphere, and the shy barista, Jungkook, never failed to make you smile with one of his cheeky stories from college.

You quickly ordered before taking your usual spot by the window. You had only been sitting for three minutes when your day went from bad to terrible. You blinked twice when you saw him. You were sure it was an illusion, your lack of sleep finally taking its toll on your mental health. You close your eyes and count to ten, praying that he would be gone when you opened them again.

There was now way it was coincidence that he was here. There was no way that he could possibly have come to the same cafe you had been a patron at for five years by accident. There was no way.

You froze in place. You internally debated if you should get his attention. A large part of you wanted to leave before he saw you, have Jungkook sneak you out the back, but a small part of you wanted to run to him, take him in your arms, and promise to love him right. Instead, you sat there like a deer in headlights, letting fate take its course.

You hated that he looked better than the last days of your relationship. He had found his style again and he had cut his hair. He looked healthier, and you knew from your midnight ventures on his Instagram account that he had started to workout. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew deep down that the toxicity of your relationship had been detrimental to his well-being.

The guilt was eating you up, when he turned to look at you. If you were frozen before, you were solid ice now: muscles locked up, eyes open wide. You gulped slowly, praying to whatever god was out there to make you invisible. Unfortunately, the gods weren’t having it today, and he gave you a quick wave and a smile before turning back to the menu.

You prayed that would be the entirety of your interaction, but five minutes you looked up from the phone you were taking refuge in, to find him walking towards your table.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

His voice was deeper than you recalled

"Uh, yeah, sure."

You looked out the window in a desperate attempt to avoid conversation and eye-contact.

"How are you?"

You managed to look up at him.

"I'm fine."

You hoped that he wouldn’t see through the lie. You hoped he wouldn’t see the dark circles under your eyes and realize you still weren’t getting enough. You hoped he wouldn’t see the stain on your shirt and realize that you still couldn’t find the time to do basic chores. You hoped that somehow, he wouldn’t realize that you were just as addicted to work as when he left you. That you were still failing at being a person.

"That's good."

You gave a small smile.

"How 'bout you?"

"Pretty good."

He grinned. You guessed he was thinking about his engagement but was hesitant to bring it up in your presence.

"Good."

You took a sip of your coffee and looked out the window again, uncomfortable down to the soles of your feet.

"I, uh, have some big news that, uh, I wanted to share with you."

Maybe not so hesitant, and not here by accident. You raised an eyebrow.

"I'm, uh, engaged."

The sheepishness that poured over his face was almost adorable.

"Oh."

You were silent for a moment.

"Congrats then."

Behind his eyes, there was a glimmer of disappointment, as if some suppressed sadistic part of him wanted you to be hurt. You were glad that you came off as unbothered, even though your heart ached every time you thought of that stupid engagement post.

"I love her."

He was desperate. You were surprised. Namjoon was never petty, yet here he was trying to make you jealous. Had you really hurt him so badly?

"I would hope so."

You looked back out the window.

"She's really amazing. She cooks for me and goes on trips and she’s even going to quit her job to take care of our kids."

It would have hurt, if the chauvinistic ideals behind it hadn’t made you roll your eyes. But the point was still there: she was actively loving him, taking care of him, showing him that she wanted a future with him. That stung.

"Okay."

He looked at the window, resigning to the fact that he wasn't going to get a rise out of you. He should've known. You had never been very expressive of your emotions.

"I would have married you."

That made you flinch. A spark of delight ignited in his eye. Asshole.

"Okay."

"I loved you."

"I know."

"Did you love me?"

"I don't know."

A lie. You had loved him to the moon and back. Hell, you still loved him. But you wanted to hurt him just a little bit for making you sit through this torture.

"Oh."

A blow to his ego. If he wanted to parry, he best have come prepared.

"Have a good day then."

"Okay."

With that he left, without even bothering to pick up his order.

Before you knew what you were doing, you followed him out the door. You weren’t sure what had come over you, but you knew you were no longer in control of your being. You followed him one block after another, making sure you were far enough behind him that he wouldn’t notice you. You weren’t sure what you were seeking. Closure perhaps.

Soon, you found yourself standing outside a familiar, red, brick building. During your relationship, Namjoon had moved in with you, but still rented his apartment. In the beginning, you had stayed the night a few times. The apartment was small, but the view was to die for. You missed it.

He was already inside, but you knew which window was his. You stared up at it for a couple minutes, before something snapped inside you and you realized what you were doing. You felt nauseous, but that was quickly forgotten when you noticed the time. Panic shot through you, as you began to run back to the office. You could only hope that your boss wouldn’t notice your extended lunch break.

At first, it was a rare occurrence. Ever so often you would find yourself standing in front of those red bricks staring up at that window. Nothing would ever happen. You would just stare, part of you hoping to catch a glimpse of him and another part of you dreading the idea of ever seeing him again.

As your addiction to your job continued to consume you, it became a more frequent occurrence. Once a month turned to twice and then to once a week. Your mental health slowly deteriorated, until you were at risk of losing it completely. Somewhere in that time, you managed to pull yourself enough to end up at a shitty dive bar in the heart of the city with the few friends you had managed to keep. You weren’t that close to them. You doubt they knew your middle name or your birthday, but they were company you didn’t get much of that these days.

The beginning of your evening was spent slowly downing alcohol and catching up about the dullness of each of your existences. You spat out lies, hiding the fact that all your life was anymore was work and stalking your ex. You put on a front. You had other friends. You had been on dates but nothing had worked out yet. You had started dieting and working out. Lies, lies, lies.

Somewhere around your third beer, the fragile illusion you had created for yourself, came crashing down. You were well aware that these girls were friends with Namjoon and that they had undoubtedly received an invitation to his wedding, but while they were relatively sober they had been kind enough not to remind you. Now, however, their blood-alcohol levels were through the roof and as a consequence, they began to discuss the details of the wedding.

At some point, someone asked you what you were going to wear to the event. You stared at her dumbly before she realized what a stupid question it was and turned back to whoever she was talking to. You hadn't received an invitation to the wedding but a small part of you was glad.  You didn’t really want the reminder, and you wouldn’t go anyway, you weren't that masochistic.

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. There was a part of you that did want to go. A part of you that daydreamed of standing up in front of the entire church and begging him not to marry her. Begging him to come home with you. Begging him to love you again. But it was a stupid fantasy, and not one you should indulge in.

Lisa, the only person there who you really gave two shits about, turned to you and began to talk about your job again. When you let it slip that you had ran into Namjoon at lunch awhile ago, she looked like a little kid on Christmas. With her filter gone, she began to pester you with questions. Then she lit up.

“I have an idea.”

You internally groaned. Lisa was famous for her drunk ideas and none of them were ever good.

“You should come with me to the wedding as my plus one.”

Your eyes went wide.

“Lisa, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. You can get all dressed up and make him see what he’s missin’.”

It did sound tempting.

“Okay.”

You didn’t sound very sure, but Lisa was too drunk to care. She squealed before giving you a quick side hug and turning to talk to someone else. As the gravity of the situation hit you, you found yourself longing to forget everything. You threw back two shots of tequila before marching out onto the dance floor.

It didn't take long for some random stranger to come grind up on you, but you were too drunk and upset to care. In fact, feeling someone touch your body again was somewhat soothing. It didn't take long for your lips to find his and it didn't take much for you to convince him to come home with you.

You barely noticed saying goodbye to you friends as he dragged you out the door and into the back of an uber. You barely remembered anything else until you woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and a strange man in your bed.

It was the first time you had really seen him, too inebriated the night before to really notice his features. You didn't want to admit how similar they were. It was the dimples that gave it away. Even drunk, you still seemed to have a type.

He was adorable, lying there, so unaware of the rest of the world. It reminded you of your first date with Namjoon. While he began the night full of energy, he ended it passed out with his head in your lap.

5 Years Ago

You met him through mutual friends. He asked you out at a party and you still remember the red tinge on his cheeks to this day. You had developed a crush and you were delighted to oblige him.

Namjoon was a very simple man, and you didn't expect much more out of your date. Just dinner and a movie. However, he obviously wanted to impress you when he drove out of the city and to a beautiful flower field overlooking it. Halfway into your picnic dinner, he sheepishly confessed to having no cooking skills and that his best friend Jin had prepared your dinner. But that didn't matter, because for what Namjoon lacked in the culinary arts, he made up for with his mind. Namjoon blew you away with the shear capacity of his brain. He was obviously a nervous talker, and so you sat in awe as he spilt facts about whatever subject you were talking about.

"How do you know so much?"

"I don't know that much."

You gave him a look.

He sighed.

"I don't know, I just do. I consume information and I never really forget it. Most people find it annoying. At least that's what Jin tells me."

"It's adorable."

You both blushed.

"Thanks."

He looked sheepishly at his lap.

"So are you."

"What?"

You looked up at him confused.

"You're adorable too."

You're cheeks blazed scarlet.

When you mustered the courage to look at him, he was staring at your lips. His eyes quickly flitted back to yours when he noticed you looking at him. He coughed uncomfortably.

You weren't sure what came over you, but you found yourself tentatively placing your hand on his thigh. You looked at him nervously, while trying to muster the confidence to close the gap between you.

Luckily, you didn't need to. One second you were staring at his lips, the next they were on yours. You were happy to find that they were just as soft and plush as they looked. He moved rhythmically, and you prayed to god that you were as good of a kisser as he was.

Then the rain started. It was just a drizzle at first, but by the time you had packed up the picnic, it had begun to pour. You dashed to the car, soaked to the bone. When Namjoon pulled up to your apartment building, you invited him in to dry off. While his clothes were in the dryer, you started a movie, some cheesy rom-com. You weren't even thirty minutes in, when Namjoon fell asleep in your lap while you played with his hair.

The memory faded and instead of Namjoon, you found the mystery man whose name you didn't know. You woke him gently, offered him some coffee- which he declined- before sending him on his way. You weren't trying to be rude, but the longer you looked at him, the longer you were reminded of Joon, and you only had a limited capacity for heartache.

This time you didn't even bother to change out of sweats and a t-shirt. You must have looked like a mess as you rode the bus to the red-brick building. You were smart enough to bring a coffee and a book so that you had something to occupy yourself, as you sat on the bench across the street. You didn’t even look at the window anymore, just being this close to him was enough to satisfy your weird urge.

You had been sitting for an hour before he appeared. He didn't even glance your way. Your nerves twittered, praying that he wouldn’t see you. You quickly stored your book and coffee in your tote, before following him down the streets.

He led you downtown. You were always jealous of how close his apartment was to the hub of the city. The cars whizzed by you as you followed him down a boulevard of shops. Your heart stopped as you watched him walk into the jewelers. It made sense: he was getting married, rings were involved, but somehow this made it more real. He was investing thousands of dollars in this woman. He was investing his life.

The fact that it was the jewelers that you had visited back when you thought you were going to get married only made it worse. Your heart began to beat faster. Was he going to give her your ring?

3 Years Ago

"Which one do you like?"

You looked over the case carefully inspecting each ring for flaws. After five minutes, you pointed at a sapphire and diamond ring near the back. It was relatively simple, but that’s what drew you to it.

He smiled.

"Well, someday, when you're Mrs. Kim, that ring will be around your finger."

You grinned and lifted up to meet his lips.

"I love you."

"I love you more, Joonie."

"I seriously doubt that."

You giggled and followed him out the door for lunch.

As soon as he came out of the shop, you rushed in. You went straight for the case that you knew had held your precious band. It took you a minute to spot it, but when you did, you felt relief flood your body. It was still there, he wasn't forsaking you for her.

As the relief washed over you, you began to connect to reality again. You realized what you were doing. With it came the nausea. Coming back to reality was always painful. You hadn't deemed yourself a stalker yet, even know though you knew you should. The self-hatred followed you home, up the stairs and through your apartment door.

You didn't mean to follow him. Somehow, the part of you that still loved him (which was a larger part of you than you cared to admit), had gained the ability to control your actions, while the logical part of you sat in the backseat screaming. The shame continued to throb inside you as you curled up on your couch. You knew you needed to stop but you didn't know how.

You didn't and as the months passed you found yourself following him whenever you had spare time. You were careful, staying a good distance behind him. If he had noticed you, he didn't let you know. He seemed blissfully unaware. The worst part was that as you followed him, you began to realize he was truly happy: something you hadn't witnessed since the early days of your relationship.

At some point, you started bringing your camera along. You weren't sure how the pictures of him ended up on your camera roll, and then pinned to your bedroom wall. You would lay in bed at night, touching yourself with one hand, while another tightly grasped a photo of him.

