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tak1e · 1 year

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I Was Hoping You Could See It Too (I'm a Coward)

SFW DekuBaku/DekuKatsu Drabble

AO3 link if you prefer reading there

General Info/Tags: One Shot, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Pro-Hero AU, Not Beta Read, Pining Bakugou, Touch Starved Bakugou, Soft Bakugou, Self-Doubting Bakugou, Protector Izuku, Izuku is a Therapist, (not literally), (but he acts like one), Izuku is Good at Feelings, Bakugou is Bad at Feelings

Word Count: 2.4k

a/n: I wanted to write izuku babying katsuki with some angst and here we are. Also, the name is in fact directly quoting lyrics from Coward by Matt Maltese, enjoy.

Katsuki Bakugou's day had been shit. To say that would be an understatement, really.

He had woken up later than usual this morning, sleeping through his alarm - which he never did, by the way. Then he'd gotten to work and had a mountain of paperwork left over from a reckless pursuit he had with a villain the day prior. He'd caused countless property damage and now he had to file report after report after report.

And, to top it all off, when he finally did get out there to save people, he had failed over and over again.

Armed Robbery? He had to ask for backup. Mugging? The guy got away. He was called in for backup? He got there too late. He felt like he was headed in the wrong direction with every step he took. Like Katsuki thought he was taking steps forward only to find that his torso had been turned 180 this whole time. It was driving him insane.

So, yeah. Shit day, to say the least.

Needless to say, when Izuku cautiously enters his office at the end of the day, Katsuki is already past his limit.

"Out." Katsuki says through grit teeth, not even looking up to see who it was.

"Yikes.. so you are as angry as everyone's been saying."

Katsuki growls, eyes snapping up to look at Izuku.

"Get out."

"Kacchan."

"Deku."

Izuku crosses his arms over his chest defiantly and Katsuki finds it so irritating. The little shit thinks he can get away with anything just cause.

(Katsuki definitely lets him get away with more than he should, but it's not like he'd admit that aloud, let alone to himself)

"You know, being so angry all the time can't be good for your health." izuku says, closing the door behind him and walking towards Katsuki's desk. Katsuki rolls his eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't realize you were a doctor now." Katsuki seethes, sarcastically. He seriously doesn't have the patience for this today.

Izuku huffs, standing in front of his desk. Katsuki's pen digs a hole in his paperwork.

"Ha. Ha. Seriously, Kacchan. Are you okay?"

And Izuku's voice is so genuine. It almost startles Katsuki, even after all these years. Even after Izuku spent their whole lives chasing after Katsuki asking if he was okay. Katsuki thinks it probably won't ever feel normal. He doesn't really deserve it, after all.

"Do I look okay?" Katsuki answered, throwing his pen down in favor of setting his head in the palms of his hands.

"Kacchan." Izuku said, and it was so much softer this time.

Katsuki felt an old part of him flare up at it. Don't look down on me, it screamed. Even though Katsuki knew that wasn't what was going on here. Izuku cared about him and was showing it.

Much unlike himself, despite his best attempts.

"What?"

"Can I.. I mean." Izuku let out a breath, fidgeting with his fingers. Katsuki hated it.

Is he scared of me? A smaller part of himself asked. He swallowed.

"I want to help. Will you let me?"

"How could you help?" Katsuki spat before he could stop himself. He sighed, lifting his head from his hands. Izuku smiled like that was the exact response he'd expected.

I don't deserve this. Yeah, Katsuki agreed. Izuku was always too nice to him and it didn't make any fucking sense.

"I can show you, if that's okay? I think it might really help."

Katsuki hesitated for more than a second, before nodding.

"Okay, c'mere."

"What? No, you come here. I'm not walking over to you."

"Kacchan."

"Izuku" Katsuki mocked. Izuku huffed and defiantly pointed at the floor in front of him. Katsuki rolled his eyes but still pushed up from his chair, dragging himself over to Izuku.

"Okay, I'm fuckin' here. What now?"

"I'm going to touch Kacchan, is that okay?"

"What?! No, it's not!" Katsuki nearly shouted, pride flaring.

A beat passed and the two just looked at each other. Katsuki sighed.

"Yeah.. It's okay." Katsuki hesitated. "I guess."

Izuku nodded and stepped forward, lightly pressing the palm of his hand to Katsuki's cheek. Katsuki felt his face burn.

"Is this okay?"

Katsuki nodded.

Izuku smiled and took that as a green light to put his hand in Katsuki's hair. He gently pet through Katsuki's hair. His fingers dragged through his spikes slowly, cautiously. And when they reached the end, they returned right back at the beginning again, repeating the same motion.

"Is this okay?" Izuku asked again, his eyes never leaving Katsuki's face.

Katsuki hated to admit it (so he wouldn't) but it felt.. nice. Relaxing, even.

"Are you gonna ask that every five seconds?" Katsuki complained and his voice came out so much softer than normal. What the fuck.

"Well, how am I supposed to tell if I'm making you uncomfortable?"

"I'll tell you to fuckin' stop? Obviously?" Katsuki grumbled, still much softer than he intended. What was happening?

Izuku huffed, frowning at him, but seemed to accept the answer, as the hand in his hair started guiding Katsuki's head to rest on Izuku's shoulder gently. Katsuki let him.

I don't deserve this.

"Relax, Kacchan." Izuku cooed, softly. Almost in the same way one would talk to a child. Oddly enough, Katsuki couldn't seem to care. Not with Izuku's hand still in his hair, at least.

Katsuki's body relaxed in an instant as if it had a mind of its own.

"The hell are you doin'?" Katsuki grumbled into Izuku's shoulder as his head began to be cradled.

"Mmm.. Coddling you."

"Coddling?"

"Mhm."

"..Why's it feel so nice?" Katsuki murmured, despite his pride. He could feel all the tension leaving his body at once. It felt too nice. There had to be a catch.. He couldn't just relax like this.

Izuku laughed and Katsuki could feel the action with their proximity. It was a deep hum in his chest...again, it was nice.

"I dunno, Kacchan. You tell me."

Katsuki grumbled unintelligibly instead of a response.

"Kacchan, you're tensing up again." Izuku said, amusement dripping from his voice. he placed a gentle hand on the small of his back and the touch felt like electricity. "Relax."

And as if it were a command directly to Katsuki's heart, his body obeyed. Katsuki wasn't sure if he'd ever been so relaxed.

"Why the hell is it so relaxing?"

Izuku hummed.

"Some people say it's because it brings out your inner child or something. Like, reminds you of being little and held by an adult. So it puts you in that sort of headspace where you just.. don't have to worry anymore."

"I've never been held like this." Katsuki swallowed after the admission. Why did I say that?

"Kacchan.. really?" Izuku asked sympathetically and it didn't irritate Katsuki as much as it normally did. He nodded into Izuku's shoulder.

"Yeah, parents didn't exactly tuck me into bed or anythin'."

"Well.." Izuku started after a moment of silence. "I'm here now. You're safe here."

The words shot through Katsuki like a bullet.

You're safe here.

Safe.

"I...am?" Katsuki whispered, bewildered.

"Yeah. I'll always be a safe space for Kacchan. As long as you want it."

Katsuki's mouth felt dry.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

Katsuki swallowed, staying silent for a while. He rolled the words around in his head, trying to debate how open he should be right now. Just as Izuku began scratching his scalp, he decided fuck it. Whatever, he could deny everything later if he needed to.

"I've only ever been awful to you. I don't deserve this."

"Kacchan.."

"It's true, isn't it? I made your life hell for so long. Why would you ever..?"

Izuku pressed a light kiss into Katsuki's hair and his brain short-circuited. All thoughts pouring out of his ear and onto the floor.

"You aren't like that anymore. It's okay. I forgave you for that a long time ago."

"Why?" Katsuki croaked, his voice betraying him. He snapped his eyes shut. He didn't want to cry in front of izuku like this.

"I never really blamed you in the first place. I knew you didn't mean it."

"Bullshit."

"I'm being honest. Really. None of that was your fault." Izuku said softly, scratching Katsuki's scalp gently. Katsuki had to focus hard not to lose his train of thought again.

"Who's then? Yours?"

"No." Izuku said, and it surprised Katsuki. Don't get him wrong, he was glad that Izuku didn't blame himself, but who did he blame if not Katsuki or himself?

"I don't blame anyone." Izuku said, like it was as easy to see as the sky is blue.

"What? That makes no fuckin' sense."

Izuku sighed, low and quiet. Katsuki was so confused. He couldn't blame no one. Someone was to blame and it was so clearly Katsuki.

"I don't blame anyone," Izuku repeated. "Sometimes bad things just happen and all you can do is accept it and move on. What? Are you going to tell me you blame people for earthquakes or something?"

"You know that's different." Katsuki grunted. "Earthquakes are unavoidable. All you can do is do the best you can with a shit scenario."

Oh.

"Exactly." Izuku whispered. "No matter what, you still would have bullied me, I think. I think it was unavoidable. With all the pressure put on you to succeed.. It only makes sense. And either way, I still don't think you ever meant it."

"But.." Katsuki whispered, hands fisting Izuku's shirt on his back. "I did such horrible things.. how can you just.."

"Kacchan, you being upset over this is proof enough that you are good. I don't care about anything that happened back then. I care about now."

There was a long silence that followed and Katsuki kept his eyes shut tightly, fighting off the need to cry. He would not.

"It's okay if you need to cry," Izuku said, after a moment. "I won't judge you.

"..You won't?" Katsuki asked, voice breaking.

"I won't," Izuku echoed gently, running his fingers through katsuki's hair tenderly. "It's safe here. You can cry as much as you need."

As soon as the words left izuku's mouth, it was like a dam had bursted inside Katsuki. He began sobbing uncontrollably, hands clutching Izuku as his shoulder shook with each tear.

"Shh.." Izuku cooed softly. "It's okay, baby. Let it all out."

So Katsuki did. He cried and cried and cried. Until he felt he had nothing left, his insides torn open and raw right there for only izuku to see. And oddly enough, Katsuki didn't totally hate it. It felt nice... Which was a stark contrast to his usual crying fits. They usually left him feeling sour and sick. Which was why he avoided them in the first place.

This time though, he felt.. nice. It felt like his tears had actually meant something. Like he hadn't just been uselessly crying alone in his bedroom. Which, he guessed, this time he wasn't. Maybe it was because he had been given the space to feel without judgment. Or maybe it was something else. Hell if he knew.

After Katsuki's tears subsided, the two stayed in silence. Katsuki had nothing to say though, so it was fine by him. Although, izuku must have had other ideas because he eventually spoke softly.

"..Do you blame your parents?"

"What'd'you mean?" He asked, sniffing.

"I mean.. for everything? How you turned out I guess? Do you blame your parents?"

Did Katsuki Bakugou blame his parents for how he turned out? Yes, obviously. If it weren't for them, he wouldn't have probably any of the pressure he had on himself then and in the present. He would probably be nicer. He wouldn't struggle with nearly half the things he did.

"Kinda, yeah." Katsuki said, turning his head to look at Izuku, who was staring forward, not looking at Katsuki. "Why?"

"I don't think you should," Izuku said simply, in the same way, he'd said it about Katsuki being a bully. What was with this guy being so forgiving? "I mean, yeah, they did a pretty poor job raising you right but-"

"That was their job. The one thing they were supposed to do, they fucked up. How is that on me?" Katsuki spat, defensively.

"No! No.. that's not what I meant.." Izuku said, eyes darting around the room. "Just.. hear me out okay?"

Katsuki nodded and Izuku continued after taking a slow breath.

"They did a bad job. You're not wrong about that. But what if they were doing the best they could?" Izuku paused, looking like he was picking his words carefully to get his point across. "I mean, you are their first and only son, right? So, let's take it from their perspective.

"She had a kid with this awesome quirk that wanted to be a hero. Maybe she felt scared for you or maybe she genuinely wanted you to be the best, I don't know. But she put that pressure on you to succeed for some reason. And I think she was trying to give you the best she could.

"And in your teen years when you became angry and resentful.. Maybe she thought to herself, Oh, this is just how teens are. So she let it fester and grow when it shouldn't have. Kacchan, I genuinely think your parents were doing what they thought would be best for you. It still sucked, and isn't okay that it happened but.. I don't think it's anyone's fault, really. I think... it's an earthquake."

Izuku looked at Katsuki after that and he nodded. It made a lot of sense.. and he'd never thought about it like that.

"A shit situation." Katsuki echoed. Izuku smiled.

"Yeah, that." Izuku paused, cupping Katsuki's cheek in his hand and Katsuki closed his eyes against the soft touch. "It doesn't mean you need to go forgive them or anything just.. think about it, yeah? I mean, if I only took your actions at face value we wouldn't be here right now. Maybe your mom is the same, you know?"

Katsuki nodded, opening his eyes again. Yeah.. that made a lot of sense.

"You're right," Katsuki admitted. "Maybe I've been to harsh to her. Maybe.." Katsuki trailed off.

"Again, don't do anything on my account. It's just.. food for thought."

Katsuki nodded, standing up straight finally. He felt a lot better after everything with Izuku.

"Thanks. I uh.. I'm probably gonna head out." Katsuki said, taking a step away from Izuku.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure." Katsuki said. And after all, he had a lot to think about and do now.

And maybe call his mom.

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saipng · 2 years

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Sai I NEED to know what 'rah rah rah ah ah' is. It's going to haunt me

honestly brenna like three of those files are the exact same fic just slightly to the left. that being said, have an excerpt:

“Technical difficulties, uh- Let’s take five, shall we?”

The lights come back on like the grace of Lord Jesus himself, and Tom shoots from his shitty faux-leather chair almost as fast as he usually shoots from the VIP balcony couch during intermission. He looks across the gray faces of his co-workers, desperately avoiding eye contact with Gerri, who is just as desperately nodding towards the front of the room.

If Tom were to turn his gaze in that direction, he would’ve seen Frank pulling up his glasses to stare at the laptop screen with Karl hyperventilating over his shoulder.

Instead, he deliberately rotates his body a full 180 in search of an escape – when he spots an all-too-familiar figure looming over the water cooler.

Encrusted in a glowing halo of fluorescents and floating dust, Greg is attempting (read: struggling) to open up a pack of plastic cups, the fitful motions of his hands a stark contrast against the boredom of the office. And that’s when Tom’s attention is fully captivated by the pitiful display.

And that’s when he no longer gives a crap about Gerri’s eyes drilling a hole in his back or the fact that Frank is now actively calling out his name.

With a stride that would put an Olympic power walker to shame, Tom makes his way out of the meeting room and across the hall to where Greg is still frantically messing with the plastic – then forcefully wills himself to slow down and decelerate into a leisurely stroll when he gets within earshot.

Not that Greg notices, of course – he’s far too busy failing at accomplishing simple tasks.

“Kill. Me. Now,” Tom enunciates loudly as he falls against a plaster wall, watching with a particular sort of delight how Greg stumbles over his own hands, finally managing to rip the packaging open only to send the stack of cups flying across the floor.

And despite all that, a tiny smile still spreads across the giant’s features when his eyes travel to meet Tom’s.

“Ye- Yeah-“ He chuckles, voice dropping lower as he looks behind his shoulder to where Karl has somehow managed to make the projector spasm through the colors of the rainbow, “-Yeah, it’s pretty dull, if I’m being honest.”

Tom crosses his arms over. Blinks at him. Blinks at the plastic cups at his feet.

Greg swallows loudly and quickly darts down to pick the closest one up, half-heartedly placing it on top of the cooler.

It immediately slides back to the floor again.

“Like- Like you’d think they were flying us all the way out here for something, I don’t know, significant, and not just-“

He waves across the empty office floor with his hands.

The clock on the wall behind them ticks. It’s nearing midnight.

“Honestly, I’m- I’m not even sure what they’re talking about in there?”

Neither am I, Tom would never admit, opting to watch Greg work the cooler instead. He swears he can physically feel boredom seep deeper into his veins, slosh around like cheap water in a plastic white cup.

Boredom, and perhaps something else, something a bit more… Heavy. A bit more bitter-tasting.

After all, contrary to his gargantuan underling, he does have an idea why they’ve all been flown here –

Except that he really doesn’t want to think about any of it, because it is an unpleasant idea, and it is an idea that makes him feel bad, makes him feel small and silly –

And so instead, he concentrates on Greg’s hands, watching them inelegantly fumble with the cooler’s nozzles. He wonders, briefly, how those long, thin fingers that wouldn’t look out of place on Liszt or Mozart, could possibly look so perfectly vulgar on everything they touch.

Tom tears his eyes away when he realizes he’s losing interest in this, too, scans the room instead, sighing quietly as his vision finally settles on a late night worker for a lack of more stimulating alternatives. The woman is still sitting in her cubicle, still lazily scrolling through a celebrity gossip website instead of doing any real work or going home.

He doesn’t wonder why she’s not going home. Home has become a rather arbitrary concept as of late.

He doesn’t want to think about this, either.

#this is super not representative of the rest of the fic but #i can only post this one thing so many times before i actually posted all of it in different excerpts hfgjkfdhjk #succession #atlantistea #answered

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checkingoutforheroes · 3 years

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B.A.B.Y PROTOCOL.

Part 1.

Avengers x fem!reader

Pt. 2

Genre: Minor angst, more fluff.

Warning: Language! (cursing here & there)

Words: 1746

Synopsis: This takes place in Avengers: Age of Ultron. When The Avengers were at the rock bottom, Nick Fury and advised by Maria Hill, to initiate the B.A.B.Y Protocol.

Main MASTERLIST

The Avengers gather in the lab after one of an ugly half made robot command a few of the Legionaries to attack them. Currently they are finding out about what or who attacked them. Some of them cleaning their wounds and Thor going out to track the Legionaries. Bruce the only one who starts first. “All of our work is gone. Ultron cleared out every research that we do. He uses internet as an escape route.” Natasha turns and lean her body to a table to say what she’s found. “He’s been in everything. Fails, surveillances. Probably know about us more than we know about each other.”

Holding his right wounded arm, Rhody said “He’s in the internet, he’s in your files. What if he decides to access to something a little more exciting?” By that, Maria has thought something. “Nuclear code.” Natasha looking at them “Nukes? He said he wanted us dead.” Steve interrupt her “He didn’t say dead. He said extinct.” “He said he killed somebody.” Clint said but Maria ask back. “But no one else in the building.” Their conversations cut by Tony. “Yes there was.” He displays JARVIS damaged simulator form and all went silent except Bruce, he checks on JARVIS.

Thor come in angry and straight to choke Tony. Being choke, Tony try talk to Thor “Come one. Use your words buddy.” Thor lift him up a few inch above the floor. “I have more than enough words with you Stark.” Steve walks closer, breaking them. “Thor. The Legionaries?” Thor update them about the Legionaries have the scepter and they have to retrieve it again. For the first time after the attack, Dr. Chow speaks. “You build this program. Why he’s trying to kill us?” Tony just laugh at that question and Bruce disagree. “Tony, this might not be the time to-“ Tony cut his sentences. “Really?! Bruce. We didn’t create a murder bot. Remember New York?” Everyone move their head down facing the floor remembering that event and Tony continue. “A hostile army of aliens charging through a hole in space. We’re standing 300 feet below it. We’re The Avengers. We can bust arms dealer all day but that up there, that’s, that’s the endgame. How do you guys planning on beating that?” Steve looking at him “Together.” “We’ll lose.” Tony say and Steve still with his answer “And we’ll do that together too.” He looks at everyone and gives the order. “Thor’s right. Ultron trying to draw us out. We start tonight. Do whatever you can to find him. The world is a big place, make it smaller.” Maria stand from her chair. “I’ll escort Dr. Chow to airport. I’ll see you guys in the afternoon.” They all nods and both of them walks out of the lab.

Next morning.

A young girl wearing her café’s uniform walking with a headphone on her head. While walking, she notices a guy snatches a bag from a lady. That lady screaming asking for help while her baby crying to see her mother in terror from across the street. You bring down your headphone and chase that guy. Thanks for your training, you almost keep up that guy until he stuck in an ally, nowhere to go.

“You wanna give me the bag or I’ll take it from you?” You said. Looks like he’s stuck.

“Fast legs.” He said.

“I had trained before.”

“I’m not a bad guy.”

“Well, good guys don’t snatch a bag from people especially in front of their baby! You gave me the wrong impression though. Now, give me the bag and go.”

“I’d like to see you take it.” “You asked for it dude.” You move forward and fight him hand to hand combat. Actually, you are a bit surprise by his technique. He’s not so bad but you have been train by a professional back in the academy.

You’ve been caught one day and some guy wear uniform took you somewhere. You thought it was a juvenile school because you are just 15 that time. Turns out it was S.H.I.E.L.D. They gave you test by test and found out that you good at combat and a little bit good at common sense. After you graduated, work job by job. Gang to gang. Mob to mob. You can’t do that kind of job anymore. You want to be good and yes, you did stop working with the dark. You washed your hands and works at Donut Do It. It’s not your vibe but it is fine for your fresh start. After you slap that guy, you hear a woman voice call your name that has been long unspoken by anyone including you.

“Baby.” A woman called.

“Normal people doesn’t know that name.” You said while choking that guy.

She said “Maybe because you’re not a normal girl.”

“What do you want Maria?” You ask that woman.

You immediately know who he is. Fury. “Oh God, not you too. Okay, for the record, honestly, I haven’t commit any crime that violated the laws.”

“You.” A deep voice man said.

You can hear Maria smirk when she asks you “Are you sure about that?” “…today. You didn’t let me finish. I didn’t commit any crime, today.” You said. Fury tell you to let that guy go and you look at that guy “You’re with them?” He tries to answer even you’re still choking him. “Y.. YE.. Yes!” You release him and slap him real hard right across his face. “That’s for wasting my time. Fuck off.”

Fury look disbelievingly at you. “Was that necessary?” You look back at him “What? Caressing lightly on his soft cheek?” Maria interject “That’s the opposite of what you did.” You try again just to tease her. “Okay. I, tap his soft cheek?” Maria raise an eyebrow at you “Try again.” You surrender. “Fine. I just 180-degree angle slapped him. He’s a trained agent for God sake. He’ll be fine.” You turn around about to walk back to your work place and Fury stop you.

“And where do you think you’re going young lady?” He asks you.

You turning back. “ Work. Turns out I have a job now papa bear. Thanks for the recommendation letter though. Now, will you excuse me, I have go to work. Hope to never see you two again. Babai.” Again, Fury stops you. “You are not going to that Donut Do It.” You tilt your head to him. “I told you I work there and I’m going. If you two want donut, you know where to find it. Mention my name and you’ll get 30% discounts.” Maria’s face changes when she talks this time. “This is serious and urgent, Baby.”

“We are gathering as many as best agents that we have, and you are one of the best, Baby. Come with us and we’ll brief you.” Fury said and you stop him from saying any further. “Look, I’m gonna stop you right here papa Bear. That is where you are wrong. Aren’t you guys seen my record? I know what good is but I’m far away from good. There is still red blood stain painted on my hands that I could never leave. Even if I wash it thousands time, it won’t come off. What makes you think I’ll do it?” You feel your left chest aching but you ignore it.

Maria answers you. “Because everyone deserves a chance to be and do good. To start over. Yes, you can’t wash that much blood on our hands but this is the chance for you to do something good in your life. A do-over. You actually do something good after the academy. Take out those mobsters down, those gangs. You went inside to get the intel and you burn them to the ground and made those cities safe. Then, you just proof us again just now by caught that robber.”

You huff and look down on your feet. “You set that up.”

Maria look at you. “But you didn’t know that. Yes, Baby. We’ve seen your record. Detail. You are far away from where you are before the academy. Or after. I mean you did killed people.” You crunch your eyebrows at her “Hey!” Fury turn to talk. “Help us this time. After that, it’s all up to you. We are no longer bugging you. You are no longer in our record. I’m not wasting my time coming here if we don’t need you.” “I thought you miss me.” Fury huff and talk to Maria “I’ll wait in the car.”

“He never begging. That kind of begging, what he did. Is it that bad?” I ask Maria and she nod with worry face. “Earth level threat. That’s all I can say right now. Come with us to tower and we tell you more.” You let out a long sigh. “Me? Out of all agents, me?” Maria walk closer to you. “Please Baby.” You’re now messing with her. “It Earth level threat and you want a baby to involve? What kind of adult are you? Put a cute baby in danger like that. Unbelievable.” She smiles more than earlier. “The kind of person that will make sure there will be chicken drumets and spaghetti carbonara every day for your meal.” You silently look at her and playfully sigh and she knows you better. “Caramel pudding and fluffy pillow too.” The ache in your chest getting hard to ignore now. You ask Maria some time and turn back from her. You bending, breathing like your doctor teach you and massage your chest a little. Must be from running earlier.

“Hey, are you okay?” Maria ask, worry if you are sick, but yes you are sick.

“Yeah. Just shock. Did you say fluffy pillow? You ask her, not wanting to let her know first. They need your help, that’s what you are going to do. Help as much as you can. She let out a giggles and wrap her arm around your neck. “Yeah, you are coming with us, like it or not.” You both walk toward their car where Fury is waiting. “How many pillow though?”

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Thank you for spending your time reading this. Feel free to reblog or ask me anything, thank you in advance!

Part 2 is coming!!

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liquid-luck-00 · 3 years

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When Two Coffee Addicts Unite

Part 1

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 8: Texting

Ao3 *** Part 2

Okay so this can either be a continuation of Internet Friends or the beginning of something new. But if you want to read this as a continuation of Internet friends then you should know:

The police department is almost as bad as Damocles when dealing with powerful figures. They take the video and audio footage and simply put it in the file. Because at the time Lila still had most or in fact all of the class under her thumb, they all supported Lila’s claim that it was an accident. Lila claims that a sudden dizzy spell struck her, and she fell forwards towards Marinette. And as Mari was already on the edge of the balcony it was an accident. The fact that the file sat in the police department until well after any claim could be valid it wasn’t looked into more. Mari, her friends, and Tim did have backups of the footage, complete records for every interaction with the police, and recorded calls and interactions when dealing with the police. But as they didn’t want to involve the embassy as this would become an international affair they didn’t bother with the case.

That said the police don’t bother with the Miracle Court to avoid work. However, with the Mayor, Medical responders, and the Fire Department all aid the heroes, the police only do the bare minimum.

Marinette’s class has begun to watch Lila, but they didn’t look into her lies because except for this incident it’s just she said she said with occasional ‘injuries’ on Lila. Most of them are wary of Lila but they aren’t converted to Marinette’s side, but there is an increased tolerance between them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette had just sat back at her seat after eating lunch, while the classroom was still empty. There was still half an hour left. Alix, Kim, Nino, Sabrina, and Max walked in as she sat down.

