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eggtoasties · 3 years

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Chapter 2: II. Adagio

Read Chapter 1: I. Allegro

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Kuroo used to think the best sound in the world was a volleyball hitting the court on the other side of the net. Now, he has other things on his repertoire.

They were both called to the music room during study hall. As Kuroo walked towards Jouda-sensei, he watched as their teacher tried to cajole her into something, unable to catch their words at a distance. Arms crossed, she sent Kuroo an unimpressed stare making him respond with a nervous grin as he came to a stop.

“I was hoping to set you two up for lessons during study hall,” Jouda-sensei said, nodding between the two of them.

“No offense,” she said, quickly glancing at Kuroo, “but I’m paid to do this outside of school. Also, I don’t really have time to meet every single day—shouldn’t Daisuke be doing this? I’m sure he,” she jutted her chin towards Kuroo, “and I will both get called to other teachers and clubs during study hall so I don’t know if this’ll work out,” she huffed.

Eyebrows raised high, Kuroo said, “Wow, didn’t realize I was dead meat to you already, first chair,” resulting in a pout from Jouda-sensei and a glare from her which made him nervously snicker. He put his hands in his pockets, subtly wiping away at the clamminess of his palms.

“Aw, come on now, you know Daisuke-kun isn’t…” Jouda-sensei trailed off, trying to find the words, “the best at teaching. But,” she said brightly, “you’re the leader for a reason! And it doesn’t have to be every day—just coordinate with each other and other people to set up a rotation. I just want Kuroo-kun to be set up with good habits from the start.”

Sighing wearily and nodding, she faced Kuroo as Jouda-sensei left them.

Slouching in what he hoped was a nonchalant pose, he flashed a grin.

“So, are you gonna charge me by the minute?” Kuroo arched his brow. “Because I don’t really have the funds for that. Plus, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to sell anything on school grounds.” Readjusting his backpack straps and slightly loosening his tie, his eyes met hers quickly before finding a place over her shoulder. “But, if you don’t have time or whatever that’s--” he stumbled over his words, “I’m sure I can figure something out.”

Rolling her eyes, she loosened her school tie. “Yeah, I’m going to charge a thousand yen a minute and if you don’t pay up, I’ll have my goons knock your kneecaps in.”

“Didn’t realize being captain,” she shot him an amused grin and he bookmarked it for later, “of the orchestra came with your own henchmen. Maybe I should’ve started way earlier,” he drawled.

“Yup,” she said cheerily, popping the ‘p.’ “They do all my coursework and bully people out of their lunch money so I can add it to my secret treasury in the cave underneath the school,” she said conspiratorially. “Also,” she began, facing fully towards him. “It’s nice to meet you—I really don’t mind helping you out, it’s just that with my last year of high school things are hectic with exams and applications and I really can’t commit to everyday,” she explained.

His shoulders relaxed with a breath he didn’t know he was holding, previous tension dissipating with her explanation. Kuroo nodded and held out his hand. As she grasped it, he raised a brow at the strength of her small grip and brightly painted nails.

“I get it.” Kuroo finally said. “I’m a third year too and it’s hard enough as it is without having to teach a newbie every day,” he said, semi-fondly thinking of Lev, “—all good.”

“Alright, well,” she said, swaying on the balls of her feet, “let’s get started.”

She had him play open strings so she could assess his posture and Kuroo was not accustomed to being the center of such intense concentration. Sure, he’s served a million times in games where he knew every eye was on him, but she seemed to scrutinize every aspect of his body. The distribution of his weight on his legs, the angle of his shoulders, the slope of his wrists, finger placement, and even his face—there was something to adjust. To be fair, she did say his face looked like he was constipated, but he figured it was because one should always look serene during such a cultured activity.

A gentle tap to the shoulder, a tap to his left inner wrist, her hands guided his body as he became accustomed to the instrument. She stood slightly behind him to his side at one point and gently held his right arm and set another hand on his shoulder to show him how the bow should move. He’s used to his body—Kuroo would say he has a better understanding of what his body is capable of than most people but, gentle movements to work with a foreign object was completely new territory. She’s not teaching him how to read a volleyball midair and figure out what the best millisecond worth of contact is. She’s not grabbing his lanky arms to show him how to position for a block—this is completely different.

He figured it’s one thing to adjust to new innovative plays mid-game and another to feel so entirely helpless and clunky. Although she’s only been patient and gentle, he can’t help but feel unsure and awkward in his body as he tried to follow her instruction. Maybe, Kuroo thought to himself, I should cut Lev some slack.

“Can you feel how your arm hinges at the elbow, but the elbow itself stays still?” she asked, lightly grasping his elbow and guiding his forearm. His skin tingled at the contact through his shirt and he repressed a shiver.

He’s used to physical contact—from his teammates. High fives, hugs, and fist bumps. But from a stranger…it’s different. He’s hyper aware of the calluses of her left hand when she taps the bare skin of his wrists and although each touch is light and fleeting, a part of him wished they’d linger for a little longer.

After a while, she grabbed her instrument and mirrored his movements, showing him the angles of her body in relation to the violin and bow. He stood in awe of the confidence of her actions, drawing a rich deep sound from the strings unlike the scratchy wobbly sounds he’d been producing.

She taught him two scales, explained basic music concepts he vaguely remembered from piano lessons and before he knew it, study hall was coming to a close. Head full with new information, shoulders a little tense, he absentmindedly fixed his tie while they packed up.

“Don’t feel discouraged during class,” she said. “Everyone around you has been playing for years longer. Just keep practicing and you’ll get there.” Adjusting the books in her hand she asked, “Why’d you decide to take orchestra?”

“I needed art credit. Can’t sing, can’t draw, didn’t want to do something on the computer and I didn’t know what band music was,” he shrugged. Immediately, he internally cringed at his explanation.

“Wait, actually--” Before he could try and amend his previous statement, he’s cut off by her laugh.

“You chose well,” she said. Then leaning towards him, she dropped to a faux whisper, “orchestra’s better than band.”

Kuroo felt heat creep up the back of his neck while she laughed so he tilted his head to the side and covered it with a smirk. “I don’t know about that,” he said cockily.

She snorted which did little to calm the confusing beating of his heart and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she didn’t take the bait. Oh well, he thought, better try harder.

“You’re the one who enrolled in or-ches-tra,” she said, over enunciating the syllables. “Unless,” she sing-songed, “you feed into the stereotype that athletes are,” she pouted and batted her lashes, “stupid.”

He guffawed at her boldness but revelled in the glint in her eyes and the smug way she held her head.

“It wounds me that you would insult my intelligence without even knowing me,” he sniffed and wiped away a fake tear while she stifled a giggle. “I cannot believe my music teacher—my classmate—my captain has a bias against athletes,” he frowned and tilted his head. Pausing for a beat in contemplation, he sighed and continued lazily, “You must have been one of those kids in elementary school who always got picked last in gym.” He shrugged before delivering the final blow, “So you had no choice but to turn to music.”

He kept his face neutral as he studied her reaction. Her eyes narrowed at him and he broke out into a grin.

“It’s okay to admit it, I promise I won’t ask you to do something impossible like catch a ball or something,” he said, waving a hand placatingly. He caught the corner of her lip twitching despite the deadpan stare she tried to maintain.

“Give me your number,” she said, pulling out her phone.

“Woah, woah,” he said, dodging her attempts to force her phone in his hands. “If this was all an elaborate ruse to ask me out,” he dodged a jab to his side, “you didn’t have to get Jouda-sensei in on it too, who would’ve thought our little prodigy had it bad for the volleyball captain?”

“First of all, study hall is ending, but it seems that you were too preoccupied with trying to flirt with me to notice,” she said as Kuroo crossed his arms indignantly. Was he trying to flirt, he wondered. “Also, you’re forgetting that you’re the one who needs violin teachers,” she explained impatiently, finally getting him to accept her phone.

“Plus, if anything this just shows that you’ve been planning to confess to me for the past three years, but you were too nervous so you used your arts credit as an excuse to talk to me when everyone knows there are easier ways to get the credit,” she rambled as he punched his number in. “Also, you have a stand partner and a section leader—both of whom are not me, so I bet you,” she pointed an accusatory finger, “roped Jouda-sensei into this cozy little arrangement,” she said triumphantly.

Kuroo stuttered. “Maybe you should be a writer—what is up with your imagination?” he asked disbelievingly.

“No, no,” she said breezily, waving a hand absentmindedly, “I just figured you out, no need to feel embarrassed.”

Shifting his weight to one foot and running a hand through his hair, Kuroo’s lip quirked. “Guess you caught me,” he shrugged nonchalantly, extending their jest, “I’ve been in it for the long con, but,” he dropped a little lower to her height. “I never lose.”

Kuroo wanted to stab himself. It’s one thing, he mentally berated, to say those lines in the shower. Another thing entirely to say them to a human being? So used to provoking people just before they really got annoyed, he figured he got too comfortable. While his friends were used to his sarcastic quips and little agitations, not many people threw it right back at him. Should I apologize? Am I going to fail orchestra? Yamamoto was right, I should’ve taken sculpture I should’ve—

He was broken from his internal panic when she gently pushed his shoulder. “Well, seeing that the volleyball team has never won nationals, that seems to be a lie.”

Completely forgetting his previous anxieties, his mouth gaped open. “W-we’re definitely making it to nationals and we’re definitely going to win this year!” he nearly yelled. “A-and since when do you keep up with the volleyball team! This is more evidence that you’ve been trying to get my number for the past decade!”

“Who said anything about the past ten years!” she screeched. Kuroo watched his phone in her hand with concern as she waved her arms in disbelief. “And Yaku’s in my homeroom, idiot. He talks about the team constantly,” finally shoving his phone back to him.

Sighing a little in relief he checked his messages. “If I’m so wrong about you lusting,” she rolled her eyes so hard all he saw was white, “after me for all these years, what’s this!” he exclaimed, presenting his phone screen to her face.

It was a message from her that read: “Tetsu-chan, I think you’re so, so, so, so, sO cute!!” with several brightly colored heart emojis trailing after the message.

She immediately lunged for his phone to which he responded by smugly holding it above her head, pouting a little when she wouldn’t try and jump for it.

“Y-you planned this!” she yelled, making a move to grab at his sleeve.

“Nope,” he said languidly, smoothly side stepping her advances. “You just think I’m so, so, so, so, cute!” he said brightly as he placed his phone in his back pocket.

“I’m going to break your kneecaps in your sleep,” she grumbled.

As the bell rang and study hall ended, he sent her a little wave as he walked to his next class.

“Looking forward to it!”

Nearing his next class, he felt a short buzz in his pocket. Pulling out his phone he grinned at the texts. Nothing like riling people up on a Tuesday morning to get his blood pumping.

After he had left her standing in the music room, cheeks tinged pink and arms crossed, she sent him several texts. Many of them listed the ways she was going to abuse his kneecaps—he wasn’t quite sure why she was so fixated on them—poking fun at athlete stereotypes, and how he’d better practice every day.

They spent the day sending each other sporadic insults without heat which eventually devolved into actual questions about each other.

How did you start playing the violin? When did you start volleyball? Do you play in orchestras outside of school? What’s your position? How should I practice? What are sports practices like? What class are you in? What’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite color? What do you mean you bought a chemistry set for fun?

Kuroo was in his history class when he realized he was barely paying attention to the lesson. Expecting his usual meticulous notes when he looked down at his notebook, he saw he had hardly filled half a page of information. Too preoccupied with the little thrill of excitement that came with each text, he couldn’t help but discreetly check his phone every few seconds. He tried paying closer attention to the lecture, but tapped his foot restlessly, itching to see how she responded.

The school day ended in a blur and he found himself in front of the club room door. Violin case in hand, he swung open the entrance and proudly stated, “I learned scales today.”

“Fukunaga and I took choir last year and learned scales too,” Yaku responded. “Stop looking so proud about it, it’s literally a basic,” he commented offhandedly as he put on his uniform.

Chest still puffed, Kuroo didn’t let it deter him. “I’m reading music!”

Kenma grimaced over his phone when Lev seemed impressed and Fukunaga tried to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

Pulling top from behind, Kuroo asked, “Yaku, do you know the concertmaster?”

“The, huh?”

“The first chair violinist. Our year, in class 3-B?” Kuroo clarified. “She’s about this tall,” indicating with his hand, “her favorite color’s blue and she really likes fruit tarts?”

Ignoring the questioning glances from his teammates, Kuroo waited expectedly. Yaku paused. Eyes widening in recognition he brightened.

“Yeah! She’s been in my homeroom for the past three years, she’s nice. Smart, big on music, does a bunch of music competition thingies!”

“Thingies?” Kuroo mocked. “How old are you?”

“Shut up you glorified bean pole! I don’t know what she does in her free time, why are you so interested all of a sudden?

“She’s my violin teacher! I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t a serial killer or something,” Kuroo mumbled, tying his shoes a little forcefully.

“Okay,” Yaku drawled out, not believing his teammate. “I know the theatre club always asks her to be in their pit orchestra, but man their funding really got cut over the years, I wonder how they’re going to build the set this year, I mean they’re really trying to out-do themselves and—”

He stopped when he noticed the rest of the team staring at him in varying states of confusion and disbelief.

Yaku sniffed. “I have other interests and friends outside of volleyball, thank you very much…” he said, turning his head.

“Wow,” Yamamoto said, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “Yaku-senpai doing Shakespeare or something, could you imagine?”

“Yaku-senpai would definitely play the jester or something,” Lev chimed in. “But he’s so small would the audience even be able to see him on stage?” He wondered out loud.

Facing away from his bickering teammates, Kuroo hid his flush in the collar of his warm up jacket and willed for the heat to subside. He thought about what Yaku said—not about him being secretly into theatre, which Kuroo would definitely use in the future—but about having other friends outside of volleyball.

He knew he wasn’t as shy as he used to be, thank god, but he realized he had always kept his inner circle small. Not entirely on purpose, but those he spent the most physical proximity to tended to also become close friends—thinking fondly of his parents forcing him to meet Kenma.

He remembered how he nearly threw a tantrum when his Tou-san told him they were visiting neighbors down the street and that they had a son his age that he could play with. The thought of leaving their home—which hardly felt like home at the time of their move—to meet some stranger had filled him with such trepidation he had promised he’d practice the piano harder if he could just stay home.

However, his Tou-san gently grasped him by the shoulder and made him carry the box of oranges to Kenma’s. Multiple hours of awkward stuttering and silent game playing finally bloomed into a tentative friendship with the introduction of a volleyball and Kuroo figured that now Kenma’s more of a brother than anything else.

Outside of his team and casual school acquaintances, Kuroo thinks of Bokuto. A pleasant surprise when they met at a Tokyo training camp. With Bokuto came Akaashi and with Kuroo came Kenma and Kuroo never felt the need to expand beyond his core group. But meeting her—is different.

Different in that she stumbled into his life outside the court and he’s not sure if his fingers had ever been this sweaty from texting all day. He wondered if she’s a sign that he should actively try and meet new people but he quickly discards that idea and chalks it up to serendipity.

“—hey cut it out!” Kai yelled at Yaku lunging for Lev who was holding a volleyball in one hand, “To be or not to be, will Yaku-senpai ever grow again?”

Snapped out of his musings, Kuroo raised two hands to the group, “Alright, alright,” he tried to placate while Kai held Yaku back and Yamamoto cried tears of laughter.

“Keep going, Lev!” Yamamoto egged on.

“Too sleep, perchance to dream,” Lev continued, “that Kuroo-san will finally fix that rooster’s head of his.”

Amidst the collective roar of laughter, Kuroo snatches the volleyball from Lev’s hand and throws it at him.

Head lolled back against the train window, grimacing at the pull of his worn muscles, Kuroo stretched in his seat. Next to him, Kenma absentmindedly scrolled on his phone, sporadically showing Kuroo funny tidbits to pass the time on their nightly commute back home.

“Kuroo,” Kenma said as quick fingers typed out a text, “why are you taking this orchestra credit so seriously?”

Pausing for a bit, not-so-subtly reading Kenma’s text, he responded.

“I had a lesson earlier today and it seems like,” he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, a disservice,” his voice rose up as a question while his brows drew together, “if I don’t give it my best shot when everyone else is so much better.”

Kuroo shrugged at Kenma’s contemplative nod.

“Anyways,” Kuroo continued, “she said thirty minutes of daily practice for a beginner will go a long way and she said we’d only really focus on the stuff for the concert so hopefully I can manage by then.”

Pausing his scrolling, Kenma looked up at Kuroo and blinked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at Kenma, having a growing suspicion of where his friend’s thoughts were, but ignored it in favor of watching him scroll through his phone.

Other passengers shuffled around them, coming and going onto their train and Kuroo looked out the window, frowning slightly at the last remnants of sunset fading away to cool indigos.

“Y’know, Kenma, I don’t think I want to just do volleyball for the rest of my life,” Kuroo said softly, breaking the stillness between them.

“No shit,” Kenma responded instantly over the animated beeping of his game. “Your joints definitely can’t take it for the rest of your life.”

Scoffing, Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Please--I mean, I’m going to go to college and still play, but,” he shifted his gaze towards the ceiling of the train car, “I want to learn more things.”

“Yes,” Kenma said slowly, “that makes a lot of sense.”

“I like learning new things, I always want to know more and I don’t know,” he pulled at his shirt collar. “With violin--it feels like I haven’t sucked at something for a while.”

With that Kenma snorted, thinking of when Kuroo tries to play video games with him or that horrendous volleyball club promotional poster Kuroo made that yes, he did take a picture of before crumpling and throwing it in the trash.

Kenma’s game pinged as Kuroo hugged his violin case between his legs.

“Plus,” Kuroo continued, “she said music is kind of like math with the rules and the counting, and when it all comes together like pieces of a puzzle it makes your hair rise and I feel like that’s kinda like volleyball too.”

“You get goosebumps when you solve a math problem,” Kenma repeated slowly.

“Missing the point there, but yes.” Contemplating a bit he added, “More when I balance a chemical reaction, but yeah, why?”

Kenma paused his game and set it on his lap, lips twitching.

“You’re not allowed to judge me,” Kuroo complained.

“I am,” Kenma responded quickly.

“Well quit it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Kenma popped the knuckles of his fingers and unpaused his video game.

“No.”

They sat there for a beat, each thinking about the unknowns--the unknown power of this new boss guarding the princess in the tower and the unknown of the near future, where game plays are traded for textbooks and the hopeful future of featherlight, fleeting touches and sweet, sweet melodies.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro drabbles #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #kuroo imagine #kuroo fanfic #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader

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echo-hiraeth · 3 years

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“I promise I won’t tell anyone” - Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: With all the new leads popping up with the new helpline, you and your partners struggle to keep up. On the brink of exhaustion you and Javier spend another late night at the office trying to find at least something useful.

Warnings: swearing, fluff

Masterlist

The clock read 2:47 AM, making you rub at your eyes once again. It was a desperate attempt at trying to relieve the strain from staring at the heaps of paperwork, but it only became more prominent. This new ‘call-in-to-get-a-reward’ measure was going to be the death of you. People called every minute, and most of the time it was just some stupid fucking prank. You had to give it to them though, Pablo was an expert at keeping you off his tracks and miles behind.

A loud thump pulled you out of your stream of thought. Javier had returned to the office, a new stack of papers scattered across his desk. He huffed, locking his eyes with yours, forcing a smile.

“Looks like we’ll be spending the night together again.”

You chuckled softly, almost blushing at the idea of it. He walked over to you, sitting on the very edge of your desk, making you shift in your seat. His hand tangled in his hair as he looked back and forth between you and the absolute mess that was your desk.

“If I need to spend one more fucking day reading through this bullshit I’m going to flip my shit,” you mumbled.

He bit his lip, suppressing a smile as he watched your brows knit together in frustration, you always looked so adorable when you were deep in thought. “When’s the last time you slept? Like, properly slept, as in not during your lunchbreak.”

“You underestimate my powers to nap absolutely anywhere at any time.” You sighed when he didn’t react to your poor excuse for a joke. “I’m sorry Javi – I don’t even know. I’m so tired I could just pass out on the floor.”

The tough DEA agent took your hand in his, slowly stroking his thumb over the soft skin of your palm. “Why don’t we take a little break, I can get us some coffee. Proper coffee, not this office bullshit.”

“As nice as that sounds, the sooner we get back to this, the sooner we can go home. There’s something here, I can just feel it.” You spoke, while trying to supress a yawn.

Javier shook his head, letting go of your hand and dragging himself back to the desk right in front of yours. He groaned while falling back into the chair, grabbing the box of cigarettes from the drawer and slowly lighting one, before looking up at you. “You work too much hermosa. Tell me if you find anything noteworthy.”

You felt a blush creeping up. Javier changed into a different person when it was just the two of you, the otherwise arrogant and curt agent became very affectious and gentle around you. It consisted of little things, coming to check up on you every so often, getting you lunch and coffee, offering to drive you back home. It was the way he’d always greet you with the kindest smiles and never go home before wishing you a goodnight and sometimes even giving you a hug. The small things grew into other things, lingering, delicate touches when nobody was watching, tugging on your vest to make sure you were protected before raids and other things like that.

These things didn’t help you with trying to deny your growing feelings for him. From the first day you’d worked together you felt something there, but you liked to tell yourself that it was just wishful thinking. However your suspicions only got worse after working together with him for months. Steve had teased you about it before, warning you about the absolute womanizer that Peña had become. He was right though, Javier wasn’t exactly known for his long-lasting, amazing relationships. You’d seen the women leave his apartment before, while sitting on the windowsill of your bedroom in the complex across from his.

“Hey, I’m seeing this one name that keeps popping up…” Javier informed as he gently slid a piece of paper over to you.

“I’ve seen it too, I remember putting it in one of the boxes though, didn’t think it was anything interesting.” You sat up a little straighter, intensely staring at the piece of paper.

“Do you remember which box?” Javier quirked his brow, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

You nodded, stretching your arms above your head in hopes of waking you up. “I’ll go get it.” Your legs popped as you stood up, your body weighing you down because of the sheer exhaustion you’d been experiencing the past few days. Your hands found their way to the desk, trying to support yourself.

Javier shot you a worried look as he saw you grimacing, he was just about to ask if you were okay when suddenly you just fell to the floor, your legs just giving out underneath you. He rushed to your side, trying to be as gentle as possible as he picked you up, being mindful to brace your head. Your head rolled back against his shoulder and your breaths evened out.

“Hermosa, open your eyes, I need you to look at me.” The worry in his voice was evident as he slowly went to sit back on the desk chair with you resting in his arms.

“M’fine jus-sleepy.” Your eyes only opened for a brief second, eager to close again as you gave in to the sleep tugging on your every fibre.

“Let’s call it a night, I’m taking you home cariño.” He spoke softly, trying not to disturb you too much as he went to stand, clumsily trying to get a hold of your purse and his jacket, which contained his car keys.

The next time you opened your eyes you found yourself in the passenger seat of his car, your hand in his as he slowly drove towards your apartment complex. You sighed deeply, your neck hurting from the unnatural positioning.

“You okay?” He gave your hand a squeeze as he glanced over to you for a brief second.

“Javi… you could’ve just woken me up.” You slumped forward chuckling lowly while trying to reposition yourself, still holding on to his hand.

“Y/n you literally passed out. Not a fucking chance.” He shook his head, smiling as he looked over to you once again. “Besides, you looked so cute with your little pouty lips.”

Oh yeah, now you were blushing, completely embarrassed out of your mind as you tried to hide your face behind your hands. “If you so much as tell anyone about this, I swear I will kill you.”

A wholehearted laugh sounded through the car as he brought your hand to his lips, slowly pressing them to your knuckles. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He dramatized the ‘anyone’ trying to make you laugh.

He expertly parked his car in his usual spot, racing over to your side of the car to help you out. Which landed him a swift “wow what a gentleman”. He put an arm around your waist, steadying you because you were still a little wobbly.

An innocent smile played on your lips as he looked at you, your faces only inches apart, you could feel his breath on your face. “Javi.. I’ll be okay, you don’t have to do all of this.”

Your hands trembled as you looked for your keys in your small purse. Gently, he took it from you, holding one of your hands in his, as an attempt to ease the trembling, while you leaned up against the door.

“Come on, it’s my pleasure. It’s not every day I get to help my ever so stubborn, sleepy partner out.” While talking he easily unlocked your door, helping you inside, setting you down on the blue sofa. “Do you need some water or something?” He inquired as he looked around your living room. It was such a different scene compared to his, so… you. It made his heart beat a little faster.

“Could you maybe help me to my room? My legs won’t stop shaking.” You gave a shy chuckle, already feeling like you were asking too much.

To your surprise he grinned, smoothly scooping you up in his arms, making you gasp.

“Of course princesa.” He pressed his lips to your temple as you nuzzled yourself into his neck. You couldn’t see it, but Javi was blushing, smiling as he held you, feeling at peace and incredibly happy in the moment.

What you didn’t know, is that he’d stopped seeing those infamous women weeks ago, no longer able to hide his own feelings for you anymore. He had spent countless nights staying up, trying to convince himself against all of it. The truth is, he was terrified of being vulnerable, let alone be in a relationship with someone that meant so much to him. But after months and months of dancing this tango in his head, he only grew more fond of you, and struggled to stay away from you from too long. The way you walked, the way you cared about anything and everyone in that office… He was absolutely smitten.

“All settled?” He chuckled as you slid under the covers, flashing him a smile of contentment.

“A goodnight kiss would be nice?” You were already beating yourself about what you just said, blaming it on your exhaustion.

He sucked in a breath, surprised at your request. “Let’s talk about that when you’re not sleep drunk hermosa. I’ll see you tomorrow, and I’ll bring you to work myself.”

As Javier turned to leave you sat upright, grabbing his wrist. The look in his eyes was a telling one, piercing yours with a look of adoration and longing.

“Stay. Please.” The words came out soft, tender and careful.

The otherwise so tough man cleared his throat at your request, shuffling on his feet. “Are you sure?”

You gave an eager nod, lifting the covers and scooting over. It didn’t take long for him to strip down to his shirt and underwear, sliding into the bed next to you. He held his breath when you laid your head down on his chest and pulled him in closer.

“Don’t worry Peña, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he smiled at your reprise of his words.

“Still want that goodnight kiss?”

#imagine #javier peña #pedro pascal #javier pena #narcos

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dameronology · 4 years

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the one that got away {poe x reader}

summary: based on the song the one that got away by katy perry

this song has been my jam since i was about 11 and i’m now closer to being 20 than i am to being 11 and that’s making me panic! everywhere and not just exclusively at the disco but it made me produce this

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of smut

enjoy,

- jazz

Poe Dameron had always believed in true love.

He saw it not only within his parents’ relationship but everywhere he looked: in the couple who lived next door to his childhood home, in the bar where he worked during his time at the academy, in couples walking down the street. It was everywhere and nowhere; the kind of thing that you could feel in your soul but never physically grasp - or, at least that had been his initial understanding of it.

Then Poe met you.

That was how he realised that love was very much something he could physically feel. Not only could he feel it, he could see it and he could hear it and he could finally understand it. You were the answer to every question he’d ever had.

He could feel it whenever you held his hand and he could hear it whenever you laughed at one of his terrible jokes. Whenever he simply looked at you - whether it was under the blinding morning light or simply the outline of your and against his chest in the dark - it was there. What had started as a stupid fling in the academy had turned into something more. You were his whole world, his everything.

Poe was your soulmate; your best friend and your partner-in-crime (or as you had affectionally dubbed him, your poetner-in-crime). You were always on the same wavelength, emitting the same chaotic energy and terrible jokes. You had each other’s backs to no end, the kind of bond that spanned the galaxy and back ten times over. The love between was the kind that very few people were lucky enough to experience.

‘Poe, quick!’