In the morning, you would be so sick with yourself, you would vomit in the toilet. Three months passed like this before his dreaded wedding day arrived. The sane part of you didn't want to go, but the creepy, deviant part of you had more control, and thus you found yourself in front of the mirror in a simple sundress.

Lisa had attempted to convince you to wear a skimpy number in order to make Namjoon jealous, but you knew that Namjoon always found you sexier when you looked innocent. You had often teased him about it. So you settled for a simple floral piece and some kitten pumps.

When you walked into the venue you felt another twinge of jealousy at the grandeur. The church was old and gorgeous and you felt like a sinner just by existing in it. You sat in the back. Your nerves kept you calm enough to decide you didn't need Namjoon knowing about your presence just yet.

You blacked out for most of the ceremony. It was only when Lisa waved her hand in front of you that you realized that instead of witnessing the union of 'man and wife', you were busy daydreaming about said 'man' taking you in front of the whole church.

You stared out the window of Lisa's care wistfully as she drove to the reception. When you started to tear up, she pulled over in a park parking lot.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

You almost pulled it over, but the slight quiver in your voice gave you away.

"Sis, if you don't wanna go, we don't have too. We can just head to my apartment, order Chinese food, binge Netflix, and do facemasks."

It sounded so, so tempting, but you know you needed to make it through it. You needed to prove to the part of yourself that was going insane, that you didn't need him anymore.

You thought back to the day you came home from work to find his bags packed in the living room. You thought about the tears that streamed down your face as you tried, and failed, to convince him to stay, that you loved him more than your job.

He cried too, pulling you into a hug, the last one you would ever have. You remember how his chest, which was usually so strong and comforting, trembled against yours. How you weren't sure if the wet warmth on your cheek was from him or from you.

You must have stood like that for thirty minutes, before he pulled away, gave you a last kiss, grabbed his bags and left. It wasn't until later that evening that you discovered his letter.

My Love,

I don't want to do this, but I am no longer happy. We are no longer happy. There isn't much left to us in all reality. I love you to the moon and back, but I can't spend the rest of my life waiting for you to come home from work. I know it's important to you and I would never ask you to leave it, but I have a life to live too.

You made me so happy for such a long time, but you are a writer in the dark. You stay up all night on your computer and leave me with a cold empty bed. When I wake in the morning, you're gone. I can't stay in a relationship that barely exists.

Someday, when you feel like you can put your job aside for a family, call me. I'll be here because I love you. I love you so much, it makes it hard to breathe. Be happy for me.

Love,

Namjoon

And so here you were, in a passenger seat on the way to his wedding reception. Just a girl with a broken heart and a broken promise. You needed to go. You needed to see him. Confront him.

"Drive."

You sat through dinner, barely touching the food on your plate. You listened to your friends chatter away and make snarky comments through all the speeches. When the dancing started, you were hesitant to move, but Lisa dragged you to the edge of the dance floor and forced you to witness the first dance.

You spent most of it staring at the floor nursing a martini that was almost straight gin. You finally looked up at the end of the song, some cheesy pop shit you knew Namjoon loved, and locked eyes with him. His hand was delicately placed over her waste and you secretly wondered how many hours of practice it took for him to be able to dance to this song. The waltz was never his forte.

His stare never left you and as soon as the song was over, he whispered in her ear before walking straight at you. You drowned your drink quickly, praying the alcohol would be enough to get you through whatever was coming. He grabbed your arm without saying a word and dragged you out of the ballroom and into the nearest bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

His voice was harsh, but there was a touch of tenderness to it.

"Lisa made me come. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me."

"Bullshit!"

You raised an eyebrow at his retort, signaling that you knew he knew you were lying, but you weren't going to tell him the truth.

"I just can't deal with seeing you right now. Do you know what you being here is doing to me?"

You felt a spark of anger go off inside you. He had an issue with being here? That's swell and all, but he was the one who broke up with you. He was getting married, you being here should be nothing more than a footnote.

"I don't care, Namjoon, I don't care if you're hurt or not. I don't care if it's ruining your big day. You leaving ruined my life. I have spent the last year and a half dying because you're not in my bed when I wake up in the morning. And I know that I fucked up and that I needed to be there for you, but you left me without giving me the chance to change! You. Left. Me."

Somewhere in the middle of ranting, hot tears had begun to fall down your cheek and you were once again thankful that you had splurged on waterproof makeup.

"Don't act like such a victim. At least I know that the woman I'm marrying actually loves me."

His words fanned your little spark into a full blown flame and you raised your hand to slap him, but he grabbed your wrist before you could. You looked to his face expecting to see anger, but instead, his eyes showed a mixture of sadness and disappointment.

"I'm sorry." He said.

Next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, soft as you had remembered them. Shock ran through your body and you froze as he continued to kiss you slowly. When he realized you weren't responding, he pulled away, a faint blush apparent on his cheeks.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, you found his lips again. You immediately felt his body relax against yours as his arm snaked around your waste to pull you closer. A bittersweet feeling floated through you as you relished in his taste again. You hadn't realized how much you missed kissing him, how comforting he was.

Somewhere deep inside you was yelling that this was an illusion. That at some point he would have to leave the bathroom and go back to his new wife who would love him and give him children and grow old with him.But you squashed the voice, desperate to live in the moment. Desperate to believe that just for this time, he was yours. That you were his new wife, that you were going to have beautiful children and that in sixty years, you would be two old people stupidly in love.

The kissing quickly became messy and desperate. You unabashedly moaned to his mouth and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in his tongue. Your arms were wrapped around his neck in an attempt to keep him as close to you as possible, as if letting go would mean losing him forever.

He pulled away from you and looked you in the eyes.

"You always look so beautiful."

The comment was quiet and under his breath, but you heard him nonetheless, and warmth crept onto your cheek. Before you could respond, he picked you up and set you on the sink counter.

You welcomed him, as he stepped between your legs, returning his lips to yours. As his lips moved down your neck, his hand traced its way up your thigh, slowly moving your dress up your leg. You moaned as he began to trace circled in your inner thigh, feeling your underwear soaking through.

"Dear god, Joonie," you whine,"don't tease me."

The nickname slipped out without your awareness, but you noticed him pause subtly at the sound of it before returning to his ministrations. His lips returned to yours as he shifted your panties to the side and used his pointer finger to tease your clit.

You whined out at the sudden pleasure, legs tightening on his waist, trying to bring him closer. Trying to bring him home. When he slips a finger inside you, you throw your head back against the mirror. Your eyes squeeze shut, attention completely focused on the digit inside you.

Despite the time that had passed, he hadn't forgotten how to make you see white. With the exception of the man you had dragged back from the bar, you hadn’t been laid in forever, and as a result, you were incredibly sensitive. Right when he was about to tip you over the edge with no more than a finger, he pulled back, lust clouding his eyes, finger soaked.

"Are you gonna be a good girl for me?"

You whined at the old nickname, clenching your thighs together in a desperate attempt to relieve the ache between your thighs. Namjoon's hand drifted to the front of his slacks to massage the tent that had formed in them, while admiring your fucked out form slouched on the hotel bathroom sink.

"Answer my question baby."

A yes slips out of you and he grins like the devil.

"Look, at you, such a dirty girl, all fucked out in a public bathroom, desperate for me to fuck her."

Nothing had changed. He was still the tease who manipulated your body until you experienced cloud nine. And you were his good girl who obeyed every command, desperate to please.

You dipped your fingers into yourself in an attempt to stretch your pussy open for him, while he slowly dragged down his zipper, and pulled his cock out through the fly. Your memory served you well, but he still seemed bigger than you remembered. The tip was flushed red and dripping pre-cum. For a split second you were worried about him staining his slacks, before dashing your concern away to the depths of your consciousness.

You knew you should, but you felt no guilt for what you were about to do. As far as you were concerned, this was Namjoon’s mistake, not your’s. Sure, there was a beautiful bride dancing in the ballroom, and sure, she didn’t deserve this, but no matter what the certificate said, Namjoon would always be yours.

The realization hit you, as he kissed you again, moaning into your mouth as he rubbed the tip of his cock against you. There would always be a part of him that would belong to you. There would always be a part of his heart, no matter how small, that loved you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here, now, about to fuck you in the small, but beautiful bathroom, at his own wedding reception.

The notion made you feel powerful. Your hand quickly replaced his, and you gave him a few quick strokes before lining him up. You both moaned as his tip pressed into you. When he was fully inside, you couldn’t help but feel complete. Months of emptiness completely forgotten as he slowly pulled out before thrusting back in.

“Fuck, baby, I forgot how tight you were.”

Tears pricked in your eyes as he began to pick up pace, moving faster and faster. Despite trying hard to pretend like this moment could last forever, you knew that she would notice him missing soon, and that this moment was doomed to end. You squeezed your eye’s shut, tried to focus on the feeling of him drilling in and out of you.

It didn’t take long for his pace to become unsteady. You opened your eyes to find him staring at your face. You couldn’t read the look on his face, but it carried a strangely familiar emotion. It wasn’t until he reached down to rub quick circles on your clit that you realized what it was: love The realization had you coming around his cock. You screamed silently, tears finally falling down your face. He was close behind, burying his head in your neck as he filled you up one last time.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet. They were words that weren’t meant to be said out loud. They were words that would haunt him for the rest of his life. But they were the truth, and the truth deserved to be spoken.

“I love you too. I always will.”

You looked him in the eyes, while he softened inside you. There was a silent acknowledgement between you. An acknowledgement that neither of you wanted to admit. That you would never be together. That it would never work. That he was married.

So, while remaining completely silent, he slipped out of you, tucked himself into his slacks, fixed his hair and left. You sat there for minutes, tears rolling down your cheek. Finally, you gained enough energy to pull yourself off the sink, shift your panties back into place and walk back out into the world.

You quickly went to your table, grabbed your purse, and said goodbye to Lisa. If she smelled the sex, she didn’t say anything. When you were at the door, you looked back for half a second. He was dancing with her, laughing at something she said. He looked happy, and you prayed to God that he was.

That night you sat down at your computer and began to write your grand, tragic love story.

__________________

seven years later

You laughed as you walked out into the chill autumn air. Hoseok had that effect on you. Always had. He had just treated you to a wonderful celebration dinner in honor of your first best selling book, a novel about a woman unable to let go of her former love.

As you were about to leave your daughter tugged on his hand informing Hoseok of her need to go to the bathroom. Your husband gave you a quick kiss, before taking the four year old back inside. You stood on the sidewalk, breathing in the air and admiring the city lights, reflecting on how you got there.

A month after Namjoon’s wedding, you met Hoseok in a coffee shop you were writing at. You had hit it off pretty quickly, and two years later you were married. Your daughter, Marie, followed soon after. A month ago, your novel was finally published for the world. And so here you were, celebrating with the family that you loved so much.

“Hi.”

You looked up, startled.

“Namjoon,” you breathed, “what are you doing here?”

“I was, uh, going for a walk.”

Your gazed washed over him, and you noted that he didn’t look too good. His hair was long and unkempt, dark circles under his eyes, and his usual impeccable sense of style was thrown away for some sweats and a hoodie.

“Are you okay?”

You couldn’t help the concern that painted your face.

“I’ve been better.”

He gave you a sad smile.

“Oh?”

“We’re going through a rough patch. I think she wants to get a divorce.”

“Oh.”

At one point, those words would've made your year, but that part of you had died a long time ago.

“Maybe we could go out for a cup of coff-”

His words stopped when he saw the diamond and sapphire ring on your finger.

“Oh.”

His face fell. It was then that Hoseok decided to grace the two of you with his presence. Namjoon quickly looked from you, to Hoseok, to your daughter, as he slowly began to put the picture together.  He looked pained. You knew the look, the look of loss.

“Who’s this?”

Hoseok’s voice was cheery and you were once again grateful for your husband’s consistant happiness.

“An old friend. You take Marie to the car, and I’ll catch up with you in a sec.”

He nodded, happy to oblige. When he was out of earshot, you turned back to Namjoon.

“You were supposed to call.”

You stared blankly at him.

“What?” you finally ask.

“You were supposed to call when you were ready to have a family.”

You looked at him in shock.

“Namjoon, you got married.”

“I know, but I would’ve left her for you.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m not. I still love you. And you still love me. You promised me you would forever.”

“Well, it was a naive promise to make.”

He looked like he was about to cry.

