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cheesus-doodles · 2 years

Note

Idk if you reply but the ask is open, if it’s not and I would like to apologize but if it is then lemme tell you the idea that’s been bugging my mind. Platonic Yandere Toman with a darling that can leap through time, like straight up time travel. But unlike Takemitchi, there is no current ‘her’ that could be in autopilot mode like in the timeline where she left, she straight up disappears and just arrive in the future where she have been missing for years with no trace.

sdlkfjnskdjnfsd time leaper anon! we're finally here!! after 3 drafts and over 3 months i made it (almost) on time! admittedly, i didn't manage to write as much as i originally hoped to, but that's all right too - there's always the next chapter hohoho ;) also as usual, i didn't proofread because that was a lie, so i'll be doing minor corrections along the way.

early Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas to everybody!

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Recommended Reading: A Friend In Me

Masterlist

tw: yandere, afab reader

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Going Home: Chapter 1

Yandere Platonic Toman

“Fuck fuck fuck -” Hurtling round yet another corner of the seemingly endless maze of dark and narrow alleyways that winded every which way behind Shibuya’s glitz and glamorous main streets, the sound of his racing heart rang and echoed between his ears was still not enough to drown out the roars of men calling out to find him, their pounding footsteps drawing closer even as his own desperately tried to carry him further. Even when the occasional ring of gunfire and bullets biting into the brick walls - a fate he was sure awaited him should they catch up - died away on the orders barked out by a familiar voice, one that cut easily through the chaos, that didn’t reassure Takemichi in the slightest. After all, he knew very well it wasn’t him they were concerned about hitting. The already harsh grip he had on your clammy hand only tightened as the black-haired man forced you to move your jelly legs at his unbearable pace lest you be dragged along, the stretch of brick wall flashed past you at a dizzying speed. “Come on, we gotta move!”

“Tak-Takemichi. I can’t.” Said man only pressed on, your soft, tired mutter lost in his tailwind. The smell of rotting food and stagnant drains that was whipped up as the two of you raced past didn’t help much with your already shallow breathing, but all you could do was alternate between hacking and gagging, struggling to catch a break at the brutal pace set by the other, a pace that usually wouldn’t even have you miss a beat. Yet under just the dim remnant light that radiated down to street level from the overhanging apartments, the sheen of sweat that had built up on your brow would have been clear to anyone that could spare you a glance, the beads of perspiration leaving you shivering as it trickled down to frame your ashen face.

Head whipping left and right at every junction, a life-and-death decision that loomed over as every second ticked on, Takemichi was too caught up in the moment to notice your growing weariness as the desperation for an escape - somewhere to hide, somewhere to rest, anywhere but here - overwhelmed him, the labyrinth of similar back alleys and deadends mocking his every move, eating away at his mind.

Every single future, every possible timeline, they were all converging for reasons beyond both Naoto and him, though the one thing they were positively certain of was that you were somehow at the center of it all. It had always been you.

A few more minutes of unrelenting running was the limit of your fading strength, and a weak tug was his only warning before your legs finally gave way beneath you, the sudden dead weight weighing down one arm almost tripping the other if not for you freeing your hand from his grip. Spinning around, Takemichi could only watch in horror as you collapsed onto the ground, a flower petal wrenching free and drifting ever so gently towards the ground. The exhaustion that you had been bravely fighting, that permeated every pore of your body, was now as clear as the break of dawn in a never ending night to your partner, those gentle eyes he knew that were once full of life and fondness now completely glazed over. But time marched on uncaringly, the voices and his very uncomfortable fate drawing closer with every tick of his cheap watch.

“Run, ‘Michi.” The quiet mumble was carried by a gentle draft that floated it above the unfolding turmoil, yet the unspoken implication that came with your two simple words lingered in the air.

It was never supposed to end like this; not with your panting figure left behind on the filthy ground slowly blurring until you finally vanished from view as Takemichi scrambled round another corner. When he and Naoto first found hope in his time-leaping abilities, the chance at a better future, the last thing they had wanted was to drag in yet another innocent party - to involve you of all people. Lifting one arm to hurriedly wipe at the sweat pouring from his forehead, the man only realized that far from being sweat, it was the hot, fat tears, the same ones that now burned his cheeks as they welled up and tumbled free, that had been blurring his vision and stinging his eyes, though he didn’t have any time to waste on that, the rampage of feet resounding across every wall of this cursed network of alleys failing to end despite him now being all alone.

Sprinting past a row of doors that that he vaguely recalled as back entrances to various shops and restaurants, the fatigue that had been steadily building and weighing down his legs was all but certain to jeopardize his escape when a sharp, abrupt wretch had Takemichi flying off his feet sideways. The inky black that swallowed him whole was barely a comfort in his final minutes, yet the few moments were long enough to have his life - his regrets - flash before his eyes, and the one memory that stood out left, right and center being a throwback to how he first found himself embroiled knee-deep in this mess.

‎

“Listen, Takemichi.”

The evening sunlight that flooded through drawn curtains and gently danced its way around the studio apartment to the rustling of the foliage outside, reflecting off polished wooden shelves and worn counters, was a sharp contrast from the severity that underlied those two words from Naoto, the detective looking worriedly serious with his head perched atop clasped hands. And that was all it took to earn Takemichi’s full attention, his ramblings on the past that had been freely pouring from his mouth instantly coming to a complete stop, jaw snapping shut with a click. “I don’t know what you changed in the past, but this future - it's different. Not better, worse.”

Having woken up back in the video rental store despite seeing neither head nor tail of Kisaki, this time employed as a manager instead of a lowly staff member, Takemichi had been inclined to believe the best had happened - that he had somehow managed to prevent Hina’s future death, that this was the better future. Yet unbeknownst to him, the few moments he took to adjust back to the present, one so far removed from the life he led just a couple of minutes prior, were also only the few moments where the current timeline did indeed seem brighter. One quick search was all it took to bring his whole world crashing back down around him, the small, painfully bright screen of his old cell only reflecting the exact same tragic fate for his former girlfriend, a destined death that she seemed to be unable to escape from. That he seemed to be unable to change. At least Naoto’s face peering in through dusty glass doors, one hand lifted to cover the glare of the afternoon sun, was somewhat of a relief to see - a reminder that Takemichi wasn’t alone in this.

“Toman?” Takemichi ventured.

Naoto only seemed to look even grimmer in the shadow of dusk, the dark of the night creeping across the sky outside casting an ominous shadow over his eyes, the squeak of rubber against worn wood as the detective’s laptop was turned to face the other failing to break the tension that hung heavy in the air. “Toman no longer exists. Only Bonten.”

Takemichi's brow only seemed to crease further and further as Naoto briefly ran through Bonten's portfolio of crimes, the images that flashed across the small screen telling a brutal and savage story far from what he knew from the past. Heinous crimes with graphic details, countless lives touched and ruined, unspeakable devastation, yet all the police could legally say was that they had no hard evidence tying the horrendous torment Takemichi was witnessing to the movements of the shadowy organization. “As far as we know, Bonten emerged from the remnants of Toman after that gang fell apart. At the present moment, we can’t even say for sure who the executives are.”

“And Mikey?”

The deepening grimace was all too telling. “We think that he may be the boss given that he was the head of Toman, but it’s only a guess. No pictures, no evidence, nothing.”

The silence that fell over the small studio apartment was far from comforting but necessary - it must be hard for Takemichi to accept that this was their current reality, given that the past he just returned from seemed so much greener.

Yet Naoto had no chance to prepare himself, even with the minute of silence, when the next thing to tumble out from Takemichi’s lips was your name, him whirling around the next instant to see his stunned face reflected in those clear blue eyes. A few seconds had merrily ticked by on his old wall clock before Naoto finally realized why Takemichi wasn’t answering him; his questions trapped in the confines of his brain as his lips only mouthed the thoughts that raced through his mind. Taking a deep breath and pulling himself together, Naoto tried once more, with one question standing out right, left and center at the forefront of his mind. “Where did you hear that name?” The detective demanded, though the brief loss of his usual collectedness was lost on the other.

Furrowed eyebrows set into a concentrated expression, one that had overtaken Takemichi’s face as the curious memory of you surfaced, quickly gave way to a quizzical one, gaze lifting to meet the detective’s troubled eyes. “She was with Mikey-kun and Draken-kun at the fight three days ago.”

Even with the remnant heat of what had been a burning afternoon still lingering in the small studio, the former delinquent still shivered with the recollection of the sheer brutality put on show that day - it might have been in the unreturnable past at this point, but knowing that he had to go back and face the duo again did not bode well for both his physical and mental wellbeing.

Grasping the edge of his dining table turned office desk, Naoto found himself falling back into his chair, his legs no longer able to take his weight despite just the few minutes he’s been on his feet, the wheels of the well-worn office chair squeaking as it rolled backwards slightly under the force. One hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, annoyance welling up in his chest against his better judgment - that name again. It was always your bloody name that popped up in his reports.

But lost in his thoughts on your soft gaze and kind smile, Takemichi failed to notice the growing weariness and annoyance in the younger Tachibana sibling at having to yet again take you into his considerations and equations. “Toman shouldn’t have turned out this way, not with her there.”

All he received was a despondent sigh from Naoto, the light ring of the wind chime that hung outside his living room combined with the final choir of bird chirps erupting from outside his window signaling the coming of the night, as he replaced his hand on the familiar wooden tabletop, fingers now tapping out an unrecognizable rhythm. This whole mess they were in, he wouldn’t be surprised if it really just boiled down to you. It seemed like it was always you at the end of every road. “Why not you fill me in on what happened in the past first?”

Another sigh, this time escaping from Takemichi’s lips, filled the silence as the last dying rays of sun disappeared beyond the horizon. “Is that really important right now?”

“More so than you think. Start from when Sano Manjiro showed up.”

Takemichi slumped back into the chair, its joints creaking and groaning from the impact, giving his messy mob of hair a ruffle - even if his showdown with Kiyomasa was now in the unreturnable past, and the bruises and wounds had long faded from his body twelve years on, it had really just been yesterday for him. The thought of having to recall that dreadful period of his life once more was enough to make him shudder, but still he started. “Right, so I was getting the shit beaten out of me -”

‎

“Oy Kiyomasa.” The sky had been clear blue, the wind blowing in from open water cool and gentle as it kissed his sweaty, filthy skin, the gorgeous weather a complete contrast to the hell that Takemichi has just been through. Yet even in his battered and bruised state, barely able to see out of swollen black eyes that he couldn’t remember acquiring, the sight of an exceptionally tall figure - Toman’s Vice Captain Draken, or so he heard Yamagishi exclaimed from across the makeshift arena - casually strolling in his direction was more intimidating than Kiyomasa could have ever hoped to look. “You’re scaring the crowd.”

Then Mikey - Sano Manjiro himself - appeared, and the atmosphere was somehow electrified even further. Deep bows, Kiyomasa getting a foot to his stomach, Takemichi could hardly process what had happened before he found himself fallen over quaking, the Toman President face to face with him. It was hard to believe his luck, his rotten luck that is, with Mikey instantly declaring him his new friend upon butchering his name. Or maybe it had been bitch, the ringing in his ears from his previous beating preventing Takemichi from making out what exactly was said. Though even at this point, as Mikey stood from where he had been all but squatted over him, when Takemichi thought he was finally free and that his part had been played, the heavens disagreed - they didn’t seem quite done with their goal of making his life as miserable as possible.

“Mikey? Ken-chin?”

Mikey swung around, Takemichi just catching a glimpse of the confusion that briefly flashed in the other’s empty eyes. And your name came tumbling out of the Toman President’s lips in a bewildered mutter, almost as if he was equally as baffled to see your delicate figure as Takemichi was, the same draft that rustled your brown paper bag that hung off one arm floating your name and dispersing it across the otherwise silent area. More surprising to Takemichi was the unsettling pulse of deep bows that promptly radiated outwards, row upon row of the same rowdy delinquents that had minutes ago had been cheering as Takemichi kissed the pavement again and again now a muted crowd folded in half, eyes turned towards the ground with arms folded neatly behind their backs, shaking with either effort or fear Takemichi couldn’t say. Whether it was either or, one thing that shone through as clear as the light of the sun that reigned the afternoon sky, the same sun whose rays glimmered in your gently blown hair, was that every person present had something to fear from you.

He doubted that it was your fighting prowess, not with how soft your figure was or how glass-like your hands looked. And Takemichi knew that he probably shouldn’t be staring jaw dropped as you slowly closed the distance between you and your friends - even the Mizo Middle Five having disappeared among the mass of third years, Yamagishi probably having the sense to force Suzuki’s and Yamamoto’s head down with him. With Mikey very obviously turning to scan the crowd with those intimidating black eyes, that was probably the right move, thought Takemichi, yet he couldn’t quite seem to turn his gaze, his body stubbornly frozen in place despite his mind all but screaming for him to just move.

In that moment, there was no worse decision that Kiyomasa could have made as the light tap of your shoes against the cement pavement neared him, the realization of who you were setting in only after his eyes swung up to meet your large doe ones. But it was too late to change course, Draken having caught the curious glimpse he chanced at you, and in a blink, the air changed. No words were exchanged, no words needed to be exchanged, the fury that sparked and raged behind the Vice Captain’s eyes enough to scare the living daylight out of Takemichi, let alone the force of the punch that met Kiyomasa’s face. Far beyond the impact of the kick from earlier that already had the boy doubled over, which now seemed more and more like a mere chastise for his disrespect towards Mikey, this round was a full-on curb stomp, the crunch of bone mixing with cries of pain rising in a chilling orchestra had every delinquent’s hair standing on ends Kiyomasa was sent flying, head whipping backwards as he crashed bodily into the same railings where Takemichi had previously found his own face smashed against.

Though there was no rest for the wicked, his bully from another life being dragged up from where he was slumped and panting by his hair to meet Draken’s eyes, with no amount of prying able to make a dent in the Vice Captain’s forceful single-handed grip. “So you really think you’re god today, huh? Should I get on my fucking knees?” Draken drawled out, but it was a question that he wasn’t inclined to have an answer for, seeing as he instantly sent Kiyomasa soaring through the air once more, back towards the cowed crowd. “Who gave you the right to lay your filthy eyes on her?”