You were tearing down the corridor, fingers intertwined. Almost tripping over each other, you skidded around a corner and into a dark classroom, slamming the door behind you. You fell back against the door, Poe’s arms on either side of you as he leant against you, body shaking with laughter.

‘His face!’ The pilot could barely control his laughter. ‘Maker, I’ve never seen the guy so angry.’

‘That’ll teach him to fuck with us again.’ You smiled.

‘Us.’ Poe repeated your words back to you.

‘Yeah?’ You grin grew wider. You pushed a few strewn, dark curls back off his face. ‘Me too.’

‘I love you.’ His hand ghosted your cheekbone, resting on your face for a moment.

‘I love you too.’ You leant up to kiss him, revelling in the feeling of his lips against yours. It was the feeling of home; warm and soft and welcoming all at once.

‘Forever?’

‘Forever.’

Nothing could come between you - until it did.

The war.

The beginning of another civil war were in the making. People who had lived through the first one had the same sense of unease they did the first time around; the appearance of more TIE fighters in the sky, more recruits coming to the academy, training increasing tenfold. There was discontent across the galaxy and nobody knew what was coming.

Poe left first. He was a few years ahead of you in terms of training, having been piloting since he was a kid. That, paired with his admirable recklessness and natural leadership, made him perfect for the Resistance. You were his whole damn world but he had to fight for the galaxy; a galaxy in which you could both have a future.

‘I guess this is it.’

You were stood in front of Poe’s X-Wing, hands shakily intertwined as you tried your hardest not to digest what was happening. If you did, he would probably try to say. Or worse, you would try to go with him before you were ready.

‘It’s only a few months.’ Poe’s voice was wobbly, and he gripped your hands tighter. ‘A year at most, and then you’ll come out and join me. Right?’

‘Right.’ You nodded, a tear splashing down your cheek. ‘And we’ll talk all the time. Beebs always knows where to find me.’

‘I love you.’ He pressed his forehead to yours, lips momentarily brushing together as he trembled. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you too.’ You murmured. ‘If this is it, I’m always going-’

‘- we literally just said.’ Poe almost reeled back. ‘We’re going to see each other again.’

‘But if we don’t-’

‘- say it.’ Poe’s voice was firm, his grip on your hands inhumanly tight. ‘Say that we’ll see each other again. Promise me.’

You sighed, trying to calm yourself for a moment. You wanted to be hopeful, to think of a future where two could find your way back to each other - but you had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case. The galaxy was getting darker and darker by the day and the light at the end of the tunnel seemed impossibly far away.

‘I promise.’ The words were barely a whisper.

‘Take this.’ Poe reached up to the chain around his neck, pulling the ring off.

‘Poe, I can’t ask that of you-’

‘- you’re not asking. I’m telling.’ He shook his head. Taking your hand in his, he slipped his mother’s ring across your middle finger. ‘Forever, right?’

‘Forever.’

You would both come to learn that forever was a long time - almost as long as the months you spent apart.

At first, you would talk every day. You would talk to him via the holo-link in your droids, sharing stories about your day and talking about what you were going to do when you saw each other again. It felt like you were hopelessly clinging onto a distant dream, desperately wishing that the promises you were making could ever be fulfilled. You spoke about where you were going to live (Coruscant, probably) and what you were going to name your kids (Leo for a boy, Shara for a girl).

But then your calls became less and less regular. Poe was being taken all over the galaxy on his missions and you were busy trying to finish your training. What had been a daily thing turned into one of a weekly nature, and before you knew it, it was a two-or-three-times a month affair.

You were tired whenever you spoke, and Poe was grumpy. You’d been worn down with your training and his body had been torn through eleven different timezones in a week. The hope that you’d both once had was almost completely faded, replaced with concern for the war. All your energy was going into fighting - sometimes for the Resistance, sometimes with each other.

Then the calls stopped.

You couldn’t exactly recall when you realised it was over but some part of you just knew; there was no conversation, no closure. It was over, just like that. You didn’t even have time to think about it or to cry about it. The fact that you’d lost Poe Dameron was just a reality of life - a painful one, but a reality nonetheless.

You took the ring off, putting it in a safe space to give back to him should you ever cross paths again. You wouldn’t - not for a few years.

Almost a year to the day that Poe left, Leia Organa recruited you into the Resistance. It was a different base to your former love, systems away in the Outer Rim. Your work was focused mostly on communications and collecting data for building new bases. It felt good to finally be doing your part for the cause but you couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.

(It was Poe. Poe was the thing that was missing).

Time flew by. You were jumping between planets, having a few near misses and experiencing your first real sense of loss; not only for your flyboy, but for your team-mates who didn’t make it back. You were haunted with thoughts of the same thing happening to Poe, of the idea that he could have already left for his last mission without knowing it.

So, you started wearing the ring again. Even when you met somebody new - Perry, a six-foot-tall blonde gunner with a kind smile and a moderate sense of humour - you kept it on. You wore it when you kissed Perry for the first time and you wore it when he declared his love for you.

He wasn’t Poe. He didn’t hold your hand the way Poe did or kiss you in the way that Poe did. He didn’t make you laugh like him or smile like him or feel like him. He wasn’t the same. Nobody could ever compare but you weren’t going to find the love of your life twice. It was like you’d won the lottery on your first ticket. Nobody won the jackpot twice.

‘This is the bar that Leia said most of the other guys went to.’

You and Perry were stood outside a cantina; it was dark on Ajan Kloss, the sky lit in a low navy colour by the yellow of the moon. The signs of the establishment flashed before you, a welcome invitation away from the cold night. The air inside was stuffy in comparison, smelling of stale beer and filled with the sound of other Resistance pilots chortling and chatting.

You were on a two-day lay over at another base. The whole squad needed a drink, given how rough the mission had been - whilst they sat down, you ditched your jacket and headed to the bar up front.

Falling against the wooden counter, you let out a small oof! as somebody dropped against the bar next to you, He was too busy talking to someone, but you could have recognised him from anywhere.

Poe Dameron had a warm presence; there was an aura about him, something welcoming and sweet. He still wore the same after shave and laughed with his whole body - that’s how you knew it was him.

‘Poe.’ Your words weren’t really there, but he still managed to hear you.

‘Yeah?’ He spun around, doing a double take when he saw you. ‘Oh, shit.’

He looked tired; his hair was still dark and curly, but littered with more greys than it had been five years ago. His warm brown eyes were decorated with dark circles and he had a five-o-clock shadow on his chin. Still, he looked good.

‘I - wow.’ You couldn’t find the words. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ A small smile fell onto Poe’s lips. ‘Hi.’

A moment later, he had dropped his drink and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He hadn’t held you since the day he’d left all those years ago; a day that felt so alien to you both. Your immediate feeling was one of relief - Poe Dameron was alive, drinking in a bar and doing exactly what he said he’d always would (saving the galaxy).

‘You’re...’ You trailed off, pulling back to stare at him. ‘You’re alive.’

‘Just about.’ Poe smiled at you. ‘And so are you - and you’re a Lieutenant.’

‘You’re a commander.’ Your eyes fell to the markings on his jacket. ‘That’s amazing, Poe.’

You were both thinking the same thing: we should have done it together.

You should have been there to witness him rising through the ranks and he should have been there to welcome you to the Resistance with open arms. But life could be a bitch and she’d dealt you both the worst cards. The galaxy had done everything within its power to tear you apart.

‘It’s so good to see you.’ Poe bit his lip, brown eyes refusing to move from holding your gaze. ‘I know that we said-’

‘- don’t mention it.’ You shook your head. ‘We were pretty fucking naive, right?’

‘Right.’ He breathily laughed, nodding. ‘I still think about you, though.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘I think about the academy, and the day I left and - is that my mum’s ring?’

Poe’s eyes had fallen to your hand, where the metallic band still sat on your middle finger. You’d always promised yourself to give it back if you ever had the chance. After all, it was supposed to be a symbol of commitment, of your love for one another. It was a promise you’d made to each other before either of you knew what shit life was going to throw your way.

‘Oh, yeah.’ You went to pull it off.

‘No.’ Poe moved his hand to cover yours. ‘Keep it.’

‘Poe, it’s yours.’ You reminded him.

‘And I gave it to you.’ He replied. ‘I know...I know things didn’t go the way we wanted but I still mean everything I said.’

You smiled, nodding. ‘Thank you. Me too.’

‘Are you around later?’ Poe asked. ‘We should catch up. There’s a lot to talk about, right?’

‘Of course.’ You took a sip of your drink. ‘I’m staying in-’

‘- babe!’ Perry’s voice suddenly cut between the two of you. Your boyfriend appeared beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. ‘What’s taking so long?’

Oh, yeah. Him.

Maybe you weren’t around tonight.

Five minutes with Poe Dameron had been enough to make you forget two years with your current boyfriend. He’d made you feel more in that brief conversation that Perry had in your whole relationship.

You didn’t mean to compare them, truly. It was just that there was no coming back from Poe Dameron; he was your soulmate then and you had a feeling he was your soulmate now. In fact, it wasn’t just a feeling; it was a certainty.

That was what you told yourself when you snuck out of bed that night to see Poe.

It was what you told yourself when he kissed you for the first time in five years.

It was what you told yourself when you made love for the first time in five years.

But repeating it over and over in your head wasn’t enough to make you stay the next morning. Even when you woke up in his arms, pressed against his bare chest with scratches on your back and bruises on your thighs, finally feeling like you were at home for the first time in five years, you couldn’t convince yourself to stay. You couldn’t fall back to him; you couldn’t let yourself get hurt all over again.

Perry didn’t ask where you went that night - and you never told him.

You didn’t confess when he found you the next day and he confessed his love for you. You didn’t confess when he asked you to marry him six months later.

There was now another ring sat next to Poe’s; shiny and expensive and far too big for your hands. It was where his ring should have been; instead, Shara Bey’s ring stayed on your middle finger, a constant reminder of what could have been - of what should have been.

You were glad for that night with Poe. It felt like a goodbye for you both; like you’d finally got closure. At the same time, you didn’t want your time with Poe to reach a conclusion - you still wanted to hold out hope that the promises you’d made as a twenty-something would come true. You were engaged to marry another man but for some reason, you couldn’t see a future with anyone else.

Then there came a point where you couldn’t see a future at all.

The First Order was closing in; the war was getting rougher and rougher. There were losses left right and centre. Missions were becoming longer and darker. The bags under your eyes were getting darker and each day, you strayed further and further from the light. It was hard to hold on, hard to see past the dark forces at play.

That’s when you’d think back to another time; six or seven years prior, when it was just you and Poe against the world. You’d let your mind wander back to the times that you would stay up late, laughing and crying together. You remembered all the pacts and promises you’d made. How did you get here?

Before you knew it, you were back on Ajon Kloss. Everyone had gathered to begin making preparations for the final battle. Nobody was calling it that - final was too scary of a word, after all - but everybody knew it. You were powering up your jet for what felt like the last time.

‘Trident Squad, you’ll be behind Dagger. You know your orders.’

You were hardly listening to your commander, hands shaking as you played with the straps of your helmet. You were leaning against your X-Wing, trying to calm your breaths with clammy hands and a pounding chest.

‘Hey.’

You looked up, eyes meeting Poe’s. Despite everything, you smiled. ‘Hey.’

‘You got engaged?’ His words were breathless. There was no greeting, no question of how you were. There was just the hurt in his words; the disbelief and the grief.

‘I got engaged.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Fuck?’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ You nodded. ‘Fuck.’

Dropping your helmet to the ground, you met Poe half-way across the gap between you. He took you in his arms, lifting you off the ground for a moment as your bodies collided. He held you in his arms, a sad imitation of the last time you’d been stood together in front of an X-Wing.

‘Do you...’ your words were muffled by his shoulder. ‘Are you sure you don’t want your ring back?’

‘That’s what I was trying to say last time I saw you.’ Poe put you back down; his hands stayed on your waist. ‘My mum told me to give it to whoever I wanted to spend my life with.’

‘Poe-’

‘- I know.’ He cut you off. ‘You promised to marry Pete-’

‘- Perry-’

‘- whatever.’ You couldn’t help but laugh at his flippancy. ‘Just because I can’t spend my life with you doesn’t mean I can’t want to.’

‘That makes no sense.’

‘None of this makes sense.’ Poe corrected you. ‘Normally I’m more than happy to respect the boundaries of another guys relationship but...but it’s you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I gotta ask.’ He have your hips a light squeeze. ‘If we make it out alive, there’s no chance at all that you and I can finally be together?’

‘Poe, I-’

‘- Captain!’ The sound of your commander’s voice came from around the corner. ‘We’re heading out now! Power up!’

‘I have to go.’ You took a step backwards, but he still clung onto your hands.

‘I love you.’ Poe gave you a watery smile.

‘I know.’

‘Forever?’

‘Forever.’

tags: @blacksquadron-rougetwo @drinksomecoco @obi-wankenobae

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron angst #poe x reader #poe imagine #poe x you #poe x y/n #poe angst #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars angst #star wars fanfic #star wars imagines

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ada-mike · 3 years

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The Truth Always Comes Out - Digimon (Davis/Yolei)

Hey, guys, long time no see. Hope you’re all doing well, all things considered. I decided to dust off this blog and post a little FanFiction for a change! Fancy that. Why FanFiction for a fairly rare pair in a children’s cartoon from twenty years ago? Good question. I was honestly inspired by the work of a truly amazing writer @tanyatakaishi and their incredible story Innocent Games, whose sequel is currently in progress and definitely worth the read whether you’re into Digimon or not (but you should be into Digimon, i mean seriously?) But yeah, drop by and give Innocent Games a read, drop a comment and a kudo too while you’re at it. This short story I’m posting myself is so inspired by Innocent Games, it’s pretty safe to call it a FanFiction of a FanFiction, doesn’t really fit into any canon, and is just something I had rattling around my head that I needed to bang out. Please give it a read and let me know your thoughts! Stay safe, ya’ll.

- Mike

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

In hindsight, he really should have known better. Yolei had always possessed an inquisitive streak to put it lightly (whether or not the matter being investigated was her business was rarely a concern) and she was typically about as adept at snooping things out as Davis was poor at hiding them.

And really, on his laptop of all places?

Davis, along with the rest of their friends, had spent his fair share of time around – as well as inside of – computers, but regardless, they were still Yolei's domain through and through, her expertise. And as his father had once told him many years ago, during a family trip to the supermarket where Davis had denied, despite being caught, that he'd tried to shoplift a pack of gum down the front of his shorts: The truth always comes out.

His thoughts were scattered though as they stumbled through the front door and into the blackness of the dorm he shared with Ken. Yolei was strung over his back like a long-legged, lilac-haired knapsack – having mounted him during the elevator ride, laughing, the liquor in her belly turning her playful.

The haze of alcohol still hung heavy in Davis’s mind too, enough so that his legs wobbled dangerously as he carried her through the blackness to where he approximated the futon was.

“Is Ken here?” Her breath was warm in his hair and the heat climbed up his neck to settle in the tips of his ears.

“Nah,” He said. “He’s with his parents this weekend.”

“Perfect.” She purred.

Davis picked up the pace, stumbling over a pair of soccer cleats in the dark. He spun in a circle, pulling a fresh laugh from Yolei, before depositing them both on the sagging futon cushion. Yolei sat pinned behind him, a little squished, but regardless it was the perfect position to plant sloppy kisses on his exposed neck. Davis squirmed, his heart racing.

“It doesn’t smell in here, does it?” He asked.

“Only a little.”

“It’s the trash, I bet. I haven’t taken it out since Monday.” He moved to rise, but she pulled him back into her lap, near growling:

“Leave it.”

“Mmm,” He hummed. “You like the funk, huh? It sets the mood for you?”

“You’re about to ruin the mood if you don’t shut it.”

“Such a way with words, love.”

Love.

That word. It was enough to diffuse squabble that had been sparking.

Davis sunk back into her and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling up and down his chest, then down his gut. He seized one of her hands and brought it to his mouth, kissing her sharp knuckles, the pads of her fingers, her wrist. It was surprisingly tender for him.

And it drove her absolutely wild.

Her free hand had just wrapped around the buckle of his belt, when the door to the bedroom creaked open.

“Davish?”

They both flinched as tiny feet pounded on the floor, leapt, then thudded lightly on the futon by their side. Yolei reached and flicked on the lamp switch by her head.

“DemiVeemon!” Davis was grinning at the sight of his partner, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I thought you’d still be sleeping, buddy.”

“I had a dream that we were on a boat! I wanted to tell you about it!” The in-training Digimon clambered onto Yolei’s knee. “Yolei, your face is so red you look like a tomato!”

“It’s hot.” She explained. And it was, the compounding moments of passion followed by DemiVeemon’s interruption had them both sweating slightly.

“Where’s Poromon?” The Digimon asked, unperturbed. Fresh from his nap, he was ready to play.

“Um- He’s spending the night in the Digital World.” She dug her nails into Davis’s side, causing him to wince in pain, the soft touches suddenly gone. “I kind of thought you’d be there too.”

“Nope!” Chirped DemiVeemon. “But we could all go now!”

“Tomorrow, buddy.” Davis brushed his hands over DemiVeemon’s ears. Even if a trip to the Digital World could be fit into their agenda, the phantom feeling of Yolei's hands on him was fresh and that very likely meant that standing up anytime would be a bad move. “But hey, you know, I think I still have some Udon in the fridge from yesterday. Ya hungry?”

“Yes!”

As DemiVeemon scampered away, Davis sighed and lifted himself out from between Yolei’s legs so he could sit beside her.

“Sorry about that,” He settled his arms on her shoulders, leaning close. “But where were we?”

“Davis, no.” She pushed him back. “I told you that I was taking Poromon to the Digital World so we could be alone tonight. Why didn’t you do the same?”

“I was going to. I just – I dunno, felt bad about dumping him there.” Davis rubbed his nose. The alcohol's buzz was fading from him now, much too fast for his liking. “He’ll be in a food coma in twenty minutes though, I guarantee it. Then we can get back to -”

“Hold on,” Her eyes sharpened into knives behind her glasses “You think I dumped Poromon in the Digital World?”

“No, I-”

“I did not dump him,” She continued, shifting further away on the cushion as she sat up straighter. “He’s helping out in Primary Village. I’ll be there to pick him up again tomorrow.”

“I know!” Davis felt a fresh wave of heat roll up his ears, annoyed that she was picking apart his words tonight of all nights. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”

“I have no reason to feel guilty.” She folded her arms and sank back, eyes settling on the kitchen where DemiVeemon’s ears were casting shadows up the wall from the light of the open refrigerator. “He’s fine, just – dammit, Davis.” A heavy sigh billowed her lips, then: “You and I just got back together, what? Three days ago? And between school and everything, you and I haven’t had time… We needed a night like this.”

It was true. This most recent “break” of theirs had been a rough one and longer than any previous up to now. Almost an entire two months had passed where they barely spoke a single word to each other, only interacting when strictly necessary for Digimon matters, or the occasional late-night message over their D-Terminals.

Davis slumped back too.

“Tonight was a good night.” He said lamely.

She just nodded.

They sat in silence for a minute as DemiVeemon finished rummaging for food. He eventually waddled past them back to Davis’s bedroom, a warm bowl nearly as big as he was balanced on his head. All dreams of boats forgotten for the time being. Whether or not he had heard the beginning of their spat, Davis wasn’t sure. Regardless, he now wished his partner had stayed to break some of the tension that hung heavy in the room.

What he really wanted was another drink.

What he needed to do was apologize.

Instead, he lurched forward, propping himself on one arm as he reached over Yolei. She opened her mouth, ready to rebuke him again, until he reached past her and snatched the clunky laptop that sat on the end table.

It was five pounds heavier and just as many years outdated for anything Yolei would have considered satisfactory, but Davis had got it for a good price in a resale shop and desperately needed a computer for school. He grunted as he settled back in his seat and flipped open the lid, determined to find a way to break the awkward silence.

“Can I – um, play some music?”

He was already scrolling through his rather extensive music library, not waiting for an answer, but Yolei nodded anyways.

“Just no dub-step, please for the love of God.”

He chuckled and something in her chest unwound. He eventually settled on something, and with a double-click the room was filed with smooth guitar and steady drums. They listened, Davis nodding his head in beat and Yolei watching him.

“The speakers on that thing are awful.”

“Yeah.”

The song transitioned, adding more varied guitar and aggressive vocals.

“I haven’t heard this one before.”

“Ken showed it to me.”

“It’s good.”

“Yeah.”

As the song started to fade, Davis reached, without looking, and rubbed a line up and down Yolei’s thigh. She unfolded her arms, but before she could move further towards him, he was lifting the laptop from his lap and moving it into her’s. He stood up.

“Gotta take a piss.” He muttered, trudging towards the bathroom, tripping over the same pair of cleats as he went.

Yolei watched him leave, long nails tapping on the plastic laptop chassis. After the bathroom door closed and she heard him emptying his bladder into the toilet through the thin wall, she sighed and began flicking through his music.

She had gotten a little too defensive earlier and she knew it.

The truth was, she did feel a little guilty for parting ways with her Digimon, even if it was only for a night. Despite the lack of crises in the Digital World needing their intervention, it sometimes felt like she was shirking responsibility by turning more attention to other aspects of her life.

But she was older. She was busy – they all were.

Breaking up with Davis a few months ago had been a mistake, a rash decision after a stupid fight.

Drawing a good night out by coming home with him and arguing tonight had been a mistake. The wounds from the breakup were still fairly fresh. They couldn’t exactly just pickup where they left off.

Hell, maybe getting back together had been the mistake.

She wasn’t even reading the list of songs anymore as she scrolled. Her ring finger tapped a little too quickly on the arrow keys and the music program locked up from overestimation. Grumbling, she tapped more—even though she knew better—and the window was suddenly minimized, and then she was confronted with the egregious mess of folders on Davis’s desktop.

What immediately caught her eye was the folder labeled ‘Sexy Sexy Sexy’, and with that, any thought of innocently returning Davis’s music library vanished up in smoke.

Eyebrow quirked, she clicked and opened the oddly-named folder without hesitation. Of course she knew that most every guy had that particular folder stashed away. Having it on the desktop was definitely bold though.

What she saw though almost made her guffaw, and she struggled to steel herself.

The folder contained pictures upon pictures of different styles of ramen, most likely purloined from some high-end bistro’s online menu, judging by the nearly indecent high quality and their tiny watermarks in the corner of each. Nearly every photo was accompanied with an adjacent text document, containing what Yolei astutely guessed were Davis’s attempts at parsing out the recipe by looks alone.

This ramen folder was probably more organized and cared for than the one he used for homework, and a quick visit back to the desktop and to a directory simply dubbed ‘hw’ confirmed this.

Yolei glanced at the bathroom door. Things inside had gone silent, but if history and the number of sliders he ate at the bar were reliable indicators, Davis would probably be preoccupied for a few more minutes. She had plenty of time.

Yolei cruised through the rest of his desktop in record time, finding nothing of note outside of a few folders containing game roms, a second folder of his own home-brewed ramen recipes, and much to her surprise: an alarming amount of digitized Shoujo manga, definitely pirated. She filed that away for teasing ammunition later.

Now, to find the really good stuff.

Her practiced fingers danced over the keyboard, running a shell command to search for recently accessed items. Buried in several sub-folders was one entry that caught her eye, a single folder with a timestamp indicating it was opened just an hour or so before he’d picked her up for their date earlier that evening.

The folder was named ‘yolei’.

A swirl of emotions flooded her as she opened the file with her namesake, and she found it was a dumping ground of yet more photographs.

Instead of gratuitous snapshots of food however, they all featured her.

Yolei immediately recognized a series of selfies she’d sent him herself – some as early as when they had first started their on-again/off-again relationship years ago. It had never occurred to her that Davis would be the type to save them anywhere but his phone. It was surprisingly sentimental of him.

An image of Davis lying in his bed, clicking through and lovingly studying a slideshow of her, sprung to mind and she felt a warm swell of affection for him. She had done something similar on occasion, when their respective university work had kept them apart for multiple days on end.

There were other styles of pictures too. As she scrolled further, she found photos they had taken together at her high school graduation ceremony, shots of them at a beach trip, and one from her recent birthday where he’d tried to wrestle her face into the cake. She couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

She came to a stop at one photo in particular, the image’s age betrayed by how grainy it’s quality was.

They couldn’t have been older than thirteen. Davis was round-faced and grinning in the middle, one arm slung over Ken to his left and the other over a mildly miffed Kari. T.K. stood on Kari’s other side (Yolei had forgotten about that silly hat he used to wear) and on the opposite edge stood Yolei herself, all spindly limbs and thick, round glasses—stained brilliant white from the flash of the camera.

Their Digimon partners stood huddled around their feet and Yolei felt a fresh pang when her eyes fell on Hawkmon.

She scrolled further, perhaps more quickly than necessary, but then came to a screeching halt.

“Bastard.” She hissed, an angry blush spreading across her cheeks.

“What?” Davis had somehow exited the bathroom and was halfway back to his seat. Yolei had been so engrossed in her recent discovery she hadn’t even heard him flush.

Without missing a beat, she twirled the laptop around and pointed the screen at him accusatory.

“What the hell is this?”

To his credit, Davis had learned since the gum smuggling attempt in his youth that it was best not to lie when he’d be caught.

“Oh,” His mouth formed a perfect O-shape. Now he was blushing too. “I can explain-”

“You better!” She rattled the laptop at him, the hinge wobbling dangerously. “I told you to delete these, Davis!”

It had been her one demand when they had broken up most recently. He had listed several himself, including the unconditional return of the multiple sweater-shirts she’d swiped from his dorm. She considered this a devastating blow, as they made the perfect sleeping shirts in her opinion. But to be fair, he actually needed them more than she did, his winter wardrobe being sparse as it was.

“I did delete them!” He shot back.

“Oh—that is so obviously not true.” She flipped the laptop back around so she could look at them again. The photos were definitely there, present and accounted for, completely not deleted. Her eyes were flashing as she glared back up at him. “Why did you keep these?!”

“Look, you specifically asked me to delete from my phone,” He explained. “And that’s what I did.”

“Oh, so you thought you could keep these on a technicality, huh?”

“We’re back together now so why does it matter?” He threw his hands in the air. “They’re not even that bad of pictures.”

“They’re disgusting.”

Davis chose not to argue with that. Certainly most of the photos could be construed as less-than appealing.

His laptop currently contained the only copies in existence of seventeen candid photos of Yolei, caught in various stages of sleep, sickness, and general foulness.

It had started as kind of sweet. On one of the nights she had slept over he’d woken first, and had snapped a quick picture of her face as she slept rather serenely, messy hair splayed over his pillow. When he’d showed her the picture later, he’d called her beautiful. She made a show of rolling her eyes, but smiled and blushed all the same.

For the second photo, he’d caught her while she was trying to subtly pick her nose.

It had kind of snowballed from there.

“Why were you even going through my laptop anyways?” He demanded in turn.

“I was looking for music.” Yolei turned her nose up matter-of-factly.

“In my pictures? Yeah, Right.”

“You’re missing the point.” She waved her hand as if his words were a fly buzzing by her ears. “This is a major breach of privacy.”

“Now that, you’re right about.” He stepped forward finally and reached for his laptop, but she pulled it to her chest.

“I mean my privacy, you jackass.”

“I took those, so they’re actually mine.”

“But they’re not pictures of you, are they?” She looked down, scrutinizing one of her in an unseemly, homemade guacamole facemask, filename: ‘she-hulk’. She had seen all these pictures before at one point or another, usually accompanied with some gentle ribbing at her expense, but seeing the collage now felt entirely different. “Davis, how could I ever trust you again? You promised me that you��d get rid of these.”