“Look, Joon, go home. I know you loved your wife, and I’m willing to guess you still do. Relationships take work, you know that. You’ve alwayknown that. Show her that she means the world to you. Whatever’s going on, you can make it through it. Whatever part of you still loves me, kill it.”

He nods

“I have to go. But call me when you’re in a better spot, okay?”

You hand him a business card, before walking away into the night.

A month later, you get a text.

“We made it work. Coffee on Wednesday?”

You smiled.

series m.list       m.list

#ficswithluv #btsbookclub #networkbangtan #namjoon #fanfic #smut #angst #joonie #rm #bangtant sonyeondan #bts #writer in the dark #melodrama

[liliability]

Box Boy Auden- Eavesdropping

Learning a bit more about Daniel Cortes and Sara Bittencourt, a complicated couple with questionable motives behind the purchase of a Domestic/Romantic Box Boy.

First Chapter

CW: Box Boy Universe, briefly references to pet whump, dehumanizating mindset, argument, Sexy and Unedited. The Box Boy in question is 17. No direct whump in this piece, just an inside of Sir and Ma’ams minds.

Daniel Cortes thought his life would settle, once he moved with his wife to the mountains. Stay in his father-in-law's old mansion, leave the leadership of the company to his oldest son, avoid the press after one absurd and yet intrusive polemic with some self-righteous bastard CEO involved with the pet lib movement or whatever performative shit they called themselves.

Instead, he found himself in a new stressful routine, meeting with his lawyer - the boy can't be taken away, the acquisition was legal, it's all just in case, he reassures himself-, trying in vain to talk to his children and tensing, watching attentively as those damned names appeared now and then in the journal or TV- the list was once short, but now there are so many names and colorless faces disturbing his mind.

The Box Boy, needless to say, was a concern on his own, but every time Daniel could relieve his interminable stress in the kid, in many different ways, were a remind of how worthy the purchase was. But still, he couldn't trust the half-trained Boxie the same way his wife did.

When he got up in that morning to pick up his ringing cellphone, early and impossibly loud, Sara was already sitting in the living room's sofa, dressed in a bright red cardigan, waiting for him. She turned off the phone before he could enter the room.

"Who was in the phone?" His voice was still tired from the night before.

"Oh, nothing, just an alarm". Daniel lowered himsef to kiss her forehead. "Slept well, I think. Are you going to stay for breakfast? Auden's in the kitchen making tapioca. They have coconut and condensed milk, just how you like".

"You like. If one of us have a sweet tooth, it would certainly be you". He couldn't keep the smile out of his face. "But unfortunately I can’t. Have to go to the city. Today's Davi's day off and he wanted to talk to me in person."

Sara was suddenly irritated, as she always got when Daniel talked about his kids from an old marriage, the only people in the world that could compete with her for his attention.

"Don't worry honey, I'll be back in the afternoon".

"Some of my clients wants to meet me in the afternoon. The Art Deco bride, the one with the flower wall and the vintage bar carts. I'll be at her home by 3 pm, I think".

Daniel frowned at her answer.

"Wait, her house? Are you planning to leave Auden here, alone?"

"I mean...yes?" Sara didn't seem so bothered. "She lives nearly, I won’t be gone for that long. The doors will be locked, no domestic chores, he won't hurt himself and is not like he would ever try to run".

Daniel snorted. "I'm not so sure of that".

"Oh, don’t start it now. We can always find him with the tracking chip. And why would he even do it? Last night, he kneeled and tilted his head for me just to be able to use a towel. That's how he was taught to ask for something, and you’d  want to see how thankful he got because I didn’t force him to go downstairs and cook stark naked, although that would be an interesting scene to watch." She grinned maliciously, but her features were sweet and harmless again within a few seconds. "He's a pet with benefits now, and I doubt he has enough braincells in that pretty little skull to even think about running away".

“Naive” Daniel spat out.

Sara raised from the sofa, visibly astonished. “What did you said?”

"That's very naive, to see the kid as brainless for not speaking his mind when this option was taken away from him, in the first place. The truth is that no one could tell what's going on in his head." The man leaned against the wall and muttered the rest to himself, slightly wishing she could hear him anyway. "From all the people, you should be the one to know better".

Sara's face was almost red, not from embarrassment but from being contradicted, like a spoiled child being denied a toy. An irony, as Sara got exactly the toy that she wanted.

"What makes you suspicious about Auden?"

"When we're asleep, he walks around the house and thinks I don't know it. Last week, I caught him awake past his bedtime, staring at the windows, watching th- no, let me finish it- watching the backyard where the cars come and go. The kid almost passed out when he saw me in the room and started his nonsense shit to beg without words". Daniel's eyes suddenly darkened. "It's usually fun to see him do it but I had no patience for that in the moment. I just put him back to bed, but caught him doing the same thing the next day. Your handler friend said he could probably still know how to read, and I have no doubt that he had been messing with my office shelves and taking my books behind our backs".

Sara sighed audibly, crossing her arms.

"So, that's it? What do you even want me to do?"

"I wish you would discipline better your pet, as he had always been more yours than mine, and maybe do your part of the deal."

"My part of the deal?" The woman nearly laughed with disbelief. "You're not expecting that I will stay home all the time, are you? I got my helpful, gorgeous boy to fill the gap that my friends and my husband left in my life and you got your sadistic vengeance at a cost way lower than you expected. That, that was the deal!"

Daniel opened his mouth to argue but his wife interrupted him, a little less emotive this time.

"I miss meeting my clients in person, ok? I miss my former life. This city, it was your idea to move to the mountains. Not mine. Do you think I was excited to move to my father's former house? I went along with it, for you. But I was clear with him and I'll be very clear with you, too. I won't be the one to compromise anymore".

~

Auden never speaks unless he's told to, but he hear and watches his surroundings like a skittish stray that never grow out of the fear that it's going to be kicked at any time.

The boy thought he was the first to hear the phone ringing, but was surprised to find Ma'am already in the living room, touching Sir's phone with a cold, unreadable face. Then the older man appeared too, and the two started talking.

Neither of them noticed the boy in the nearest room.

It was tempting to listen their conversation, especially when he could hear his name. Sir said he was going to the city again, and Auden wished Ma'am could make him change his mind, keep the three of them safe and cozy under the soft blankets like the night before, but she seemed to have her own plans, too.

Auden would be alone. Again.

It's not the same, he has a name and his own collar now, a black piece of leather soothingly buckled around his pale neck, and that means he's safe. He's wanted.

"Are you planning to leave Auden here, alone?"

Sir was always disappointed when Auden had to learn a new thing in the mansion, and he and Ma’am were the only ones that could instruct him. Usually some specific cuisine, or an unusual domestic duty, that he hadn't been taught in the Facility. Interrupted training, he heard at more than one point.

But Sir and Ma'am had unconsciously taught him how to read a room, too, just by some people's face or a shift of voice. He used that knowledge to know when his owners were upset or stressed. He knew when he had to be good enough to lighten their mood.

He could also tell that their conversation would soon turn into an argument but he could do nothing to stop it. He wasn’t supposed to listen, for a start.

"...And is not like he would ever try to run". Ma'am was right. Auden could never and the simple thought of it made him tremble and lower his head. He was grateful for having owners so nice. A kind Sir that pets his hair and lets him help with the woodcraft and a gentle Ma'am that pampers him and show him pictures of her beautiful flowers.

"We can always find him with the tracking chip". Does he have... a tracking chip? Auden didn't know that. Where could it possibly be?

"That's very naive, to see the kid as brainless for not speaking his mind when this option was taken away from him, in the first place. The truth is that no one could tell what's going on in his head." Sir words were harsh and hurtful for Auden. He had been made for the couple. A perfect custom pet, an enviable combination built to fulfill his owners desire.

But still, standing in an empty lounge listening to his owner's conversation, despite the throbbing headache telling him it was wrong, Auden couldn't help but wonder if Sir was right, if something had slipped between his training and his arrival making him defective. Untrustworthy. Maybe it was something that was never a part of him, in the first place.

And he wondered, silently, what he could do to make up for that.

~~

-Tagging: @albino-whumpee @eatyourdamnpears @whumpfigure @orchidscript @cubeswhump @more-miserables @whatwasmyprevioususername @castielamigos-whump-side-blog . Ask/Comment to be added or removed from the taglist!

[Question]: Is anyone interested in Auden’s WRU Intake Papers? Thinking about dropping some hints of Auden’s backstory in it.

#whump #pet whump #box boy universe #Auden the Combined Boxie #eavesdropping #Sara Bittencourt #Daniel Cortes #can you tell i was raised watching novelas?

[bigscaryyanderewriter]

Frosty Fear and the Fury of Flames (Dragonshifter! Shouto x Reader) Part 3

Part 2 ^

Hahaha, a part 3 for you??? It’s more likely than you’d think. This is actually kinda fun to write in parts, although it takes me a while. I have a few requests waiting to be answered still and that kinda bums me out still. Gonna be getting a lot more of Todoroki though. Haha… I like fire boys. Also, if you can’t tell. I really want to play dnd.

Tw: Yandere, Nightmares, Slight Gore

2.1k Words

“Bakugou, are you sure about this? I mean-” 

“Did I ask for your opinion, Shitty hair? Come on, get that damn wimp ready to go. We’re going to need to get out of here if we are going to get them away from that damn dragon.” The grimace on his face as deeper set than usual as you were forced to pack up with the others yet again.

They were going to abandon their mission, since there were other things they could do. That was what Bakugou told you at least, you had a feeling that none of the jobs in this tavern were worth half as much to the group as the one involving Shouto was. Still, you were grateful that they wanted you to stay and that you could be useful to them.

You couldn’t stop the sinking feeling though as you knew that getting farther away would be good, but also… They had to do something like give up the goal they had been working towards to assist you. 

The morning was still dark, no sun peaked on the horizon as the birds only just began singing their morning songs. The bags were packed and soon you were all ready to go by the time the sky began to lighten. You would be heading east and down the mountains a good ways until you got to the plains, travelling for about two weeks before stopping in another city called White Fields. Something was said about dangerous rock formations that would cause small landslides and magic folk you couldn't talk to. Not much rest would be allowed, wanting to get as far as possible from the mountains and desert. If luck was on their side, they would be out of reach by that point, since Shouto was still unable to travel that far from what you have learned. Something about territory disputes and bad blood.

That was the plan and you were praying to whatever would listen that it would work. 

"Are you ready, (Y/N)? We had better get going." Mina spoke from the doorway of the little room of the inn. Her face showed a bit of concerned and you realized you had been scratching a bit at your arm. You hurriedly covered the scratches and grabbed the sack with your more material belongings, the golden jewelry, things you had taken from the cave. Following her out to the boys, you all got moving as you walked out of town. 

The place where the sun rose was your destination. Going throughout the day. The further day the mountains, the darker the forests and the colder it was. It was a bit misty out with the morning still being new. The winter would hit quickly this year and you could tell. At least it would here. The cold air from last night seemed to be cradled here. Your arm hairs prickled as you all walked. 

It was as you pulled your arms closer to yourself that you heard Denki speaking, "Hey, you look… like you might want this." He pulled off the warm yellow cloak he had worn throughout the time you had seen him and offered to hand it to you.

"Oh- It's nothing. I'll be fine… The sun will warm me up soon enough. You know I'm not a princess though, so you probably shouldn't call me that." You said with a tiny fake smile. "I appreciate the offer though."

"Aw, maybe I shouldn't call you princess then. No princess holds a candle to you anyways! You have to be the product of some goddess of beauty." He laughed as you couldn't stop the heat rushing to your face, "Don't be so shy. I'm just teasing you. Though you do make a cute face when you're embarrassed. Still, you should take it. I'll be fine without it for a minute."

"Kaminari, I swear to all the gods that I will shove so many rocks into your mouth, if you don't stop flirting. You'll be shitting so many rocks that you could put it on a resume." Bakugo was throwing nonsense threats and this just resulted in some laughter as you had never heard a threat more ridiculous. It was like it was written by someone who didn't actually know how to properly threaten people or something. 

Ah yes. That is me. The narrator, who cannot narrate without getting sidetracked. Now, watching you and the group laugh… The tension of impending doom is nowhere to be found as you all walk the beginnings of the mountains' autumnal scenery. The yellow cloak draped on your shoulders as you continued and Denki at your side, chatting idly with you. His presence and the conversation taking the pressure of the situation away. It seemed he was an expert, being a bard. Something told you to be careful though. The stereotype with musicians and their unfaithfulness… 

There was more time to mull over the prospect later, but you also just found him so jolly. It was a real treat. Going through the day, nothing happened. It was painfully boring event-wise, tiring, but you made progress. You had begun to feel uneasy, despite Kaminari distracting. Something was lurking in the forests, in the trees. Everything seemed about as turned around for you as a spinning carnival mirror maze. 