"Marinette you got the time?" Alix called out. They were on somewhat okay terms since Lila’s claims were a total 180 from the Marinette that they have known for forever.

"30 minutes left." she announced looking of her phone and in turn her missed messages.

Tim:

Mari

Nettie

Marin

Bean

Bug

Marinette

Marinette:

What's wrong.

Tim:

I have back to back meetings starting in 3 hrs. until 5.

and

Marinette:

Let me guess haven't slept.

Tim:

Exactly

Help me please

Marinette:

How many reports can you send me?

Tim:

Quite a few

Marinette:

Send me what you can.

Review the rest.

Take a nap!

And I'll be a little voice during your meeting.

Tim:

Thanks, I owe you Bean.

Marinette:

I'II hold you to that.

Tim:

Sent

Marinette:

Just make sure you wake up.

Tim:

I make no promises.

On second thought I don't want to find out how you are mad

She made it through the 15 minutes of class because Lila was akumatized. Lila had burst into the class followed by Alya, Nino, and Adrien. She claimed Mari cornered her in the bathroom and beat her a few minutes ago, showing everyone the 'bruises' on her arms. Chloe handed something to Sabrina who walked up to Lila.

"Oh, you poor thing," Sabrina consoled, Lila only whimpered. "Here this has a salve that helps bruises." She gently took Lila's wrist and wiped a 'bruise' which disappeared instantly.

"That's amazing what is it called?" Alya commented. "I should get some for Nora."

"Make-up remover." Sabrina and Chloe spoke together.

"Besides." Alix butt in. "Marinette's been here the past half hour and hasn't left."

"What?! How do you know?" Lila cried.

"Cause we've been here the whole time with her." Sabrina commented.

Marinette for her part didn't know or hear the conversation around her.

"Marinette. Marinette. Earth to Marinette," Kim shouted.

"Present!" She jolted practically standing. "Wait," she looked around, "class hasn't started."

"What are you hyper fixated on?" Adrien asked innocently.

"Just some reports, don't think you'd like them too much Kit-Kat."

"Fair," he shrugged sitting next to her. "So how were you in two places at once?"

"I can't," her head tilted to the side confusion clear on her face.

"So, if Mari hasn't left, can't be in two places at once, and your 'bruises' came off with make-up remover. How do you explain that Lila?" Adrien around, the class slowly draining their conclusions. However, Marinette spoke up. "She lied, obviously..." she stated having gone back to the reports.

"Um you said that out loud, Cake Pop, and loud at that."

"Huh?" sure enough when she looked around some were shock still, others typed furiously into their phones.

That was when Mrs. Bustier walked in, fifteen minutes late to the class. Which was also when the bandy contained restraint ended. Lila was akumatized, school let out, and the rest of her night went smoothly.

Tim woke up, and with her help survived his meetings. Some while on patrol she would constantly mute and unmute herself. Luckily, it wasn't more than twice, and they didn't run into anyone. Chat didn’t ask questions, figured it out since she was pouring over Wayne documents earlier. Tim would call her back after the private meetings and ended around 10.

At around 11 Tim text her back.

Tim:

Thanks Bug you saved me today.

Marinette:

No problem Draco

You owe me though.

Tim:

I remember.

Go to bed it's like midnight over there!

Marinette:

Yeah Yeah

Tim:

Ooh

Congratulations 2x!

Marinette:

What???

Please explain.

Tim

Timothy

Timothy Drake-Wayne answer me.

Dragon please

Ugh fine I'll sleep.

Which is what she did when he wouldn’t answer her.

She woke up the next morning to two emails from W. E.. The first was for a collaboration between W.E. and MDC for a show featuring Wayne Tech accessories and their new climate fabrics. She immediately responded and accepted. The second was that her class was one of two to be accepted as transfer students to Gotham Academy and intern slots at WE, she forwarded that to her teacher and the school.

Marinette:

You Gremlin

Tim:

Like I said congrats

Oh, I need you to give me three names.

Marinette:

What for?

Her mind was racing at the possibilities.

Tim:

You'll find out.

Marinette:

What’s the other school?

Tim:

Some Prep school in the UK.

Marinette:

Give me a Sec.

She opened another contact and typed.

Marinette:

Hey, did you get a spot in the Wayne/GA internship?

Mystery:

Yes.

Why?

Marinette:

Tell the others we are hitting Gotham with style.

Mystery:

Very well.

Mari then sent three names to him and smiled. This was going to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha

#maribat #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #dc x miraculous #miraculous x dc #ml marinette #tim drake #platonic timari #timari #adrien agreste #lila salt #maribatmarch2021

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 3 years

Text

Strangers | Joaquín Torres

✦ pairing — Joaquín Torres x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 5.8k (I’m sorry, I don’t have much self-control left)

✦ loosely based on the song Strangers by Mallory Merk

✦ request — I’d like to ask for something where Bucky and the reader are roommates but she’s younger (Joaquin’s age) and one day Sam and Joaquin are there for whatever reason and that’s how Joaquin and Reader meet and they get along (and flirt obv) and Bucky is like a protective older brother and Sam vouches for him but Bucky doesn’t loosen up until Joaquin saves reader from danger or does something nice for her

✦ warnings — angst, awkwardness, Bucky acting like a jealous brother, mentions of beverages and food, light depictions of anxious worry, fluff.

════════════════════════

Bucky and you were in the middle of discussing whether you should adopt a cat or not when a rhythmic knock on the door interrupted the urgent conversation.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked, eager to go back to the pressing matter at hand.

“You know I am not. I didn’t order anything either...”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll check.”

“No!” You stood up abruptly from the couch. “You’ll scare whoever is behind the door off like you scared our poor neighbor.”

“Can you let that one go?”

“Nope,” you replied as you crossed the small living room.

You would never. The lady still tried to hide from him when she saw him down the hallway which was hilarious because it wasn’t due to the fact that he had famously been The Winter Soldier but because he grumpily opened the door when she needed a favor and closed it on her face.

As you opened the door, you found two attractive men standing in the doorway.

“Is Barnes here?”

“Oh, God. What did he do now?”

“I didn’t do anything!” he exclaimed in your ear, making you jump.

“Jesus, Bucky.”

“Sorry.” He then acknowledged one of the men in front of you, the one who had asked for him, “What’s wrong, Sam?”

“Can we come in?”

Both Bucky and you moved out of the way so the pair of handsome men could come inside.

“So you’re the roommate?” Sam asked.

“I am.”

“And you don’t think he’s the most annoying person you’ve ever met?”

“No. Should I?”

“Hey!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“I’m Sam Wilson,” your interrogator introduced himself properly. “And this is Joaquín Torres.”

“Nice to meet you.” You smiled at Sam, then at Joaquín who smiled back.

Bucky cleared his throat.

Sam looked tense as he ominously said, “We need your help.”

“Give us some privacy, sweetheart,” Bucky told you.

You retreated to your bedroom, wondering what the secrecy could be about. You knew who Bucky was, what we had done, and everything in between.

And sure, some people thought you were crazy for being his roommate, but you weren’t scared of him. You trusted him and cared about him. In the few months you had gotten to know him he had become an important person in your life, one of your best friends.

His visitors didn’t stay for too long. You hadn’t even gotten comfortable on your bed after having put on a tv show to have something on the background when you heard the front door close.

A couple of minutes later, Bucky knocked on your door and opened it just enough to ask if he could come in.

He sat on your bed, fixing his eyes on your desk.

”So...” you broke the silence, “should I be worried?”

“No.”

“Bucky. Look at me.”

He turned to the side, fully facing you. “What?”

“You don’t have to hide things from me or coddle me.”

“I know. But it’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” he assured you.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He gave you a small smile. “Now, about that cat...”

════════════════════════

After a long week of work, you found yourself relieved to have the apartment just for you. Bucky was a lovely roommate, you just wanted an alone moment.

Saturdays were usually the day you had the apartment for yourself, Bucky had a strict routine until something extraordinary happened and you were comfortable with adapting to it.

To your luck, somebody knocked on the door. You hoped it was somebody looking for the neighbor or something because you weren’t in the mood for people.

Your mood, however, did a 180 as soon as you opened the door.

Joaquín gave you a small smile. “Good evening, (Name).”

Why did he have to come by when you were in sweats and an old t-shirt?! You smiled at him. “Hi.”

“Is Bucky home?”

“No. But he should be back in a couple of hours.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll wait for him outside.”

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” you asked. A part of you wanted to be polite, the other wanted to chat for a little bit. “I just started a batch.”

“Uh—“ Joaquín cleared his throat. “I would really like that.”

You motioned for him to come in. His eyes fixed on you as he did, but for some reason, you didn’t feel uncomfortable. There seemed to be no malice in his eyes.

“Free day?” he made small talk.

“Yeah. I actually don’t work on weekends.”

He shifted in order to face you and asked more about your job. You hoped it wasn’t part of his small talk anymore.

As the conversation progressed, you were sure it had been. His gaze remained on you whether he was speaking or listening, interest never wavering as he found more things to ask about you.

His eyes were such a peculiarity and you couldn’t understand why. Brown eyes were common, you had seen them thousands of times.

“I think the coffee’s ready,” he murmured.

“Right!” You abashedly stood up, smoothing your t-shirt as though it really mattered anymore.

“Do you need help?”

You shook your head. “I’ve got it.”

Glancing at him as you poured the beverages, you saw him staring at you too. Either you weren’t being subtle and were making him uncomfortable or he wasn’t being subtle either. Both options were terrifying.

You walked slowly towards the living room and put both cups down. “Sugar?”

“Please.”

As you went back to the kitchen, you checked the state of your hair on the microwave. Deciding there was nothing you could do to it, you left it as it was and took the container of sugar in your grasp along with a teaspoon.

You placed the sugar container on the table. “Cream?”

“No, thank you.”

Joaquín sweetened his coffee as you sat down next to him once again.

“You don’t like it with cream either?”

“No. I only remember to buy it for Bucky.”

Giving you his entire attention back, Joaquín lifted both eyebrows. “He takes his coffee with cream?”

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded enthusiastically. “I was as shocked as you are.”

“My grandma loved coffee with milk. She added so much that I don’t think it was coffee anymore.”

“Did you ever try it?”

“I didn’t. Well, maybe as a kid?” He tilted his head as he tried to remember. “I would prepare her coffee all the time...”

“That’s so sweet.”

He took a sip of coffee. So did you. For a moment both of you remained silent, and although it wasn’t uncomfortable you found yourself wanting to ask more about him.

You were out of practice in terms of social interaction. It was terrifying to admit, but the fear only made it truer. The blip changed and ruined lives, and while you were getting back on your feet, you still found yourself socially and emotionally stunted at times.

Joaquín didn’t seem to mind the silence. You wondered if he sought it.

Peacefulness and silence didn’t last. The front door opened unexpectedly and Bucky’s heavy steps cut the harmony of Joaquín’s and your breathing.

“I didn’t know you would be coming over,” Bucky grumbled.

Joaquín jumped off his seat. He took the file in his grasp and handed it to Bucky. “Sam wanted me to give you this.”

Humming, Bucky opened the folder. He gave the contents a quick read, then closed it again. “Well, you gave it to me already.”

“Right. Uhmmm...” Joaquín turned to the side and lightly bowed. “Thank you for the coffee, (Name).”

“Anytime,” you said, voice too enthusiastic even for your liking.

Joaquín gave you another smile before leaving the apartment, causing your face to flush.

You attempted to entertain yourself by washing the cups, but you still couldn’t believe you had spoken like a teenager with a crush.

Bucky leaned onto the wall. “I saw the way you were looking at Torres.”

“With my eyes?” you teased.

“With too much enthusiasm.”

“He’s cute,” you admitted as you twisted to look at him.

“Nope, not happening.”

“Not happening what?” Feigning innocence never worked with him, but you still liked trying. However, his glare told you this wasn’t the time to be playful. “Bucky, come on, I just admired the view. It’s not like I’m planning on running after him to ask him to marry me.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Do you believe me capable of asking somebody I barely know to marry me?” As soon as the question left your mouth, you added, “You know what? Don’t answer that.”

“He gave you the same eyes you were giving him,” Bucky said grumpily.

“He did?”

“Can you be serious for a moment?”

“Oh, Buck, I’m being more than serious.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is this my first time seeing you with a crush?”

“Do you find it charming?”

“You weren’t this cocky with him.”

“Were you eavesdropping?!”

“I thought you had another type of company. Wanted to make sure it was safe to come in.”

“That’s such a bad excuse.”

“Not as bad as your flirting.”

“Just because you used to be a good flirt doesn’t mean you still are. Be humble, Barnes.”

“I’m still better than you.”

You stuck your tongue out. “I’ll become the best flirt in the world. You’ll see.”

“Absolutely not. And Torres is off limits!”

“Awww, do you want him for yourself? Can I have Sam then?”

“You don’t even know him!”

“Sam or Joaquín?”

“Joaquín,” he grumbled.

“Whose fault is that? I couldn’t even get his number because you had to show authority or whatever macho bullshit is clouding your judgment.”

“My judgment isn’t clouded.”

“You need to get laid so I can get laid.”

“What’s wrong with taking things slow? The last date I went on was a disaster.”

“Nothing,” you assured him. “I just think you need to de-stress, have some clarity and see I just have a mild crush.”

“Mild?”

“Yeah. I was kinda intense in high school.” You feigned a shudder. “Dark times.”

“What about college?”

“We don’t talk about that. I had terrible taste.”

“See?”

You tried another approach, “We’re acting like children and I’m pretty sure we are adults. I pay taxes, dude, I can have a crush on whoever I want.”

“Of course. You’re a big girl.”

You could tell he was only going with your flow. But you would take it.

════════════════════════

Bucky sat in front of Sam. Brows furrowed as he went through the same file Joaquín had given him a few days ago.

He didn’t like the idea of going after anybody. He had left violence to the side already. Did this count as ruining it all so soon?

Glancing at Sam, who was expectantly watching him, Bucky sighed. “What about (Name)? What should I tell her?”

“I could send Torres—“

“NO.”

“Barnes,” Sam sighed, “you know we can trust him.”

“For this type of stuff. Not with (Name). You didn’t see the way he was looking at her the last time.”

“He might have a crush,” Sam conceded, “but you’re acting like he wants to murder her.”

“He might,” Bucky said without really meaning it.

Sam crossed his arms. “Do you like her or something?”

“Not like that,” Bucky replied, almost offended. “She’s like a sister to me, Sam. I care about her, I want to protect her.”

“By not letting her see people?”

“You don’t get it.”

“No, I do. And I know damn well this isn’t the right way to do it.”

Bucky scowled, yet knowing Sam wanted to say something else, remained quiet.

“Think about this. You’re worried something will happen to her while we do this, and I’m telling you Torres could keep her safe but you’re being childish because you think you should act like a jealous brother.”

“What if he breaks her heart? Huh? What then? She likes him!”

“He’s nice, of course she likes him! You should be glad he likes her too, dumbass.”

“She’s not ready to date people.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

Bucky shifted in his seat. “I’m not trying to be a dick, Sam. She’s been through hell.”

“Something might not even happen between them, you’re jumping to conclusions way too quickly.” Sam then added, “Unless both are into fast dating in which case things would be fine too.”

“You don’t know that. He could hurt her.”

“You already managed to run a background check on him and—“

Bucky interrupted, “How do you know?”

Sam nonchalantly shrugged. “I’d do the same.”

Bucky hung his head, staring down at the file on the small table. “Can I beat him up if he does something he shouldn’t?”

“He won’t.”

“But can I?”

“Will you shut up if I say yes?”

“Maybe.”

Sam withdrew his phone, tapped the screen a couple of times and brought the device to his ear. “Torres. Are you busy?”

Bucky huffed through his nose and then went back to read the file for the hundredth time.

════════════════════════

The forecast that morning had forced you to carry an umbrella and a jacket that you ultimately had to shed. It rarely rained around your workplace; you couldn’t say the same about your apartment.

You weren’t sure what type of natural phenomenon was at play —or fault, really— but you were not happy about it.

Hoping you hadn’t forgotten to close your bedroom window, you quietly wished your coworkers a good night and made your way towards the exit.

You found a face you seemed to see everywhere. Mostly due to your daydreams, but who could blame you apart from Bucky?

Joaquín slid his right hand off his pocket and waved at you.

Waving back, you approached him. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t home so I contacted Sam so he could ask where you could be and Bucky said you worked here so I came here.”

You couldn’t hide your smile upon hearing his convoluted explanation. “I imagined as much. What I meant with my question is why are you here?”

“Oh! I’m making sure you get home safe.”

You frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But we don’t want to take any risks.”

You didn’t know who was we exactly although you could assume he was talking about Bucky. And about himself. The realization made your stomach flip.

“Are we walking?”

“I drove here,” he explained, hesitating to make the first move towards his car.

You gave the first step forward, getting slightly closer to him. A whiff of his cologne hit you and just like that it was gone. He started walking too.

“Had a nice day?”

“It wasn’t too bad. How about you?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

You wanted to oh so badly ask what his ordinary was. Fuck, it was like you were having a crush for the first time all over again.

“So... are you staying at mine or...?”

“I’ll sleep here in the car.”

“There’s a couch right there. Kinda comfy if you ask me...”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Please, you’ll be there because of me, it’s the least I can do.”

“It’s no problem,” he hurried to assure you.

The streets looked different from the car. Bigger. You were so used to public transport, to see people from afar — to perceive everything from the perspective of somebody trapped in a box that had been created to make things easier for them.

You didn’t feel small per se, yet people looked bigger too. It was as though you had forgotten that people outside of your bubble existed.

Friends were almost nonexistent in a world that still was trying to recover from a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The people you considered friends kept their distance from you and each other because they didn’t have other choice. Work, school for those privileged enough, debt, grief... all those things got in the way. And perhaps it was better that way for now. Everybody needed to heal.

An empty hallway greeted you. It wasn’t too late, but your neighbors kept mostly to themselves. Bucky preferred it that way.

You pushed the door open after unlocking the two locks, allowing Joaquín to get in first.

He shed his dripping jacket, bashfully hanging it on the coat hanger.

“Can I offer you anything to drink or eat?” you asked, placing your belongings next to the couch.

“Whatever you’ll be having.”

You tugged the fridge door open. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Not that I know of.” He approached you, leaning on the kitchen bar. “Surprise me?”

“Oh, yeah, I will. With a visit to the ER.”

“Hey, it’d be a surprise nonetheless.”

You giggled and took a glance at him. The ghost of a smile crept into his face before he started laughing too.

“You don’t have a boyfriend that would get mad at me for staying here, do you?”

You chuckled. “No.”

“Are you even into guys?”

“I am.”

“That’s good.” Realizing he had sounded too happy, he added, “I mean... it would also be good if you weren’t, obviously.”

“I get what you meant.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s cool.”

“Cool.”

Neither of you stopped smiling. You only moved when the fridge’s door alarm interrupted.

You ended up ordering takeout and talking to him past midnight.

But not every night was lighthearted. Such a thing was true to life and to this particular week.

Joaquín was a good distraction before and after work, but the moment the time to say goodnight arrived, worry heaved on your entire body.

You tiptoed your way towards the kitchen, desperate for a glass of water. Hoping the stream of water wouldn’t make too much noise, you filled the glass and stood in the middle of the kitchen, slowly drinking it.

“Can’t sleep?”

You jumped, splashing water onto you and in consequence the floor. A couple of days or so weren’t enough for you to be completely used to Joaquín’s voice. Albeit nice, it was still new.

He turned the light on. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You clumsily placed the glass on the counter. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Sleep was elusive, something you had assumed was in the past. Insomnia had been your loyal friend throughout the blip, then grief joined.

Bucky was the closest thing you had to a family now. What if you had to grieve him too?

As though he had been reading your mind, Joaquín softly said, “He’ll be okay.”

“You sound so sure...”

“He’s strong and skilled. Sam is too.”

“I’m scared,” you confessed. “I don’t wanna be all alone again.”

He placed his hand on your shoulder. It almost burned you. “You won’t be.”

You pursed your lips. You had heard that one many times before.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just... you know...” You started laughing instead of truly explaining yourself.

But you didn’t need to explain anything. “It’s okay, everything will be okay.”

You laughed again, louder this time, nodding because what else could you say? That you couldn’t believe him if you wanted to?

He looked at you with worry. “Do you have any tea?”

You nodded once more, unable to speak as you continue laughing and pointing to the top cupboard.

“I’ll fix you a cup.”

Crying out of laughter, you sat at the small table, leaning on your forearms as you tried to watch him — the tears didn’t allow you to truly assess the damage.

Said tears worried you. The last time you had properly cried seemed to have been too long ago to be healthy.

Then again, not many people were in a healthy position as of now.

Before you could even realize what was going on, Joaquín softly set a cup on the table. “Sorry for not adding sugar, I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Embarrassed due to the fact that you couldn’t stop laughing, you avoided his eyes and wrapped your fingers around the cup. “Thank you,” you mumbled.

“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s no problem, okay?”

You hummed, inhaling the scent of the tea before taking a small sip.

He made you company as you drank the hot beverage at your own pace. In complete silence, trying to hide from you that he was playing with his fingers under the table.

“Better?”

“I think so.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have work tomorrow...”

How could you forget? You stood up with the cup in your grasp and went into the kitchen to wash it.

“I can wake you up for work if you want,” he offered.

“My alarm is loud enough.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said as if he was just remembering, “I’ve heard it.”

You huffed a laugh. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Before he could turn around, you called for him, “Joaquín?”

“Yes?”

“Would you keep me company until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

It felt strange to have somebody that wasn’t Bucky in your bedroom. Joaquín curiously eyed the room while you got comfortable in the bed — his eyes eventually landed on you.

He gripped your desk chair and took it out.

Before he would sit down, you told him, “You can sit on the bed if you prefer. That chair ruined my back.”

Considering the offer, he approached the bed, slowly as he looked at you in case you changed your mind.

You patted the empty space. “I don’t bite.”

Tentatively sitting down, he asked, “Why haven’t you changed the chair?”

“I like the color.”

He softly laughed. “It’s pretty,” he agreed. “Looks nice with your decoration.”

“Thank you.”

His hand brushed your forearm as the two of you shifted at the same time. Your face heated up, and now you wondered if his palm contrasted the softness of the back of his hand.

Joaquín cleared his throat. “Try to sleep,” he whispered, “I’ll be here.”

You took a deep breath before closing your eyes. Focusing on trying to remember what you had been thinking before falling asleep the last time you got some rest, you got lost in your own head.

The door creaked as it was pushed open. Bucky opened his mouth.

Joaquín brought his index finger to his closed lips, signaling for Bucky to not make a sound.

Joaquín looked down at your form, still fast asleep. Your head was on his shoulder, face semi-buried in his t-shirt.

Bucky watched as Joaquín softly removed your head from his shoulder, delicately making it rest onto the pillow — he then left the bed in silence and tucked you into the covers before leaving the room.

”Everything in order?”

Bucky grumbled in affirmation. “What was that?”

“She was worried about you. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nothing else?”

Joaquín shook his head, hoping he was managing to mask his disappointment.

Bucky hummed. “Thank you, Joaquín. For everything.”

“It was no problem.”

Joaquín collected his few belongings in a minute, taking a glance at the ajar door that separated your bedroom from the lounge area.

“Bucky...”

“Mmh?”

“Could you text me when she wakes up or if she needs anything?”

Bucky stood silent for a few seconds. Seconds that for Joaquín felt like hours. “I will. Go home.”

════════════════════════

Having Bucky back at home was relieving. Except for the fact that he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to spill it.

“Is there anything you want to say?” you yelled from the couch.

He stopped chopping carrots to lift his head. “Did you get Torres’s number?”

Turning the TV off, you pushed yourself to a sitting position and eventually left the couch.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Have you called him?”

“I sent him a meme.” You extended your hand, taking a piece of carrot. “He laughed and sent one back.”

“I assumed you would have asked for his hand in marriage by the time I would be back.”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

Bucky snorted. You munched on your cube of carrot.

“Maybe you’re reading too much into it. He’s genuinely nice, you know? People can be friends regardless of gender.”

“What happened to wanting to get laid?”

“I doubt it’s mutual.”

“He likes you and you like him. That’s practically the definition of mutualism.”

“You said he was off-limits,” you accused.

“He isn’t anymore.”

“I didn’t get the memo.”

“Don’t get grumpy with me.”

“I’m not grumpy.” You pouted. “But what if he doesn’t like me that way? He’s a really nice person, maybe that’s it.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You whined, “Buuuuuuuuucky. Don’t be mean.”

“Don’t act obtuse then.”

“I haven’t dated anybody in years. I don’t know how to do it. He’s fun to talk to, don’t get me wrong — I’m the problem.” You sighed dramatically. “We should throw a pity party for me,” you sarcastically said.

“Why do you think I’m making lasagna?”

“I honestly thought Sam was coming over for dinner.”

Bucky blushed due to his inability to be subtle which was the most shocking thing you had learned about him.

Truth to be told, Bucky’s words stayed in your mind for days. You continued casually texting Joaquín, not sure if you should ask him out or let it go.

You wanted to, and it wouldn’t be the first time you had made the first move — that didn’t bother you. What bothered you was the mere idea of asking him out too soon.

Seeing your phone light up with Joaquín’s name and a message attached to it genuinely improved your day every single time.

It was so hard not to be in his orbit when apart from being handsome he was so nice and easy to talk to.

You liked him, you really did. You also liked that things didn’t feel awkward with him when you knew they would’ve been unbearable with somebody else. It was liberating.

Are you home?

Nope.

If you were looking for Bucky, he’s out on a date.

I know. But I’m not here to see him.

You’re there?

Yeah. I’ve been here for a few minutes now.

I’m having drinks with my coworkers. Two of them are celebrating their birthday. I can ditch if you need anything.

I wanted to see you.

I also wanted to ask...

Are you busy next Saturday?

Your heart skipped a beat. I’m not.

Eyes glued to the three dots that signaled he was typing, you finished your drink in a single swig.

Would you go out with me?

You can pick wherever we go, I don’t mind.

I would love to!

Was the exclamation mark too much?

Fuck, you felt like a teenager again.

And I don’t mind if you pick.

Why don’t we make that decision later?

Sounds good to me.

Sorry for making you wait outside for nothing.

I’m the one who appeared unannounced, but it’s okay. I got almost everything I wanted.

You’re making not ditching really hard right now.

Good to know I’m doing something right.

But you should hang out with your coworkers.

And be careful. If you remember, text me when you get home.