She was right of course, and that caused the words to sting all the more. Davis was near a hundred percent sober now, but his vision still blurred. Hot tears of shame, and a heaping dose of frustration, pricking his eyes. He fought and managed to keep his voice level, mostly:

“Yeah, well... how am I supposed to just go around like it’s nothing when you could be sniffing through my drawers every time I turn my back?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

A half minute passed where neither said anything. The music from the laptop was still playing passively, shuffling through Davis’s library automatically and currently playing some upbeat video game OST Yolei didn’t recognize. Eventually he moved and sank down onto the futon with her again, a few inches of space between them, and both their eyes settled on the gallery of photos still on display on the glowing screen in Yolei’s arms.

Davis remembered telling his friends oh so recently that he and Yolei were back together. Tai and Izzy had exchanged a quick glance, a silent exchange of barely-contained, mild exasperation. He imaged them placing bets on how long he and Yolei would last this time and pictured money exchanging hands when he broke the news that they were surely once again parting ways-

“That was the most sick I’d ever been in my entire life.” Yolei muttered suddenly, indicating one of the pictures. “I literally thought I was dying.”

He chuckled despite himself.

“Your nose is so red there.”

“Yeah, the tissues from I-Mart were like sandpaper. They still are.”

“Red looks good on you though.” Their eyes met then, and Davis continued quickly, stammering slightly. “I mean, not many people can pull off crimson flight pants, but- um… you did.. for years.”

Her face had an unreadable quality to it, and it seemed as if she might respond with something, but then she turned away and began scrolling through his computer again. He noticed her eyes weren’t focused though and he didn’t have it in him to try and dissuade her from searching still. There was nothing else to find anyway.

“Why do you even have this folder?” She asked, eyes forward.

He debated with himself for a few seconds, then decided on the truth.

“I like… having photos. You know, of you.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “And when we broke up last time, and you told me to delete all those ugly pics of you, I did.” Yolei’s mouth opened to object, but he continued before she could interject. “I really did. I honestly just forgot that they were on my laptop with everything else too, and when I saw them later, I just… couldn’t get rid of them.” He stared at her profile, tracing with his eyes the lines of her cheek, the bump on her nose. “I really thought this last time was the real deal.”

“Me too.”

“Do you think we should break up again?”

“I don’t know.” Even though they weren’t quite touching, Yolei felt him stiffen by her side. She closed her eyes, and said her next words to the blackness of her eyelids. “I don’t want to.”

He breathed out, the air leaving him as if released from a balloon.

“God, me neither.”

She twisted on her seat, opening her eyes to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry for looking through your laptop. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay.” He responded quickly.

Yolei continued anyways.

“If I’m being honest too, I was looking to see what kind of porn you had saved on here.”

“What?” Davis balked. “Seriously? Why would you think I had… that stuff… on there? I don’t even…” He shook his head, the image of incredulity. “I don’t even watch that.” Yolei watched him steadily, a single brow raised. “What? I don’t!”

“Sure. We’ll talk about that some other time.” She was only half teasing.

The promise of ‘some other time’ bolstered his spirits quickly. He eyed his laptop in her hands, suddenly loathing the pathetic thing and how he’d used it to hide away the secret vestiges of what he had once thought would be all that remained of his and Yolei’s relationship. She had owned up to her transgressions.

What he needed to do was apologize.

Standing, he pulled the laptop from her slack grip before she could argue, and looking her dead in the eyes, gripped each half of the computer and snapped it in half along the hinge. The music died with a pitiful wheeze and splinters of plastic flew everywhere, a few bouncing off Yolei’s glasses to disappear into the fibers of the rug at her feet.

“Davis!”

“I shouldn’t have kept those pictures.” He discarded the broken halves of the computer, speaking passionately. “I want us to start over fresh, okay? I don’t want any dumb secrets or anything like that to cause any problems. I want you to trust me, because I trust you – I really do.” He swallowed hard. “I still love you, Yolei.”

Her eyes shone and laughter bubbled in her throat.

“But you computer-”

“I needed a new one anyways. You can help me pick one out!”

“Yeah, but,” She wiped her eyes clear. “What about all the other pictures? My graduation, the Digimon?”

“I still have those on my phone, no worries.”

“And your homework?”

“My homework?” It took a second for Davis’s brain to catch up. His eyes passed from one broken piece of the laptop to the other, then his hands rose to bury themselves in his hair. “Oh shit, shit. My mid-term paper is saved on there...”

Yolei wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, but instead she reached out and pulled him to her. She gently unwound his fingers from his hair and twined them with hers. She kissed him and kept pulling until he was climbing onto the battered futon with her, then over her.

In the morning, she would take off the back panel of his broken computer and pull the hard drive. She’d help him recover his homework and maybe, just maybe, a couple of the more agreeable photos that she would allow him to keep.

For now though, he didn’t need any of the digital keepsakes. As far as either of them were concerned, any number of pictures paled in comparison to the real thing.

For now though, she held him close and breathed in his ear.

“I love you too.”

When DemiVeemon bounced back into the living area sometime later, he found the pair asleep and huddled under a blanket together on the futon. The small Digimon took in the mess on the floor, the couple’s mussed hair, their slow and steady breaths, chests rising as one. Of course, he had heard every word of their argument from Davis’s bedroom, but he was used to the ruckus by now and too preoccupied with his noodles to care. Anyways, no doubt there would be many such squabbles in the future for him to witness.

He decided to let them sleep for now and bounded to the kitchen in search of a mid-night snack. He would just have tell Davis about his dream some other time.

#digimon #davis motomiya #daisuke motomiya #yolei inoue #miyako inoue #daivis/yolei #daiyako #demiveemon #my fanfiction

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sydsrichie · 3 years

Text

Dean turned forty-two on a Sunday, and all he really wanted was for Cas to kiss him.

[Ao3] ~3k

The thought was ringing in his head, clear as a bell, as he sat up in bed sometime after six in the morning.

The angel was a warm, solid lump on the other side of his - their - bed, his face pressed firmly into the pillow to ward away the first signs of daytime. Dean smiled to himself, at the way Cas’s brow furrowed in sleep, desperately clinging on to oblivion. When he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Cas’s temple, the crease in his brow smoothed out like ripples on a lake.

Dean left Cas sleeping - he would only be another half hour or so - and trailed off to the kitchen in his slippers and dressing gown, warding against the late January chill in the air. The sounds of hushed voices and clink of cutlery and mugs guided him through the dim morning light and the fogginess he felt before his first coffee. Like he’d expected, Jack and Sam were already at the kitchen table, Jack with a bowl piled high with the kind of cereal that made him jittery, and Sam with a cup of black coffee and a serene expression. Dean mumbled a good morning, smiling but politely ignoring the cards and presents stacked in a small, neat pile in the middle of the table until they were explicitly given to him, and made a beeline for the coffee pot.

He could tell it was his birthday just by the fact that Sam had likely been up since five but had still kept the coffee piping hot, ready for Dean.

“Morning!” came his brother’s chirpy morning voice. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

Dean turned around from the coffee pot to say a thanks, and only managed an oof as his little - hah - brother enveloped him in a hug. For someone of Sam’s size, it bewildered Dean that he could sneak up on anyone. Or maybe Dean was just getting unobservant in his old age. “Thanks, Sam,” he said, giving him a pat on the back. Even now, after nearly four decades, the smell of his brother’s clothes still reminded him of a long-gone family home in Lawrence, but that thought didn’t raise any more sadness in him now than a faint and settled pang. He called it progress and clung a little harder to his brother’s flannel.

When they broke apart, Jack was practically bouncing on his seat. “You gotta open my present first,” he insisted, his mouth half full of chewed cereal and little marshmallows that glowed like nuclear waste.

Sam smiled, stepping back from Dean, “Jack, remember, you gotta-“

“Oh!” Jack said, lurching out of his seat less like a God and more like a hyperactive three-year-old. He was both, Dean guessed, but definitely favoured one. Jack was about half Sam’s body mass, but he hit Dean at such a speed that he still forced a grunt out of his chest. “Happy birthday!”

The feeling that flooded Dean’s ribcage was like a torrent of molasses, warm and heavy. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s back, even let himself rest his chin against Jack’s head. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Sam wrinkled his nose over Jack’s head in a way that read as a faint apology for letting Jack get at the toddler rocket fuel before dawn, but Dean didn’t much care. Jack had kinda been like this for a few days anyway, and the glitter that had been appearing everywhere in the bunker and was now covering an envelope on the table was enough of a hint as to why.

Jack was still bouncing on his toes, and Dean laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Before I open presents, we gotta wait for-“

“I’m awake,” came a gruff voice behind them, in a tone that could only be described as regretful. It did nothing to slow the lurch that Dean’s heart gave, and when he spun around, he saw a smile mirroring his own spreading on Cas’s lips. “Happy birthday,” Cas said.

He had a card and wrapped present in hand, but he still stood awkwardly, a country mile away from their little three-person cluster by the coffee pot. And it made Dean’s heart pang. Part of it was just Cas - an eternity of angel mannerisms couldn’t be scrubbed out by a mere decade on Earth - but part of it was....

This was dumb. They were dumb. He crossed the space between them and wrapped his boyfriend, his angel, his life partner up in his arms and pressed a sloppy kiss to the peak of his cheekbone. “Thanks, baby,” he said, as solid arms wound around his lower back.

It was Sam who masterminded breakfast, dicing up little bowls of strawberries and blueberries between flipping pancakes on the stove top. Cas manned the coffee pot for Sam and Dean, steeped himself a mug of tea, and fetched Jack a glass of orange juice with a straw in it, because he worried about the acidity wearing down Jack’s tooth enamel. That left Dean at the kitchen table, supervised by Jack, as he worked through his little pile of cards and presents.

From Sam and Eileen, there was a beautiful photo album, bound in smooth black leather. It was half-filled already, with rare pictures of Sam and Dean as children, Jack on his first birthday, Dean and Eileen posing for a picture, leaning against the trunk of the Impala with beer bottles in hand after a successful hunt, amongst others. And one that looked too candid for him to have known it was happening, his hand slipped into Cas’s, and Cas smiling at him with that stupid look that never failed to make Dean’s heart thud like a mistimed bass drum. The rest of the pages were left empty, an open invitation from Sam and Eileen to keep filling it with new memories. “This is beautiful, Sammy,” he croaked, and did his best to meet his brother’s eye.

Sam smiled, didn’t call him out on his emotional constipation, and said “Eileen will be over later, I think she’s got another treat for you.”

Dean was thrilled to hear it, but didn’t have the chance to respond, because now Jack was pressing a ridiculously glittery envelope into his hands. He knew he’d be washing the stuff out of Jack’s clothes for a month, but the gleeful look in the kid’s eye was enough to make Dean bite down his complaint, and he tried very hard not to grin like an idiot as he opened the envelope.

The card was indeed full of glitter and hand cut heart-shaped confetti, but it was the shaky writing on the front that made his breath catch. With each letter spelled out in a different coloured marker, Jack had written “Happy birthday Dad” on the front, and then there was the present Cas had brought. The joint, accompanying gift from Cas and Jack was enough to set his bottom lip wobbling – a blue coffee mug with #1 Dad on the front in big, yellow letters.

“C’mere,” Dean grunted, and pulled Jack tight against his chest, furiously blinking away the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. There was thick emotion in his chest churning and gargling like a carburettor clogged with gravel, and he mumbled, “Love you,” into the boy’s as-yet unbrushed hair. Jack let out a happy sigh and leaned into him heavier.

Cas and Sam were both looking a little glossy eyed by the time the pair pulled apart, which Sam artfully covered with a loud clearing of his throat and the lighting of the candle on top of Dean’s pancake stack.

The most tone-deaf chorus he’d ever heard of “Happy birthday” followed, which was a given, as he was the only one who could actually carry a tune, but he refused to sink to the level of douchiness of joining in on his own birthday song. Then, they were digging into their pancakes, talking about their plans for the day, and just soaking in the early morning serenity.

Before long, Cas and Jack were hugging the brothers goodbye and promising to be back by five to help ready Dean’s birthday supper. He would’ve liked to have them for the whole day, but there would be plenty time for that once heaven was - well, heaven again – and truthfully, he was just grateful he got the morning with them.

Once Jack and Sam were ready to go about their respective days, they stepped away from Cas and Dean, leaving them just kind of looking at each other. Dean was normally like a shot fired from a pistol to cross the distance between them, take Cas into his arms, kiss him silly, but he couldn’t nudge that first thought that had ricocheted around his head when he’d woken up this morning.

Cas was looking at him. Standing at a distance. Hands hanging at his sides. “Have a good day, Dean,” he said, in a soft voice that made Dean’s chest ache.

Two months. Two whole months since they’d bust out of the Empty, saved the world together and held each other, aching, and crying and kissing fervently in the aftershocks.

Twelve years spent falling in love, two months spent being in love, and Cas was still just standing there. Like a dick.

With a barely concealed huff, Dean crossed the chasm between them and kissed him, gently cradling a strong and stubbled jaw in both his hands. “You too, baby.”

When Cas and Jack were gone, he belatedly realised he’d forgotten to open Cas’s card after feeling like he’d been sideswiped by a freight train after Jack’s.

It was a simple, handsome card. Navy with gold lettering.

To Dean,

Happy birthday.

I love you.

from Cas

He held it to his chest.

—

Turns out Eileen’s idea of a birthday treat was the hunter’s equivalent of a game of whack-a-mole. When she’d driven him and Sam out to a horse ranch an hour down the highway and explained, Dean had started laughing and pulled his (hopefully, future, one-day) sister-in-law into a bear hug.

The ranch was infested with little goblin-like creatures that Eileen had affectionately termed “gnomes”. It was by no means the kind of world-ending threat they were used to, but the “gnomes” had been popping up out of the ground and spooking horses, even landing a few bites, which had led to more than one infected wound and thrown rider. “I thought it warranted the Winchester-Leahy treatment,” Eileen said and signed to Dean, who was bouncing on his toes like a kid in a candy store.

When Eileen turned back to her car, Dean said behind her, “Hey, your names sound pretty good together, huh, Sammy?”

Sam’s only response was to glower.

That only served to put Dean in a better mood, though, and soon they were all wreaking havoc on the overgrown field, trying whatever their best instincts and experience said oughta work.

The little gremlins were fast, ducking and diving into burrows quicker than Dean could get a good swing at them, and popping up behind him to grab at his ankles. “Little bastards!” He growled as one sunk its teeth into his ankle.

The gnome blew a raspberry at him and uncannily parroted back “Bastard!” It was then that he finally connected a hit but was quick to find out that an iron crowbar was about as much use on the little shits as, well, a crowbar.

“Hey!” He yelled to his compatriots, waving an arm over his head. Sam and Eileen both stopped to look, wearing twin expressions of wild bemusement, and really, he wished he had a camera on him. “Iron sucks!” He said, signing it large and waving his useless crowbar.

Eileen nodded, but Sam seemed to have an idea as he watched one of the slimy little creatures wiggle its ass at him tauntingly. A familiar spark lit up behind his eyes and he pulled a smallish burlap sack of rock salt out of his coat pocket.

No faster than Sam could throw a handful of salt like cast dye, the gnome exploded with a yelp, splattering Sam with green-yellow goo. “Gross!” he yelped.

Dean felt childish laughter bubble up out of his chest at that, disbelieving, as Sam shook his hands free of gunk and wiped it off his face. “Oh my god, they’re like slugs!” Dean said with a sharp cackle.

“This is fucking gross,” was the only response from a churlish Sam, as both Dean and Eileen laughed at him.

“Dean!” Eileen called, and then there was a small bag of rock salt arcing through the air towards him, which he caught neatly.

Then they were off to the races, with Dean and Eileen automatically falling into a pattern of systematically herding the little bastards and then working with Sam to do the exploding. The yellow-green goo stunk to high heavens, and made Dean’s eyes water, but they were having so much fun he barely even noticed, too busy hooting, hollering, and laughing as Sam got prissy about his new jacket getting stained with the monster equivalent of snot.

When they were down to the last few, they had to chase them down manually, amongst the litany of profanities the creatures were picking up from them and hurling back. Dean had his last gnome cornered between himself and a fence post when he heard a warning shout from Sam.

A second too late.

The rock to the back of his knee was such a shock that it buckled his leg, and he thumped into the soft dirt. There was a particularly large and menacing gnome glowering at him from its burrow, reaching for another stone, and Dean was scrabbling for his rock salt before he ended up with a concussion on his birthday-

But then the air crackled with static, and there was a whooshing wing beat, as the gnome was - smited? Smote? - from existence, splattering Dean in the foul-smelling goo from top to toe.

He looked up at the angel - his angel - clad in his signature trench-coat and frown. And he fell back into the dirt in fits of laughter.

“Dean,” Cas said in lieu of greeting, looking vaguely troubled at the monster snot covering his dress shoes and trousers.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said with a wheeze, and reached out a hand to signal Cas to help him. He felt himself being yanked to his feet like he weighed nothing and was still quieting the waves of laughter racking his stomach when he saw the way Cas was looking at him.

The soft glow in his features, the amusement, the adoration. “What exactly are you idiots doing?”

Dean flashed him his most charming smile – the devil-may-care one – and said, in a very low and serious voice, “Saving the world.”

Cas held onto his fingers, reticent to let go, and he just stood there, and looked at Dean with the softest smile on his face.

“I thought you said you’d be back at five?” Dean finally asked, breaking the beat of charged silence.

“I, uh,” Cas looked away with pink rising at his cheeks, instead watching as Eileen and Sam picked their way back across the field to each other, still wild-eyed and laughing. “I forgot to show Jack how to set the clock you gave us in our office, so I believe it shows the wrong time.”

The image of a God and a seraph running the reconstruction of heaven from a cosy little office but being unable to set a ten-dollar clock from Target to Central Standard Time was enough to set Dean off chuckling again. Don’t ever change, he thought faintly, as he watched his own amusement reflected back in Cas’s extraordinary eyes.

Cas was still holding his hand. And his eyes were so soft, and so blue.

It caught Dean’s breath in his throat, and something bubbled up.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. His stomach gave a jolt, but he had to ask before he lost his nerve. He squeezed Cas’s hand, to give himself courage more than anything. “How come you never kiss me?”

Cas looked dumbfounded for a second, his eyes darting to Dean’s lips, and by God if this wasn’t the wrong time and the wrong place, Dean thought, as a rock settled in the pit of his stomach. The dim winter sun above them was still warm enough to make the monster snot on both of them stink that little more, and Cas’s jaw was slack and flapping a little as he searched for the right words.

Dean suddenly felt stupid and awful for bringing it up.

Except- he didn’t, not really.

Because every kiss, every touch, every everything, had to come from Dean. And he wasn’t sick of it – he could never be sick of anything that let him touch Cas, be with Cas – but he would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt sometimes.

Like on the morning of his forty-second birthday, and the man who had admitted to being crazy, stupid, “loved the whole world for you” in love with him two months ago had stood six feet away and just looked.

Like he was just looking now.

“I- it doesn’t matter,” Dean said, his eyes falling, his heart falling. “Sorry, I don’t want to ruin the day.”

The sound that came out of Cas came from his chest, and could only be described as a grunt, pure frustration.

And then suddenly, there was a hand on his face and a thumb on his upper lip, swiping away disgusting, sickly, stinking goo from the curve of his cupid’s bow.

And then there were lips.

Hot and chapped.

Crushing against his.

Some ridiculous keening sound was forced from Dean’s chest, and he threw his spare arm around Cas’s neck with abandon, his other still clasping Cas’s fingers firmly in his. Cas’s weather-worn lips against his soft ones felt a little sore, and he was going to buy him a chapstick, and their respective tea- and coffee-breath was mingling together in a noxious mix, but it was perfect. Perfect in the way that Cas was pulling him against his broad chest, reeling him in and holding him tight and saying I will never let you go.

And Dean would never let Cas let him go, he thought, and nipped at his bottom lip.

“When I told you,” Cas was saying as he pulled back, into the bare couple of inches between their lips, “that my happiness was just in being, in the act of loving you, I never dreamed I could have you.

“Most days, I still don’t believe that I get to have you.”

Thump went Dean’s heart, and it was his turn to reel Cas in and press crushing kisses to Cas’s lips, blood roaring in his ears and battering against his ribcage. “I’ll teach you,” he mumbled into Cas’s hairline, temple, nose, jaw, anywhere he could land a blistering kiss. I’ll teach you to believe it.

They both sucked in ragged breaths in the cool, crisp air of late January.

A light frost bit at the ground, and curling clouds of white emanated from their lips.

“I’ll teach you. I’m yours.”

#deancas fanfic #deancas #dean winchester #happy birthday dean #destiel #spn #supernatural #castiel #my fics

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fea-warriorheart · 3 years

Text

Another Life

His heart pounds as he edges around the side of the barn, peeking out into the field beyond. There's no sign of his hunter, yet he's not stupid enough to think he's safe.

He's given odd looks as he sneaks across the gap between the buildings, from people and animals alike. One of the horses gives him an indignant huff as he brushes past, and he's probably lucky there's a fence between them.

He's in a bad spot. His hunter knows it better than him. He has to get to familiar ground before-

"Found you!"

Jaskier shrieks as strong arms wrap around his waist, lifting his feet off the ground. He can hear the smug grin as the boy behind him adds, "Too exposed, lark."

The hands dart down his sides, tickling him while also letting his feet touch the ground once more. Jaskier shrieks again, but there's no fear this time; laughter and mirth sound in every sound as he squirms in the stableboy's hold.

"Geralt! Stop it! I yield!"

A soft laugh comes from behind him, and the arms around him loosen, releasing him. Jaskier turns, face flushed and split with a grin as he takes in the redhead before him. Geralt's a good head taller than him, despite only being two years older. While Jaskier spends his days studying and being proper, Geralt spends his split between helping at the estate stables and learning medicinal practices under the watchful eye of his mother. He's lean from winter, as most of the village is, but there's already muscle starting to build back up on his frame with the scraps of food he's given by a sympathetic cook.

Laughter sparkles in Geralt's fern-colored eyes, a feature many might call dull compared to some of the other shades sported by humanoid races, but Jaskier was of the firm belief it fit him perfectly. Geralt was a child of nature, just like his mother, and it was fitting for such a prominent feature to reflect that.

"Julian! Get back here!"

The brunette grimaced at the sharp tone. Geralt's expression instantly smoothed into the neutral stance most of the servants took when a member of the house approached, let alone one of Jaskier's parents.

His father stalked over, scowling at him. "You're late for your lessons. I shouldn't have to come out here and drag you around. It's disgraceful."

Julian bowed his head slightly. "Yes, father. My apologies."

An iron grip latched on to his upper arm. His father sneered at Geralt as he started dragging him back towards the manor. "Get back to work, brat."

Julian didn't risk glancing back. Geralt would only get in further trouble; he knew his father already disliked the boy for being friendly with him, but kept him around because of his old friendship with Visenna. The woman had been there for Jaskier's birth, as well as his two sister's. Plus, Geralt had a way with the animals that no one could quite explain - or replicate - and it was too much trouble in his father's eyes to find and train a new boy for the job.

Geralt is one of the few good things Julian has in his life. He won't risk him by being stupid.

A fierce storm is raging against the windows of the kitchen. Many of the servants are fast asleep, but Jaskier paces the room, worry lines etched into his brow. Geralt is making them both a pot of tea; a messenger had arrived in the early evening, stating that Jaskier's father had been ambushed by bandits and that his location was currently unknown. Despite being reassured by his mother, sleep had not come easy to the young viscount.

Geralt rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts, and offered him a steaming cup. "Sit down," he murmured. "You'll do nothing for no one wearing holes into the floorboards."

He sits with a flop, tracing a finger along the edge of the cup as he waits for it to cool a bit. Geralt sits beside him, something they're only allowed to do in moments like this; moments of solitude in a life full of company. "You know I worry."

"Yes. It's why I knew you would seek me out."

Jaskier glances at him. Geralt's coat is drying by the fire; he'd accompanied the messenger to the manor through the storm, soaking both of them through, and his mother had insisted the poor boy stay the night. He'd taken a place by the kitchen fire to stay out of the way, and had been waiting when Jaskier slipped inside.

With Geralt, Jaskier is able to be... well, Jaskier. He's able to laugh and tell stupid jokes and not care about being proper, but only with Geralt. With all others, he must be Julian Alfred Pankratz.

It's no wonder why he feels drawn to the boy.

He sighs softly, leaning against Geralt. "What if they hurt him?"

"He's a hardy man, you know. This isn't the first time he's had to fight."

"That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

"I know, lark." Geralt gives him a one-armed hug-squeeze around his shoulders. "He'll be alright. Probably just lost his way in the storm, is all."

Jaskier shrugs miserably, sipping at his tea. They sit in silence for a while; Geralt eventually stands to clean their cups and dry them off. He's placing them back in the cupboard when the door slams open, startling both boys and causing the fire to give a threatening flicker.

Two figures stumble inside; one is unmistakably his father, while the other has broad shoulders and wears a thick cloak, obscuring all but the chestnut beard with gray flecks peppering it. The stranger slams the door shut, bolting it against the wind, and Jaskier's father stands there for a moment, breathing heavily as he takes in the two boys.

The stranger turns, then, and Julian's heart clenches when he sees the Witcher's medallion hanging around his neck. He pulls down the hood of his cloak, golden eyes reflecting the light of the fire. His gaze is on Julian, studying him curiously.

He turns back to Julian's father. "I assume you didn't expect either of them to be here. Which would fulfill your payment."

The man tenses, then shakes his head. "No, I expected my son to be here. He always waits up when I'm late. The stable boy, though- bah. You can take him."

Julian feels his world slow to a halt. When he looks at Geralt, he feels like he's moving through pine resin. The redhead's eyes are wide with shock and fear, and his mouth opens and closes a few times, though no sound leaves him.

"Fine. I doubt I have enough rations to bring both of them with me, anyways." The Witcher turns back to them, crossing his arms. "Your name, boy."

"No!" Julian's voice starts working again, and he stands between them. "You can't take him!"

"Julian," his father hisses, storming over to him and yanking him away. "He claimed the Law of Surprise for saving my life. It must be fulfilled."

"No! He can't take Geralt! Please, father, you can't let him!" Tears burn his eyes. Geralt still isn't moving, still hasn't looked away from the Witcher.

Golden and green gazes snap to them as Julian is backhanded. The Witcher is there in an instant, gripping his father's wrist enough to make the man cry out.

"I don't take kindly to those who would abuse a child for caring for a friend," the Witcher says softly. "Touch him again and lose your hand. Your oath has been fulfilled. Leave us, now."

"Wait." A small voice sounds from the corner where Geralt stands. He's trembling, eyes darting between the Witcher and Julian. "Can I- Can I at least say goodbye?"

Something in the Witcher's face softens, and he steps back, nodding. "Do you have any family?"

"My mother, she lives in the village..."

"You can say farewell to her as well and grab some spare clothes. Make it quick."

The Witcher leans against the fireplace, and Geralt rushes over, wiping at Jaskier's tears with soothing motions. "It's alright, lark. Don't cry... It'll be okay..."

"Geralt... Please, you can't leave me..." Jaskier gripped his shirt, twisting the fabric in his grip. A gentle hand brushes through his hair.

"You know I can't just ignore this, lark... I have to go, but we'll see each other again eventually, yeah...?"

Jaskier sniffles. Geralt lifts his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. He smiles gently, and for the life of him, Jaskier can't help but feel the truth in his words. He nods, even as his bottom lip wobbles. "Yeah."

The Witcher steps in again, a hand on Geralt's shoulder. He hands the boy his coat, and with one last look back, Jaskier's best friend vanishes into the stormy night.

He learns in Oxenfurt how few boys survive the Witcher mutations. He does not want to believe it, but part of him mourns his friend. Geralt was strong, but verging on too old for the Trials; his body would be more likely to reject them than to adapt to them. And besides, Geralt was a farmer, a healer, not a monster hunter.