Sero, Kiri, and Mina seemed to have had no problem as you were led by them. The group was much closer together now and the laughter began to cease. Night would come and the wish to leave these mountains was becoming louder within your head. It was eerie.

No one spoke much while the dark branches of nearly black barked pines hung above with their ruddy red leaves. The silver of the wood beneath was visibly upon some broken branches and on the stumps that you would sometimes pass on the thinning path. They looked unpleasantly rough to touch. Small barbs lining the branches and serving as more than a small warning to be careful around them. 

Soon the light would go, so Kiri found a spot around where some trees had fallen and sat up a fire for the night, while you picked up anything on the ground to make it less rocky. It was also handy for you to get more sticks for the fire. These trees burned infamously easy. A single mistake with a fire and it could go up in minutes, but it would burn for a long time. It was not usual for anyone to cut any down due to the inhabitants though and the consequences. You didn't know what they were and you weren't about to try to find out by harming the forest. 

Dinner was easy, still being able to have some good leftovers from the inn. You had to eat them all today, but it was still going to be fuel until the next time you went to eat fresh food, cooked by someone else at least.

Denki couldn't help lightening the mood as he pulled out his stringed instrument and started playing a lovely song… It was familiar, somehow. You struggled to think of what it was called, but you knew the words. It was peaceful and it definitely seemed to help Mina perk up again as she began talking with Sero. Bakugo seemed less irritable as he ate, the music must calm the beast. You couldn't help the smile that came on your face at that thought.

Singing along probably wouldn't keep him calm, but you oh so wanted to… It would be a little embarrassing, but others might join in.

So you did. It was time to have some fun.

You hummed along and started singing, 

"How much is love worth?

Yet, we're giving it for free.

Didn't cost a penny, but

I've gained everything.

I'd do anything to make her smile

My darling

My darling

Darling~

If only she would look out

Of that dreamy little world

She would then see

That while I am no prince

And will make her crazier than me

I would never quit to admit I'm wrong

I'd always get on her nerves,

She would hate the way I eat

And only then it's worse.

I'd complain about her mother

Even though she's quite alright

I won't stop til I see her blush

Red in the dead of night.

An immoral proposition

If not only for a tease

But I have some qualities

that put her mind at ease.

I love her more than the sea does a shore

As the sun does the horizon,

Unafraid to come back home

And get her blood arising 

Kiss her face and hold her hand

I'll never let her go.

I'm lucky that she loves it

Where I'd be without it, who would know

That she likes to feel the spite

That even though I mess around

I'm in her bed tonight 

Of my darling,

My darling

My darling

Darling

Not doing as the birds and bees 

But holding on her hand,

Kissing at her face

And saying things for show

Her pretty crimson blush

Cause when I see it, then I know

That the hand life dealt

Was a royal flush."

Denki sang with you as the others watch, some la's and humming as you got up with a spin. The swirl of your dress and body as you sang out each part with more confidence. Mina laughed when you would dance and Kirishima was keeping the beat.

After a while, the singing stopped and soon the group started to settle in. 

Bakugo took first watch with Kirishima, Sero and Denki. Then Mina and you. Only because of practicality. It was to be in three hour shifts. It was when you laid down on your bed roll and cover yourself with a blanket you had been given. The night would be cold, but the fire was big enough to warm you as you sleep. As soon as you eyes closed, you were out. A day of travelling made you more than ready to sleep. It was a wonderful thing to sleep with good dreams, but you seemed to lack any dreams lately.

Not tonight.

You woke up in an ashen forest. Smoke choked life as blue flames rose in the distance. It snowed. You could hardly distinguish the ash from the snow until it would either burn you or melt on your skin. Getting up was impossible, the burning branch crushed your legs.

The acrid smell of burnt hair and smoke. It stung your eyes as you tried to tears away while coughing. You just couldn't stop coughing. "Please! Please! Denki?! Mina!" 

You were crying and struggling. The wood was too heavy and you could see the blood on the snow. You were bleeding heavily. It hurt. It hurt.

"Somebody help me! Please! I don't want to die." You couldn't stop the tears as you thrashed about. Soon you stopped though. A growl sounding above you. Blue eyes and blackened scales, injuries beyond counting.

El diablo azul. The shivering continued as you looked up, nothing short of full blown trembling as he snorted hot air over you and knocked the branch away. Draconic was spoken to you as you scrambled back from him. It was deep and grumbling, not hissing or growling like the words spoken by Endeavor or Shouto. 

"I don't under- understand. Thank you though…" You couldn't look away from those blue eyes as they seemed to glint with amusement before the great black wings beat against the air. Smoke and snow getting caught up as he was off again and soaring over the burning forest. Lying in the snow though, you wouldn't be able to get up. Maybe he wanted to give you a chance to survive. So you pulled yourself up and began to walk through the blizzard, blood oozing from your thigh and ash caked on your skin. You weren't going to make that help mean nothing.

Though, you were confident. You looked up to see something far worse than the fire ahead. Red and white scales. Shouto was coming for you. 

Blinking your eyes open as you were shaken awake. Sweat coated your body while you panted, "Stop- Stop! Please."

It was as you jolted up, you saw Denki looking with fear at you. His hands had been shaking you awake and scrambled away. Out of breath as you looked around frantically. "Shshshh, You need to be quiet. You're attracting too much attention. You were screaming in your sleep. What in the world were you dreaming about…?"

"Nothing, it was nothing, Denki… Just a bad dream. I um, I'll take the rest of your shift if you want to go back to sleep. I don't think I can…" You murmurred. 

#yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #dragon #dragon shouto #kaminari denki #slight kaminari x reader #mha bakugou #sero #mina #bakusquad is best #yandere shouto #part 3 #reader insert #yandere shouto todoroki #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto #tw yandere #my writing

[bluebeardsbride-archive]

Where do you find the strength to go on? To live? To keep trying? To believe? I've lost myself and I'm completely undone. I'm not suicidal but I never want to leave my bed even though I haven't really slept in weeks. And yes, I'm getting help. It's taking longer than I expected to show results. I'm sorry for putting this on you, I just want to know what you do when you've lost all hope and faith? How do you comfort yourself?

I’m by no means a therapist, and none of this is a replacement for adequate medical care. This is what I do when I feel bad: 

Get outside. Whenever I’m feeling really upset I go and pray in the woods.

I go on the treadmill for a half hour. I can’t believe I’m recommending exercise because six months ago I wasn’t very active and didn’t believe exercise would help me— but it did! The hardest part was getting started.

I clean my room! Do my laundry, wash my sheets, make my bed, organize my books. It’s a soothing ritual for me.

I take a break from electronics and do something with my hands. I make bread or embroider. Bread is very easy to make, and also very soothing: all you need is yeast, flour, and water. 

Have structure in your life! I set my alarm for seven every day (except for weekends— then I wake up at nine!). This is where having a job or school can help (if they’re not too overwhelming). My weekday is usually like this: wake up at seven, at work from eight until five, come home, relax for a half hour, make dinner, set aside five minutes of writing time. 

Try not to compare yourself to other people. This is probably one of the things I struggle with most.

For two minutes every day, I sit in the middle of my room and focus on my breathing. That’s it. Sort of like meditation. 

Move from your room! Even if it’s just moving from the bed to the couch. 

Write down all the mean things you say to yourself, and what made you think them. Doing this made me realize how awful I treated myself, and over very insignificant things.

Have spaces that comfort you: in the words of Joseph Campell, “[Sacred space] is an absolute necessity for anybody today. You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don’t know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don’t know who your friends are, you don’t know what you owe anybody, you don’t know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen.”

Other things I do:

I have a few poems memorized that I recite when I feel overwhelmed: some lines from ‘The Second Coming’ by W.B. Yeats, ‘Bog Queen’ by Seamus Heaney, ‘Whoso List to Hunt, I Know where is an Hind’ by Thomas Wyatt, ‘Me Tangere’ by Sara Eliza Johnson.

I watch European comedy films. Or Hannibal. Or any comfort show, really. 

I call my dad. My dad and I are really close, so talking to him always settles me down. 

I have a notes doc of ‘reminders’: quotes I put away to make myself feel better. Here are some:

this post and this post

“As a child I thought a great deal about meaninglessness, which seemed at the time the most prominent negative feature on the horizon. After a few years of failing to find meaning in the more commonly recommended venues I learned that I could find it in geology, so I did… I found earthquakes, even when I was in them, deeply satisfying, abruptly revealed evidence of the scheme in action. Later, after I married and had a child, I learned to find equal meaning in the repeated rituals of domestic life. Setting the table. Lighting the candles. Building the fire. Cooking. All those soufflés, all that creme caramel, all those daubes and albondigas and gumbos. Clean sheets, stacks of clean towels, hurricane lamps for storms, enough water and food to see us through whatever geological event came our way.” (Joan Didion)

“I also am other than what I imagine myself to be. To know this is forgiveness.“ (Simone Weil)

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.” (Frederick Buechner)

“A long time ago, when you were a wee thing, you learned something, some way to cope, something that, if you did it, would help you survive. It wasn’t the healthiest thing, it wasn’t gonna get you free, but it was gonna keep you alive. You learned it, at five or six, and it worked, it *did* help you survive. You carried it with you all your life, used it whenever you needed it. It got you out—out of your assbackwards town, away from an abuser, out of range of your mother’s un-love. Or whatever. It worked for you. You’re still here now partly because of this thing that you learned. The thing is, though, at some point you stopped needing it. At some point, you got far enough away, surrounded yourself with people who love you. You survived. And because you survived, you now had a shot at more than just staying alive. You had a shot now at getting free. But that thing that you learned when you were five was not then and is not now designed to help you be free. It is designed only to help you survive. And, in fact, it keeps you from being free. You need to figure out what this thing is and work your ass off to un-learn it. Because the things we learn to do to survive at all costs are not the things that will help us get FREE. Getting free is a whole different journey altogether.” (Mia Mckenzie)

“I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories… water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom.” (Clarissa Pinkola Estes)

“We cannot live in a world that is interpreted for us by others. an interpreted world is not a home. Part of the terror is to take back our own listening. To use our own voice. To see our own light.” (Hildegard von Bingen)

“You have to pick the places you don’t walk away from.” (Joan Didion)

“The aim is to balance the terror of being alive with the wonder of being alive.” (Carlos Castaneda) 

“Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.” (George Adair)

“If you remember better times you know they were lies, because they led to this.” (Alice Notley)

#Anonymous #advice #whispers

[punkscowardschampions]