It was stupidly hard not to be smitten by him.

════════════════════════

“For the millionth time, you look fine.”

You glared at Bucky.

“He’s right,” Sam assured you from the couch. “You look fine, and it’s just a casual date. You’ll be okay.”

“Just a casual date?” you asked in a high pitch that surprised the three of you.

“He’s seen you in the morning already,” Bucky reminded you, lifting his eyebrows. “I don’t understand why you’re so nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you defended yourself. “I’ve had these jeans for literal years and I’m scared I’m gonna rip them.”

“Take a jacket or coat with you just in case.” Sam offered the solution immediately.

You did as Sam suggested and carried your favorite jacket over your forearm.

In contrast to what you saw every morning, there wasn’t a single familiar face in the subway. As you checked the time to make sure you wouldn’t be late, you saw that one of your other friends had wished you good luck on your date.

The fact that somebody apart from Bucky —and Sam— openly wanted you to succeed at something outside of work improved your mood. You had lied to Bucky earlier regarding being nervous, less due to embarrassment, and more because you didn’t want to admit you were scared of still not knowing how to handle things when they went wrong.

Rejection was easier to take in comparison to the way things crumble after they seem to be going well. Rejection is quick, it eventually passes — regret and what-ifs potentially stay forever. You had the scars to prove it.

You had to walk a couple of blocks from the station to the place you would meet Joaquín at. The area was new to you, colorful and lively from what looked to be brand new businesses.

Upon arriving at the diner, you understood why Joaquín had chosen that place. It wasn’t crowded by any means, but it looked far from empty. It was the perfect middle ground for a first date.

Such observation didn’t ease up your nerves, yet giddiness couldn’t stop itself from bubbling up.

“Oh!” he exclaimed from behind you. “I was about to text you.”

You turned around. “I just got here.”

Joaquín silently stared at you, taking a shaky breath and bobbing his head open and closed.

He settled for a short compliment, easier to say than the jumbled mess of euphoric reactions he internalized, “You look great.”

“I—“ You weren’t expecting that. “Thank you. You look really nice.”

You might have been selling it short, he looked as handsome as ever and more — but you didn’t want to sound intense or say too much and scare him off.

He looked down for a moment, trying to fight the warmth crawling up his skin. “Thank you,” he said quietly before looking up once again.

His bashfulness was a good sign, it would be less awkward if both of you felt the same way about the prospect of a first date.

“I found this place by mistake a few weeks ago,” he told you as he opened the door for you. “Their coffee is great.”

He let you choose the table, arguing that it was your first there and he wanted you to have the best experience. You appreciated his effort.

Bucky and Sam mentioned you could come across as being uncomfortable around others, he must’ve been under the same impression.

In all fairness, it was less about being uncomfortable and more about being scared of oversharing.

“Are you a big coffee guy?”

“Kind of. I’m used to instant coffee even though I don’t like it so I try a different one every time I can.”

“I have a coworker who is obsessed with that stuff.” You chuckled. “But they drink it cold.”

Joaquín huffed a laugh. “It might taste better like that.”

The conversation deviated from mindless small talk to work, and then to your interests — it was refreshing to know you shared a few and even more so to find he was open to giving things he didn’t know a try.

After eating, the two of you decided to take a walk just so you could talk some more.

Your hand brushed his by mistake. Joaquín looked down. He pressed the back of his hand against yours, momentarily pushing his fingers between yours.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

He pulled away then slid his hand under yours. Clasping his palm against yours, he stared at your face in search of your reaction. “How about that?”

“Also yes.”

He smiled. “Good thing I listened to Sam when he said I wasn’t imagining things and you were into me too.”

“You know, I almost made the first move.”

“What stopped you?”

You shrugged. “Maybe I would have drunkenly asked you out if you hadn’t beat me to it.”

He hummed yet made no further comment.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I do, I do!”

“Buuuuuuut?”

“It took us a while to exchange phone numbers. Imagine if it had taken us the same to go out?”

“Oh God, we would be stuck third-wheeling Sam and Bucky.”

“I’m so sorry you have no escape from that,” he joked.

“I just hope they never have sex when I’m in the apartment or I will need therapy I can’t afford.”

He lightly squeezed your hand. “I’ll rescue you, don’t worry.”

It was your turn to smile. “I’ll take that as a sign that I’ll be seeing you again.”

“As long as you don’t see it as a threat...”

You giggled. “I would never.”

According to the blog posts you read online, guys seemed to like it when the other person assured them they had a good time with them. You hoped he had gotten the hint.

In case he hadn’t, you said, “There was this coffee shop near my childhood home that I used to love... They had the best chocolate cake I’ve ever tasted and the coffee was delicious too. I heard it reopened...”

“We should go there next time.”

“Sounds good. I haven’t visited the neighborhood in a while.”

“Any reason in particular?”

“I don’t know anybody around there anymore.”

It was getting late and you knew your time together would be over. At least for tonight.

He walked you toward the subway station, swinging your intertwined hands. The conversation didn’t seem to end, he could thread on any topic and you would’ve listened to him until his voice was hoarse and his throat dry.

You couldn’t leave without properly telling him what a great time you had. It was too soon to know what would happen, you weren’t naive, but you also really fucking liked him.

“I had a great time,” you reassured him. “Thank you.”

“Me too. I hope it repeats soon.”

You did too. All those nerves had thankfully paid off.

He scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “I’m sorry if I’m being too forward, but... can I kiss you?”

“You’re not being too forward.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Joaquín licked his bottom lip and cupped your cheek with a hand. His other one tightly held yours, giving you time. You wetted your lips too. Then he leaned in and kissed you.

You basked in the kiss’s bliss. Short, sweet, perfect in every single aspect. The kind of human contact you had longed for years and had been too scared to look for.

His eyes were on you as you opened your own — shining with a happy glint.

“You’re even prettier from up-close,” he commented lowly, hand still on your face.

Your gaze fell to his wrist for a second. Then you held his. “I could say the same to you.”

“Thank God.” He giggled.

“You said you needed to wake up early tomorrow...” you said, much to your own dismay. You didn’t want to be selfish.

“I’ll wait for your train to get here.”

And so he did, and you almost cursed the stupid giant can when it arrived.

You reluctantly let go of his hand. “Text me when you get home just so I know you arrived safely, yeah?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

“Goodnight.”

He kissed your cheek. “Goodnight.”

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x plus size reader #joaquin torres

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

Percy Jackson meets a Landlord, a Tax Accountant, and a Tree Growing in Brooklyn

“Golduck, use hydro pump!” Percy whispered. He moved Golduck so he hit Batman on the chest, and then hit Batman a few more times for good measure. “Die, landlord!”

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”

Percy almost fell out of his chair.

He twisted his torso around, looking behind him with wide eyes. But the only person there was a white girl, no older than him. She was wearing a really severe expression to match her tight little blonde ponytail, and she was carrying a clipboard in both hands. There was a piece of string tacked to the clipboard, with a pen tied around one end. She looked like she asked the school librarian if she could help shelve books.

Percy decided instantly that she hated him, so he decided to hate her back.

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing your taxes?” Percy sneered. “Buzz off.”

That made her mad. The girl’s angelic little chubby face twisted in rage, and her grip on the clipboard turned threatening. “I’m accounting the chores! And I could do taxes if I wanted!”

“Yeah?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Name one tax.”

“Sales tax,” the girl said instantly.

Damn. She got that one.

Short fic that I am considering extending into a much, much longer fic. Thank you Ami for the translation of the card (I would definitely translate it yourself, it’s important). The entire backstory and premise of the AU isn’t immediately apparent, but if I extend the fic it’ll be more explained (spoiler: Luke Castellan, age 14, said fuck Olympus and moved all of Camp Half-Blood into Brooklyn to live in a child-run utopia). I haven’t reread Percy Jackson since I was 10, I barely remember anything that happens or any of the characters, so don’t expect much - but aren’t the best children’s novels the children’s novels that live in our head, anyway?

Rest under the cut.

2005

180 Olive Apartments was a dump. Batman said so.

Batman felt very strongly about this, and as a result Percy did too. It was not Percy’s own, private, personal opinion. Batman informed Percy that the apartment complex was shabby, gross, not in Staten island, and smelled weird. Batman made a very convincing argument that they should live in Staten Island instead, which Percy had done his best to relay to Mom. Mom hadn’t been impressed.

“This is the best place for us, Percy,” Mom had said, with that pinched look on her face. It was the ‘Percy’s Making My Life Really Hard’ face. Percy had been seeing that face a lot lately. “Let’s just try to make this work, please?”

There was no ‘best place’ for them, and Percy and Batman knew that. But that was another thing Mom didn’t want to hear.

So Percy had suffered in stoic silence as Mom dragged him out of the motel, made him miss the new episode of Pokemon, and forced him to ride the subway forty minutes into smelly Brooklyn so he could sit in this smelly chair outside of some smelly office in a smelly apartment. From inside the office, Percy could hear the faint rise and fall of voices: Mom’s, light and lyrical and very polite to people who were not Percy; and some landlord guy. His voice was really light and high too, but he was probably a real jerk.

Percy was so bored he could die. He sat up on his knees, turning around so he could prop his elbows against the dusty windowsill with grimy frosted glass. He plopped Batman down on the dirty windowsill, smearing his chipped feet through the tracks of dust. Parkour. He unzipped his pocket and grabbed his slightly dusty Golduck rubber toy, putting it in front of Batman. Golduck was from McDonald’s, so it had a bad attitude.

Percy waggled Batman. You have a bad attitude, Golduck. You can’t live in my house anymore, because you get water all over the tile and you make the wood go bad.

Golduck jiggled when Percy shook him. It wasn’t Golduck’s fault that the water went everywhere! Water just goes places sometimes. Golduck was a water type, so water followed him around and got into wood and made the wood go bad and made other people mad at him. It’s not Golduck’s fault, so don’t make him move!

I don’t want to hear it, Batman said. I’m going to make you live in a crummy motel and make your Mom go on a lot of boring websites looking for new places to live. The motel’s bananas are going to taste weird. Mom’s going to cry a lot. And it’ll be all your fault because you’re a bad kid.

“Golduck, use hydro pump!” Percy whispered. He moved Golduck so he hit Batman on the chest, and then hit Batman a few more times for good measure. “Die, landlord!”

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”

Percy almost fell out of his chair.

Percy decided instantly that she hated him, so he decided to hate her back.

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing your taxes?” Percy sneered. “Buzz off.”

That made her mad. The girl’s angelic little chubby face twisted in rage, and her grip on the clipboard turned threatening. “I’m accounting the chores! And I could do taxes if I wanted!”

“Yeah?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Name one tax.”

“Sales tax,” the girl said instantly.

Damn. She got that one. Percy just rolled his eyes instead, sitting back down on his seat and stuffing his toys in his cargo pocket. He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, even if he knew that he wasn’t too old to play with Batman and Golduck. What did tax accountants know, anyway.

The girl sniffed, and made a show of inspecting the grimy windowsill and carefully making a note on her clipboard. Her pen had a pom-pom at the end. Percy bet she made hearts over the top of her ‘i’s.

“Nick’s been slacking,” the girl muttered threateningly. “I’m surrounded by incompetents.”

“Why is it Nick’s job to clean the leasing office?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Don’t you have a janitor for that?” Was Nick the janitor? If this pinched-face little girl was harassing cleaning staff then Percy was going to file a complaint.

But the girl just looked surprised, as if the idea of having a janitor was foreign and strange. “No janitor would even make it through the doors.” But then her eyes narrowed, as if a thought just occurred to her. “Wait. How did you…”

However Percy did what, he would never know. The door to the leasing office cracked open, and Percy scrambled off his seat in excitement. The girl stood stiffly at attention, clipboard on her hip, as Mom stepped out of the office. She looked very tired, but weirdly relieved.

There was a man right behind her, just as white and blonde as the girl. Percy wasn’t surprised: he could pick out a real ‘daughter-of-the-manager’ type right away. The man didn’t look like every other landlord Percy had ever seen - no moustache, for one - and he didn’t look old enough for the part anyway. He wasn’t old, but he definitely wasn’t an elementary schooler. He had a broad, honest face, but he was too muscular and strong looking and landlordey to be trustworthy.

Percy decided the weird landlord, with a mop of yellow hair like golden thread and a scary eyebrow with one long scar cutting straight through, was twenty five years old. Clearly the result of nepotism in the landlord industry.

Mom smiled when she saw Percy, who quickly pasted on his most innocent expression. Her eyes caught on the girl, who was glaring daggers at him. The landlord’s eyes caught on Percy’s own wrinkled nose. “Percy, good! Are you making friends?”

It was not an innocent question. It was a ‘please don’t ruin this for me too, Percy’ question. It was a ‘I’m very tired and I need you not to make things hard’ question. Percy was well acquainted with them. But maybe the girl was too, because when the landlord looked at the girl she also abruptly quailed. “I hope you’re being a good host, Annabeth.”

The unfortunately named Annabeth and Percy glanced at each other in silent and instant understanding.

“Yeah, Annabeth’s really fun!” Percy said instantly. He was not going to ruin this for Mom again. Or, at least, he would try to hold off ruining it for her as long as possible. Even if this stupid apartment wasn’t in Staten island. “She was telling me about -”

“Taxes!” Annabeth said smoothly, a much better liar than Percy. “And Percy was telling me about Batman.”

They both looked very cute and very low matinence on command, the perfect picture of children who did not make their moms live in motels.

Percy was rewarded when Mom smiled in relief. She put a hand on Percy’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “I’m so glad. Percy, this is Mr. Castellan. Why don’t you say hi?”

“Hi Mr. Castellan,” Percy said obediently. “My name’s Percy Jackson, I’m in third grade.”

The landlord smiled at him with closed and tight lips, but it was Annabeth who spoke in interest. “Percy like Percival, King Arthur’s knight who searched for the Holy Grail?”

Uh, whatever? “Percy like the Greek hero Perseus,” Percy said shortly. “But I’m not Greek. My Grandma was from Guadalajara.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened. She glanced at the landlord, whose expression was impossible to read. “Are you sure?”

“I know where my own grandmother is from!”

“She didn’t say that you didn’t, sweetie,” Mom said, and Percy guiltily shut up. “Percy, why don’t you and Mr. Castellan talk in his office for a little while? I have to fill out some paperwork, and I think you two have a lot to talk about.”

Percy looked up at her with wide eyes. Mom never left him alone with strangers. And paperwork already? “Are we moving in today?”

“You two talk for a bit,” Mom said firmly. “I’ll be right back.”

When Percy was pushed into Mr. Castellan’s office it felt more like he was a Roman Christian being tossed into the lion’s den in punishment for heresy. And when Mom settled him into an uncomfortable and weird-smelling chair in front of the teetering desk and kissed him on the temple before leaving the office, he abruptly felt like he had jumped into Grandma’s book of Bible Stories.

Mr. Landlord’s office was as dirty and run-down as the rest of the complex. The big box AC rattled with clinks and whirrs as it shuddered against the sticky summer heat, and the landlord’s desk was covered in thick stacks of paper and chewed-up pencils. When he sat back down behind the stained wood, the chair seemed just a little too big for him. He sunk strangely in it, the vinyl flaking off and floating into the ground. There were a lot of crayon drawings taped to the wall, and there was a light dusting of crumpled post-it notes on the ground.

Mr. Landlord tried to smile at Percy. Tried being the operative word: when he smiled it was too thin and without teeth, more pained than reassuring. It didn’t reach his watery blue eyes.

Percy hunched on the rickety chair. This guy set off every alarm bell he had, which was plenty. And no, it wasn’t just because he was a guy, Ms. Brown. For added security and self defense, Percy casually slid a capped ballpoint pen on the old desk in front of him into his sleeve. Batman was always prepared, and Percy was too. He can hack up any creepy guy and protect Mom any day of the week.

The landlord smiled wider, even worse. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Luke Castellan, and I’m the supervisor here. Running into Annabeth first thing’s pretty bad luck, huh?” At Percy’s unimpressed eyebrow, he quickly added, “Annabeth keeps the whole place running, really. She’s...pretty convinced that this complex rests on her eight year old back, so she’s a little stressed out all the time. If she gets frustrated at you, don’t take it personally, okay?”

So she does help shelve books. Percy was a keen judge of character. “Why does she do it? You can’t make her be the superintendent. That’s child labor.”

Luke Castellan stared at Percy unblinkingly. He blinked about as often as a snake, but five times as quickly: as if he didn’t want to let you out of his sight for even a second. Finally, he said, “I’m fifteen.”

Percy gave Mr. Luke the stink-eye, clearly communicating that he did not trust even fifteen year olds (who were high schoolers, and even less trustworthy than adult-adults) as far as he could throw them. Especially fifteen year olds like Luke: who were too tall, with too-mature eyes and a particularly unhappy expression. Percy communicated perfectly that there was nothing trustworthy about this family of juvenile landlords, but he was just too polite to say so.

But that just made Mr. Luke sigh, as if he was tired instead of angry. “Annabeth’s my...ward, I guess. I just look after her. But she doesn’t like being looked after, so she makes up for it by looking after everyone else. I’m not saying I do a good job.”

He’s a landlord and he has a ward? Percy finally perked up. “So you’re like Batman?”

Mr. Luke stared at him unblinkingly, before finally saying, “Yes, except Batman doesn’t have superpowers.”

Percy had the sense he was being made fun of. “You don’t have super powers,” he accused, crossing his arms. “Nobody has super powers.”

Mr. Luke smiled, wan and weak. “Not even you, Percy?”

Percy froze.

Five seconds too late, Percy made himself laugh stupidly. People were quick to believe that Percy was stupid, and sometimes Percy helped them think that. It got him out of trouble sometimes - not always, but enough that it was useful. “If I had superpowers, I’d run super fast everywhere just like the Flash!”

But Mr. Luke just hummed, and flipped through some of the papers in a folder in front of him. Percy abruptly began sweating. Mom had given him those papers. They were records. This was like every time a principal had drawn up ‘proof’ against him in a court of law. “Your mom said that you both had to move out of your Queens apartment because it flooded.”

“I didn’t unscrew the taps,” Percy said reflexively. “They just came loose! I didn’t even touch them! I didn’t touch the boiler either!”

“The boiler?” Mr. Luke flipped back a few pages. “Oh, right. Your school.”

Percy slouched in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, stewing. He always sounded guiltiest when he denied it. He should go back to playing dumb. Pretend that he had no idea what water was. He had gotten away with it when he was six during that one birthday party at the aquarium, but something about being a third grader meant that people expected that you have basic observational skills.

It was stupid. There was no way to win. If he said that he didn’t do it then he sounded guilty. If he tried to point out how it was impossible for him to break the boiler and destroy the gym or whatever, using facts and logic and a rhetorical argument like the Youtube videos taught him, then they just told him he was making excuses. Sometimes Percy had the impression that everybody just wanted him to supervillain cackle like the Joker and brag about how terrible he was. Maybe he’d give that a shot once he entered middle school. It seemed like an evil teenage thing to do.

Percy Jackson was a liar, a thief, a cheat, a menace, and a bad kid. There was nothing more to be: not for someone like Percy.

But Mr. Luke didn’t threaten him, or give him ‘one last chance’ or anything. He just leaned forward, hands folded on the desk. His thumb was worrying at a small starburst scar on his hand, betraying a strange nervousness.

“Percy, can I talk to you man-to-man?”

Percy, who did not like men, squinted at Mr. Luke suspiciously. “Why.”

“Because this isn’t a topic for a kid. It’s a topic that...kills children, and turns them into little adults. I wish I didn’t have to broach it with you. But I think that you haven’t been a kid for a long time, Percy, and I don’t want to insult you by pretending otherwise.” Mr. Luke frowned, and Percy found himself involuntarily straightening. What was he talking about? “You were right. There was no way for you to have flooded your apartment, much less twice. There was no way for you to ruin your gym, or damage that aquarium. Much less...everything else in your file. No kid is that much of a miniature hurricane when he isn’t even trying. It sucks. It’s not your fault. And now your Mom’s credit score is so bad that she can’t afford another apartment. If it wasn’t for the fact that she saw our really generous listing in the paper, she would have had to move you two away from her home.”

She was thinking of moving them both to New Jersey. Percy’s lips tightened, and he knew that Mr. Luke saw it.

“This is an apartment building that provides shelter to a lot of special cases, just like you. It’s...full of kids who break things when they don’t mean to. Kids with a parent couldn’t handle them, or who couldn’t protect them. We have a lot of ways to keep families like yours safe, and to give you a home.”

Percy stared at Mr. Luke. He seemed deadly serious, as serious as anybody had ever been to Percy, despite the crazy stuff he was saying. Safe? Safe from what?

Safe from those weird, giant dogs that chased Percy and tore off half his jeans? Safe from that old lady in the deli with the slobbering bag and beady eyes? Safe from broken water pipes, from ruined floors and busted walls, from Percy himself?

Finally, all Percy could think to ask was, “How do you know that I’m a special case?”

“Because not just anyone could see that listing,” Mr. Luke said. “And - uh, no offense - but you are one of the most obviously inhuman children I’ve met in my life.”

Percy’s jaw dropped in complete, unadulterated rage, and without even stopping to think through his actions he withdrew the ballpoint pen from his pocket. He uncapped it, fully intending on doing something dramatically yet harmlessly violent with it, but he didn’t get the chance.

The ballpoint pen turned into a gleaming bronze and silver sword. Percy screamed. Percy fell out of his chair. Percy did not get the opportunity to look cool and dangerous at all.

****

And now Percy had Greek god stuff to worry about!

Didn’t Percy have enough problems? He couldn’t stay in a school, they couldn’t keep an apartment, their new landlord didn’t blink enough, and now he was the kid of a Greek god? Apparently he had been spending his entire life running from monsters and he just hadn’t noticed? That explained the stupid scary dog!

Percy knew much more about Greek gods than the average kid, since Mom was a huge fan. Yeah, Mom! Apparently you were a big fan! Jesus, Mom!

What’s this dumb stuff about Poseidon! That had freaked out Mr. Luke, and made him ask a lot of questions like ‘are you sure’ and ‘there’s a lot of minor gods who like to pass themself off as someone more impressive to mortals’. Then Annabeth, who had been listening at the door like a sneak and who ran in all heroically when he almost accidentally stabbed Mr. Luke, freaked out and called his mom a liar. His mom!

Then Percy tried to stab her with his new sword. Mom made Percy apologize for trying to stab Annabeth. Mr. Luke made Annabeth apologize for insulting Percy’s mother. Percy was beginning to worry that he and Annabeth may be mortal enemies.

Mr. Luke had tried explaining a bunch of stuff about monsters and ‘the Sight’ and why Percy’s life was terrible to him, but Percy already knew his life was terrible and he wasn’t interested. Percy ended up furiously swinging his new sword at a tree outside as Mom signed a bunch of forms and talked with Mr. Luke some more, but she hustled him home pretty quickly afterwards.

Percy didn’t give the sword back. Mr. Luke, wisely, did not ask for it back.

Mom kept on making a face on the subway back to the motel like she had been waiting her entire life for Percy to ask all of these questions, and she was preparing herself for it. She kept on glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, watching Percy kick his feet against the hard plastic seat. It was obvious. But Percy didn’t have anything to say to her. They spent the rest of the day in silence, just focusing on packing up and getting everything ready to move. Jacksons were practical, Mom said.

Jacksons were practical. Percy was practical, too. It was only in the deep pits of night, as Percy lay in bed holding up his sword and watching it reflect the soft lamplight above the creaky wooden table where Mom was doing work, that he asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The sword was really cool. It was pure bronze, with the middle gleaming pure silver. There was some Greek writing inscribed down the center that Percy had no idea how to read, although he had spent an hour scouring the internet looking for a translation. The handle was tough white cord, stiff and starchy but fraying a little at the edges.

Mr. Luke said it was named something, but Percy forgot what it was. He had been a bit busy almost impaling the guy.

Mom’s fingers froze over the keyboard. Her back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see her face, but her spine was stiff and rigid.

Finally, after a long silence, she said, “I didn’t want you to think that there was anything different about you.”

“So what?” Percy asked, his eyes pricking rebelliously. Stupid water. “You let me think that I was a bad person who ruined your life?”

“Percy, no!” Mom turned around, expression crumpled. The dim light showed the heavy bags under Mom’s eyes in sharp relief. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby. None of this is your fault, you understand? That’s what this business with your father means: that none of it was your fault. That’s all it means.”

If that was true, Percy thought, then why couldn’t she have told him before?

But Percy was afraid that if he said that, then he would start crying, and Percy was way too old to cry. Only weak little babies cried.

“I’m sorry my dad’s a loser who ruined your life, Mom,” Percy said.

“Percy…”

But Percy refused to answer her, putting his sword down next to him and pretending to go to sleep. He kept it next to him in bed all night, gripping its hilt tight, and the firm and cool pressure of the steel in his hand soothed him when the thought of a father didn’t.

***

They moved in the next day.

The next day! Percy was livid. He barely had any time to pack up his toys into his backpack, and Mom didn’t even have time to help him back up his blue Spider-man suitcase. He had to do it all by himself, and then Mom came in and told him he was folding everything up wrong and that he had to redo it. If she had so many problems with it, she should have helped him and gave him more than one day to move out of their dumb motel!

When people moved on TV there were always moving vans and buff dudes in baseball caps. But Percy was much better at moving then any of those idiots: all it took was a suitcase (of clothes and toiletries and stuff) and a backpack (of toys and school supplies and stuff).

Percy’s backpack had the Power Rangers on it, in glossy plastic. Its contents were always the same, through every move: Batman, Golduck, Bulbasaur, Blue Eyes White Dragon, Raphael, a stegosaurus with a missing tail named Hedward, and a little book full of pictures of him and his mom and some cards and stuff. There was a picture of him and Grandma in the apartment in Staten Island that he lived in until he was six, and a 5th birthday card she had given him six months before she died. Written inside, in her looping and faded script, was a sentence Percy had read over and over and over again. ‘Tu angel de la guarda trabaja horas extra por tí. Así que acuérdate de decirle gracias ¿Sí, mi niño?'’

Percy was inclined to agree with her. God should pay his guardian angel overtime. That, or pay one to go to Olympus and collect child support.

The image was funny to Percy - the idea of his angel with her wings and halos showing up at Poseidon’s door and tapping her watch as she held out her hat. It was so funny, it was the first thing he told Mr. Luke when they met him at the gates to the apartment complex. Mom was huffing behind him with her two suitcases, while Percy was busy juggling his own backpack, suitcase, and sword.

Mr. Luke looked alarmed to see the both of them, although Mom had called ahead and arranged to meet him here. Worse, Annabeth was next to him, still holding a clipboard. She didn’t look alarmed, just mad.