So Jaskier does his best to move on. But there are nights, often dark with storms, where he curls in on himself and wishes things had happened differently.

He graduates Oxenfurt a master of the arts and top of his class, and then he just... wanders. He plays as a bard in taverns and inns, earning enough coin to stay the night and occasionally buy some new clothes. He takes lovers, but never partners; he loves too much and yet too little, flitting from person to person as his very being rejects each and every one.

He's nineteen, playing in some backwater village. The road there had been harrowing; he had been lucky to join a group of merchants at the last town. A nest of monsters - he wasn't sure what, he hadn't paid attention - had been terrorizing most travelers in small groups for weeks. They'd even been so desperate as to put up a notice for a Witcher.

Despite all of the stories, Jaskier hasn't seen another since that night. He's beginning to wonder if they're just a figment of everyone's collective imagination; perhaps the monsters just kill themselves off or migrate elsewhere when the pickings are slim.

He's just finished a song, collecting some meager coin as the door opens. Jaskier is retreating to his table when a hand rests on his shoulder; his mind runs through anyone he might have pissed off. He hasn't been in town long enough to anger any husbands, fathers or brothers, and no one would have followed him through such a dangerous area. So truly, for the life of him, he doesn't know why-

"Lark."

His world goes still in a way that has happened only once before.

He turns slowly. He's no longer a head shorter; his eyes are about level with his nose. His skin is paler than Jaskier remembers, contrasted with dark armor. A wolf's head gleams above it, snarling at his foes, and two swords are visible on his back.

Snow white hair brushes his shoulders, tied back clumsily. Jaskier can't find the strength to breathe as he finally looks him in the eye.

Gone is the green of ferns and grass in the spring; molten gold takes their place, slitted pupils darting in minuscule movements as he searches Jaskier's face. For all the differences, he's still the same boy - still the stable boy Jaskier knew.

He's still...

Jaskier is breathless as he whispers, "Geralt."

A small smile spreads across the boy's - man's, he's twenty, twenty-one now - face. He takes Jaskier's hand in his, squeezing it gently. "I told you I'd see you again."

//An indulgent thing that I came up with out of the blue. Lost steam at the end which is why it sort of trails off, but hey, if anyone's interested in a part two.... (bold presumption, I know.)

#witcher #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #geralt of rivia #fic #what-if

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ineverlookavvay · 4 years

Text

fancy

Established relationship. A drunken Michael sneaks into Alex's house, sex ensues.

Fic prompt: “Are you drunk?” - Day 6 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

cw: alcohol, drunk sex. this one is just fluffy smut, y'all

Read it on Ao3

Michael was tiptoeing. Not walking quietly, not watching his step, but actually tiptoeing. He felt like a cartoon character, like somewhere out there someone was playing coordinated xylophone notes to each step he took. He grinned, trying not to laugh, and surveyed his surroundings.

The window was locked. That was the first problem. Actually, the first problem had been getting here, but he had accomplished that through a mixture of tiptoeing and taking an Uber, and so the second problem had become the new first problem. It sounded complicated, but Michael was a certified genius, so he could keep it all in his head, no sweat.

Michael considered the window, swaying a little. He was almost certain this was the right window, although it might not have been, since it was difficult to get a hold on his exact positioning. But he was at least 82% sure it was the right window. He pressed his hand against the glass—it was cold and not very telling. It didn’t, for example, come to life and inform him if he was indeed in the right place or not, although that would have been cool. Terrifying, but cool.

Without that confirmation though, he had to just trust his gut. And the copious amount of alcohol swimming through his blood. Both of which were confident he was in the right place. It took him all of a moment to flip the window lock and open the window with his mind. He wiped his clean hands on his jeans and climbed through the window with what he was sure was excessive grace—until he went tumbling over, barely catching his balance before he hit the ground.

“Shh, shh!” he insisted at the window and the furniture and a nearby plant. It looked like he was in the living room, so wrong window after all, but at least he was inside. He could just tiptoe to the right room now. He was sneaky, and stealthy, and impressive.

Michael found the right room quickly, partly because he did in fact know the layout of this house deep down and partly because he could hear the sound of someone moving against bedsheets. Michael grinned to himself, and toed off his boots, padding across the floor on his bare feet.

The door swung open with a quiet creak, and Michael whispered another warning of “shh” at the hinges. He could see the bed now, crouched like a boulder in the room, taking up most of the space, the bottom of the blankets tucked into the mattress, everything neat. Michael could never keep anything neat, and he’d never tucked a blanket under the mattress in his life. He smiled fondly at the sleeping form on the bed.

Stepping carefully on his toes, Michael walked into the room and climbed onto the foot of the bed. It creaked, too, suggestively lewd in a way that made his stomach clench in anticipation, and the figure under the covers started and shifted, suddenly resolving into the eyes and mouth and body of Alex Manes, blinking at Michael with his hair sticking up from sleep.

“Guerin?”

“Hi.” Michael beamed at him, tipping slightly sideways and catching himself on his elbows when the bed shifted under them as Alex sat up groggily.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Regaining his balance, Michael started crawling up the bed towards Alex, who was looking at him with confusion layered with exasperation and something more positive that Michael couldn’t allow himself to guess at. “I was quiet,” Michael pointed out.

The sheets on Alex’s bed made a quiet scratchy sound as his knees slipped against them, but other than that and their breathing, Michael had been quiet. He had had lots of practice, especially when he was younger, in making himself small and quiet enough to escape notice, and even though now he wanted to be noticed, he could still make himself quiet enough not to cost Alex any sleep.

Alex sighed and brushed hair away from his forehead. Michael huffed a little—he’d wanted to brush away that hair himself, to feel the exasperated but fond breath Alex would let out against his wrist. “I thought you had practice tonight with Isobel.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “I did.” He spread his arms wide, wobbling a bit as he did. “And then I came here. To you.”

Alex smiled a bit, indulgently, and Michael’s heart sang with it. He’d missed Alex, even though it was just the one night, and with good reason—bolstered by Isobel’s ability to learn new alien skills, Michael had been spending some evenings practicing with her, but it inevitably ended with things exploding or flying menacingly through the air whenever Michael got frustrated with his progress, which led to a strict rule against spectators. Tonight, practice had led to drinking, which had led to more drinking when Isobel pulled out the expensive liquor, which had led to Michael hitting drunkenness stage four and sneaking away even though they’d made a “no partners” pact with the first shot. Now all he wanted was to wrap himself around Alex like an octopus and tell him that he’d missed him on this stupid partner-free night, more than Michael would admit even now.

“You could’ve called.”

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Michael said matter-of-factly, gleefully crawling up the rest of the bed and situating himself in Alex’s lap, his knees bracketing Alex’s thighs through the thin sheet. He grins lopsidedly. “I was quiet.”

Alex laughed incredulously. Michael licked his lips, his eyes trailing down Alex’s bare chest, and he could feel Alex’s eyes on his face, could hear the slight waver under the amusement when Alex spoke. “Michael, are you drunk?”

“I’m here,” Michael said, leaning in and diving down to capture Alex’s lips in a searing kiss. Alex tasted like sleep and sun and memories and Michael ran his tongue against Alex’s lips, drinking in the sensation. His fingers danced over Alex’s chest, his other hand pressed against Alex’s neck, thumb caressing his cheek.

The stiffness of surprise bled out of Alex, his muscles turning pliant under Michael’s hands as he leaned into the kiss. Michael loved that, the feeling of the two of them pressing together until something gave, until they melted into each other and let the moment take them. Michael had been hard since he’d seen Alex in the bed, his body buzzing with anticipation, the need clouding his mind.

Michael ran the pad of his finger across Alex’s nipple, grinning as Alex moaned against his mouth and pressed his hips up towards Michael. Alex’s fingers slid up the outside seam of Michael’s jeans, pressing the fabric against Michael’s warm skin, before settling on his hips, pulling him down closer. Through the layers of cloth between them—his jeans and the blankets and the thin fabric of Alex’s boxers—Michael could feel the hard, hot press of Alex’s cock, and it made him dizzy with want.

Michael pulled back and rolled his hips, humming as Alex laid kisses across his throat, and smiling when Alex’s breath hitched. “Aren’t you glad I’m here?”

“Yes,” Alex breathed. His hands found their way under Michael’s shirt, fingertips cold against Michael’s overheated skin. Being with Alex was overwhelming enough when Michael was sober, but now it was both overwhelming and still not enough.

Michael helped Alex pull his shirt over his head, shivering in the cool air of Alex’s bedroom. Alex immediately pressed their chests together again, leaning in to suck a bruise against Michael’s collarbone while Michael dragged his fingers through Alex’s hair and whispered obscenities.

Alex’s hands slipped down Michael’s back, digging into the swell of his ass and pulling him in closer. Michael gasped, bracing his hands on Alex’s shoulder, sweeping the blankets away from them with his mind. He could feel his control slipping, the alcohol and the lust and the tension simmering in him, rising around him like a storm. Michael’s eyes slid shut as he let himself be immersed in the feeling of Alex’s body, of Alex’s mouth.

That mouth which moved away from his skin too soon. “Michael?” Alex’s voice was rough with feeling, but suddenly amused. “Are my things…floating?”

Michael opened his eyes hazily. He could barely tear his gaze away from Alex’s face—his mouth red with kissing, his pupils huge and dark, his breath labored—but when he did, he realized Alex was right—all around them, Alex’s few possessions were hovering in the air. Michael could feel it now, the tether of his energy holding it up, overwhelmed by the emotion that he couldn’t make himself speak aloud.

Michael grinned. “Guess I’m excited or something.”

“Hmm, weird,” Alex teased, bringing their mouths back together.

He squeezed Michael’s ass, encouraging the little pulses of Michael’s hips. Alex’s fingers caressed the expanse of Michael’s back, settling on the waist of his jeans and tracing it around to his stomach, one hand pulling at the button while the other palmed the line of Michael’s dick through the fabric.

“Fuck,” Michael whispered, rushing to help pop open the button and pulling back to yank off his jeans and briefs. Alex watched him raptly, licking his lips as Michael finally freed his cock and crawled back up the bed, cock curving towards Alex invitingly.

Michael cleared his throat, giving Alex’s boxers a disapproving look and Alex laughed as he carefully lifted himself to pull them off. Michael practically vaulted himself back into Alex’s lap, wrapping his arms around Alex’s neck. He licked into Alex’s mouth when Alex groaned at the feel of their cocks pressing together, at the movement of Michael’s hips as he straddled him.

Alex’s hands went instinctively around him, pulling Michael in as close as he could. His fingers slipped down the cleft of Michael’s ass and Michael sucked Alex’s bottom lip between his teeth, swiping the wet heat of his tongue against it. Tiny thrills of excitement and anticipation ran through him as Alex sighed beneath him and ran a single fingertip along Michael’s rim, slipping it easily inside him.

“Oh,” Alex moaned, “you already..?”

“I may have spent some time in Isobel’s guest bathroom thinking about what I wanted to do when I came over,” Michael whispered, grinning devilishly. “She has fancy lube.”

“Thinking,” Alex repeated weakly.

“Yeah.” Michael couldn’t stop grinning. He felt so good, so exactly where he wanted to be, under the spotlight of Alex’s gaze. He suddenly remembered something and floated a little bottle out of his discarded jeans’ pocket and up to hover beside them. “I stole the fancy lube, too.”

Alex laughed, grabbing the bottle out of the air and reaching behind Michael to pour some of Isobel’s fancy, probably far too expensive lube on his fingers. The bottle made a little snapping sound as it opened and closed, and the sound rang in Michael’s ears, building the anticipation. Alex pressed another finger inside of him and Michael shivered.

When Michael had found Isobel’s secret stash of lube, he’d been trying mostly to relieve himself without falling down, giggling drunkenly and catching himself on a drawer, pulling it open. As soon as he’s seen the lube in the drawer, though, he’d thought of Alex, sleeping alone in his bed, and Michael’s mind had spun fantasies that made his knees weak, visions of Alex that still couldn’t live up to the real thing, to the real sounds Alex made, to the real feel of his body beneath Michael’s. He’d fingered himself in Isobel’s bathroom with the sink running to cover moans he tried to stifle, then he’d apologized and told her he hadn’t been feeling well, and pocketed the lube with every intention of doing exactly what he was doing now.

With Alex’s fingers stroking inside of him, Michael couldn’t help the sounds he made, the way his body squirmed, his hips rolling down towards Alex’s almost of their own volition. Michael reached between them and stroked Alex’s cock. It was enough to make Alex break his concentration and thrust up into Michael’s fingers. Michael wanted absolutely nothing more than to get Alex’s cock inside of him, and to ride him into oblivion the way he’d been wanting to for hours now.

“Condom?” Michael asked, and Alex nodded towards the nightstand, letting Michael deal with actually opening the drawer hands-free. Floating a condom through the air was nearly as ridiculous as floating a bottle of lube, but Michael approved of all methods of progressing things that didn’t require him to take his hands off Alex’s skin.

Michael ripped the condom open and rolled it onto Alex’s cock with one hand. There was nothing inherently sexy about putting on a condom, but he loved the way Alex watched him do it, like everything Michael did was sexy, like Michael didn’t have to try harder to be what Alex wanted.

Alex removed his fingers and gripped Michael’s hips as Michael repositioned himself, lowering slowly onto Alex’s cock. Michael groaned as he finally slid down Alex’s cock; Alex bit his lip to stop from making sounds and still nearly yelled when Michael was fully seated on his dick, pressing their bodies together.

Resting his forehead against Alex’s, Michael took a moment to breathe before he tensed his thighs and started moving. Alex’s fingertips dug into Michael’s hips, creating a crescent of bruises. Michael tangled one hand in Alex’s hair as he rode him, moving their bodies apart and together and then fucking down in earnest.

Alex curled towards Michael, letting out a groan with each deep thrust. His skin was shiny with sweat, face open with lust. He let Michael set the pace, kissing Michael’s mouth and neck and chest in turn, his hands clutching Michael’s hips, pulling Michael tight against him.

Michael looked down at Alex, drinking in his eyes, darkened with lust, and his parted lips, breathing out hard with every motion of Michael’s body. Michael could never keep himself away from this, from the hot press of their skin, from the sounds echoing into the dark spaces of Alex’s room, from the way Alex breathed heavily and kissed hard and canted his hips up to meet Michael as best he could with every thrust.

“The things you do to me,” Michael said, panting around the words, his rhythm stuttering as Alex looked up to meet his eyes. It still never quite made sense to Michael that he was allowed to have this, that Alex didn’t leave him for something better, that Alex even welcomed him into his bed, that they got to choose each other. It didn’t make sense, but he had this—and not just this kiss, or this fuck, but all of it, everything Alex was willing to give him, always more than he expected, more than he deserved. It peeled away the hard layers of armor Michael had always worn, and made him something softer with Alex.

Michael caught Alex’s lips in a messy kiss. Michael was drunk on Alex, on the sensations, and also a fair amount of alcohol. Alex slid one of his hands across Michael’s stomach and wrapped his fingers around Michael’s cock, stroking him hard and fast.

Michael leaned in so that Alex’s cock hit his prostate with every thrust, pleasure zinging through him. Alex stripped Michael’s cock while his other hand clutched at Michael’s hip, like he was trying to hold on.

“Oh, fuck, Michael, I’m gonna—” Alex cut himself off with a loud moan, his hips pressing up hard against Michael, pushing himself as deep as he could. Michael squeezed around his cock, watching Alex’s face, drinking in the look of ecstasy as Alex came, shuddering, his hand stilling on Michael’s cock.

“Beautiful,” Michael gasped, tracing his fingers along the blush that spread across Alex’s cheeks. Normally, Alex would object to words like that—hell, normally Michael wouldn’t say them—but now, glowing with sex, his face open and trusting and happy, Alex just laughed it off.

“I still can’t believe,” Alex said, his voice thick and slow, his hand starting to move slickly over Michael’s cock again, “that you fingered yourself at Isobel’s, and then broke into my—fuck, Michael—my house.” Michael grinned, driving his hips towards Alex’s impossibly talented hand, clenching gently around Alex’s softening cock.

Michael opened his mouth with a retort, but then Alex moved his wrist just so, twisting his fingers around the head of Michael’s cock, and all Michael could manage was a softly moaned, “Alex.”

“Come on, Michael, cum for me,” Alex whispered commandingly, and Michael groaned as his muscles tightened and then let go, as he came all over Alex’s fist and their stomachs. Alex’s things fell out of the air, some floating nicely and others clattering to the ground. He shuddered as he collapsed towards Alex, pressing their lips together in sloppy, sated kisses.

Alex laughed as he extricated his hand from between them, wrapping both of his arms around Michael’s back, holding them together as they kissed, breathing heavily, sticky with sweat and Michael’s cum. Michael loved this, too. He loved the part when they were both well-fucked and happy, where they could wrap every limb around each other, safe in each other’s embraces, where no one could make either of them feel small or unwanted or unloved. Michael wanted to live here, in Alex’s arms, the air filled with the two of them, together.

Too soon, Alex made a little humming noise and pressed Michael gently off of him, sliding out of him and sighing happily. Michael moved obligingly, finding his way out of the bed and to the bathroom to get a washcloth to clean them off enough for now while Alex got rid of the condom.

Alex was lying on the bed when he came back in, smiling softly and looking so, so sleepy and satisfied. Michael grinned—he did that, he made Alex look like that. Michael slipped into the bed next to Alex, running the washcloth gently over Alex’s skin. Alex inhaled quickly, sensitive, and Michael made sure to soothe Alex’s skin with his fingertips after the washcloth had touched it. After a moment’s hesitation he licked the cum off Alex’s fingers, encouraged by the way Alex gasped and his cock tried valiantly to respond.

Michael floated the washcloth into Alex’s hamper, winding himself around Alex, twining his legs through Alex’s, wrapping his arms around Alex and pillowing his head in the juncture of Alex’s neck and shoulder. He felt calm and steady in a way he hadn’t all evening, soothed by their breathing and Alex’s hand on his back, the other twirling through his hair.

“Stay?” Alex asked quietly, and Michael nodded against his skin. Like hell he would leave now.

“Just try to stop me,” Michael replied, equally quiet, more for his own benefit than Alex’s. If Alex had asked him to leave, Michael would have left; he’d have been upset, but he’d have left. Alex wouldn’t ask him to leave, though, not anymore—he only asked Michael to stay now, and every time he did, strands of Michael’s trust began to knit themselves back together.

“How did you even…did you break a window?” Alex asked sleepily, pulling Michael closer, his hands running soothing lines across Michael’s skin.

Michael shook his head, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Can pick locks…with my brain, ‘member?” He paused, words coming sluggishly. “I would though. Break windows. To get to you.”

Alex laughed, quiet and low. “I’m glad you came.”

Michael snuggled in closer, kissing Alex’s neck very lightly. “That’s what she said.” He fell asleep to Alex’s affronted laughter.

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #established relationship #no angst in this one I promise

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tokoyamisstuff · 4 years

Text

Oneshot: Substance - Bucky x Reader

Summary: After stumbling upon certain things on your boyfriends phone, your self-esteem drops below zero.

Warnings: Self-hatred, Angst, Fatshaming, kinda Self-Harm (like withdrawal, not eating enough and overly excessive sport), one or two Swear Words.

Words: ~2900

A/N: Didn’t want to keep you guys waiting any longer, so this has been written in an hour without proof-reading. please have mercy with my soul

“Heya, sweetie-pie. Mind giving me the usual?”

There he was, 12 o’clock as usual. Bucky was leaning over the counter and staring at you with his piercing blue eyes.

He gave you a wink as he shoved the money over the counter, looking around the small but full diner. It was always that crowded at this time of the day.

“Come on, you doofus. You know it’s on me” you chuckled as you pressed the coins back in his hand, relishing at his warmth for a brief second before stepping back.

It has become a ritual to prepare his favourite on almost every single day, even though he claimed to love everything on your menu. His therapist once told him that a certain routine would help him adapt to society again, and he stuck to it pretty closely.

And visiting your restaurant was an important part of his day.

“Do you think we can spend the evening?” Your boyfriend was sipping on his coffee, eyes lighting up when you finally got him his piece of plum pie with whipped cream.

When you watched him eating it in almost one bite, you kind of admired him for being able to eat basically anything without gaining weight. But well, on the other hand, training and fighting were his daily bread, so it was no wonder those calories would be burned like it was nothing.

“Gosh, delicious as always” Bucky mumbled and you couldn’t surpress a quiet laugh at your dork while you were serving another customer. “And I mean you in that dress, not the food. Love your style.”

You usually avoided to fuel his stupid way of flirting, no matter how flattered you felt anyway. So you simply changed the topic. “Dunno. Might get late. Today seems to be very profitable.”

It was just wonderful how understanding Bucky was. Well, he knew he was a piece of work as well. Why should he be mad if you were sucessfull anyway?

So he just shrugged with a wide grin as he handed you over the empty plate, saying “Well, then I’ll tidy up the flat until you’re done. Guess who’s gonna get a back rub when they’re back home?”

“Sounds like a Netflix and Cuddle evening?”

“Everything you want, doll.” He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, knowing you weren’t all that comfortable with PDA - at least at work. “I won’t bother you any longer.”

“You’re never bothering me.” Smirking, you admired the way his muscles bulged through his sleeveless top. “Distracting is a far better word.”

He won’t comment on your statement, rather winking at you and mumbling something like “You just wait until later...” as he already rushed out of the entrance.

Six hours later you were finally able to end your twelve hour shift and close the restaurant almost on time - well...plus the few customers who came about five minutes before closure, and having to clean up the mess you’d always leave behind when cooking as quick as possible.

“I’m home, darlin’!” you cheered as you threw your bag into a corner and got rid of your shoes.

Seems like he was in the shower, at least he yelled something like ‘having something for you when he’s done’.

Well, if the surprise was something cute or nasty - you’d have no problem with either one.

“Hey, babe!” his voice called you out of the bathroom. “Can you look up when we made the reservation for cinema? I made a screenshot from the booking confirmation.”

He’d always ask for that kind of stuff in the weirdest situations. Probably because he knew he’d forget it otherwise.

“Alright.” His smartphone was placed on the nightstand, as usually. It was a miracle that he learned to use it that quickly, but on the other hand he’d always been very invested with new technology.

The two of you had no secrets. And even if: Taking each others cellphones wouldn’t really tell you something you didn’t already know about each other, so it had never been a no-go to use the others phone.

You sat down on the edge of the bed after throwing your sweat-soaked and stained clothes into the basket, wishing Bucky would hurry up so you could clean up and enjoy some hot water.

Scrolling through his picture folder, you hummed a happy little song, already wondring what you’d do on your day off tomorrow.

James is still pretty awkward in todays society, but hell he knew how to treat a woman. And dates were his speciality.

“I can’t fi-” Your words turned into a loud gasp as you saw the preview image of a seemingly naked woman. Shocked, even though you felt bad for prying instead of trusting your partner, you klicked on it to see the whole picture.

It was exactly what you thought it was. That sort of picture drunk elderly men would send each other in Whatsapp Groups.

A beautiful woman, only wearing a thong and presenting it in a - let’s call it ‘seductive’ pose.

And the worst of all was the headline, floating above the models face:

“The Perfect Woman”

This was not the only pic of some sort - you found a dozen of it, videos as well.

Disgusting was the only thing that came to your mind.

Not the woman, though. You were not one to slut-shame anyway.

But a feeling of disgust came up when you layed down the phone and went to the mirror, watching yourself closely. And for the first time, you were not satisfied with what you were seeing.

Sure, you’ve always been kind of chubby. But up until now you’ve never doubtet your beauty.

Curves were always something beautiful to you, even though you had to admit that some days, you were asking yourself why you had to be the only one of your friends who had that hard cellulite and stretch marks.

Maybe if you’d already have kids or were older, you’d be fine with it, but...

On the other hand, your friends would admire the fact that you had bigger breasts and a ‘peach ass’, as they’d call it.

Your mother used to call it ‘atomar boobs’ and ‘birth-enthusiastic hips’, always making you laugh about how self-ironic she was. But on the inside you knew how much she was struggling as well.

There were so many forms of beauty, and you loved every single one of it - including your own. But now..

“Ugly” you told yourself again and again, while trying to find a suitable pose that didn’t make you look like a small, wobbly piece of fat.

Did the opinion of a man really matter more to you than your own? Now you also felt kind of pathetic.

Actually, you were just hurt. Of him not being honest, and obviously searching for something...you didn’t want to say ‘better’, but rather ‘different’ than you.

As former Winter Soldier, he might not be that popular, but his looks sure did the trick anyway. So why not searching for a thin woman if he loves them so much?

Or does he already know them? What if those were not mere pictures, but woman he actually contacted?

The thought alone made you tear up.

You’ve tried. Your whole life you did and he knew that.

It’s a problem you’ve been struggling for your whole youth, after all.

No matter how much sport or diets you tried out, your body just wouldn’t change. Even after you’ve got diagnosed with hypothyreosis, the medication would only do so much as prevent further weight gain.

Things got a lot easier when you were grown up, and the bullies would decrease.

You learned to love yourself, and realized that many people were into exactly your kind of body-type. After finding your own style and way of living, things became so much easier and you could finally be yourself.

“Heya, there” a familiar voice snickered behind your back, “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

The only reaction Bucky would gain was a pained groan, yet you didn’t dare to make a scene just yet. You wanted him to take the hints and be honest with you, that was what you had decided.

“Didn’t find the picture. Go look yourself.”

With that said, you’d walk straight past him and towards the bathroom. It took you quite a while to cry to your hearts extend, sobs being deafened by the pattering sounds of the shower.

You wrapped a towel around yourself, but when you saw your reflection again as you put on some lotion, you decided to wear the bathrobe.

No matter how you moved, you felt like some fat would always wiggle or roll up somehow - and Bucky felt your discomfort as soon as you greeted him with a twisted face.

“C’mon here, babydoll. We can talk.” He patted the spot right next to him on the bed, and goddamn it was just too unfair how he was posing there on the mattress, looking like a fucking adonis compared to you.

The very second you stiffly layed down next to him, you felt his hand slip under your bathrobe and squeeze your thigh, making you gasp.

“Maybe I can cheer you up otherwise before we talk...” he breathed into your ear, adding a bittersweet “I missed you.”

“Bucky, please. I’m tired.” Perfect. You managed to get that sentence out without your voice cracking once. Now you just needd to turn around and wrap yourself in your comforter before he’d see the tears in your eyes.

You didn’t want him - or anyone else - to touch you ever again.

“O-okay...” James stuttered, already reaching out his hand to touch your shoulder. But in the end, he retreated it, realizing you needed some time for yourself. “Imma be at the sofa if you need me.”

“Or tell me what the fuck is wrong all of a sudden...” He kept himself from saying that.

The following days were the hardest ones yet to come - for both of you.

It all started with you declining all offers from friends to go swimming or visiting some food-places, slowly but steadily withdrawing you from the happy, active life you’ve built up out of anger and shame.

You had grown quite distant as time passed, at first finding any kind of excuse for intimacy, and afterwards not even bearing any kind of physical contact. Not to speak of simple and carefree talking...

The air had become strained around the two of you, but Bucky was too afraid to ask you what was wrong.

Instead of letting off some steam through work as always, you took a few weeks off. It wasn’t like you needed the money anyway, looking at how successfull your work was.

Your restaurant, even though being more of a small diner, had been on the top of New Yorks most popular ones for years. And you were damn proud of it.

Bucky would always say you’re the only one who cooks just like home, and meanwhile you knew all of his favourite dishes.

An unconscious smile ghosted your lips when you thought back to the day where Bucky would go all Winter Soldier on a dude that made fun of you for being “a wandering cliché: a fat woman running a kitchen”. Ouch.

You didn’t go on vacation those days - there was different work to do.