James & Ava

James: Good morning, how are you? Ava: 😊 All the 🌞 for hearing from you Ava: how are you, James? James: I'm happy to hear that James: meanwhile I'm busy, but unfortunately not solely with hours dedicated to missing you, which is in itself dangerously close to a regret Ava: I know what you mean Ava: the universe doesn't allow nearly enough opportunities for pining at open windows or reflective musing whilst staring into bodies of water, or mirrors, depending on the mood Ava: impressive you can think up any beautiful words in such circumstances Ava: what are you busy with? James: I can't remember the last time I looked into a reflective surface that wasn't a kitchen appliance, but considering how few hours of sleep my present universe allows, that's perhaps for the best James: there is only so much a caffeine fuelled bloodstream can produce and therefore no new paragraphs of the novel are forthcoming either James: I'm steeping your in disappointments to begin your day, I'm afraid James: and you're not the only one, as what I am overwhelmingly busy right now is cancelling plans Ava: I'm sure I'll survive them all though Ava: as you will the lack of sleep and caffeine jitters, with a bit of help Ava: what can I do? Ava: Which is to say, what plans are worth keeping cancelled, and which ones should be salvaged from the ❌🗑 James: all I am left with are the activities which I cannot bear to erase from the schedule, therein lies my dilemma in its entirety Ava: Lay it on me Ava: two heads are better than one James: she is supposed to be here & isn't, which is of no surprise to me & wouldn't be of any consequence if I were capable of being in two places at once James: but I am not, nor do I have words to spin this into a story that doesn't end with a child having even less routine or structure when what she wants is more of both Ava: Right, and naturally, she's left it too late to contact any grandparent to be a stand-in? Ava: is it something I could do or not? James: I did try my mother but her reaction to being asked to enter the swimming baths was as hilarious as it was unhelpful Ava: I can imagine Ava: if that wasn't a waste of imagination James: I should have foreseen that they'd end up sharing the same unwillingness to get their hair wet Ava: but swimming caps are so fetching Ava: 🙄 James: of course James: & it's entirely about them, not the children's enjoyment Ava: or that swimming is actually a pretty vital skill Ava: you think people who like to spend so much time doing water-adjacent activities, yachting, sailing etc, would realize said importance but half my friends can't swim, only take the poolside pictures Ava: but seriously, if you think they'd be okay, I'm happy to keep watch on whichever kid would be more agreeable with me doing so James: Jay loves swimming, but I'm sure she'll outgrow it & prefer to pose apathetically on a lounger in designer sunglasses given a few years & the force of my wife's will James: that's how things work in this universe Ava: Not everyone is like that Ava: and your wife's will can be broken by the horror of damp hair, it can't be that much of an unstoppable force James: her will isn't the one being tested, but point taken Ava: No, I know Ava: I bet none of her yummy mummy friends take their kids though, do they? James: all of her friends have foreign au pairs that they barely have to financially compensation for raising their children full time Ava: so Ava: we can pretend I'm your enthusiastic...Swedish is perhaps a little too cliche Ava: Dutch? Ava: au pair James: what language do you actually take in school? James: they might hypothetically try to voice their complaints to you & expect you to respond in kind Ava: Such a shame the obligatory Latin won't come in handy, as per with dead languages Ava: I take French though, some of them might be Swiss James: it's inconsequential really, I can't ask you to help me when I haven't even asked what your plans are Ava: I offered, you didn't ask Ava: and I wouldn't have offered if I was busy with anything of consequence James: yes you would Ava: Nothing in my life is that important, not currently James: this isn't important to you James: & it doesn't have to be Ava: It's a life skill, like I said Ava: I don't mind doing it James: what am I supposed to say? Ava: if you think it's a bad idea, it's not like I'll be offended or anything silly like that James: it isn't that it's a bad idea Ava: What is it? James: it's that I feel bad, if this is what I can offer you James: because ours isn't supposed to be a sob story & it seems like I've only started a conversation with you to file my complaints Ava: it's not all you can offer me Ava: or all you do Ava: you have responsibilities, plenty of them, I knew that before Ava: and it's not a negative, even with it meaning we spend more time missing each other than we'd like James: it is however painfully stereotypical, 'my wife doesn't understand me' & so on Ava: well, yes Ava: at least you aren't alone in that pain Ava: 2/3 marriages, isn't it James: you're not supposed to be a sounding board for my mistakes, or hers, is all I'm trying to say Ava: I don't feel like one, I promise James: I just wish we could exist independent of this James: but there's no way not to feel equally as bad for wishing for a different world as I do for dragging you into this one Ava: I know Ava: but that wouldn't be a real world at all Ava: it could only exist within the pages of the novel Ava: it'd be perfect but James: I know that too, all of it James: ignore me, I'm tired Ava: I couldn't if I wanted to Ava: and I don't Ava: maybe you'll find a lilo to catch some 💤 on James: sadly I'm not taking any of you swimming at the villa Ava: You would have to tell me if I needed my passport as well as my swimsuit James: one day Ava: yeah? James: if you want to Ava: I don't need to pose apathetically in another sun lounger Ava: but of course, I'd like to be anywhere with you James: you won't be, that isn't even the hypothetical holiday I have in mind James: you know I want to experience things with you Ava: Then we will Ava: and it'll be much more than a photo opportunity James: okay, good Ava: Where would you most want to go together? James: I don't know James: but I like snow Ava: We can work with that Ava: top of a mountain, maybe James: that would be an undeniably good photo opportunity Ava: okay, so the view doesn't count 😅 James: I'll be relying on that, taking mental pictures is all well & good for now but you're a very lovely view Ava: oh 😌 Ava: you're lovelier James: no, you're impossibly beautiful James: all I can do is my best to put suitable description to it Ava: you're just Ava: I want to help you today Ava: but it's undeniably a bonus that I will get to see you James: I'll make some time purely for you James: I don't know when, but as soon as I can Ava: I'll take it Ava: whenever it is James: there's a chance I can use my mother's unwillingness to help me now as a insistence to do so later Ava: potentially Ava: promise her hair won't get wet, that'd be a start James: thank you, I'll open with that Ava: 😏 Ava: there must be something she'd like to do with them Ava: that won't also be entirely torturous for them, because certainly counterproductive James: I'm not sure there is James: but at the very least she's capable of feeding & putting them to bed Ava: then I can do the same for you Ava: more or less James: by then, it'll be my turn to do something for you Ava: which would you rather 🛏 or 🍽? James: it's not my decision, it's yours Ava: I'll cook for you James: I think that's wise Ava: I just want to see you, we don't need to go anywhere unnecessarily Ava: my place is often empty James: I'm happy to hear that in this instance, because of how much I want to see you too Ava: It has its perks Ava: you can take as long as you like putting me to bed, also James: can I? Ava: Yes Ava: I very much hope so James: I don't think you've anticipated how long I would like to spend doing so James: in a perfect world Ava: in this world Ava: we can go to bed very, very early, so you'll still be home by the time you need to be James: & if I don't need to be anywhere else, can I stay? Ava: yes Ava: you can stay as long as you can James: I'll try & stay until we can say good morning face to face Ava: I'd really like that James: me too Ava: You make me smile, you know James: I look forward to seeing it, should traffic ever allow Ava: Oh, I could've got myself there James: I know but I want to spend as much time with you as possible, just in case James: it's already been highlighted how unreliable all of my childcare options are & just how dependent on ridiculous whims Ava: I'm not going to complain, trust me James: you'd be entitled to, when you see how much energy these girls have compared to me James: they make me appear a level of exhausted that I haven't yet reached, honest James: it's horrifically unjust Ava: If I know anything about having kids, it's that any complaint I might have doesn't even register in comparison Ava: and you're still beautiful, even if you're very, very tired James: in theory possibly, but actually, your every sound & silence registers with me Ava: in that case, I'll make every one count James: I believe you Ava: not that I promise my words will be as good as yours Ava: that would just be foolish James: I don't doubt your vocabulary either, you're extremely eloquent & capable whatever the circumstances James: a very worthwhile skill in a protagonist Ava: you could make me the swooning type and it'd be valid Ava: perhaps not very likable or inspirational though James: unless you've changed your mind about seeing me, I don't have the time for such a drastic & unnecessarily out of character rewrite James: there aren't enough hours in the day to finish the saga, never mind turn us into the next Bella & Edward James: what a great disservice that would be to you anyway Ava: That would be so out of character, I couldn't possibly, we'd find ourselves in the same situation regardless Ava: and whilst I'm happy to miss you and do some pining for the cause Ava: I'll be happier to see you, of course Ava: no need to exile yourself to Italy, though I can see the pluses of that for you/Edward James: not to mention, the age gap is already enough of a potential concern Ava: at least you aren't re-doing high school for the nth time Ava: that would be alarming James: there's an argument to be made that I should Ava: if you picked a better school, maybe James: at the top of a mountain, perhaps Ava: yes Ava: though, distracting as you would be, I wouldn't be mad at an excuse to see you every day James: there is nothing more distracting than the thought of the blush of your cheeks in the cold air, which is what I'm considering right now Ava: James James: Ava Ava: I'm going to have to be cool when I see you, aren't I James: yes Ava: okay Ava: then I better compose myself James: such a heartbreaking sentence will never make it into the final draft Ava: it's okay, I like swimming James: you'll enjoy it when I can promise you a hot spring Ava: I'll love it then James: I hope so Ava: I will Ava: but I could be anywhere with you and feel 🌞 James: I can't help but feel as though this swimming lesson will put that to the test Ava: screaming kids are nothing Ava: I'm 💪 James: you can have the baby then, there's more heavy lifting involved Ava: alright Ava: I can do that Ava: she must be like a little 🐠 James: she looks like one with her 🐠 hooded towel on Ava: that's adorable James: [sends her a picture from a previous swimming lesson of that adorable bub wearing it because that's not cheating evidence Chlo, we're safe] Ava: Bless her Ava: she's precious James: you'll do fine, she enjoys a compliment Ava: I feel that James: well, it'd be amiss if I didn't flirt with my au pair & we don't want any raised eyebrows Ava: Exactly Ava: got to play your role James: if there was ever one I was seemingly born to play Ava: you don't want an actual au pair? Ava: not for flirting purposes, obviously James: I'm not allowed one, for flirting purposes or otherwise Ava: Ahh Ava: I see James: yet another cliche Ava: you shouldn't need one Ava: she doesn't work, right Ava: or uni, or anything James: of course not, but we would hypothetically need one because, as you just highlighted, she doesn't do anything Ava: yeah Ava: maybe you could find a man Ava: or a really unappealing woman James: I'm not handing her someone else to sleep with, least of all someone who's supposed to be busy watching the children James: & I don't think a woman unappealing enough exists given that my imagined track record clearly surpasses the actual Ava: and it would just be cruel to force any queer guy to be her built-in gay BFF Ava: 🙁 James: oh god, that would be the cruellest fate imaginable Ava: couldn't wish that on anyone Ava: I just Ava: wish I could help more long-term James: all you have to do is be here, that is helping me both short & long term James: more than you know or I could feasibly let you know Ava: but you can try Ava: and I will very much enjoy you doing so Ava: later James: I miss you James: I want you to know that now Ava: I miss you too James: I'll be there soon though, whether or not that helps or makes the feeling worse for you Ava: we'll see Ava: at least I can let you know 💬 James: I'll take my own opportunity to compose myself before you do Ava: 😇 James: 😈 Ava: it will be hard not to be James: it always is Ava: yeah Ava: one day, you won't have to be James: but this morning, I'll try to please everyone Ava: and you will James: you're the 😇 darling Ava: but you are very, very good Ava: you should know, I want you to James: thank you Ava: you're 🥇 James: I will only accept the accolade if I can share the honour with you Ava: you're too generous Ava: you deserve it James: so do you Ava: nah, not really James: yes really James: I don't deserve you happening to me James: I'm in awe of everything about you, Ava Ava: That's not true Ava: you deserve me Ava: and a lot more besides James: irrespective of the difference of opinion, I don't want anything more than you Ava: anything? James: what could I possibly desire more than you? Ava: you're Ava: are you nearly here? James: yes, but I can take some kind of impromptu detour if you'd rather the answer was no Ava: I can definitely compose myself again Ava: becoming quite an expert James: which is why you deserve a 🥇 James: I know how difficult it is to do Ava: at least we share in it Ava: that makes it, not easier but at least worthwhile James: still, I wish there was something I could do to make it easier for you Ava: it'll help when I get to see you in the pool Ava: or make it a lot worse in a kinda fun way, anyway James: oh James: I haven't stopped to consider what you're going to be wearing for this Ava: It's probably best you don't Ava: forget I said anything James: hm, what you're done is, you've essentially guaranteed I can't & won't Ava: it's okay, you have the whole ride there to think about it before you really need to concentrate James: except I meant it when I answered yes to being nearly there & as soon as I am, time will speed up as it tends to do James: around you there are just never enough moments Ava: I miss you before you've even got here too Ava: no amount of time seems suitable James: I'll write us days, weeks, months & years but there's every chance you'll still feel cheated by it Ava: that's just life isn't it Ava: there's no time for half the things we want to do, but we have to carry on in earnest anyway James: the fraction alters from person to person, depending on the life lived & what gets prioritised but I don't believe there's anyone satisfied that they've experienced enough of anything they still want Ava: right Ava: the best you can hope for is doing some of it and having no regrets about if you could've done any more with your allotted time James: in not doing regrets, I'm halfway there Ava: could be worse James: I'm aware it could also be better, don't worry, I won't make you say it Ava: who's couldn't though James: anyone I care about, if the 🖋 were mightier than the ⚔ or indeed intentions counted for more than words on paper in the 1st place Ava: good intentions might not exactly be doing good, but it's still much better than doing bad James: they might also be dangerously close to a fool's errand but I've definitely made a fool of myself for a lot less Ava: I think its noble James: do you? Ava: Yes Ava: of course Ava: I mean it, really mean it, when I say I think you're lovely James: it's just