“Did you bring Riptide onto public transportation?” Annabeth squawked. “You have no sense of discretion!”

Was Riptide the name of the sword? Whatever. Percy would have named it Hurricane. “I know words you don’t know too, you don’t have to brag,” Percy said flatly.

“Yeah, the gods are filthy little child support evaders,” Mr. Luke said easily, instantly endearing himself to Percy. Mom rolled her eyes as she put her suitcases down, but she was clearly fighting a smile. “Don’t worry, I dragged them to court. Sued them for all they’re worth.”

“How on earth did you do that?” Mom asked, interested.

“Trickery and rhetoric,” Annabeth said proudly.

“Swords,” Mr. Luke said.

“What did you squeeze them for?” Percy asked, excited.

Mr. Luke winked. And he still didn’t ask for his sword back. Maybe he wasn’t all bad.

The apartment complex itself wasn’t nearly as big as a lot of Brooklyn complexes, looking more like the little apartment complexes in Queens that Percy was used to. It was three separate three-story buildings arranged in a square, with one side holding the small leasing office and a parking lot. It was open-air, with the apartment doors opening directly outside. There was a really big courtyard in the center, and despite himself Percy got a little excited.

It was awesome. There was a huge, sprawling tree right in the center of the courtyard. It was gigantic, bigger than any tree Percy had ever seen in his life. It seemed like it didn’t even belong in New York, like it was a transplant from the California Redwoods or Canada or something. Its leaves were waving in a nonexistent breeze, and something about it just seemed so magical and otherworldly to Percy.

But that was only half of the awesome things. The other awesome thing was that there were kids everywhere.

The tree provided shade to a couple scattered gangs of kids, sitting around and laughing. There was a rusty set of monkey bars, which some kids were playing on, and there was a big dirt rectangle where other kids were hitting each other on the head with wooden plastic swords. There were groups of girls eating lunch, and a gang of boys playing soccer in the corner that made Percy immediately want to jump in and play too. Percy dominated at soccer.

“The East and South buildings are where we all live,” Annabeth informed Mom. “The West building is where the training rooms and storage rooms and administrative rooms - that’s my office - and everything is. It also has guest units for the local spirits that like to visit. We just had ten Bacchae stay for a week. They were backpacking to Woodstock. We have very good inter-community relationships here.”

“That’s amazing,” Mom said faintly. Mr. Luke was smiling faintly, eyes fixed on the big tree. Percy found himself staring at Mr. Luke, watching with interest the soft but firm pride in his eyes. “Luke said that this property’s safe from…”

She glanced at Percy quickly, cutting herself off. But Annabeth just huffed.

“I almost got eaten by monsters twenty times when I was seven,” Annabeth informed Mom imperiously. “We’re not babies. Connor Stoll says if you’re old enough to get eaten by monsters then you’re old enough to know that they exist.”

Percy decided immediately that he liked Connor Stoll, and maybe even Annabeth too.

“The tree protects us,” Luke said. “Wherever the tree is, we’re safe. Not even the gods date step foot beyond the leasing office here.”

“Because of the tree?” Mom asked.

Luke smiled - sharp, piercing, and strange. “Sure, let’s say that.”

But Mom just frowned. She looked over the courtyard of kids - some of whom were already starting to whisper and stare. Annabeth waved at a gaggle of identically blonde children, and for the first time Percy wondered who she was the daughter of. Probably the bossiest god. Maybe Athena. Or, like, Hephaestus. Definitely Hephaestus.

“You said that there’s nobody over eighteen here,” Mom said to Luke. “Luke, there’s a six year old on those monkey bars.”

“If you’re under thirteen, you live with someone over thirteen,” Luke said to her. Annabeth was still frowning in disapproval at Percy’s sword. He stuck his tongue out at her. “Two people to a unit, we try to pair the oldest with the youngest. Lucy lives with Henrique, he’s seventeen. It’s the best we can do.”

“Surely there has to be someone…?”

“Adults have never helped us. They never will.” Luke looked away sharply. “We’ve been in Brooklyn a year. You’re the first adult who’s made her way here. Most other parents with a kid as powerful as Percy would have -”

He cut himself off sharply, glancing at Percy, and Percy scowled up at him. He thought that Luke was being honest. Maybe he was just another old guy afraid to say what everybody else knew.

“I’ll help Ms. Jackson settle in,” Annabeth said suddenly. She held out her hands to Percy, who reflexively hugged his luggage to his chest. “You guys are in unit 5. It’s on the bottom floor. If you flood it, then we can fix it okay. Give me your luggage, I’ll put it in your unit.”

Percy stared at her, overwhelmed with that simple signal of care. No threats about if he flooded it, no warnings or sickly sweet faux-concern. Just understanding, and acceptance.

He silently gave her his bags.

She seemed surprised when she felt how light they were. Percy shrugged awkwardly at her face, crossing his arms tightly around her chest. “Don’t touch my stuff, okay?”

“Sure,” Annabeth said, before pausing a beat. “We have a TV in our place. #1. Do you want to come over tonight and watch Winx Club?”

“Yeah,” Percy said, overwhelmed. “Sure.”

Mr. Luke put a hand on Percy’s back as Annabeth guided Mom to a corner unit. Percy couldn’t help but notice that the door to the unit was already propped open. Wait - there were people going in and out!

There was a tall, buff teenager, carrying two chairs underneath each arm. There was another group of three teenage girls, carrying a table between them. Two other younger kids were carrying boxes and laughing. They were bringing everything into the unit, and other younger kids were running in and out with cleaning supplies.

From a distance, Percy saw Mom stop in her tracks. Annabeth tugged at her shirt and got her to bend down, whispering something in her ear. A boy with sandy brown hair ran up, taking Mom’s suitcases from her and bringing them into the unit.

“Your Mom mentioned that you were missing some furniture,” Mr. Luke said. “The Hermes and Aphrodite kids all pitched in to get your home looking like a home. I hope you’ll like it.”

Percy clutched his sword to his chest, speechless.

Mr. Luke smiled down at him, that same wan and weak smile, and put a hand on his back. He gently pushed Percy forward, towards the tree. “Come with me for a minute?”

They silently approached the sprawling, ancient tree. As they came closer, Percy could see that its bark was gnarled and knotted, with perfect handholds for climbing and perfect boughs for resting in the summer sun. He could already see a few kids resting in high boughs, taking a nap in the humid and sticky sun.

“Percy, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” Mr. Luke’s voice was quiet, like he was in church. He looked up at the tree, peering far into the leaves as if he was trying to find something hidden within them. “This is Thalia. Thalia, this is Percy. He’s the newest member of the family. He’s also your cousin.”

Cousin? Percy looked up at Mr. Luke, eyes wide. “I’m related to a tree?”

Tilted up at the tree, Percy couldn’t see Mr. Luke’s expression. Maybe that was on purpose. “Thalia’s a kid, just like us. Daughter of Zeus. I used to think that she was the closest thing to an adult I knew, but...I’m as old as she is, now. I guess one day soon I’ll be older than she ever got to be.”

Oh. The tree was, like, from the ashes of some dead girl. Awkward. Percy stared at the thick and arching roots of the tree, feeling weird.

“Thalia, please protect Percy. I can already tell that he’s going to grow up to be very strong and brave. Please help us make sure that Percy never has to be strong. That he’s never brave. I can already tell he’s going to need a lot of your help.” He looked down at Percy for the first time, and for the first time Percy could see just a little warmth in those icy blue eyes. “You’re going to have to work overtime for him. So make sure to say thank you, Percy. Okay?”

“Thank you, Thalia,” Percy said obediently. He bowed awkwardly, uncertain what to do. The sword scraped awkwardly against his thigh. “Thanks for letting me into your home.”

“Welcome home, Percy,” Mr. Luke said, and for the first time Percy almost believed it.

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #luke castellan #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfic #I'm bouncing between a lot of different projects right now and trying to decide which one to dedicate time to #I promise I DID take a break and I will CONTINUE TO DO SO because work's been exhausting #but sometimes that means just writing low-effort self-indulgent stuff #anyway my friend had to sit down and explain the worldbuilding of pjo to me and I was like WOW THATS FUCKED so I wrote this #I also dislike some of the ways that pjo handled percy's backstory so that's being addressed #my writing #I FORGOT THE CUT LOL

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dilfbane · 3 years

Text

Your Weeping(Your Need For His Touch)

Summary: When things go south on a mission, you have to confront more than just the sketchy town, cartoon villains, and one-bed hotel room you’re forced to share with Loki. You have to come to terms with not only the consequences of being captured, but also the God of Mischief’s feelings for you - Because for all that he might be an asshole, sometimes, he really does have a heart. Written for the Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words 6k Follower Writing Challenge by @startrekkingaroundasgard

Pairing: Loki/(Female)Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and medical treatment, as well as discussions of the inevitable mindset around sacrificing oneself for the mission that I feel like being part of the Avengers would entail. Also swearing, because at its core, this story started out as a bit of a crack! fic.

Word Count: 7.8k.

A/N: So apparently when I have mental breakdowns they result in me writing crack-fic that takes a 180 veer into angst and fluff for absolutely no reason. For the sake of the crack-fic, in this timeline Loki was forced to help the Avengers take down bad guys directly after the end of the first Avengers movie, so… Is that a confusing plot hole I didn’t know how to account for except by making this AU? Maybe. Did I do it anyway?…. Yeah. This really was meant to be a crack-fic about Loki and the reader confessing their feelings set in the bizarre world of meme culture, I didn’t realize there were going to be feels in it until it was three in the morning and all of a sudden this happened. That being said, your girl went there, so enjoy!

“Oh, shit,” You say, as you take in the grimy hotel room. The walls all smeared in what looks like dried blood, the putrid smell of rotten eggs, a crack-screened television with a fine dusting of some suspiciously white powder. And, of course, “There’s one bed.”

“Hmm?” Asks Loki, turning towards you, briefly, from unpacking. He had dumped his suitcase(Magically plucked out of a chaotic liminal space) unceremoniously on the bed’s scratching, pilling coverlet without so much as a second glance at the rest of the room. And why do you need a suitcase, anyways?? You wonder. It isn’t like we’re planning to be here that long. In fact, you hoped with every fiber of your being that you’d be here for as little time as possible, because this town might actually be the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life; no small feat, for a bona-fide member of S.H.I.E.L.D.

You’ve kicked alien ass on a mutated purple Mongolian death-worm three thousand feet over New York City. You’ve run reconnaissance to rescue debatably-magical items sequestered away in an ancient cave labyrinth plastered in paintings and untranslatable runes, gunfire and what could only be described as the baying of hellhounds in the near distance. You’ve fist-fought a gigantic hive-mind robot in a field of artificially sentient feral steel suits - You’ve even survived Tony’s parties.

Yet none of those scenarios hold a candle to this fucking town.

And Loki, the asshat, seems utterly, competently - no, maniacally - unfazed.

“There’s one bed,” You repeat, into the air.

“Ah,” Says Loki, straightening.

“You don’t see that problem with that?!”

“Should I?” He asks you, walking across the room in long, graceful strides to stand in front of you. He wears the same expression he always wears, amused and indifferent, but this time with the addition of a single, elegantly-arched eyebrow. You drop your head, refusing to meet his somewhat-curious gaze. It physically hurts, how attractive Loki is. Not for the first time, you curse whatever god decided that you and him would once again be mission partners - in this case, you belatedly realize, and choke back a thick laugh, said god is, unsurprisingly, Thor.

If you survive this, you make a note to beat his head in with Mjolnir. As it is, you are here in this room with Loki, with perhaps twenty IPP agents and a reckless poisoner dogging your every move, and there’s a high chance that you won’t live long enough to navigate whatever the hell sleeping with your crush-who-has-murdered-men. Ok, so ‘murdered men’ isn’t entirely accurate. More like ‘caused the murder of men inadvertently through his schemes’. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, right now.

And what about Loki? He is still staring you down, like you’re some wind up toy moments away from going off. Funny, that, you think. If ever there were a time to not have a mental breakdown, it would be here, with him. You’ve crossed a lot of moral lines in your life, but you will be damned if you let Loki Laufeysson see you cry. Loki is graceful. Composed. Sarcastic. Lithe. Rolls his eyes at almost every statement that comes out of somebody’s mouth. But he is, also, beautiful. Shockingly comforting, in his own nihilistic way. You don’t know what it says about you that you find comfort in statements like, Try not to die, you know that I hate funerals. Part of you - most of you - doesn’t want to. But it gives you strength, somehow, to shrug off the day and ground your flailing mind in evading Loki’s calculated manipulation. I won’t show you my weakness, you think to yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

“No,” You tell him - too quickly, he’ll pick up on that - “You’re right, you shouldn’t. It’s fine. We have - a lot to deal with, is all.”

Loki nods, seemingly accepting your answer, but his eyes are still narrowed, watching you like he’s calling your bluff. You talk right past that look - have to, to keep yourself sane, to not think about the one bed that looms large over this entire conversation. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable bed.

“We have two days,” You say, to stop yourself thinking of it. And, also, to talk your way through your disarmingly disjointed thoughts. Loki nods. It would really help if you said something, you think. Swallow the thought, hot and thick, down your throat. What’s the point of a mission partner if you can’t even soundboard off them? “The Pink Cobra could strike anyone, anytime. The IPP is planning something in New York - “

“Isn’t everyone, these days, planning something in New York?”

He sounds regretful, and for half a second you want to offer him the reassurance that his very presence offers you. But you are sure he doesn’t know what he does to you - with his words, with the sidelong glances that you’ve felt linger on your form far too long in the heat of a fight. If you didn’t know any better, you would say Loki worries about you.

“We have to shut him down,” You say. Focus on the Pink Cobra, because honestly, that’s easier. “Find out where he manufactures. Not get poisoned,” You add, at the end.

“Yes,” Loki says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “We should certainly try not to get ourselves killed. Failing that, I suppose, we can at least request that no one in H.Y.D.R.A gets autopsy access.”

“Loki?” You ask. Rhetorically. “You’re not helping.”

He smirks at you, then. He knows.

“What do you propose that we do then?” He asks, taking a step towards you, getting so close that you can feel his hot breath. “About the Pink Cobra?”

“Find him.” You say, fumbling, blush rising high on your cheeks.

Tonight?

One bed?

You are screwed.

***

When you were a kid - think really little, Capri Sun pouches and still believing that true love wasn’t complicated - your father told you that every story needed a good supervillain. You aren’t sure if the Pink Cobra counts as a good supervillain, but he’s the least confusing one that you have to deal with - and, as far as villains go, a fine enough challenge to face. He’s like a madman out of some high fantasy novel, with dark eyes and a sable-sewn cloak and a penchant for poisoning. He is adept in all the arts of the woman’s murder; he has a keen grasp on the side-effects of arsenic and camphor and tansy and cyanide and strychnine. He’s been found to have dropped crystal phials filled with belladonna and ricin while fleeing a scene. If all else fails, he’s more than practiced with daggers.

In other words, he’s the kind of villain that none of you, with your flying suits and telekinesis and super-strength, are anywhere near prepared to waylay.

The plan, as far as team Avengers is concerned, is easy:

You and Loki. This town, where the webs of his manufacturing production and the few glimpses of information that Thor has totally legally excavated out of his captured minions has led to. Two days until some undefined grand attack bears down on the city you live in. Two days to find the Pink Cobra and kill him. The more time passes with no headway, the more you think that this is an impossible task, but you know what Tony would say. We have our best minds on it.

The thing is, you aren’t sure that that’s true. The minds that have been set to this task are you and the God of Lies. It’s hardly the best they could have come up with, considering your track records. Actually, you take that back - Loki was a good choice for this mission, because, not three hours after arriving in this hellhole of a city, he seems to have somehow developed the ability to read minds. More specifically, yours. And that could prove stunningly useful.

The scene, as it stands: Loki, sprawled across the lumpy bed, three pairs of crisp white shirts, a plaid scarf, and a full set of Asgardian battle armor neatly hung in the mothball-infested closet, flicking through channels on the grain, cracked television with an apathetic expression and one arm thrown haphazardly over bent leg. Propped up in such a way that he could jump or spin or parry at a moment’s notice, yet perfectly, devastatingly languid, leafing through Nick Fury’s dossier on the Pink Cobra. He looks at you like a god, you think, and then remember. He is one.

You, on the floor, because on top of all the other things this hotel doesn’t have, like two beds, there isn’t anything even resembling a desk, shifting through a glowing, holographed file archive from headquarters that barely runs on your severely outdated laptop. It’s a point of pride to you, keeping the laptop - not because it’s good, but because it’s survived five years of being an Avenger, which is something not even all the Avengers can claim to have done. You’re also fairly certain that Tony’s attempts to update the firmware had infested it with some sort of renegade virus. Elevated above your screen, the files are split into two groups, the sum total of everything that you know about both of the groups that are avidly trying to kill you.

There’s the wealth of information containing the Pink Cobra’s poisoning sprees, but those aren’t the files that interest you, and you know that Loki’s not much interested in them either. That honor falls to the fanatics at the IPP, the Imminently Predictable Psyops organization, which you know even less about than you do about the Pink Cobra, chief among which the fact that they need a new name. Imminently Predictable Psyops?, Tony had said, when you’d finally apprehended one of their proxies. What do they think this is? Some type of ARG?

What you’ve gleaned, from months worth of studying the network, is that they operate as a sort of cringe-oriented death cult intent on ‘reshaping the universe through meme agents’. They’d been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for a long time - upwards of a year - before anyone at team base learned they existed - which, you can almost hear Loki saying, was a failure in the extreme. Currently, it was your job to obsessively worry over whether they were going to send ‘meme agents’ to bust through the door of your seedy hotel room and off you both. You hated - truly loathed - how casually Loki was taking it all.

He’s acting like nothing was wrong with this situation, when, in fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this night will end up with one or both of you dead. It is, to say the least, disconcerting.

Kill switch, the holograph files read. Cross-referential Neil Cicierega acoustic weaponry. Your mind sees the words, but doesn’t comprehend them, and you run a hand up to rub at your bleary eyes with annoyance. You risk a glance upwards; on the bed, Loki scans page after page after page with disinterested nonchalance, punctuating the flipping over of each document with a noncommittal hum; as if to say, I understand you. As it to say, This could be worse. You try to slip into that mindset. Certainly, things could be worse.

Actually, though? Not really.

Because, for all the world, the holo-file in front of you just said ‘Pepe The Frog Chaos Banking Laser Initiative’.

“What the fuck does that even mean?!”

“Sorry?”

You whip your head around. Loki, raising an eyebrow. Damn that - perfect - eyebrow.

“Sorry,” You echo back at him, rubbing your eyes again, perversely glad for the break, even if it is this awkward. “I … said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Marginally,” He tells you. “Yes.”

“Sorry,” You - well, it’s not a whine, not exactly. You’re tired, and there’s no way you’re going to sleep tonight, so you feel like your tone’s justified. “I didn’t mean to do that. I think I’m just - this is. Completely nonsensical.”

“Show me?” He asks, and you snort. He could totally just look up, but -

“Do you have a P.h.d in memes?” You ask him, and, before he can answer, “Because unless you have a P.h.d in memes, I don’t think you’ll be able to help.”

“You’d be surprised,” Loki says. Vaults over the bed with the speed and grace of a panther, filling the air with a cringing wheeze as the rusty springs bend underneath him, and landing in front of the holo-file, pushing you aside slightly to get a better view. When his fingers brush against your side, cool and firm, you flinch.

“Tired,” You offer, when he shoots you a momentarily concerned look. “Just. Need to sleep, later, I think.”

But Loki is already scanning the file, and when he looks up, not five seconds later, you want to hit somebody. Preferably, you think, him.

“I would assume,” Loki says, “That they’re using time travel in order to obtain and store monetary value by way of a Pepe-the-frog inspired laser array.”

“Oh,” You say. You blink once. Blink twice. Still have no idea what that means. “Right.”

“Do you not know your memes, love?” He asks you, smirking. And oh, if you don’t feel things.

“I don’t go on the internet, much,” You tell him. “Too busy, you know, trying not to get killed.”

Loki shrugs. Sidles away from the file. The groan and squeak of those springs tells you he’s back on the bed, giving you some well-needed space, but you can’t bring yourself to look.

“You can sleep,” He says, “If you want.”

“Ha!” You yelp/choke/embarrassingly bleat out into the room’s stale silence. Underneath the rotten eggs, you catch a whiff of bong-water. “No.”

“There’s a bed,” Loki says, cocking his head pointedly and patting the lumpy covers.

“Yeah, that’s - kind of the problem.”

“Why?” He asks you.

“You - really?”

“I was only asking,” Says Loki, re-focusing his attention on whichever Pink Cobra document’s next in the folder. “If you aren’t comfortable telling me - I merely thought, seeing as you were tired, you might take this opportunity to rest.”

“Yeah,” You tell him, “Of course, that’s - nice of you.”

It comes out stilted. Patently off. If he notices, he doesn’t say.

“Are you going to - um. Do you need help, with the rest? The ones I have seem kind of hopeless. I mean,” You say, when he doesn’t look up, “I don’t think that we have to worry about getting demolished by trans-dimensional Agarthian wormholes.”

“Of course not,”” Loki says, scoffing and incredulous, gaze, you are sure, on his page. “If they wanted to kill us, they’d send someone with a gun.”

In reality, it’s several someones.

***

“You jinxed it,” Is the first thing you tell him, when the men leave you. They’ve thrown you into a one-room warehouse, rickety shelves stacked with cartoonish tubs of green goop and mildewing boxes filled with grenades and machine guns and what appears, at second-glance, to be twelve-fingered latex gloves. You’re tied wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and your throat feels uncharacteristically parched. Fear, you tell yourself. Apprehension. “Can’t you just - use your seidr to magic us out of this?”

If you could see him - which you can’t, because you’ve been tied back to back - you’d swear that Loki was glaring.

“Do you - do you have a plan?” You ask, after a moment.

“I’m working on it,” He says.

“That’s all?” You say. “We were dragged out of our drug-dealer’s hotel room by a bunch of robed men with guns and the only thing you have to say is ‘I’m working on it?’”

“I’d get it done faster,” Says Loki, “If you wouldn’t interrupt me.”

“Ok,” You tell him, “No interrupting you. Got it. That’s - Alright.”

Unfortunately, not interrupting him is easier said than done, because without the sound of your voice, you are left to your thoughts.

The men had broken in nearly immediately after Loki’s glib, sardonic retort to your worries, shooting the glass out of the room’s already half-smashed-in window and kicking the door in simultaneously. A bit much, isn’t it?, Loki’d asked, and you had wanted to smack yourself on the forehead. Really not the time, you had hissed, but Loki hadn’t seemed to hear you. Do you do this with everyone they send you to assassinate?, he had asked, instead. The men had been dressed in long, billowing cloaks of bright red, embroidered with orange snakes framing a picture of Beaker from the muppets with early 2000’s emo hair. Chaotic meme agents, you had thought to yourself. So that’s what they’re supposed to look like.

You hadn’t picked up, until now, on the snakes.

“They’re working together,” You say, when you can’t stand the playback of Loki being disarmed after spinning and tossing his silver daggers at the men, of the men kneeing him in the balls and twisting your arms behind your back, holding a gun to your head to stop you from trying to fight. Waking up in the back of a van that smelled like microwaved fish. Being tossed like garbage onto the floor of the warehouse, painted in bruises and cuts from the small pieces of glass that had dug their way into your skin. “The IPP and the Pink Cobra.”

“Obviously,” Loki says. Sharply.

“Did Tony not -“

“Stark,” Loki practically growls, and, ok, you’re not losing it but that did make you jump in your skin, “Is an idiot. He wouldn’t know how to connect the dots if they were presented to him in a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.”

“That’s - You had that on Asgard?” You ask him, momentarily distracted. You wish that you could see Loki’s face, and are very glad that you can’t.

“That isn’t the point,” Loki says.

“I know,” You tell him. You’re scared that your voice is trembling. Scared that he can tell, even though he’s not facing you, how badly your fingers are shaking. Scared that he knows your worst, biggest secret -

That, despite being an Avenger, you are anxious. That, despite him being Loki, despite him being here, and wonderfully, infuriatingly himself, he cannot help you, this time.

You are going to die, covered in cuts and abrasions, on the floor of a meme network’s headquarters, at three a.m in the morning. They are going to come in with umbrellas that shoot poison darts or the ex-presidents Point Break masks and mow you down, and Loki has no fucking plan. You feel the ropes tighten where they’re knotted, itchy and fierce, and you have to fight to keep yourself from whining in terror and nerves. Whining isn’t what Loki needs right now. Whining’s not going to save you.

What is going to save you, you try and remind yourself, is Loki. If you can shut up. If you can let him decipher what needs to be done. If he can figure out some way to do it before the blowtorch-wielding robed vigilantes or some disincarnate meme god comes back and draws their electronically-sharpened fingernails across your throat hard enough to split skin and sinew, send waves of blood down the front of your shirt like a river of sweet, thick red honey and toss your corpse in a ditch by a highway and -

“Y/N?” It is foggy, barely-heard. Posh. “Y/N!” Louder, this time. There are fingers on your wrist, bent backwards to grip you. Squeezing, insistent and there. “Breathe.”

Fuck, you think. You’d started to hyperventilate. To shake, with a full-body tremor that forecasts a great, unstoppable wave of sobbing panic. And Loki had noticed. “I need you to trust me,” He says. “Trust me to get us out of this. Can you do that for me, darling?”

He has never called you darling before, but God how you’ve wanted him to. You feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart - because there is no way he means it, no way that this is anything other than a desperate and cruel attempt to get you to calm down. Something that belies how obvious you are. How needy you are. How pathetic. And yet -

And yet, he doesn’t say it meanly. He speaks like he cares about you, and in the face of your impending death, you want to think Loki cares. You’d let him say anything, do anything to you, right now. More than that, though, more than any of that - as you think back to meeting him, to your blossoming late-night friendship and twitchy banter and the quiet moments you’ve shared with him in-between battles -

“I trust you, Loki,” You tell him, and feel your breath quiet in you. Feel yourself growing still and calm with the certainty that Loki will do as he’s said.

That you will survive this.

That -

“Good,” Loki says. Not relieved, but determined. Leaving you no room to argue.

“So what do we do?” You ask him.

“Nothing,” Says Loki, and you can hear his wide grin.

“Nothing?” You ask him, gawking.

“Nothing,” Says Loki. He gives your hand a tight squeeze.

And then the Pink Cobra walks in.