Actually, you liked sports. For fun, that is. Like going to swim with your friends, or going for a walk. Sometimes visiting the gym, even. To you, it was more part of a healthy lifestyle instead of a competition for appreciation.

But now, things were different. You tried to built up your confidence again through secretly visiting the Avengers training rooms - yet to no avail.

Steve kindly offered you help with any certain training, but you declined. This was something you wanted to achieve yourself.

As if that would change anything about your feeling of betrayal...

“Fuck!” you exclaimed after almost falling off the treadmill, having to use the emergency turn-off. Even though many people assumed it, you weren’t really unfit. But those past days, you’ve just overloaded yourself through excessive training and eating almost nothing.

You kneeled down, desperately trying to catch your breath. Looking down, you saw your bruised knuckles from punching the bag earlier and thinking of that damn beautiful woman on Buckys cellphone.

If only you would have the courage to talk this through with him...but you were afraid of the outcome. Of the truth.

Knowing you were all alone on the floor, you finally gave in to your emotions, huddling to a fetal curl and starting to sob over your deadlocked situation.

“Y/N?”

Dear god no - it was Bucky. What was he doing here? It was not his usual training time!

On the other hand: What else did he have to do in his free-time, now that the other Avengers are on a mission and his girlfriend is avoiding him at all costs?

Actually, he wanted to let off some steam as well. But seeing you like this swung his mood in an instant, and he aided you immediately.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?!” There was genuine compassion in his voice, sorrow even. As if it was his fault.

He was kneeling right next to you, and for the first time in two weeks, you wouldn’t flinch at his touch. “Let me help you...”

“You don’t need to play anymore, James” you whimpered, slapping his hand away. “Just get this over with.”

Now you’ve got him mad. “What the fuck did I do wrong to deserve this, Y/N?!” he screamed and his metal fist would meet the floor, cracking it broken.

“I know damn well I’m far from the perfect boyfriend...” Bucky began to sniffle, still clenching and unclenching his fists. “But I thought you’d love me as I am.”

“You’re one to talk.” Fuck it, now that you seemingly screwed up anyway you could talk freely. “I’ve seen the photos, Bucky. Of the perfect woman. Many of them. Seems like you prefer something not remotely close to me.”

For a while, there was only silence.

Bucky dug his face deep into his palms, as if he wanted to disappear in them - or simply to facepalm in a pretty weird way.

“Doll, is that what all this is about?”

His reaction made you feel kinda strange. “Y-yeah.” Did you overreact?

“You know I don’t possibly know her. Don’t care about her or her body either.” He sat there, cross-legged and with a face as dark as your heart had been those past weeks.

“Then why do you keep a ton of photos of naked models on your phone?!” You jumped onto him, effectively knocking him over and pinning him on the floor. Out of a whim, you wanted to run away, but he trapped you in his hold.

“Gosh, why can’t you talk to me for once?” It almost sounded like he found it funny. “You’re usually one to be upfront about everything.”

A sole tear escaped every eye, but Bucky would catch them with his thumb.

“Sam sent them to me. We have that Whatsapp-Group, and he’s simply that single, horny dude that finds that kind of stuff funny. You know I never delete anything. I have over 5000+ photos on that shit phone.”

You were stunned, looking at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry, doll. I should’ve know you’d stumble across them eventually. But you were always so confident and strong, the thought of it bothering you never crossed my mind.”

“Y-you-” Gosh, what a fucking idiot you were. “You’re not at fault, Buck! I’m so sorry! I feel so stupid right now.”

“And I thought you wanted to leave me...” he murmured, mainly to himself.

“Wha- how could I ever?! You’re the love of my life! Why else do you think your opinion matters this much to me? Look where we are right now!”

“And you know that the beauty-standarts of the 40s are exactly what you look like, right?”

The situation changed so drastically, it left both of you in boisterous laughter.

When you finally catched your breath, holding your thummy at how much you laughed, Bucky would not give you a break - rather cupping your cheeks and pulling your lips onto his.

“Look” he breathed out calmly, his cheek barely brushing yours. “I feel stupid for even saying this, but: My girl doesn’t have to be a model. Beauty is a concept, dear. Everyone pictures something else when they think of it. And I think of you.”

You had already snuggled up onto his chest as he swiftly picked you up, your ear able to sense his heartbeat. Absentmindedly running your hand over his prosthetic one, you realized that you were not the only one who was self-conscious about their appearance.

But just like you never doubted the true beauty of your lover, neither did he.

“Y/N...You’re strong and smart and kind. No one had ever touched my heart the way you did. That’s all that counts.”

_______

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 4 years

Note

Human Au, One character goes into another character's room looking for him, the closet door is open, first character peeks inside looking for second character, but instead of clothes or the second character they find... something (idk what they found) -pineapple

Alright so there’s a lot of ways this could be seen but the thing I thought first is more or less

Remy and Virgil are roommates for whatever and Virgil needs Remy for smth so he wanders into his room and he’s not there so Virgil checks the closet

Remy’s not there, and while there are some clothes, they’re in a pile on the middle of the closet floor

Lining the walls and sat on the shelves, instead, are… weapons

Guns, knives, some arrows next to what might be a fold-able bow, blow darts, etc.

There’s a box that’s ajar and seemingly holding a dozen IDs sitting next to boomerang and the only outfit that’s hung up is a pressed suit

There are FIVE pairs of sunglasses stacked on top of each other as well and Virgil just wants to know what the FUCK is going on

Remy wanders in a moment later, while Virgil’s still trying to figure out his closet, and he’s just ‘yo babes heard you calling for me- aw, fuck’

Virgil turns to Remy like ‘what??? is this???’

Remy’s ignoring him and just muttering to himself, ‘stupid nosey roommates always get in my closet… no privacy… guess I should lock it but that’s my problem… ugh I liked this one too…’

Virgil, crying in spirit: ‘PLEASE give me some sort of explanation’

Remy: ‘yeah, sure, just uh… oh look! a knife!’

Virgil, a stressed fool, turned around to look, found that, yeah, there were knives but he already knew that, and what was that sudden sting in his arm that can’t be good when did the world starting getting all wobbly and dark-

Virgil wakes up about two hours later sprawled on his bed with a little smiley-faces bandage slapped literally over his hoodie

Checking the spot beneath the hoodie + bandage reveals a little red dot that Virgil knows well enough from when he gets flu shots

He groans

His roommate drugged him after Virgil found his danger closet

Getting up a few minutes later and checking around the apartment finds an unmarked envelope filled with next month’s rent sitting on the table and all of Remy’s things completely gone and packed up- closet definitely included

Great. His ex-roommate drugged him and left after Virgil found his danger closet that is now completely unexplained and will likely never be explained

Well, Virgil can’t let that stand

He wants explanations and by gods he’s going to get them!

Even though Remy’s gone, his presence isn’t completely erased. Virgil remembers him, remembers how he acted and where he went and a few other things

(It’s an anxiety thing, that he knows all this, alright? not stalker-y or creepy or related to the fact that Remy’s cute)

It takes a few weeks, triangulating all the places he went and making calls that are… weird, at the best, and downright life-threatening at worst, but everything just makes Virgil more and more curious until he’s standing in front of an abandoned warehouse that he’s heard mentioned five times in all his calling and is his best lead as to where the hell Remy went

He manages to break in through a window that’s missing its glass pane

Virgil’s confused at first when he finds nothing but a completely empty factory, decorated skillfully with old barrels and rotting planks, but he pokes around a bit and finds a trap door under a couple of marked ‘hazardous material’ containers

(Any other day, any other place? He wouldn’t have even thought of touching them- but here and now, all he could think was ‘where would I hide my secrets? underneath the thing no one would ever touch is probably a good idea’)

He descends the ladder within, dropping into a narrow passage that leads… somewhere

He starts to walk down it when the lights that lined the walls suddenly flickered off, plunging him into complete darkness

Footsteps echo in the hall until five seconds the lights are back on and there are six different people in dark, uniform clothing pointing guns at him

Virgil puts his hands up before they’re even asking him too, confused and unsure of what the hell was happening until there’s a ripple in the ranks, the people getting pushed and nudged to the side as someone presses their way in between them, making their way to the front, and it’s-

“Remy?” Virgil says the minute he sees his former roommate, though he’s- well he’s him but also not, sunglasses there but propped up on top of his head instead of over his eyes, still in ripped jeans and a crop top but their both plain black instead of being bright, garnish colours, a coffee in his hand but in a paper cup instead of a Starbucks one

“You’re- you-” Remy looks confused, brow furrowed, but eventually he just sighs, rubbing his temple before he says, “Drop it, boys, I’ll handle it”

The people with guns obey immediately, squinting suspiciously at Virgil as they holster their guns and shuffle away. Remy’s still looking at Virgil like he doesn’t belong there (which he doesn’t, he really doesn’t)

“How’d you find me, babes?” Remy asked, finally, after the silence stretched for a while. “There are some people who would kill to get here, though I don’t really think that’s up your alley.”

“I made a lot of calls.” Virgil answered hesitantly. He didn’t like implication that he had done something impossibly hard. “And triangulated a few locations. Just… small stuff.”

“Trust me, that ain’t small. Why were you trying to find this place?”

“I wanted to know why my roommate had a closet full of weapons and convenient knock-out drugs on hand.” Virgil snapped, annoyed.

Remy half-shrugged. “Fair enough.” He turned, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

Virgil didn’t bother asking why Remy wanted him to follow or where they were going or what was happening or anything, really, because something told him he’d figure it out soon enough

They eventually reached the end of the hallway, and Virgil had to bite back a gasp of pure shock when he saw the room they entered

The place seemed to be a fully set up agency; the room they immediately entered had smoothed rock floors that were covered in various desks and screens, lights attached to the walls and laid within the floor as well, hallways carved into the walls leading elsewhere

Most of the desks were occupied by people dressed identically to those who had held Virgil up in the hallway, working diligently in their plain outfits, guns clearly hanging against their hips and making Virgil more than a little nervous.

“Welcome… to Nowhere.” Remy said, waving at the room before turning to grin at Virgil. “We call it that because, legally, this place? It exists nowhere. The warehouse over it doesn’t even exist- not if you looked for it solely through google maps and government records, anyways.”

“Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious?”

Remy shrugged. “Google maps makes mistakes. Government systems glitch. and if anyone happens to notice, well… most of them don’t have the luck of having had been roommate’s with one of the people who know this place is real.”

Virgil knew he paled at that. “I… hate that.”

Remy nodded. “Not surprised… come on! To my office!”

Virgil felt odd, shuffling past the desks with all the workers staring untrustingly at him as Remy whistled and more or less skipped by, taking them down another hall before ushering Virgil into one of the rooms branching off of it

The room was like the rest of the place- stone walls and floors- but with only one chair in it, set up before a desk + wall of monitors and screens paired with three keyboards and two computer mice.

“Have a seat.” Remy says, sitting himself on one of the outcroppings of stone sticking out of the wall. “We have a lot to talk about.”

And I won’t go further but basically the idea is that Remy’s part of a secret organization, one that’s entrenched in enough secrets it doesn’t even have a NAME. Virgil finding the place is a feat, so, of course, he can never leave. Like it not, he’s part of this place now.

Casting is basically

Virgil: Was just some random person, now works at Nowhere because they’d probably kill him if he didn’t. Doesn’t have an actual job in the agency, just works what Remy works.

Remy: Technical support/hacker. Keeps the agency a secret and deals with all the online stuff. Goes into the field when needed (hence having an arsenal) but he’s more of a stay-at-home man. Sometimes gets apartments when he needs them, but he’s bad at keeping the company secret, so it’s not often

Roman: Remy’s field partner when he goes out. I don’t have many more details for him except that he and Remy are highkey crushing on each other, which causes problems for the sake that a) Roman thinks Remy and Virgil are together/getting together, b) Virgil thinks Remy and Roman are together/getting together, c) Remy thinks they’re both cute but not interested in him. It’s called a convoluted love triangle except they ALL get together because that’s the only thing I write hscbjch

And,,,,, that’s all I have. Hope you like it shdcfbsjdfcsd

#no thoughts whatsoever as to the others but oh well #also I put this on queue so when this posts I'll be at school #just a heads up #the cryptid speaks #the cryptid answers #ts virgil #ts roman #ts remy #ts sleep #pineapple anon

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nevertherose · 3 years

Text

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight- Chapters 9-13

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

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

Chapters 1-8 are here.

Chapters 14-17 are here.

Here's the next chunk:

Chapter 9- Gridlock

“This Martha. She must mean an awful lot to you.”

“Hardly know her. I was too busy showing off. And I lied to her. Couldn’t help it, just lied.”

Patton felt strange.

Well, he’d felt strange for a while now, ever since this odd little adventure had started, but it grew worse the further into the asylum they traveled. His limbs were strangely heavy, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and there was a chill in his core that no amount of self-hugging could alleviate.

And he kept having these flashes of…well, anger. Like, sure, being stuck in the Imagination in the middle of the night was a tad frustrating, but that was no reason to feel this…this blind, red rage that welled up from time to time.

What was wrong with him?

Patton needed a hug.

He wondered if Janus would give him one, if he asked.

Eh…maybe not. Janus was many things: smart, cunning, arrogant, fiercely caring…but huggable wasn’t a word that immediately came to mind.

The ladder from the escape pod had led down a long shaft that dumped out into an empty metal hallway; dark, rusty, and with water dripping everywhere. Janus had found a computer terminal and scanned the area, plotting out a route that would lead them around various knots of warring aliens. He located Remus’ tiny prison almost immediately, and ignored it in favor of scanning for a teleportation chamber.

“If I have to be in this stupid adventure,” he informed Patton tersely, “I want my damned TARDIS back.”

“I’m not arguing with you.” Patton spread his hands.

“We’ll have to cross four hangers and a maze of corridors to reach the room,” Janus mused, irritatedly rubbing the scales on his face. “And it looks like most of this area is still infected with the nano cloud.”

“I know,” Patton whispered as Janus strode off.

Patton would feel a lot better about their chances if this hadn’t been the fifth time they’d had this exact conversation.

One empty hanger and two hallways later, Janus stopped at another terminal.

“Janus…” Patton started.

“There’s Remus’s prison,” Janus muttered, staring at the screen and ignoring him completely. “But where’s…ah. There’s a teleportation chamber about three hangers away. We should head for that.”

“But…”

“No, Patton, we are not going after Remus first.” Janus sighed, and itched his face. “If I have to be in this stupid adventure—”

“You want your damned TARDIS back, I know!” Patton yelled.

Janus blinked at him, and narrowed his eyes.

“You never swear.”

I never feel like this. Why am I acting like this?

“And you are being affected by the nano cloud,” Patton said hurriedly. “We keep having this same conversation over and over! I am begging you, please wear the bracelet for a while. ”

He held out his wrist, which Janus absently took in his hands. His mouth compressed, so hard that the skin around the snakelike slit grew pale.

“Or let me go ahead of you, and try to deactivate the cloud,” Patton offered.

“You wouldn’t be able to hack the system.” Janus shook his head. “I have all the Master’s knowledge, which is why I can.”

“Then you take the bracelet and do it!”

“We’re not splitting up, Patton.”

Patton growled softly and turned away, walking in a small circle to calm himself down.

“You…just…I am getting really frustrated with you, mister,” he sputtered. “Take. The. Bracelet.”

“I’m tough, Patton. I can handle it.” Janus smiled bitterly. “Maybe the cloud is messing with my memory a little, but it will never be able to actually convert me.”

Patton frowned…or tried to. His facial expressions felt weirdly stiff.

“Why’s that?”

“You remember the whole ‘how do you make a Dalek’ schtick?” Janus’s grin grew wider, fangs flashing behind his lips. “‘Erase love, add anger’? Well. My heart is already cold and hard. There’s no love to erase, and thus, nothing to convert.”

Patton felt his own heart break, to hear Janus say such awful things about himself…but…maybe he had an inadvertent point. Patton knew that he himself, on his best days, was a squishy ball of excessive caring and emotion, prone to bouts of both effervescence and melancholy (or so Roman had described him, once). Nothing to be ashamed of; as Thomas’s heart, that’s just who Patton was.

But as such, maybe…maybe the nano cloud really would have an awful, immediate effect on him. He already felt so strange…

Maybe Janus was right to insist he keep the bracelet on.

Well. Patton put his hands on his hips, huffing. That doesn’t mean he gets to talk bad about himself.

“Hello?” a strange, almost furry-sounding voice called.

Two aliens rounded the corner behind them. They looked almost human, except for their furred bodies, large, feline ears and catlike faces. They moved hesitantly, with inhuman grace, their long tails flicking nervously behind them.

“Ooh, Janus, they’re Catkind!” Patton gasped softly, clasping his hands together. “I always wanted to see one up close…”

“But where the hell did they come from?” Janus groused. “We were just in that corridor…and also, may I remind you that you’re allergic?”

“Hello there!” Patton called as the Cat People approached, ignoring Janus’s eye roll. “Where did you come from?”

“I’m not sure.” The tabby-like Cat Person rubbed their furred hands together. “One moment we were in our hover van, watching the newscast as always, and then…oh!”

The Cat Person’s eyes widened as they drew up to Patton. Janus quickly stepped between them and lifted his hands.

“It’s okay, we’re lost here, just like you,” he said smoothly.

“Well. I guess strange times make strange bedfellows, or something like that,” the tabby Cat joked, flashing a mouthful of feline teeth.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Janus crooned. “You were saying…?”

Patton was beginning to sense, more and more, that Janus was actively, purposefully hiding something from him.

But now wasn’t exactly a good time to ask.

“We were watching the TV,” the second Cat Person said. They were shorter, their voice and fur color both lighter than that of their companion, and they wore a sling pouch across their body. “And something flickered across the screen; I can’t remember exactly what it was. A gray face, or…” They shrugged, furred shoulders rippling. “And then we were just…here.”

A tiny face popped out of the sling as they spoke. It meowed, and Patton let out a very undignified squeal.

“Is that a kitten?” he all but squeaked, holding hands up to his face. It was so cute!

“Oh! Yes.” The pale Cat smiled down at the sling. “Our six babes. They sleep better when I keep them close.”

“Can I pet them?” Patton was practically vibrating. “Pretty please? I’ll be very careful.”

The Cat frowned, exchanging a glance with their partner, but carefully extracted a kitten and cradled it. Patton ran a trembling finger down its spine and cooed when it started to purr.

Janus, meanwhile, was stroking his bottom lip.

“Catkind…hover van…were you on the Motorway in New New York, by chance?”

The tabby Cat frowned. “Well, of course.”

“The Gridlock episode,” Janus said quietly to Patton. “Which was set in the far future, if I recall. But where…or I suppose, ‘when’…does the asylum episode fall within that timeline?”

Patton shrugged. He didn’t have Logan’s or, he supposed, Janus’s patience for untangling complex plot threads in TV shows, and time was so wibbly wobbly within the Doctor Who universe anyway. Plus, knowing “when” the Cat People were from didn’t explain how they spontaneously ended up here, in this hallway.

They’re just…here, like that Tivolian in the escape pod. Sadness rushed through him. The asylum was no place for innocent people like this, especially a couple with babies!

“If I may,” the tabby Cat said as their partner resettled their kittens in the sling. “Where did the two of you come from? And where are we?”

“Ah, well, that’s a rather long story,” Janus said. “We—”

“Ah-ha! More intruders in our quadrant!”

Six or so squat Sontarans, all helmeted and bristling with blaster rifles, flooded into the corridor. The two Cat People froze, eyes growing wide.

“Terminate them,” the Sontaran leader shouted, pointing. “For the glory of Sontar!

“Invasion of the Potato People,” Janus snarked, fangs flashing, as he flicked a setting on his sonic laser. “Just what we need.”

The aliens raised their guns.

“Now, er, fellas,” Patton tried, raising his arms. “There’s…there’s no need for violence. Can’t we all just, uh, get along?”

“The Sontaran Empire does not take orders from your kind, metal scum!” the lead Sontaran snarled. “Fire!”

“Run!” Janus shouted, seizing Patton’s arm and shoving the two terrified Cat People ahead of him.

There was a confused, mad rush through a half dozen corridors, dodging blaster fire, as Janus occasionally fired back with his laser and stopped to hack closed doors as they encountered them.

The clomp of boots and chanting echoed behind them.

“Sontar-ha! Sontar-ha!”

At one junction, the Cat People peeled off down a smaller random hallway before Patton could even protest.

“Splitting up is safer! We can’t worry about them!” Janus yelled, yanking Patton a different direction. That corridor ended in a door that Janus couldn’t seem to hack, and they had to backtrack to a tiny alcove, folding themselves inside and catching their breath.

There was barely enough room for the two of them.

Janus pressed one yellow-clad hand against Patton’s chest as they waited, warily, for the bootsteps and yelling to pass, their breaths filling the space. He was so close that Patton could count the individual scales on his cheekbone and the green flecks in his yellow slitted eye. Unfamiliar facial hair…familiar, hooded gaze.

It occurred to Patton, suddenly, that he’d never stood this close to Janus before. Close enough to feel his slight warmth, to breathe in the spicy, subtle aroma emanating from his clothes…

“Did you know you smell like cloves?” Patton blurted out when the corridor was silent again. It had been such an odd thing to notice.

It also wasn’t unpleasant.

Janus didn’t acknowledge that, but instead massaged his temples.

“Ugh, my head is killing me.”

“Say…” Patton narrowed his eyes as he realized he was looking down at the other Side. “Aren’t I shorter than you? In the mindspace anyway.”

If Patton hadn’t been looking for it, he might have missed the way Janus’s eyes widened infinitesimally.

“Well.” Janus shrugged, all expression gone. “I hadn’t paid much attention.”

Liar.

Something stone-like settled in Patton’s stomach.

“No, you’re definitely supposed to be taller,” he said, more firmly.

Deceit.

“If the Imagination altered our clothes coming in, surely it could have altered our heights.”

Janus’s voice was as smooth as ever, and for a moment, Patton hated how easily the snake-faced Side did this. The unfamiliar anger at the back of his mind swirled.

Deceit, come on.

“Well, then why didn’t I sneeze when I pet that kitten?” Patton demanded. “You yourself pointed out that I’m allergic.”

“Kittens don’t produce the protein that triggers an allergic reaction.” Janus’s eyes went distant for a moment. “I do hope that couple found a safe place to hide.”

“Gosh, yeah, me too…” Patton murmured, and then frowned. “Oh, no you don’t, mister, you’re trying to change the subject! I wasn’t allergic to the parents, either; explain that!”

Janus shrugged, still infuriatingly calm.

“Maybe Catkind as a whole don’t produce ordinary feline dander.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what it is you’re hiding!” Patton snapped, grabbing the other Side’s shoulders and raising a hand…wait.

What…am I doing?

Janus had paled, and the spark of actual fear flashing in his eyes was enough to snap Patton out of…whatever that was. He stared at his hands and for a moment, he swore he saw…

But then it was gone.

And Janus had pulled away, stepping out into the now-empty corridor.

“We should keep moving,” he threw over his shoulder, jacket flapping as he stalked away, leaving Patton to stumble after him.

“Janus.”

Janus’s shoulders flinched but he kept walking, his boots clacking harshly on the concrete floor.

Patton hurried to catch up.

“Janus!”

The snake-faced Side turned a corner, taking him out of Patton’s line of sight for a moment. Patton broke into a run, rounding the corner and almost crashing into him.

He’d stopped, and was typing away at yet another terminal.

Patton realized they were back at the door from before, the one Janus hadn’t been able to hack. Muffled shrieks and shouts echoed through the thick metal from the other side.

“Almost got it,” Janus muttered, absently rubbing his head; hadn’t he mentioned a headache earlier? He’s always concealing things. I wish he could just…but Patton still felt shaken by what had happened earlier, so he decided to let it go for now.

Best to avoid another quarrel.

“Are you sure we want to go this way?” he said instead. “It sounds like a battle on the other side.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Patton.” Janus waved a hand, not looking at him. “I already looked. It’s just some people milling around; they likely won’t even notice us. And the teleportation chamber we need is on the other side.”

Patton frowned, and hunched to peer through the smudged rectangle of glass on the door. It was difficult to make out specifics, but he definitely saw blaster fire, and knots of very large aliens running back and forth.

“That is not just people, J—” he started, but then the door slid open and Janus was already striding through.

“—Janus, no!” Patton yelped and followed.

That door, it turned out, had been blocking a great deal of noise. Yelling, clanging, blaster fire hitting metal, horribly familiar robotic voices screeching. Knots of hulking Judoon fought a proper horde of green Silurians, with a few commanding Daleks thrown in on both sides.

It was impossible to tell who was winning, if anyone; or what, if anything, they were fighting over.

Patton caught up to Janus and grabbed his jacket collar.

“See, Patton?” Janus shot him an easygoing smirk that made Patton’s stomach twist in alarm, and waved a hand. “It’s just people.”

“Oh, no, I remember this bit now,” Patton murmured.

He seized Janus’s face.

“Janus Sanders, the nanocloud is altering your perception,” he said, twisting the other Side around. “Look again, look!”

Janus looked, and Patton heard his swift intake of breath.

“EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! THE CARGO DOOR HAS BEEN BREACHED!”

Several Daleks split off from the battle and rolled toward the two of them, drawing a few curious Silurians along. Patton huffed.

“And now they’ve seen us.”

He again held up his arms, though logically he knew negotiating with Daleks was a worse non-starter than placating Sontarans. Still…it never hurt to try.

A Silurian grabbed one of their neighbors, and pointed at him.

“It has a nano repeller!” they called. “Seize it!”

“Well, that’s new,” Janus snarked.

“Run?” Patton squeaked as more Silurians peeled off from the main battle.

“Run,” Janus confirmed.

They bolted across the hanger and through the thick of the fight.

The pursuing Daleks actually proved to be a useful distraction, charging after them with blasters blazing, drawing enemy fire away from the two Sides. But the pursuing Silurians were faster, and they kept chasing long after the Daleks found other, more engaging targets.

The Silurians tailed Patton and Janus into the adjoining corridor, briefly catching up when Janus had to stop and hack yet another door. The door slid open as green hands scrabbled at Patton’s arms. Janus zapped one with his laser and pulled Patton through, slamming the inside panel with his other hand.

The door slid shut, and Janus fried the controls so it couldn’t be easily opened again.

Patton breathed.

They were safe, again, for the moment.

At least Patton thought they were….until he happened to glance down at his hands.

“Janus!” he yelled shrilly. “My bracelet is gone! Oh no, oh no, oh no…I thought if we didn’t lose it in the escape pod we wouldn’t lose it at all…”

“Patton.” Janus was abruptly in his face, gloved hands gripping his jawline. “Patton, breathe.”

“I’m sorry!” Patton sobbed. “I lost it and now we’re both going to turn into Daleks, Janus, I’m so sorry—!”

“Nonsense.” Janus’s voice grew sharp. “You have nothing to worry about.”

And something…truthy...in the timbre of those words cut through Patton’s rising panic like a slap to the face.

“And why is that?” Patton asked, just as sharply.

Janus hesitated.

He very clearly hesitated, his fingers digging into the nape of Patton’s neck. Patton held his breath.

“Because…” Janus swallowed, his eyes darting away. “Because nobody in this universe or any other could possibly exhaust the well of love that is Patton Sanders’ heart.”

And with that he whirled away, stalking to the raised teleportation platform and sliding under the glass floor.

With an effort, Patton closed his gaping mouth (darn his stiff muscles). He’d never been so certain in all his life that Janus had just lied to him, again…but it was also the sweetest and most vulnerable thing he’d ever heard the other say. It sent a shock of warmth down to Patton’s too-cold toes.

Janus…Janus truly believed that Patton’s heart held too much love for the Daleks to steal?

“Oh.” Patton exhaled, gaze drawn to Janus as he rewired the platform; jacket sleeves rolled up his forearms, sonic held between his teeth and a look of utter concentration on his face.