that I'm not used to hearing it James: give me days, months, weeks & years Ava: Done Ava: the only reason I'd stop was if you wanted me to Ava: even then, I might try again, a few more times James: I have no intention, be it good or bad, of stopping you from doing anything you want to Ava: as long as you want it too James: even if I don't Ava: I wouldn't want that James: give yourself days, months, weeks & years James: the point is, my limitations aren't yours, you can do whatever you want & I won't be something that prevents you Ava: I'll still have time and space to say and mean it, whoever I am, because it will still be true and you'll still deserve to hear it James: okay, I'll work on accepting that James: but I make no promises about getting that work done during this particular car ride James: nonetheless, if you're still willing to, you can get in Ava: [come through gal, say hello to them babies] James: [depending where we're putting this on the timeline it could be the first time you have] Ava: [very well could be, Jay just like whaaa] James: [she's like new phone who dis] Ava: [just like I too wanted to swim so I'm coming with, is that cool?] James: [cue excited chatter about swimming and all the other sports and activities she likes because she's a sporty bitch from cradle to grave hence her personal trainer future] Ava: [just taking an interest like your own mother never, so rude] James: [I like to imagine the baby joining in by making excited sounds like she's trying to chat too] Ava: [just replying like yeah girl, same, like you understand] James: [I love it when that's a thing] Ava: [so do babies] James: [already better with her than her actual mother is] Ava: [sad but true] James: [we know the bar is that low, no shade Ava we also know you'll be an amazing step mum and mum so] Ava: [but seriously, we aren't being that extra rn that would be weird, we're just being not shit lol] James: [exactly dr phil and we know this swimming lesson will go great cos I'm only gonna be evil after and not let him get away to spend the night with her cos forever rude] Ava: [that's real and fair] James: [you lowkey don't get to have anything you want rn lads it's just the era we're in] Ava: [true tea, can skip to that] James: the later we wanted is going to have to happen moreso than we thought James: I'm really sorry James: I've tried everyone, both my siblings even Ava: Oh, okay Ava: that is a shame James: It's not okay, you were wonderful earlier & I James: well, I'm hardly that, unless we're giving out marks for effort in the last hour Ava: I'm definitely counting it Ava: if it can't be done it can't be James: not tonight Ava: then it's, not okay but just a fact Ava: we'll find time James: what are you doing tomorrow, maybe we can find some time then? Ava: I'm going to another Uni taster day thing James: which uni is it? Ava: LSE, so I will be about the day after on James: & you'll tell me what you think of LSE when it's over, right? Ava: Of course Ava: it's 1st for journalism but I'm not sold quite yet James: the tour might swing it for you if they take it more seriously than the one I gave Ava: I happen to be fond of the tour you gave, thank you very much James: Yes, The Vault will forever hold a special place in your heart Ava: Exactly Ava: be swinging by whether I'm alum or not 😏 James: I'll bear that in mind should I ever need to find you Ava: you only have to ask James: or whistle, not your namesake's immortal line, but I'm sure it'd be effective Ava: I have two, should you ever like to try again James: I'll bear that in mind as well Ava: Are you named after your dad, or granddad? James: II not III Ava: might've skipped a generation, if he was feeling particularly ruthless James: that would be a fun anecdote, but no Ava: that's a shame Ava: how do they pick the second boy's name James: I assume my mother just named Teddy what she would have named me if my father's ego hadn't got in the way Ava: that makes sense James: how they chose me sister's name would be anyone's guess, were it not stolen from the royal family Ava: surprised they'd commit the faux pas Ava: never have you 'round now, very awkward James: or very much a relief Ava: Poor Charlotte is pretty awkward looking James: looking like your grandmother can go one of 2 extremely different ways James: the more greats you add, the more you're rolling the dice Ava: 😅 Ava: at least there is some mystery in that Ava: no prizes for guessing who I come from James: but hand on heart I can profess to being thrilled that neither of my daughters resemble any of their grandparents Ava: they look like you James: Jay does Ava: yeah, moreso Ava: little ones change so much James: yes, she's an unfinished work Ava: that's a good way to put it James: it's better than being a shelved one, as I am Ava: I can deploy tiptoes if necessary James: thank you for what will be a cherished mental image Ava: it'd be cuter if I was smaller but in relation to you James: you couldn't be any cuter, in relation to anyone Ava: I'm glad you think so James: of course I do Ava: no of course about it Ava: you're totally gorgeous yourself James: first you're comparing our heights & now follows the rest of our attributes James: it's okay, I'm sitting down Ava: well I'm glad to hear you're getting somewhat of a break Ava: I'm just saying, it was still very unlikely, if not star-crossed James: you don't think we looked right together earlier? Ava: I love how we looked James: is there a but coming? Ava: only in the sense I wish it wasn't such a predictable cliche scene around here Ava: but it's neither of our faults that employment is seen as an actual form of flirtation by some James: it was a convenient excuse, I couldn't have wished for more than that under the circumstances Ava: I know Ava: it did the job James: if you want to come again, we know it works Ava: do you think I'll be invited back? James: I don't see why not Ava: I did okay then James: you did better than okay, we're all in agreement here Ava: good James: you haven't been worrying about this since you left, have you? Ava: not worrying Ava: but I don't want to mess that up, so I'm glad I didn't James: I understand, but I meant what I said about being in awe of you, you know James: this wasn't any different Ava: You really do always know what to say Ava: I know it was only swimming, but I'm glad they got to go James: well it's obvious that you always know what to do because you were perfect James: I was worried I shouldn't have agreed to you coming with us, but I'm glad you did James: they would've missed out for no reason if I'd panicked needlessly Ava: it wasn't needless panic though, you were left properly in the lurch Ava: and on paper, does not sound like the best idea James: I'm used to that, but less used to us existing off the page, particularly when it isn't just the two of us James: I asked you what you thought about how we looked, but it's something I try not to think about Ava: because of what other people might think Ava: or because you don't like the thought James: because of everything about my life that makes it difficult for us to be an us James: & because of your age & theirs Ava: You aren't that much older, even if your life means you have to act it Ava: but I understand Ava: thinking about it too much makes you think it might only ever be a nice thought, a daydream on the page and in our heads James: I know but Jay is 6 & you aren't old enough to have a child of that age James: which is why you don't James: I can't help thinking about that Ava: Well, yeah, I don't get having kids, there's no denying that but I'm not trying to say I do Ava: most people your age don't have kids either James: of course they don't, that's the thing, there's not an excessive age gap but there is a huge discrepancy when it comes to our lifestyle Ava: I know James: I don't want to alter yours, that's all Ava: You aren't just going to Ava: my lifestyle is up to me James: okay, just don't let me rewrite you Ava: you won't Ava: you don't want to, and I won't let you Ava: don't worry, okay James: I'll try not to Ava: it's needless, we can use that word here instead James: it's only a worry because I like you exactly as you are Ava: those aren't your words, sir James: do you only accept original speeches? James: it's very much a sentiment that applies to you and how I feel in this instance Ava: as long as you stick to the classics Ava: Mark Darcy, Edward Cullen James: an easy promise to both make & stick to Ava: then I'm happy Ava: 😊 James: I'm happy to hear that Ava: I like it when you're happy James: I'm happy with you Ava: good Ava: that's a good start Ava: we'll see each other soon, but maybe we can call before then James: I'd like that James: when? Ava: whenever you can Ava: I'm going to have a quiet night in James: as soon as I can then Ava: perfect Ava: what are you doing now? James: everything you would if you were my actual au pair Ava: Awkward when I am just a pretty face James: you're not but you're also not on my payroll thankfully because that would be more awkward James: what are you doing? Ava: making some dinner Ava: then I'll see how long I can make a bath last, I reckon James: are you making the same thing for yourself as you were going to make for me? Ava: I would've made you something special James: you've earnt special too though Ava: I'll do a different kind of special then Ava: comfort food James: I normally can't stand compromises but that admittedly sounds like a lovely one Ava: aren't compromises key in kid negotiations though? James: I think that depends what kind of parent you are Ava: and you're the structure and routine, so you're the boundaries and rules that aren't up for discussion too James: whether I wish I could just give in sometimes or not Ava: you're the love too though Ava: you can tell they both adore you James: for as long as being everything doesn't wear me down to nothing, I'll keep being exactly what they need me to Ava: does anyone help Ava: like, give consistent help James: her parents are the closest I've got Ava: sounds really fucking stressful James: it was easier with one Ava: yeah Ava: now you're outnumbered James: & everyone helped more when Jay was younger because we were too James: I'm expected to know what I'm doing by now Ava: don't reckon anyone ever does though Ava: cop-out response, I'm aware but genuinely Ava: it's just everyone has the responsibility of fucking up their own kids James: every child is different & I'm not remotely the same person I was either James: an additional cop out response but true anyway James: the way I handle things now, or don't, is a world away from how I coped then so James: new challenges Ava: well, I can't say about then Ava: but you're nicer now than lots of dickheads 'round here that wait 'til they're 30-40 odd to have theirs James: thank you Ava: whatever missteps, having a parent that's a decent person is an advantage lots of kids don't get James: are yours? Ava: yeah, I think so Ava: like, they aren't storybook parents and they never have been that type, they're too fucked up for that Ava: but they did and would do anything for us, nothing we could bring at them would be too much, and my siblings have definitely put that to the test in recent years James: storybook parents tend to lead you into the woods using a trail of breadcrumbs or do nothing while you're placed under a curse anyway James: which sounds more like the school of child rearing my parents would subscribe to Ava: oh you're right Ava: the ones that aren't dead are usually terrible James: I need to write some better bedtime stories once the novel is finished Ava: you'd be perfect at that Ava: I can tell Ava: you can turn me into whatever animal sells best but it better be cute or I won't be able to help being slightly offended James: you'll be adorable & clever & kind, of course James: the good ideas can come from your animal counterpart as they always do from you when you're yourself Ava: very 🦗 Ava: she likes 🐕 a lot though, and I can handle that James: I was considering a water creature because you love swimming & are intending to be in the bath as long as you possibly can James: perhaps 🦦 Ava: see Ava: you're amazing at this Ava: that would be so cute James: you haven't seen the pictures yet, an amazing artist I am not Ava: we'll get you an illustrator James: male or unattractive? Ava: I'm not your wife, I don't need to make those sort of stipulations James: strictly hired on their ability to draw an adorable 🦦 it is then Ava: 👍 thinking James: [I was thinking he should send her some totally beautiful and expensive pudding because she said comfort food so that needs to arrive before she's in the bath otherwise that'd be annoying instead of sweet] Ava: James James: Ava Ava: how am I ever going to thank you? James: oh good, I thought you were say you didn't like it James: *about to Ava: I love it Ava: how are you just as sweet Ava: it's ridiculous James: it's ridiculous that I can't see you for days at a time James: I want you to know that you're in my thoughts more often than that Ava: if she knew how lucky she was, none of this would even be an issue, that's what's ridiculous Ava: but I'm sort of glad she doesn't Ava: selfishly James: she isn't lucky to have me, that's the obvious issue James: because to say that we don't work as a couple or aren't sweet to each other is an oversimplification Ava: did you ever? James: no Ava: I'm sorry James: I don't deserve any sympathy, I haven't always tried very hard Ava: It's still sad James: It's sad for them, I'd like to think that maybe one day they'll describe me as 'fucked up but...' as you did your parents though James: I'd happily settle for that Ava: I don't know how thrilled they'd be Ava: but there's not really a higher compliment so Ava: as far as goals go, it's a good one James: realistic goals are the only way forward Ava: I'll drink to that James: 🥂 since I can't actually Ava: I'm just eating my pudding, obviously James: very amiss of me not to send you 🍾 as well James: noted Ava: Shh Ava: it was perfect, you are Ava: there's always enough 🍾 'round mine to bathe in, should I feel so inclined James: I remember Ava: yeah Ava: I remember too James: I won't ask you to fill in the ensuing gaps in my memory, don't worry Ava: I tried not to pay that close attention, naturally James: 😇 naturally Ava: Hardly Ava: Buster was just pretty embarrassing James: I remember that as well James: though I took the 👑 in that regard so there's little room for me to say anything Ava: you aren't my brother so I guess it didn't really register James: it may have more closely registered had we stayed friends, I suppose Ava: He didn't stay, period James: precisely Ava: 🤷 James: if he had & we were still friends, there wouldn't be a you & I so Ava: depends how good friends you were Ava: think you'd have to be much better than you were, right? James: it would be an added complication regardless & there are more than enough of those Ava: very true James: no offense to your brother but I would rather have your company than his Ava: 😂 I should hope so James: you could improve your ⚽ skills but James: Jay'll help you Ava: Slander Ava: I could be semi-pro, you don't know 😏 James: 😂 Ava: I'm not though, don't want to get anyone's hopes up here Ava: definitely come back to bite me if I try and impress you with my dribbling skills 🙄 James: I won't wait for you to indignantly explain the off side rule to me, it's okay Ava: we're both better than that cliche James: I hope so Ava: besides, I have ZERO interest in being a sports journalist thank you Ava: not putting that out into the universe James: or a WAG presumably Ava: not unless he has an interesting personality to go with the ball control James: some of them must Ava: probably be better going with a female player but I doubt they're girlfriends go in for the WAG label Ava: not invested enough to champion it solo James: it'd be a slightly less stereotypical existence Ava: except every lesbian is either a footballer, cop or farmer James: I'll have to take your word for it Ava: yes, I'm very reliable James: well I'm sorry, you can't be the novel's narrator Ava: I like your words too much, that's fine James: you're too kind to me Ava: no James: yes James: because it's another failing of mine that I can't get inside your head in order to write those words Ava: I like when you tell them to me Ava: with your voice James: can I call you? Ava: yes James: [does and I vote it lasts for hours and hours because they are cute and high key] Ava: [agreed]