Yet neither of you seemed particularly bothered by the complete beatdown going on just a stone’s throw away, even as the rest of the Toman members dared not to even catch a glimpse of their once-leader being obliterated. “You’re not allowed to be here. I said to wait on my bike.” A statement, not a question, but it was clear that there was no bite behind Mikey’s words, not with the way he gently took your comparatively fragile hand into his own, bundling himself into your awaiting arms and burying his face into your shoulder.

“Came to see what was taking you boys so long.” You hummed out, lifting one hand to run your fingers soothingly through his hair, the sound of shifting boxes clattering against each other alerting Takemichi to the groaning paper bag slung over one arm. Almost domestic was how he would have described the unlikely scene unfolding before him, Takemichi barely able to accept that the blond-haired Toman President that was now busy tugging at the fabric of school uniform and insisting on a piece of taiyaki while you gently let him down was the same merciless man that lead the Toman of his future. Were they missing something? Did Naoto get the wrong man?

There was no time for his train of thoughts, the all-too familiar sensation of his gut wrenching in despair bringing him out from his contemplation as his mind registered that your gaze had shifted down to meet his, where he had been still staring slack jawed and wide eyed up at you. Your brow now furrowed in what seemed like concern, you shifted to offer him a hand. “Are you alright?”

Fuck - was all that he had time to think, Takemichi almost robotically turning away from you to instead see Mikey’s gaze swing onto him with what he prayed wasn’t irate eyes, the afternoon sun that crawled across the sky in its neverending journey now casting an intimidating shadow over the boy’s eyes yet offering no warmth to him as his blood ran cold. Was it his turn to be beaten into a pulp by Draken and Mikey? Was he going to the other side on this fine afternoon?

His sole condolence was that at least Hina wasn’t here to see him cry.

But all Mikey did was to grab your outstretched hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and huffing as he turned you away from Takemichi, his other free hand reaching up to grab and squeeze your cheeks. “Don’t talk to him.”

“Alright, Mikey.” Was all you managed to get out, a fond sigh escaping you when Mikey released your face from his grip. You must be used to it, reasoned Takemichi, right before he got back to thanking his lucky stars above that for once, shined down on him at just the right moment. It wasn’t his time to go.

You instead turned your attention to the other still rampaging boy. “Ken-chin, come on, lunch is getting cold.”

The final groan of pain, combined with the sound of flesh hitting the ground as Kiyomasa's broken body was uncaringly tossed aside all but indicated the end of the beatdown. Yet the sheer anger that had been painted on the Vice Captain's face failed to fade, Takemichi's hair instantly standing back on end even from a distance as that frightful look was shifted in his general direction.

But you didn’t seem the least bit bothered when Draken confronted you with an aggressive ‘Huh?!’, bloodied fists held stiffly at his sides - and you were right to be, the hostile look evaporated as soon as those large doe eyes of yours swung up from Mikey to meet the other’s, an almost soft smile breaking through to quirk his lips.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you there being all chummy.” It was with nothing but care and gentleness, a far cry from what had been dealt to Kiyomasa, that Draken drilled his knuckles into the top of your head, the same ones that had once been dirtied with blood and carelessly wiped on Kiyomasa’s soiled shirt, you giggling at the funny feeling, releasing Mikey from your arm to instead throw a quick hug around the other. The amusement on his face was gone in the next instant though as the Vice Captain turned his attention back to the hunched over crowd, dismissing the still quavering delinquents with a bored wave. “Break it up everybody. Don’t tarnish Toman’s name with stupid shit like underground fights.”

You must truly be someone special to be able to tame the notorious Toman leaders, Takemichi mused, watching as Draken flushed you tight against his side, his towering figure shielding the sight of a passed out Kiyomasa from you as he guided you away, Mikey letting out an inaudible grumble only to eagerly grab at your offered hand. But other than your genuine kindness, one that shone through clearly from the depths of your eyes, there was little he could pinpoint about you that would explain their protectiveness. What was it that drew them to you? That had Draken react that badly to Kiyomasa’s supposed insult?

‎

“Yamagishi basically told me I was lucky to walk away alive and asked how I did it. And then Suzuki asked me if she was really as pretty up close as she was from a distance." Takemichi trailed off, eyes hazy from his memories, staring blankly at one of the many bookcases that lined the walls of the small apartment.

Allowing the last statement to simply wash over him, Naoto instead took the next few minutes to digest the information dump he had just received while Takemichi was still caught up in his recent past, breaking down what Takemichi had observed about the relationship between Toman and you, and matching it up to what he currently knew. Even with new information that no one had been privy to, the detective’s conclusion was that there were still many gaps - too many gaps for comfort - but the pieces were at least starting to have a semblance of connection. “Now that you’ve told me this, everything somewhat adds up.”

“Toman -”

“Bonten,” Naoto corrected, lips now set back in his usual grim line.

“She would have stopped Mikey, hands down!” Insisted Takemichi.

"She's missing." Naoto sighed, hands reaching up to rub at his weary eyes. Between his usual day job and Bonten, he’s never been quite able to catch a break. “Been missing for twelve years now.”

Takemichi’s dropped jaw came as no surprise, the gears turning in his head all too obvious. “Missing?! But how?” With Mikey and Draken so protective over you, it seemed impossible that you could have vanished without at least a Toman-wide manhunt. Or even the mass destruction of Tokyo City. There was no way you would have stayed missing for long, so what happened?

“The first missing report was filed on 10th August. And that’s all we know.” Naoto continued, once more turning his trusty laptop to Takemichi, the screen lit with a scanned document, your face beaming back at him from one corner. “We need more information leading up to this incident.”

The next few days flew by in a blink. Between Akkun’s death and digging further through countless police reports, Takemichi doubted he managed much sleep, the face filled with unmitigated fear and sorrow right before his bestfriend took that fateful last step still haunting the black behind his eyelids. The rustling of paper behind him went unnoticed, though Naoto was quick to snap Takemichi out from his spiraling thoughts, shoving what at first glance looked just like an old newspaper article into his shaking hands. “I found it.”

“This is?”

“Draken’s death. Huge gang fight on 3rd August. And then one week later -”

“She disappears.”

“Exactly. This must have been behind Toman’s breakup and Boten’s formation.”

Takemichi’s gaze snapped to meet Naoto’s. “But that’s just two weeks away!”

A small smirk quirked the detective’s lips as he stretched out his hand. That spark of hope in the blue of Takemichi’s eyes - he could see it again. “Better get going then. Two weeks time, you’ll have to stop Draken from dying -

“And stop her from disappearing.”

“Understand? That’s your next mission.”

“Alright. I’ll try my best.” Clasping hands with Naoto, it took but a blink, and Takemichi awoke to find himself on the back of Akkun’s bicycle.

‎

You blinked.

This - this was bad. You had absolutely no idea where you were, and your phone battery was dead, even though you were certain that it was at least half full at the end of the school day just an hour before.

At least this place still perhaps looked somewhat familiar, you tried to convince yourself, squinting at what looked like the end of the narrow alleyway you somehow found yourself. Maybe the light at the end of this seemingly endless alleyway lined with an equally endless number of bricks was the one that led to your school gates - actually, scratch that - it wasn’t familiar at all. The towering, unmarked buildings that flanked both sides of this backlane gave you no further clues as to where you were, and neither did the blank brick walls that flanked both sides.

Groaning, you dropped your bag on the ground, squatting down to hide your face in your hands as you squeezed your eyes shut, left to ponder how you found yourself in this situation. Had you been nabbed? Was someone playing a prank on you? Was this just a dream? All you could recall was that it had been a long day of school, and after spending the entire week shuttling between school and the hospital, caring for Draken after his operation and helping him get back on his feet, all the while making sure the rest of your Toman friends were holding up fine, you had inevitably fallen asleep while waiting for Mikey to come round to pick you up after school, the heat of the afternoon too lulling, too comfortable to resist.

Maybe when you opened your eyes back up, you would be out of this nightmare and your friend would be there. Sadly, it was not to be, the same brick wall where you were sure had been a road just minutes ago still filling your entire line of sight.

Sighing as you picked yourself and your school bag up, your feet picked one of two directions to start in, and off you went. Surely it was better to just leave the alley and navigate from wherever you popped out. And as it turns out, that had been one of your better decisions, the neighborhood that you had reappeared in was one that you knew like the back of your hand, though the school that you had been attending was now surprisingly gone, with just a large grass patch standing where the building had been. Buildings vanishing in minutes was not an area you were specialized in, though you did file that information away in the back of your head.

Perhaps you should try going home, you mused, the idea seeming better and better as you once more started down familiar roads, your school bag swinging a little in your light grip; you could at least check if your house was still where you had left it this morning, seeing as your school had upped and left. Yes, that would be a good idea.

Your key still worked, the lock of your front door turning effortlessly like it had done so hundreds of times before, and you felt the weight on your chest instantly lifting as you stepped through your doorway - no matter the situation you were in, home was at least still where you remembered it to be. The small porcelain bowl rang with that same familiar crystal chime as your keys were delicately set down, the narrow wooden counter that it sat atop as spotless and worn as you had left it this morning, the hum that bubbled through your lips chasing away the silence permeating the shadows that filled every crevice of your house.

The dim lights that lined the ceiling of your stairwell were barely bright enough to illuminate the floor, but your feet still easily found its footing on every step - you could probably do it in your sleep as well. Yet the comfort and familiarity that being back home only served to dull your caution, blinding you to the monsters that once slept within the darkness stirring to life, the tiniest glint of light reflecting off the glass of a small camera trailing your movements from the shadows of the ceiling going unnoticed.

Carefully placing your school bag onto your neatly tucked away chair, you allowed yourself to collapse onto your bed, a huff escaping your lips as you nestled your face amidst the fresh linen. But even as you took a deep breath, attempting to will the anxiety that settled at the bottom of your gut away, the smell that hit your nose instantly set off a new wave of panic - your sheets were fresh. Too fresh.

Sirens now blaring in your head, you scrambled to throw yourself off the offending object.

The shadows that danced around your room looked a lot more menacing now than ever, lapping at the last rays of light that streamed through your window from the dim yellow streetlight outside, determined to devour everything in sight. Hands unconsciously bunching and clutching at the skirt of your school uniform, you cast a quick glance around, ever so carefully backing off and away from the bed towards your wardrobes. It seemed that the nerves that still tingled your skin were right - you supposed your mind had been subconsciously picking out the unsettling details in your home all this time.

What was going on?

Though you barely had time to complete that thought before something from the dark touched your shoulder, sending you leaping what must have been a foot into the air. What was quickly revealed to be a hand - a man’s gloved hand - was faster, slapping itself over your mouth as your unknown assaulter shoved you backwards and up against the sliding doors of your cupboards, the soft thud as your back hit the wood the first sound you had heard since returning home. How the other had followed you up to your room with barely a creak or footstep was beyond you - a ghost perhaps, an evil spirit.

But he wasn’t a ghost, the man leaning in towards you, the light of his phone’s screen clearly illuminating the glimmering silver of his single drop earring, and the massive jagged scar that crossed the entirety of the left half of his face, kissing the tip of what seemed to be an impaired eye and disappearing behind his black undercut, right above his ear.

‎

“You gotta be fucking with me,” Kakucho breathed.

The Bonten Number 3 wasn’t sure what to think when the alert had first been raised of someone matching your general description leaving the vicinity of where Bonten had once razed your school to the ground. Over the many years that he had served Mikey faithfully, having been entrusted with scouring the entirety of Tokyo and Japan for you, there had been several false alarms raised, yet he had never come close to finding even a whiff of you. But squinting at the grainy footage of a CCTV camera, one of several that continued to devotedly watch over the same streets where you had vanished twelve years ago, the spark of hope that it could perhaps really be you this round ignited once more. Your hair, your figure, it matched too closely for it not to be you.

Maybe this search that he had never been permitted to stop could finally be drawn to a close.

The black-haired man had been in the midst of preparations when the second alarm was raised: there was now movement detected in your residence. And that was when the scrambling truly began, Kakucho cursing and swearing out loud as he hurriedly tucked his gun into its holster under his coat, barking out orders to the waiting men on his way out the door. Either you had somehow reappeared out of thin air, or there was a burglar with a death wish.

If Bonten had been alerted, then so has the police, with his insider information indicating that the police had been keeping tabs on the area around your house, given the enormous bounty that was placed on your safe return, combined with the fact that your residence had been bought out by a front company several years ago.

Now here you were, standing right before him, large trembling doe eyes freely displaying your fear, the unshed tears welling at the corners of your eyes glittering in the soft light of his phone - an exact replica of the girl from the picture he had pulled up on his phone. Not of those year-on-year aged up mockups they had professionally done of you, no, the you that he was now face-to-face with was a carbon copy of the single photo that Mikey had reluctantly sent to him for searching purposes, the photo of you from twelve years ago. You looked exactly the same as the day you vanished.

“Don’t scream,” warned Kakucho, before he carefully removed his gloved hand from your mouth, though it seemed that his caution was unnecessary, you barely daring to breathe even as your ashen face and quaking eyes continued to stare at him, the only movement being your shaking hands bundling more of your uniform into their grip. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but the wail of sirens that had started up in the distance indicated that his time spent in your cozy little room was up. “Right, you’re coming with me.”

There was no resistance from you, allowing Kakucho to gently usher you out of the room, the men - armed with very real guns you noted at the back of your still-whirling mind - that had been gathered in the corridor around your bedroom door parting to let the two of you through. Who was he? Why did he look like he had seen a ghost? And what did he want from you?

Stopping for just mere moments to help you slide on your shoes, the blue and red flashes splashed across buildings and drawing ever closer all but confirming Kakucho’s suspicions - the police really were keeping tabs on you because of your link to Bonten. With every second now counting down until they arrived, the man found good reason to instead sweep you off your feet and into his arms, carrying you the last six steps to bundle you into the awaiting car alongside him. The car had peeled away from the street before your seatbelt had clicked close, the well-maintained tyres barely making a squeak against the asphalt even as the streets outside your window blurred together.

A muffled thud as the back of his head hit the plush headrest; if you were really who he thought you were, then the sigh of relief that Kakucho let out under his breath at having not pulled his gun on you would be warranted. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you had started crying, or worse, if Mikey had found out you had to look down the barrel of his gun - just the extent the Bonten boss had been willing to go to to have you back by his side again was a clear enough threat in itself.

‎

The car ride was silent. The worst kind of silence, in your opinion - quiet and awkward, with not even the radio playing and the partition between the back seat and the drive, like those that you’ve seen celebrities have, completely raised. According to the movies you watched, this wasn’t how an actual kidnapping was supposed to go, though you weren’t complaining - it was far better to ride up here than in the boot. Plus you weren't even tied up or blindfolded, free to watch unfamiliar buildings whiz by your tinted window. You turned to look at your captor quietly staring out his own window, the passing streetlights occasionally illuminated his contemplating face. Maybe he was just new at this?

Not that you would ask anyway, your companion’s aura a tad too intimidating for you to consider.

Mercifully for you, the trip came to a quick end, the car door swinging open to reveal what on first glance you assumed was the lobby of a luxury hotel. The glimmer of polished marble that lined every step from the foyer, where the car had stopped, carving a path towards the lobby hidden behind thick glass doors, was intimidating, yet your captor still ever so gently helped you out of the car, guiding you along without a moment’s hesitation, you noting that his stance had relaxed compared to when he had been in the car. Almost as if he was home, your mind told you, but you shook that thought away. You couldn’t afford to slip into the illusion of safety and lose sight of the situation you were in. The bulge where you had spotted his gun during the ride here, tucked away in a hoster beneath his coat, had been a wake up call - after all, people didn’t usually carry guns if they didn't mean to use it. People don’t usually carry guns, period. Maybe if you just went along, they’ll let you go. After all, it wasn’t like you had anything they wanted.

Yet you couldn’t help yourself, your eyes widening in awe as you stepped into the lobby past the glass door, barely noticing the click of a lock as the light glittering and reflected in almost everything around you, the shine reflected in your doe eyes as you whirled around, trying to take everything in. Expensive was an understatement, with every inch of the ornate foyer seemed to be lavished with gold or marble or exotic woods and carved with extravagant designs, what looked like priceless art and statues artfully littering the area. Craning your head up as far as your neck would go, the chandelier that hung above the two of you from high ceilings was easily the biggest you had ever seen in your life, dwarving even those you had seen in the movies - every teardrop crystal that hung from silver handles probably a fortune in its own right. Even the grand staircase that curved and met in the middle with a flourish glittered in its light, not a speck of dirt to be had on any step or railing. But you didn’t have time to appreciate the grandeur, your captor instead leading you to one corner of the deserted lobby.

From behind you, the creak of a door swinging open, the black-haired man that had been gripping your shoulder instantly releasing you as he turned to meet the newcomer.

“Leave, Kakucho.”

Just two words, but it was clear that the man’s statement was an order, not a suggestion, your now-named kidnapper immediately departing the room seemingly through the same doorway the other came through with naught a backward glance.

The door closed gently behind him, the soft click as the latch sprung back into place that echoed around the giant lobby a forbidding reminder - it was now just you and him. But you knew even to assume that would be wrong, no. Thinking that the other’s focus had been on anyone except you would be lying to yourself; you knew, it had always just been you and him in this room right from the moment he had entered, the feeling of his sharp gaze tearing into your back all too acute in your mind.

Yet, you still couldn’t quite tell what it was that had set off that basic fight-or-flight instinct - maybe it was the sense of danger that seemed to radiate from his mere presence, or the slow, menacing footsteps that had the dread weighing on your chest grow heavier as he drew closer to you from behind. No matter what it was that had your body tensing up and freezing even as your mind screamed at you to fight, to move, to just turn around, you found that you couldn't force yourself to take even a step. The final step that finally closed the distance between you and him, his breath tickling your skin - and all you could do was watch black sleeves that hung off bony arms come into view as he ever so carefully, so hesistantly wrapped them around your waist, pressing his face slowly into the back of your neck.

“I found you.” He whispered into your skin, a hushed prayer that echoed across the empty room. “I finally found you.”

Arms tightening around your waist, the shaking of his hands, the same two that clutched desperately to the fabric of your school shirt, almost as if you would vanish should he dare to let go, wasn’t lost on you, and neither were the hot tears that scalded your sensitive skin as they dripped free and rolled down your back, drenching the shirt of your school uniform. And you let him, bringing up one hand to rest ever so gently on his, the air conditioning continuing to whirl gently from the high ceilings as your quiet humming joined the suppressed whimpers and rustle of clothes in breaking the stillness of the room.

Even if you didn’t quite know what was going on or who your mysterious captor was, the fact remained that he needed you right now, and you didn’t quite have the heart or stomach to turn away someone in need.

‎

Mikey was never quite sure what he would say to you if - no, when - he found you. Or rather what he should say to you. It was something that he had agonized over for twelve years ever since your sudden disappearance, every last word that he had wanted to tell you; to ask you why you left, to blame you for his torment, to beg for your forgiveness for whatever they did to drive you away.

He didn’t believe, couldn’t dare to believe, the single-line code phrase that had his phone screen light up and ring with that stomach-turning chime - the same one you used all those years ago. She’s coming home. You’re coming home. It must have been another false alarm. It had to be. Yet Mikey still pulled himself up from where he had been slumped, gun lightly swinging from one hand as he strolled down empty corridors, all the while swearing to himself that he would put his 3rd seat down for good this time. Because it was still hope, disgusting hope, that surged through his chest like a swarm of locusts that maybe this time, this time it could be real. And when the door opened to reveal an extremely familiar back, your back, even as the same thought of what he wanted to tell you surfaced once more, all his words seemed to have left him.

Were you just another hallucination here to haunt him? Was this payment for his crimes, his sins? Your familiar smell, your soft touch, your warm skin from his deepest dreams, his darkest nightmares that had plagued his every night spent alone with no one but his thoughts - so close yet so distant. But as he once again bundled you into his arms, pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathed in your scent, it became undoubtedly clear. It was you. It was really, truly you.

‎

The second hands of the twelve clocks that hung on one wall at the far end of the lobby, one for Tokyo and the others for distant cities that you only read about, unwaveringly ran their course round the clock face, the merry ticking indicating time continuing to flow by in an unending stream. Yet it felt like no time had passed at all within the four walls of the lobby, with you still locked in a grip with a stranger you couldn’t see, watching the outside world turn as a simple observer from behind thick glass doors. As his trembling slowly stilled and his grip on you loosened, the sudden realization of the situation you were actually trapped in - that you had been kidnapped for one - washed over you, and your stomach began to churn once more. Who were they? Who was he? What did they want from you? And more importantly, had you really been soothing your captor, the same person that had you brought here against your will?

Finally freeing you from his arms, taking a step back and away from you, the tension that filled the air was instantly palpable, your chest heavy with the weight of anticipation, which only increased with every soft tap of his slippers against the granite floor until you could barely breathe. It was the few moments you had to quickly process your own thoughts that somehow brought about your hesitation - did you really want to know who he was? Would that somehow be your downfall?

But any doubts that you had evaporated as the same footsteps gradually carried your captor into view, first the black of his hanging pants, then the white of his undercut, framing a familiar yet unfamiliar face. One that you both knew so very well yet not at all, standing a mere arm’s length away, black blank eyes that both hid and told everything in their endless abyss.

“Mikey?” Bringing both hands up to gently cup his face, your friend melting into your touch was the only response you needed - it was truly him. With the confirmation came the questions that flooded your mind - why he looked so different, why he had you nabbed from your home, where were the rest of your Toman friends - a rampage that you quickly pushed to the back of your mind, having not the heart to ask him. Not with the way Mikey seemed to be quietly soaking in your presence, not with how frail and sickly this Mikey looked against the lifely Mikey you saw just yesterday, against your own delicate hands, and not with the almost black eyebags that hung low under both his eyes. “Are you not eating and sleeping well, Mikey?”

It wasn’t the first thing he thought you would say upon your reunion, but somehow, someway, deep down, it was always what he had expected. No matter what you were going through, you were still worried for him. Tired eyes fluttered close as he allowed you to tenderly dance your fingers across his skin and under his eyes.

Softly tracing sharp cheekbones, the remnants of the soft, fleshy cheeks you knew from twelve years prior, the gauntness that haunted Mikey’s face made your stomach churn - he looked so sickly. So weary from the burdens of life. Releasing him from your fussing, there was no objection from your friend when you bundled him into your arms, allowing him to bury his face into your chest as you ran one hand through his hair like you always did, letting a hum bubble out, the same tune from that old song that you loved so much. And so the two of you stood for a moment longer, the deserted lobby frozen in time with you, neither in a hurry to move even as the rest of the world raced on.

Then a yawn, the first that you failed to swallow, escaped your lips, breaking the little rhythm you had going up till now, though you could hardly blame yourself - it had really been a long day. “Would you like to go and lie down for a bit, Mikey?”

“With you?” Came Mikey’s cautious, almost hesitant question, his slender fingers still tangled up in your shirt not lost on you, as if he found it hard to believe that you were truly here with him. Your heart broke once more. What has your friend been through?

Opting to instead allow an indulgent smile to creep onto your face, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, the fear and uncertainty that you had felt chilling your bones when you had first stepped foot in this foreign place now dissipating into the cool air wafting down from high ceilings. “Of course.”

Sliding his hand into yours, his grip was soft, tender as he led you not back through the small, nondescript door he had entered by, but up the grand staircase and down a seemingly endless number of luxuriously furnished corridors, each as glamorous, if not more so, than the previous, and through countless doors. Paintings and sculptures and vases lined every available wall, glittering in its own individual spotlight against the dark of the wood panels, the contrast enough to make your head spin. The building must be massive, you deduced, Mikey leading you past yet another junction where the hallways branched off again towards an unknown destination, the same plush, spotless carpet stretching out forever into the distance. How Mikey even knew where to go was beyond you, and your grip on your friend’s hand tightened ever so slightly - you would hate to be lost here.

You were absolutely exhausted by the time Mikey had tugged you to his intended destination, the neatly made bed a siren’s call to you as you stumbled through the doorway, pausing only to kick off your shoes and place them to the side of the door before you collapsed onto the mattress, already asleep before your head hit the soft covers. Yet the white-haired man still only stood and watched on, the soft snorts that escaped your nose as you tried to bury yourself deeper into the sheets lightly ruffling the surrounding cloth, echoing in the otherwise silent room.

It was you, truly you. Twelve years, Mikey thought, you letting out a quiet whine as he delicately maneuvered your sleeping frame to tuck you under his warm blanket. Twelve years of suffering, twelve years of torment without you there to soothe away his fears, to lift the tears of his eyes, to take him into your comforting arms. There was no more waiting to be done, Mikey allowing himself to finally join you, snuggling himself under the sheets and up tight against your chest as he once more wrapped his arms around you, face pressed into your shirt, every breath that he took only of you and your familiar scent. His search was over. It was really you. And for the first time in many years, with you back in his arms and him in yours, the black of sleep was a welcomed relief.

‎

Takemichi awoke to the blaring of his phone going off at full volume. It was his supposed last day in the past, having spent the entire week ensuring that Draken was recovering well, bathing in the awe of his schoolmates, and otherwise setting his affairs in order before his return to the future. Sleepy eyes blinking slowly, the boy was soon scrambling up at the sight of the name on the small screen, fully awake. Yet before he could even speak, the voice that boomed over the tiny speaker was enough to burst his eardrums. "Takemitchy, get your ass over here now."

"...Draken-kun?"

A pause, the pandemonium raging on the other end all too clear over the phone. Loud bangs, screaming, Draken swearing at someone to shut the fuck up and sit down, before things seemed to calm enough for the Vice Captain to elaborate. "She's missing. It's all hands on deck."

Click.

Looking up to see his own ashen face reflected in the mirror, Takemichi was sure that the wrenching feeling in his abdomen was his heart dropping to the bottom of his gut. Fuck.

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sxcret-garden-archive · 3 years

Text

Yugyeom ✧ Good-Night Kissing

✧ Got7 Yugyeom x reader ✧ words: ~1.4k ✧ genre: fluff, roommate AU ✧ prompt: “If I kissed you would you be mad?” (from this list)

moved from @saltys-writings

It’s about 1 in the morning when you stagger up to the door of your flat and it takes you around 5 minutes of fumbling with the keys to let yourself in. You close the door a bit too loudly, and despite being drunk as hell your first response is to feel bad in case you woke up your flatmate. However, after you have kicked off your shoes and you step into the living room, the half open door to his room and the dim light falling through it tell you he’s still up. You let your bag drop onto the floor next to you and pull a chair over from the dining table, turning it around fully, to sit down on it. In the meanwhile his face appeared, peeking out of his room, along with his slightly messy hair. You sigh deeply at how soft it looks and start debating if you should just jump him and ruffle through it once, giving in to your urges, or if you should let it be. Another sigh follows. It’s not easy being secretly in love with your roommate.

“Are you okay…?” the center of your attention asks, stepping outside. He’s wearing all black, as per usual - simple pants and a T-Shirt with some print on the front. The sight draws a third sigh from your lips. Yugyeom approaches you and leans down in front of you to be at eye level with you, looking at you with both amusement and concern in his expression.

“How much did you drink?” he questions and flinches in surprise when you throw your hands in the air.

“Eeeeeverything!” you answer, then break out in a giggle fit while he stands up straight and puts his hands onto his hips.

“Yeah, that’s what you look like…” Now he’s the one letting out a sigh. He walks away for a moment, going almost unnoticed by you, and reappears with a glass of water in his hand. He holds it out to you. “Here, drink this,” he says.

“What if I don’t?” you challenge him, crossing your arms in front of your puffed chest.

“Trust me. You’ll be thankful in the morning,” he tries convincing you. You stare at the water with suspicion in your eyes, as if there was some kind of poison inside.

“That’s ridiculous…” you mumble to yourself. “He wouldn’t poison me…”

“What?” you hear him confusedly exclaim. “It’s just normal water?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll drink it up, mom,” you mock him as you finally take the glass from him and down the whole thing at once. When you set it down on the table behind you as soon as it’s empty, you say, while further looking at him with just the right amount of spite, “You happy now?”

“Very.” He smiles. Your facade is flaking at that alone, but of course he can’t just hit once, he has to hit twice. You see him reaching out his hand, and before you can do anything about it, you feel his touch on top of your head, and you let out a noise of both protest and defeat when he does the thing you constantly want to do to him and ruffles through your hair. “You should go take a shower and then sleep, Y/N,” he says, followed by a yawn. “Let me know if you need something. I’ll stay up until you’re in bed.” He turns around and walks back into his own room, and you get up as well. However, you don’t do so to actually follow his instructions. Instead you follow him into his room, where he already sat down on his bed, his phone and headphones beside him.

“Do you need something?” he asks, looking up at you with wide eyes. You shake your head and point to his side, about to ask if you can sit there, but your legs are faster with walking there than your brain is with forming a sentence. So you just drop down onto the blanket next to him as he watches. Your shoulders are slightly touching, and you enjoy the closeness you usually don’t get from your interactions with him, while you let your hands disappear in the sleeves of someone else’s cardigan you’re still wearing. You try to remember how it came to the exchanging of your jacket for that piece of clothing, but fail to find a clear memory.

“Are you just going to sit there?” he asks, and you can hear the smile on his face even without seeing it.

“Say…” you start, fumbling with the sleeves. “I know we’re just roommates and all…”

“What are you saying? We’re at least friends!” he corrects you, causing you to blush slightly.

“Then since we’re just friends and all… if I kissed you would you be mad?” With the extra courage the alcohol in your blood is currently giving you, you even dare to look up at him after that, to check for his reaction. If your eyes aren’t tricking you you could’ve sworn you see a blush appearing on his cheeks as well.

“No… why would I be mad?” he answers, speaking slowly as if it had taken him all his brainpower to come up with that response.

“Oh.” You wouldn’t have expected him to say no. So now you go back to staring at your sweater-paws - or in your case cardigan-paws - saying nothing. That’s until he breaks the silence.

“Aren’t you going to?” You turn your head to his side, your eyes being immediately drawn to his lips.

“I- I don’t know- I mean-,” you stutter, trying to form a coherent sentence but your thoughts getting all jumbled up won’t let you. So he turns his upper body towards you as well, and he leans in to leave far too little space between your faces for your heart not to want to jump right out of your chest. You’re not sure if you should keep staring at his lips, or focus on his eyes instead, so your pupils just keep jumping between the two of them, making him chuckle.

“I’ll help you,” he whispers, closing his eyes, so now the only thing left for you to stare at are indeed his lips.

“B-but just because you won’t get mad…” you try to talk yourself out of it, when you see another smile on his face appearing.

“Just kiss me already,” he says softly, making you unable to speak further. And so after another second or two of reconsidering, you do the thing that seems like the only option you have left. You close the distance between the two of you and press your lips against his for just a brief moment. Pulling away, you see a playful spark in his pupils as he looks at you sheepishly.

“That’s it?” he dares to ask.

“Uh…” You’re not sure how to react, but he takes it away for you by cupping your face with his hand and leaning in again, this time to kiss you properly. He moves his lips against yours slowly, letting you fall into the pace he sets, before leading you into a more open-mouthed kiss. His hand reaches behind your head, fingers becoming loosely entangled in your hair, sending tingles down your spine. When he pulls back, he leaves you longing for that warm feeling on your lips again, and after shooting him a pleading look, he reconnects your mouths, filling you up with warmth, and a sense of satisfaction. You let out a moan that’s barely audible when he goes over to nibbling on your lower lip, and then proceeds to deepen the kiss again, before you eventually have to break apart to breathe.

“More…” you demand shyly once you caught your breath, but instead of another kiss you just receive a pat on the back.

“Go shower first and then sleep. We can continue when you’re sober.” You glare at Yugyeom for a moment, but upon meeting the soft expression in his eyes you can’t stay mad for long.

“Fine,” you cave in the end. “But I wanna sleep here.” You give his bed a few strong pats with your hand.

“That we can arrange,” he answers, and finally you’re willing to get up to take off to the bathroom.

#got7 fluff #got7 #got7 drabbles #yugyeom fluff #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 fanfic #got7 writings #kim yugyeom #got7 yugyeom #got7 writing #got7 imagine #got7 drabble #got7 scenario #fluff

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the-sympathetic-villain · 3 years

Text

You Belong With Me - Chapter 34

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.

Word Count: 6972

Chapter Warnings contain major spoilers so they’re at the end of the post, but please scroll down to check them if you need to! This chapter gets a bit heavy <3

Logan inhaled slowly as he cast one last glance down the empty corridor behind him. He could feel Dee's impatience growing behind him as he took another step towards the fae's cell. Still, he felt himself pause, subconsciously doubting his choices as he turned to to face the wall outside Dee's cell. A dim, amber light fell from the small sconce burning on the wall to his left. He quickly reached up to the thin torch, wrapping his fingers around the wooden base. With a light shove, he dislodged the lit torch from its holder and turned to step through into the grey light of Dee's cell.

He slowed, holding the torch out in front of him as he ducked through the doorway. He turned his body, edging carefully along the back wall, scanning the cell in front of him to catch sight of Dee's shadowy figure. The hairs on the back of his neck started to raise as continued to search the dim cell for the hostile fae. He barely kept the fear that his enemy had escaped at bay with the knowledge he’d heard the man's voice only a moment before. Logan could feel his energy. He had to be here.

Finally, his heart jumped in his chest he caught the subtle glimmer of his torchlight reflecting in Dee's eyes at the back of the cell. Logan straightened upright with a questioning glance. Dee’s restraints appeared to be pulled taut and Logan could only guess the fae was as far back into the cell as the chains would allow. Logan continued to hold the torch out in front of him, crouching defensively as he quickly glanced up and down at the thin silhouette standing in the dark abyss of the back of the room.

“Well, well,” Dee's dry laugh sent chills down Logan’s neck. “I almost didn’t think you had enough of a spine to ditch the prince's lap dog—”

“Don't.” Logan gritted his teeth as he cut off Dee's attempt to get under his skin. He kept he gaze trained carefully on the billowing figure as he reached upward to place the torch in his hand into the empty sconce across from Dee's cell. The thin torch barely illuminated a small radius in front of him, barely keeping the shadows close to him at bay. “I'm not here to talk about Virgil. Refrain from insulting my friend or I’ll—”

“Or you'll what?” Dee's wry grin stood out starkly against the shadows around him as glared threateningly at Logan. “Leave? If you had a shred of common sense, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.” Dee scoffed as Logan's expression soured. “Unfortunately for you, you’re the one here who wants something. So, I think you'll find I can speak about your friends anyway I damn please.”

Logan stood against the far wall, rigid with irritation at the truth of Dee’s statement. He clenched his jaw as his eyes shot daggers across the room at the faint silhouette of Dee leaning against the wall at the back of the cell in front of him.

“That’s what I thought. You’re as weak as I expected.” Dee sneered. A slight hiss escaped his lips as he struggled to contain the disdain in his voice. “I may be the prisoner, but you’ll never hold power with me. You’re merely a pawn in the bigger game I'm playing.”

Logan paused, blinking in surprise. His careful, guarded expression faltered briefly as the air wavered with an emotion he didn’t recognize. He parted his lips slightly, subtly tasting the unfamiliar feeling in the air. He stared into the dark blankly for a moment, trying to parse out some meaning to Dee's quickly shifting emotions before bitterly swallowing back the urge to comment and moving on.

“Well, clearly you wanted me here, Dee. The pawn moved where you expected, and now it's your move.” Logan pulled his shoulders back, not allowing his emotions to breach his carefully neutral expression. “So, are you actually able to tell me what happened to my parents or was this merely a ruse to get me alone?”

The silence hanging in air between them would have been deafening if Logan's heart wasn't pounding in his chest as he waited for Dee’s answer. He stared rebelliously into the subtle reflection of light in Dee’s unblinking eyes for what felt like an eternity, willing himself not to show that even without access to his power, Dee’s cold gaze sent a chill down his arms. Eventually, he couldn’t help but take a step back. His arm brushed the surface of the wall behind him and he jumped, almost missing the words that left Dee’s lips in that moment.

“You really don’t know anything. Do you?”

Logan paused, slowly glancing up in the cell as he processed Dee’s words. “What?”

“You don’t have parents.” Dee stated dryly. “You had Tara. “

The light Dee’s eyes flickered as he blinked and Logan tensed as he waited for Dee’s to continue.

“Actually, come to think of it. Tara wouldn’t have been able to resist my invitation either." Dee mused quietly. "It was easy to tempt her with knowledge. I would have pitied the fool who dared stand in her way of what she wanted to know.”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as the name seemed to resonate with familiarity in his mind. “T-Tara?”

“That was your—” Dee snarled with disgust. “—your mother's name. Her full name was Taranis of the Southern Sky, but she went by Tara.”

“Taranis of the Southern Sky?” Logan spoke slowly tasting unfamiliar words as his mind race. He almost found himself stepping forward in curiosity, but immediately halted, remembering whom he was speaking. With a twitch of a frown, he glared across the line of the cell bars. “Like the planet?”

Dee’s scoffed at Logan’s timid question, and amusement radiated out of the cell. “Yes. Though in the interest of being entirely accurate, the planet was named after her, not the other way around.”

Logan narrowed his eyes into the dark, taken aback by the sudden lack of malice in Dee’s voice. “What do you mean?”

“Humans are nothing but parasites on this land.” Dee drew out his words thoughtfully. “They’re disgustingly cruel, but even I will admit their tendency to connect two completely separate ideas by a mere thread is endlessly amusing.”

Logan stood motionless, listening to Dee as he reflected nostalgically. He held his breath not wanting to draw Dee out of his seemingly peaceful state by reminding him of who he was speaking to.

“The planet you’re referring to glows a brilliantly bright blue, just like Tara's lightning.” Dee mused quietly. “That's all the connection humans needed to connect her power to the celestial body in the southern sky. She even added it to her own name in appreciation of the connection.”

Logan stared into the darkness, nearly paralyzed in disbelief at what could only be sadness in Dee’s voice. “I-I thought—” Logan paused, staring nervously as Dee's eyes turned up to him. “—I ‘ve read extensively about the mythology associated with Taranis. Everything I’ve read implied that it had been named after a god of thunder.”

Dee was silent for long time and Logan couldn’t help but jump when he finally let out a deep sigh. “One of humans’ less endearing tendencies is their absolute inability to recognize the value of all of their own members. Some of them may even be tolerable if their leadership wasn’t worthless.”

Logan was quiet as Dee’s eyes flickered dangerously in the dark.

“She was a goddess in her own right, though thunder was far from her only claim to power. Humans have oh-so-kindly altered her myth to fit their own narrow view because they’re threatened by someone perceived as feminine having power.” Dee muttered bitterly. “Such petty cowards.”

“Was?” Logan struggled to keep his voice steady as he stared into the shadows at Dee. Dee started to move, pacing the back of the cell, but Logan forced himself to continue to speak. “You keep using the past tense to refer to her.”

“Well, I’m shocked.” Dee hummed condescendingly. “Maybe you’re not as much of an idiot as you look.”

Logan subconsciously took a step back into the wall at the venom that dripped from Dee's words, jumping as his back struck the wall behind him. He gulped, feeling the air shift back to the familiar aura of Dee’s hostility.

“You heard me correctly, Logan,” Dee’s eyes flickered in the torchlight as he snarled at Logan. “because that traitorous leech condemned her entire race to suffer and then left her only kin to pay her debt.”

Logan’s heart dropped as Dee stepped forward. His eyes glowed gold as he stared threateningly at Logan as he stuttered out a response. “W-what?”

“I don't have time to repeat myself, so get this through that thick skull of yours. She bolted. Well over a century ago, she took whatever reward the human king offered her, and fled the country, leaving you to the mercy of the human king. It's really no wonder you grew up to be the prince’s loyal pet.” Dee growled. Logan felt chills creep his neck as Dee’s anger turned to a smug satisfaction. “Not all is lost though. Fortunately for the Fair Folk, in her absence, the debt she owes passes to her next of kin and at the very least, she left us that.”

“D-debt?” Logan trembled. Even standing in the heat of the flames of the sconce above him, he felt his blood run cold.

“Surely, your dear prince told you what your mother did,” Dee replied in a disinterested tone. “though clearly he didn’t see fit enough to tell you who you were. I don't imagine you’d be here if he'd simply had the guts to tell you the truth.”

“What are you—” Logan muttered defensive, feeling his hands start to shake.

“Tara’s lightning is unmistakable. There's no way our dear prince didn't know exactly who he was speaking to.” Dee continued unempathetically, barely deigning to look at Logan as he started to crumble.

Blue lightning.

Dee's words trailed off as a loud ringing filled Logan’s ears. He slumped clumsily back into the wall behind him. Roman had reacted to his power and the air had flooded with regret.

He knew.

Roman knew.

Logan swallowed, almost choking on the lump in his throat as he slid down the wall. His muscles strained painfully as he became rigid, forcing down a vocal reaction to Dee's words. He squeezed out a few weak words, desperately needing confirmation of his thoughts.

“She was the Elder Fae.”

“Finally,” Dee growled impatiently. “Maybe there is a brain cell rattling around in that empty head of yours.”

“How—” Logan nearly retched as his stomach twisted and he curled closer to the ground. “That was a century ago. How is that—"

“Stop babbling.” Dee snapped. “Fae live for centuries. We simply age how we choose.”

"But that can't—" Logan choked on his words as he clenched his hands into fists. “I don't remember anything. I grew up normal—”

“Please,” Dee sneered. “I definitely don’t have anything better to do than refresh your memory.”

Logan shivered, barely functioning as he curled his knees to his chest. One thought seemed to keep resurfacing in his mind as grief racked his body.

Roman knew.

“Fine. You worthless—” Dee growled derisively, cutting himself off. His eyes narrowed on Logan as he hissed out his words. “She left you in the hands of her master, the human king. We only assumed she took you with her when she fled the country, but it seems she lost no more love leaving you than the rest of us. You were held by the royal family for two generations before we even realized they still had you."

Logan tilted his head up slowly. Dee’s silhouette stood out slightly against the wisp of moonlight from the narrow window behind him.

“We knew only Tara's magic could end the curse, so once we realized there was a solution to the Fair Folk's suffering, we set out to take you back. Unfortunately, our mission was ill-fated from the start and before we ever reached you, you disappeared. I personally mesmerized and interrogated every knight and guard in the castle. I even got my hands on that foolish king, but you were gone without a trace.” Dee paused, tone dropping as he grew deadly serious. “So, congratulations. You got two more decades of freedom out of disappearing, but it's time to pay up.”

“It's all my fault—” Logan dropped his gaze to the ground bitterly, feeling numb to the tremble in his limbs. “An entire generation gone—for me.”

Dee was silent for a solid minute as he stared at Logan curled against the wall. His gaze drifted up to the torch above Logan, pondering curiously. “I must admit I didn't expect you to take the blame so easily.”

Logan sucked in a breath as his stomach clenched. “They killed her.”

Dee blinked in shock. “What?"

“She died—” Logan dug his nails into his arms at the realization. “She died protecting me.”

“No—That’s not possible.” Dee whispered and Logan looked up, barely catching sight of the fae's eyes before they disappeared into the dark.

“The spell—or curse—” Logan whispered quietly. “Whatever term you prefer to use for the enchantment they forced her to cast.” Logan swallowed, casting his eyes to the ground. “R-Roman said that was the last request the king asked of her and it was too much for her to handle.”

“That’s a lie.” Dee hissed threateningly. “Tara was nothing short of a god. She knew her limit. She would have backed out, if she thought it would kill her. They couldn’t force her hand—”

“They had me.” Logan whispered quietly, running his fingers through his hair. “They took me from her and threatened to—Gods, it's my fault.”

Dee sucked in a sharp breath and was quiet as Logan's breath became rapid. When he finally spoke, his voice strained as he attempted to hold back his seething anger. “I don't mean to rain on your pathetic pity party, but no. If that spell killed her, it was because the king drained her dry of all her energy. I told her—I told her it was too much, and she cut me out. I tried to tell her but I never thought she'd take it that far.”

“She didn’t have a choice. The king left her with no other viable alternatives that would also keep me safe.” Logan felt his stomach unclench slightly at the soft regret in Dee’s voice. He put his hand down, pushing himself up of the ground curiously. “You knew her?”

“I considered her a friend,” Dee scoffed in disbelief. “though she was clearly a wonderful friend, running off to be some human’s lapdog and cutting off contact with the only people that could have helped her."

“The choice clearly wasn’t in her control.” Logan muttered defensively.

“Right, because choosing between her entire race and the allies she'd kept for centuries and you—” Dee sneered condescendingly. “would be a difficult decision.”

Skin prickling with anger, Logan's gaze narrowed into a glare. “Perhaps she made the right choice cutting you out, if this is how you treat your late friend’s only son.”

“You hold your tongue or I'll tear it out.” Dee snapped with a guttural growl as he took a step forward. “You may be her creation, but you’re not her son.”

Logan growled. “You’re the one who called her my mother—”

“I needed your attention, you pesky nitwit.” Dee’s voice dripped venom as he glared at Logan down the dark. “You are not worthy of her name. She was a goddess who was able to pluck the rain from the sky and the dirt from the land and she bind them together to make you. You are no more her son than the wind and the rain.” Dee's teeth almost illuminated in the dark as he bared his teeth at Logan. “You're simply a ragdoll she breathed a wisp of life into. Nothing more.”

“Clearly, she didn’t feel the same.” Logan growled, unable to hide how deeply Dee’s words cut.

“She was a fool.” Dee's sharp disdain cut through the air as his eyes flickered gold in the dark. “Even if she considered you her child, do you even know how many children have disappeared from their parents over the last century? Do you know how many were orphaned because their parents weren’t strong enough to fight off the humans who were hunting the Fair Folk?”

Logan swallowed painfully, breath catching in his throat. “I know—"

“No, you don't.” Dee hissed venomously. “Don’t pretend you have even a shred of understanding of how many lives were sacrificed to spare yours. Fae disappear and are smuggled over the border to be used for whatever power they have left. They drained of their will to live. They—”

“She didn’t know.” Logan whispered quietly, guilt rising in his throat as empathy welled in his chest. “R-Roman said even the king couldn’t have predicted the destruction—"

“What a comfort for the families whose lives were destroyed by their negligence.” Dee spat. His voice gradually raised in volume as emotion crackled in the air around him. “Who could have possibly predicted that humans would take advantage of the weakened fae?”

Logan looked up suddenly as a gasp escaped Dee’s lips. The sound of metal clanging filled the air as Logan tipped his head up to see Dee’s dark silhouette bent over staring at his wrist.

“Dee?”

Dee's eyes shot up to him with a feral growl as Logan suddenly scrambled back to the wall behind him. Dee hissed as Logan rushed to dislodge the torch from the wall and crouched back into the dark as Logan spun back around to rush the metal bars.

“Dee, you’re hurt.” Logan whispered breathlessly. He bit his lip, stomach twisting in empathy as the torchlight revealed streaks of red on Dee’s wrists.

“Keep my name out of your mouth.” Dee snapped. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You need treatment—” Logan muttered, ignoring Dee's hostile remarks. “I'll get Roman—”

“If you bring that prince anywhere near me, I'll tear out his pretty throat with my bare teeth—”

“Virgil, then.” Logan pleaded, suddenly growing frantic as blood dripped from his wrist."

“No.” The wounded fae snarled, baring his teeth at Logan as he paced the bars.

“I can't open the door without assistance—”

“Then, don't.” Dee snapped with a menacing step forward. “I didn’t ask you for help.”

“I don't accept that.” Logan's mind raced as stared at figure of Dee crouched over in the dim light of the back of the cell. His eyes widened as he noticed dark pools at the fae's feet. “I'll be back in a moment.”

“Where do you think you’re going, Logan?” Dee stepped forward, metal clanging as he rushed the bars. "We're not finished here."

Logan bit his lip, feeling a wave of guilt as he took in the full extent of Dee's injuries. A mixture of dried blood mixed with fresh as it streaked down his arms. He softened his expression. “There is a medical kit near the guard's quarters that I was able to raid for supplies for the antidote for Roman's poison. It was well stocked.”

Dee gritted his teeth silently, unable to stop Logan as he turned to place the torch back in it's holder.

“I'll only be a minute.” Logan whispered apologetically, briefly glancing back at Dee's deathly glare he ducked through the archway.

Getting to the medical kit proved to be as little of a challenge as it had been the first time he'd raided their stash of supplies for ingredients. Fortunately, they seemed to have restocked from his last encounter and even added to their extensive supply. His face twisted in disgust. Realistically, he knew he should be grateful he hadn’t needed to go far for supplies, but the sight of the growing collection sent bile rising in his throat.

Logan knew all too well the supplies were kept stock for when Remus pushed too far on his victims. There's no mistake that this was here to keep the prisoners comfortable. There had been many instances where he'd been left to bleed in the dirt without concern for him to believe that, but the few times he'd been truly afraid he may not survive the night, Remus had allowed one of the guards to haphazardly treat his wounds. The unforgettable experience of his wounds being treated so roughly sent shudders down his body, but he'd survived, perhaps thanks to the clumsy treatment he'd been granted. Still—He clenched his jaw, refocusing his energy away from the uncomfortable memory.

Subtle, colors filled the air as he quietly dug through the various pouches of herbs and oils, trying to guess what he might actually need. He’d only gotten a cursory glance at Dee’s injuries and hadn’t dared ask the already seething fae for a closer inspection.

What am I doing?

I mean, he knew he couldn’t just leave Dee to bleed out. He didn't have that cruelty in his heart, but nothing was stopping him from grabbing Roman or Virgil at this point. He'd walked away unscathed, and he knew they'd certainly help him if he asked, but he couldn't bring himself to break the small amount of trust Dee had placed in him letting him walk away.

Not that he'd had a lot of options.

Logan clenched his jaw and quickly hooked the waterskin he'd swiped from the guard's supplies on to his belt loop and shoved the rest of the bandages and a collection of salves and oils into his bag. He groaned and pushed himself back up toward the door, quickening his pace. Subtly, he gave a brief pause at the door, listening quietly at the door. He paused before pushing himself through the crack and making his way back to Dee's cell. Logan edged along the shadows near the walls as he deftly avoided the unobservant guards patrolling hallway of cells. His anxiety started build, creeping across his skin as he approached the figurative lion's den once more.

Logan slowed as he tiptoed into the hallway with Dee’s cell. He could see a subtle cloud of colors drifting out of his bag carried by the wind back the way he'd came. He could taste the herbs on the air as he stopped quietly in the hall outside the door, listening intently.

He heard a subtle whisper as he crept across the threshold toward Dee. Listening intently, he peered around the corner as the whispers stopped. Logan looked into the dark corners of the cell as he turned the corner, immediately spotting Dee’s eyes glowing their usual bright gold.

Logan stared curiously at Dee, who seemed to be too distracted to notice Logan re-entering the room. He carefully traced Dee's line of sight to the far corner of the room as he let out a distinct hiss while he appeared to stare at nothing. Logan froze in place, miscalculating a step as Dee's cold stare turned to him.

“Oh, good.” Dee snipped. The glow of his eyes flickered with exhaustion as he watched Logan slowly unfreeze and move quietly to the cell door. “My daring hero has returned from his harrowing journey that was absolutely not pointless—”

“Shut up.” Logan muttered in an exhausted tone as he grabbed the torch out of it's holder and turned to scan the walls of the cell. “You need treatment.”

“You can't get to me.” Dee spat coldly. "Therefore, this venture was pointless."

“I can, actually.” Logan stated dryly.

Dee paused, staring at him suspiciously. “How?”

“You'll see soon enough.” Logan’s chest tightened nervously as he turned to face the wall behind him. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the lockpicking set Virgil had given him. He hesitated, fidgeting with the tools in his hand as he cautiously kept the picks out of Dee’s sight. Picking the lock to the cell door would certainly easy enough. Virgil had implied that the locks in the dungeons were of amateur design, but doing so was as good as showing his hand to a man who seemed determined to prove himself Logan’s enemy, and Logan certainly couldn't see how that was a wise course of action.

Logan sighed, defeated. He couldn’t knowingly walk away while Dee was in his current condition, not even to fetch Roman. So, he steeled his stare and turned to move to the cell door fiddling with his picks.

“What are you doing?” Dee hissed the demand, staring at him..

“I think it is very apparent what I attempting to do.” Logan growled back. “Unfortunately, if you have questions, they will have to wait as I need to focus.”

Dee seemed to bite back a sour retort as Logan slid the first pick into the narrow lock. He glared silently at Logan, but allowed him to work in peace as he got a feel for the pins. Logan glanced up at Dee’s unblinking stare as he manipulated the last pin into place. He knew he could simply pop the lock open, but he let the pin fall out of place, but Dee’s injuries didn't appear to be an immediate threat to his life. To be perfectly fair, if he was being forced to show his hand on his new skill, he still didn't have to reveal to Dee that he was good at it. A few minutes passed as Logan played up his lack of skill, smiling subtly as Dee grew frustrated.

“Why don’t you give up? You obviously don’t—"

A single pop from the metal of the cell door stopped Dee’s statement in it's tracks. Logan couldn’t help the smug smile that spread across his face as Dee watched him slowly push open the cell door.

“Stay away from me.”

“I think we've established that's not going to happen.” Logan chided softly as he stepped forward. He kneeled down in front of the fae and held out his hand to Dee expectantly. “Give me your wrist.”

The scales on his face glowed a dull yellow as Dee hissed threateningly at Logan as he kneeled beside him, but much to his surprise Logan simply hissed back at him. Anger burned in Dee's eyes at the response. “Don’t treat me like a feral animal.”

“Don’t act like a feral animal.” Logan grunted as he gestured sternly for Dee to extend his wrist. He felt a small surge of empathy as he met Dee’s gaze. His scales dull glimmer gave away the exhaustion he was so clearly trying to hide.

Dee's heated glare would have withered his willpower away in any other circumstances, but right now, he had a job to do. His focus narrowed as Dee reluctantly held out his wrist. The wounds were not immediately apparent under the layers of dried blood, so Logan reached into his bag, pulling out a cloth to wet with his waterskin.

“Tell me if this hurts.” Logan muttered, not looking up. "I can be more gentle, if I need to."

“Like you’d care.” Dee hissed back, flinching at the feeling of the cold water as the cloth brushed his skin.

“I do care.”

Dee paused, staring at Logan uncertainly. “Why?”

“I simply don’t glean pleasure from seeing others in pain,” Logan whispered as he gently began to work away the layers of blood.

Dee scoffed quietly. “Well, I certainly have not extended you the same courtesy, so surely some part of you enjoys the reversal of power.”

“I want to help you, Dee. Any power you claim I have over you exists purely in your own perspective.” Logan stated without glancing up. He examined Dee’s wrist closely, knowing he couldn’t proceed with the cuff around Dee’s forearm in the way. He tilted his head up to Dee’s golden eyes. “I’m going to take your bind off, but I expect for it to go back after I've finished.”

“Starting to give commands already,” Dee muttered. “How noble our sweet ragdoll is.”

“I don't enjoy seeing you bound either, but I'm no fool.” Logan pulled out his tools and started to slide the pick into the lock, allowing his focus to drift from Dee’s intense stare. “You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear and I'm not interested in being a willing target of your rage.”

Dee was quiet as the first cuff popped open and Logan froze as it revealed several deep gashes underneath the cuff. Large, red welts raised on his arm around the cuff, an indicator of the powerful fae’s reaction to the metal. The welts and irritation were to be expected but Logan couldn’t deny the cuts looked more purposeful.

“The guards haven’t noticed your injuries?” Logan whispered, gently rolling Dee’s wrist to get a better look.

“You know firsthand they simply don’t care, especially since I’m not human to begin with.” Dee growled avoiding his gaze.

“But they should have reported it so that Roman could have done some—”

“Your idiot prince has no idea about my injuries. I can assure you of that.” Dee replied bitterly.

Logan swallowed, not wanting to admit the relief that washed over him at the thought that Roman had not been the one to be negligent of the fae's injuries. He bit his lip as he dropped his gaze. “Still, surely the guard would’ve approached Remus, given your relationship.”

“Bold of you to assume that Remus was not the source of my injuries.” Dee whispered tiredly.

Logan paused, looking up at him in horror. “I thought—"

“You thought wrong.” Dee cut him off, and Logan looked up to see him staring distantly over Logan’s shoulder. “I told you there was no affection between us.”

“Still,” Logan whispered. “I didn’t imagine he would hurt you.”

“It's my own fault really. I should have predicted he would become destructive if left to his own devices. He can't resist the temptation of hurting someone powerful when they're helpless in front of him.” Dee whispered quietly, still staring absently over Logan’s shoulder. “I’ve been his keeper long enough to know it's the way he was created.”

“His keeper?” Logan asked, his voice carefully neutral as he listened curiously.

Dee seemed to tense with the realization of what he'd said, but Logan remained patient. He kept working at Dee's injuries gently applying the soothing salve to his irritated injuries. The methodic movements seemed to lull Dee into speaking the words he seemed to desperately want to say.

“You may be the key to undoing the curse that Tara placed on us, but that doesn’t mean that the Seelie and Unseelie courts simply rolled over and gave up when you disappeared.” Dee started tiredly. His voice hung heavy in his throat as he watched Logan begin to wrap his arm. “There was a plot. When Roman and Remus were born, the courts were reeling with grief from the loss of our chance at redemption. You were gone, and with your disappearance, the courts lost all hope of lifting the enchantment. It was a dark time for our people, and in their grief, for the first time in nearly three centuries, they made the choice to create a changeling."

Logan paused as pinned off the end of Dee's bandages and moved to the next arm. He hung his head as he listened, pulling his lockpicks out of his pocket as he started on the second cuff

“They wanted to fell the humans from the inside out, create a kink in their rule that would destabilize their monarchy and maybe give us a chance to survive their systematic destruction. Unfortunately, as had been the case so many times, the universe seemed determined to foil our attempt at salvation.” Dee watched absently as the second cuff fell off his wrist, barely reacting as Logan set to work on clearing the blood off of the deep cuts. “Despite popular belief, changelings can't be created on a whim. They take seven years to grow and nurture for the right traits before they can be switched. Continuing our stellar streak of luck, on the night of their birth, a lock of hair was taken from the kings' son and the process of creation had begun. No one realized until later that twins had been born and we had created a changeling of the wrong child.”

Logan gently lifted his head as he worked the blood on Dee’s wrist, glad to see a slight glimmer to Dee's scales. “Why not simply correct the mistake and start over?”

“The lock of hair must been taken before the moon sets on the night of their birth.” Dee voice hung heavy in the air as he leaned against the wall. “We didn’t learn about the twins until weeks later. So, we had a choice. Work with what we had created or wait another generation to try again.”

“So, why you?” Logan asked quietly as he returned his gaze to the salve he was spreading on Dee's wrists. "How did Remus end up in your hands?"

“I have acted as the Seelie court’s ambassador to Unseelie court for well over a century.” Dee whispered sadly. “Actually, Tara had acted the Unseelie ambassador until she disappeared.”

“She was a dark fae?” Logan whispered.

“Dark and light have different meaning to the Fair Folk.” Dee growled in discontent. “Neither is good nor evil. They simply exist to balance the other.”

Logan looked up at the serious expression on Dee's face and nodded slowly, still processing the new information. He reached to his bag, pulling out a new strip of bandages.

“Remus was created to spread misery. He was meant to fell a kingdom, but we knew he'd need guidance. Tara’s replacement had led the mission to collect you, so the representative of the Seelie court became responsible for Remus.” Dee sighed. “I became responsible for him. Still, nothing we seemed to do was enough, and once Roman acquired his pet—” Dee stalled as Logan glared at him. “Once he acquired Virgil, he was untouchable. He overrode every bad decision Remus threw at him. We thought the game was over when Remus' bored attempt to murder the prince somehow turned up you.”

Logan pinned the end of the bandage in place and glared up at Dee defensively.

“Your eyes glowed while he was having his fun with you in the dungeons. That's how he knew. Honestly, you probably could have fried the little bastard if it weren’t for the shackles so conveniently placed on your wrists.” Dee snipped as he pulled his wrist back from Logan. "Fortunately, you weren't so lucky."

“You seem as determined as ever to hate me.” Logan whispered quietly, shoving his supplies into his bag. He glanced down at the shackles on the ground, but made no attempt to force Dee to replace them.

“I can't afford to believe that any piece of her lives in you. If I did, I may not have the willpower to finish what I started.” Dee replied coldly. “You have a debt to pay and if you won’t own up to it—”

“I will.”

“What?”

“Whatever it takes, no more lives will be sacrificed in my name.” Logan whispered, looking up at Dee’s subtly shimmering scales. “Show me what I need to do.”

Dee scanned his face, taken aback by Logan’s words. He watched curiously before testing Logan’s truthfulness. “Fine. Let me go.”

“I can't. Not yet. ” Logan added as Dee's eyes stare distrustfully up at him. He brushed himself off, glancing out the cell door. “I’m going to fetch Roman.”

“What?” Dee hissed, his mouth hanging agape.

“I'll do whatever it takes to end this, Dee. I give you my word.” Logan promised, holding his wrist tightly. “My life is in your hands, but I want Roman there. Whatever happens to me, I want him there.”

“I can’t let you do that, Logan.” Dee warned with a growl. "Don't walk out that door."

Logan took a step backwards towards the exit, holding up his hands in reassurance. “I promise I’ll return. My word is goo—”

A grunt escaped Logan lips as a body slammed into him from behind. Instinctively, he moved to slip out of his attacker’s grip but their grip was iron tight. He struggled for a moment, blue sparks erupting from his arms until he was forced onto his chest with a painful thump. He gasped a metal shackles latched around his wrists and his lightning vanished. He gasped, feeling his power dissipate as a familiar giggle sounded behind him.

“Oh, pretty boy.” Remus chirped happily in Logan’s ear. “For a second there, I thought Dee wasn’t going to let me out to play. He gets awful sappy when he talks about his dead friend—”

“Get off him and give me the key, Remus.” Dee ordered, not looking up at Logan as he shamefully hung his head.

“Dee, please.” Logan begged as Remus pulled him to his knees. He watched helplessly Remus tossed a brass key at Dee’s feet. “I said I’d do whatever you asked.”

“Gag him.”

“No—” Logan started to squirm, but Remus was prepared. He held him easily as he slipped a piece of cloth between Logan’s teeth.

“You had to have known I'd prepared for your visit, didn't you?” Dee drawled lazily as the binds around his neck and legs fell free. Immediately, he took a deep breath as the light from his eyes glowed brighter and a bright shimmer passed down the scales on his face and hands. “Nothing I've done has been left to chance. I kidnapped your prince and forced your hand on learning to use your power on your friends. I offered you the temptation of knowledge and tricked you into prying a confession out of that oaf of a prince. This was all planned for you to end up here understanding exactly why this is your burden to bear.”

Logan glared at him, shivering as Remus’ hands grasped his shoulders. Dee stepped toward him, raising a finger to trace the scar on his face. He nearly collapsed to the ground at the reminder of the last time he’d spent helpless with Remus.

“Our dear Remus has the unique ability to become undetectable when he needs to and fortunately you stepped right into my trap as predicted.” Dee smirked as his finger slid down Logan’s face. “The only thing I didn’t predict was your willingness to sacrifice yourself to make things right. Truly, that was a noble offer and one that won't go unnoted." Dee grinned as Logan's head shot down to the ground. "Maybe there truly is a glimmer of Tara behind those bright eyes.” Dee whispered as Logan hung his head to his chest as tears blurred his vision. “I don't want you to think this is personal, Logan. I’d be much happier walking you into this willingly, but I can’t take a chance that your prince wouldn’t be so honorable, so I'm sorry." Dee smiled sympathetically as Logan struggle in Remus' grip. "Truly I am, but too many people are relying on me to finish this for me to take chances.”

Logan slumped back, defeated in Remus’ grip. Dee's gaze only lingered on him for a moment before he tore his gaze away and looked up to Remus.

“Get him out of the castle. I will meet you at our rendezvous point,” Dee order sternly. “and Remus?”

Logan shivered as Remus’ hand brushed his neck. He resisted the urge to retch as Remus grip on tightened on his shoulder, but the feeling only lasted a moment as Remus' hand was immediately yanked away from him. He flinched, expecting a blow to the side of his head, but when none came, he timidly looked up to see Dee holding Remus’ hand away from him. Both the men's eyes glowed brightly in the dim light as they stared at each other. Logan froze watching as power radiated through the air between them. An uncomfortable minute passed before Remus’ glowing green eyes flickered and returned to their normal color. Dee continued to stare at the changeling, voice dripping with power as he continued.

“Not one hand on him that’s not absolutely necessary.” Dee hissed threateningly as Remus bowed his head submissively. “If even one hair on his head is out of place when I retrieve him from you, I will make you regret existing. Do you understand?”

“If control’s what you’re into, I’m not objecting," Remus quipped with a chuckle. "but I really think we should talk about these thing beforehand—”

“Answer me, Remus." Dee growled impatiently.

Remus glared at him petulantly, but eventually he turned his head down with a snarl. “Fine. Pretty boy stays in good condition until you come to fetch your toy.”

“Good, then go. I'll meet you as we planned,” Dee ordered sternly, shamefully avoiding the horrified look in Logan’s eyes as he pulled his sleeves over the bandages on his arms.

“Alrighty then, pest.” Remus’ high pitched chuckle sent shivers up his spine. “Time for a nap."

Logan’s cry was muffled to a whimper as Remus pressed a cloth against his nose and mouth. He struggled in Remus' grip. The corners of his vision darkened as his movements weakened. He fought to remain conscious, but the battle was already lost. Regret flooded over him as his muscles stopped reacting and he drifted restlessly into an uncomfortable sleep.

---

Chapter Warnings: Restraints, Anger, Angst, Death Mentions, Lashing Out, Mentions of Kidnapping, Medical Treatment, Injuries, Blood, Guilt, Very brief unintentional self-harm, mentions of genocide, Drugging, Actual Kidnapping, Unsympathetic/Questionable Janus/Deciet

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @chronicallynervouschild @croftersjam15 @actitus-hypoleucos @unbefuckinglieveable @justthatamount @eeveeeclair246 @taxicabinmemphis @theoddkidnextdoor @dwbh888

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts logan #ts janus #unsympathetic deceit #unsympathetic janus #You Belong With Me #villain writes

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

Watch What Happens - Chapter 11

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Smut, Swearing

Words: 4,326

A/N: Special thanks to @rommies for beta-ing this!

It had been hard to keep their hands off each other after leaving Kao-Wah. (Especially on the train - those nine stops had comprised the longest ride of his life.) When they’d gotten into Y/N’s building, she seemed to stop trying all together. In the semi-privacy of the elevator, Arthur returned her attentions eagerly, grasping at her sides and hips. At this point, those parts of her were familiar, and he could touch them with some confidence. When the elevator came to a stop, she laughed, grabbed his hand, and led him down the hallway towards her apartment.

Once inside, she closed the door, locked it, and shrugged out of her coat. She pulled him to her, then, and put her arms around his shoulders, boosting herself up on her toes to kiss him fully. Bracing himself against the wall with his right hand, he angled his head, trying to imitate the movements her mouth made.

He thought he’d gotten pretty good at kissing, but now he felt clumsy, trying to keep up. She’s really in a hurry. As much as he loved her ardor, he was taken aback by it. And intimidated. When the tip of her tongue pressed at his lips, he opened them slightly to allow her access. A groan rose from his chest when she traced the inside of his mouth. Cautiously, he put a hand to the back of her head, holding her while trying to gain some control.

She wiggled out of his grasp. “I have to freshen up,” she whispered, then pecked the tip of his nose. “I’ll be right back.”

He watched her retreating form as she headed to the bathroom. Once the door was shut, he braced himself against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. Shit. What he’d thought about countless times since he’d shaken her hand was about to happen. A nervous laugh forced its way out of him. Holding his breath, he silently begged anyone who might be listening that he’d be spared the humiliation of an outburst while in Y/N’s bed.

He hadn’t thought to pick up condoms - he’d never needed a prophylactic in his life. Maybe she had some? He turned to the couch, his mind racing. Should he sit there and draw her into his lap when she emerged? Was he supposed to wait in her bedroom?

Did she know he was new to this?

Quickly, he took his journal out of the pocket of the jacket he hadn’t yet taken off. He flipped to the notes he made after reviewing all the Dr. Sally segments he had copies of and listening to her radio show. Reading his scrawl was a challenge in the dim light from the windows, so he stood by the glass door. “-Don’t rush.” “-Open communicashun” “-Very posishins” “-Touch the cl-” He slammed the book shut and stuck it back in his pocket when he heard the bathroom door open.

She waited a couple feet from him, raising an eyebrow. “Take off your coat and stay awhile?”

Slowly, he took off his jacket and tossed it on the nearby coffee table. Arthur stilled, unsure of what she wanted him to do next. Then he closed his eyes, unable to force away his growing unease. Would she compare him to her ex-husband or the other men she’d dated? What if he couldn’t satisfy her? What if he came too soon? He squeezed his palms together.

When Y/N took his hands in her own, he managed enough courage to open his eyes. The affection in her gaze wrung his heart. “Arthur,” she said. “If you don’t want to, it’s all right. Please don’t feel pressured.”

Almost as if he feared she’d leave, he grasped her upper arms. “That’s not it.” He felt his cheeks burning as he confessed. “I’ve nev- never done this.” There. It was out.

She blinked at him, confusion on her face. “What?”

He huffed, drawing his brows together. “You’re surprised?”

“Well, yeah.” She placed a hand on his chest and cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t I think some bright, young woman had already gotten her hands on a handsome man like you, Mr. Fleck?”

He shook his head and snorted at her comment. Because I’m a freak? The gleam in her eye told him she meant every kind word, despite her jokey tone. He leaned his forehead against hers as she hugged him. Self-doubt threatened to overcome him. “I don’t wanna fuck up.”

“You won’t.” Pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth, she continued. “Do what you want. If anything doesn’t work, we’ll figure it out.”

How did she manage to say what he needed to hear? He nodded, exhaling sharply. “Okay.”

“And don’t be shy,” she continued. “I won’t be.”

Carefully, he ran his hand through her hair, over her cheekbone, to her chin. When he brought her mouth to his, she tilted her head to give him better access. He leaned into it, wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her body to him.

She ground her pelvis against his, making contact with his clothed erection. His breath hitched. His hand went to her hip, squeezing before bringing her against him again. She shuddered and whined against his mouth. Stopping the kiss, he watched, wide-eyed, as her hands went to the front of his vest, sliding the buttons through the holes.

“Come on.” She took his hand and started drawing him to the bedroom. Arthur bit his lip, walking in step beside her. He swallowed hard when she turned on the lamp on the bedside table. When she sat on the bed to remove her shoes, he shut the bedroom door, trying to follow her lead.

It was strange to be in a woman’s bedroom. Or to be in one at all, since he always slept on the couch. It was small, and almost as spartan as the rest of the apartment, but the lamplight softened the room. When he noticed the bed was large enough for both of them, he felt his face warm and looked away. There was a nearby chair. He sat and started untying his shoelaces, slipping his shoes off and putting them neatly by the door. “I, um.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t have a condom.”

“It’s fine,” she said as she rose from the mattress. “I have an IUD.”

That wasn’t a word he knew, but he was relieved - his lack of planning ahead wouldn’t get in the way of whatever was about to go down. Standing, he turned and took off his vest to put it over the back of the chair. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out the best next step.

Y/N came up next to him and hooked her fingers in his belt loops, bringing him to her and smiling. “You make me so happy,” she whispered, before kissing him firmly and resting her head on his shoulder.

His eyes fluttered shut. No one had said that to him before. Well, maybe when he was performing as Carnival. But not when he was himself. “Me, too. I mean, you make me happy, too,” he said, nuzzling at her temple.

She nestled further into him, lips where his jaw met his neck. Taking his hands from his sides, she placed them on the opening of her blouse. “Please touch me,” she said.

A tickle formed in his throat as he nodded. He coughed gently. “Yeah. Okay.” He stepped back from her so he could see what he was doing. His fingers trembled; he stretched them, willing them to calm down. The small buttons gave him trouble - they were damn tiny - and his brow furrowed as he fumbled. He was relieved when she started to help him.

After flicking his eyes to hers, he opened her blouse slightly. When he glanced down, a shivering breath left him. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Before he could recover from the shock, she took his hand and pressed it to her breast. The softness of her, the weight of it, the feel of her nipple against his palm… It was better than he’d imagined. He groaned as she pushed her mouth against his. “Y/N, I have to ask you something.”

“Mm. What?” she hummed.

“Did you - Did you plan this?”

The color that appeared on her cheeks was appealing. He’d caught her. “I, uh… I hoped for it?” They both giggled. Some of the anxiety his body was holding left at her admission. He kissed her mouth, firmly enough to feel her teeth. When he felt her nip at his bottom lip, he squeezed her breast, hard. A sharp sound came from her and she broke off the kiss. “Not so rough,” she chuckled.

He started to remove his hand. “Sorry, I-”

She immediately stopped his retreat. “No ‘sorries.’”

Not so rough. All right. He tried again, gentler this time, and she arched into him. The pad of his thumb swiped back and forth against her hardened nipple. Her soft moan emboldened him, and he let his other hand drift down to her chest, brushing her other breast, before coming to rest on her side.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said, her fingers on the top buttons of his shirt. He moved to help her, unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt. It took him longer than normal, his hands bumping hers.

After peeling the shirt off and putting it on the chair, his eyes drifted to the floor. It wasn’t that he hated his body - he walked around without a shirt all the time when he was home. But he knew how gaunt he was, that his body was nothing like the men’s in the few adult films or magazines he’d seen. And he wasn’t used to getting undressed in front of anyone, other than in the locker room at HaHa’s. He hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed.

Her hand lifted to stroke his chest, and he watched as it continued downward. Her fingertips tracing the line of the bottom of his ribs, her hand flat against the firm plain of his stomach and abdomen. As she palmed his hard-on through his pants, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is this all right?” she whispered.

“Uh huh.”

She giggled and stroked him a few more times, and he felt himself growing harder, to the point where it hurt. She stepped back to shed her shirt, then nonchalantly slipped her skirt down her legs and stepped out of it, moving towards the bed. Arthur wondered if she wore lace panties all the time, or if they were for him. Trying to follow her example, he unzipped his trousers and took them off.

“Don’t forget your socks,” she said. She peeked at him over her shoulder as she climbed onto the mattress, not bothering to peel the covers back. On her back and boosted up on her elbows, her lips turned up at him. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

He scoffed, standing awkwardly in his briefs, hands clasped in front of him. “You need glasses.”

“I think I see you just fine,” she answered.

A strained laugh escaped his throat. Trying to distract himself, he took a step towards the bed and let his gaze roam her nearly nude form. Her breasts were a little uneven, there were faded stretch marks on the curves of her hips, and she didn’t have a gap between her thighs. She wasn’t as nubile as the women he’d pasted into his journal. But she was beautiful. And real. And she wanted him to touch her.

The hand she held out to him interrupted his musings. He took it, climbing into bed beside her. “You’re making this easier than I thought it would be,” he said, squeezing her hand. He leaned down to press his forehead to her shoulder before admitting more, blushing. “And I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Her answer was to turn to face him and kiss him deeply, one hand going down his back to squeeze his ass. She threw a leg over his legs and pulled him to her, groaning against his mouth. He rolled forward slightly, bringing her on her back. Holding himself up on his elbow, he looked down at her.

Her eyelids were heavy, and the way she was admiring him made his abdomen tighten. “I’ve been dying to do this since you took me out for pie,” she breathed. The corner of her mouth went up and she stroked his hair, putting a stray lock behind his ear.

With some trepidation, he put his hand on her chest, between her breasts, and dragged them down her torso. He didn’t know how her skin could be so soft - he didn’t want to stop touching it. They both watched as his hand traveled further, tracing lines on her stomach. When he met the top of her underwear, his eyes darted to hers. She licked her lips and nodded.

Arthur continued past the waistband, his fingertips meeting short hair. Slowly, he slid further. He was surprised when her pelvis lifted to meet him, his fingers slipping between her outer lips and into her folds. “God,” he groaned. “You’re wet.”

She moved against his hand again. “What do you expect? That kiss you gave me after dinner has had me going all week.”

He kissed her cheek. He couldn’t believe she was kidding around with him. While they were in bed. It made everything so much more comfortable. He furrowed his brow as he concentrated, hand becoming a little bolder. Dr. Sally had described a nub…

Y/N reached to pull her underwear down, kicking it off once it was below her knees. Then she put her hand over his and brought two of his fingers to a raised spot near the top of her vulva. “There.” She moved his fingertips down further. He shuddered when he felt the lips of her opening, the tip of his middle finger slipping in a few millimeters.

His eyes shut, following the back and forth motions she was guiding him through. It wasn’t long before she removed her hand to let him take over, let him try things out. After a few more movements, he dared to look down at what he was doing. He huffed at the sight of her body striving towards him, her slick causing his fingers to glisten. She seemed to have a stronger reaction when he kept his hand higher, so he focused on what he assumed was her clit. Gently, he moved his fingertips in a small circle, groaning at the feel of her against him.

She gasped, “Arthur!”

The cry of his name on her lips snapped something inside him. He removed his hand from her, wiped it on the bed cover, then grabbed her face as he climbed on top of her. His kiss was urgent, unpracticed, hungry, and he rutted against her with a grunt.

Her hands moved down his back, to his sides. She pulled at the waistband of his underwear. The temporary confidence and urgency started to slip away from him. “Are you sure you want this? With me?” he asked. If she ended up regretting being with him, letting him touch her, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Y/N smiled up at him, stroking the lines of muscles leading to his groin with her thumbs. “I’m as sure of you as I am that water is wet.”

Relief ran through him at her answer, and he smiled as he closed his eyes. She wants me. How is it possible she wants me? God, I need her.

Oblivious to his internal monologue, she started yanking his briefs down over his hips. He boosted himself up, trying to help her. The impatience on her face made his heart leap and his face flush. When his underwear was low enough, she put her foot between his calves and pushed them off, helping him wiggle out of them.

He held himself still, up on his elbows, staring at a spot on the pillow next to her head as she looked down at him. Was she comparing him as he’d feared? Was the size alright? Did she mind he was cut? He slowly brought his gaze to hers. Her eyes were hooded, and she licked her lips. Tugging softly at the coarse hair there, she grinned. “What do you like?” she asked, curling her hand around his erection. She swiped her thumb across the head and nuzzled at his cheek.

Groaning, he jerked forward into her touch. It was remarkably better than anything he did with his own hand. After a few moments, he was finally able to answer coherently. “I dunno. What you’re doing now?” She continued to stroke him, sometimes gently squeezing, moving up and down his length. He glimpsed down to see her fingers wrapped around him and he moaned quietly. It took concentration for him to reach down and stop her, fearing he’d come too quickly and make a mess all over her hand.

“We’ll figure it out later,” she answered, kissing his high cheekbone.

Later? There’ll be a later. He prayed there were many laters.

Her hand moved to join the other on his hips, her thumbs stroking them as she arranged herself under him. Her labia came into contact with his cock and he grunted, thrusting against her ungainly. She cried out, so he repeated the motion. Her hands kept a hold of his sides, trying to help him find a rhythm that worked for both of them. Once it was found, her cries grew louder, higher. “Arthur-” she whispered, then pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin, opening her thighs further as she ground against his shaft. “I need you inside me.”

He shuddered. “Okay.” She reached between them and held herself open. Taking his erection in his hand, he pressed the tip of his cock against her. But he couldn’t move forward, hitting slick skin. She adjusted her hips slightly and took him in her hand, guiding the head inside of her before allowing him to take control.

A jolt went through him when he entered her, the sensation of her walls surrounding him overwhelming. He had to focus to stop himself from plowing into her. Don’t rush. Don’t rush. He halted, trembling, and tried to calm himself with breathing exercises he knew. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the-

“Are you all right?” she asked, her hand smoothing his hair back.

“Yeah,” he answered.

She kissed him, her other hand pressing the small of his back. “You can keep going.” Her leg wrapping around him emphasized her words.

He gasped, holding himself up on his elbows. He pushed forward, inching into her heat. She seemed to be getting wetter and was so tight. When the last centimeter of him was pressed into her, when he was buried to the hilt, he sighed. “Oh my god…” He held still for a few moments before pulling out an inch or two, and pushing back in. “You feel so good.”

She moaned, her hands clinging to his back, arching up to meet him. “Don’t stop.”

Once he got used to their languid movements, he did his best to balance himself on his left elbow so his right hand could grasp her breast, thumbing her nipple as he’d done earlier. She whimpered in his mouth, the leg around him coming to his waist and tightening. She surprised him, then, and reached back behind her to anchor herself onto the headboard, the motions of her pelvis becoming harder and demanding. “Faster,” she keened. “Please…” He scoffed, momentarily unable to believe this was happening to him.

Her head was tilted back, her eyebrows knit together, her mouth gaping as pants escaped it and hit his face. He boosted himself up on his knees and increased his speed, soft grunts escaping him every time he plunged into her. He watched in fascination as she snaked a hand down between them to touch herself, seemingly in the same place he’d been stroking earlier. Her fingertips brushed against him faintly and he screwed his eyes shut. With every thrust, Y/N’s voice rose, her body tensing…

Her muscles clenched around him as a sharp wail burst from her throat, and he pitched forward, his right hand moving to catch himself before he fell onto her. Nothing he’d seen, read, or heard had talked about that happening. It felt like her body was gripping at him, trying to keep him inside her. He found it hard to keep moving.

After a few moments, Y/N opened her eyes and admired him, cheeks red. She released a long breath and giggled. Her hands traveled down his body, caressing his back, then grasped his ass, pulling him further into her.

“Y/N, fuck…” When he had done this alone, all he’d wanted was to finish. Now he was filled with the need to touch and taste her, to make it last as long as he could. But the pressure building in him was driving him to go faster, deeper…

Her hands were all over him, her soft cries encouraging him in his ear. His eyes shut, feeling the familiar tightness in his abdomen as his movements became rougher, stuttering, snapping into her. One last thrust, no two, and he stiffened as pleasure shot through him, a broken moan on his lips. He clutched her desperately, his hips locking with hers as he emptied himself into her. A sob escaped him when he collapsed on top of her, gasping, trying to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his ears.

He rested on top her, laying his head on the pillow next to hers, facing her cheek. For one moment, everything was perfect and he was able to forget how broken he was. He brought his forehead to her temple and nuzzled at her face. The hand stroking up and down his back, the fingers combing through his hair, reminded him this wasn’t one of his fantasies. He smiled. Absentmindedly, he caressed her hip and closed his eyes.

Once a few minutes had passed, she spoke. “Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“You’re heavier than you look.” She kissed his shoulder. “And I have to pee,” she whispered.

Chuckling, he rolled off her, leaving the warmth of her body to get under the comforter. She got up, grabbed a robe from her closet, and scurried out of the room, promising to be right back. Arthur lay there, staring at the ceiling. He let out a gentle laugh, which turned to a hum as he smoothed back his hair with both hands. A post-coital cigarette would have been nice, the way he’d seen in movies, but he didn’t want to leave the warmth of Y/N’s bed to stand on her fire escape. He could smoke later.

When she didn’t return after a couple minutes, he started to feel self-conscious. His brow furrowed. Shouldn’t she be back by now? He worried his bottom lip and shook his head. Maybe she’d realized this was a mistake. He hadn’t done a good job. She was waiting for him to leave.

She’d just needed to get off and he’d been convenient.

Angrily, he pushed the heels of his hands against his forehead. The mood swings and thoughts had gotten worse since he’d taken the last of his medication two days ago. He sighed. Why couldn’t he just lay there and be fucking happy? He deserved that as much as anyone, didn’t he? No, he thought to himself. I don’t deserve anything.

He needed to write in his journal.

As the bedroom door opened, relief filled him and he lowered his hands, sitting up and crossing his legs under the cover. Y/N had a mug in her hand, offering it as she sat next to him. “I thought we could use a drink.”

Before taking the mug from her, he placed his hands on her face, and kissed her firmly. “Thank you. For tonight.” Then he tried the drink. It tasted funny, a bit earthy. “What is this?”

“Chamomile. It’s good before bed.” When he took another mouthful and grimaced slightly, she snorted. “But if you hate it, you don’t have to drink it.”

“No, it’s fine.”

She shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And you don’t have to thank me. If anything,” she averted her eyes sheepishly. “I should have focused more on you. It being your first time.”

He lifted her chin and kissed her again, nudging her nose with his. “I didn’t mind.” Leaning back against the headboard, he stretched his legs, flexing his toes. Without the pressing need to come, he felt his bashfulness returning. He decided to ask her before he became too cautious. “How - how was it?”

She slipped under the cover next to him. “You were great.” He blushed with pride, his eyes tracing the flowery pattern on the comforter. “In fact,” she said, ”if I didn’t know better, I’d say you told me it was your first time to be more impressive.” She tapped her chin in mock suspicion.

Arthur scoffed, a soft grin on his lips. He was pretty sure she was just being nice. He ate it up all the same. “You’ll have to thank Dr. Sally for that. I listen to her show.”

“I’ll write her a thank-you card tomorrow.” Her hand reached under the comforter and stroked his abdomen, then moved to caress the top of his thigh. He shivered. “Arthur, I know your mother’s home alone, but…” Her eyes met his, brows raised. “Can you stay?”

He blinked at her. She must have meant overnight. He let out a breath. Trying to sleep in a bed instead of being cramped up on his sofa? Next to her? “Yeah.” The smile she gave him in return caused his throat to tighten. He kissed her sweetly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck @stephieraptorr @rommies @sweet-nothings04 @invisiblewispofwhimsey

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #arthur fleck smut #watchwhathappens

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dimmestmorn13 · 8 months

Text

(click for better quality, do not tag as genderbend)

more code lyoko doodles.... this brush is so nice.....

OH YEAH HAPPY 20TH ANNIV TO CODE LYOKO 🎉🎉🎉

whole doodle page under the cut

#code lyoko #jeremie belpois #aelita schaeffer #yumi ishiyama #jeremy belpois #aelita stones #aelita hopper #SHE HAS SO MANY NAMES #dim draws #dim draws cl #i rlly like how the coloring ended up in the first two.....#jerlita

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forlorn-kumquat · 5 years

Note

Ineffable husbands - "I can't even look at you, you promised not to get in any more fights."

anon, for some reason Tumblr sent me this ask three separate times, so you get a three-fer fic.

----------------

48 AD

Crowley never could have imagined that, out of the two of them, Aziraphale would be the one constantly getting into trouble. Nor could he have imagined himself as the one constantly pulling Aziraphale out of that trouble. Yet here he was, placing himself directly into the middle of an argument as he fought to both keep Aziraphale from physically attacking a loudmouthed politician, and also keep Aziraphale from getting himself arrested and thrown in the gladiatorial arena to face the lions.

Just because things had worked out for Daniel didn’t mean that Aziraphale would be so lucky.

“Many apologies for my friend, Praetor,” Crowley said, as he clamped a hand over Aziraphale’s mouth to keep him from saying something unfortunate. “He’s drunk, and he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“I should have your friend executed!” the Praetor snarled, furiously, “and you along with him!”

The fact that he wasn’t, even though he was certainly powerful enough to, was due to Crowley exerting enough demonic influence to dissuade him from that very idea. He couldn’t manage any more than that, though; the rest of his energy was taken up simply trying to contain the enraged angel struggling in his arms. Instead, he shot the Praetor as charming a smile as he could manage under the circumstances, holding his breath as he waited for the axe to fall.

Finally, the Praetor took a step back, and Crowley slumped in relief. “Get out of my sight,” the Praetor ordered, brusquely.

Crowley bowed as low as he dared, forcing Aziraphale into a bow with him. He started to drag Aziraphale backward, away from the Praetor, when Aziraphale made an angry noise against the hand still muffling him into silence and Crowley was reminded of exactly why Aziraphale had almost started a brawl in the first place. Sighing, he redirected a bit of demonic energy back at the Praetor, carefully influencing him.

“Wait!” the Praetor snapped, stopping them in their tracks. “Take that with you!” he ordered, grabbing the terrified slave he’d been abusing and shoving the poor boy in Crowley’s direction.

Crowley didn’t waste any time, grabbing the slave and dragging him along as he pulled Aziraphale out of the town square and into a thankfully-empty temple at the end of the street. In the cool darkness of the building, he let go of both Aziraphale and the slave, blocking the doorway with his body just in case the terrified boy ruined all his hard work by trying to make a run for it.

“I thought,” he said to Aziraphale, when it looked like no one else was going to speak first, “that you were supposed to keep a low profile while you’re here.”

“I couldn’t just let him keep beating the boy!” Aziraphale insisted, hotly, still worked up from the fight he’d almost gotten in.

“So you decided you’d attack one of the most powerful men in Rome and almost get yourself discorporated?” Crowley demanded, incredulously. “How would that have helped the boy?”

The boy in question was eying the door behind Crowley, like he was still considering running, and Crowley snapped his fingers, impatiently. The boy collapsed in a graceless heap, unconscious, and Aziraphale shot him a disapproving look when he nearly hit his head on a stone plinth on the way down. Crowley ignored him; out of the both of them, Aziraphale was not the one with the moral high ground, here.

“He was beating the boy,” Aziraphale insisted, softer now. “He would have killed him if I hadn’t intervened. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“But fisticuffs?” Crowley asked. “Angel, have you ever even been in a physical fight before?”

“Wellll,” Aziraphale said, drawing out the word, “Not as such. But I knew what to do, in theory.”

“In theory,” Crowley repeated, shaking his head. “Angel, sometimes-” He trailed off with a soft chuckle, earning a curious look from Aziraphale, but he wasn’t going to finish that sentence. Not here, and certainly not now. “Promise me,” he said, instead, “promise me that this will be the first and last fight I ever have to pull you out of.”

“I promise,” Aziraphale said, a sweet tone in his voice that Crowley didn’t trust for a second. ----------------1994

The sounds of eager shouting, the unmistakable thud of fists on flesh, drew Crowley down the busy Soho street like a moth of a flame. He wasn’t one for personally inciting violence, but he couldn’t deny a certain thrill at the sight of a good fist fight. Especially if the people fighting really deserved to get walloped.

Of course, that assumed he didn’t have a stake in the fight.

Not that he’d intended to have a stake in this one, but then he caught a flash of white-blond hair and a sense of flared wings, and his heart sank. Before he could think about what he was doing, Crowley squared his shoulders and shoved through the crowds forming a ring in the middle of the sidewalk, into the heart of the fight.

Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed the nearest body and hauled backward, sending a baffled young man stumbling backward into the people behind them. Two more brawlers went the same way, and then he was close enough to reach Aziraphale. And Aziraphale was close enough to reach him.

Blinding pain erupted in his jaw as Aziraphale plowed his fist directly into Crowley’s face. Crowley grunted, reeling back in shock.

“Fuck!” he yelled, and if an unconscious slip of power accompanying his yell scared the crowds into scattering, well, all the better.

Alone with Aziraphale in the middle of the suddenly-empty sidewalk, Crowley ducked another swinging fist, dancing nimbly out of the way. He caught a flash of something dark and dangerous in Aziraphale’s eyes as the angel stumbled past him, and then Crowley was behind him, and he lunged forward to wrap his arms around Aziraphale from behind.

He pinned Aziraphale’s wings down with the full weight of his body as he held tightly to Aziraphale’s wildly-struggling form. Aziraphale wasn’t calming down now that his opponents were gone, if anything he was getting worse, and Crowley had a bad feeling about what was happening to him.

“Sorry about this,” he said, quietly, and then he freed a hand long enough to put his fingers on Aziraphale’s forehead and use a quick burst of power to knock him unconscious.

Aziraphale slumped suddenly in his arms and Crowley shifted his grip, effortlessly lifting the angel into his arms. He directed another quick bit of energy to making sure no one cared enough to investigate what they were doing, and then he headed down the sidewalk to Aziraphale’s bookshop.

The door swung open as he approached, and then shut just as quietly behind them. Crowley flipped the closed sign over with a quick thought, dimming the lights to keep away any curious onlookers, and headed for the bedroom upstairs. Laying Aziraphale out on the bed, Crowley sat down beside him and ran his fingers gently across Aziraphale’s forehead, searching. It only took a second to find what he was looking for, and he scowled when his suspicions were confirmed. Demonic energy was woven in and around Aziraphale’s halo, darkening the normally-incandescent light. Familiar demonic energy.

“I’m going to kill Hastur,” Crowley said, conversationally, even though Aziraphale was currently incapable of answering him. “Rip that fucking frog off his head and make him eat it.”

Carding his fingers gently through Aziraphale’s short hair, he projected a metaphysical hand into the same space as Aziraphale’s halo, carefully untangling the threads of demonic energy. He gathered the energy around his fingers, absorbing it back into himself where it couldn’t hurt Aziraphale any longer. It made him nauseous, his stomach cramping with pain at having even that much of Hastur so close to him, but better him than the angel.

It took a long time to make sure he’d gotten every speck of energy; some of it was wound so tightly around Aziraphale’s halo that it left deep, ugly grooves that would be long in healing. He did what he could to heal the damage left behind, easing pain as much as he was able. He worked slowly, carefully, to ensure that he didn’t miss anything, and when he was finally satisfied that he’d done all he could, he removed his ethereal presence from Aziraphale’s mind.

Aziraphale had fallen even deeper into sleep while Crowley worked, the lines of pain easing from his face. Crowley couldn’t resist reaching out again to touch Aziraphale, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes and soothing the lines on his forehead.

“You’re going to be all right now, Angel,” he said, quietly, smiling when Aziraphale turned instinctively toward the sound of his voice, even in sleep. “I promise, I won’t let anyone hurt you like that, again.” ----------------2013

“Nanny, Nanny, Nanny!”

Over the past year, Crowley had become intimately familiar with Warlock’s various tones. This one, unrestrained delight and excitement, usually meant only good things. However, when Crowley looked up to see a devious grin on the little boy’s face as he barreled toward him, Crowley started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Nanny!” Warlock cried, leaping trustingly into the air. Crowley wrapped his arms around the little boy, swinging him through the air and making Warlock giggle happily, and then he set him down on a nearby chair.

“Now what’s got you so worked up?” he asked, looking down at Warlock. “I thought you and Brother Francis were going over to look at the penguins. And where is Brother Francis?” he added, realizing that Warlock had come running up alone.

“He punched a bad man in the mouth!” Warlock said, so excited he was practically bouncing in place. “Then the zoo police came and took him away, and they tried to get me, too, but I bit them just like you taught me and came to find you! They tried to run after me, but I was too fast for ‘em!”

Warlock beamed up at him, clearly expecting Crowley to be proud of him. And Crowley was - so very, very proud of his little Antichrist, already biting strangers and causing chaos. But he was also still fixated on Warlock’s first piece of information.

“Brother Francis hit someone?” he asked, incredulously.

Not that he should be surprised anymore, given how many fights he’d pulled Aziraphale out of over the years. But the angel was supposed to be a good influence on Warlock; he wasn’t supposed to be going around punching people in the face.

“Kapow!” Warlock shrieked, taking a wild swing with his fist that almost knocked him off the bench. “It was so cool, Nanny! You should have seen it!”

“Yes, I should have,” Crowley agreed, as he silently resolved to never let Aziraphale out of his sight, ever again. “Now, what do you say we go collect Brother Francis from the zoo police?”

Warlock jumped up, eagerly, grabbing onto Crowley’s hand and swinging their joined arms as they headed up the path toward the entrance. They found the security office - “Zoo jail!” Warlock cried - next to the gift shop and went inside to get Aziraphale.

Crowley pressed his lips together tightly at the sight of the angel sitting in a tiny folding chair between a pair of hulking security guards. He supposed he looked intimidating and disapproving, from the way both guards backed up upon seeing him, but he was honestly just trying not to laugh. Aziraphale looked positively miserable as he hunched over in his seat, radiating shame and guilt, wringing his hands in a nervous tic Crowley thought he’d given up a few hundred years ago.

Crowley took a second to make sure his face was set in a neutral mask; laughing would not only give Warlock the wrong idea, it would make Aziraphale even more upset than he clearly already was.

“Gentlemen,” he said, to the security guards, “I’ve come to collect my colleague. I understand there was a bit of trouble?”

“He assaulted another patron-” one of the guards started, and Crowley had heard enough.

He waved a hand, freezing the humans in place, and Aziraphale looked up at him in shock. Crowley supposed that Aziraphale had his reasons for not performing a miracle to get himself out of trouble, but Crowley had no such compunctions.

“Crowley-” Aziraphale started, but Crowley pinned him with a sharp look.

“You promised not to get into any more fights,” he said, fighting to sound stern. “Aziraphale, what kind of example are you setting for the boy, going around brawling?”

“I was provoked,” Aziraphale said, a defensive tone in his voice. “That cretin insulted Warlock.”

Crowley went from amused to enraged in a heartbeat. “Who?” he demanded, darkly.

“I’ve taken care of it,” Aziraphale told him, and Crowley took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax.

Aziraphale loved Warlock just as much as he did; if Aziraphale said he took care of things, then there was nothing more that Crowley could do. No matter how much he wanted to track down the person who’d insulted his little boy and make them suffer.

“Then let’s put this entire thing behind us,” Crowley declared. “Like you already should have?” he prompted, expectantly, and Aziraphale blushed.

“I may not have set a good example to Warlock by fighting,” he said, primly, “but I wanted to show him that one should always accept the consequences of their actions.”

“Well, it’s no Bastille,” Crowley replied, “but you do have a penchant for landing yourself in jail, don’t you?”

Aziraphale blushed even deeper, and this time Crowley did laugh at him. With another wave of his hand, he modified the memories of the security guards and Warlock, making everyone think that Aziraphale had been suitably chastised for his misbehavior. Unfreezing the rest of the room, he shot the security guards a smile.

“Thank you again, gentlemen,” he said, opening the door behind him and ushering Warlock and Aziraphale outside. “I can assure you, nothing like this will ever happen again.”

Before either of the men could say anything, he was out the door, and the three of them had disappeared down the nearest path. Crowley hustled them along without really looking at where they were going and when they finally stopped, they were standing in front of a food cart selling all sorts of different ice cream flavors. Warlock turned pleading eyes on Crowley.

“Yes, yes,” he agreed, with a fond sigh. “We’ll all get ice cream. Although,” he added, shooting Aziraphale a look, “I’m not sure if Brother Francis deserves any.”

The positively heartbroken look on Aziraphale’s face made Crowley burst into laughter.

#Crowley #Aziraphale #ineffable husbands #Good Omens #kumquat writes #Anonymous

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