That strange, and oddly beautiful face.

Oh.

Chapter 10- Silence in the Library

“The shadows are moving again. Those people are depending on you. Only you can save them. Only you.”

“What I want to know,” Roman griped as he and Logan slumped against yet another corridor wall, “is where all these blasted aliens are coming from.”

Ever since giving Remus’s “Silurian army” the slip, they’d encountered one obstacle after another. They’d been pursued what felt like halfway across the asylum by a pair of crafty Saturnynians wanting their nano bracelets; Roman had singlehandedly fought off a horde of Tritovores; Logan had outsmarted a Sontaran troop by trapping them in a small chamber with only one working door; and they had only just outrun a platoon of Judoon.

All with Logan unable to see anything more than five feet in front his face.

Roman, if he was being honest with himself, kind of didn’t mind being Logan’s eyes. Sure, his sword arm was sore from fending off aliens trying to rob them or kill them (Roman fought with the flat of his blade, of course; no need for pointless killing). But having his crush depend on him to see threats coming, and to keep from crashing into things…it was nice to feel needed.

For once.

Plus…Roman could compose entire sonnets on how beautiful Logan’s galaxy-dark eyes were, when they weren’t hidden behind glasses.

“Remus,” Logan called, straightening up. “We could use some help.”

Roman scoffed. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“If Logan offers to pay in dick pics, I might get something up,” Remus’s whiny voice commented from the wall behind them, making them both jump.

Roman sputtered.

Did his brother really have to keep…was it even flirting, when it was that crude? Roman knew logically he was only doing it to get a reaction, but gosh darn Remus for going straight for his metaphorical heart.

“We are all anatomically the same, Remus.” Logan frowned. “Why you would wish to see my—?”

“Logan, I implore you not to finish that sentence.” Roman flapped his hands.

Logan leaned over to squint at him. And quite apart from Remus's inappropriate commentary, Roman wished he could figure out what that intense, narrow-eyed look Logan kept giving him meant. Right now he was sure his face must be as red as his missing Prince sash.

“It would be helpful,” Logan went on, turning to face the general direction of the wall speaker, “if I could see a current life-form reading for the whole planet. Then we would know which areas to avoid. Remus, is that something you can hack into?”

“Only for you, Logie-bear,” Remus answered. “Or should I say Nina? There’s a terminal with a screen just down the hallway.”

“Remus, I swear…” Roman brandished his sword at the speaker as Logan climbed to his feet.

But Remus only giggled, and Roman didn’t know how to finish the threat without prompting uncomfortable questions, anyway.

The screen showed the whole planet, with life-form density marked in red and notes written in some alien tongue. Logan leaned close, typing in various commands, looking at different areas; his frown grew deeper as he worked.

“Is that, like, a whole lot of red, or do I just not know how to read this thing?” Roman asked.

“No, it doesn’t make any sense,” Logan muttered, mostly to himself. “Remus. Will you read that number to me? Perhaps the Doctor’s command of this language is incomplete…”

“You mean the part where it says there are currently 13 billion life forms on the planet?” Remus said.

“What?” Roman sputtered.

“Exactly. It’s preposterous.” Logan nodded. “Nearly twice the population of humans on Earth. We’d be packed into this asylum like sardines, were the population really so high. Perhaps it’s aggregate?”

“Hmm, you know people can aggregate, too, especially during orgies when they f…”

“Remus, while normally I would applaud a creative use of vocabulary,” Logan cut in with a flat expression. “I do not wish to discuss group copulation at this time, or any other.”

Roman, meanwhile ran a hand down his (flushing) face.

“‘Copulation’, my ass,” he grumbled.

“Yes, that is usually how it works among men,” Remus crooned.

“REMUS!”

“Both of you!” Logan snapped. “Enough. Remus, please.”

“Fiiiine. Here’s your stats over a span of weeks.” Remus flashed another chart on the screen. “And here’s months, and years.”

More charts.

“See, this math makes more sense.” Logan reached up as if to adjust his glasses, but dropped his hand when he realized they weren’t there. “A constant flow of new aliens, while a smaller number disappear every day. That is unfortunately as I would expect in such a volatile environment.”

He peered closer to the screen.

“However, nearly eighty percent of the abnormally high life form readings are concentrated in a few clusters around the asylum; mostly in isolated, out of the way places. Remus, can you provide a visual for one of those areas?”

Remus did so, the screen switching to what appeared to be a security feed, pointed at a storage room. A room which was conspicuously empty, except for a few piles of long, white objects.

“Come on, quit fucking around,” Roman complained.

“Language.” Remus’s voice tsked.

Roman scoffed. “Oh, put a maggoty sock in it, Remus; you aren’t Patton.”

“Careful with those metaphors, brother mine, or you’ll start to sound like me.”

“Why you—!”

“Hush!” Logan snapped with a frown. “No, these…these are the correct coordinates. According to this data, there are several million life forms packed into that space.”

Roman and Remus gasped in unison, causing Logan to shoot Roman an alarmed look.

“How big are the ‘life forms’ that chart is picking up?” Roman demanded.

“Way ahead of you.” Remus threw more readouts onto the screen. “But I’ll bet my favorite stick of deodorant that they’re really, really small.”

“They appear to be microscopic, in fact,” Logan’s eyebrows shot up. “And those white objects…”

“Bones,” Roman whispered. “‘A million million life forms, and silence in the library’.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “Vashta Narada?”

“Vashta Narada!” Remus screeched, startling them both.

It took Roman a moment to realize his brother had screeched with glee.

“Ooh, look, there are so many of them!” Remus pulled up a chart of the whole planet, with clusters illuminated in red. Logan whipped out his screwdriver and scanned the screen.

“I did wonder why the Daleks always avoided the shadows, and ooh, look! Bones! Piles and piles of bones!” Remus showed another security feed; Roman quickly turned away. “They’re so clean.”

“I have downloaded the locations of the worst nests,” Logan flashed his sonic. “So we can avoid those areas, too.”

“Well, that’s just boring,” Remus complained. “One of you could surely sacrifice a leg or something. Aren’t you curious to see what your skeleton looks like?”

“Nobody wants to see that!” Roman felt slightly nauseated at the idea.

“Well, and if they did,” Logan added, ever literal, “that is what X-rays are for.”

“The Vashta Narada are his favorite Doctor Who alien,” Roman said in a lower voice. “He talked about that episode for weeks—”

The lights cut out, and the Voice…that’s what Roman had taken to calling it, anyway…mumbled its incomprehensible speech. It had happened several times on their journey now.

“What is that?” he demanded once the lights came back up.

“I think I heard ‘tower’, that time, and something about seconds,” Logan commented.

Roman shrugged.

“I may regret this, but…Remus, what do you think?” he asked with a grimace.

Silence.

Roman sighed. “Typical.”

A blast down the hall interrupted them.

Several Daleks rolled into the hallway, screeching in their room-filling, robotic voices. Roman seized Logan’s arm and pulled them into an alcove, placing his hand over Logan’s mouth when the logical Side started to protest.

“Daleks, super close,” Roman whispered.

He swore he felt Logan shiver in his grasp, and tried not to hyperfocus on the other’s rapid breathing, and heated skin, and…

One of the Daleks rolled in their direction. “INTRUDER! COME OUT AT ONCE!”

Logan pried Roman’s hand away.

“If we are at the scene in the asylum episode that I believe we are,” he said lowly, “then this should be the Dalek that runs out of power. If so, I remember how to defeat it.”

“And if it’s not?” Roman whisper-demanded.

“INTRUDER!”

“Then we will think of something else.”

“But—!”

Logan pulled Roman’s face very close, effectively shutting him up. His dark pupils were wide with adrenaline, his skin flushed with all the running they’d done. Roman couldn’t help it; his gaze flickered to Logan’s lips.

Those well-bitten, unfairly kissable lips.

“Roman,” Logan said softly, the words puffing against Roman’s face. “Do you trust me?”

“Oh, you…you can’t just quote Aladdin at me, Lo,” Roman protested weakly. “That’s not fair.”

“I would not be here to quote it, if you hadn’t gotten us this far. I outwitted the Sontarans; let me handle this.” Logan leaned even closer, and Roman couldn’t move even if he wanted to. “Do you trust me?”

Always, Doctor.

Roman nodded.

“INTRU—der—!”

As if on cue, the Dalek sputtered to a stop just before it reached their hiding place.

Logan shot Roman a devastating smirk and stepped out.

“All right, you rolling tin can.” Logan flicked his wrists and performed a mocking bow. Even half-blind, he was so fully and completely the Doctor in that moment that the performer inside Roman could only swoon.

Well, their Source was an actor, after all. Even his Logic instinctively knew how to work an audience.

“Identify me. Access your files. Who am I?” Logan’s voice dropped. “Come on. I’m tired and blind and just want to go home. Who’s your daddy?”

Roman choked and slapped a hand over his mouth.

“YOU ARE THE PREDATOR,” the Dalek declared.

“And what are your standing orders concerning the Predator?” Logan asked.

“THE PREDATOR MUST BE DESTROYED.” The Dalek attempted to use its gunstick, but only managed to wiggle it around.

“And how are you going to do that, Dalek?” Logan smirked, making Roman swallow another soft noise. “Without a gun, you’re a tricycle with a roof. How are you going to destroy me?”

“SELF-DESTRUCT INITIATED,” the Dalek warned, a light inside its eyepiece flashing red.

“Oh, heck, I remember this!” Roman rushed out to join Logan, as the other pulled out his sonic and lifted the Dalek’s lid.

“Exactly, Roman.” Logan ran the screwdriver along the shell’s insides.

“SELF-DESTRUCT CANNOT BE COUNTERMANDED.”

“I’m not looking for a countermand, dear.” Logan slammed the lid down. “I was looking for reverse.”

The Dalek whizzed backwards, flailing its appendages, its lights flashing frantically.

“FORWARD! FORWARD!”

It sped back into the chamber it had vacated, where several other Daleks waited.

“Run!”

Logan pulled Roman along (nearly running them into a wall; Roman quickly righted their direction), barely making it to the other end of the hallway when the Dalek exploded. Roman pushed them both down, crouching protectively over Logan as heat blasted against both their backs.

The asylum shook.

Grit rained down on their heads.

When it stopped, Roman pulled Logan to his feet and led them back through the newly-cleared chamber, dust still settling in the air. Dalek shells lay scattered, cracked and smoking; he had to guide Logan around them.

(There were a few other…bodies, too, which Roman determinedly looked away from and didn’t mention.)

“Oh my gosh, Roman! Logan!” a somewhat familiar voice shouted.

A Cyberman came barreling across the floor, prompting Roman to raise his sword…but relaxed when he realized it was only Patton.

“Janus, I’ve found the others!” Patton shouted over his shoulder. Roman squinted but didn’t see anyone else. “Boy, am I glad to see you guys!”

“We are pleased to see you as well, Patton.” Logan scrunched his face up in that adorable squint again; Roman caught himself smiling fondly, and swallowed the expression.

“Although unfortunately,” Logan added, “I mean ‘see’ in an entirely metaphorical sense right now.”

“Oh no, Logan, did you lose your glasses?” Patton caught up to them, as clunky and metal and frankly scary-looking as before. “Well, come on. Janus found a teleportation room, and is almost finished rewiring it to get us out of here.”

He led them across the exploded chamber, around a bend, and directly into a room with a raised glass platform, and machinery-covered walls. The platform itself looked half-disassembled, with dozens of wires and components sticking out.

Janus lay, collapsed and unmoving, at the base of it.

Chapter 11- The Power of Three

“I’m not running away from things, I am running to them before they flare and fade forever.”

Patton screeched.

There was no other word for the unholy noise that came out of his mouth, Logan decided. The moral Side-turned-Cyberman rushed to Janus’s collapsed form, shaking him and calling his name.

“I don’t know what happened!” he cried, rocking back on his heels. “He was fine when I left…well, not fine, he hasn’t been exactly fine this whole time, but he was awake!”

Logan knelt beside the downed Side and scanned him.

“He does not appear to have suffered any sort of electrical shock or other accident.” Logan peered at his screwdriver, reading numbers on the tiny screen.

(Yes, it had a readout, something he’d never noticed from the show.)

“Hmm. It would seem that the nano cloud is having an unexpected effect on his serpentine biology,” Logan explained, leaning over to place a hand under Janus’s jaw, and then over his heart. “It is making him too cold.”

“Oh!” Patton’s stance shifted. It was difficult to read his body language in his current state. “So do we need to, like, cuddle him or something? Body heat is good for cold, right?”

“Well I’m certainly not cuddling that viper!” Roman announced, folding his arms.

Patton awkwardly rubbed his head. “I mean…I could do it.”

It was on the tip of Logan’s tongue to point out that Patton would not be warming anyone up with his cold, metallic body…but it was clear he still didn’t know. And if Janus still hadn’t told him, Logan certainly wasn’t going to do it right now.

Patton having an identity crisis would be a distraction they didn’t need.

Roman stared at Patton with narrowed eyes, looking ready to protest. Logan stepped in before an argument could begin in earnest.

“Body heat would not be enough,” he said. “But I believe if I reconfigure one of our protective bracelets to counter those particular effects, he would revive on his own. Of course, that would mean one of us temporarily going without nano cloud protection.”

Patton sighed and rubbed his wrist.

“I’d give up mine in a heartbeat, except I already lost it earlier.”

Typical Patton. Logan bit back a sigh of exasperation. His was the bracelet he'd been hoping to use, as Patton didn't actually need it. Always willing to sacrifice his own wellbeing, and always losing things.

Well, that meant there was only one way to wake Janus.

He’d begun the process of unfastening his own bracelet when a strong, warm hand stopped him.

“Hang on, Calculator Watch.” Roman separated Logan’s hands. Annoyed caramel eyes stared into his own. “Why do you automatically assume you should be the one to give up your only means of protection?”

Logan frowned.

“Of the two of us, Roman, I am the least emotional. Obviously it has to be me.”

Roman let go and paced the room, coming back with determination sparking in his gaze.

“Look, I’m going to be logical here, because I know that’s the one thing you understand,” he said.

“Roman, we don’t have time—” Logan started, but Roman silenced him with a finger over his lips.

Logan noted, absently, how his skin reacted to the touch.

“We have to finish this game before Thomas wakes up, right?” Roman sighed, his eyes flickering down to Janus. “And as much as it pains me to admit it, the snake is smarter than me. We need both brainiacs on this team awake and thinking clearly to get us out of here.”

“Roman, you—” Logan protested.

“We both know I’m the expendable one here!” Roman yelled, pushing his bracelet-ed wrist into Logan’s face. “So just take it and fix him.”

“Falsehood!” Logan shoved at Roman’s arm. “May I remind you that the nano cloud subtracts love and adds anger; ergo, it manipulates feelings. As I have said many times before, and let me know if I lose you, I am not a feeling. I am Logic. It won’t—”

“You are Thomas’s Logic, you big-brained idiot!” Roman got in his face again. “And no part of Thomas could simply lack the ability to feel things. It's not in him. That's why you are not just Logic; you are Logan, and you already have a temper problem. The last thing you need is more anger!”

Logan whipped out his stack of vocabulary cards and flipped through them.

“As they say: ‘pot, meet kettle’,” he snapped, holding one up.

Roman growled, raising his hand like he’d knock the card away, but seemed to realize that would only prove Logan’s point. The hand clenched into a fist, which fell resignedly onto Logan’s chest.

Like a soft shock against his skin.

Logan was quite sure Roman’s touch didn’t always do that.

“Using mine will buy us more time. The conversation will take longer with me,” Roman said through thin, angry lips, staring at the floor.

“Why?” Logan whispered.

Roman’s fist flattened into a palm, still resting against Logan’s chest.

“It’s just arithmetic. It’ll take longer with me because…”

Logan inhaled sharply, and Roman’s suddenly wide eyes came up to meet his.

“It'll take longer with me because we both know, we've always known, that, the basic fact of our relationship is that I love you more than you love me.”

Without even realizing it, they’d been reenacting the fight between Amy and Rory.

Logan placed his own hand over Roman’s, wondering if the other could feel how rapidly his heart was beating. Does…does Roman really believe I care for him less than he does for me?

Well.

Thinking back over their tumultuous friendship, the fights, the insults; he realized he’d given the creative Side every reason to believe that. But then another realization crashed over Logan, which he felt like a physical shock through his system.

Do I…do I love Roman?

Headstrong, stubborn Roman, who knew exactly how to get under his skin with his ridiculous ideas and over-the-top facial expressions and twisty, rapid-fire cleverness. Brave, selfless Roman, who’d sacrificed his own dreams just to ensure their Source could keep a clear conscience.

Roman, with that wild hair and pouting lower lip and those fiery, passionate eyes that made Logan feel warm just from looking into them. He defied all logic, all sense, all attempts to constrain or catalogue or categorize him.

And Logan…Logan absolutely loved him for that.

“So…so it has to be me,” Roman concluded, glaring, finally snatching his hand away.

It took Logan a moment to remember what they’d actually been arguing about. He grabbed at Roman’s wrist as the other began blindly removing his bracelet, both hands held high above Logan’s head.

“Roman, no, you’re…you’re making a mistake,” he grated, as Roman continued to keep his arms out of reach. No matter how he tried, Logan couldn’t budge him; the other Side was much stronger.

“Yeah?” Roman succeeded in unsnapping his bracelet. “Well, get a pen and get in line, Specs. I have a list.”

He thrust the device into Logan’s hands and stomped away, avoiding Patton’s questioning gaze.

Logan shook his head, hand tightening around Roman’s bracelet until the edges bit into his skin. Stubborn.

So, so stubborn.

Like you, a quiet part of his mind whispered. He’s your equal, your check. That’s why you like him.

…and that’s why it could never work.

He exhaled, resigned.

Then he pulled out his sonic, and set about reprograming the bracelet to wake Janus.

Chapter 12- A Good Man Goes to War

“Good men don’t need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many.”

Janus awoke with a pounding headache and a frayed temper. He sat up, digging at his face so hard he dislodged a scale. Irritably flicking it away, he saw that Patton had managed to find both Logan and Roman.

Good. That means we can all get out of here.

“Janus—” Patton started, but Janus held up a finger.

“Do not.”

He stood up, swaying a little, hating the way they all clustered around him.

“Stop hovering, I’m fine,” he grumbled, waving them away. Aside from the headache, his body felt stiff and sluggish…probably similar to how Patton feels, he realized, which did not help his sour mood.

“What happened to me?” he demanded, flexing his hands.

“The nano particles caused your internal body temperature to drop too quickly,” Logan explained. “Which, due to your unique biology, caused you to pass out. Your reflexes may be impaired for a few minutes as the bracelet continues to counteract the effects.”

Janus glanced down at his wrist, noting the bulky black bracelet with its cheerfully blinking light. Who…? Not Patton, his was lost; so probably Logan…but no, Logan still wore his. But that leaves…

Sure enough, both of Roman’s wrists were bare.

Janus raised an eyebrow, but the princely Side refused to meet his gaze.

Whatever.

“I am getting us off this rock and back to our TARDISs,” Janus groused, stalking to the abandoned panel and picking up the wire cutters he’d found. “Feel free to either help, or preferably stay the hell out of my way.”

“Ooooh, Jan Jan sounds a widdle angwy.” Remus’s sing-song voice crackled over a loudspeaker. “Pretty soon he’s going to try and kill you.”

“That does it!” Janus whirled and threw the cutters at the wall, eliciting a startled noise from Roman when they narrowly missed his face. “Logan, you reprogram the damned panel. I am going to deal with Remus.”

“Oh no, I’m so scared!” Remus gushed, not sounding one bit scared.

Janus marched to the chamber door, only to be stopped by Roman’s outstretched arm.

“Move,” Janus growled, clenching a gloved hand.

Roman didn’t budge.

“What are you even going to do?” he demanded. “If this is like the episode, then he’s already a Dalek and we can’t exactly bring him along for a ride.”

“I’ll figure it out when I get there.” Janus knocked Roman’s arm aside. “Perhaps we’ll get lucky, and seeing him in person will be enough to satisfy the Imagination. We have to at least make the attempt.”

“Well, then I’m going with you!”

Janus stopped at that, turning slowly to face Roman.

“Why?” he said flatly. “Surely not because you crave the pleasure of my company.”

Roman mirrored Janus’s folded-arm stance.

“Maybe I don’t trust you.”

“Because you haven’t already made that crystal clear.”

“And maybe I have my own score to settle with my brother,” Roman added in a louder voice, glaring around the room as though waiting for Remus to butt in.

For once, Remus did not.

But maybe that was because the Voice chose that moment to override the comms again, dimming the lights and rattling off its garbled message. Logan narrowed his eyes, Patton cocked his head, but Roman simply looked annoyed.

The Prince does hate to be interrupted when he’s picking a fight. Janus rolled his eyes. Or maybe it’s the nano cloud, which would serve him right…

“You know,” Patton commented, once it was over. “That weird little speech almost sounds like Virgil, when he gets really upset and his voice goes all deep and layered.”

Janus’s eyes widened and he inadvertently met Logan’s shocked gaze.

It did.

It sounded very much like Virgil’s Tempest Tongue, and Virgil had been inexplicably missing from this entire adventure, and why had none of them made that connection?? Once again, Janus found himself both impressed and unsurprised that Patton had been the one to put the pieces together.

“If that’s true,” Logan began.

“You know it is,” Janus cut in, a little sharper than he meant to. Logan held up his hands.

“I was not disputing the validity of Patton’s claim,” he said.

“Uh, overprotective much, snake?” Roman said with an eye roll, making Janus’s scales bristle and his nostrils flare.

“If that is Virgil, and Patton is correct; it seems very likely,” Logan enunciated, still holding up his hands. “Then he is part of this LARP, and has been the entire time. If reunification is indeed the ultimate goal, we will need to locate him as well, in order to meet the Imagination’s requirements.”

“Well, I’m not fighting my way back through this goddamned, alien-infested haystack to look for one overdramatic, anxious eyeshadow palette,” Janus declared, turning toward the door again. “Not without my TARDIS. Virgil can sit on his moody ass and wait.”

“Language!” Patton called after him.

Roman, more annoyingly, followed; surprisingly quickly, given his short-skirted outfit.

“Mixed metaphors aside,” the creative Side said as Janus stalked across the exploded chamber. “I still demand to know what you mean to do when we reach my brother…will you slow down?”

Janus stormed into a far corridor, making a sharp left and leaving Roman to stumble along afterward. Two lefts, a right, a straight shot through Intensive Care and we should find Clara’s…or rather Remus’s…chamber.

“Come on,” he threw irritatedly over his shoulder. “Or is Mr. Really Obviously Muscular And Nice having a hard time keeping up? What are all those muscles for, anyway?”

“Don’t you dare bring up that courtroom right now, Deceit,” Roman said darkly, still trailing behind. “Don’t you dare.”

“Still refusing to use my name, I see,” Janus snarked. His fast, angry footfalls echoed on the concrete floor.

“Show me where you’ve earned the right to be called anything except what you are, Deceit,” Roman spat. “I can wait.”

Janus stopped and whirled, coat flaring, almost causing Roman to collide with him. He thrust a gloved finger into Roman’s face.

“You don’t get it. You still don’t get it, because you are too spoiled, entitled, and self-absorbed to even attempt to understand another Side’s point of view.”

Janus started walking again, ignoring the pinched, insulted look he knew Roman was giving the back of his head.

“And what exactly am I supposed to understand?” Roman demanded, catching up.

“Why do you know my name at all, W-R-O-M-M-I-N?” Janus asked.

Roman exhaled carefully, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Ignoring that obvious bait, we know your name because you told us.”

“Exactly! I told you!” Janus paused just outside the Intensive Care ward, facing Roman fully. “You know Deceit’s true name because Deceit willingly revealed it.” He let his voice drop. “Now why do you suppose he did that?”

“Stop referring to yourself in the third person like some creepy, two-faced Elmo doll,” Roman groused. “Obviously you wanted to manipulate Thomas into trusting you for some nefarious purpose of your own.”

“Oh, for—!” Janus exhaled, barely resisting the urge to beat his head against the wall. “I could have told Thomas my name any time I pleased, if his trust was the only thing I wanted.”

Roman smirked. “Ah-ha, so you admit you have an agenda—”

“I wanted your trust, Roman!” Janus roared, silencing the other. “Yours, and Patton’s. I thought taking my glove off would be enough of a symbolic gesture, and how did you repay me? With laughter!”

Roman just stared.

Janus sighed.

“You were on my side, in that courtroom,” he said in a quieter voice. “Whether you are willing to admit it or not, Creativity and Self Preservation make a strong team for Thomas, and I don’t hate you, Roman.”

Roman scoffed and rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

“I have been trying to be more than just Deceit, to Thomas, to…all of you,” Janus went on. “Given how well our Purposes align, I cannot understand why you, of all Sssides, have been the most resistant to the notion that I am not evil!”

“Then let me enlighten you, Jack the Fibber.” Roman leaned close, eyes ablaze with fury. “Remember that courtroom scenario you just bragged about? The one where you claim I was on your side?”

Janus made a “duh” gesture with his hand.

“Did you conveniently forget that you spent the entire time patronizing me, emotionally manipulating me, and making me look and feel like a fool?” Roman folded his arms. “Because if that’s how you treat your so-called ‘allies’, then I would hate to be an actual enemy.”

Janus frowned. It was true; he had done a bit of twisting Roman around his finger, hadn’t he?

“Nobody trusted me then, and I needed you to help Thomas make the right choice,” he explained. “Your pride and your little rivalry with me make you irrational at times. I couldn’t risk either getting in the way.”

Roman let out a humorless chuckle.

“See, you say things like that,” he gestured angrily, “and then act shocked when I do the honest thing and side with Patton.”

“Which you and I both now know was a missstake!” Janus snapped. He tapped a series of numbers into the control panel by the Intensive Care door, which slid open.

They went in, but Roman, unfortunately for Janus, was not finished.

“And don’t forget the part where you manipulated us all again, by removing Logan and impersonating him,” Roman said.

“Because you and Patton were handling that situation so admirably on your own,” Janus snarked.

“That is not the point! That has never been the point!” Roman waved his arms for emphasis, almost knocking into one of the cells along the walls.

“Even here, now, when I’m trying to have an actual conversation with you,” and he jabbed Janus’s chest, “you’re still trying to manipulate me. The only time you’ve called me by my actual name is when you’re like ‘oh, Roman, woe is me, why won’t you trust me’? The rest of the time it’s all mockery.”

“It’s almost like it hurts when someone refuses to call you by your actual name.” Janus leaned into Roman’s space, baring his fangs. “Doesssn’t it?”

Roman winced. It was a tiny, tiny motion, but Janus saw it.

“Fine. Janus. But lying and manipulation are still wrong,” Roman said in a firm voice. “It doesn’t matter why you do it. It doesn’t matter what mistakes I make, or Patton makes, or even Logan or Virgil make without you. Lying fixes nothing.”

Janus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are missing the bigger picture—”

“No! Stop pushing me to accept the things you’ve done to me just because you maybe, maybe, had good intentions!” Roman shouted. “As long as you believe deception is a legitimate path to making Thomas do what you want…even when it turns out to be the right call…you and I will never see eye to eye, and I will never trust you!”

Janus’s mouth lifted into a snarl.

“You know what? So be it. I do not have to defend my purpose or my methods to you.” He yanked out his sonic laser and placed it under Roman’s chin, relishing the momentary flare of fear in those caramel eyes.

“I just want to know one thing, oh noble Prince Roman, and be honest. When you were creating this cute little adventure for yourself and Logan, did you really have nothing to do with me being cast as the villain? The Master?”

The last word he cracked like a whip, and it echoed down the long, straight corridor.

“…master?” a staticky voice echoed from one of the cells, and a small yellow light flickered to life on the wall.