[phanbliss]

1:)

thank you and sorry this one took so long, i’m still going through the prompts :)

words: 1.7k

rating: g

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17325368 (i recommend reading on ao3, formatting gets messed up on mobile)

prompt: “That’s starting to get annoying.”

Phil leaves his socks. Everywhere.

It’s taken Dan months to truly notice, and even longer to start caring. When they first moved in together, Dan was far too busy being happy to bother with stuff like that.

Sure, he noticed that Phil was a messy person, but then again, so was Dan. Dan’s room back home always looked like he had a permanent natural disaster for a flatmate, so it’s not like he was perfect. He wasn’t perfect then, and he still isn’t now.

Since moving in with Phil, he tries way harder - and judging by the general state of their flat, so does Phil. Dan remembers Phil’s room back home too. Yeah, that was a lot worse. Right now, they have a few dishes waiting in the sink, they have a pile of laundry they should have done last week, and they have some clothes on the bathroom floor. It’s all stuff that Dan can live with, especially considering that he contributes to it too.

They made a list of rules when they started living together, including all sorts of things - amongst them, cleaning. They stick to it, more or less. So… it’s not too bad.

But the socks. The socks are starting to do his head in.

Socks on the rug. Socks on the sofa. Socks on the bed or even on the pillows. Dan doesn’t know how Phil even does it, because he never once caught him in the act. The socks just appear out of nowhere, and they’re not Dan’s socks, they’re definitely Phil’s. Dan doesn’t believe in the supernatural, so the sock goblin is out of the question.

Phil leaves his socks everywhere, and it’s a bit of a problem.

-

“Should we organise our socks? I think I’ve lost a couple,” he tries one day when they’re snuggled up on the sofa, trying his hardest to sound casual.

“Oh, I keep losing them,” Phil replies, oblivious. “It’s the sock goblin.”

Dan is smiling, voice soft, even though he’s quite nervous on the inside. “Yeah, probably. But I mean, we could try and sort them out, right?”

Phil half-shrugs, but he doesn’t let go of Dan, and makes no move to stand up.

“Of course, if you want.” And then Phil kisses his temple, and his cheek, his jaw, his neck, and Dan forgets that they were meant to be sorting through socks.

-

The next time he tries to do something about the socks, he just goes through the entire flat, collecting socks and throwing them in the laundry. A lot are mismatched, almost all of them are Phil’s.

The thing is, Dan doesn’t know how to approach the subject with Phil. They never really argue, not properly, and it feels like Phil might get… sad? Upset, maybe?

It’s easier if he just does it himself.

It’s only a few days before the socks are found in the strangest of places. Dan doesn’t know why they bother him, but they kind of do.

But nobody is perfect - even though in Dan’s eyes, Phil is.

-

“Phil?” Dan begins as they’re cooking dinner.

“Yeah?”

“I…” Dan pauses. He wants to ask about the socks, but instead, he says something else. “Do you think we should clean today?”

Phil frowns at him, tilting his head a little. “Today? It’s not our cleaning day, is it? It’s Sunday.”

Dan releases a sharp, nervous breath. “Um, yeah, well—it is, but—”

“But?”

“I just—it’s a bit messy, you know. The—like, there’s like… there's… our clothes? You know?”

Phil’s frown fades, giving way to worry mixed with amusement.

“Same as always, then? Dan, are you okay?” Phil rests his hand on Dan’s shoulder, then pulls him into a quick side hug. “You’re being a bit weird.”

Dan loves it. Phil’s embrace, them cooking dinner together in this small Manchester flat. And he doesn’t want them to argue about socks.

So he drops it.

“No, I’m good, yeah.” Dan gives Phil a peck on the cheek. “Super good.”

-

Finally, the day comes when the dam breaks, and all of Dan’s feelings on the sock matter are set free.

It’s gotten to the point where he is less upset about the socks, and more upset about the fact that he is keeping something from Phil. He keeps playing out different versions of the conversation over and over in his head, and for whatever reason, they all end in disaster, so he avoids it.

It’s not like they never argued, but it’s just—it’s just that Dan, despite the fact that their relationship is not that new anymore, never really had to indicate that something bugged him. They fit together like two puzzle pieces; they haven’t had a hard time adjusting. If they procrastinated, they did it together. If they kept a mess, they were both responsible. That was never a problem.

But the socks, that’s just Phil, and it's—it’s harder than expected to actually say that out loud.

Today, Dan is a bit grumpy. He had an argument with his mum on the phone, he slept badly, and he’s hungry. And then he finds Phil’s sock on the kitchen counter. The bloody kitchen counter. That’s what finally tips the scale for him.

He isn’t about to start a big argument. There’ll be no screaming or anything of the sort. But maybe the sock thing had become big enough an issue for him to actually talk. Phil won’t be mad at him.

Right?

Dan takes the sock and carries it over to Phil, who is sat on the sofa with his laptop, editing his new video. He unceremoniously drops it on Phil’s laptop, grabbing his attention.

Phil jumps a little, stares down at the sock in confusion, then transfers that same look towards Dan.

“Phil,” Dan begins and then falls silent, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

“Why are you giving me my sock?” Phil asks after a pause.

“Because it was on the kitchen counter!” Dan exclaims, finally finding the strength to do it without hesitating. The next thing he says sounds mild in comparison. “Your sock thing, Phil. It's… it’s starting to get a bit annoying.”

They look each other in the eyes - Dan looking down, Phil looking up - and say nothing for a moment. Phil seems to be bewildered. Dan, on the other hand, is almost scared of hearing Phil’s response.

“My sock thing?” Phil finally repeats, perplexed.

“Yes, your sock thing. You leave your socks everywhere , and I tried to get it under control, but I can’t. You need—I want you to—I want you to stop.”

Phil considers Dan’s words for a moment, puts the laptop away and stands up, still looking Dan in the eyes.

“Why haven’t you said that it’s been bothering you? I knew something was off. I even asked you.”

Dan breaks eye contact, looking down to the floor. “I was… I was a bit scared? I guess. I don’t want to argue with you, but Phil—” He looks up again, eyes boring into Phil’s. “Phil, I can’t stand the sock thing. Seriously.”

Phil’s gaze softens as he smiles sheepishly. He cups Dan’s cheek, and Dan leans into the touch.

“I’m going to try to get better, alright? Promise.” Phil pauses, waiting for Dan to respond. When Dan nods, Phil adds, “And Dan?”

“What?”

Phil brings his other hand up to Dan’s face, now with both hands on his cheeks, then slides them down to Dan’s shoulders.

“You never have to keep stuff from me, alright? I'm—I’m messy and clumsy and—and you need to tell me if something annoys you.”

The knot that was continuously tightening somewhere in Dan’s chest suddenly releases its hold on him, and he smiles earnestly. Why was he ever scared of confronting Phil? It’s Phil. Phil doesn’t get mad.

“I’ll try.”

-

2018

Phil is still sleeping when something lands on his face. Something soft.

He opens his eyes with a start, blinking into the thing that is now covering his vision. Startled, he removes it and sees not one, but two of his fox socks. Then he sees Dan standing above him, and Phil can’t see Dan’s expression without putting on his glasses, but he can pretty much guess.

Phil doesn’t say anything. He knows what is coming.

“What are your socks doing on the coffee table?!” Dan shouts, not wasting any time.

The coffee table. Well…

“Um, I dunno? Maybe I saved them there for later?” he replies. He grabs his glasses off the nightstand and puts them on.

“Save them on your fucking feet, Phil. That’s where socks go. Or in the drawers, or in the laundry. It’s not rocket science. Actual years of this shit, I swear,” Dan rants, and rants, and rants.

Phil does feel a bit guilty. He will try harder.

It never works, though. They both know it. It’s a disease, a sock-disease.

“You know my mum is coming over later. What if hadn’t noticed them? What would I tell her? Oh, sorry mum, it’s just that Phil can’t keep his socks in the —”

Phil, having heard all of this many times before, throws one of the socks up in Dan’s face. Dan instantly falls completely silent, staring at Phil with shock in his eyes. And seeing that, Phil can’t help it. He simply starts laughing.

It takes a moment, but Dan eventually joins him, laughing at the very thing that Phil knows has been driving him bonkers for years. It’s not that Phil doesn’t care. It’s just one of the habits he can’t seem to break.

Once they calm down, Phil is sitting up, Dan still standing over the bed. Dan is shaking his head, smiling at Phil with more fondness than he probably deserves right now.

Phil is lucky, really. Even if he gets woken up by socks on his face, he’s lucky, so lucky. It’s amazing that after years and years, Dan still manages to laugh when Phil throws his own socks back at Dan’s face.

“I hate you,” Dan says, then abruptly pulls the covers off of Phil. “Enough napping. Sort out the sock thing. I need to vacuum.”

With an affectionate smile, Phil gets up and goes on a sock hunt. It’s the least he can do after all these years.

#phanfic #phanfiction #phan #my fic

[giveusawink]

Decorating Disaster

Every year, Harry and I put the Christmas decorations up on the first Sunday in December. Today being the Saturday evening prior, I was buzzing with excitement.

Harry was preparing to go to airport ready for his plane home after his most recent match, whilst I was at home, dragging box after box of Christmas paraphernalia into the lounge in preparation for tomorrow.

I couldn't tell what I was looking forward to more, the decorating or seeing Harry. Granted he's only been away for a few weeks, but it felt like years. It was times like these, in which I realised just how much he looks after me. His absence has brought to light how horrific my cooking is, I've burnt just about everything I've made-leading to me frequenting my parents' house for pre-made food.

I cracked open a box of decorations, marvelling at the pretty colours but cringed slightly at the mess and knots. Every year I always meant to organise the decorations but to no avail, instead I shut the box again, wandering into the kitchen to grab a drink.

Beer in hand, I walked back into the lounge, carefully placing the bottle down before launching myself onto the sofa and turning the TV on.

I always found that around Christmas time was when all the good television programmes started appearing, contrasting with the unappealing junk on throughout the rest of the year.

A sudden chill invaded the room, which forced me into the kitchen again to turn the heating up. Harry hates when I touch the thermostat, usually telling me to grab a blanket instead, his scoldings reminding me heavily of my dad.

It was progressively later when I trudged up to bed, and dove under the covers. Feeling more excited for the preparation of Christmas than Christmas itself.

It was around 8 o'clock in the morning when my phone started ringing, showing Harry calling me. Assuming he had landed, I picked up.

"Hello gorgeous. Where are you now?" I answered. A deep sigh came from the other end. "Harry, are you alright?" Now relatively concerned at his lack of usual chirp.

"The flight's been delayed, I don't think I'm going to get home till really late. I'm sorry, you might as well start decorating by yourself." He mumbled.

"Oh." My heart sank, excitement fading into nothing. "I'll wait for you." Voice low with sadness.

I knew it was pathetic, but I really wanted to do this with him, together, today. It was tradition. It felt so out of place to break it.

Sighing again "No, I'm going to be ages, my love. You can decorate however you want."

Tears threatened to brew whilst I mentally chastised myself to stop being so sensitive. I just wanted it to be perfect.

"But...I want to decorate with you, Harry."

"I know, I know. We can do the lights together, yeah?"

"Ok." I took a deep breath. "Have a safe flight, I love you."

"I love you too."