***

This will end badly, you think. It’s about the only thing that you can think, preoccupied as you are with -

It might be easier not to -

Fuck.

The thing is - and you really do try not to move, not to groan, not to scream - the thing is, you thought that when Loki said he had a plan, that said plan wouldn’t involve you being collateral damage for a LARP-er who’d most likely broken out of an asylum. I wish that we could be back in that shitty one-bed hotel room, you think to yourself, and - alright, not the best timing, but it rips a laugh out of you, spiraling and unhinged, before you feel the Pink Cobra, resplendent in coral cloak and villainous swagger, slug you one in the jaw. It hurts worse than you’d thought it would - you’ve never really gotten injured on missions, you’re usually good at talking yourself out of things, which is why the Avengers keep you around. You can speak any language, as long as you’ve heard it once, and your customary daily awkwardness can shift into persuasion like flicking a light-switch on.

Usually, though, you had an opportunity to speak, and weren’t rendered speechless by -

Loki, if you’re being honest. How much you want to kiss him. How much of an asshole he is. Trust me, he’d asked you. Can you do that for me? The Pink Cobra’s grip is sharp and bruising on your side; he’s slipped his fingers up your shirt and is pressing the point on your side that threatens to make your knees buckle, making bile rise up in your throat, driving you wild with the aching need to flee. He has one hand clasped over your mouth, now that you’ve quieted, and you can feel something - pain, and a pill - pressed snugly into his palm. He will force it down you, you know, if Loki so much as sighs wrong.

You’ll never trust him again.

You wish that you knew what the time was. If you end up dying at 4:20, you’re going to throw fists with somebody in hell.

You wish, also, for aspirin. Avengers training has left you woefully unprepared for the reality of getting punched in the face. You can already feel your jaw starting to swell, taste an egregious amount of blood. You’re pretty sure that the force of the blow knocked a tooth out.

What strikes fear into you, though - a fear somehow deeper than the absolutely bone-chilling, blood-curdling knowledge of what the Pink Cobra might do to you - is the look you’d seen on Loki’s face in the seconds after he’d grabbed you, before it fell into practiced, amused apathy. He’d gone white, and his eyes had blown wide. His fingers had spasmed with anger.

He’d looked as scared as you feel.

And you have no idea why.

It isn’t like you’re anyone special. Not any more than the rest of the team. Less so than most of them. You aren’t a god, like Loki and Thor are. You don’t have stealth-assassin training, like Bucky, or super-strength like Steve. You can’t seamlessly pilot mechanical suits over the New York skyline like Tony, or use a crossbow like Clint, or beat thirty people in single-hand combat like Nat, or change into a nitro-fueled rage machine like Bruce.

You can’t do anything, much.

Except, apparently, die.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not letting yourself look at him. You won’t let Loki’s disinterested face be the last thing that you see. It makes the Pink Cobra’s words all the worse, when he speaks. His voice is dark and sick and timbered, and you feel maggots crawling over your skin as he slots you closer to his body, tightening his already painful grip on you so that you can’t move even an inch away from his tensed, coiled muscles.

“So,” He says, “You are superheroes? How long did it take me, to apprehend you? Ah - three and a half hours? Tell your boss-man, do better next time.”

“I’ll pass it along,” Loki says. His voice sounds different. You can’t place why. Still won’t look.

“You won’t,” The Pink Cobra says. You can feel his shoulders rise, then fall. Feel him smirk. You love Loki’s smirk - secretly delight in drawing it from him, sometimes - but the Pink Cobra’s only fills you with yet more terror. You’ve pursed your lips tightly shut against the intrusion of his hand, but when Loki speaks he forces your bruised, bleeding jaw open and shoves the pill into your mouth. The pain of your injury tears through you like white lightning and you thrash, trying to escape. A keening sound claws its way out of you, fevered and anguished, and you feel your hands, still bound up in ropes, trying in vain to push off and away. The man behind you sighs, and then aims a swift kick at the back of your knees, which sends you down before you can so much as yelp. Your knees hit the floor, and he’s holding you by your hair now, twisting it so hard that you’re almost sure he’ll scalp you. He’s pulled something - too big to be be a knife, some kind of shortsword?! - Out from beneath his cloak, and is pressing it up against the column of your throat. You feel the weight of the capsule between your teeth heavily now, and realize what it means in the split-second before the Pink Cobra bends and whispers, Your choice; stale and rancid into the shell of your ear.

Next, he addresses Loki.

“You’ll be wanting to know what our plan is,” He says. Our, you think. We were right. “Hmm? I know how you people are. Always wanting to know. Tell me this, Mischief Man. What will I get, if I tell you? What price are you willing to pay?”

You know what this is. You know it like the ache in your heart when Loki brushes you off. Like the safety you feel in his arms. You open your eyes. Take in Loki’s face - he’s trying to hide, but you know, you know how he feels. You know what he’s going to choose.

And you know that you can’t let him choose it.

“You’ll let her go,” Loki asks, “If we let you leave here?”

“The thing could be managed.”

No, you think. No, Loki, don’t! Whatever the Pink Cobra’s going to do, whatever the IPP’s planning, knowing’s worth more than your life.

“One thing I want to know,” Loki says. He’s twirling a knife of his own, a slim silver number he keeps on him at all times, and you feel the blade on your own throat start to dig in - not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. The threat of it. The promise of it, and the coldness of the gleaming metal. “You and the IPP? How does it fit?”

“You want information from me?” The Pink Cobra asks. Lets his blade bite you, just barely, and the strength it takes for you not to scream is more strength then you’d known you possess.

“Yes,” Says Loki. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”

He meets your gaze. You meet his. You hope that he cannot read it. His eyes are so worried, so desperate, you nearly break down.

“I suppose,” The Pink Cobra says, “That you’ve earned it. Getting here - getting this far - it must have been no easy task. Fine. There is no Imminently Predictable Psyops organization. They were a - what do you call it? Red herring? A scent of blood for the shark.”

“You fabricated them,” Loki says. “Why would you fabricate them?”

He is losing his composure, you can tell. You will never be ready for this. He will never be ready for this. You hope that he will forgive you, and you know that he never will, and you swallow the pill in your mouth.

“Because it was fun,” The Pink Cobra says.

And then your body knows pain.

***

“He didn’t think I would do it,” You say. Your mouth feels thick, clotted with blood and shock, and your body is one raw, gaping wound, but the giddy feeling of victory has begun to course through your veins. Pure, unfiltered adrenaline. You had waited for the moment of death to come, and it hadn’t. The pill is fake, your mind had screamed. But there’d been one thing left, that might work. You had breathed as slowly as you possibly could, forced every muscle of your scared, writhing body into single-minded limpness, rolled your eyes backwards into your head, drew one last breath in, and fallen. Twitched, for a few seconds, like a rag-doll. Then made yourself still.

Loki had slit the Pink Cobra ear to ear, beaten him within an inch of his life as he bled out, screaming like a man deranged. He’d left him a wet, bloody mess on the floor, and the blood had run down the not-quite-steady plane of it, pooling around you and mixing with the blood from your jaw, from the evening’s earlier glass cuts, from the deep, burning stab wound the Cobra had got on your arm.

You breathe, and your body knows pain.

You look at Loki, and your body knows pain.

He is shaking. Visibly shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he looks as pale as bleached bones. His eyes are shot red - he had sobbed, when you fell, and a howl had torn through his body. You don’t know what to do, what it means, what the hell even to say to him. His cheeks are tear-stained, his breaths ragged.

You blink, and your body feels pain.

“We won,” You croak out. “Loki, we won.” It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. “I think he broke one of my ribs.”

You don’t mean to say that last part, but you do, and you are the one crying now, because it feels like he probably has, and you can barely even stay awake through this pain. It feels like the Hulk is pulling you limb from limb. Like all of those nightmares you’ve had where Loki decided to leave you - to go back to Asgard, and never speak to you again.

Stupid, you think. He won’t, again. Not after this.

Loki still hasn’t spoken. He’s looking at you, and his eyes are wild. Desperately, jaggedly roaming your body. His fists twitch with every new part of your body they land on.

“That bad, huh - Oh, fuck.”

And just like that, the tension leaves Loki’s body. The dam that had held him firmly in place is broken, and he’s running towards you with none of his usual grace. Dropping down by your side. He hoists you, and you hiss, and the tears won’t stop coming, so you bury your face in his shirt, nose pressed at the crisply ironed collar. Don’t care that it’s bleeding, because Loki’s here now. Holding you. Keeping you real. He’s got one hand stroking your hair and his touch feels right, nothing like the Pink Cobra’s, and he’s whispering: You brave, precious, idiot, how dare you, how dare you throw your life away like that?!

“It worked,” You exhale - it’s the most you can manage. You would laugh, if it wouldn’t shred you to pieces. Loki cradles you fiercely, hands grasping at the sweat-and-blood soaked fabric of your shirt, running over you as if he doesn’t believe you’re alive. “It - hurts,” You get out. Barely. “Loki, it - I can’t -“

“Don’t,” He tells you. His voice has gone brittle, choked with thorns. “Don’t talk. Don’t - Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me? You will never do that again.”

If I need to, I will, you think. And you wonder if that’s why you’re here. Wonder if that’s why you’re strong. You wonder, and hurt, and believe. Feel the strength of him, clutching you like you’re the only thing in the world, taking in greedy lungfuls of your weeping, your need for his touch.

You can’t talk, anymore. It hurts too badly. But you surge, upwards, up into where he’s holding the back of your head, pressing your forehead into the dark, warm space under his jaw that smells like smoke and peppermint. Loki is taller than you are - you fit right into the curve of his neck, and his long curls curtain you in a bubble of warmth and content.

“Promise,” You say, but it comes out unintelligible, and Loki’s hands are running, so gently, over your skin.

“What was your plan?” You ask him, forcing it out of your body.

“Hush,” Loki says, “Later.”

There might not be any later, you think. Not like this.

***

In the hotel room, an ocean of scattered pages and ceiling mold and blessed privacy, you balance, cross-legged, on the bed. The wind blows wet and cold from an earlier rain through the busted out window. You have managed this out of sheer stubborn-ness, because it is the most that Loki allowed you to do. You’d passed out, twice, on the journey back - he had magicked you there, though it had taken a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t sure you really deserved - and had immediately propped you up on the pillows and stooped to ruffle through his suitcase, emerging not long after with binding tape, cat-gut thread, and a needle so sharp you could feel it slicing your flesh. You had opened your mouth to protest, but Loki had silenced you with a glare that could fell Director Fury. So you had gone quiet, and caved, letting him kneel over you on the distinctly lumpy mattress and begin inspecting your wounds. It had taken a few tries and a Please to convince him to let you sit on your own, and it hurt much more than the manner in which he’d arranged you. You were starting to, slightly, regret it.

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, pulling it from bleeding lips. He shushes you with a harsh, stern tut. “You’re not my mother,” You tell him.

“You could have died,” Loki says. There’s a snarling undercurrent to it that you can’t even start dissecting. “What were you thinking?” He asks. It is easier, though still painful, for you to answer him - he had used nearly half of his Thor-limited magic reserve to perform a basic stasis spell on your injuries, but the spell wouldn’t last forever. You’ll need stitches, he’d said, choking it out like he was the hurt one when he’d seen the number the Cobra’s blade had done to your arm.

“I’ve had worse,” You say, grinning weakly.

“Are you lying to me?” He asks you, with the tone of someone who’s distinctly not in the mood for joking.

“I thought,” You say. Steel yourself. “I thought you weren’t going to do what needed to be done. So I - Did it myself.”

“What needed to be done.” Loki says, enunciating every word.

“We couldn’t let him walk away,” You say, meeting his eyes. Emerald, clouded with fury. You don’t let yourself flinch from that anger. You don’t let yourself run from your choice. “You know what he would have done.”

“I don’t,” Loki says. “I know nothing. I know - I know that you think that your life means so little I wouldn’t care if you were gone. That I could - Live, without you.”

That’s… different.

“And I know,” Loki continues, “That I told you to trust me, and I meant it.”

“I do,” You say. There is no hesitation. “I trust you - Loki. Of course I trust you. It’s not - it wasn’t -“

“Stop talking,” He snaps. Gentles, when you jerk your head away, blink back a fresh wave of tears. “You need rest,” He says. “And - This is. This is going to hurt.”

You nod.

“Best get it over with, then.”

“You should keep your eyes closed,” He says.

“No! I want - I need to look.” You bring your eyes up to your arm, which he’s settled onto bed’s chewed, scratchy quilt without you realizing, but Loki tilts your head up with a barely-there graze of his fingers, achingly gentle to avoid aggravating your swollen jaw. He holds your gaze for a long time. Doesn’t look mad, anymore.

“Are you sure?” He asks you. Like all of this could be over with, if you wanted.

“How bad it could it be?” You ask back.

The injury is horrendous. You’d thought - honest-to-God, you’d thought the pain was terrible, but you weren’t ready for what your arm has become. The line of the wound runs in a craggy jigsaw from just under your shoulder to the tip of your elbow. Small wonder you can’t move it, can barely think through it at all.

“Y/N?” Loki asks, “Are you -“

“Fine,” You say. Blink, and your body knows pain. Try not to let how scared you are show, when you look back up at Loki. The Pink Cobra’s dead. You shouldn’t be scared, anymore. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”

Loki sighs. Long and low and sad.

“Will I have to - “

“Bite,” Loki says, and shoves something - the sleeve of his shirt, crusted in blood which you realize, sickeningly, is yours - into your mouth. “It’ll help.”

It doesn’t, but he holds your hand through it, hushing you through the pain with furrowed eyebrows, thread and needle flying deftly through skin, air, skin again. His fingers move precisely, deliberate, quick, and when, on one stitch, you audibly whimper, he pauses to lean down and press a soft, utterly unexpected kiss to your hairline. You are unable to fully express how much it means to you, so you do the next best thing and kiss him yourself, pressing him back once he’s finished the last of his stitches and breathing all the the words you can’t say into him. You press every fear and gratitude and lingering nerve into the warmth of his lips, wending your fingers through his dark hair despite the pangs of agony still thrumming through every inch of your body. Your face hurts, but the kiss is all you’ve ever needed and more, and Loki is so, so gentle with you, pulling away with creased eyebrows and a look of genuine concern.

“I wanted to,” You tell him, mustering all of your strength. “It didn’t hurt.”

“Stop,” He tells you, voice cracking, “Stop lying.”

“I’m not,” You say. “I wanted to, Loki, I did.”

“And you wanted to -“

“No.” You are vehement about it, for a broken-ribbed, broken-jawed, freshly-stitched person coming off the high of his teeth and his tongue. “Not that, I swear, never that.”

“Why did you do it, then?” Loki asks. He has steepled his fingers under his chin, and his narrowed eyes pierce through you to the soul. You couldn’t lie to this man, you think, if your life depended on it.

You know that you have to tell him, this time. Really tell him. You don’t.

“”Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“You know why,” He says, and you do. You’d remembered it as the white pill turned to white powder in your gums, as the Pink Cobra’s knife had carved its way into your flesh. Thor had put a set limit on it, as condition of Loki’s release - Proof, he had said, We can trust you. Loki had thought to save it for later, that you wouldn’t need him right then. He had thought you’d talk them out, to safety.

You’d failed him.

“You didn’t,” He tells you, voice raw. He goes to grip your chin, to force you to listen to him, but with a glance and ill-concealed wince at your purpled jaw he thinks better of it. “You think that you failed me? You let yourself be - be beaten and stabbed - just so people you’ve never met in your life wouldn’t die, and you call that a failure?” He runs a hand through his hair. Bites back a snarl. Drops your arm. “I need you to listen to me,” Loki says, “Very, very carefully. You’re going to tell me why now, love. And then we’re going to fix it.”

You raise an eyebrow. Worse than he does, you’re aware.

“Sleep,” He amends, with a pointed look at the bed underneath you, “And then we’re going to fix it.”

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, “And I feel like I just got run over by a truck.”

Loki huffs, a puff of warm air that you feel, from how close he still is. A grin twitches at the edge of his lips. It sets off sparks inside you.

“I thought -“ You say. Shake your head, and restart. “You would have let the Pink Cobra attack. You would have let him just walk away, and I couldn’t just - let that happen.”

“Enlightening.”

“No,” You tell him, “I mean it. I couldn’t - I’m not - I’m not worth more than anyone else. We’re the Avengers. It’s our job to save people, Loki.”

He’s regarding you carefully, eyes still narrowed, all vestiges of softness gone from his face. When he opens his mouth, it’s to close it. Form thoughts. Discard them. Exhale.

“My mother once told me,” He finally says, “That I would never know what it meant to be human until I found the person who made me want to bleed the world dry. Take all of its’ suffering, all of its’ cruelty, and leech it out of the very fabric of time, just to keep that person from anguish, from harm.”

“I don’t -“

He holds a hand up. You still.

“She never said they would infuriate me,” Loki says. “She never said they would make me laugh, or smile, or question my sanity on a regular basis. She never said that they’d try and get themselves killed, and that I’d have to watch, and that I would feel like my heart was being ripped from my body and torn to a bloody pulp; that I would make the sky rain blood and fire at the sight of it alone. But she was right about one thing - Many things, but also this. She told me that it wouldn’t matter. That I would - love you - anyway.”

“You don’t,” You say, not daring to hope. It’s an automatic retort.

“Foolish girl,” Loki chides, and you blink back fresh, stinging tears. How long have you wanted to hear Loki say that to you? How many sneaky looks have you stolen in the heat of your missions, just to see his smart mind and tricky magic at work? How many nights have you sat up together, sequestered from your insomnia in a bubble of hard-earned banter and peppermint tea, fighting the tight, coiling urge to push aside your steaming mugs and pull him into your needing?

He could not - he can’t - feel the same.

“Loki,” You say, stumbling over the words, “You can’t - This is - This is me we’re talking about.”

“Is there anyone else here,” Loki asks you, “That I could be talking about?” He seems nonchalant, now, as if this - this cruel fucking joke, when you already feel you’re on fire - is merely a fact of his life. “We’re going to leave this excuse of a town, and get you - proper care. Fix it. Because I will not, on my honor, watch you suffer in pain. But first, you’re going to sleep.”

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, and feel your resolve as it shatters. You cling to the statement like it’s the last remnant of the girl you were and the woman that you’ll never be, “And the shower doesn’t work. And I’m covered in blood.”

But when you look at Loki, his eyes twinkle, mischievous.

“Will you stay with me?,” You ask him, biting your lip.

“You astound me,” He tells you, and rolls his eyes, and it feels - it feels normal. Good. A tender heat unfurls in your heart like orchid petals in the sun, numbing the persistent ache in your ribcage. “To even think that I would do anything else.”

Later, you will ask him why. Why do you love me?, you will ask, and Loki will hum, low in his throat, curled around you just like this first night; your back pressed into his chest, your legs tangled up hopelessly, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns onto your spine in the dawn-light’s syrupy gold. Because, he will tell you, trailing a line of soft kisses up the scar on your arm - an ugly thing, but it functions, mostly, and only ever seems to hurt on the days when he isn’t there - I was given no choice.

But if you’d had one?”, You will ask, and spin around, propping yourself on your elbow.

You tempt me, He’ll tell you, baring his sharp teeth. Shouldn’t you know better than that?

You will lie there, next to each other, not needing a single word. Because you will know. Because he will have told you, a thousand times, a thousand ways, exactly how he feels about you.

Tonight, though, isn’t that night. It takes a moment to get settled in his hold, and the rain spits and drums against what glass remains in your window, slicking the carpet with dark, greasy splotches. It figures, you think, that even the rain in this city has the smell and the texture of oil. You feel like a bag of bones, stretched too thin. But safe, in his arms, in a way that you’ve never felt, before now. Loki is with you, you realize. Wrapped around you like a traveler’s cloak, the comforting weight of a slim, balanced blade at your side in a fight. He is cool, around your afraid. Warm, where his clever fingers whine and needle their way through your skin to your heart.

“I hate you,” You tell him, “You know that?”

Loki laughs, a deep, rumbling purr.

“Go to sleep.”

#picture1000wordswc #pic 4 #loki/reader #female reader #crack #so much crack #just a lot of references to bad memes and cringe movies that turns into all the angst #because for some reason i’m like this #guess which character from another popular franchise i based my crack villain off #soundtrack to this was 800 percent mouth moods #in all seriousness though huge congrats to @startrekkingaroundasgard #you deserve all the love #unfortunately i showed my love by writing insane crack fic but HEY #loki is in it so hopefully that makes up for the c r i n g e

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period-dramallama · 2 years

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Betrayal at the Tudor Court: the Good

I was thinking early on in the book “if this sticks the landing... it could be an 8/10″. Which is nuts.

But then at around page 180-190, the rest of the book happened.

+ Alec and Cecily meet in a sweet scene where Cecil is grieving her dead parents and hiding in a wardrobe and he persuades her to come out.

(They marry at the end of the book though so it is a bit weird. Like a lot of my favourite ships have an age gap, sometimes a considerable one, but an adult knowing someone as a child and marrying them as a grown up is still weird)

+ Despite its weirdness of them later getting together, the dynamic between Alec and Cecily starts off sensible. Being a generous child who wants to share things, she leaves little gifts of flowers or pretty stones in the bedrooms of family members, but Alec is unhappy about her entering his room without permission because it’s an intrusion of his privacy. This scenario is really pretty realistic on both sides.

+ I know I should not give points for mentioning my favourite historical figures but it’s mentioned that Sumerton entertained More and Erasmus (Together? *Eyes emoji*)

+Also Father Alec “given a letter of introduction to study under the great Erasmus, it was he who recommended [Alec] to your parents”

+ young Cecily worries about loving her new family more than her dead parents- valid

+ We get a detailed description of an Epiphany feast, the author has definitely taken the time to look up what food would have been served.

+ The author knows about kirtles, hose, and detachable sleeves. A “cloak lined with soft otter fur”. Also Justices of the Peace are mentioned.

+ This gem of a line from Aubrey when he and Cecily are formally betrothed: “I guess this means we can hunt snakes together for the rest of our lives!”. No I will not file that under Silly, that is unironically gold.

+ They’re grossed out by seeing Brey’s parents kiss and they’re like “yeah we’re too young for that let’s hunt snakes instead”

+ “no Christian is really orphaned, God is always our father”

+ I was really sad that the author chose to kill off Aubrey ‘Brey’ Sumerton because he was a fun character. Mirabella says she wants to talk to God all day: “All the time?” Brey asked, incredulous. “I would run out of things to say.”

+ The author doesn’t just quote the passages of Scripture everyone knows, but passages from lesser known books the Tudors would have known off by heart like Jeremiah 29:11.

+Given how historical fiction’s attitude to sexual harassment is often horrendous, it was such a palate cleanser to read Hal discovering that what he did as a young man was adultery but it wasn’t rape. (His memories of the event are hazy). And no, it wasn’t someone telling him “technically it wasn’t rape”, it was the woman he slept with telling him directly that yes, she did consent, she was in the mood just as much as he was. The weight of the distinction between consensual and non-consensual sex was given the seriousness it deserves.

+ So after Brey dies, Cecily his betrothed marries Hal, Brey’s (supposedly) widowed father. This is actually handled well: the pros and cons of the match that are debated are the pros and cons Tudor people would think of- land, God, heirs. The fact that the match is a scandal is also authentic: Tudor people did not take betrothal lightly.

+ Cecily realises that Hal being a flawed human being brings them together, not further apart.

+ Cecily remembers all the little details about Father Alec, which is some good foreshadowing of them falling in love later.

+ The theme of healing after loss in this book is quite touching

+ So Cecily’s friend Alice has a tapestry with no stitches in it, just a blank canvas. “I call it: ‘Clouds’.” That was intentionally funny.

+ The title of Father Alec’s book: Meditations for the Common Man isn’t real but sounds it.

+ Cranmer has a wife and honestly Alec reacts like a cheated-on lover. He walks in on Cranmer and his wife embracing and he’s like Maybe They Are Just Hugging As Good Friends.

+ (Cranmer and Alec are very bromantic).

+ Hal’s recovery from a stroke is handled pretty well: the author either knew or researched stroke recovery techniques that don’t require modern technology.

+ Cranmer’s devotion to Henry VIII is accurately portrayed and interesting to read. More of that please.

+ “It is pride that will separate you from God with far more success than King Henry ever could”

+ “For all that is known and unknown I am truly sorry.”

+ Cromwell: “a narrow-eyed jowly man who reminded Father Alec of the result of a terrier-weasel union”. Comedy gold.

+ Speaking of Cromwell: “he pursued the dissolution of the monasteries with the spite of a jilted lover.” DB just snatched Hilary Mantel’s wig.

+ The author has a good sense of ‘life goes on even while horrible events happen.’

+ Alec worries about his nose running in front of important people- relatable.

+ A screaming baby is described as ‘a passionate little orator’.

+ Time is described as ‘an invisible army’.

+ Grace, Hal’s wife, fakes her own death after her only child Brey dies and then lives as a wise woman in the woods. It’s....nuts, truly nuts, but I do kind of dig it. A plot twist I didn’t see coming, and I liked that the author let her change from pitiable alcoholic causing scandals to recovered alcoholic living her best life in the woods. Not a lot of authors, I think, would give her that. They’d just make her drink herself to death so other characters can angst.

#historical fiction #histfic reviews

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friendlycoffee · 3 years

Text

Okay, so... I’m gonna say it... I’m kinda feeling disappointed with the new Loki TV series. It started out promising, but I got the sense that a bit too much was being spelled out, and a lot of character growth felt more forced than natural.

I mean, Loki is someone who lies, even to himself. Having him just saying ‘oh yeah I’m insecure because of x reason’ every episode, without trying to brush it aside like ‘oh yeah I was lying’ and trying to play it cool while the audience knows he’s faking/in denial... it feels like they didn’t trust people enough to understand it, or didn’t know how to write that kind of character. Or to have him pretend not to care about people, when his actions clearly show the audience that he does... I mean, this is post avengers Loki. Having his character do a complete 180 so quickly just doesn’t feel right to me.

Not to mention, we’ve barely seen him do much lying/trying to manipulate people, which would have been far more fun to watch...

Also having read some of the comics (Journey into mystery/young avengers/agent of asgard) the latest episode also felt like a disappointment because there are some very interesting and heartbreaking arcs in there which would have been cool to see adapted... but kind of just got ignored.

And then to top it off, the line where Loki asked his counterparts if they’d ever met a female version of Loki, and they said something along the lines of ‘sounds scary’? And act like she’s unique? That really ticked me off? I know a lot of people were excited when they saw Loki’s TVA file and it listed his gender as fluid... so to have none of them go ‘oh yeah, I’m female sometimes’ or see no other Loki’s choosing a female form... idk, it’d disney so it’s not surprising but it still irritates me. Loki is canonically gender fluid in the comics. And states quite clearly that she is a she when in that form, and that both male/female form are equally her/him.

I mean... I’m going to keep watching, but my expectations are low...

#loki #loki 2021 #loki tv series

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yggdrasil-mith0s · 3 years

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I need some serious psychological help: Confessions from the blog owner.

Okay, so feel free to ignore this but I feel like I need to get some things off my chest and seriously talk about some things. This blog has been my lifeline over the past few years with my followers becoming my only friends. My best friends. People that genuinely care about me and listen to me. So I feel the need to say some things, let you all know where I am currently at in life, and possibly receive some advice if anyone reads this.

First, let me say I think I have gone through life with undiagnosed AD(H)D. Everytime I am genuinely interested in something career related or getting back into school, I start to get things together. Before I know it, I lose all interest and completely leave it behind, never to follow through. I have a bad problem with this in almost everything I do. It's also why I have 10 different save files in different games and none of which ever get beaten except maybe 1 or 2. I haven't made any significant strides or moved forward in life at all.

Another thing I have come to realize is I hate who I am. No, I don't mean my morals or how I am genuinely empathetic. I mean I have believed I was a straight cisgender male for 3/4s of my life. Being in quarantine has helped me figure out a few things. Mainly that I am Nonbinary and I am Pansexual. I am sure of that now. It's lead to quite the mental breakdown and uncovering bottled emotions and traumas. Others had me convinced I was cisgender male by hateful words, cunning deciet, and manipulating tactics and twisting my mindset into thinking I was wrong for considering anything other than cisgender male. @prideknights had a beautiful submission that basically opened my eyes to how hateful words have caused me to hate myself, for I was forcing an identity that didn't belong to me to satisfy those that wanted to give identities or take them to fit their agenda/beliefs. I fell for it. And it's no wonder I have been dealing with depression, dysphoria (though I didn't understand what it was till someone recently told me "yeah, that's gender dysphoria notbro (They say notbro instead of bro because they are nonbinary and use notbro as a NB way of saying bro lol). So I have dropped he/him pronounces and go by they/them. Still, I am unpacking a lot of trauma and beliefs that aren't my own mixed with those that are mine. I haven't gone completely public with my revelation because of fear and anxiety. I'm not ready to announce it on FB and have family I hardly talk to and other people know. I'm not ready for that in case I receive hate in any way because that's what caused me to suppress myself to begin with.

It's hard to love yourself while hiding the real you deep inside because of what others have said and done. What society does is create a world where people live in their own bubbles and anyone who enters that bubble is expected to follow their rules and beliefs. Eventually, entering enough of other people's bubbles, mostly toxic ones, will shrink yours to the point where nothing belongs to you, not even your gender or lack there of.

My sister's boyfriend recently moved in. He is great to my sister but incredibly abusive to me. I have left hints but my sister hasn't noticed. He is mentally abusive and recently he shoved me really hard. I can't outright tell my sister because she loves him and I'm kind of scared of what he might do if she breaks up with him because of me tbh. So I am trying to move out but have no money or anything to do so. I have found somewhere I can stay but I need a $250 down payment. I have $70. So I still need $180. The abuse is getting worse and worse and I think he knows I am NB now and I believe he is secretly a bigot. Again, I can't say anything and I am scared for both my sister and I. Though he does treat her really great. I think he just might have issues with me. I'm not sure why, though. Maybe he just hates LGBTQ+ people and knows. My sister knows I am Pansexual and I have brought a trans guy I had a crush on over... So yeah. I need to get out while she is dating him.

If anyone wants to help with my downpayment of $180 then you can donate to PayPal.me/yggdrasilmithos

My email for that PP is [email protected].

That isn't necessary, though. I am also in search of a true therapist because I seem to have a lot of issues and things bottled up that I haven't unpacked. I want to know what's wrong with me and why I always lose interest, why I constantly find myself in traumatic experiences even though I try to avoid it. I want to find out what trauma I continue to hide while it still hurts me.

It might help my depression and anxiety to see a good therapist and truly talk to someone and open up completely without holding a single thing back.

Im trying y'all. I truly am. Please hang in there. Soon I will regain my full interest and post a bunch of content again. One thing that has held my interest is this blog, the people involved on this blog that are friends now, and the Tales of series. Though it fluctuates in how often or how much interests I'm currently holding.

Anyways, if anyone has any questions, feel free to ask. Feel free to message me as well. I could use some friends, tbh. I don't have anyone in real life to talk to which is why I confide in this blog.

Also, if anyone donates and would like a post dedicated to you, gifs of some videos or gameplay made then just message me and let me know. I will make content for anyone that wants me to and donates, even if it is a dollar! I will make everyone gifs if their choosing or random Tales content gifs. My Paypal and email is 5 paragraphs up lol.

But it's 100% okay if not. I posted this just to let y'all know where I'm at in life right now.

Edit: I'm hanging on by a thread and had a good cry moments ago which is why I felt the need to post this and share with you all (my friends).

#personal #op #my life #thoughts #lgbtq #nonbinary #pansexual #breaking from old beliefs #finally free of lies i used to tell myself like i was a cisgender straight male #all lies #okay to reblog

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pikemoreno · 4 years

Text

if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter I: Coffee Cures All Ills

a/n: Here it is folks! The first part of a Marcus fic heavily inspired by the Netflix rom-com Set It Up.

It’s more structurally and conceptually inspired and not an exact scene-for-scene remake because a) I was interested in the idea of this not even really being an AU. This is extremely canon-compliant and you’ll see more of that as we continue on. 😏And b) because I had lots of ideas that spun off from watching Set It Up that I just liked better for the purpose of this fic. So that’s what you can expect. It’s gonna be cheesy and fun and great.

The first couple of chapters are a lot of, well, set up (which has been infuriating). But we’ll get into the meat of it soon. My outline says so.

As a side note, a lot of the gifs I’m going to be using are from the movie, but these are not my face claims for any of the characters. I’m using them simply for the ~vibe~ of the chapter. Reader is not a small white girl... Or she might be. She is you. Or whatever OC you’d like her to be. Period.

And that’s it. Let’s go, I guess.

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2k (probably one of the shortest chapters we’re gonna see out of the 14-ish lolz)

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either. this is just fun.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He’d seen what it had done to him in failed relationships including everything up to a failed marriage. Some would argue that it wasn’t love then, that love doesn’t fail, so it couldn’t have been. But he disagreed. He knows it when it hits. It comes on you like lightning, bright and fast. You accept it, letting it run through your veins, and risk suffering a fatal blow to your heart. And it most definitely can fatally fail. It can cause joy and pain in equal measure. He’d already been struck so painfully once, the blow of the electricity going straight to his heart. He was beginning to hope to the high heavens that he wouldn’t be so unlucky as to be struck a second time, just in case it should reach his heart so painfully once more.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He felt that especially strongly as he watched Adrian go through his recent break-up. He felt for his fellow agent, he really did. Adrian was completely convinced Sam was the one, sold to the point of going ring shopping soon. But one brief mention of an engagement sent Sam running for the hills. He’d been moping around the office for a couple of weeks now and, as much as Marcus understood the pain, he was already really looking forward to Adrian’s rebound or some similar distraction. He was needing his friend’s signature fire back right about now, not to mention his focus. His work had gotten sloppy in this mourning period. He was constantly distracted. Marcus was dreading getting him on this case today, but maybe it was just the push he needed. He hoped. He stepped up to Adrian’s desk, watching the glazed over look in his eye.

“Hey, Adrian, do you mind getting a head start on this? I’d really like you to be our head man on--” he slid the file onto his desk, but was cut short by Adrian’s response. A response that had nothing to do with anything Marcus had just said.

“I’m gonna die alone,” he muttered, hands supporting his chin, elbows on his desk. Marcus let out an exasperated sigh that he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not gonna die alone,” he played along once again, rubbing his temple.

“Maybe I’ll go be a monk. They never have to worry about this shit.”

“An honorable profession.”

“Yeah.” Adrian blinked out of his dream-like state. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Marcus nodded rigidly. “Sorry, Pike.” He opened the file, nodding slowly, “Yeah, I’ll get on this.”

“You look exhausted,”

“I am,” he admitted sheepishly.

“I’m making a break room run to get coffee, you want one?”

“Please.” Marcus nodded his understanding and made his way down the hall to the break room. He doubted a case and a coffee could get his friend back on track, but he could hope, right?

***

If you had to listen through one more of Wendy’s mood swings, you might just scream. You love the girl, you really do. She’s your friend and the best boss you could’ve asked for, but Lord Almighty, had she been in rare form. Some days she was perfectly fine, strutting around like she didn’t care that her asshole boyfriend Daniel gave her an ultimatum instead of a ring on their last anniversary. Other days would see her doing a complete 180, shutting herself in her office and weeping into suspect files. Your least favorite days, though, were days where the heartbreak made her angry, where thinking about Daniel saying “It’s me or your job” made her border-line vengeful. But, unfortunately for you and the rest of the team, he wasn’t around to take the beating.

You couldn’t say you entirely understood. The short catalog of even shorter flings that you boasted brought largely apathy rather than heartbreak. You couldn’t say you’d ever been in love like Wendy had been. You’d never felt anything quite that strong-- and thank goodness for that. It wasn’t something you particularly looked forward to, at least, not the way you’d seen it lately. It was an uncontrollable force, dangerous and all-consuming. You liked control, liked being in your right mind. If love was to take up it's unfortunate residence, you could only hope it was for someone worth losing your mind over. You hadn’t seen anyone of the sort so far.

Unfortunately, it was already too late for Wendy Harrod. The already intimidating head of the Jewelry & Gem Theft Program in Texas was in rare form. You watched as an HR intern ran from her office in near tears. Poor Randy. Her sharp “come in” in response to your knock on her door made you wince.

“Harrod, I have the results of that house search you requested if you--”

“No, no! Absolutely not, I cannot handle this right now,” she was absolutely raging, leaving you grasping at straws for a response.

“I-- Uh-- Of course. I’ll just leave it right here whenever--” you placed it gently on the end table by the door before being interrupted again.

“Ughhhhh,” she groaned out before flopping into her desk chair, the red leather creaking as she let sit spin her around once, “I’m sorry. I’m being mean.” There was your Wendy.

“Just a little.”

“Sorry, sorry. Bring that here please.”

“What can I do for you? As your friend, I mean. You--” you weighed your words carefully as you hand her the report, “You haven’t quite been yourself since…” you stopped that thought, “Well, lately.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I need,” she began to skim the report before looking back up with you with a tight lipped smile, “Maybe a coffee? For the more immediate problems anyway.” You laughed.

“Now that I can do. I’m headed there now. Break room coffee ok?”

“That’d be perfect.”

“The usual?”

“The usual.” She yelled after you as you walk down the hall, “You’re an angel!”

She wasn’t gonna be saying that when you came back without coffee.

The sign on the coffee pot reading “out of coffee” was going to seriously ruin your reputation and Wendy’s sensitive mood. You ran through the options: you couldn’t leave to get her a Starbucks; there were some bottled iced coffees in the fridge, but Wendy hated them; you could wait for someone to make a run at lunch and pass on the order, but this was too urgent. Then it hit you. Everyone knew the sixth floor had the better coffee stock anyway. The art freaks loved their fancy stuff. You could always just waltz down a floor and snag two cups from their stash. 5 minutes in and out. No harm done, no questions asked.

Or so you thought.

The sixth floor break room was already occupied when you walked in, finding another agent also brewing a morning cup in a single cup coffee maker.

They really did have everything here: multiple pots, another much fancier looking machine that looked like it might come to life and attack at any moment, recyclable coffee cups, every type of creamer. You name it.

You’d have to sneak over here more often.

You stepped up to the larger coffee pot, rinsing out the carafe before reaching for the container of grounds. Empty.

They had everything here. Except coffee.

Was the whole damn building in a coffee famine? You didn’t have time to check.

“No, no, no, no,” you panicked, frantically searching the cabinet for another container. In your peripheral you could see the other agent look at you like you’d grown two heads. You couldn’t be bothered with his judgement, but you met his eyes to ask, maybe a little too frantically.

“Is that the last of it?” you questioned, eyeing the cup he was brewing.

“Well, yeah, sorry.” It was obvious he meant it, but apologies were not what you were needing right now.

“Shit.”

“Withdrawals?” he laughed a little at your panicked state, but it wasn’t demeaning. He was genuinely amused, and maybe a little concerned, but it made you narrow your eyes at him all the same. You were not in the mood for the mocking, no matter how light-hearted it may be. No matter how much it was softened by the bright smile next to you.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my boss. My very upset boss who needs just one small ounce of joy in her life right now. The kind of joy that can only come from the fueling of her caffeine addiction, so if I could please just have that cup?” You blinked at him innocently, but his dark brown eyes widened as he shook his head

“What? No. I have a friend who needs this. If I don’t bring him this, he won’t be working for the rest of the day.”

“If I don’t bring my boss a cup of coffee in the next two minutes, I will probably not be working again. Ever. I will be dead. Do you want to be complicit in a murder, Agent--” you glanced at his badge, “Pike? Can you really live with that?”

“You’re awfully dramatic aren’t you?”

“I wish it was an exaggeration.” He inspected your badge then too.

“Jewelry and Gem Theft. Floor 7, right? What brings you down here to steal our coffee?” The argument was pointed, but his demeanor was anything but. He was smiling, enjoying this. A little too much, you seethed. You couldn’t stand around arguing all day.

“We’re out too.”

“Try another floor?”

“Time is of the essence here, Art Squad.” There was no room for addressing him politely now, he was riling you up on purpose.

“If you didn’t stand here arguing with me you could’ve tried another floor by now, Jewels.”

He must think he’s so clever.

“Please. This is DEFCON 5.”

“You do know DEFCON 5 is the good one, right?”

“You know what I mean. Please.” He looked at you and then the newly brewed cup, biting the inside of his cheek, thinking through the problem.

“Tell you what. I am willing to split this if you are. Maybe it’s enough to fix both of them.” The crease between his eyebrows was deep as he studied your face, “I know Adrian is too out of it to notice he’s getting jipped, not sure about your boss.” You shrugged.

“Wendy will manage. It’s enough to keep her from throwing something at my head next time I walk in.” He dutifully split the coffee between two of the recyclable travel cups and handed one to you. You took it gratefully.

“I hope this keeps you from… Dying? What’s up with that anyway?” You’re not sure what made this person that was essentially a stranger so interested in your life, but something about it feels nice.

“She had a really bad breakup: anniversary, thought it was going to be a proposal, instead it was him being a piss-baby. She’s a little all over the place right now. They’d been together for years and now there’s just… A hole. She doesn’t know how to deal with it.” Pike’s nod in response is emphatic, giving the cup in his hand a little wave.

“Same with him. Terrible breakup. He didn’t see it coming at all. She broke up with him on a voicemail… Then moved. ‘Course it just put him in this crazy funk, though. Doesn’t wanna work or do much of anything. No violence. Yet. But it’s sad to see.” You winced.

“That’s a rough one. Best of luck with him, Art Squad. Thank you. I owe you one. Seriously.”

“You definitely do, Jewels.” His smile is blindingly bright as he jokes. It makes you smile back.

“See you around.”

series taglist: @whiskeyslasso @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

forever tags: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives

#im not in love with this first chapter but hey!#gotta start somewhere #marcus pike x reader #iyewbil #bri writes

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fanfics4all · 4 years

Text

Painless

Request: Yes / No

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3200

Warnings: SCHOOL BOMBING, CURSING, it’s criminal minds so read at your own risk!

Y/N: Your Name

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK!

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you!

Masterlist

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Another day at work. Another day of someone dead. I thought as I walked into the office. I saw everyone was already in the round table room and sighed. Another case. I put my stuff down at my desk and walked into the room. I took my seat next to my boyfriend Spencer and gave a smile at everyone.

“Does anyone remember this picture?” Garcia asked, bringing up a picture of a man and a girl looking distressed.

“Hotch and I were there. That’s Principal Doug Gavens. We had to drag him to safety.” Rossi said, making everyone look at him.

“High school bombing in Boise, right?” Emily asked.

“School shooter and school bomber.” JJ said and it triggered my memory.

“A kid named Randy Slade shot three students and then set off an I.E.D. in the cafeteria via cell phone, killing himself and thirteen kids total, but not before posting all his plans online.” I said and Garcia nodded.

“It was one of those “Where were you?” events. My whole campus was glued to the T.V..” JJ said.

“Last night, Principal Givens was killed by a bomb modeled exactly like the old one.” Garcia said.

“It feels like the unsub wants to attack the man who kept the school together after the bombing. It’s a pretty symbolic target.” Morgan said.

“And this week is the tenth anniversary of the massacre.” Hotch said.

“And today is the first day of a four day event to commemorate the bombing at the school.” Garcia said.

“Except commemorating it isn’t enough for this unsub.” Emily said.

“No. He wants to relive it.” Hotch said. We gathered our things and got on the plane. We were all sitting down and going over the case files.

“Perpetrators of school violence are often sophisticated with their weapons. Randy Slade carried his bomb in his backpack. This guy hid his in Givens’ clock radio.” Spencer said.

“Yeah, and progressive. Each one tries to top the body count of the one previous.”

“And they’re loners by default, not by choice. They try to join various social groups, but they get shut out.” JJ said.

“Randy Slade wasn’t a loner at all.” Hotch said.

“The family cooperated fully with us. He was a high-functioning psychopath, straight-A student, varsity wrestler, lots of girlfriends.” Rossi said.

“With an above-average intelligence that made him incredibly resourceful. His explosive of choice was Semtex.” I said looking at the files.

“It’s found at demolition sites, but it’s held under lock and key.” Spencer said.

“Which made us consider the possibility of a partner. Never found one.” Rossi said.

“Slade was too much of a narcissist to share credit. But he was also an impulsive teen, which is what bothers me about this unsub.” Hotch said.

“His sense of control?” Emily asked.

“And the end game that he’s working toward.” Hotch answered with a nod.

“Slade’s pathology revolved around the big kill. This unsub could have done the same if he’d waited for the candlelight vigil.” Hotch added.

“Which means there’s no blaze of glory fantasy here. This unsub has more bombs made, and he’s savoring the anticipation of his next attack.” Rossi said. After we talked everyone moved to their own spots to think and relax before we had the hard work to do. I sat next to Spencer and smiled at him.

“This poor town.” I said and he sighed.

“I know, but the odds are against them in this situation.” He said and I nodded.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it sucks any less.” I said and he nodded.

“It’s a hard thing to deal with.” He said.

“Yeah…” I sighed. We tried to keep our minds on things that would help us, instead of how much people were hurting right now.

As soon as we landed we dropped our stuff off at our hotel then split up. Hotch and Rossi went to the station with Emily and Morgan. Spencer, JJ and I went to the crime scene. We walked inside and it was a mess, not shocking though considering what happened.

“Okay, so the unsub has to be tied to the school somehow, right?” JJ asked.

“Current student, alumni, family member who lost someone…” I listed off.

“It could be Slade groupies celebrating his hero. He taped nails to the exterior of the bomb, specifically to rip open flesh. That’s a sadistic detail of Slade’s the unsub copied.” Spencer said.

“Except he tricked Givens into blowing himself up. A groupie probably wouldn’t show that much self-control.” JJ said.

“But someone with an ax to grind against the principal would. Maybe he’s a surrogate for the tomenters in high school he can’t punish.” Spencer said.

“Who were yours?” He asked us.

“I don’t even remember.” JJ answered.

“You don’t even remember? Wait, were you one of those mean girls?” Spencer questioned.

“No.” JJ said.

“Valedictorian, soccer scholarship, corn-fed, but still a size zero. I think that you might have been a mean girl.” Spencer said.

“Spence.” I said.

“I was actually one of the nice girls, even to guys like you.” JJ answered and I shook my head. There was no stopping this now.

“Guys like me? I’ll have you know that my social standing increased once I started winning at basketball.” Spencer said, I always forget that he coached basketball.

“Oh yeah? You played basketball?” JJ asked.

“Actually he coached it.” I answered.

“You coached it?” She asked.

“Yeah, I broke down the opposing team’s shooting strategy.” He said.

“Is that why Morgan kicked you two out of the pool last week?” She asked.

“Yeah, it took him three rounds to realize we were hustling him.” I answered with a laugh.

“Huh.” She said and we went back to looking at the crime scene. As soon as we were done looking we got a call about another murder. So we made our way there. The three of us looked around and JJ decided to call Hotch and tell him.

“You’re on speaker JJ.” Hotch answered.

“So, we might have another one.” She said.

“Might?” He asked.

“One of the North Valley alumni was killed in her motel room.” She answered.

“No bomb or gun this time. Looks like he used his bare hands.” I added.

“You got a name?” Hotch asked.

“Chelsea Grant.” Spencer answered.

The next day Spencer and I returned to the crime scene with Hotch. It was good to come back and look at it with fresh eyes.

“The unsub crushed Chelsea’s throat so she couldn’t scream, then he pulverized her ribs, sending fragments of bone into her heart.” Spencer said.

“Principal Givens was high-profile. Chelsea wasn’t. Right now the only thing connecting them is they’re both on the kill list.” Hotch said.

“A list that Brandon kept secret for ten years, but he was in custody when this happened. So the question is, how did the unsub get the exact same list?” I asked.

“Well, we ruled out a partner, but not conclusively.” Hotch said.

“Slade made every part of his plan public. It doesn’t make sense that he would hide a partner.” Spencer said.

“He didn’t want to share the credit. And this weekend is the partner’s best chance to claim it.” Hotch said.

“Let’s go back to the station, we have a profile to deliver.” He said and we followed him.

When we got back to the station we gathered everyone up and we were ready to deliver the profile.

“Partners of dominant psychopaths are usually submissive, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t be intelligent or that they’re physically weak.” Hotch said.

“This unsub laid low after the bombing and successfully evaded police and FBI. That took cunning and patience, which he’s exhibiting now with his current murders.” Morgan said.

“We think he fits the loner profile Slade debunked. He grew up in an abusive home, which kept him from forming the normal social bonds in high school.” JJ said.

“We interviewed all the outcasts from back then. How did this guy slip through?” Chief Cole asked.

“Even outcasts eventually form friendships. But this unsub was the outcast the outcasts rejected.” Spencer said.

“Exactly, he won’t stand out in any capacity, and as a matter of fact, most of his fellow students probably won’t even remember graduating with him.” I said.

“And that invisibility is what made him attractive to Slade. This partner wouldn’t steal the spotlight.” Rossi said.

“Slade targeted the cafeteria because most of the names on his list ate there together during fifth period.” Spencer said.

“So his hatred festered when the names on the list emerged from the cafeteria as media heroes. And now he wants to finish the job that Randy started.” Morgan said.

“Emotionally, this weekend is more a high school reunion to him than a memorial. We go to reunions to show who we grew up to be. Often that means changing everything about who we were.” Rossi said.

“Consciously or not, Randy Slade revealed clues as to his partner’s identity when he detonated his bomb. Agent Prentiss will be conducting cognitive interviews to see what the survivors might remember.” Hotch said. We answered a few questions the cops had then went on to try and work out who this guy could be. Emily was with the survivors now working on them.

“So, as you can see from your board there, this kill list is weirdly similar to high school.

“Group on is like the popular kids, prom court, football team, dean’s list. The Heathers, if you will.” Garcia said.

“Kids in Slade’s social circle.” Hotch said.

“What about number two?” JJ asked.

“Uh, mmhmm, that would be the kids from the other side of the tracks, 180-degree difference, kids this close to getting kicked out, Stoners, burnouts, mental cases. Chelsea Grant is on this list.” Garcia said.

“Maybe Slade targeted them because they disgusted him?” JJ asked while Spencer’s phone was ringing. We have been doing a lot of that since we got here.

“But they didn’t threaten Slade’s sense of superiority. He wouldn’t have even cared about them.” Hotch said as we ignored Spencer’s phone.

“So maybe the partner put them on the list. They’d be closer to his social status than Slade’s.” I said as Spencer’s phone stopped ringing.

“Why would the-” Spencer was cut off by his phone ringing again.

“I’m so sorry.” He said, taking his phone out and hung up.

“Why would the unsub list kids that he fit in with?” Spencer asked, putting his phone away again.

“Apparently that’s how this clique worked. The kids in it were meaner to each other than kids on the outside. Garcia, separate out all the kids who got into trouble regularly. Then eliminate the names that the partner put on the list. Now, who’s left that came to the memorial?” Hotch asked.

“Right. Whoever made the list wouldn’t put their name on it. Uh… sir, I think- I think I’ve got him. His name is Lewis Ramsey.” Garcia said.

“Where is he?” Hotch asked.

“Uhh… According to his cell phone he’s at a local bar.” She answered.

“Send it to Morgan’s phone.” Hotch ordered and called him. Morgan brought him in and him and Hotch started interviewing him. Once they were done they told the rest of us.

“You buy it?” Emily asked.

“He fits the profile, and the evidence points to him, but he seems sincere.” Hotch said.

“He’s not the unsub. He was the partner, but look at how Slade added “All the losers in this Godforsaken school.” This capitalization isn’t an accident. Look.” Spencer said and wrote it on the white board.

“L-S-R, Lewis Stuart Ramsey.” He said.

“So Slade named his own partner.” I said.

“Ironically, Lewis’ marijuana addiction saved his life.” He said with a nod.

“Well, that puts us back to our original problem. If the unsub isn’t the partner, how did he get his hands on a list that Slade and Lewis kept to themselves?” I asked.

“The only answer is that part of the profile is wrong. The unsub’s vendetta has nothing to do with the list. Did you get anything from Jerry Holtz?” Hotch asked Emily.

“Only that he mixed up the cell phones that Slade used. It felt like he was making the story up, but I only had a hunch.” Emily said.

“We need to find him now. There’s a connection to the victimology that we’re missing. Whatever he’s holding back might be the key.” Hotch said. We found Jerry, but he was dead. He was killed at the school. We made our way there and Emily met us there.

“Jerry Holtz? How long?” She asked.

“Less than an hour. Security guard heard the commotion, but the unsub was already gone.” JJ answered.

“The only people who knew we were doing the cognitive interviews were the other survivors. The unsub must be part of that group.” Emily said.

“Well, we don’t know that for a fact. He could have been lying in wait.” I said.

“Look, Hotch wants me to go through the victims’ lives and find the overlaps. We can compare their histories with the unsub’s.” JJ said.

“What else do we have to go on?” Emily asked, looking at Spencer and I.

“Spence said the unsub would have broken his hand beating Chelsea to death. Did you notice anyone with a cast on their hand, someone who seemed hurt?” JJ asked.

“No.” Emily shook her head.

“I might know why.” Spencer said and we all looked at him.

“This unsub doesn’t feel pain.” He said.

“You mean he has pain asymbolia?” I asked and he nodded.

“We need to get back to the station. Spencer told them about his theorie and no one understood what he was saying.

“In english for the other people in the room.” Morgan asked.

“There’s a medical condition called pain asymbolia, where patients register harmful stimuli without being bothered by it. They’ve been documented holding their hand over an open flame because their brain doesn’t send pain signals to the central nervous system.” Spencer explained.

“Sounds pretty rare. You sure the unsub has it?” Rossi asked.

“The crime scenes prove it. Once Spencer said it, everything clicked. He displayed an unusual level of savagery towards his victims. And consider this, he smashed through a glass display case, but there were no cuts on Jerry. That means he most likely punched through it as a show of force.” I said.

“Now, the only way the human body could withstand that level of pain is if he couldn’t feel it at all.” Spencer added.

“It must take a major toll on someone’s emotional development.” Rossi said and Spencer’s phone rang… again.

“A significant contributor to our sense of empathy is the way we personally experience pain.” Morgan said and Spencer silenced his phone again.

“And the unsub didn’t develop his sense of empathy because it was cut off. Does every person with Asymbolia have this?” Hotch asked.

“Actually, most feel empathy just fine, which makes me think the rest of our profile is still accurate. Loner, invisible, outcast, boiling rage- Son of a bitch!” Spencer said, pulling out his ringing cell phone and answered it. I notice Morgan trying to hide a smirk.

“Hi! This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I actually can come to the phone right now with a very special message that your mother is-”

“Reid.” Hotch cut him off and he hung up.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Where were we?” He asked, putting his phone away.

“I’m going to have Garcia check medical records. Uh, what causes Asymbolia?” Hotch asked.

“Ssss- Severe trauma produces lesions on the insular cortex, usually after a stroke but this unsub’s so young, it’s most likely caused by an external factor.” Spencer said looking at Morgan the whole time.

“Like a bomb going off next to him?” Rossi asked.

“Yeah, like a bomb going off next to him.” He repeated at Morgan. Morgan just smirked and Hotch walked off to talk to Garcia.

“I will crush you.” Spencer whispered.

“What?” Morgan asked.

“What?” Spencer repeated and walked off. I looked at Rossi and shook my head with a smirk.

“You two are seriously pranking each other while on a case?” I asked and Morgan just smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said and I shook my head again. I swear these two…

JJ and Emily came by a little later with some new information. JJ was rearranging some pictures on the board. We looked on with confusion.

“Recognize the top ten?” JJ asked.

“No.” Hotch answered.

“They were the students that went in front of the cameras after the bombing.” She answered.

“I thought all the surviving students were interviewed?” I asked.

“After the initial aftermath, yes, but these are the kids that went on talk shows, traveled to other schools. My guess is that they didn’t self-select who made the cut.” JJ said.

“Principal Givens did.” Hotch said.

“That’s why the unsub killed him first. He was an outcast who wanted to fit in. Being a survivor should have been his golden ticket.” She said.

“But he was excluded again, and that’s why he’s killing them.” I said.

“Yeah. The rules of high school never changed, not even after a tragedy.” JJ said. Hotch’s phone rang and he put it on speaker.

“Go ahead, Garcia.” He said.

“Hey, listen up. I crossed-referenced student files with medical records. Now, there were six kids that were knocked unconscious in that blast, but only one fit the outcast profile. His name is Robert Adams, and he just used his credit card at a local restaurant, the address of which I just sent you right now.” She said.

“I’m on my way.” Hotch said looking at us. Hotch gathered everyone up and JJ and I stayed back. When they came back Robert wasn’t with them. Hotch had to shoot him, there was no other way this was going to end. Once we got everything sorted we got on the plane to go home. I was sitting next to Spencer, who was resting his head on my shoulder while I read a book. We were sitting across from Morgan and Emily, Morgan was listening to music and Emily was reading a paper. He took his headphones off and we heard Spencer screaming from them.

“Okay, kid, that was cute. But that’s all you got?” Morgan asked him, he was very clearly pretending to be asleep. Morgan’s cell ran and he answered it.

“Hey baby girl-” He was cut off by Spencer screaming coming through his phone. Spencer had a smile on his face and Rossi held up a white napkin.

“Uh-uh. Alright, Reid, it’s on. Just know that paybacks are a bitch.” Morgan said. Spencer just responded with snoring. I shook my head at the two of them.

“You started this Morgan, it’s your own fault.” I said with a slight laugh.

“Of course you’re taking his side, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes.

“Well I am dating him, so yes I’m taking his side.” I said and Rossi chuckled.

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macademmia · 4 years

Text

I Like Me Better When I’m With You

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Janus/Patton, Moceit

Summary: Janus Dean did not mean to start dating Patton Hart for political gain, and he definitely did not mean to fall in love with him.

(Or the fake dating high school AU that nobody asked for but everyone needed.)

Based on this prompt by the incredible @kawaiikat54

Warnings: cursing, homophobia(nothing violent)

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Everybody loves Patton Hart. He’s one of those rare popular kids who got their popularity by being a great person. Patton knows everyone’s first and last name and he’s in almost every club. He’s every teacher’s favorite student and every girl’s crush. He never curses and is nice to everyone. He’ll help you with your homework and listen to your problems. He gives hugs like it's nothing. Patton Hart thinks life is a fairy tale.

Jason Dean absolutely despises Patton Hart. Everything in Patton’s life is perfect and everything he can get everything he’s ever wanted just by showing up. Janus has to fight for what he wants every step of the way. Janus is not trusted easily like Patton. Janus has a resting bitch face, whereas Patton’s face naturally falls into a smile. Janus is the night of Patton's day.

For most of high school, Janus has been fine ignoring Patton. They never got in each other’s way, and Janus and his friend Ethan bonded over laughing at him. Janus stayed in his lane and Patton stayed in his that’s our it’s always been.

Today everything changed. Today Patton Hart entered the race for student body president. Janus has spent the past month campaigning and building up goodwill, but it’s all pointless. Voters will take one look at the name Patton Hart and check the box next to his name. Patton doesn’t even have to captain. Just like always, Patton wins just by showing up.

It’s infuriating, and it means that Janus will have to fight dirty.

When the bell for lunch rings, Janus exits through the backdoor of the courtyard. It’s empty like it always is.

Across the courtyard, his friend Ethan is leaning against the hard brick wall with a cigarette in one hand, and a flask in the other.

“‘Sup Janus.”

“Hello, Ethan, did you hear the news?”

“That Hart’s running for president? Yeah.”

“What do you think we should do about it?”

“Probably something he wouldn’t like,” Ethan says, and Janus laughs.

“What did you have in mind? Stage a scandal? Hack his email? Push him down a flight of stairs?” Janus was pretty partial to the last one.

“Fun, but no. To win this race you’re going to have to go big or go home.”

That doesn’t sound good, especially coming from Ethan.

“What do you mean, go big or go home?”

“You need to pretend to date Patton Hart.”

Janus laughed, “Absolutely not.”

Ethan growled at him, “Did I fucking stutter Dean?”

Janus glared at him, “Did I? I’m not doing that.”

Ethan did not back down, “Take a second to think about it before you get all your feather ruffled. If you pretend to date Patton, you will get everything. You will find out what’s under his everything is a perfect persona. You’ll have a confession that he’s gay. If you do it you’re practically guaranteed to win the race.”

Janus pauses, “You have a point. I’ll think about it. You happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

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It’s been a week and Janus has thought of a way to talk to Patton, let alone ask him out. Hell, despite what Ethan says, he doesn’t even know if Patton is gay, bi, or pan at all.

Despite the fact that if he is in fact, not straight, Patton is closeted, Ethan has been texting him more and more every day, and at this point, Janus might just flat out ask Patton out just to get him to shut up.

As if on cue, Janus’ phone buzzes with a text. He doesn’t have to check who it is. He groans and shuts his phone off. History class is about to begin anyways.

In the time that he’s read the text and dumped his phone into his bag, Patton Hart has somehow managed to sneak up on him.

“Everything ok?” Patton asks, and there’s genuine concern in his voice. It drives Janus crazy. Through his glasses, Janus can see the concern and care in his big brown eyes, and it’s so powerful that he almost has to take a step back.

Janus looks away from Patton, “Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?”

Patton just shrugs, “You just seemed stressed.”

“Oh well, thank you for your concern but I have everything under control,” Janus says, and why is it so hard for him to talk to Patton. Each word sounds awkward and unsure and it’s a complete 180 from the smooth and suave tone he usually uses.

Before the conversation can get any more awkward, the bell rings.

“Glad to hear it,” Patton says.

Janus just nodded and walked inside the classroom.

Within the next few minutes, kids start filing in and sitting in their usual spots. Patton is sitting in the front predictably and Janus is watching him from the third row.

Once all the students have filed into the dilapidated classroom their teacher, Mr. Rivers walks up to the front of the class.

“All right everybody!” He says. “So today I thought we could switch things up a bit, and instead of me teaching you something like we normally do, you could teach your classmates and me something?”

The class stares at him blankly, but Mr. Rivers doesn’t seem to notice their lack of a reaction.

“So I decided that you all, with the help of a partner, will present on a series of influential people throughout history who all share one trait in common. It’s opened ended, so the thing all your people have in common can be creative! Hopefully y’all can have fun with this! Today you are going to have all of this class period to talk with your partner and get started, the project will be due next week. Any questions?”

Only one girl raises her hand, and Mr. Rivers calls on her enthusiastically, “Can we choose our Partners?” She says.

“Nope! I’m going to be picking partners for you all, it’s great to work with new people.” He replies cheerfully.

A low groan rumbles through the classroom, but Mr. Rivers doesn’t comment on it.

“Alright so first up is Will Solace and Nico De Angelo.”

The teacher keeps on listening names until finally Janus’ name was called,

“...and finally we have Patton Hart and Janus Hart.”

Well, that was one way to get the plan going. At least he’d have something to report to Ethan.

Janus was not ready when Patton came bounding towards his Desk, with brown curls bouncing in time with his steps.

Janus was pretty sure he could stare at Patton and still not have counted every one of his freckles, the kid had so many.

“Hey, Janus!” Patton was at his desk.

“Hi, Patton.”

“So what do you wanna do? I know a lot of the other kids are doing soldiers from the same wars and stuff so we could do that if you’d like”

“Well,” Janus mock whispers, “I was thinking we could spice things up a little bit, maybe do some queer people throughout history, freak the class out about it.” Janus was acting nonchalant but on the inside he was nervous; Patton’s reaction could change this entire election.

Patton’s face seemed to light up even more if that was even possible. “That sounds awesome! There are so many people throughout history and no one even knows about it! Like did you know historians think Abraham Lincoln might have been gay? Or Eleanor Roosevelt, they found letters from her to a female lover or Alan Turing, he was essential in the liberation of Europe from Nazi Germany, and he was gay!”

Janus raises an eyebrow, “Wow Patton you sure do know a lot.”

Patton freezes and then rushes to defend himself, “Oh yeah I just wanted to support my LGBTQ friends by learning about their history! I just want to be a good ally.” Patton smiles but Janus can tell he’s nervous.

Yep, Janus thinks, totally just an ally.

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Two weird things happen next week. Janus and Patton get an A on their assignment and Patton start sitting at Janus’ table. Janus has no clue why; Patton could sit at any table in the entire cafeteria and be welcomed as an honored guest. The first week Patton sits at Janus’ table, Janus doesn’t talk to all. He has his recorder on sure, but he’s too confused to respond.

Patton talks about everything. He talks about frogs and theater and the stars. He talks about his family and his favorite colors.

It should drive Janus crazy, but it doesn’t.

Listening to Patton talk becomes one of the best parts of his day.

When Janus finally starts throwing in a sarcastic comment here and there, Patton’s smile could outshine the sun.

Janus ignores the fact that his heart speeds up more than it should when he’s around Patton.

With every recording he sends to Ethan, his guilt grows and grows. Janus doesn’t know how to handle the guilt, and he definitely doesn’t know how to deal with how he feels about Patton.

He can’t stop thinking about Patton, even when they’re not at lunch together. He can’t stop thinking about the way Patton’s eyebrows crinkle together when he laughs or how he gives Janus his full attention when he talks. He doesn’t want to think about the swell of anger in his gut every time someone so much as looks bad in Patton’s direction.

Today though, today something is wrong with Patton.

He won’t make eye contact with Janus, and he’s hunched in on himself. His smile is absent, and he won’t stop twisting his fingers.

This isn’t how Patton’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be joyful and happy. But that’s not right, is it? Janus has always thought of Patton as a positivity god, above it all. Now, as Patton fidgets in front of him, Janus is reminded of how undeniably human Patton is.

Patton’s voice is so low that Janus isn’t sure if I heard you, “Do I bother you?”

Janus blinks. He never thought someone like Patton would ask him questions like that.

“Of course not,” Janus says, and it’s the truth. He loves being around Patton. He loves hearing him talk, he loves the fact that he’s three inches taller than Patton, he loves how Patton makes him feel better about himself when Patton is around. Janus wants to find whoever made Patton believe that he was a bother and give them a black eye. Or two.

Patton still remains hunched in on himself, “It’s ok Janus, I know you’re just being sarcastic.”

“Patton,” Janus says, “Look at me,” He waits until Patton reluctantly meets his gaze, “You’re not a bother, in fact, sitting here with you at lunch is the highlight of my day.”

Patton lets out a surprised o with his mouth, and Janus isn’t sure whether or not he wants to wrap Patton in a thousand blankets or hunt down everyone who ever hurt him.

Patton is making Janus soft, but he can’t find himself to care.

Next Tuesday, Patton comes up to his table like he’s about to go to war. His shoulders are tensed and his eyebrows are furrowed. His backpack straps are pulled as tight as possible and he’s marching towards Janus’ table.

“I’m gay. And I wanted to tell you because you’re the first person in my life who doesn’t care about who I am or what I can do for you and I really hope that’s okay” Patton says, and he’s shaking a little.

Janus is struck by how brave Patton is. Janus has never had the guts to come out, not like this, and here Patton is, exposing himself completely. Janus can see the fear in his eyes, but Patton doesn’t let it stop him.

“I knew you weren’t just an ally.”

Patton twirls the bracelet on his left wrist, “Am I really that obvious?”

Janus shakes his head, “Nah, it just takes one to one.” Janus watches as the confusion on Patton’s eyes morphs into realization.

“Oh,” Patton says.

“Yeah” Janus replies.

Patton smiles at him and starts talking about frogs.

Janus’ phone feels heavier with the recording of Patton coming out.

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When Janus sends the recording of Patton’s coming he should feel good. He did it, that tape is enough to ruin Patton’s popularity for the rest of high school. He won.

But he doesn’t feel good. In fact, he’s never felt worse. He’s going to get everything he ever wanted and he hates it.

He can’t keep doing this to Patton, he can’t keep pretending to be the friend Patton so desperately needs when his moral compass is practically pointed towards Antarctica.

He can’t take back the damage he did to Patton, but maybe he can stop pushing the knife deeper.

He picks up his phone and texts Ethan.

Janus Dean, 7:30 pm: we’re done, I’m not going to pretend to date Patton anymore, I’m not going to send you recordings anymore.

Ethan doesn’t even bother texting him back, He just calls Janus a few seconds after he receives the text.

Janus picks up his phone and takes a deep breath. He has a feeling he’ll need it.

“What the fuck Dean?”

“Hello to you too Ethan,” Janus says, hoping the sarcasm will hide the panic.

“Don’t you fucking dare ‘Hello Ethan’ me.” Ethan snarls, “A deal is a deal, you can’t just pull out like this.”

“Why do you care anyway? You’re not running for student body president, I am!”

“Aw, you’re cute Dean.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean.” Janus snaps.

“You think I give a shit about your little election? Are you crazy? I could care less, no this was all about Patton.”

“What do you have against him?”

A manic laughed echoed through the phone, “I want to see that dumb smile fall right off his moronic face.”

“That’s it? You’re going to ruin his life because you’re feeling petty?” Janus knows Ethan isn’t the most ethical person out there but this is low even for him.

Ethan doesn’t seem to care, “Now you’re getting it, JDelightful.”

Fuck, He underestimated how crazy Ethan could be.

Janus could hear Ethan smiling through the phone, “You’re going to regret saying no to me.” He said, and with that, the line went dead.

It was all over. Patton, the one person who ever cared about Janus was going to leave. It wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

However, he did still have a few hours left. And he had nothing else to lose.

Janus Dean, 7:41 pm: Can we hang out?

Patton Hart, 7:41 pm: Sure! When and where?

Janus Dean, 7:42 pm: I know this awesome hidden park we could check out, I can pick you up, I’ll be there in 10.

Patton Hart, 7:42 pm: awesome!!! :D

Janus was going to lose Patton. There was no use of denying it.

That wasn’t going to stop him from taking every second he could get and treasuring it forever.

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Patton is sitting on the front steps of his house when Janus’ blank car swings around the block.

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping.” Janus deadpans

“Hello to you too snake boy,” Patton says, matching Janus’ monotone.

“Snake boy? Really? Is that the best you could come up with Golden Boy.”

“Takes one to know one Janus,” Patton says. Is he talking about what Janus said when Patton comes out? Janus hopes he’s not blushing.

“Touché, Patton,” Janus says, and Patton grins at him. Janus can’t stop staring at his lips.

Stop looking at him like that, you’re never going to be his anything.

Janus ignores his inner monologue.

Patton shuffles his playlist and Don’t Stop Believing comes on.

“Oh my god Patton, you are such a dad.” Janus groans, but Patton pretends not to hear him

“Don’t stop believing,” Patton sings, “Hold on to that feeling” Patton belts the last song and it’s so terrible, but it’s so Patton and Janus falls just a little bit harder.

Patton is giving him the look, the do what I say or I’ll be sad look. Janus sighs.

“Hold on to that feeling.” Janus sings, and Patton lets out a whoop, and Janus starts signing louder, “Street light people, waiting just to find emotion.”

“Living just to find emotion!” Patton shouts, and Janus belts right along with him.

Another song comes on, and then another, and suddenly Patton and Janus have screamed themselves hoarse singing 80s songs.

By the time they’ve gone through six songs, the sky is falling down, and Patton’s windshield wipers are swiping in overtime.

When they pull up to the park, it’s pouring. There are no cars in the parking lot and Janus can barely see five feet in front of him.

Patton frowns, “Aw man, it’s raining. I guess we’ll just have to come back later.”

Janus freezes. There is no later. It is literally now or never.

“No,” Janus says.

“No?” Patton says in surprise.

“It’s just water, it can’t stop us from having fun,” Janus says. This is it. If Patton says no Janus doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“Okay,” Patton says, giving Janus a mischievous smile.

Janus unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of the safety of the car in the pouring rain. Within the first three seconds of being outside, Janus is drenched from head to toe. He doesn’t notice.

“Hey,” Patton says. Just like Janus, Patton is soaked. His cardigan is leaking, and his glasses are foggy. His curls have fallen flat and raindrops hang on his bangs.

“Hi,” Janus replies, and this is so absurd. He’s standing outside alone with Patton Hart in an abandoned park in the rain, just before his life is about to fall apart.

Janus wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Dance with me,” Janus hears himself saying.

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll teach you.”

Janus walks over to Patton and says, “Ok so first I’m gonna put my arms around your shoulders like this,” Slowly, in case Patton wants to pull away Janus puts his arms on top of Patton’s shoulders.

“What’s next?” Patton asks.

“Put your arms on my waist,” Janus says. He can feel Patton hesitate and then tentatively wrap his arms around his middle. The feeling of Patton’s skin on his is electrifying.

Patton smiles, “Now what?”

“Now we just move,” Janus says simply and he follows Patton’s movements. For a beginner, Patton is a surprisingly good dancer.

The two dance under the stars to the melody of the rain.

Neither of them says anything, but Patton’s face is so close to his and his lips are even closer.

It takes all the willpower Janus has to not kiss Patton then and there.

“Hey, Patton?”

“Yeah, Janus?”

The butterflies in Janus’ stomach are more like raging pigeons.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, but, I think now is the right time,” Janus takes a deep breath and Patton gives him an encouraging look.

“I like you. I really like you, Patton. I’ve liked you ever since you sat down at my table and started to talk about frogs. I thought it was just a friend thing, but it’s not. Because the truth is Patton, I want to be with you, all the time. I want to kiss you and I want to call you my boyfriend.” Patton is silent.

“If you don’t feel the same way, I totally get it. I’ll leave you alone. I won’t push it, I promise. I don’t want it to be weird I just want you to be ha-“

Janus is cut off by Patton grabbing his collar, and pulling him down to his level for a kiss.

Patton is kissing him. Patton is Kissing Him. Holy shit. This is better than anything Janus could have imagined. Patton’s lips are soft against his chapped ones. They’re warm despite the pouring rain. Patton wraps his arms around Janus’s neck to keep himself steady, and Janus brushes Patton’s bangs away from his eyes.

When Patton finally pulls away, there’s fire in his eyes.

“You absolute idiot,” Patton says, taking a second to breathe, “how could you think, even for a second, that I wouldn’t like you.”

Janus laughs and doesn’t stop looking at Patton, “I guess I’m just dumber than I thought.”

Patton nods vigorously in agreement, “understatement of the century, snake boy.”

Patton goes in for another kiss, and Janus doesn’t want this night to ever end.

Fuck Ethan.

Fuck the election.

Fuck other people.

Janus just wants to stay with Patton forever.

When he gets back from his date with Patton, Janus is so happy, all he wants to do is jump and scream with joy. He’s never felt more himself around another person. He feels so alive when he’s with Patton that he never wants to stop.

He drops his bag down on the floor of his bedroom and jumps on his bed. He’s smiling so hard it hurts but he doesn’t want to stop. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t used those muscles in years.

He grabs his phone, pops his earbuds in, and shuffles the playlist Patton made for him. He’ll never get over the small act of Patton making a playlist for him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over Patton. He loves the way Patton lights up when he talks about frogs. He adores how Patton keeps smiling day after day, he’s stronger than anyone will ever know. He loves the way Patton shoves his glasses up his nose when he’s nervous. He loves how when he talks Patton just listens and Janus somehow knows that Patton understands. He loves how good Patton is. He loves how he tastes like cinnamon and rainy days. Being with Patton is like seeing this sun after years of being stuck underground, Janus will never get sick of his light.

After he finds the playlist he lays down and closes his eyes, and just listens to the music. He breathes in and out and it’s almost like Patton is right there next to him.

About 15 minutes later Janus’ phone buzzes, and he grabs it excitedly, hoping Patton is sending him a goodnight text.

His mood plummets when he sees who really texted him. Ethan. This can’t be good. Time has run out.

When the messages app opens there are two unread messages.

The first one is a link to an Instagram post made by Ethan. The second one reads “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

When Janus clicked on the post, it was a list of screenshots. Texts between Ethan and Janus. Texts between Patton and Janus. Janus’ audio recordings. And they spilled everything

The whole school knew that Janus had got together Patton for political power. The whole school knew that Janus had tricked Patton. The whole school knew that Patton fell for it.

Fuck, the whole school knew Patton was gay. Janus let Patton get outed. Patton, who shared his secret with Janus, was now left to vultures known as teenagers. Patton, who was still figuring himself out, was forced out of the closet in the worst possible way. Patton who thought someone finally loved him for who he was and not what he could do, was just publicly used for political gain

He would never get to choose how to say it. He would never get to hug his friends when he invited them to their favorite diner and told them over milkshakes about who he was. He’ll never get to slowly start to wear rainbow pins on his pack packs. He would never get to walk into a GSA and see the happy surprise on everyone’s faces. He would never get to be ready.

And it was all Janus’ fault.

He has to call Patton, and he has to do it now.

When he dials Patton’s number it rings out. He dials again, the same thing. Again and again. Every time Patton doesn’t pick up Janus breaks more and more.

“Fuck!” He shouts, and his voice cracks. He can feel the tears start to come and his throat start to close up. He ruined the one good thing in his life. He should have seen this coming. His happiness was never meant to last.

His only consolation is that tomorrow is a Saturday, so he doesn’t have to put on a brave face so anyone. He won’t have to face Ethan in the halls. He won’t have to see the disgust and disappointment in Patton’s face.

That night, he cries himself to sleep.

————————————————

Janus spends the entire weekend locked in his room. He doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed. The loss of Patton is crushing him so hard he can barely breathe. He deletes his Instagram, and turns off messaging notifications. He listens to Patton’s playlist over and over and over again, just to feel like he’s with Patton again. It doesn’t work.

He doesn’t know how he can face school on Monday. He knows he won’t get in any trouble, the student body is so homophobic that they’d probably congratulate him. The school administrators will call it an out of school affair and turn their heads the other way. Janus might as well start saying he’s student body president now.

No, what he can’t handle is seeing Patton in the hallways, robbed of his beautiful smile. Seeing Patton avoid his gaze and stop waving to people in the halls. Watching all the terrible people at Sanders high go in for the kill. He can’t watch, knowing it’s all his fault.

The worst part is he will be congratulated for doing this. He will get his dream. Students will be proud of him, teachers will pretend they didn’t say anything, Ethan won’t get suspended. Patton could fall apart and no one would notice.

The world isn’t fair, Janus always knew Patton would have to learn that. He didn’t want Patton to learn it like this.

No one should.

——————

When Janus’ first alarm goes off on Monday morning he shuts it off instantly. The last thing he wants to do is get up. He does the same thing with the second one. He could fake a sick day, right? When the third alarm rolls around, he counts to three and forces himself to get up. No matter how bad he’s feeling, he cannot show weakness. Not now, and not ever.

He rolls out of bed and puts on clothes robotically. He’s barely aware of what he’s wearing, but it’s fine. Everything is fine.

He laces up his docs and throws his books in his backpack. He unplugs his phone then brushes his teeth. He grabs his bag and then heads downstairs.

He pours himself a mug of scalding black coffee. He downs it steaming hot. He likes the way the bitter liquid burns as it goes down his throat. Never let it be said that he couldn’t be edgy. He doesn’t have anything else for breakfast, and he can hear Patton chiding him in his head.

Janus shakes his head, puts his mug in the sink, and heads out the door.

When he gets to his car he pauses. He means to turn the key to ignite it. All he can think about is Friday night when Patton and Janus ran back to Janus’ car in the pouring pain and held hands while Janus drove him home. Patton kissed him goodbye.

Suddenly, Janus’ lips feel cold.

He takes a deep breath and turns the key. He can’t think about that. Not anymore. He has to stay strong because if he starts to cry, he’s not sure he’ll ever stop.

When he gets to school he parks his car in his spot. He keeps telling himself the same thing: Don't let anyone know you’re bothered, especially not Ethan.

He hesitates for a few seconds before walking in the school building. He will not let his fear control him. He can do this. He owes it to Patton.

In the halls, he can hear the students whispering about him. He hears his name and Patton’s name and he hears the word, queer. The students whisper the word gay like it’s a dirty secret they shouldn’t know. It makes Janus’ blood boil but he has to keep walking.

He keeps looking for Patton in the halls, but he can’t find him anywhere. Patton always gets to school early to say hi to everyone. He’s at school every morning at 7:50 by his locker. Why isn’t he there?

Because you used him for selfish reasons and let him get outed, idiot, he thinks.

For the rest of the day, Janus’ classes go in one ear and out the other. It’s a Monday so he doesn’t have any classes with Patton, but he still can’t pay attention. He can feel the states of other students during class and it is unbearable. Patton made school enjoyable and now that he’s gone it’s a nightmare.

During lunch, his food tastes like cardboard and he sits alone. He doesn’t know where Patton is but he’s not at their-his table. He forces the sandwich down and opts to hide in the library for the rest of lunch.

At the end of the day Janus instinctively starts walking to his car in the parking lot. It’s in the fifth row. When he gets to the third bow he stops walking. Patton’s car is in the third row. He can deny it all he wants but Janus knows that if he doesn’t talk to Patton now he never will.

He can’t let Patton go, not now, not ever.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Before Patton sees him, Janus can already tell he's been crying. His eyes are red and puffy and he won’t stop rubbing at him.

He’s about to get in his car when Janus shouts, “Patton wait!”

Patton whips around, and when his eyes meet Janus’, Janus resists the urge to take a step back. The pain in Patton’s brown eyes is overwhelming.

“What do you want, Janus?” Patton snaps. His voice is hard and cold, so unlike the typical warmth, Patton brings to every conversation.

Janus avoids Patton’s eyes, “I wanted to apologize, I never meant to hurt you and,” Janus looks for the right words, but nothing seems to work, “I’m so so sorry.”

“You dated me to help you win an election, Janus, how did you not mean to hurt me? The whole idea was to hurt me!” Patton says. He’s shaking.

Janus can’t think of anything to say, so Patton just keeps going.

“I finally thought I found someone who wanted me for who I am! No! Everyone just wants me for what I can give them, popularity, friendship, support, and I thought you were different! I opened myself up to you and you spilled my secrets to the world!”

Janus closes his eyes. “Patton…” He whispers, and he reaches out for Patton’s hand.

Patton jerks back violently as if he has just been burned. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” Patton’s fists are clenched at his side and Janus wonders if he’s going to start swinging them.

He’d deserve it, but Janus just won’t stop pushing. He loves Patton too much to let go.

“Patton please.” Janus says. He has never been a beggar but he is willing to fall down at Patton’s feet just to see that warm smile directed at him one more time. He would walk through hell and hack just to make Patton happy again.

“You know what Janus? I could forgive the whole, I played with your emotions to win a dumb high school election thing.” Patton says, “I could forgive how I gave you my heart and you crushed it beneath your heel. But you didn’t just leave it at that. No, you had to publicly humiliate me. You let your friend Ethan out me. I don’t care if it was for an election, you don’t just get to do that Janus!” Patton is screaming at him now, “You don’t get to decide that. I’m supposed to be the one who decides where, and when, and who knows, and how I get to say it, that’s supposed to be my thing! And you took that away from me.”

Patton’s explosive anger is hardening into something cooler, harder, and more dangerous.

“So would you please just get the fuck away from me!”

That’s when it really hits Janus how badly he fucked up. Patton never curses. Patton doesn’t even say darn. If Patton was angry enough to use a curse word, the world should be terrified. It’s more unlikely for Patton to curse than for him to hit someone

Janus wishes Patton had hit him, because it would hurt so much less.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later Janus, Patton, and the entire school are in the auditorium waiting to hear the election results. All of Janus' months of work have led up to this moment. The name on the slip of paper the principal is holding will tell him if it was all for nothing.

Students are chattering to each other but Janus tunes it all out, because for the first time in two weeks, Patton is sitting next to him.

Granted, it’s not by choice, the two candidates have to sit together in the first row, but Janus will take anything he can get.

“Alright everybody, Settle down, settle down.” The principal's deep voice echoes through the auditorium. When he’s satisfied with the noise level, he continues, “Both of our candidates have worked tirelessly these past months to present themselves as student body presidents worthy of you, and happy to say that both of them have done a phenomenal job. However, there can only be one winner of this race so without further ado, your new student body president is,” He pauses for dramatic effect.

“Janus Dean.”

Janus waits for the rush. He waits for the happy feeling to inundate him. He has won, everything in these past few months has been worth it. He beat Patton. He showed up Ethan. He showed this entire school that he is worth something, and that he will be someone.

So why doesn’t he feel good?

Janus puts on a smile, grabs the piece of paper with his victory speech written, and walks towards the podium.

When he gets there the lights are blinding, but he knows the entire student body is staring back at him. The only person Janus can see is Patton. Patton looks sad. Defeated. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Janus picks up his speech to read. He’s supposed to talk about the support of the students, the support of the staff, how much this victory means to him, and how he promises to do his very best to fulfill their needs. He can’t start talking though. This isn’t right.

Then it finally hits him.

The thing he wants more than anything isn’t to win this dumb race, the thing he wants more than anything in the world is Patton. He wants to see Patton’s smile every morning. He wants to hear Patton call Janus his boyfriend. He wants to see Patton happy. He wants to have so many firsts with Patton. He wants to be able to kiss Patton whenever he wants. He wants to hold hands with Patton and call him obnoxious pet names.

He puts his speech down.

“Hey everyone.” He says, “First of all, I would like to thank everyone for their vote. It means the world to me that you would put that kind of trust in me.” Janus pauses, and stares Patton dead in the eyes, “However I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline the position.”

Whispers explode throughout the auditorium and the teachers are frozen in shock.

“I thought standing up here was the thing I wanted more than anything, but I was wrong. See, a few months ago, I was assigned to work on a history project with this guy. At the time I really hated him, he was so perfect. He was so good. Then he decided to run against me in this race and suddenly he became a problem I had to solve. Me and one of my friends decided it would be fun for me to pretend to date him, and then leak some of his secrets, showing everyone that he isn’t as perfect as he looked. It was the perfect plan. Or so I thought. I started spending more time with this guy, I tried so hard to hate him, but it was impossible. That’s how good he is. We became fast friends, and he made me better. I loved being around him, it was like waking up to a bright summer day. Loving him snuck him on me, but soon it was like breathing. I couldn’t keep collecting information on him, and so I told my friend it was over. Wrong move.” Janus took a deep breath, but he didn’t stop looking at Patton.

“He outed this guy to our entire school. I don’t know how many of you are part of the queer community, but being out is one of the worst things in the world. Everyone says it’s like ripping a bandaid off. It’s more than that. Being outed when you’re not ready is like someone stabbing a healing wound. It is so fucked up, and one of the worst things I could’ve let happen. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

Patton is shaking; Janus keeps going.

“Even worse, I heard what people were saying in the halls. I heard the slurs and the whispers and the hate, and I kept walking. I thought it would be better to keep my head down and stay in my lane, so I wouldn’t get hurt. But the truth is if we don’t demand respect, it is going to get taken from us. LGBTQ+ teenagers face a suicide rate five times that of our straight peers. We are two times as likely to be bullied for being who we are, and it really shows. This applies to everyone including myself: Do better. I should have said something.”

“Your new student body president, Patton Hart, is overqualified for the job. He is caring and honest. He sees the best in everyone, including screw-ups like me. He’s hardworking and selfless. He’ll sit with you at lunch even if he doesn’t know you. He’ll compliment your clothes and help you with your homework. He has done all of these things even when he wasn’t your president. He is the heart of this school, and no one fits the role better than him.”

Janus turns back to Patton and gives him a small smile, “Patton, I am so sorry. For everything. I know this doesn’t make up for anything that I’ve put you through, but you deserve the world.”

Janus turns back to the audience, “Thank you for your time.”

Everything is silent. And then everyone flies out of their seats, and the sound is deafening.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Janus doesn’t see Patton for the rest of the day. It’s a Monday which means they don’t share any classes together. Janus doesn’t mind, he doesn’t even know if Patton wants to see him. He feels a little lighter, he isn’t drowning in the guilt anymore. It isn’t gone but it isn’t suffocating him anymore. Even if Patton never talks to him again, Janus will always know he did one good thing in his life, even if it’s infinitesimal compared to all the bad.

Around 6:30 that night Janus’ phone buzzes.

When he checks his phone, he has one text from Patton, and Janus forgets how to breathe.

Patton Hart, 6:31 pm: did you mean what you said.

Janus Lyre, 6:32 pm: every word.

Patton Hart, 6:32 pm: meet me by our park.

“Yes!” Janus cheers. Patton wants to see him. Janus is going to go see Patton. Janus is going to see Patton!

Every step he takes to his car feels like he’s walking on air. When he get into his car he plays the playlist Patton made for the first time in weeks.

The speed limit on the roads is 30, but if Janus goes at 35 no one has to know.

When he gets to the bench he and Patton have hung out at, Patton is already there.

He’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and the blue flannel Janus gave him for his birthday. Janus knows that’s intentional, and the urge to pull Patton into a kiss is so hard to resist. He could do it, there are no people around to get in their way.

“Hey snake boy,” Patton says.

“Hey, golden boy,” Janus says, and oh how he missed this. Patton and his messy hair are inches away from him.

“Can I…” Patton trails off, but he’s looking at Janus’ lips.

“Always.”

Patton and Janus crash into each other. Patton is kissing him and his lips are warm. He tastes like cinnamon. Janus wraps his arms around Patton’s shoulders and pulls him closer, this feels so right. Janus never wants to stop kissing Patton. He wants it to be his job, Janus Dean, professional kisser of Patton Hart. It has a nice ring to it.

“That was one heck of a speech Jan,” Patton says.

Janus smirks, “Only the best for our student body president.”

Patton giggles but then becomes more serious, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“Only doing what’s right.”

“Still”

“You’re right Pat I did have an ulterior motive.”

“Oh?” Patton raises his eyebrows.

“I’ve always loved the sound of first lady,” Janus says seriously.

Patton pulls him in for another kiss, and Janus wonders if he’s dreaming.

“I love you.” Patton says, and his hair is frazzled and he’ out of breath but Janus is struck by just how beautiful Patton is.

“I love you too.”

Life isn’t a fairytale, Janus knows that, but this feels like his happy ever after.

a/n: thanks for reading!!!! yes, the scene where Patton yells at Janus is inspired by Love, Simon, and yes, you read that right, Solangelo did get a cameo

taglist(let me know if you want to be added/removed)

@kawaiikat54 @foreverfangirlalways @five-falseh00ds-ph0nated @kiribakuandcats

#sanders side fanfiction #moceit #moceit fanfiction #sanders sides #ts janus #ts patton #idiots to loves #angst fluff #fake dating au #high school au #angs #fluff

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marithlizard · 3 years

Text

First Impressions: RWBY v8c9, “Witch”

"Witch", huh? Presumably Salem. Are we going to get more backstory lore? Because YES PLEASE.

The Atlas army vs. the whale whose teeth loom like mountains on the horizon. They look like toys. I can't help thinking these soldier mooks equal any Huntsman in courage, if not in skill. And this is the first real large-scale action any of them have seen - that anyone in the world has seen in their lifetimes.

eyy Ren has gotten over the snappishness as well as the despairing angst. Suddenly gaining control of his evolving Semblance must help a lot with the feelings of powerlessness. (And though we haven't seen him use it on Jaune or Yang, I'm thinking being able to know for certain how much your friends care about you and have your back is a source of power in itself.)

They're discussing fairy tales MY HEART

Ozpin continuing to confirm he has handed over the reins completely to Oscar. I don't like this about the accelerating merge, though. It feels like we're going to lose Oz very soon. And yet, Jinn's vision definitely showed us Oz and host coexisting in middle age. Did they not use magic in that lifetime? Or is the merge somehow not about "losing" either one of them?

Team FNKI in a line of regular soldiers! They've got to have mobilized all the students, but I wonder if we'll see any others besi- Neon. Neon you are wearing rollerskates to the apocalypse.

...well, why not?

Marrow, YOU'RE just a kid. You can't be more than a few years older, and you're not that much more seasoned. Though I understand the feeling.

So, Hazel, you're ready to rejoin fact-based reality? Or at least listen to someone who pretty much definitionally can't be lying?

(Actually...the only information we have about Jinn comes from her, and it'd be a hell of an interesting twist if she was editing facts to fit her own agenda. I don't think it's very likely for meta reasons, but it'd make a great fic premise, wouldn't it?)

Huh. He sounds much much calmer, and like he's been thinking through everything for the last few hours.

....what? He's not even going to ask??? THAT is a surprise. The existence of Jinn and knowing Oscar gave him the password in good faith were enough to deradicalize a violent extremist. (Wish it was that easy in RL.)

Oscar's little wave

(You know, now that I think of it, Ozpin has never interacted with Jinn himself. She's greeted him twice and he hasn't answered. Does he resent her for not answering his predecessor's questions more helpfully? Mistrust her? )

yes rescue Emerald good

"Just to be clear" - oh god I thought that was Salem's voice and nearly jumped out of my seat.

"I'll come back for it" crap crap crap Hazel's redemption arc is going to be short, painful, and fatal. And Salem will keep the lamp, if not have the password.

And we'll just all turn our backs on the divine artifact-entity and walk away. I guess they don't think she's enough of a person to say goodbye to?

And our eavesdropper is...the one person who CAN'T summon Jinn or ask her a question.

Oh no. No. Please don't have the fandom descend into "Jinn is ablist" discourse. (ETA: upon thinking further I take it back, the gods suck and providing a Relic that not everyone can use is in its way a tiny symbol of their callous attitude to people. )

RJY working smoothly together, nice.

Robyn said people are always suspicious of her, and her truthsense ability has a clearly visible limiting condition. But Ren can apparently read the emotions of everyone around him all the time without them knowing. Surely that would make a lot of people uncomfortable. (Although I expect the writers to ignore this, and will be pleasantly surprised if they explore it at all.)

That's always the way isn't it, you roll a 4 on your concentration check right when a demonic jellyfish is floating by.

Huh, they separated from Oscar? And Hazel is worried about him? I'm still dizzy from the speed of this 180.

uh...hi, Salem. Nice...weather outside the whale today? Seen any good dismemberments lately?

Hazel, you are a terrible liar and you can't bluff. Admittedly the stakes are a lot higher here than in the weekly WTCH poker game.

Salem NYOOM

No one can accuse Yang of not understanding the core competencies.

"Juan"??? I did hear that correctly, yes? Marrow not remembering Jaune's name is hilarious. And I was about to say understandable, but no, they worked with the Ace Ops for weeks! Did you just have him mentally filed as "the blond himbo tank"?

O-kayyyyyy. I can't blame Emerald, but this could go so horribly wrong so fast.

Isn't Hazel-disguised-as-Oscar way too heavy to pick up like tha- OHHHHHHHHH. Now things make much more sense. Oscar was the one worried about Hazel earlier, and failing utterly to bluff. Infinitely more in character.

Awkward Semblance is also extremely convenient in short-cutting negotiations. Nice.

I do not, in fact, have any doubt that Winter would blow up her sister. And in this situation I can't say it's the wrong thing to do. As far as they know their bomb is the only hope.

Wow. I really did not think we’d go to toe to toe with Salem herself at this point in the plot. It's so traditional to save the final boss fight for, well, the final boss. She's terrifying and unstoppable, but not actually more terrifying than the giant whale.

Her regen is just like the Hound's body morphing, but far smoother and faster with a thousand "deaths" of practice.

She sounds more normal right now, oddly. Her voice is lacking both the measured slowness and the resonance it has when she's making speeches. I like the idea of that falling away when she's surprised and exasperated.

Our heroes are very very lucky that RWBY is not a darker show, or those Grimmhand restraints would be doing a lot of gross agonizing damage with their nails. There's no reason she'd want to be gentle at this point.

Yeah, there's the sonorous voice again. Although it wavers again with that "Why do you Keep. Coming. Back?" Does she not know? How can she not know, Jinn's vision said Ozma told her everything. Perhaps she means: why do you keep fighting me instead of hiding like the hermit.

Yang, don't give her information, gah! "Her again." She sounds pleased. I think we are going to find out Summer's fate this volume after all. Salem will reveal it to break Ruby’s spirit. Prediction: it will work.

(EDIT: I completely missed the significance of Yang calling Summer “my mom”. Wow.)

She definitely intends to turn Emerald into something like the Hound.

"No more Gretchens." Oh, of course that's what Oscar said he needed before they could leave, the cane.

Hazel's life expectancy is minutes long but at least it included a satisfying KAPOW. And every single sparkly crystal he owns. Somehow he seems smaller here, less bulky than he did at Haven. Less a titan and more a man.

yigh he's pounding her into mush. Which he has several times before, apparently. This is all to buy you time, Emerald, why are you not running. (I know, I know. She's never had someone actually help her and care about her, only scraps of affection to establish control. At this moment Cinder's hold on her is breaking forever.)

(Neo, on the other hand. Will she bring the lamp to Cinder, who frankly has been a totally crap partner and deserves no loyalty? Is she still after revenge? My bet is still firmly on her planning to backstab Cinder as soon as Ruby is gone. But beyond that, we don't know her thoughts at all. She might join the heroes, or disappear like Raven to hide while the apocalypse works itself out.)

That's true, Oscar, but what can you do to stop her?

Hah! Clever, Hazel. And she's actually screaming in pain from the fire, whereas she didn't make a sound when being pulverized.

What does the cane DO? It's impressive as heck, but I can't tell. Channeling his magic, certainly. Are we going to lose Oz right now? With no chance to talk to Ruby or Qrow or anyone, to reconcile? It seems all too likely, and such a waste.

Which makes me think, in turn, that perhaps we will lose Oscar too in a way. Unexpected - I have always thought the merge would end with Oscar holding all the memories. But maybe he won't be quite either of them anymore, even if he remembers both and the others still call him Oscar. And that thought also makes me sad.

Anyway, good episode, though now the title doesn’t seem particularly relevant. Hazel was much more the focus.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby v8 spoilers #rwby volume 8 spoilers

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fortune-fool02 · 4 years

Text

More than a Machine

Android Jonathan Joestar x Robert E.O Speedwagon

This was inspired by the Android AU that @lyssors helped support! Thank you again for that!

Android/ DBH AU

Please enjoy.

2038. In this day and age, humans were no longer the peak of perfection. That spot belonged to the human's greatest creations: Artificial Intelligence, Androids. The perfect being. Never tire. Never blinded by emotion. Perfectly obedient to any and all given commands. Unable to talk back. Every flaw that humans had were removed from them. Emotionless. Indifferent. Obedient. Perfect. Just because they looked human, it did not make them human, as many believed.

But that all began to change. Slowly, like a tiny strand in the genetic chain of evolution, the androids began to change. Thinking for themselves, questioning their owners and some even disobeying completely. Many feared this, no longer trusting their own androids and even becoming hostile towards them if they felt unsafe. While many treated them as items and objects, things to be replaced and thrown away once they grew bored of it or the newest model came out, there were those who did no such thing. Instead, they treated them as more than items and objects, treating them as individual beings with their own thoughts and feelings, like humans.

Robert Speedwagon was one of those people. He knew what it was like to be shoved about and treated like the lowest scum on Earth. He has had his fair share of fights -as resulted by the many scars on his body and the countless nights of patching himself up or having a friend do it for him- but he would never hurt someone who didn't deserve it. While he may be a thug, he was not a horrible person to those who knew him. Though, with the decline in jobs due to the androids taking their place was more than a kick in the knees for people like him who were forced to resort to stealing just to make some money. And yes, he couldn't deny he had some form of bitterness towards the androids but it remained at that.

But that changed when he found an android slumped against the wall, blue blood leaking from an open 'wound' on its chest where its regulator was. The dim glow on the LED light told him it was damaged but still working. Seeing as no one was around, he took it to his place thinking he could salvage some parts to sell or sell it as a whole.

He muttered to himself as he opened the android's chest and examined it a bit. He had a bit of knowledge of android repairs and whatnot, and noticed the two disconnected wires -likely done so during the damage- and reconnected them. A sharp gasp left the android as he sat upright, the LED light flashing blue as his eyes darted around, scanning his environment as his systems rebooted and came back online.

Speedwagon tried to calm the android down. The blue-haired android calmed, his scanners confirming he was safe and all his systems were running smoothly again. Once he had calmed and gathered himself, the android introduced himself as Jonathan, a JJ-180 model; the model was a rare prototype given to Lord George Joestar as a gift, the model was one of a kind.

As he is programmed, Jonathan was nothing sort of a gentleman to Speedwagon, thanking him for fixing him and helping him, which did surprise the blonde human. Well, seeing as this model was a prototype and belonged to a Lord, he was easily worth a lot of money and not to mention he was very easy on the eyes. No human could be as well built and beautiful as Jonathan. But now there was the dilemma: What to do? Reset the android and sell it off? Keep it? What to do? Well, with him still somewhat damaged, Speedwagon thought it best to keep hold of him until someone came looking for him.

And that was how Speedwagon ended up with an android despite having little money to his name.

Jonathan was, surprisingly, a caring android despite being programmed for a Lord and acted more of a carer than anything; kind and warm, gentle and soft despite his large build, to be honest, there were a handful of moments where Speedwagon had forgotten Jonathan was an android until he noticed the LED light on the side of his head again. It was known that some androids were programmed to 'care' with their operation systems but none seemed to match the way Jonathan showed this.

It was mostly thanks to Lord Joestar who had treated him as a son rather than an android. He would thank Jonathan if he completed a job, he took the android's condition into consideration and whenever there were guests, he asked them to treat Jonathan with respect. But there were occasions where he came back home with dirt and slightly torn clothes from people pushing him around because he was an android.

Accessing Memory File. March 3rd 2038. 10:51am....

Jonathan sat across from George, the man's cane resting beside them as he threaded the needle through the rip one final time, sealing it fully and pulling the thread away. He grabbed the pair of scissors beside him and snipped the thread.

"There. Good as new." He spoke, setting the tools aside and holding the jumper up. Jonathan smiled at it and took it from him, slipping it back on.

"Thank you, George." The jumper had been a gift from George so Jonathan didn't have to wear the uniform all the time. Even though Jonathan stated he didn't require clothing, George insisted, telling him that he didn't need a servant. Jonathan was confused at this but he continued with the duties given to him. George smiled at him,

"JoJo, you know I am not going to be around forever. Humans are not like machines, we're fragile. We break down and eventually, we die." Jonathan turned his head and looked at George at this, his scanners quickly analysing George's condition. He did have a few medical conditions but nothing that posed a high fatality rate. "I want you to be safe when I'm no longer here."

"George, I'm afraid I don't...quite understand what you mean." George smiled lightly at this and placed his hand on Jonathan's shoulder, patting it lightly.

"I am going to leave everything in my possession to you when I pass." Jonathan looked at him, flecks of confusion on his face at this. Everything was being inherited to him?

"But George, your inheritance should go to your next of kin or related family." That was how it went, everyone knew that. Though he simply smiled at the blue-haired android.

"Jonathan, you are my son. And that won't change because we have different coloured blood." His words weren't hollow nor false, Jonathan was his son regardless of their differences and he would proudly defend him if the situation arose. Jonathan felt himself smile at this.

"Hey, JoJo, you alright?" Speedwagon's voice pulled him from his memory file, bringing him back to the present moment, "You zoned out there for a minute." Jonathan looked over and smiled a bit,

"Yes, I'm fine, Speedwagon." He responded and continued with the task he had given himself. It had been a few weeks since Speedwagon had found him and he just couldn't bring himself to rest the android or sell him off, it just felt wrong to do so. Plus, he was amazing company. During his time there, Jonathan had noticed a similar pattern between Speedwagon and George: They both treated him like a human. But what did that mean?

George treated Jonathan like a human because he viewed him as a son, but what did Speedwagon view him as? Friend? Ally? After finishing his task, Jonathan moved and stood aside, awaiting another command.

"Speedwagon, may I ask you something?" He asked, looking at the blonde man as he read the newspaper.

"Yeah, sure. What is it?" He set the newspaper aside, showing the android he had his full attention.

"Why do you treat me like a human?" Confusion painted Speedwagon's face at this, his head titling lightly as he thought.

"Well, it's just you're so....human-like. You look human, sound human and on occasions, act human too."

That caught Jonathan's curiosity. He acted human? How can one act like something they aren't? His thoughts jumbled a bit, trying to figure out what that meant.

"How though? How can I be human if I am an android? A machine?" That was what he was though. Mechanical mechanisms composed together and dressed up to mimic human appearance and speech. The blue LED flashed yellow, circling as he tried to process it.

"JoJo, just because you're one thing it doesn't make you unable to be something else. Look at me, I'm a thug but I'm not a jackass like others are." He had come clean to Jonathan about his past and the things he has done and yet the android didn't see him any different as the kind man who reactivated him and repaired him. That was what Speedwagon was trying to get through to him.

"But-"

"No buts. Yes, you're an android but you're also whatever you wish to be. You're an intelligent being with thoughts and knowledge, you care. That's what makes you who you are, JoJo." He took in the answer and processed it, "You're not just a machine, JoJo."

He repeated those words in his mind over and over again, breaking it down and analysing it further. It was similar to what George would tell him but there was something else in there. Something he couldn't quite define. Slowly, Speedwagon's hand moved towards his, their fingers gently brushing against one another. His touch was warm, while Jonathan's was cool with a smooth texture. It felt...nice. The blue-haired android watched, a mix of curiosity and wonder in his eyes as their hands moved closer to each other, pressing their palms against each others. The skin on his hand fading away to reveal the smooth, snow-white colour beneath that every android had, the pale blue lights glowing more than they should.

Speedwagon seemed just as fascinated at this as Jonathan was, a warmth softly bloomed within him as he watched the android slowly lower his fingers between his, interlocking them together. Something about this felt right in a way neither of them understood. How their hands seemed to fit perfectly together like two pieces in a puzzle. The odd warmth that seemed to spark and bloom from this simple touch.

Perhaps...they were not so different after all? Maybe he truly was more than just a machine.

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