Cells that were, Janus noticed for the first time, unsettlingly empty...except for the rows and rows of fist-sized metal spheres along the walls, which began to light up, one by one.

“Uh…” Roman whispered. “What is happening? Where are the Daleks?”

Other voices joined in the chorus of “master, master”, until the corridor buzzed with echoes and Janus’s blood ran cold as ice in his body. The weird, almost childlike cadence was unsettlingly familiar…

“There are no Daleks.” He stared at the spheres, realization crashing over him.

“What?” Roman looked around wildly at the mass of yellow and now red lights, sword hilt gripped so tight that his knuckles were white.

The spheres began to detach from the walls.

“There are no insane Daleks in here,” Janus repeated, his voice rising. “They’re Toclafane! Run!”

He sprinted down the corridor as the first laser blast burst at his heels. Roman yelped, and then they were both running for the far door. A few cells were blasted open, though the little aliens were small enough to slip right through the bars, and the air suddenly swarmed with spiky, fist-sized metal balls.

“What…Toclafane?!” Roman yelled as they ran, dodging blasts. “Why? And why are they shooting at us?”

“The Master betrayed us! Kill the Master!” Metallic spikes whirred.

“They’re shooting at me!” Janus yelled back, shooting a wild blast with his laser over his shoulder. “Or rather, at the Master!”

Laser fire exploded at Roman’s feet, sending him careening into a cell as they ran.

“Well, tell them they have terrible aim!” the Prince retorted.

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll take advice from the character who canonically used and betrayed them,” Janus snarked, zapping a Toclafane and sending it spinning into its neighbor.

They reached the far door and slid to a halt, Janus seizing the control panel to open the door.

“Funny,” Roman said breathlessly, catching up and drawing his sword. “I can relate.”

Janus rolled his eyes as Roman spun to face the oncoming horde of tiny aliens, batting away a few spinning metal spikes.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, use this!” Janus thrust his sonic into Roman’s hands. Roman, to his credit, didn’t argue, but switched his sword to his left hand and readied both.

“Remus!” Janus shouted, focusing all his attention on the door’s keypad. “A little help would be appreciated.”

Behind him, he heard his sonic buzz and the sound of Roman’s sword crunching against something metal. The ozone smell of burnt electronics was starting to hurt his lungs.

“You have to say pleeeeeeease,” Remus’s voice said.

Janus slammed a hand against the panel.

“REMUS, I SWEAR TO APOPHIS I WILL REMOVE EACH ONE OF YOUR ORGANS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER—!” he roared.

“Which alphabet?” Remus cut in.

“REMUS SANDERS—!”

“All right, all right! So violent. I love it!” Remus crowed. “Here you go.”

The door opened.

They tumbled through, Roman zapping away one last murder ball as the door slid shut again.

Chapter 12- Can You Hear Me?

“I’m still quite socially awkward, so I’m just going to subtly walk towards the console and look at something. And then, in a minute, I’ll think of something that I should’ve said…that might have been helpful.”

Roman leaned against the door for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the bright white light that filled the circular chamber. Compared to the dimness of the rest of the asylum, it was downright blinding.

“IT’S ABOUT TIME,” a harsh Dalek voice rasped, making both Roman and Janus jump and whirl.

A Dalek sat, motionless and menacing, at the far side of the room, bound in layers of chains. Its casing was green with silver trimming, and it wiggled its green-glowing eyestalk in a way that was almost…suggestive.

“I suppose that’s you, Remus?” Janus asked, visibly relaxing.

Roman sheathed his sword and realized he still had Janus’s sonic, which he tucked against his wrist. As little as he liked the unchivalrous weapon, he didn’t feel like handing it back over just yet.

“IN THE FLESH. BUT NOT REALLY.” Dalek-Remus burst into metallic giggles, sounding all the more bizarre coming from the killing machine he currently inhabited.

He probably likes being a Dalek, Roman thought sourly.

“ZAP MY CHAINS, MASTER JAN.” Remus wiggled, attempting to move. “AND LETS GO FIND THE EMO.”

Janus pulled a face.

“You…actually want to come with us?” Roman raised an eyebrow.

“THAT IS WHAT I SAID.”

Roman scrubbed a hand through his hair. He hadn’t considered what they would do if the dream didn’t end once they actually found Remus, and he definitely hadn’t considered the possibility of Remus actually wanting to be rescued. He’d assumed his brother was just, well, being himself. Taunting them, testing them, before fucking off (sometimes literally, ick) to do his own thing.

“I had hoped the scenario would end once we reached this room,” Roman confessed aloud, side-eyeing Janus.

Janus scoffed. “Well, it didn’t. Any other bright ideas, Creativity?”

“Well, we can’t take him,” Roman began, and startled backward when Remus screeched.

“EXCUSE YOU!”

“I’m sorry, Remus, but you’ve seen this episode! This is where your involvement in the story canonically ends.” Roman threw his hands up. “If we bring you along, it could mess up all the parameters we’ve established so far. And if finding you wasn’t enough, that means Specs was right; we really do have to track down old Panic at the Everywhere before the Imagination will let us go.”

“And since we haven’t the faintest idea where to start, we’ll need our TARDISs.” Janus walked back to the door and sighed. “We’ll have to run the Toclafane gauntlet again.

Roman cracked his neck. “I’m ready if you are, snake.”

“I’ll have my sonic back first.” Janus held out a hand. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to secret it away.”

Roman’s mouth twisted, but he handed it over.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Roman readied his sword. Janus slapped the panel.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he hit it again, but the door remained obstinately closed. Roman’s stomach sank.

Can’t one aspect of this disaster be easy? Just one?

“Remus, open the door,” Janus snapped.

“WHY SHOULD I?”

Both Sides slowly turned to face the Dalek.

“Exsscuse me?” Janus said, dipping his head to glower.

Remus’s twin head lights flashed. “WHY SHOULD I LET YOU GO?”

“Because we need to end this game, Remus! You know that!” Roman ran a hand exasperatedly down his face. “Are you choosing now to be contrary? Really?”

“EXCUSES!” Remus snapped. “THE TRUTH IS, YOU DON’T WANT MY COMPANY.”

“Remus…that’s not it,” Janus started.

“Oh, that is absolutely it.” Roman folded his arms. “You pride yourself on how many different ways you can gross someone out within the span of five minutes, and then you’re surprised that nobody wants you around?”

“I HAVE BEEN HELPING YOU THIS ENTIRE NIGHT.” Remus rattled his chains; one of them snapped. “AND YOU MAKE PLANS IN THIS ROOM LIKE I’M NOT EVEN HERE. YOU WOULD LEAVE ME BEHIND WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Like you wouldn’t do the same for a laugh, if it suited you!”

“BUT I DO NOT CALL MYSELF A HERO.”

Roman felt those words like a punch to the solar plexus. He physically recoiled, his grip on his sword tightening.

“Look, Remus—” Janus started.

“I AM EVERYTHING THOMAS FINDS DISGUSTING AND ABHORANT,” Remus continued. “UNLIKE SOME, I DO NOT PRETEND TO BE ANYTHING ELSE.”

That barb seemed to be aimed at Janus, who flinched, and Roman almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

“WHY SHOULD I ALLOW YOU TO LEAVE HERE IN TRIUMPH, JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE THE SO CALLED GOOD GUYS?” Remus surged forward, snapping the rest of his chains, and raised his gunstick. “THOMAS IS SUPPOSED TO REJECT ME, BUT WHY I SHOULD ACCEPT THE SAME FROM YOU?”

The gunstick began to glow.

Roman felt the wall at his back; out of time, out of options, again. What would they do if Remus decided to actually shoot them?

They were trapped in here.

“KILLING YOU WOULD END THE GAME, WOULDN’T IT?” Remus shrieked, shrill even for a Dalek. He rolled forward until his eyestalk was inches from Roman’s face. “TELL ME WHY I SHOULDN’T!”

Like looking in a funhouse mirror.

Roman saw his own terrified face, reflected in a Dalek eyestalk. Is this what I would be like, if I became someone Thomas…didn’t need anymore?

“Maybe you should,” Roman said quietly, the words just slipping out.

Remus stopped. “WHAT.”

“Roman, what the hell?” Janus snapped beside him. He had his sonic aimed at Remus’s headpiece, clearly ready to return fire if necessary.

Roman chuckled, bitterly.

“You Dark Sides always know how to hit where it hurts, you know? You’re right, Remus, I’m not a hero. Thomas even said so. So maybe…maybe killing us really is the fastest way to end this game. Clean reset. Done.”

“Don’t be a moron,” Janus retorted. “Thomas said no such thing. I was there for that conversation, if you’ll remember.”

“Shut up, snake!” Roman bared his teeth. “He thinks it, and don’t pretend like you aren’t the reason; you and my brother both! I knew who I was, and Thomas knew who I was, and everything was fine until you two started showing up with your lies and your lewd grossness and making Thomas doubt everything he is!” He dropped his gaze, eyes stinging. “Everything I am.”

Remus backed up a few inches. “AT LEAST YOU ARE HEEDED.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman said tiredly, still biting back tears.

“YOU NEVER HAD TO SHOUT TO BE HEARD. WHEREAS I WILL ALWAYS BE A MONSTER.”

Janus’s face shuttered. “Remus. We’ve talked about this.”

Remus aimed his eyestalk at the deceptive Side. “I AM NOT LIKE YOU. I NEITHER WANT NOR NEED ACCEPTANCE FROM OUR SOURCE, BECAUSE I AM THE INCEPTION AND DEPOSITORY OF EVERYTHING THAT HE FINDS UNACCEPTABLE.”

“But you still want it from us,” Janus finished quietly. “Is that what this is about, Rem?”

Remus said nothing.

Roman glanced between them. Somehow he had a hard time picturing his chaotic brother sitting down and just…talking, especially about heavy stuff like purposes and whatnot. Especially with Janus?

Janus exhaled.

“Honestly, neither of you know how to change, and I have watched it hold both of you back.”

He held up fingers to forestall both their protests, and pointed at Roman.

“You have always bathed in the light with Thomas, and so you’ve never needed the motivation to be better. And you,” he pointed at Remus, “have never been accepted by anyone, and therefore have never had the opportunity.”

“But the clock ticks on, and Thomas is growing up,” Janus went on, beginning to pace. “Which means all of us, including the two of you, must adapt. This whole ‘light Side, dark Side’ nonsense has to stop if Thomas is ever to achieve any sort of peace within himself.”

“EASY FOR YOU TO SAY,” Remus said. “NOW THAT YOU HAVE A SEAT AT THE TABLE.”

“As much as I hate to agree with Remus.” Roman folded his arms again. “I have to agree with Remus. What makes you the expert in how we need to change?”

“I am Thomas’s self-preservation!” Janus snapped, stalking back to Roman. “Adaptability is one of my core functions, because those who cannot change, do not survive.”

Roman frowned. “That seems like an oversimplification—”

“You really want to know why we ‘dark Sides’ have become such a problem for you, Roman?” Janus interrupted. “It’s because you, and Patton, and to a small extent Logan, have kept Thomas trapped in a familiar, oversimplified pattern of thinking, like an ill-fitting jacket bursting at the seams!”

Janus held up a finger. “Virgil was the first tear, lighting the metaphorical flame under your butts to think deeper, think wider, think differently. And when he, too, got too used to squeezing himself to fit into that safe little kid jacket, you got me.”

He smirked.

“You got me, pushing you to understand that the world is bigger than black and white, good and evil, and that sometimes the solutions to problems are not wholly one thing or another. And when you wouldn’t heed my words, you got someone even more blunt.”

He gestured at Remus as he spoke, then exhaled and adjusted his coat.

“We are not evil alien forces creeping about in Thomas’s head, making trouble for no reason, Roman. We have purposes, too. And if you’d take one moment, and use that creative brain instead of lashing out with your fantasy-trope, holier-than-thou, six-year-old mores, I know you are capable of seeing that.”

Roman huffed, and looked away.

The problem was…he did see it.

Maybe he couldn’t have put it in such articulate terms; he wasn’t Logan, after all. But anyone who looked into Thomas’s dejected eyes lately could deduce that the so-called Dark Sides were a symptom of something deeper, not the cause of it.

He just hated when Deceit…fine, Janus…was right, and lately it felt like the snake Side was turning out to be right about a lot of things. If Roman was ever going to change…if he was ever going to be better…he needed to reign in his pride, and acknowledge the truth in Janus’s words.

“The god of doorways, of beginnings and endings,” Roman said quietly. “One face to the past and one to the future.”

Janus blinked, clearly shocked; his snake eye slitted to the merest sliver.

“I am Creativity,” Roman added, enjoying the other’s momentary discomfiture. “Do you really think I’m not familiar with all the mythology Thomas has studied over the years?”

“If you knew what it meant.” Janus spoke barely above a whisper, looking away. “Then why did you mock it?”

Roman pressed his lips together. In all honesty, despite all his posturing, he’d never been proud of how he’d acted that day.

“I was jealous,” he admitted, just as softly. “Thomas needed you, a Side he’s always seen as morally abhorrent, more than he needed me, his…his hero…” he trailed off, staring hard at Remus’s Dalek shell. “What was I supposed to think? What does that make me?”

Janus sighed, deeply, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It was never a competition. The metaphorical table is big enough for all of us. And I…” he sighed again. “I was wrong, to dig at your insecurities the way that I did. It was unworthy of me.”

Roman gaped at him. “By Odin’s beard. Was that…was that an apology?”

Janus grimaced, and flicked out his forked tongue. “Don’t get usssed to it.”

“GET OUT.”

Both Sides turned to face Remus, who’d been blessedly, unusually quiet up to that point.

“Excuse me?” Roman said.

“I HAVE LOWERED THE PLANET’S SHIELD.” Remus gestured with his gunstick as the door to his prison slid open. “WE HAVE JUST UNDER TWO MINUTES TO GET BACK TO THE TELEPORTATION CHAMBER.”

“Are you crazy?” Roman yelled, drawing his sword as the Toclafane outside swarmed toward the door.

“Kill the Master!”

A distant explosion rocked the asylum, making Roman and Janus stumble.

“IT HAS STARTED.” Remus slammed his body into Roman, pushing him toward the door. “TWO MINUTES, THE PLANET BLOWS UP. TICK TOCK.”

“What about them!” Janus shouted, zapping a Toclafane that tried to breach the doorway and hauling Roman back by one of his denim suspenders.

“I WILL CLEAR THE WAY.”

Remus rolled out into the carnage, firing his gunstick and laughing maniacally.

“EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!”

Laser bursts and smoke clogged the air, Toclafane swarmed and fell in his wake, but finally the little murder balls began fleeing en mass.

Another explosion shook the ground, closer this time.

They ran.

“What made you change your mind?” Janus panted as they rounded a corner.

“THE SCENARIO MUST END.” Remus easily kept up, despite being a tin can on wheels. “THOMAS IS ATTEMPTING TO WAKE UP.”

“What about Virgil?” Roman demanded.

“IT DOESN’T MATTER NOW.”

“You didn’t kill us,” Roman pointed out.

Remus made a grating noise that might have been a chuckle.

“MAYBE YOU DON’T KNOW ME AS WELL AS YOU THINK,” he said. “OR PERHAPS THIS IS MORE FUN.”

The floor shook violently, sending cracks knifing up the walls.

“We have a problem!” Janus, bringing up the rear, shouted as they sprinted down the last hallway. “A big, fiery problem!”

Roman felt scorching heat on his neck and glanced back. His heart dropped; the corridor behind them was rapidly being engulfed in flames.

“This bit seemed so much cooler in the episode!” he yelled, putting on a burst of speed.

“Shut up! Go, go, go!”

Patton was waiting outside the teleportation chamber, his Cyberman head swiveling back and forth. He let out a metallic screech as they approached.

“Don’t shoot the Dalek, it’s just Remus!” Janus shouted, waving his hands. “Get inside!”

They all stumbled in.

Logan crouched by the translucent floor panel, sonic poised, obviously ready to activate the teleport. Roman had never been so happy to see his nerd.

“Patton, Roman, what—?” Logan squawked when Roman grabbed his arm to haul him up on the platform. Remus levitated the last few feet; he was the last one on.

“No time, Specs!” Roman yelled cheerfully. “Step on it!”

An explosion, near and violent, rocked the platform and sent everyone but Remus stumbling into each other. Roman caught himself on Logan’s shoulders…completely by accident, of course.

“Step on…what?” Logan squinted at Roman’s face. “What’s—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Janus seized Logan’s sonic and pointed it down at the panel, whirring it to life.

Light blasted up from their feet as fire filled the doorway.

Roman braced for a fireball…but the room seemed to disintegrate around them and the awful heat vanished. He sagged against Logan’s back. Soft weight enclosed his arms…sleeves…and he realized his outfit was shifting back into his familiar Princely attire.

They had done it!

“BY THE way.” Remus’s voice warped from a Dalek’s screech to his own whiny tenor. “Whose idea was it to make Patton a Cyberman?”

Stunned silence.

“I’m a WHAT now?” Patton’s shocked voice rang out.

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cbspams · 3 years

Text

Log 14: The final one

“Here.”

The entire group stopped, silhouetted by light. It was silent there, not even a trace of energy or sound except for what was coming from the stone fountain. It was rather unassuming, simple in nature. The water poured from the top and burbled as it flowed down through two bowl like structures before ending in a wide, shallow dish. And yet for all its simplicity, all the group could do for a moment was stare in awe.

“The fountain of eternity,” Chan whispered.

“I thought it’d be grander,” Seungmin said. He hissed when someone pinched his arm. “What!”

“Shhh!” Cupid’s eyes were wide as saucers as they stepped forward, hair melting into a shade of midnight black with silver strands interspersed. They didn’t seem to notice it at all though, as they gulped and stared at the ever flowing water.

“Losing your nerve angel?” Though Hyunjin’s statement was light, teasing even, no one missed the underlying anxiety. Incubi weren’t meant to be in this space and they could all feel it trying to repell them, despite the shielding from Cupid’s feathers. In fact, it was likely that the shielding was the only thing preventing them from being torn to pieces by the protective wards strewn around the walls and the floor. Seungmin had taken one look and paled, so that’s how they knew it was serious.

“I...” They all froze as Cupid spoke. All this time, their voice had been distinctly human. But now it was starting to sound more and more like a true angel, inhumanly beautiful and yet also inhumanly terrifying. It crackled with power, every word sounded more and more like an echo. “I’m okay. I can do this.” And yet they watched as Cupid stepped forward into the dim light of the moon and raised a hand to touch the water flow.

Suddenly, Felix lunged forward and grabbed Cupid’s outstretched hand. “Don’t!” Then the blond hissed and recoiled as though burned. Cupid seemed confused, but not by why he’d just happened. Rather, they seemed confused that the boys were there at all, brows furrowed and hand still outstretched over the water.

“It’s going to erase them,” Changbin murmured, realization dawning. “The fountain. The water. Eternity wasn’t meant for one person.”

“Shit,” Jeongin cursed, reaching out similarly only to be stopped by Changbin who shook his head, features twisted in a way the younger man couldn’t understand. “Wha- what are you...?”

“You don’t understand. It wasn’t meant for one person but maybe... maybe I can help. We’re already shouldering one burden together, maybe I can help with the other.” Changbin shrugged, lowering his arm and staring at the fountain, at cupid who seemed to be lost in its call. “It’s worth a shot.”

“You can’t,” Minho said in a tight voice. “You can’t, you’ll be dragged out. We’re not- we aren’t made to handle eternity either. You know how we are. How we’re born and made.”

“A sacrifice then. I’ve lived long enough.”

“No!” Jisung grabbed the elder’s sleeve and to everyone’s surprise, pulled him back into a hug. “You can’t go, don’t leave. We can, we can figure it out together!”

“There’s no time,” Hyunjin hisses, glancing back nervously at the trail behind them. “We have to do this now!”

“Together.” Eight heads turned to face Cupid, hand straining against the pull of the water. Their voice bled between the echoed call and raw humanity. “I know why they told me to ask for your help. If we do it together, we’ll be okay.”

“How do you know?” Jeongin hated the way fear lived in his words but he couldn’t help it. He really was that kind of coward, wasn’t he.

“I’ve been watching you guys, all this time. I keep saying it but you guys are something else. Really, I’ve never even heard of a group as rambunctious as you are.” A nervous ripple of laughter. “But that’s what going to make this work. The fact that you’re different.”

“That you,” they said with a nod to Chan, “are so kind and patient and respectful. You’re always worrying about other people, spending time on their needs more than your own. Seems to me like you could afford to be a little more selfish.” They continued on before Chan had a chance to sputter a counter argument. “And you, you’re so easy going but I know that’s because you know responsibility. You know when it’s your fault and when you need to apologize. You take everything seriously, and treat things delicately when you need to.” Minho looked a bit sour faced, as if offended he was being complimented.

“I can honestly say I understand how you feel,” they murmured to Changbin. “That your love, or his love, is so strong it feels too heavy to carry. And yet you do. You push yourself because you know there’s good in everyone and everything deserves a chance.” A laugh broke out from the Cupid as they rounded on Hyunjin. “Don’t look so scared! You were one of the most annoying but I know.” Their voice softened. “I know you cared so much. And you still do. You’re a protector, even if you try to pick fights. You shuffled girls away at parties so they wouldn’t get into trouble. You broke up a bar fight because it almost hit someone uninvolved. You’re kind too.” Hyunjin pressed his lips together but said nothing.

“And you, gosh you’re just so full of joy and fun. You love playing around but you’re so attentive to everyone around you, always making sure they’re involved. And you want to learn so badly don’t you? That’s amazing. I hope you get to.” Jisung’s grin was too wide for the situation but he was glowing under the attention and praise. How often did he get to hear it after all? Felix twitched as he was spoken to. “You were so in control of yourself somehow. You never overstepped and you always knew how much was enough. And where to get help. You’re warm and attentive and I know whatever desire brought you to life, it was one filled with a sweet love.”

“You, gods, you’re one of the smartest beings I know, angels, demons, humans and all. But not just that, you’re funny and involved, always ready to share your information for anyone who cares to learn. I admire that about you, that enthusiasm for knowledge. It makes you powerful.” The words made Seungmin look down at his hands, twist them in front of his stomach. “And finally, you. You think you’re a coward—” Jeongin flinched. “But you’re not. You’re young but you have so much potential. You’re still growing and even as I watched you, you grew so much. You were curious about humans right? I was too. I think...” Cupid swallows thickly, fingers a mere flick away from the water now. “I think you’ll get to learn more now. All of you. You’re different and that’s why this will work.”

And then they plunged their hand into the water and gasped, teetering like they were going to collapse. Felix surged forward again, followed closely by the others, but Cupid didn’t need to be caught. They didn’t fall, instead rooted in place, eyes glossed over as if seeing too far. Cupid didn’t tell the boys what to do but the logical move was to try and touch them. Felix whimpered as Chan reached out first, grasping Cupid’s shoulder.

Immediately he stiffened, unable to even gasp though it was clear something was running through his body and it was causing him so much pain. Jisung grabbed next, Cupid’s free hand, squeezing his eyes shut. It didn’t take long for the others to touch, each feeling immeasurable terror and warmth and loss and comfort. Love, eternity. Built into the lives of those who chose to live every day.

Slowly, the burden eased on them. It felt less like being drowned in a storm or rattled by an earthquake, and more like an enveloping. Cupid shuddered as the fountain seemed to flow through them to the incubi. Forever was a foreign concept for incubi. Ever changing bodies, partners, never knowing home. Even their births and deaths weren’t dictated by their own will. So to feel eternity coursing through them, was just. Indescribable.

Cupid shuddered again. The nectar. They had to get the nectar and put it into the fountain. It was in a small flask hanging from the belt they wore around their dress, but with one hand in the water and the other clasped in Jisung’s, how were they supposed to get it? As if on cue, Changbin reached forward and grabbed it, and Jeongin helped uncap it. Then it was passed into Chan’s hands and he, with great effort, managed to tip it into the water.

Gold. The water flared gold and the room was flooded with light. Distantly, there sounded some kind of shrill shriek. As the light faded, the top of the fountain stopped burbling. They all watched as the top opens like a flower, layers of stone peeling away to reveal a pearl. A pretty thing, pale pink like the sunrise.

With a symphony of cries, the group stumbles back, Cupid’s hand coming out of the water with a wrench. They pant for a moment, Hyunjin and Changbin collapsing not soon after into a crumpled heap on the ground. The rest looked shocked but Cupid suspected those two had tried to control the flow of energy, take more into themselves so the others would be okay. It was stupid but Cupid was grateful for it, because now that their head wasn’t clouded by the fountain, they could sense the other Cupid’s coming. Sprinting down the trail, screaming bloody murder.

Quickly, Cupid snatched the peak from the altar. But it was like the crystal before. It whispered to them, warming their fingers. Put me back, it said, honey words dipped in poison. Put me back and let me be and one day you too will join us, join in our ranks and you will be so powerful. Your words will raise cities, your hands will mold the damned.

“No,” Seungmin croaked, wobbling forward to grab Cupid’s wrist. “No we need... we need to smash it.”

“I can’t,” Cupid whispered, hands shaking around it. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Jeongin said, grabbing Cupid’s other wrist.t “You can. You’re not a coward. You’re stronger than you think you are. You can do this.”

“And you’re not alone.” Jisung cupped his hands around Cupid’s, giving a smile though it’s more an exhausted grimace. Behind him, facing the doorway, were Chan and Felix and Minho, preparing to fight. Jisung shifted to block Cupid’s view. “We’re here. You brought us together and we’re finishing it. For everyone who came before us and everyone who will come after. C’mon angel, let’s do it.”

Cupid heaved a breath. “Together.” For a moment, Jisung’s face contorted in confusion but then he nodded. One of Seungmin’s hands came up just as Jeongin’s did to add a third layer around the pearl.

The pearl still sang but it was getting weaker. With every pair of hands that joined, it faded. Hyunjin’s, then Changbin’s. Minho, Felix, Chan. Standing together, huddled around this pearl that was the size of a baseball. They each looked at each other before turning their gazes to Cupid. Together.

Cupid took a breath, clenching their hands around the pearl. When they had broken the crystal, they had tools to use. But they didn’t have anything now, nothing but themselves and the incubi and a hoard of very angry angels coming to tear them all to pieces. So honestly, Cupid had no clue how they were supposed to shatter the pearl. But as the squeezed, slowly but surely, they could feel the pearl start to crack and ooze. Shrieking came from the doorway, horrible and loud and so close and for a moment, Cupid thought that maybe they hadn’t made it in time. But just as their hands loosened, Jisung’s hands tightened. As did everyone else’s. They kept pushing, sweat beading on their foreheads like this was harder than just crushing.

The pearl continued to crackle and ooze, translucent liquid pooling on the ground below. Cupid felt sharp spikes of pain in their back, just where their wings would be. Sobs burst from their throat, unbidden and they were unable to hold them back because it just hurt so much. They knew this would happen, one way or another. The wings were shrivelling, feathers fluttering to the ground and then disintegrating into ash. This was it. They were really doing this.

“One more,” Cupid heard murmured, though by who they couldn’t tell. “C’mon, one more hard push.”

Everyone seemed to take a collective inhale and then pressed their hands as hard as possible. With a loud crack, the pearl broke into pieces, covering everyone’s hands in fluid.

It’s like the birth of a star. Sudden, explosive and bright. The first few angels that reached the doorway scream, their feathers rapidly greying as they aged. Cupid couldn’t exactly see everything, white spots dancing around in their vision, but what they did see they never wanted to again. It was worse than even the stories of the first demons, the tactics they used in war. Cupid looked down at their hands. The silvery liquid shined, like blood. Blood on the hands of a fallen angel.

Then they looked around at the incubi, who were... fuzzy? It was hard to tell what was a result of falling from grace and what was actually happening. Were they being rejected by the hosts? If so, they had to get out of there fast. But how? The path was blocked by dying angels.

Cupid shivered as the moon reached its peak. The fountain of eternity bubbled to life again, slow and quiet at first then gushing like an open wound. Water fell from the fountain into the floor, starting to fill the room. Cupid could only watch in horror as the water lapped first at their feet, stealing their energy, taking it. One by one the incubi fell, starting with the weakest in Hyunjin and Changbin and ending in the strongest in Minho and Jeongin. And Cupid too, could feel unconsciousness threaten to take them. But what could they do? They couldn’t just grab the incubi and try to run. They weren’t an angel anymore. Hell they weren’t even a cupid anymore. Before long, they too were crumpling into the water and letting it wash over them.

#valentine event #cupid updates #long post #phew #should I tag this with smth else #lmk I guess

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2manyfandoms2count · 4 years

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#MarichatMay Day 14

I might have spent a little too long imagining this... Hence why it’s late! I love writing cooking scenes, slightly sad I had to cut it a little short (I actually need to start studying again though). Hope you enjoy it! It takes place in a sort of AU where Adrien and Marinette are slightly older, and I guess season 3 hasn’t happened.

Happy reading!

@marichatmay

Day 14: Chocolate

For the first time in the three years they’d been in the same class, Marinette had given up on the idea of getting a Valentine’s Day present for Adrien. Alya had qualified her decision as “absolutely out of character” (”Girl, you tried to give him a gift for his fifth name day. HIS FIFTH NAME DAY. And you’re giving up for the most obvious love celebration in the world? Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”). Marinette couldn’t deny that her heart still fluttered a little when her eyes met the model’s. He was still her celebrity crush, after all (although even that was arguable). It was just that somebody else had been slowly but surely crawling his way into her heart. A particularly infuriating cat. That she also happened to feel very comfortable around.

They’d spent an increasing amount of time together over the years, both as Paris’ superheroes and out of costume. Well, as Marinette and Chat Noir. She still didn’t know who hid behind that mask of his, and he had no idea the two girls he spent most time with were, in fact, one and the same. They’d grown up together, and Marinette had found herself more and more attracted to her Chaton. She had to admit he’d become a lot more charismatic over the years.

Despite the obvious tension that existed between the two of them, Marinette couldn’t decide which of her personas should take the leap from being “good friends” to “significant others”. The logical choice would be to date him as Ladybug, but she was afraid Chat wouldn’t come and visit his favourite civilian anymore if he was dating his ultimate crush, and she actually sort of preferred their interactions when she didn’t have to worry about saving Paris. And even if he did, she wasn't sure she'd be able to maintain her act for very long. She couldn’t talk it out with anyone, for obvious reasons, which sent her into waves of overthinking and delaying any sort of action. A new potential romantic relationship, back at square one: “procrastinate expressing your feelings”.

Marinette looked at her watch. Chat was late. With Valentine’s Day approaching, he’d asked her if she could teach him how to make macarons. Her parents had a meeting with investors to discuss the opening of a potential second bakery in one of the most touristic spots of the French capital, so the kitchens were free for at least a couple of hours. Her parents wouldn't mind her using them, but she wasn't sure her father would be thrilled by her company. He was still weary of the alley cat who'd “broken his daughter's heart”, despite all of Marinette and Sabine's efforts to change his mind.

She heard Chat's landing despite his attempt at being more stealthy. She had developed a sort of 6th sense when it came to him; she was just aware of his presence.

“Good afternoon, Princess!” He announced as he let himself in. “Sorry I'm late, I had a couple errands to run.”

He handed her a single red rose with a grin.

“Aren't the red roses usually for Ladybug?” Marinette tilted her head quizzically.

“How do you know that?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, er...” Her mind raced to find a plausible excuse. “The Ladyblog! There are plenty of pictures of you chat-ting her up with red roses.”

“Ah, yes. I forget everything we do is mediatised these days.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, I just thought this could be a nice change.”

Marinette could have sworn she saw a hint of a blush appear on her partner’s cheeks. She decided not to jump to conclusions, though.

“It’s lovely. Thanks kitty.” She got on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

“Well it’s only natural.” He cleared his throat. “See, I really want to do something nice for this girl I like and...”

Chat rambled a bit as Marinette’s heart sank slightly. Which she realised was stupid, because chances were that girl was herself. With a mask.

“... Anyway, I have it from good authority that she likes chocolate macarons. And I really don’t want to give her cat-astrophic biscuits.” He concluded with a smile.

“Yes, that would be unfortunate.” She absentmindedly replied. “Let’s get to work, then!”

As usual when they cooked together, there was a bit of flour throwing which left them both slightly dishevelled, but Chat was more focused today than he usually was. Probably something to do with the fact he wanted this to be just right. He mimicked Marinette’s actions, checking frequently he hadn’t made any mistakes in the recipe.

“One of the most crucial parts of cooking is tasting,” Marinette said, dipping a finger in the batter and licking it. Chat imitated her. “See, it tastes nice and chocolate-y, but the bitterness will be enhanced by the cooking, so we need to add sugar.” She reached for the packet as she spoke.

“Wait, you got a little something there.” Chat said, pointing above his lips. Marinette licked in the direction he was indicating, but the chocolate was just beyond her reach.

“Better?” She asked.

“Not quite... It’s really just... Actually it’ll be easier if I just get it for you.”

In one, smooth step, he was right in front of her. He loomed over her now, having continued growing long after she had. His hand flew to her cheek, his thumb barely brushing against the top of her lips. He paused, cupping her face in his hand.

And suddenly his lips were on hers. He tasted like chocolate, which Marinette appreciated as she kissed him back, her hands flying to his soft hair. He pulled her closer as he deepened the kiss. She felt him smile against her lips.

"What?" She gasped for air. He leaned his forehead against her, panting slightly.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this, princess." He purred.

Her heart skipped a beat. She stood on her toes, ready to kiss him again, but he gently pushed her away and sighed.

“I didn’t want it to happen this way, but you’re just so... purr-fect, I couldn’t resist.”

“What do you mean?” He had completely lost her.

“I’ve had a couple of conversations with Ladybug, and from what I gathered she wasn’t very fond of the idea that we -superheroes- could date a civilian. So I wanted to approach you at school. My identity would have remained a secret, and all would have been well in the world.”

“Wait, we know each other?”

“You’ll be the judge of that next week.” He winked. “Now, you were saying, these aren’t sweet enough?”

Marinette tried to bring back the conversation to his identity, but Chat kept evading her questions, a satisfied smile on his lips from having piqued her interest. She felt his confidence wobble when she back him against the warm oven where their creations were cooking, but he stood his ground.

“I’m paw-sitive I’m worth the wait, Princess. We’ve waited this long for me to ask you out, what’s another couple of days?”

She kept her guard up all day on Valentine's day, waiting for the promised sign. More than once, she was tempted to call it off. Did she really want to know Chat's real identity? Would she be able to keep hers a secret? Did she have to keep it a secret?...

At around 4pm, she sat on her own in the courtyard, taking a small break between two class periods. She pretended to read through some of her notes as she actively tried to calm down. She didn't notice someone approaching until a box was shoved under her nose.

"Hey Marinette, would you like a macaron?" She looked up into Adrien's green eyes. "I made too many and I hear they're just the way you like them... Princess."

Her jaw dropped. Maybe everything was going to be a lot more simple than she'd anticipated after all.

#marichatmay2020 #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #adrienette #mlb #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #chocolate #great now i'm craving macarons #miraculous reveal #elle writes

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yikeswtfmate · 4 years

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Since your asking for more Bucky how bout 69 with him please?

hello yes i love you! thank you for giving me the opportunity to come back to my ULTIMATE LOVE (i’m lying, there are like 5 of them). hope you like this!

69. You see that death glare means she likes you.

masterlist

Y/N cannot stand Bucky Barnes. She can’t stand his obsessive refusal of cutting that hair (which honestly doesn’t it just get in the fucking way of fighting?), she can’t stand the way that thigh holster hikes up just a little whenever he takes a step, she can’t stand how his fingers seem to caress whatever gun he’s holding, and she most definitely can’t stand how he would not look at her for more than two seconds at a time.

So when Tony suggests unwinding with a drink (or two or ten) after a particularly difficult mission, Y/N is the first to down three shots of tequila without blinking. An hour later, her head is in Wanda’s lap and she’s mumbling and shouting in rapid succession, arms flailing around and a very angry expression on her face. Bucky knows she’s talking about her favourite tv show again, and his traitorous brain lets him know that he’d do anything for him to be the one in Wanda’s place, playing with Y/N’s hair as he’d listen fascinated to whatever theory she’s going on about. He drinks the remainder of his glass, although what good does that do him? He’d much rather be piss drunk right about now. At least then, maybe he wouldn’t notice the daggers she’s sending his way whenever he catches her eye.

“For a super spy, you’re one of the most transparent men I’ve ever met, Barnes.” Nat’s voice cuts through his miserable thoughts. She takes a sit on one of the stools next to him, joining him in his pity party of one, pouring him some of the whiskey they’ve smuggled from Tony’s lab. She’s no drunker than Bucky is, but at least she doesn’t look like a crestfallen, kicked puppy.

He grunts in reply. To be fair, there would be no point in trying to act stupid or deny her implications. Steve and Nat are the bane of his existence, but at least Steve is even denser than him when it comes to these matters.

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just get over yourself and tell her.”

“Because she hates me.” Bucky grumbles, and tries yet again to drown his bitterness in his drink.

“I think all those hits to your head are finally working.” Nat deadpans, but there’s amusement playing in her eyes. She’s enjoying this. “How exactly did you come to this conclusion?”

“I don’t know, Natalia. Have you noticed how she always moves to the other side of the room whenever I sit next to her? Or how she’d always try to switch partners when we’re paired together on a mission? Or how she wouldn’t even look at me without scowling?”

Right on cue, as if to emphasise his words, Y/N sits up on the couch and grimaces when she notices they’ve been looking at her. She turns to Wanda to whisper something, but not even his super hearing picks it up. Yet he doesn’t miss the exasperated roll of Wanda’s eyes.

“No, Y/N. I don’t care, you’re just lying to yourself.” She says, loud enough for Bucky to know that it’s about him.

Y/N simply huffs, and the alcohol does nothing to help her manage her feelings better. She just glowers at Bucky again and sticks out her tongue. He would laugh at the childish gesture if he wouldn’t be in such a sour mood. Nat snorts next to him, and with a shake of her head puts her glass down.

“You see, that death glare means she likes you.”

Bucky turns to her, an incredulous look on his face. Did he finally succeed in getting drunk? Is he hallucinating?

“Don’t look at me like that. We all know it, you’re just too dense to notice it. Or too much of a self-conscious grump to acknowledge it.”

Bucky doesn’t have time to respond to this brand new information. He doesn’t even have time to process what she’s just said, when Y/N is standing right between them after Nat called her over. Her eyes are glassy and he knows she’s at that stage when she becomes uncomfortably honest if probed. A glance in Nat’s direction and he’s suddenly very afraid and very excited about what’s coming next.

“Y/N, what do you think of Bucky here?” Nat starts without preamble.

Y/N shifts on her feet, looks a little bit confused from Bucky then back to Nat, without lingering too much. She lowers her head, but there’s a violent red colouring her ears.

“What do you mean?” She mumbles.

“I was wondering if you find Barnes attractive enough to want to kiss him?”

Bucky feels a little uncomfortable at the directness of the question, and he’s just about to stop Nat, when Y/N’s head snaps back up. She’s frowning and her nose is crinkled in concentration.

“I would totally want to kiss Bucky.” She finally replies, a goofy grin on her face.

Bucky forgets how to breathe for a second, but ignores Nat’s triumphant smirk. In that moment, he forgets and ignores everything and everyone around him, as Y/N wobbles towards him. His arm instantly reaches out to steady her, but she just leans into him, until her hands are on his chest, face inches away from his.

“I know you don’t like me because you wouldn’t even look at me, but I would totally want to kiss you all over, Bonky Bonk.”

“I think we need to have a proper conversation about who doesn’t like who.” He chuckles. “For now, let’s just get you to bed.”

“Are you gonna give me a goodnight kiss?” She pouts.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, darling.”

#prompt thing #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fic

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unfolded73 · 4 years

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Partners (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

The third of a series of snapshot fics centered around stages in David and Patrick’s relationship and the way they label it. Set some time between 5x06: Rock On and 5x08: The Hospies. (ao3)

Rated Explicit, 3267 words. Previous fic in this series: Boyfriends; “I Love You”

__________________________________

Partner, n. a person with whom one shares an intimate relationship; one member of a couple

“Stevie, no,” David said as she put a big bottle of discount shampoo into her grocery cart. “We sell shampoo at the store.”

“And are you going to give me some for free? Because I can’t afford the shampoo at your store.”

He wasn’t going to give it to her for free. She got enough free wine from them as it was.

They rounded the end of the aisle and moved onto the next one, where Stevie threw a box of tampons into her cart. “No comments.”

“Why would I comment? It’s a normal part of being a vagina-having human.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I just figured you’d have an opinion on what brand I was buying.”

David sniffed. “It would seem you’ve found the limit to my wealth of opinions.”

Stevie had moved on to the condoms, and she pulled two boxes off the little hook, throwing one in her cart and one in David’s.

“Oh,” he said. “I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me those aren’t your brand; I’ve seen you buy them plenty of times.”

“No, it’s not that.” He carefully put the box back. “I just don’t need any.”

Stevie shot him a pitying look. “Patrick’s not putting out anymore?”

“No!” he said indignantly as he continued pushing his cart down the aisle. “We’re just not, um, using… condoms. Anymore.”

Stevie stopped and stared at him. “That’s a big deal.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” David said, concentrating on his cart. “I have to go back; I forgot Patrick’s cereal.”

“So you’re saying it’s not a big deal that you’re here, buying groceries for the boyfriend with whom you’ve practically moved in and with whom you’re no longer using condoms.”

“I haven’t moved in, I just happen to know he’s out of cereal,” David said, trying not to smile.

“Because you’re exclusive,” she continued, bumping his shoulder. “Monogamous.”

“We aren’t seeing other people because we’re in a committed relationship.” David replayed Patrick saying those words in his mind a lot. Committed relationship. “And he says he has no interest in seeing other people, so.”

“Yeah, I heard about Ken,” Stevie said.

“Who told you about that?” David said, wincing.

“I got the full rundown from Alexis and from Patrick.”

David huffed. “So given that, and that we got tested ages ago, we decided to forego the condoms from now on.” He didn’t tell her the other thing that Patrick had asked him to promise: that if anything ever did happen with someone else, for either of them, the important thing was that they be honest with each other about it. Patrick said he could forgive infidelity, but he wouldn’t be able to forgive his health being put at risk in the interest of keeping a secret. It was an incredibly mature position to take, and David was still trying to wrap his head around the implications of it: that Patrick thought their relationship was solid enough to withstand something that serious. David had always thought of romantic relationships as something ephemeral that could be blown away by the prevailing winds. Not something stable, with thick stanchions sunk deep into the earth.

“That means you also have no interest in seeing other people,” Stevie said.

“Why would I want to see other people? I had a lifetime of seeing other people, and it didn’t hold a candle to…” He blinked. He was getting way over-emotional for the frozen food aisle, where Stevie was currently putting a couple of frozen pizzas into her cart. “Get one of the pepperoni and sausage,” he told her.

“These are for me. Get your own.” She shot him a smirk. “Didn’t hold a candle to what?”

“To being with someone who knows me,” David said quickly.

“Hmm.” Stevie led David over to the cereal aisle so that he could get Patrick’s breakfast cereal. “And you realize that he probably feels the same way, right? Which is why he doesn’t care about experiencing other guys at this point either.”

“Yes, I realize that now,” David said, meeting her eyes.

“Good.” Stevie nodded, but then her face contorted into a grimace. “God, David, you’re so happy. It’s disgusting.”

~~~

David found himself surprised by his own confidence in their relationship when he noticed Patrick checking out a hot guy in bike shorts who stopped by the store. Rather than a stab of jealousy, he just felt a sort of warmth about it, that after so many years of not knowing himself and even after the Ken debacle, Patrick was allowing himself to openly admire another man. So when the guy left with a bottle of juice and was back on his bike outside, David grinned and commented, “This town has a criminal shortage of asses that perfect.”

And rather than looking guilty, Patrick laughed. “Oh my god, right?”

“Aside from yours, of course.”

Patrick snorted. “Sure,” he said, and once again David had to restrain himself from delivering his well-researched, thoroughly-sourced lecture on the perfection of Patrick’s ass to the man himself.

“Maybe we should carry more items geared to cyclists. Reusable water bottles, energy bars, that kind of thing,” David mused.

Patrick looked impressed. “That’s actually a great idea, even if it is rooted in your desire to check out guys’ asses.”

“Not just guys. I like the asses of all genders.”

“Okay, fine. But my point is, Elmdale has a long-distance cycling club. We could do some good business with them if they’re motivated to stop in town while they’re out riding on summer weekends.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon putting together a plan for sourcing fitness-related products, with frequent interruptions to help customers or for shameless innuendo between the two of them, and all of it was fun. Working with Patrick was fun. Flirting with Patrick was fun. Just being in Patrick’s presence was fun, and the fact that they’d been dating for over a year hadn’t made any of it any less fun.

Of course, none of that meant David didn’t still have a possessive streak, and the next time the hot cyclist stopped in the store, David might’ve made a point of dragging his fingers along Patrick’s back where the guy could see.

“You might be interested in these new artisanal protein bars we’re testing,” Patrick told the cyclist, giving David a pointed look like he knew what he was doing.

“Are they good?” Hot cyclist asked.

“I make a point of not eating things with that much granola in them, but my partner assures me they are,” David said, winking at Patrick.

They sold him four bars.

~~~

The thing was, the word ‘partner’ had always been a regular part of their vocabulary since they owned a business together, so when it started to slip out of David’s mouth in contexts that had less and less to do with the business, at first he didn’t realize the import of it. It was Alexis who had to point it out to him one evening when he was hanging out at the motel while Patrick was at the Wobbly Elm with his baseball team.

“You’ve started calling Patrick your partner,” she said.

David squinted up at her from his journal. “What? He’s my business partner.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what you mean by it now. You mean partner. You know. Partner.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it just as quickly with a click.

“Like you guys are in it for the long haul.”

“Maybe we are,” David said, and oh fuck. Maybe they were.

“Are you going to propose?” she asked.

“What?” His mind whited out at even the suggestion of them… would Patrick want that? To marry him?

“You did always want to get married, David.”

“When I was young and naive and didn’t know that most people are terrible, fickle users.” But he thought about the wedding scrapbook from his childhood that he’d crammed into a suitcase on impulse when they’d been forcibly ejected from their house, the one that was now hidden under the knitwear in his cedar chest.

Alexis huffed, closing her magazine. “Yeah, but Patrick’s not. Patrick’s a sweetie and for some reason he loves you. You might want to lock that down.”

“Patrick’s been engaged before and he had an existential crisis about it,” David said.

“Patrick is gay and was engaged to a woman, so I don’t think that’s relevant.”

“Well, in any case, it’s too soon to… it’s too soon.”

Alexis shrugged.

“What would you do if Ted proposed again?” David asked.

“I’m pretty sure I ruined any chance of that happening. But who knows? Maybe I’ll propose to him someday. No reason I couldn’t ask him to marry me if I wanted to,” Alexis said, picking up her magazine and pretending to be interested in it.

“No,” David said faintly, not thinking about Alexis and Ted at all. “No reason at all.”

David’s conversation with Alexis about his and Patrick’s future was still on his mind at work the next day, which made Patrick’s grumpy mood particularly ill-timed.

“What is up with you?” David asked when Patrick thumped some of their precious merchandise down on a shelf a little too aggressively for the third time.

“I’ve been too busy to go grocery shopping and I was out of milk this morning,” he grumbled.

David winced, because he was pretty sure he’d used up a lot of that milk himself.

“And the stupid dryer in my apartment building ruined another one of my shirts,” Patrick continued.

“Well, is that really such a great loss?” David asked.

Patrick shot him a baleful look. “Really?”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Patrick waved it away and started heading into the back, then just as quickly swung back around. “Did you call the other contractors on the list about giving us a quote on the bathroom reno?”

“Ronnie’s quote is fine. I told you we don’t need—”

“David.” Patrick’s hands went to his hips.

“She’s our friend.” Which wasn’t exactly true — for some reason Ronnie’d never been more than politely skeptical of Patrick. But she was David’s friend.

“And conveniently, if we go with Ronnie you don’t have to call anyone else.”

“Excuse me, maybe I want to support another small business in town,” David said. “If it’s so important, why don’t you call the other contractors?”

“Because I’ve got a million other things to do!” Patrick shouted, his hands flung up in annoyance. “But whatever, do what you want.” And he stalked into the back.

Patrick stayed hidden away throughout the rest of the morning while David helped customers, his stomach in a knot and the press of tears behind his eyes. He hated when they fought. Fortunately it didn’t happen often, but David wallowed internally while he sold people jars of honey and hand-knitted sweaters and body milk.

He finally stuck his head in the back at a quarter past noon. “Do you want a sandwich from the café?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, not looking up from the filing drawer he was searching through. “Thanks.”

When David returned, he walked carefully over to Patrick’s desk and set the styrofoam container down in front of him. “I told Twyla that you were angry with me, and she gave you an extra pickle.”

Patrick looked up, his eyes sorrowful. “I’m not angry with you. I’m sorry I shouted. I was having a bad morning and I took it out on you.”

David sat across from him, opening his own lunch container. “But I didn’t call those contractors.”

Sighing, Patrick took a bite of one of his pickle spears. “No, you were right. We should cultivate loyal relationships with other business owners in town. Especially since Ronnie’s on council.”

“Okay.”

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

“The store is doing particularly well this month,” Patrick commented, sandwich in one hand while the other still scrolled on his scratchpad. A crumb dropped from Patrick’s sandwich onto his computer keyboard, making David wince.

“Yeah?”

“Mm hmm. Between the new product lines and your summer series of events, we’ve raked in record profits.”

David drummed his fingers on the desk. “So will you pay that out to us as a bonus, or…?”

Patrick arched an eyebrow. “No, I was thinking I’d use it to chip away at the list of things we wanted to do to improve the store. The bricks need repointing, and you wanted that wine fridge—”

“Or we could take a trip,” David said.

“A trip?”

“Yeah, a trip. A vacation. You and me, a beach, rum-based drinks, and minimal clothing.” He shimmied his shoulders a little, although the effect was somewhat lost since he was sitting down.

“That’s a lovely thought, David, but it would be a mistake to shut down the store to go on vacation when things are just starting to go so well. We should at least wait until we can afford an employee or two to cover for us while we’re out of town. And I think we might be a year away from that, based on my projections.” Patrick’s eyes were still focused on his spreadsheet.

“So in a year…”

Patrick finally looked at him and smiled. “In a year or two, we should take a trip.”

And sure, it hadn’t been that long ago that David had used the phrase ‘five years down the road’ in reference to their relationship, but he still felt dizzy at Patrick so blithely making plans with him so far in the future.

“You’ll definitely have broken up with me in a year or two,” David demurred, a joke that wasn’t really a joke.

Patrick eyed him for a few seconds, and then stood up and came around from behind the desk. “Oh, I think the promise of rum-based drinks and minimal clothing will be enough to keep me around.” He reached out a hand and when David took it, Patrick pulled him to his feet. “We can start planning it, if you want. If the planning is something you’d enjoy.”

“I suppose that’s something I’d enjoy,” David said into Patrick’s mouth just before they kissed. It was slow and sweet, and David tried to ignore the fact that Patrick tasted like pickles.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off?” David asked when their lips parted, his fingers kneading Patrick’s shoulders. “It’s been a while since you’ve taken some time off to relax.”

“I took an extra day off last week,” Patrick said.

“Yeah, and I came back to your apartment to find you working on the quarterly taxes at home. I mean, actually relax. Watch some porn. Read a book — and not a finance book! Read that baseball book you keep falling asleep on. I’ll take care of things here.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Mm hmm.” David kissed him again. “I insist.”

“Will you come over after?” Patrick asked, his hand squeezing David’s hip.

“Yeah.”

David floated through the afternoon on a happy cloud; he was even polite to Roland when he came into the store. It was equal parts relief that the small fight with Patrick hadn’t been that big a deal, and the smug satisfaction of having done something nice for his partner. At the end of the day, he didn’t even mind doing the tasks that he hated, like the bookkeeping.

When David slid his key into the lock of Patrick’s apartment and opened the door, the sparkling candlelight and the smell of something delicious cooking hit him simultaneously. Soft music was coming from the record player.

“I told you to relax,” David said, unable to keep his smile at the romantic tableau off his face. “Not slave away over dinner.”

“I did relax. And then by four o’clock I was bored and I decided to do this,” Patrick said as he poured red wine into two glasses, then he noticed what David was holding. “You got milk.”

“You said you were out.” David handed the jug to Patrick, who took it and put it away, a smile on his face.

David sipped his wine. “What did you do this afternoon?”

“Pretty much what you suggested,” Patrick said, pulling a roasted chicken and potatoes out of the oven. “Jerked off, took a nap, replaced that broken string on my guitar, flipped through the Netflix menu without watching anything, and then read my book for a while.”

“Sounds like a good afternoon,” David murmured, his brain stuck on picturing the first thing.

“It did improve my day enormously,” Patrick said as he put food into plates, “so thank you.”

“Any time. Well, not any time. The store is dull without you.”

They ate and drank and talked, and David thought again about what Alexis had said: that they were in it for the long haul. God, he was really starting to believe that was true.

Later, when they’d found their way into bed, Patrick’s hands were confident on his body, competent in the way he was when he operated a corkscrew or plucked his guitar. David felt a lazy kind of pleasure brimming over as Patrick touched him, a gentle thing that bubbled up as they moved together. They traded off using their mouths on each other’s cocks, slowly and without any need to race to the finish, just bringing each other pleasure for the enjoyment of the act itself, for the way it made the other man moan and gasp. The build was achingly slow until it wasn’t, until Patrick turned over onto his elbows and knees in obvious invitation.

David dragged out the process of preparing Patrick with his fingers until Patrick’s fists were clenched on his pillow, his voice ragged as he begged to be fucked. And then David kept at it a little longer still.

When he finally sank inside, Patrick was so keyed up that David worried he’d pushed things too far, that their orgasms would be too mistimed for them both to enjoy this as much as he wanted them to. But Patrick quieted as David fucked him, going to whatever place inside his head he went to stave off coming too soon. Then it was all long, slow strokes and David pressed against Patrick’s back, the sweat slick between them. God, it was a crime how good it felt.

“Harder,” Patrick finally said, finally giving in and stroking himself. “Please, harder.”

“I love you like this,” David groaned, his hips snapping forward with more force. “I’ll always want this with you. Always.”

Patrick had gone nonverbal, rocking back on his knees in time with David’s thrusts, and then he came and David could feel it, the pulses of it clenching around his cock, and he fell over the edge right after Patrick, his teeth against Patrick’s spine.

“Fuck, that was good,” Patrick slurred, collapsing onto his stomach once David had pulled out. They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom, a well-worn routine including comfortable pajamas and glasses of water before getting back into bed.

“This turned out to be a pretty good day,” Patrick said.

“We could go to Elmdale on Monday and I can help you pick out some new shirts,” David murmured, remembering Patrick’s morning frustration.

“You just want a mall pretzel,” Patrick answered, but then he leaned over and kissed David’s cheek. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

It was only minutes before Patrick was softly snoring next to him. David was wide awake though, lying still and watching him sleep, imagining what their future together might be.

#schitt's creek fic #schitt's creek ff #david x patrick fic #david x patrick ff #my fic

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