After hanging up the call, my shoulders sagged. Regardless, I grabbed a box and began to pull out reds and golds to put on the Christmas tree. We have a fake Christmas tree only because I'm really allergic to real ones, which Harry finds hilarious.

I start at the bottom of the tree, lining the base with gold baubles, then wrapping red tinsel above. Repeating the pattern, the tree was covered in about half an hour.

Moving onto the kitchen, I threw tinsel on top of cupboards and counters, specifically away from the oven and grill. After a while, I gave up on symmetry of decorations, and began the approach of just throwing them blindly in different directions and hoping for the best. Without Harry, my motivation was dwindling and quickly.

After another half an hour or so, I slumped on the sofa. I thought I was excited about decorating, when in reality I was just excited about Harry.

He has this way of making everything fun-evening cleaning the bathroom. Last time we cleaned the bathroom, he walked in with this ridiculous rabbit shower cap on his head and refused to take it off-saying he needed to protect his hair. I smiled at the memory, realising how much I actually missed him.

A knock sounded at the front door, thinking it was the postman, I waddled over to the door; preparing to grab whatever was pushed my way. As I opened the door, my eyes widened, a gasp falling from my lips as Harry stood on the doorstep, his luggage scattered on the ground.

“Merry Christmas.” He smiled.

Immediately, I launched myself at him, legs going round his waist as his arms came up to my back, a chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“I thought your flight was delayed.” I mumbled into his shoulder.

“Nah, I wanted to surprise you. I just couldn’t work out how to do it.” I pulled back and raised an eyebrow before erupting in a cackle.

“How about we crack on with this tinsel stuff then?” He suggested as he grabbed his bags, moving them inside. I grinned, jumped down and grabbed his hand, pulling him inside to show him my handiwork.

“I’m impressed, considering you can’t usually get the boxes down by yourself, this is really good. Looks very Christmassy.” He smiled, wrapping his arms behind me.

“Thanks but you do it much better.”

“Nonsense, you only use me for the high stuff.”

I turned around to snigger at him, pulling away to grab a star decoration from the sofa.

“Since you’re so tall, can you put this on the top of the tree?”

He smiled and took it from me before reaching up to the tree.

“Hey Harry? Are you a star?” I called out from the sofa, his head whipping towards me. “Because you light up my life.” I laughed. He giggled then smirked.

“That was cute. But shouldn’t you be on the top of the tree, Angel?”

#harry winks #harry winks imagine #football #england nt #spurs #tottenham

[alleiradayne]

Part V - Surgery

Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel Novak Warnings: More fluffy awkwardness, secrets, hiding things that shouldn’t be, little angst Word Count: 1969

“I’m embarrassed.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped to his as Dean shoved another bite of his burger into his mouth and said, “Vis ef fo gud.”

“I take it you like it?”

Liked it? He wanted to make love to that damn slab of meat. Castiel had hand-made and grilled burgers for them, their second—technically, third—date starting off with a dinner that put his cooking to shame. Rather than put words to those thoughts, Dean simply moaned into his food again.

“Sounds like it,” Castiel said with a laugh. “Anything in particular you wanted to do this evening? Only idea I had was to watch a movie.”

Dean nodded, thinking of several in the moment. He swallowed his food and said, “I have a few in mind.”

“Perfect,” Castiel replied with a small smile, one that Dean has seen before. He wondered how often Castiel smiled like that at other people.

“You’re staring,” he said. “Is there something on my face?”

Dean shook his head as he averted his eyes, returned to his plate. “Uh, no. Just… spacing out. Long day.”

“That might have been my fault,” Castiel replied with a grimace. “Sent you a few new patients today.”

“Keeps me employed,” Dean said after another bite of his burger. “I’m not complaining.”

“Good, because I’ll have more for you next week, too,” he said. “My surgery schedule for the next month is quite full.”

“Oh great,” Dean drawled with a roll of his eyes. “Okay, no more work talk. Plans this weekend?”

Dean swore Castiel hesitated, a brief consideration of his words. But then he spoke, confident and steady once more. “I’m in the middle of remodeling the master bath upstairs. Probably work on that most of the weekend.”

“Oh? Need a hand? You know I’m good with mine,” Dean jested, but when Castiel’s brow shot to his hairline, Dean balked. “I mean, with construction. You know. My backyard. I’m…”

“Sure,” Castiel interrupted with a coy smile. “I could use the help. I’ll show you around the house after dinner. Then we can hit up that movie.”

“Sounds good,” Dean agreed.

Dinner continued, talk of plans for the spring and summer extending the meal well after their plates were clean. They concluded with a pecan pie that Castiel had made, much to Dean’s delight. He ate half of it before he stopped himself and apologized for being a glutton. Castiel shrugged with his small smile again, then motioned he follow him into the kitchen.

“Ready for the grand tour?” Castiel asked as he put their plates in the sink.

“Now I’m really embarrassed,” Dean replied, “Your cooking is far superior and you’re a better host. I didn’t even think to show you around my place.”

The warmth of Castiel’s hand enveloped his, and Dean fell silent. A long moment passed before Castiel spoke. “It’s fine, Dean. I didn’t take any offense. Let’s go. I’ll show you the disaster that is this bathroom.”

“Lead the way,” Dean said, and Castiel set out.

The living room gave way to the first level bedroom hallway. A closed door was passed by, Castiel declaring it a complete mess, filled with his junk, and that one day he should sort through it all. Dean found that strange. Most people put their useless junk in a garage or attic or basement. But spare bedroom?

“Silly,” Castiel finished. “I… don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m an organized person. Most of the time. Some parts of my life are a little messy yet.”

“I get it,” Dean said as Castiel turned back for the stairs. “We all have messy parts to our lives.” The words were out of his mouth before Dean understood what he meant. He thought of John and Sandra—not that they were the messy parts of his life, quite the opposite—but they were a part he wanted to protect. And when Castiel stared ahead at nothing as he paused at the base of the stairs, Dean wondered. How messy, exactly, was Castiel’s life? Another long moment lingered until Castiel’s thoughts seemed to clear and he spoke. “Ready to see this bathroom?”

“You’re building this up to be quite the reveal,” Dean said as Castiel started up the steps. He followed, asking, “Why are you remodeling it?”

“Mold, mostly,” Castiel stated. “House is over a hundred years old and nobody knew the last time the bathroom had been rehabilitated.” At the top of the stairs he turned into the only room across from a lofted space. “I was only going to replace the shower stall until I found the mold.”

Dean hesitated at the door, stuck at the threshold. “Is this…”

Castiel turned back to him and, with an incredulous quirk to his brow, shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

He crossed the threshold, a tentative step that revealed the entire room. “Your room?” he asked eyeing the bed. “Your…”

“My bed, yes,” Castiel replied. “Are you… Dean, are you nervous about being in my room?”

As ridiculous as it sounded coming from him, yes, Dean’s nerves had unraveled in a matter of seconds. He had imagined being in Castiel’s room under different circumstances. What those circumstances were, he had no clue. After a failure of willpower, succumbing to his base desires? When he came clean about his past, his children? When he figured out whatever it was Castiel hid from him?

“Dean?”

Castiel stood before him, so close, Dean smelled the carpenter’s saw dust and medical soap emanating from him. Warm, too, Castiel radiated a heat that enveloped him. The dizzying combination left Dean speechless, and so, instead, he reached out for Castiel’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Dean nodded with a deep breath. “Show me the bathroom?”

Castiel took his hand and crossed the room with him in tow. “Voila.”

Bare bones, the entire bathroom had been stripped to its framing. Subflooring and beams were all that made up the entire space but for a huge window in the far wall over the tub.

“It is a mess,” Dean stated.

“It’s… a work in progress,” Castiel retorted. “I’m working on the shower first. Once that’s in, the tub and toilet are next. Then the cabinets and counters. Then the floor last. Heated, too.”

“Oh, fancy,” Dean commented. “What’s the water pressure like?”

Castiel sighed. “It was abysmal. House had old lead pipes that I had replaced. Now it’s fantastic,” Castiel motioned to the space where the shower would be, plumbing roughed in. “I’d show you but…”

Dean laughed a nervous chuckle at that. “You want to show me the water pressure in your shower?”

Pink slashed across Castiel’s nose as he stuttered a response. “I mean… sure. Some day. When it’s done.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he averted his gaze, seeming to search the ceiling for something better to say.

Dammit. He’d intended for a casual dinner, nothing more than time to get to know each other. He’d made that much clear last week. But Castiel’s unintentional flirting had bolstered Dean’s confidence, and so, he took a chance. A smooth slip of his hand into Castiel’s drew his attention from the bathroom. With his focus, Dean lead him back into the bedroom until he felt the bed at the back of his thighs. Castiel followed without much convincing, his devious smile matching Dean's. When he licked his lips, Dean indulged, every concern forgotten.

Their lips met in a rush, eager and insistent. Castiel responded to Dean’s every move, each touch mimicked, each swipe of his tongue matched, and each roll of his hips mirrored. With one hand at the small of his back and the other in his hair, Dean enveloped Castiel in an embrace so close, the world faded away, consisting only of them. Oh, how glorious a world it was; strong arms that reached for more, breathless gasps filled with lust, and subtle moans that encouraged his desires.

But that world shattered the second Dean tried to lean back for the bed. Castiel parted from him in a sudden burst of babble about second-thoughts, hands running through his hair. Dean slumped to a seat on the bed, unbalanced by Castiel’s rapid change of mind.

“Cas,” Dean started, but he continued to ramble incoherent half-sentences, “Cas!”

Castiel wheeled about, eyes wide and mouth gaping as though shocked to find Dean still there. A long second dragged before he shook his head, then spoke. “Sorry. I…” he paused, hands raised in confusion. “I freaked out. I thought I crossed a line last week. And now we’re here, doing this awkward dance again.”

“Cas, it’s fine,” Dean excused. “I get it. I… I’m not sure what I want. I drew a line and I crossed it. It’s confusing and it’s not fair to you, especially when you are so sure of yourself—”

“No, Dean, I’m not,” Castiel stated. “I’m really not. And not because of you.” He paused again, then eyed the spot on the bed beside Dean.

Before he had a chance to say anything else, Castiel crossed the space between them and sat beside Dean. He gathered what willpower remained as the warmth of Castiel’s hand enveloped his and a muscled thigh sat flush to his own. He remained silent in the wake of that sudden connection. Son of a bitch, he hoped he hadn't ruined the entire evening.

“I like you, Dean,” Castiel started. “A lot. Hell, more than most people I've met lately. It's been a lonely couple of years.”

“I'm… sorry to hear that,” Dean said. “Good looking guy like you with a giant brain and a big heart must be intimidating to most folks.”

That grabbed his attention. “I can't figure out why you’re single. Compliments like that are few and far between, and you give them so freely,” he paused, reconsidering Dean's words. “It was a compliment, right?”

“Yes,” Dean said as he squeezed his hand. “A much deserved compliment.”

“Okay you can stop—”

“Because you're an amazing cook, too.”

“Sure, but—”

“And an excellent host.”

“Well—”

“With great taste in Scotch, I peeked at your liquor cabinet.”

“How dare—”

“And incredibly smooth hands for a guy that does his own carpentry.”

“Alright, I get it!” Castiel shouted. “You’re still not getting in my pants tonight.”

Dean's jaw dropped as he feigned offense. “And here I was just trying to give you more compliments because you said you get so few.”

The pink hue of embarrassment colored Castiel's nose once more, then spread to his cheeks as he averted his eyes. Dean tried and failed to contain his laughter, but when Castiel shook with his own silent laughter, he leaned back into his full belly laugh.

“Alright,” Castiel said through his smile. “Let's keep the make out sessions to a minimum. For now.”

Dean nodded. “I’d like that. Bare minimum.”

Castiel smiled once more, but it lasted a mere second and never touched his eyes. That look, so full of regret, broke Dean’s heart. Without another thought, he pulled Castiel into him and placed a gentle, unassuming kiss on his lips.

Tension drained from his shoulders as Dean held him close and Castiel melted into him. Fuck, he felt good. No, better than good. Castiel, so pliant in his embrace, enthralled Dean. He pushed no further, hand yet entwined with his, and he enjoyed the kiss for what it was. A simple—long—kiss.

They parted together, timed as if Castiel could read his mind. When Castiel laughed through his nose, Dean shoved him away.

“Alright, enough of this chick flick shit, let’s go watch Expendables.”

Castiel’s cackling laughter followed him from the bedroom, and at that moment, Dean vowed to make him laugh like that every day for the rest of his life.

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #fanfic #non hunter au #alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic