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eyeofthedrgn · 3 years

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A Heavy Battle Symphony - Chapter 4

New chapter! This chapter is slightly fluffy, still angsty, but much less than previous chapters.

Catch up here: Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: 1685

Chapter 4 - Forgotten

A little piece of paper with a picture drawn

Floats on down the street 'til the wind is gone

And the memory now is like the picture was then

When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again

It was Monday, and he was healed enough that Maeve let him go to school. After a normal morning routine, Lorcan made sure he wore a hoodie that would do a decent job covering his neck. Hood up, hands in his hoodie pocket, head down, he headed to school.

He missed a lot of schoolwork. It was going to be a late night. Luckily, most of the teachers gave him until the end of the week to turn it in.

When P.E. came around, he went straight to the gym rather than the locker room. He found his teacher and handed him his doctor's note. Mr. Brullo sent Lorcan to the library to study. Lorcan was happy about that. He was able to catch up on some of his homework.

Lorcan's handwriting, luckily, wasn't hindered by his cast. Perrington at least broke his right arm, his non-dominant arm. That he was thankful for, if he could be thankful for anything that happened to him.

He was getting a headache from his pre-calc homework. Lorcan rubbed his face with his hand and sighed.

"Lorcan?"

Lorcan grunted and slowly turned to see Elide, who looked relieved to see him. That was interesting. "Oh, uh, hi."

"Aren't you supposed to be in gym?" Lorcan lifted his casted arm. Elide's eyes widened and her lips parted. "Oh." She swallowed. Fuck, here comes the pity. "How-" she closed her mouth. "How'd that happen? We thought you were sick." Why were they concerned?

He told the same story Maeve told the doctor. Something about getting in a fight and falling down stairs, and "you should see the other guy". She didn't seem to believe him, neither did the doctor.

"Can I sit with you?" Lorcan shrugged. She sat down and then proceeded to talk to him about what he missed in creative writing. He didn't realize her voice was so soothing.

"Has anyone signed your cast yet?" She was eyeing the black cast. "I have a silver Sharpie!" She pulled it out of her bag and held it up with a smile.

Lorcan huffed a small laugh. Not being able to say no to that smile, knowing he was going to get in trouble, well, what could really do to him anyway? So, Lorcan carefully pushed up his hoodie sleeve. She smiled brightly at him. He propped his head up on his hand, eyes closed and listened to her hum as she put ink to the black cast.

++++

It was hard to keep from asking Lorcan questions. Elide saw the handprint bruise on his neck, the exhaustion lining his body, and of course, the full arm cast. She thought about how his injuries were formed. Obviously, someone put their hands on him, but who?

She didn't know who he lived with besides his aunt. It was doubtful that a woman had done this sort of damage, but one never knows for sure.

As she put pen to plaster, she kept looking up at his face between strokes of ink. He had drifted off to sleep. His face was slack, a slight snore every time he breathed out. Lorcan looked so innocent like that and dare she say, gorgeous.

Having finished her artwork, she just watched him until the bell rang. She gently brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, delicately tucking it behind his ear. He didn't stir.

Elide wished there was something she could do to get him away from his more than shitty situation. Calling the police was probably out of the question, but that was really the only thing she could think of.

The bell rang.

---

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he felt his textbook being pulled from under his elbow. "Oh, shit. Sorry," Lorcan furrowed his brow as he started cleaning up his stuff.

"You looked tired, I didn't want to wake you, but it is lunch time." Elide smiled, "and you have to look at your cast!" She seemed so excited about it.

Expecting some nonsense, he was pleasantly surprised to find a nice line drawing from his elbow to his wrist. It was a row of detailed trees with her name under it. Lorcan looked at it with awe. He looked back at Elide, "You did that?" Obviously, she did that. Don't be stupid, Lorcan, he thought to himself.

She giggled. He thought her laugh was adorable. "Obviously." Lorcan's cheeks flushed while he finished packing up before they walked together to lunch in a comfortable silence.

---

He followed Elide through the lunch line, the lunch lady gave him an extra serving. He was probably looking a little gaunt these days having barely eaten for the past week. Lorcan started towards the empty table in the corner.

Apparently, Elide wasn't having any of that as she pulled him to the group table before he could go be alone. Everyone seemed excited to see him. His name was shouted amongst several other greetings. Lorcan felt a tug in his chest as he looked around at the friendly faces. Why were they always trying to be nice to him? And then his eyes fell on the silver haired boy, he instantly forgot what he was thinking. He stared at the green eyed beauty a fraction longer than he should have as he sat down.

Elide introduced everyone. Aelin, Lysandra, Manon, Dorian, Chaol, Fenrys, Connall, Rowan - the silver haired boy - and then Vaughn, who was the last one to join the table.

He was sitting between Elide and Fenrys. Lorcan kept his head down while he ate, feeling very out of place. Everyone was chatting around him, over him, leaning around him. It was a lot. He wished he was alone at the table in the corner.

Rowan spoke up, "Can I sign your cast?" Lorcan jerked his head up. The sleeve of Lorcan's hoodie was still pushed up, he had forgotten to pull it back down which was unusual, but under the current circumstances, it made sense.

Lorcan's heart sped and he suddenly felt warmth spread up his neck. It drove him crazy how much his body reacted of its own accord around Rowan. He wished it would stop.

There was no reason to deny him when the punishment was coming now anyway since Elide's Sharpie touched the cast in the library, so he just shrugged and moved his arm towards the center of the table, towards Rowan.

"Elide, can I borrow your Sharpie?" She handed it over with a nod and went back to animatedly talking to the other girls about something.

Lorcan was careful not to press into the edge of the table, as he adjusted his arm. "I don't think mine will be as pretty as Elide's. Sorry in advance." Lorcan just shrugged a shoulder. He watched Rowan do his little doodle.

Then Rowan grabbed Lorcan's hand to carefully twist his arm to get to a different part of the cast easier causing electricity to shoot through his skin. His breath hitched. The soft fingers lingering on his skin, he never wanted the other boy's hand to move. Lorcan's eyes darted to Rowan's face to see if he noticed anything weird. All he saw was intense concentration, the way his tongue stuck out just a tad and his brows stitched together. Suddenly he was too warm, chest tight, heart pounding. Hellas below.

"There!" Rowan smiled at his silly nonsensical line doodle signed with his name. "All done." That smile did weird things to his stomach and the absence of those warm fingers made all the heat he had just been feeling disappear. A shiver ran down his spine.

Rowan capped the Sharpie and went to hand it back to Elide when Fenrys grabbed it.

"Can I?"

"Yeah." He was screwed anyway.

By the end of lunch, his cast was covered in names and doodles by his... Friends? They couldn't be friends, could they?

As he walked to his next class, he started panicking. His chest tightening for a whole other reason than being in close proximity to a certain boy. A tightness that was only reminiscent of growing anxiety. He shouldn't have let anyone sign it. What was he thinking?

Fuck.

++++

"Lorcan," Rowan breathed as he saw the dark haired boy basically being dragged by Elide to their table. Everyone perked up at that and welcomed him back.

Rowan saw his pained expression. Then, he saw the cast and the light purples, greens, and yellows on his neck that Lorcan was obviously trying to hide with the hood of his hoodie. It looked like a handprint. A fucking handprint. His gut roiled at the thought.

But then Lorcan looked at him, and oh boy, those eyes were going to be the end of him. They were an amazing onyx, almost like pools of night. His cheeks heated and he hoped no one noticed.

He finally got the courage to ask to sign his cast. And when Lorcan leaned over to get his arm closer to Rowan, he noted the stiffness and slight discomfort that flitted over his face. There was so much damage to Lorcan's body that they couldn't see. It made him unbearably sad thinking about it.

For the rest of lunch, while everyone signed Lorcan's cast, Rowan just sat there silently, observing the beautiful dark haired boy. He'd catch his eye every now and then give him a small smile, which was never returned. His eyes just quickly flitted away. Lorcan, he learned was very hard to read.

Rowan wished they could hang out, just the two of them. He wanted to get to know him and help him. And know what those lips felt like, tasted like. How it would feel to thread his fingers through his long dark hair that was usually in a messy bun. Or just to hold his hand. Fuck, he had it bad.

____

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

@thenerdandfandoms @starlightorstarfire

#rowcan fanfic #rowcan #rowan x lorcan #rowan whitethorn #lorcan salvaterre #heavy battle symphony #crackship

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shamelesslypoetic · 4 years

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The Sugar Mentality

Summary: Virgil doesn’t like sweets. Patton will simply not stand for it. Shenanigans ensue as Roman and Logan make bedroom eyes at each other in the background.

Wordcount: 3.5k

Pairings: Moxiety, background Logince

Warnings: A light make out at the end (but don’t take my word for what ‘light’ means) and cavity inducing fluff.

Read on ao3

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Mm. Bliss.

Laying on the sun-warmed couch feeling all dreamy and smiley and happy, Patton settled fully beside his very own personal cuddle partner. Except Virgil was much more than that; Virgil was his boyfriend. Through relentless waves of emotions, countless brief glances and a thousand smiles exchanged across the rooms, it was finally true.

Patton marveled at the word ‘boyfriend’, letting it roll pleasantly around in his head. He was enjoying a cup of hot chocolate laden with marshmallows, reveling in Virgil’s warmth, taking in the fruity shampoo he used to wake himself up in the mornings, and another smoky smell Patton couldn’t quite place. He took a sip of his drink as Virgil went on with a ramble about My Chemical Romance’s music that Patton had long since lost track of, absorbed by Virgil’s eyes, his bangs, his fingers, his everything. Just, him, in all his glory.

Virgil, without missing a bit, twirled an imaginary mustache and Patton licked the cream away from his own upper lip.

To mask that he hadn’t been paying undivided attention to his shadowy but angelic songbird, Patton pressed the rim of his mug to Virgil’s mouth, offering him some of the chocolatey goodness.

“No thanks,” Virgil’s nose scrunched up—more often than not an adorable expression that Patton held as dear as any of Virgil’s faces. But this time he leaned his head back slightly too. “I don’t like marshmallows.”

A blanket of silence draped across them as Patton’s heart sank to his stomach in shock.

Virgil, ever fine-tuned to the signs of distress, asked, “Pat? Are you—?”

“But, but how can you not like marshmallows?”

Patton gave his boyfriend a doe-eyed, incredulous stare as he propped himself up on his elbows, practically sprawled across the anxious side’s lank form. They were flush from chest to knee.

Virgil’s face relaxed into a fond smile, moving the hair out of Patton’s face with just three of his fingers, feather light as he brushed the stray strands back from the slope of Patton’s freckled forehead. Tentative, despite the fact they’d just been cuddling on the couch with cat videos on Virgil’s phone. Patton wondered how Virgil could be so open, full of affection, and adoration in certain situations, yet so hesitant and closed off in others.

A clear example of the anxious side’s shyness presented itself in the way Virgil barely let himself touch Patton’s skin as he spoke, “I don’t know, Pat, I just never found them particularly tasty.” His eyes averted away as he fiddled with his fingers. Patton took his hand and gently traced his fingertips along Virgil’s knuckles, urging him to breathe out the tension. “They’re too sweet, sugary enough to turn bitter. And their texture’s kinda all wrong.”

“Does that mean you’ve never tried them?”

“No, I have!” Virgil chuckled. “I just wasn’t keen.”

“Wh-What about other sweets?” Patton tried desperately, grabbing Virgil’s hand with a pleading look. “Chocolate! Cotton candy! Cookies!”

“I’m sorry, babe.” He didn’t sound very sorry, and the glint in his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together would not distract Patton from his question. “I can only handle so much sugar in my life with you here. You’re an overwhelming sweetness I’m far more willing to bear though.”

The little sparks fizzling in Patton’s stomach as Virgil leaned in for a kiss certainly distracted him. Their noses brushed first and then Virgil’s teasing smile dropped. He let out a short breath that warmed Patton from his lips to his shoulders and spread down his back in twinkling tingles. The contact was slow and sweet, Virgil’s lips like melted chocolate sliding against Patton’s mouth.

Virgil shifted slightly, lacing his fingers with Patton’s and bringing his other hand to cup the side of his face. A slab of vanilla sunlight shined across Patton’s eyes and he opened them through a haze of delight to meet the warm caramel brown of Virgil’s. Then and there, he decided Virgil would grow to like sweets at any cost. Patton would make cakes and cookies and doughnuts and bring out all of his best cookbooks. Immediately.

Virgil let out a deep throaty noise, not unlike a purr, followed by a low whine as Patton drew back.

After he found a way off this couch then. Out of Virgil’s arms, out of his mind that screamed it didn’t want to have to move its body, out of this gumdrop sweet adoration.

Giving tender touches to show all his clumsy words couldn’t do justice, Patton completely fell into strong, grounded eyes and Virgil’s kisses and Virgil’s voice and Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.

A few hours later, once Virgil had had his fill of snuggles (for the time being), found Patton in the sunlit kitchen wearing his favorite polka patterned apron. His eyes roved over the counter with an indecisive frown. The flour, eggs, butter and sugar rudely neglected to transform into delicious cookies that would fill the mindscape with a warm aroma sure to lure Virgil out of his room. Patton forgave them, shifting his gaze to his cookbook and skimming the words.

“Patton,” Logan’s voice jolted the moral side awake, hands safely clasped around the heavy book to keep it from falling. “Would you be so kind as to remind me why Roman and I are here?”

What he meant to say was, Patton belatedly realized: My room’s door was locked and we were making out, how dare you interrupt us for such silly displays!

“To help me bake these cookies, of course!” Patton explained as he took the book from Logan. The moral side’s arms stooped under the weight, wiggling like overcooked noodles as he hefted it onto the counter with a puff of flour. “Hey, Lo, do you think milk chocolate would be better for this recipe?”

“You’ve never asked before, Padre,” said a still flushed Roman. His mouth had a ‘just punched’ look like he’d unevenly smeared lipstick across his face and since Roman’s make up applying skills were top notch, Patton couldn’t help but be a teeny tiny bit embarrassed as their gazes met. “What gives?”

“These have to be perfect,” Patton explained, hot to the tips of his ears. “They’re for Virgil!”

Roman’s tune changed into a passionate flurry immediately, his eyes lighting up. “Ah, I see, an endeavor of the heart!”

“I thought,” Logan interrupted, tone reserved. God, he could be scary sometimes, “you said on May 24th, seven weeks, four hours and thirty two minutes ago that any food will automatically be good if done with love and care.” There was an expectant pause. “And a dash of sugar,” Logan relented.

Patton turned to Roman for assistance, who’s lidded eyes took a moment before opening long enough to scold Logan instead of continuing to admire the logical side. “My love! These aren’t just any old cookies! Our Padre has asked for assistance in his quest to woo Surly Temple! We must deliver!”

“Well, if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s assistance,” said Logan.

“A little vague, my dearest nerd.”

“Feel free to take the words out of my mouth and twist them on your tongue any time, my halfwit.”

Patton cleared his throat. Logan staggered back as gracefully as one could, having unknowingly taken a few steps towards Roman. He blushed as he adjusted his neck tie.

Roman grinned proudly before sashaying towards Patton, hands eagerly clasping together. “Let the baking commence!”

A disaster, Logan called it; a marvelous attempt at baking done in the fashion only a true prince could achieve, Roman retorted. However much Patton wanted to encourage Roman though, the first batch of cookies came out lumps of coal that Roman slathered with icing and cream to mask the...overwhelmingly wonderful taste.

“Perhaps it was a bad idea letting Roman be in charge of taking the tray out.”

Patton went about doing chores and Logan needed to answer Thomas’ call. Who else could Patton have asked?

Fixing his gaze on Roman, Logan continued, “Especially since he doesn’t have much finesse when handling heat.”

Patton couldn’t help but notice the hint at an inside joke even as Logan’s wryness only invited a ghost of a smile to his features.

“I do, thank you very much!” Roman managed to say through his offended princey noises. Which were louder than usual…for some reason? “I only burned them because I’m hot as heck.”

Logan shook his head. Patton’s next words withered on his lips as Virgil came rushing down the stairs. “Guys! I smelled smoke! What’s happening?”

Catching sight of the tray, he stopped short and stared. His shoulders dropped from their tense line, fists eased open as his face became lax, then confused.

No, Logan had been right. It was a very bad idea leaving it up to Roman.

“Finding Emo! Huzzah!” Roman said. Why did he look so happy? “These fiends have put down my stupendous work. Would you mind taking a bite and disproving their drivel?”

Virgil gave Roman an unimpressed look. Thank goodness.

“Sure, whatever.”

Wait, what was that? Why was Virgil reaching for the white-painted black bricks?

Patton tried to say something as Virgil popped a ‘cookie’ into his mouth but found he couldn’t. He waited for Virgil to spit it out, to grimace, to scrunch his nose up, or to do anything. Instead, Virgil inhaled sharply, swallowing.

His eyes didn’t waver as he brushed off crumbs from his lips.

“Mm,” Virgil hummed. “These are actually really good, Princey. You makin’ more?”

For a moment, they all thought his usual sarcasm took over in such crucially called-for situations, but then he reached for another one and they all looked on in horror. Even Roman.

Virgil’s chewing sent a crunch-crunch like gravel rumbling through the kitchen. His eyes slid between their faces as he swallowed. “What?”

Instead of luring Virgil out with the aroma of cookies as planned, Patton had to go get the anxious side and resist the invitation for cuddles Virgil made. Red faced and mildly tired from kneading the dough, he longed for the embrace more than ever, but as his situation deemed it necessary, he ushered Virgil down the stairs, placing him in front of the dining table. A fresh batch full of chocolate chips with golden honey glaze waited for him.

“Oh,” Virgil breathed, eyeing the tray uncertainly. “These look really nice. Just kinda...too sugary?”

Roman snorted, reaching for one after the long wait where Patton had to repeatedly swat his hands away from the raw dough. “Just try it, Gerard Gay.”

Under their expectant gazes, Virgil ambled towards the sweets, almost sheepish as he took a bite. He winced, though it was evident he’d tried not to.

“These are…lovely, Pat,” Virgil said, smiling a smile absent from his eyes. “But I think the chocolate is a bit much so I’ll pass, thanks.”

Patton slumped, a tiny niggle of disappointment zinging through him. He quickly shoved it down. He wouldn’t give up. He hadn’t even started yet. No tree falls from the first blow, after all. Even if Morality didn’t favour cutting down trees in the first place.

Logan looked up from his book, wide-eyed as Roman spluttered, “But, how can you not like chocolate?”

From then on it was a series of trials and errors, ending mostly in the same way the first event had.

The following endeavour was Project Cotton Candy. Patton wanted to give Virgil the full carnival experience complete with the delicate spun sugar melting on your tongue as soon as it entered your mouth. He had Roman arrange a date in the mindscape in exchange for two coconut cream pies.

And by the sweet pasta, he’d delivered.

The creative side perfected the weather into a cloudy, airy atmosphere that sent a soft breeze into Virgil’s hair. As Patton took him from one ride to another, the Ferris wheel lights reflected rainbows in Virgil’s eyes and Patton found neither of them could stop smiling. Until.

“Pat, this date to the mind carnival is amazing, really,” Virgil said, squeezing Patton’s unoccupied hand. “I couldn’t be having more fun.” He glanced down at the cone of cotton candy in Patton’s other hand. “But, I don’t want the cotton candy. Can we go on the dark train again?”

The next morning, Patton managed to rouse himself out of bed and be rid of yesterday’s roller coaster nausea before Virgil could wake up. A cake with chocolate icing, blueberries and all sorts of decorations stood proudly in the kitchen not two hours later with Roman’s swirly ‘Happy Birthday, Virgil!’ written in icing on the top. In stunning script, Roman repeatedly pointed out.

“Pat, my birthday’s in December.”

That was right. Just a tiny oversight on the creative and moral sides’ parts.

But at least Virgil took a slice and didn’t grimace like a lemon had been shoved down his throat.

“Pat, I’m sorry,” Virgil said to the weekend’s macaroons, eyes on them instead of Patton’s sugar-dusted face. “I’m allergic to coconuts.”

“Pat!” Virgil said on one morning’s breakfast table. “I don’t want the waffles, honestly!” He dumped his round, perfectly golden circles onto Roman’s plate. “Let Roman have them.”

For the most part, Patton didn’t mind. The food, never wasted, was happily gobbled up by anyone close enough. Patton loved making the sweets anyway but the question of how Virgil could stand for this sort of happiness to be left unshared still baffled him.

Patton sank into the couch, tummy hurting from all the waffles he’d eaten to compensate for the stupidly hollow feeling in his stomach. The toasted, buttery circles didn’t taste like they usually did, as if a plate of water had been dumped over the top and dried by the time Patton took a bite.

After a while, Virgil had caught on to his game. Patton had seen suspicions dance in that pretty head of his but only smiled over his food all the while. Patton was no quitter after all. He would keep persevering like Roman on his quests, like Logan nearing his deadlines, like someone trying to make his boyfriend happier.

Virgil wandered into the living room as if breaching past unregulated territory, voice scratchy and barely audible. “Pat? Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not, kiddo!” It was, even in Patton’s opinion, unseemly that he called Virgil ‘kiddo’ when they’d made out for a lengthy period of time not a day before and he shook his head, going on, “I just thought—”

“Oh, thank Brendon Urie!” Virgil cut him off with a relieved sigh. “Every time you came up with another one I thought you were gonna give up on me altogether.”

“What?” Patton propped himself up, the words flicking him on the raw. “Virgil, sweetheart, of course not. I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.” A subtle difference in the lilt of Virgil’s voice, even as he lowered it on those magical three words, told Patton he meant it that way. His tone shifted into one of worry immediately after, fingers knotting with reckless abandon. “But you’ve been working so hard on ‘em I felt kinda a lot bad.”

“It’s nothing a few cuddles can’t fix,” Patton soothed, patting the space next to him on the couch.

“Look at you, so cute…” Virgil muttered, almost absently. “Now how can I say no to this?”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY NO TO THIS!” Roman trilled across the living room, bustling overhead and riffing like a stupidly talented moron. “OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO HELPLESS, AND HIS BODY’S SAYING HELL YES!”

“Shut up, Princey!” Virgil growled, staring daggers from where he stood.

Roman’s voice continued in the same tone he’d sang Hamilton in, fading slightly as he made his way to Logan’s room. “To not like sweets! Virgil, you must have forgotten the Earth’s oldest language! The one of skin on skin and wind in trees! Oh, how my heart mourns for your self-inflicted misery!”

Virgil’s jaw clenched and his brows bumped but the scowl softened. Or was that just Patton, unable to see Virgil for anything other than the one he loved and treasured, never feared?

“Shut up or I’m coming over there and pounding you into the ground!”

Roman cooed back, voice distant, “I appreciate the offer but I have a boyfriend.”

A decisive click as Logan’s door room opened and shut guided Virgil down onto the couch’s pillows with a grunt. His face was blushed a deep red, nose flaring slightly from that little argument, lips parted as his breaths came in a hitched in-out in-out.

“I’ll be right back,” Patton whispered as he pressed a quick kiss to Virgil’s forehead, finding something in Virgil’s high cheekbones and his violet-veiled eyes.

What Roman had said about skin was only vaguely related to the cogs working in Patton’s head, but he was pretty sure this was a brilliant idea. A very non-Patton idea, too. It led him to his stash of spare marshmallows and what remained of the Nutella jar in the pantry. With such ingredients in the mix, this could only be described as sweet.

After lightly garnishing a few marshmallows with some chocolate, Patton appeared in front of Virgil. “Close your eyes!”

Patton’s urgency forced Virgil into a sitting position, weary eyes wandering until they settled on his boyfriend’s hidden hands. “What do you have behind your back?”

“Viiirrge!” Patton whined, not giving himself a chance to start feeling ridiculous. “Close! Your! Eyes!”

Virgil huffed out a confused laugh, but obliged. “Fine, fine.”

“No peeking!” Patton sat back down on the couch. He had no idea what he was doing. “Open your mouth for me.” He draped a thigh across Virgil’s lap in a too casual to be natural move.

“Babe, is there a point to this or…?”

Patton’s face heated up even more, Logan would say he’d caught glandular fever. His voice broke with rising desperation. “Just do it, please!”

Patton set the chocolate covered marshmallow into his mouth and bent, closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out and ignored his heart trying to break through his ribcage.

Virgil’s voice came out garbled, “P-Patton, what’re—!”

Too shakily to be gentle, Patton reeled forward, colliding with Virgil in a messy, wet meshing of lips. His rapid breathing steadied as Virgil’s hands found their way to his hips and gripped there. Virgil tensed for the first few moments, bony shoulder digging into Patton’s but he didn’t lean back and sure enough, relaxed, his heart a steady thump-thump reverberating in Patton’s chest.

Patton’s every cell scorched as he pushed his tongue into Virgil’s mouth, the taste of his mint toothpaste and the chocolate and marshmallow overwhelming. This wasn’t quite what he pictured and most of their previous kisses, as they’d decided to take things slow, were soft, hesitant. But this was different. Patton’s body had been locked in a trance ever since the idea lodged itself into his cobbled brain. Even after, the only anchors stopping him from floating in mid-air were Virgil’s lips, Virgil’s hands gliding across his back, Virgil’s hair in his hands like mounds of silk and shuddering breaths and half-giggles, half a delicious sound an entirely different sweetness from the one melting on both their tongues.

Patton didn’t know the days that had passed or the soreness in hours spent preparing sweets. He didn’t know the birds were twittering outside or that the microwave was beeping far off. He only knew the taste of caramel, milky white where the tips of his fingers roamed. He only knew the cold burn of mint in his lungs and faint traces of chocolate and marshmallow. There was only this, only his body being coaxed onto Virgil’s lap, only the back of his head supported by Virgil’s fingers. Their eyes opened slowly, lips unwilling to part as quivering smiles met in the internim. The two sides stared for a moment, caramel brown into blueberry blue, caught. Patton looked away first, hiding his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck and at long last tasting its curve like his own personal lollipop.

Virgil’s hand slipped under Patton’s shirt to his lower back, the touch itself feather light, the press of it heated, eager. “Maybe marshmallows aren’t so bad after all,” Virgil rasped, raising Patton’s face to his level. Patton grinned at him, all smiley and dreamy and happy again, drawing ever so slightly closer. “Can you—?”

Patton didn’t wait long enough to let the anxious side finish his sentence but when he grabbed another marshmallow off the plate Virgil didn’t hesitate to meet him.

“Yes,” Virgil’s lips said against him. “Yes, yes, yes…” Again and again, turning from a whisper to a rasp to something less a word then just one syllable holding for a second and then fading into the air.

Patton smiled, melting into a relaxed puddle of giggling joy. He’d gotten his wish. It was giddy, the thought. He couldn’t tell how long it had taken in this addled state of mind but as he leaned in again, it was all he could think of.

The kisses that followed attempted at a proper lock but, interrupted by gentle smiles and bubbling laughter from both sides, only ended in the occasional peck. Patton, through a thudding heart and shaking fingers, couldn’t remember ever being happier.

Victory is sweet.

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A/N: Huge thank you to @ace-corvid for beta reading this, they're a life saver and their edits were very very much appreciated! Also thank you to my qpp and treasure @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies for her continued support. Love ya, my Ruby!

I hope the words are treating you all well. Stay safe! <3

Tag list (ask to be added/removed): @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies @ace-corvid @ymmm-someone @seouqi @shitpost-sides @theraymondgem

#sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #my writing #og post #moxiety #logince #moxiety fic #fluff #moxiety fluff #dried ink #long post

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stormtrprinstilettos · 5 years

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Chameleon - Ch. 2

Summary: Reader (that's you!) moves to London, hoping to leave her past behind and find happiness. She makes friends with her new neighbors. (Guess who?)

A/N: This is a work in progress in every single way. I’ve got two paths to take and I’m still not sure where it’s going. We’re exploring this journey together! Brian X Reader? Roger X Reader? I don’t know! I wasn’t going to post this yet, but since I have it up on AO3 already, why not? And thank you to the kind souls who have read and liked (and shared). I love that people actually like this. Also, I’m posting this from my phone and the formatting annoys me. I apologize if it’s annoying to you, too.

18+/language... Chapter 1 here || AO3 link here

The knocking on the door startles you from your sleep. You grunt as you roll over to check the clock. “2:00? Holy shit!”

Last night was a mess. A fun mess, but a mess. Freddie had come over and the two of you spent hours drinking whatever alcohol you could find, dancing along to music on the radio and making your own dialogue to go along with the terrible old movies the two of you found on television. It probably wasn't the way a typical 25 and 23-year-old would spend their evening, but you had a great time doing it. You had slowly come out of the shell you built up around yourself, and Freddie couldn't have been more pleased.

A month had passed since you moved in. You had seen Freddie almost constantly since that first day. You were extremely grateful for his friendship. He helped you unpack, rearrange some things, get rid of a lot of unnecessary things, do some shopping, and he was always there good for a talk. You had seen Brian a few times, mostly in passing, since he always seemed so busy and rushing to do something else, but the times the two of you did spend together were enjoyable. He was so soft-spoken and kind, and you couldn't help but be smitten. Freddie said his elusiveness was because he was shy. You had no reason to think otherwise.

Roger, on the other hand, seemed to be doing his best to avoid you for a week or so, probably ashamed of his “spoiled little rich girl” comment. He'd wave, give you a "hey Y/N" when you'd see each other, chat a little when the others were around, but that was about all. It frustrated you, but he eventually stopped being scared of you and the two of you got along great. You knew he was trouble, and you didn’t want to bring trouble upon yourself anymore. You knew he would be good to have for fun, but were you even looking for “fun”? Or did you want more?

“I'm coming! Hang on!" you yell out as you throw on a robe to cover up your pajamas and tie your hair up into a ponytail. You opened the door and are surprised, pleasantly, to see your visitor.

“Hey, thought you might be hungry. Did I wake you up?" Roger is standing there in the doorway holding a pizza and some drinks. "I am so sorry! I'll come back!" He starts to turn to leave.

“No! No stay. Come in." You move aside so he can pass. "I guess just right there on the coffee table. I only have one chair at the dining table that isn't broken..."

You stand there almost frozen, surprised that he popped in out of the blue, not to mention alone. "Well, come on, then. I'm not going to stand over there and feed it to you." As you sit down to join him on the sofa, he quips, "I don't bite. Not too hard, unless you're into that kind of thing," jokingly, with an over-exaggerated wink.

You jovially slap him on the shoulder. "That's the kind of thing I don't usually let out until after a few drinks.”

He starts the chatter, and keeps it going, which is a good thing because you have no idea what to do with this one. Even though Roger upset you with his comment, you didn't care about that anymore. You knew he wasn't a bad guy. You knew he was trouble, yes. You knew he was one of those guys that couldn't be contained. You could tell instantly. You had experience with people like him. Hell, you were a female version him in your prior life.

He was endearing, and cute, and had the most mesmerizing eyes. As time went on, you didn't even know what he was saying anymore. You lost track of the conversation because you were distracted by you own thoughts, mainly wondering if he was good in bed. No, no , you told yourself. You’re not that person anymore. Don’t mess things up here because you’ll have to find somewhere else to go. You snapped back to reality.

“So, tell me, Y/N," Roger started. "Why are you really here? Not that I don't like that you're here," he grinned, "but there's a part of your story I don't know. You're a mystery." You shift your gaze to the ceiling to get out of the lock his eyes have on yours and take a deep breath. Roger, sensing you are a bit uncomfortable, places a hand gently on your thigh in an attempt reassure you that it’s safe to talk to him. "Are you running away from something?" You look back down from the ceiling, and strongly exhale, looking back at him. "You don't have to answer me. I tend to prod too much and..."

“Life, Roger. That's what I'm running away from." He gives you comforting look, assuring you that you don’t have to keep going. Freddie was the only one you had opened up to, and you felt no reason to keep where you came from hidden anymore. "I know it's stupid to run away from problems, but sometimes the problems become too much, you know?" He shakes his head, understanding everything you are saying. "Not everyone has the luxury to be able to run away, but I do, so I did. Spoiled little rich girl, you know." Roger opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him. "You weren't wrong. When you made that comment? You weren't wrong. I think that's why it upset me like it did." You sigh deeply, resting your elbows on your knees and holding your chin in your hands. "I've never wanted for any material thing. I had all of it. Anything I wanted. And experiences kids wish they had? I had them. I've been all over the world. I've seen things and been places people wish their entire lives to see." You turn and face Roger. "But do you know the one thing I never had?"

“Love," Roger quietly replies, in almost a whisper.

“That's right. At least not from the people I needed it from, except for my mom. But she…” You stop short of finishing because you didn’t want to become a blubbering mess.

Roger doesn’t know what to say or do. He can’t believe you just poured your heart out to him like that. No one had ever done that before, probably because he never gave anyone the chance to do so, especially not a beautiful girl like you. And for some unknown reason to him, he, like Freddie, felt the need to protect you. He normally would take complete advantage of a girl who was as vulnerable as you were at this moment, but right now, he didn’t want to. "You're not alone, Y/N. You've got us. We're here."

You chuckle. "You met me a month ago. This is the first time we really talk. You hardly know me."

“Oh, come on, it took me 10 minutes to know that you're a great girl." You giggle while rolling your eyes while Roger gently smiles at you, not realizing that he still has his hand resting on your thigh, and the two of you share a look that seems to make time stand still. Thoughts were rolling around in both of your heads: you can’t get the naughty thoughts out of your head; he can’t stop wondering why he hasn’t made a move yet.

Then, just like Roger interrupted your sleep, the two of you are interrupted by a knock on the door and some shouting.

“Let me in, Princess! You're not going to hide away in there forever!" You could pick Freddie's voice out in a crowd, for sure. You walk over to the door and open it, not realizing that you’re still in your pajamas and your hair is completely disheveled. "You look like shit," he greets you. Normally you would be offended, but, well, it’s Freddie.

“You mean you don't love this look? I call it 'trash bin chic.'" You twirl around and pose like an over-exaggerated model. Freddie laughs, pushes you aside and walks in, and when he notices Roger sitting on the sofa, giving him a side eye look. You can tell Freddie isn’t exactly happy with your visitor and you stammer as you walk out of the room. "I... uh... make yourself comfortable. I'm going get some actual clothes on and freshen up."

After you scurried out, Freddie slowly walked to one of the chairs in the living room, not taking his suspicious eyes off Roger. He wasn’t angry. He knew he had no right to be angry. He just knows Roger's track record and doesn’t want you to become some toy that gets thrown in the basket when Roger gets tired of you.

“Why are you here, Rog?" Freddie raises an eyebrow.

Roger raises an eyebrow in response. "Why are you here, Fred?"

“I came here to ask her to come with us tonight, Rog."

"I came here to... umm..."

"No, Roger. No!" Freddie stated firmly, and a bit loudly, as if he had any kind of authority over this situation.

“He brought me pizza, Freddie," you yell from your bedroom after hearing their bickering, startling them both. "Now, what's tonight? I slept all day so now I'm awake. And I don't feel like dealing with the mess in here, so I'm counting on you guys to entertain me."

Roger grunted and quietly talked to Freddie. "This girl is going to be the end of me, Fred. That accent turns me into a puddle of gelatin." Freddie glares over, visually commanding Roger to stop. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. She's sweet, and gorgeous and that voice..." He bites on his knuckles in some silly attempt to control himself.

"What are you two whispering about like little girls?" you ask as you walk back in, hair down and flowing, wearing shorts that accentuate your legs and a tight yellow shirt that not only accents your tanned complexion, but shows how well-endowed you are. "What's tonight?" You plop down on the sofa next to Roger and cross your legs. Both guys are completely speechless. "Are we going somewhere?" Your question, again, is met by silence. "I need to get out and do something fun."

“Where did those legs come from?" Freddie breaks the silence and points at your chest. "And you shouldn't hide those!"

You squirm and try to direct the discussion back to where you want it. "Tonight. What's tonight?"

"Sex..." Roger blurts out, much to the shock and horror of Freddie. You, on the other hand, are amused, seeing Roger flustered like he is. He quickly recovers. "Six! The 606! Jazz! Music!" He covers his face with his hands.

Freddie continues what Roger doesn’t seem to be able to say. "We wanted to mix it up a bit tonight and we're going to The 606."

“Oh! The jazz club. Yes. I’ve heard of it." You look at the two of them curiously. "You don't seem like the jazz type."

"What can we say. We're cultured," Roger jokes as he shrugs his shoulders.

"I'm impressed," you say with a smirking head nod. "Next thing I know we'll be sitting here sipping on Moët and discussing fine art and literature."

Freddie playfully slaps your leg as he stands up from his seat. "Well, I do love a good Moët, but you'll have to find someone else to discuss books. This one," he points at Roger, "won't do either. Brian can help you with that."

Your ears perk up when you hear his name. You start fiddling with your rings like you tend to do when you’re nervous and you feel the corners of your mouth start to turn up. "Will he be coming tonight?"

Freddie shrugs. "He said he will, but he says that a lot and always finds a reason to stay home." A mischievous grin grows across his face. "But if you're coming, I am positive he will be joining us." As he walks to the door to leave he yells out, "Be ready for 6, love! We're going eat first!" and closes the door behind him.

Roger takes a deep breath. "You really like him, don't you?"

"Yeah, he's great. He's been such a big help and a really good friend..."

He stops you. "No, I don't mean Freddie. I mean Brian. He's got your interest."

"Well… Kind of. I mean, he's just an enigma at this point. We haven't talked too much. He's just..."

"Mysterious?"

"Yeah. I feel like I need to know more. I don't know."

Roger gives you defeated smile. "I completely understand. Brian's a good guy. I can see why you're interested."

"I'm curious, that's all." You shrug. "I mean, Freddie never hid himself from the second I met him. Neither did you. But..."

"Yeah, yeah I get it. I get it.” He put his arm on the back of the sofa, behind where you are sitting. “I think that's why I’m curious about you. Because you didn't lay it all out there right away."

"Like most of the girls you meet, you mean." The tone of your reply let him know that you knew exactly what he was trying to do, with his little defeated act and his moving closer to you.

Roger’s facial expression changes quickly from defeated to confident. "You know, I could walk out that door, talk to the first girl I see, and by the end of the night she'll be in my bed, if that's what I want. But I couldn't do that with you... You're..."

"A challenge?" You raise your eyebrow, letting him know that you want to know more. You’re very aware of the bullshit he’s trying to pull on you right now. You know because you used to do the same thing when you wanted to get in a guy’s pants.

"No, no it's not like that. Not a challenge. You're... you're not someone I want to do that to. I never call those girls like I tell them I will. I get what I want and then I move on. I could never do that to you."

"And how do I know you're not just telling me this now to...”

"To make you putty in my hands? Because, I am sitting on this sofa next to you and I haven't made a move yet." He inches closer to you and leans in to whisper, his tone changing from sweet and innocent to firm and matter-of-factly.. "I am so close to you right now I can hear your breathing. I can smell your shampoo." You slowly turn to face him. "You're sitting here, looking like you do, showing off those legs and those tits and I'm not even trying to get you in your bedroom." He gives a pause, searching your face to see if he’s crossing a line. When he sees that you’re biting your bottom lip and giving him a look that screams lust, he continues and plays with a small strand of your hair. "If all I wanted was sex, well, not to brag, but you would be on my lap right now, Y/N."

You can’t deny oozes sexiness, and the way he said your name sends your stomach into a fluttering mess. You knew this is all part of his game. At this point you really don't care. You’ve gone so long without sex you can’t deny that sitting so close to him and having him want you wasn't turning you on. You feel the tension. It's quite possible you’re the one creating it. But it kind of pissed you off having him think that all he has to do was snap and you'd have sex with him. The old you would do it just to satisfy him, to make him like you more. But you killed that girl the day you arrived in London. You’re also not used to conceding control – and you were determined to make him understand that if anyone in this situation was going to be the user, it was going to be you.

He moves his face closer to yours and smirks, quite pleased with the cat and mouse game he created, and you smirk back as you continue to bite your bottom lip, because you’re about to turn the tables and assert your control.

"You think I don't know how this works?" you snarl as you push him away, leaning him back onto the sofa, and turning your body so he knows that you’re one doing the talking from now on. His mouth drops open, shocked that this whole situation is even happening. "Why do you think you're the one who gets to make the call here, hmm?" You touch his lips with a finger. "You're not the one who gets to decide what I want." You slowly run your finger down as your eyes follow the trail, first to his chin, then his neck, before you stop at his chest. "I make my own decisions, Mr. Taylor." Your finger continues its slow journey further down and stops at his stomach. "And if I decide that I want you to have me..." you trace the path down between his thighs. "... then you'll have me." You cup the bulge that’s protruding from his jeans. "If I want this..." you raised your eyes to meet his "... then I'll have it."

He never allowed himself to submit before, but he lost all control of himself at that moment. He can't move. He can barely even speak. All he can do is look at you, running his eyes up and down your body. "Y/N... You..."

"Shhh," you whisper as you move your finger back up to his lips. "You don't get to decide, Roger. Remember that." You move your finger away, resting your hand on his chest while leaning in close, your lips almost touching his. "Understand?"

He slowly nods his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I, uh... I understand."

"Good boy." You wink as you pat his chest and smirk seductively before standing up in front of him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get ready." You turn to walk and start walking towards your bedroom. "And stop looking at my ass," you command. You walk into your bedroom and close the door.

Roger sat there for a moment, completely baffled as he ran a hand through his hair. He realized that you are not one he can toy with, and he respects the hell out of you for that, but if you weren’t a challenge to him before, you definitely are one now. He laughed to himself as he walked back to his flat, accepting the fact that he may have finally met his match.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom and held every dress you owned in front of you, none of them good enough for you to wear tonight. The black one was too boring. The red one was fun but you wanted to keep that one for a special occasion. The white one was plain. You kept going through every color, every style, and nothing was working.

"We leave in 30 minutes! Why are you not dressed?" you hear Freddie yell after he let himself in with the spare key you kept at their place.

"Probably because you're bothering me!"

Freddie rolled his eyes and peeked into your bedroom. "What are your options?" You motion for him to come in and you start to narrow your decision down to three dresses. Freddie opens the closet door behind him and grabbed a fur jacket, that was your grandmother’s. He puts it on, dramatically turns to you and says, "Oh, Y/N, you must wear this."

You laugh as he starts posing, blowing kisses and flipping his hair. You grab your large, white sunglasses from the dresser, run over and put them on his face. Imitating a posh, English accent, you throw your head back and exclaim, with one hand daintily perched on his shoulder, "you look absolutely fabulous, darling!" Keeping the act going, you both peck each other on each cheek.

"I do, don't I?" Freddie asks as he looks at himself in the mirror. "But enough about me, love. Wear the yellow dress with the flowing sleeves. That color works on you." You pick up the dress and wait for Freddie to leave the room. Instead, he opens the jewelry box sitting on the dresser and starts looking through what’s inside. "Stop piddling around! Get dressed! Don't worry, I'm not going to watch you. I'm too busy snooping through your things."

You weren't uncomfortable or confused. You knew there was something about Freddie - and you thought you knew what it was - but you didn't want to make any assumptions. You never put too much thought into it because you really didn’t care. He was who he was, and you absolutely adored him. You took off your robe and slipped on the dress, struggling to zip up the back. Freddie started laughing, entertained by your awkward maneuvering and you started to laugh in return. "Well, stop laughing and help me! We leave in 15 minutes!"

"Ah, what would you do without me?" After he finishes zipping you up, he hooks a gold choker on your neck and spins you around while smiling adoringly. "You'd be a terrible mess. But look at you. A complete vision."

You smiled and turned to face Freddie, appreciative of everything he's done for you in the past month. You’d have probably broken down and gone back home if he hadn't helped you out. "Why are you being so good to me, Freddie?" you ask. He cocks his head to the side, wondering why you’d even ask such a thing.

"Oh, sweetie, stop that shit." He guides you to sit on the bed. "I know what it's like to feel alone. I know what it feels like to need a friend." He pulls you to him and you rest your head on his shoulder. "Now you're stuck with me. I'm not easy to get rid of. Just ask the boys. They can't get rid of me either." You chuckle, your head still on his shoulder. He squeezes you with the arm that’s wrapped around you. After a few seconds of silence, he speaks again. "You deserve to be happy, you know."

You pick up your head, rest your chin on his shoulder, look at him and grin. "Just so you know, Roger wasn't here earlier to try anything.. If he was trying to get me in bed, seduction by pizza is not the way to do it." Freddie pursed his lips, trying hard to keep quiet. "It’s not the first time Roger and I have been alone, you know." Freddie's expression doesn't change. "I'm not falling for those blue eyes." Still, his expression is motionless. "Freddie!" You pull away from his grasp and smack his arm. "I established my rules with him. Don't worry about me. If I wanted him to have me we'd have done it right there on the sofa, or on your sofa, or his bed or my bed or on the bus…" Still, his expression is unchanged. "Freddie..."

He finally relaxes. "I know. You're a big girl. You make your own decisions. I know." You can tell he’s worried about Roger taking advantage of you. Not that he doesn’t trust your judgment, but he knows how Roger can charm the pants off a nun if he really wants to. "I love Roger like a brother, but he's an asshole to women, and I don't want you getting hurt."

You put a gentle hand on Freddie’s cheek, letting him know that you appreciate his feeling about the whole thing. "I know his type. I've experienced his type. I used to be his type. Just trust me. There will be no heartbreak. I mean, I know how to have fun with no strings attached..."

He quickly covers his ears, not wanting to hear another word. "Enough about Don Juan. Let's talk about..."

"No!" you yell. "We don't have time for that. We have to go." You throw a pillow at him and walk out of the room, grabbing your shoes from the floor and slipping them on as you walk into the living room. He slowly follows you out. "Come on. We're going to be late leaving." He casually leans against the wall, beaming like a proud parent. "You came in here and rushed me, now let's go!" you fuss, amused yet frustrated, and grab your purse.

"You're gorgeous, babe," Freddie tells you, admiring you like you’re his own work of art as you stick out your tongue at him. "That makes you even more attractive," he chirps sarcastically. “Come on,” he tells you holding out his arm for you to grab and he escorts you to his front door. "As much as I'd like to have you to myself tonight, we have a couple of people we need to pick up first."

As the two of you walk through the door, you see Roger sitting rather relaxed on the sofa. He clears his throat loudly when he sees you. "You look great, Y/N," he tells you as the two of you share a sneaky smile, remembering the events of a couple of hours ago, neither one of you really knowing what to make of it.

You start to walk towards Roger before Freddie cuts in. "No, no. No sitting." Freddie demands. "There's no time for that." He pulls your arm and walks you down the hallway. "Brian!" he calls out. "Brian, are you ready?"

From behind a door, you hear a muffled response. "Nah, Fred, I'm gonna sit this one out. I've too much work to do on this paper." A disappointed look flashes across your face, not unnoticed by Freddie. He holds up a finger, silently telling you to wait and be quiet.

"Are you sure you don't want to come? Y/N changed her mind and she's getting ready as we speak..." Footsteps suddenly rush to the door and it flings open rather quickly.

"She's going?" Freddie laughs loudly and looks over to where you’re standing, happy that his sneaky plan seems to have worked. Startled, and a bit embarrassed, Brian grabs the back of his neck and blushes. "He... hey, Y/N," he stutters. "You look... uh..."

"Beautiful. Stunning. Perfect. Say anything but 'nice,'" Freddie coaches. "'Nice' is so lame, and she looks way better than just nice."

"Breathtaking." Brian says quietly with a gentle smile. You’re flustered and gaze up into his eyes. "I'll be ready in five minutes." He slips back into his room, not closing the door, leaving you and Freddie standing in the hall.

Freddie keeps motioning his head and mouths the word "go" to tell you to go into the bedroom with Brian, but you keep slapping his arm while shaking your head and mouthing the word "no." "Stop it!" you whispered, much louder than you intended. Brian pokes his head out of the doorway.

"Freddie, are you annoying our guest?" Brian asks, causing you and Freddie to freeze as if you were children who were just scolded. "Hey, Y/N? Can you help me with something?"

"Of course I can.” You turn back to Freddie and give him a toothy grin. He raises up a hand and chuckles while he walks away.

You walked into Brian's room and look around. He’s standing by his closet, with his back to you, sifting through his clothes. You notice a tall bookcase against one of the walls and his neatly organized desk sitting next to it. There’s a telescope in the corner next to the window. The rest of his room is so perfect it came as a surprise that his bed is unmade. He turns around and notices you looking at his bed. He clasps his hand on the back of his neck, as you notice he tends to do whenever he’s embarrassed. "Excuse the mess. I just haven't had time to fix that. I've been busy with course work..."

You can't help but laugh. "Your organizational skills are impressive. Inspirational, even. My room looks like a tornado passed through it and you're worried about the bed?" You turn to face him and see him holding two neckties.

"I'm not sure which one I should wear. I guess I can just keep these pants on. I mean, it's not a formal place, but I was going to wear this..." He tugs at the jacket he just put on.

You walk closer to get a better look at the ties before looking up at him. The white shirt he’s wearing under the black blazer is buttoned all the way up to the top. "You don't need to wear a tie." You reach up to his collar and unbutton the top two buttons and untuck long chained necklace he’s wearing, brushing his chest gently with you hand while you do it. "There," you say as you pat his chest with one hand and even out his shirt with the other. You fixed his collar over the jacket and grin. "Perfect."

"I'm useless when it comes to this stuff," he tells you, again, holding the back of his neck as he feels his cheeks start to redden.

"You're golden," you say with a wink. "Now where are your shoes?" You look around the room, notice a pair sitting in the corner, walk over and bend down to pick them up. "Wear these." You turn around and notice his eyes hurriedly darting up so you, hopefully, won't notice that he noticed the way your dress fit your body like it was a second skin. But you notice and you feel a tingling in your stomach, saying nothing.

He’s sitting on the bed when he catches you looking at his telescope. "It's not an extraordinary one, but... you can actually see the rings on Saturn through it on a clear night. When he's visible in the sky, that is."

"Really?" You’re genuinely fascinated. "I've never seen it before." He smiles and nods. You love being outside on a clear night, gazing at the moon and stars.

"I don't know much about the complexities of space like you do, being how that's what you study, but I can point out constellations like it's no one's business. When I was a kid I’d spend hours outside on the roof learning them."

"So you know more than just Orion?" He gives you a sarcastic grin. "Everyone can point out Orion," he says with an eye roll.

"Oh please," you say, pretending to be offended. "Besides, I find Andromeda to be much more interesting."

"Ah, the beautiful princess." He looks into your eyes.

"Rescued by Perseus..." you whisper. Before you can finish your thought, you’re interrupted by Freddie who is standing in the doorway.

"Are we all ready now? Come on. Let's get to it." He claps his hands, causing you and Brian to follow your marching orders.

"You don't seem to be feeling puce today," Brian tells you while bending down to get closer to your level as you walk to the street.

Shocked that he even remembers that you tell him, "Nah. Right now I'm feeling a quite yellow." Brian ponders a second, trying to figure out if that has more meaning than the fact that it’s the color of your dress, but he doesn’t want to ask. Not yet, anyway.

#brian may fanfiction #brian may fanfic #brian may fic #brian may x reader #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #chameleon story #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #queen fic

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aleinnilatibae · 5 years

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Trouble in Álfheima, ch 1

Okay so this is my extremely ambitious LazyTown/Benedikt Búálfur crossover fic that I am REALLY excited about, I don´t even have a summary yet but I wanted to put the first part up here for you guys to read bc...i just finished this rewrite and have no self control. I will put it up on AO3 very soon, hope you like it! @greykolla you were certainly a huge inspiration for starting this, and I especially hope you like it <3

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The carpet was brown this time.

Brown, and close-cropped to the ground like a buzz cut.

Stephanie preferred longer carpet, sinking her fingers into the long strands and pushing them around like wind over a grassy plain.

But, if there was one thing she had learned in her four years of life so far, it was to make the best of changes, so she ran her hands over the new carpet in circles until her fingertips tingled pleasantly.

Taking a look around, the walls were bare, and most likely going to stay that way for the few months they would live there, to make the packing up easier later.

Wait.

Where was Daddy?

She whirled her head around, back and forth, looking in every corner of the one-room apartment, but he was nowhere to be found. Where was he? Daddy was supposed to be WITH her for the WHOLE DAY on the first day of moving in, where did he go?

Suddenly, the door busted open and Daddy came in from the outside, carrying a gigantic box. Stephanie breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, he was just unpacking more of their stuff! He set the box down by the windowsill and opened it up, pulling potted plant after potted plant out of it.

He looked up to see that Stephanie was looking at him, and he grinned at her. “Hey, my little Pixie,” he said, “Are you ready to ROCK?!”

“Yeeeaaaah!” she said in response, pumping her fist in the air.

“Good, because we got a biiiiig day ahead of us,” he said, spreading his arms out as wide as he could, and pointed out the window.

Out the window, in the night sky, were a million multicolored stars, and Stephanie’s vision zoomed into them, stars whizzing past her vision, and the mundane sounds of the apartment faded as she heard a voice calling her name, people yelling, people screaming, an evil LAUGH-

She awoke with a start and sat up abruptly in bed, heart pounding.

She took stock of the situation.

No brown carpet, no bare walls, only pink furniture and pink bedcovers.

Right. She was NOT in an apartment with her dad.

She was in her own room, in LazyTown, and she was ten years old, not four.

Plus, her dad never owned a big box of potted plants, that was silly.

Even so, the transition really disoriented her. The dream was so…real, right down to the feeling of the carpet under her fingertips, and it’s not every morning that you age six years just by waking up.

Plus…for just a split second, before she was fully awake, she thought she would see her dad when she opened her eyes.

But no.

He was still travelling the world with his job, and she was still in LazyTown without him.

Stephanie sighed, and stood up, trying to shake off the soul-crushing disappointment. Her life before Lazytown involved a lot of packing up her life into the same suitcase or two, moving from daycare to daycare and public school to public school, after school program to after school program, chaos littering the way…she definitely didn’t miss that part.

But she DID really miss her Daddy.

She got dressed, and slipped out the door. Maybe playing with her friends could make her feel better.

She had slept in a little bit late, the rest of the kids were already up and playing when she walked out the door—Trixie and Stingy playing a one-on-one game of basketball, Ziggy sitting on the bench eating candy, and Pixel was…doing some sort of test, both he and Sportacus tapping at their wrist computers.

Intrigued, Stephanie walked up to them.

“Did you get the route?” Sportacus was asking.

“Yep! Locked and loaded!” Pixel said excitedly.

Sportacus put down his goggles, and prepared himself to run.

“On your mark, get set, go!” Pixel yelled, pressing the button on his computer.

Sportacus shot off down the path, jumping and flipping as he went.

“Watcha up to, Pixel?” Stephanie asked.

“Oh, hi Stephanie! I’ve come up with an automatic flip counter!” Pixel said excitedly, “I’m testing its limits on Sportacus right now! Look, it attaches to the software that Sportacus already has, and it can count flips, jump ropes, and anything else numerical that has to do with exercise! That way, we never have to worry about losing count ever again!”

By the time he was done with that sentence, Sportacus was already racing back, doing his last few final flips before he landed, hands on hips, right where he started.

“What number did you get?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

Pixel pressed a few buttons, and gasped. “SEVENTY-FOUR?!”

“Yes!” Sportacus said, fist pumping, “That is what I counted too!”

“You did SEVENTY-FOUR flips just now?!” asked Stephanie, jaw hanging open.

“And Pixel counted them accurately!” Sportacus said, gesturing to the beaming boy, “That is a fantastic invention, you should feel very proud of the work that you have done!”

“Th-thanks, Sportacus,” Pixel said, looking up at him with wide eyes, “I’m gonna go put it in the computer right now! You know what they say about technology, it can always be improved!”

Sportacus chuckled as Pixel ran off, looking fondly after him.

That look suddenly reminded her of her dream, and she deflated again.

“What’s the matter, Stephanie? You look a little down,” asked Sportacus, a note of concern in his voice.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she assured.

“Stephanie, you know you can ALWAYS talk to me, right?” he said, nudging her with his elbow.

She DID know that. And what harm would it be to talk about it? She had come out here in the first place to try to make herself feel better about it, and here Sportacus was, offering to do just that.

Stephanie fiddled with her bracelet. “Sportacus…you aren’t from around here, right?”

Sportacus chuckled.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. What was your first clue?” he asked, exaggerating his accent for comedic effect.

She giggled, but sobered quickly as she continued her previous line of thought.

“Sportacus…I love it here in Lazytown,” she began, “It’s the only place that I have ever lived in for two years in a row, and it’s the first place that I have ever felt at home.”

“It is a great place,” Sportacus agreed, nodding.

“But…my dad and I, we never settled down in one place for very long. No place ever felt like home, but having HIM always did,” she said, tears coming unbidden to her eyes, “And I know he sent me here because-because his job made it…made it really hard for him to take care of me, and I could be h-happier,” she swallowed hard.

Sportacus put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Go on.”

“What…what do you, um, do when you’re homesick for f-family?” she asked, on the verge of tears.

Sportacus tugged her in for an embrace as the tears spilled over, patting her comfortingly on the back as she sobbed into his chest.

“It is…sad, when you must go somewhere without the family that raised you,” Sportacus said carefully as she continued to hold onto him, “But, if you keep your heart open, I swear that you can find home, and family, anywhere. Then, wherever you go? You will NEVER be alone.”

Stephanie pulled back from him, lip still wobbly.

“Let me put it this way,” Sportacus said, “Is there anyone here in LazyTown that makes you feel welcome, and safe? Is there anyone that you would do anything to help, and that you could count on their help in return?”

Stephanie sniffed. Everyone in this town, in one way or another, was exactly how Sportacus described. Her uncle who always took care of her, Bessie who answered her every social question no matter how stupid it sounded, her friends who always made her feel included in LazyTown since the first day of that fateful summer, even Robbie Rotten, he made sure that none of their days were ever boring.

And here was Sportacus, helping her right now.

“Thanks Sportacus,” she said, wiping her eyes, “Sorry for crying.”

“Oh, no no no NO, Stephanie, it is very important to your health that you express your emotions!” Sportacus encouraged, clasping her hand in both of his, “And, I understand completely. I have not seen my family in many, many years.”

Stephanie was taken aback. “Really?”

Sportacus nodded. “Being without them? Makes me feel very sad, at times. But when I do feel sad, I think about all of the family that I have here, in LazyTown,” he smiled. “And I count myself lucky that I have so MANY family members, in different parts of the world.”

“I guess…I guess we are the lucky ones, having such a big family all over the place,” Stephanie grinned.

“Yeah,” Sportacus said, and they high fived.

“Remember, Stephanie, I, your uncle, and even Bessie are all here if you ever need to talk to somebody. That is what family is for!” he ruffled her hair.

“Yeah, I know that,” Stephanie said, flattening her hair back out.

Suddenly, Sportacus’ crystal went off.

“Someone’s in TROUBLE!” Sportacus gasped, stepping away from Stephanie.

“I will see you later, Stephanie,” he said, and did his signature move. “Be good!” he called, and he raced off, flipping as he went.

Stephanie waved after him as he went, glad she came outside today.

She DID feel better.

“Hey, Stephanie,” said Pixel, walking back over, “Check it out.”

He pointed to his wrist computer’s screen, where a little icon version of Sportacus was rushing across a digitized map of LazyTown, picking up speed as his airship did in real life.

“Nyoooom,” Pixel said, giggling.

AS Sportacus’ airship continued north, Stephanie was struck with a horrible thought.

“Oh no, he’s heading towards the ocean! I hope it’s not Uncle Milford and Bessie on their beach vacation!”

Pixel shrugged. “Even if it was them, we know that Sportacus will take care of it, in a snap!”

It didn’t stop Stephanie from worrying, however, as Sportacus headed towards where she knew the ocean to be.

“Look, his ship is turning! See, it’s not them,” Pixel said, pointing out at the airship making a left turn.

Stephanie exhaled. Of course, Sportacus sometimes went to OTHER towns, saving people that they didn’t even know.

“Sportacus has probably saved somebody from EVERY single town in the country,” Stephanie mused aloud.

“But we are his FAVORITE town!” exclaimed Ziggy, “That’s why he keeps coming back to us!”

“You know what, Ziggy? I think you are right,” said Stephanie, smiling, as she watched the airship turn to a tiny speck in the distance.

Morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon turned to night, and night turned again to morning…and Sportacus was still not back.

That particular morning, Trixie and Stephanie were playing a little one-on-one basketball, while Ziggy, Pixel, and Stingy drew with chalk on the blacktop.

“I can’t believe that Sportacus is STILL gone,” said Trixie, dribbling the basketball and passing it to Stephanie.

“I know,” Stephanie said, looking up at the sky, “That emergency must have been somewhere pretty far away.”

While she was looking, a tiny moving speck caught her eye.

A BLUE speck.

“Hey, is that Sportacus?” she asked, squinting up at it.

Her question got the interest of the boys as well, and they all crowded around to look up at it.

“No, it’s a paper airplane!” Trixie said, as the speck continued to glide downward.

Sure enough, a paper airplane soared through the air above them.

A BLUE paper airplane.

Stephanie dropped the basketball on the ground.

“FOLLOW THAT PLANE!” she yelled, pointing out at it, and they all raced after it.

As it dipped lower and lower, it seemed to move faster and faster. Stephanie ran after it with all of her might, and she was catching up!

“It’s…too…high!” Stephanie panted, as they ran underneath it.

“You gotta…JUMP, Pinkie!” Trixie gasped, holding her side.

Stephanie steeled herself, and prepared to jump as high as she had ever jumped in her entire LIFE-

When a butterfly net swung itself up, caught the paper airplane, and swung back down to the ground.

Stephanie skidded to a stop, seeing a smug Stingy holding the pole of the net.

“Stingy,” Stephanie said, breathing hard, “Why…do YOU have…Robbie’s butterfly net?”

“Oh! It’s not MYYYY fault that he leaves it just…LAYING AROUND for anyone to find!!” he protested in a huff. “All that matters is…we got the letter!”

The kids celebrated with a HOORAY!

Stephanie carefully unfolded the paper airplane, and they peered at the contents inside.

“Ugh, why does Sportacus always have the WORST handwriting?!” Stingy complained. “I don’t even know if those are WORDS!”

“Don’t worry, I can read it,” Stephanie said, waving a hand at him and squinting at the near-illegible scribblings that seemed to be even WORSE than usual.

“This letter is for Robbie Rotten!” Stephanie said in surprise.

“What does it say?” Trixie asked.

“’Robbie,’” Stephanie read aloud, “’I have reason to believe…that there is something very dangerous going on in….alf…heima?’”

“Alf-what?” chorused the other four kids.

“I don’t know, look, the A has a little accent,” She said, showing the weird word “Álfheima“ to the others.

“Ohh, go on, go on, what does the rest say??” asked Stingy, still clutching the butterfly net’s pole with a death grip.

“’If this message reaches you, then that means that…’” Stephanie gasped, heart sinking into her stomach, “’I am in danger as well!’”

A collective gasp came from her audience.

“How could SPORTACUS be in danger, huh?? Is-is that even ALLOWED??” asked Ziggy, genuine worry in his voice.

“Wait, guys, there’s more-'Please, don’t tell the kids. I don’t want them to worry. -Sportacus,’” Stephanie finished, heavy finality in her voice.

“Well, it’s too late for THAT,” Stingy remarked bitterly.

“What…what should we do?” asked Ziggy.

Stephanie put the message on the bench and thought back to what Sportacus had said yesterday.

Is there anyone that you would do anything to help, and that you could count on their help in return?

“We have to go save him,” Stephanie said decisively.

“What?”

“We can’t just…HAVE this information, and then do nothing with it!” she said, voice cracking from emotion, “Sportacus ALWAYS helps us, Sportacus always SAVES us from dangerous situations, and now HE needs help! HE needs to be saved! Sportacus is our FAMILY, and we can’t just leave our family in danger!” Stephanie declared.

“Yeah!” the other kids chorused.

Stephanie felt a fire coursing through her veins.

“Now lets go save Sportacus!” she threw her fist up in the air.

The kids all cheered their agreement.

“Pixel!” Stephanie exclaimed as a through struck her, “can you find out where Sportacus is, right now, with your computer?”

“Yeah!” he said, pressing a few buttons, “Just have to find Sportacus’ last known coordinates…”

They all gathered around him with bated breath as he tracked Sportacus’ movement over the last day.

“Got it! His last known location was…” he watched as the display zoomed in on the map, “here! In the middle of Iceland!”

“ICE-land?”

“Wow, that WAS far away,” Trixie said under her breath.

“Great!” Stephanie said, “Pixel, lock onto those coordinates and find us a route!”

“On it!”

If Sportacus was in another COUNTRY, Stephanie reasoned, they would have to find something that would get them there FAST…

She whirled around and looked at Trixie next.

“Trixie! Go get…the rocket!”

“Yes ma’am!” she saluted, and ran off.

“Ziggy! Take that candy out of your mouth!” Stephanie ordered, “It’s time for business!”

“Right!” he exclaimed, furrowing his brow and tossing the taffy over his shoulder.

“Stingy! Go get our rocket suits!”

He balked for a moment at being told what to do.

“Fiiine, if it will save SPORTACUS,” he said, grumbling. “But what are YOU going to do?”

“Me? I’m gonna…prepare for the WORST,” she said, narrowing her eyes, and dashing over to the nearest apple tree.

There was untold danger waiting for them in this mysterious place called Álfheima.

They were gonna need a LOT of sportscandy.

#lazytown #benedikt búálfur #im so tired but i just...wanted this out there

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juliairian · 6 years

Text

...in which we continue the silly “trapped in a closet AU” writing prompt

(First Part here)

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John started. “Sorry?”

“Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Um. Afghanistan. How did you know--?”

“I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, your voice, you’re used to receiving orders, but… also giving them. Interesting. Captain, I’d guess, and I rarely guess. Old friend of Mike’s, but not too close as evidenced by him practically forgetting about you like this—“

“He did not--!”

Sherlock rambled on unimpeded. “…But close enough that he’d bring you here; not a date, though, so must be a colleague. Not authorized says former colleague. You trained here, so, army doctor. I only saw your face briefly, but it looked tanned. You don’t seem like the kind of guy to go sunbathing, so you’ve been abroad for the military.”

He took a breath. John was still blinking over the fact that anyone could think him Mike’s date.

“Your cane is lying on the floor, so you have a limp of some kind. However, you haven’t shown any discomfort in that area specifically since we were trapped so you clearly forgot about it in the presence of a more pressing issue. Psychosomatic, then; that suggests trauma. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.”

John gaped. “That was… amazing.”

There was a pause. Sherlock Holmes had stopped rummaging through his pockets and now appeared to hold a few small items in his hands, metal gleaming in the sliver of light. “Do you really think so?” He sounded surprised.

“Of course. We’ve never met. And you just… knew all of that. It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary.”

John could have sworn the man sucked in a breath. “Oh. That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do they usually say?”

“Piss off.”

And that was it, something cracked. John laughed. After a moment, he heard a deep, answering chuckle from the body in front of him. He relaxed a little.

“John Watson,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Hm? Oh.” The man paused sorting through the things in his palms. He shifted the items to one hand and shook John’s with the other. Firm grip, long, nimble fingers. “Sherlock Holmes, but you knew that already.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Holmes.”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock Holmes scoffed. “Aren’t we a little past pleasantries? We’re stuck in a cupboard, for Christ’s sake.”

He pulled out a particular tool from a set of what appeared to be lock picks. Who just carries lock picks around like that? Perhaps it’s a detective thing, John thought. “Also,” he continued, “Call me Sherlock. Mr. Holmes is my brother, and I avoid thinking about him as much as possible.”

“All right. John, then.”

Sherlock’s quick smile flashed in the sliver of light. John noted an unruly curl as it dropped onto his forehead. He was still fairly close and the fact that Sherlock had begun picking the lock had not improved matters. He shoved away an elbow as it neared his kidneys. “Watch it.”

“Do you want to get out?” Sherlock ignored his efforts to remain unmaimed and went on with his tools.

After a moment, John had to ask. “Why would you say I wasn’t—I mean, why the hell would I be Mike’s date?!”

The faint slanting light illuminated one raised eyebrow. “I said you weren’t. Why would you be?”

“I don’t know,” John bristled, feeling a little uncomfortable.

The man sighed. “You might be obviously bisexual, but Mike Stamford happens to be completely straight. Therefore it is unlikely that you were his date.”

“Ex—excuse me?!” John felt his face flush.

“Oh,” Sherlock tried to straighten, but only managed to wiggle a little closer to John in an effort to be comfortable whilst lock picking. John got another whiff of shampoo and felt the deep voice rumble in the man’s chest. “Were you not aware of that? Sorry. Didn’t mean to spoil the surprise for you.”

“I’m, I think, I—“ John stammered, feeling like the world’s most colossal idiot. “I’m gonna shut up now,” he finished, sagging back against the wall.

“No,” Sherlock said.

“I beg your fucking pardon?!” God, and a minute ago, John had thought this insane person was amazing. What the hell was wrong with him?

“This is boring enough as it is. We might as well make conversation while I work. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?!” John pushed back against the wall to gain some height. He failed miserably and sagged back.

“Why did you stay in the closet?” The man paused, then chuckled. “And yes, I do appreciate the double entendre.”

“What—oh. I get it, very funny.” John felt his face grow warm again.

“Well?”

“You’re the detective,” John grumbled. “Shouldn’t you tell me why I’m in here? Seeing as you know everything else?”

“Very well,” Sherlock said and turned slightly sideways to look him up and down again.

“Oh God, no I didn’t mean—“ John groaned.

Sherlock flashed him a toothy grin. “Be careful what you wish for, doctor.” His voice seemed to have dropped another octave, and it made something warm and heavy unfurl in his belly.

“You get angry quickly, but it dissipates just as fast as it comes. You seem to have a streak of resignation in you, probably since you were invalided home. Understandable. However, you suddenly allowed yourself to speak up and yell at a complete stranger, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about.”

Sherlock smiled in the darkness. “You are a straightforward kind of man, no-nonsense; yet as soon as you’re faced with the utter nonsense of this situation, you relax for what’s probably the first time this month, judging from the buried tension in your muscles. You laughed when others would have been embarrassed or put off. You’re quite the study in contradictions, Doctor. Interesting.”

He shifted around a little and John felt an arm brush his side. “You clearly crave any kind of distraction from your monotonous life, but I think this particular odd occurrence is exactly the thing you needed and you’re only just realising it. Also, there’s the physical aspect. Elevated breathing – not claustrophobia – and a certain tone of voice? You’re attracted to me – bit odd, that, but perhaps it’s because you don’t know me yet, or perhaps simply because of the suggestive position in the closet, the whiff of the forbidden – who knows what kind of attractions the subconscious cooks up? At any rate, if you weren’t as fascinated by the weirdness, as attracted, or as desperate for excitement, I think you would have cried for Stamford the second I entered this closet.”

Sherlock paused. John blinked, completely dumbfounded. “Yes, you were right,” Sherlock sounded pleasantly surprised. “That was much easier than asking you to explain it.”

Several things rushed through John’s head all at once. He said the first thing he managed to grasp a hold off. “You’re a right berk, you know that?”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock grinned again. “I told you, it’s just because you don’t know me yet.”

John’s first impulse was to deny it outright. But before he could open his mouth, an inner voice just said, he’s right and you know it. Somehow, that made John feel free. Now that this virtual stranger had told him everything there was to know about him, there was no more need to pretend. So he was attracted to a man, big deal. He’d been attracted to plenty of men before, but he’d never confronted himself about it. Suddenly, he realised that Sherlock had told him things even his therapist had a hard time figuring out, which was amazing, truly; but he had also fired all of his ammunition and had practically nothing left to really bother John with. For the first time since he’d returned a broken civilian, John decided to throw caution to the wind and say whatever the hell popped into his head. It wasn’t like he’d ever see this Sherlock Holmes again once they were out of here.

He turned his torso just a little so that he was deliberately crowding Sherlock against the door of the closet. “So, you think I’m interesting, then?”

Sherlock froze. John saw a flutter of lashes in the tiny light beam. “Please,” he scoffed, but it didn’t sound nearly as derisive as Sherlock probably hoped. John grinned.

“You’re one to talk, you know?” He leaned over and up a little and quite deliberately spoke close to Sherlock’s ear. “You could have simply picked another locker. You saw the cane on the floor; you knew someone was in here. Anyone else would have made deliberate attempts to distance themselves in here, but you’re constantly all over me – so either you simply have no concept of personal space, or you’re actually hitting on me in the only way you can, by insulting me to my face – or both. I’m guessing with that kind of attitude you don’t get many friends, yes? Come on, I took psychology 101, your behaviour is pretty textbook. You insult everyone as quickly as possible, take it for granted they hate you and then you don’t have to worry about disappointing anyone ever again. Not a bad plan, to be honest.”

John took a moment to breathe. He could feel Sherlock standing absolutely still. “So. How’s that lock coming along?”

Sherlock clicked his jaw shut. “Impatient,” he grumbled.

“Sounds familiar?”

“Stop it.”

“What?” John grinned.

Sherlock’s head whipped around and the curls tickled John’s face. “Stop trying to do… the thing. Deducing me. It doesn’t suit you.”

“How do you know what suits me, you don’t know really me,” John pointed out.

Sherlock scoffed again. “Seriously? I just laid out your entire personality for you to look at and agonize over.”

“Oh,” John said casually, “but that was just the first impression, wasn’t it? And I think I’ve agonized over myself enough in the past few months. And I get the feeling you were a little surprised just now, and nothing much surprises you, does it? Not with a mind like that.” John was actually quite proud how calm he sounded, when really, his heart was dancing the samba by now. He hadn’t felt this alive since the last time he’d been on a battlefield. This whole conversation could go all kinds of wrong any moment now; in fact, with any other person, it would already have died under the weight of societal convention, politeness and the somewhat British necessity to maintain emotional distance.

Yet with Sherlock Holmes, this seemed to be the only way to chat. Of course, the man was still too observant. He’d given up on the lock picking entirely, it seemed. “Hmm,” he mused, and turned around. With his back to the crack in the door, he blocked out any remaining light. “I have to admit, you’re quite foolishly brave. It’s refreshing. Interesting. Surprising.” With each word, Sherlock inched closer. He leaned in and John felt a smooth cheek brush his own, the eye lashes beating butterfly kisses against his skin. He flushed and simultaneously felt the inconceivable urge to laugh out of sheer happiness. “You know, John,” Sherlock breathed, lowering his voice suggestively; and oh, the way he said his name. “I don’t indulge often in this sort of thing, but I have to say, you sure make being trapped in a closet a lot more entertaining than I’d imagined.”

John wanted to reach out and touch him. He wanted to see what he actually looked like with his hands. He wanted to know if this sort of thing was allowed. How it felt. But the last rational part of his brain told him that sooner or later, they’d get out of this closet, and he needed to at least not die of embarrassment for the moment before they turned their backs on each other.

“I’ll say,” John managed, and for a moment, he felt Sherlock grin against him, his lips briefly brushing his cheek.

Suddenly, Sherlock pulled back. A moment later, John heard why. There were footsteps approaching. “You know,” Sherlock said brightly, “I think this flat-sharing thing will work out splendidly. Don’t you?”

“Flat-sharing?”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock replied off-handedly. “Isn’t that why you went to lunch with Mike in the first place? I told him this morning I had a difficult time finding anyone I could stand living with. Next thing he traps me in a closet with an old friend who’s just returned from military service, looking for a place to stay.”

John let out a laugh and shook his head. But before he could say anything, the steps approached. “John? Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Mike’s voice rang out. He heard the jangle of a key-ring.

Suddenly, the door was unlocked and pulled open. Sherlock somehow managed not to fall backwards and stepped out of the cupboard gracefully. John slowly picked himself up from the wall he’d been pressed against and sighed.

Sherlock turned to Mike. “Yes, he’ll do,” he said with a wink and turned to leave.

John stumbled after him. “Wait, what?”

Sherlock stepped back and leaned into his personal space again. “Well, that was fun,” Sherlock murmured quietly. “We should do that again sometime.”

“But—“

“Got my eyes on a nice little place in central London, we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening seven o'clock.”

John suddenly felt the embarrassment rush up at the same time as a hopeful kind of excited. “We've only just met, and we're going to go and look at a flat?” He couldn’t help but notice that Sherlock picked up on his utter excitement and smirked.

“Problem?”

“I—I don’t even know the address.”

“221B Baker Street,” Sherlock said with a grin. “Now I’ve got to dash, I left my riding crop in the mortuary. Afternoon.”

John stared after the madman as he strode out of the lab, his coat flaring after him. Yes, he was actually as attractive as he’d sounded.

“Yeah, he’s always like that,” Mike said with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the closet thing.”

“Actually, that’s all right,” John grinned and huffed out a little laugh. “I think it did me a world of good, actually.”

Now on AO3 cause I like to be tidy ;-)

#sherlock #fanfiction #crack #alternate universe #trapped in the closet #yes it's also a metaphor #writings #writing prompt #AU #sherlock holmes x john watson #alternate first meeting #silliness

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hopeishappinessff · 7 years

Text

Chapter 27

Eventually, we arrived at the restaurant and for the second date in a row, I was absolutely blown away by the location. The decorative nature of the interior was breathtaking. I honestly felt like we’d just stepped onto the set of Aladdin with the assortment of fine silk that draped from the walls and the ceiling. There were large, glistening chandeliers situated every few feet along the drapery above us and the outside view… oh, the outside view was just as spectacular as the inside with its swooping lights and romantic onsite lake.

I placed my purse and the gift down carefully near my feet after nonchalantly whispering to the hostess that we were here to celebrate a special day. I could feel Trey gazing at me as I looked around in every direction attempting to take in the beauty of the atmosphere once I’d made myself comfortable in my seat. I heard him chuckle from across the table and I finally allowed my gaze to land on his laughing eyes “What?” He shook his head and even though the entire restaurant was very dimly lit, I could still make out the perfect smirk tugging at his lips “You just look so damn when you do that.” “Do what?” I asked as I stared at him curiously.

“Looking around like that. Watching you appreciate your surroundings like that is really sexy to me. Maybe it’s because you’re just sexy to begin with, so everything you do is just a turn on.” He spoke swift and smooth, leaving me nothing but flustered in my seat. “Well thank you… and you look just as good when you’re just sitting there staring at me.” I said earnestly, quickly gaining his laughter. “Thank you babe,” He smiled with a quick lick of his lips, “So, are you enjoying your night so far?” “I think I should be asking you that, birthday boy.” I said, smirking with a raised brow.

“Oh I already told you the deal on that… once I saw you it was a wrap. My night was instantly made. I actually had to concentrate on keeping Mr. Johnson under control.” He said with a glance down at his lap. It didn’t take long for me to catch onto his reference and I could only shake my head and giggle at his candidness. “Wow, I guess that was flattering.” I laughed. “Excuse my black but, you really just don’t understand how fucking attractive you are, do you?” He exclaimed aimlessly and I quickly gulped down a sip of my drink, praying that I wouldn’t choke on it.

“Excuse your black?” I reiterated as I dabbed a napkin against the corners of my lips. “Yeah,” He leaned forward with a somber expression and planted his elbows against the table top, “I’ve really never quite understood why people always say ‘excuse my French.’ I’m sorry, but uh... I have not a lick of French in me. I’m a straight up negro and to refrain from completely offending people by saying ‘excuse my nigga’ I just keep it a little milder by saying… excuse my black.” I was dying of laughter at this point, so much so that I had to double over against the table to refrain from falling over from my seat. “I don’t know why you’re over there laughing girl, you know you’ve thought about that once or twice in your life.” He said now joining me in the laughter. “You are just… you’re just special Trey.” I managed to tame my laughter a bit and could only shake my head at his silliness.

“Hey ma, as long as you like it.” Moments after we’d settled down, our waitress ambled back to the table to take both our drink and food orders. I had no clue what any of the stuff was on the menu, so I left my food order entirely up to Trey since he seemed so confident that he had a trust worthy palate. Once the waitress left, I watched him as he turned his head to look out of the window. I absorbed the chiseled masculinity of his face and nearly fought a full on grin at the thought of just how lucky I was to stumble upon a guy as handsome as he. Glancing quickly at his chest, I was almost relieved to see that he wasn’t sporting a chain or necklace of any sort. I’d splurged a bit on his birthday present and decided to include a nice gold chain to match the jacket Destani had talked me into getting him.

“What?” He exclaimed suddenly. “Huh.” I blurted. “Why are you staring at me like that… there’s something on my face?” He asked giving me his full attention. Quickly shaking my head, I dropped my gaze down to the table innocently “Oh, no. I was just… no you don’t have anything on your face.” He stared through squinted eyes and smirked “Then why were you staring at me?” “I’m not staring at you. I was looking at the painting on the wall behind you.” I fibbed with a forged straight face. “You know,” The tone of his voice dropped significantly as he leaned forward and planted his elbows against the tabletop “It’s never good to lie. I know you were looking at me baby girl, it’s okay.”

“I’m not lying, I’m just not going to admit that I was staring at you.” I giggled with a playful roll of my eyes. He returned the gesture and parted his lips to speak only to be pleasantly interrupted by the arrival of our waitress who carried a tray full of food. She situated our plates down on the table, checked to see if we needed anything else, and went on about her way.

“Excuse me sir,” An older gentleman dressed gracefully in a classic black suit gently tapped Trey on the shoulder nearly an hour and a half into our meal with a small flaming chocolate lava cake in one hand, “I was informed that you are celebrating a birthday today. I just wanted to personally deliver one of our most decadent desserts to you as a complimentary gift from the restaurant and thank you graciously for selecting our brasserie for your dining experience.” With humor dancing in his eyes, Trey stared at the man for a few seconds before dropping his gaze down to the flaming cake “Thank you sir. I really appreciate that.”

Once the pleasant gentleman sauntered away from the table and the flames atop the cake simmered down, I glanced up at Trey only to find his eyes already glued to me and a goofy grin plastered on his face “This is all you isn’t it?” “Maybe.” I smiled sheepishly. He nibbled down on his bottom lip before leaning up from his seat and maneuvering it around until he was situated directly beside me “I told you it wasn’t good to lie… especially to me.” He reached across the table and pulled the cake over in front of the two of us. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m about to eat this beautiful cake you got for me.” He muttered casually as he unraveled a spare set of silverware and pulled out a fork. I silently watched as he dipped the fork into the decadent treat, creating a puncture mark to allow the dormant lava of chocolate inside to ooze out. He stuck the end of the fork in his mouth and slowly and almost seductively slithered it back out, capturing every piece of cake in his mouth. Without hesitation, he stuck the fork back into the cake and turned suddenly to face my gawking self. “Open.” He commanded. Leaning forward, I parted my lips and nearly swooned as the sugary treat frolicked against my taste buds. I closed my eyes, unknowingly teasing him as I slowly pulled back and eased my mouth off the fork. “Damn.” He whispered. I eased my eyes open, utterly embarrassed as he eyed my lips with the purest lust in his eye.

Once we finished off the amazingly delightful dish, he requested our bill from the waiter and before long we were on our way back to his place. He kept me laughing the entire ride and I barely paid any attention to the road along our journey. Before I knew it, we’d arrived at his humble abode and he led me through the front door and into the living room. Immediately seeking comfort, my shoes were off the moment we crossed the threshold into the apartment. “Trey, do you have a t-shirt or something that I could wear until I get ready to go home? There is nothing comfortable about this dress.” I complained with discomfort masking my face and tone. “Aw, baby ain’t comfortable in the sexy dress?” He chuckled, locking the front door behind us, “I got you love… I’ll be right back.”

Minutes passed before he sauntered back into the room with a white t-shirt folded neatly in his hand “Here you go. Make yourself at home… you can go change in my bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen… hell you can change right here, right now if you want to.” With a mocking smirk, I stood from my seat on the couch and snatched the shirt from his grasp. “I’ll be right back.” I whispered as I leaned against his frame, rolling onto the tips of my toes to reach half of his height.

Turning quickly to exit the living room, I giggled at the sound of his lips smacking behind me and continued my journey down the hall to his restroom. The moment I set foot onto the plush rug in the oversized space, I yanked the dress off and replaced it with the enormous shirt Trey had given me. I was instantly relieved that I’d found comfort in the article of clothing that my skin tight dress failed to give me. Once I made my way back into the living room, I smirked at the sight of Trey slumped comfortably against the cushions of one of his couches. He’d removed his shoes and lined them up neatly near the door and rid himself of his black shirt and jacket… leaving him casually dressed in a black tank and jeans.

“Oh yeah, that big ass shirt on you just turns me on so much.” His words oozed with sarcasm as he turned his attention to me once I entered the room. With a scoff, I jammed a hand against my hip and stopped just feet away from the couch “No need to be sarcastic Mr. Neverson. Besides, I didn’t say I was putting this on for your pleasure… this is about me.” He raised his hands in a surrendering manner and continued to stare at me as I eased closer to him. I placed my dress on the floor atop my purse and shoes and picked up the gift bag that I had been hauling around with me all night. Placing it down on the couch, I smiled and peered up at Trey “I guess now would be a good time for you to open my gift.” “You mean my gift.” He said, converting his sexy smirk into a playful beam.

“You know what I meant… just open it.” I instructed. Pulling the bag over onto his lap, he reached into the top of it and pulled out the colorful tissue paper stuffed inside “Oh this is so nice… I’ll treasure this for the rest of my life!” I laughed at his silly antics and continued to watch as he reached into the bottom of the bag and pulled out his first gift. His expression was that of shock as he pulled out the blue Bathing Ape hoodie “Aww shit… this is dope girl.” “I know, I have really good taste,” My words oozed with confidence as he chuckled, “There’s one more thing in there though.”

“You got me another Bathing Ape jacket… these things are expensive how did you…” His voice trailed off as he pulled his hand out of the bag, revealing the small jewelry box that I’d stashed beneath the hoodie. He glanced at me with a smirk before slowly prying the box open. There was genuine confusion all over his face as he kept his eyes glued to the custom cross pendant resting in the jewelry box. “Sy’Diyah, how did you…” “Do you like it?’ I interrupted, scooting closer to him. “I love it, but how did you…”

“Good, because it took me forever to pick it out.” I blurted as I reached forward to pluck the box from his hands. I gently removed the entire necklace from the box, feeling completely gratified by his reaction and I motioned for him to come closer so that I could put it on him. I slid it back around behind his neck and adjusted it so that the pendant would rest perfectly against his chest. Raising my gaze to meet his, I smiled and watched as he moistened his lips and reached to pull me into a tight hug.

“Thank you ma.” He whispered with his lips pressed into my golden tresses. My body shuddered at the feeling of the pendant pressed up against my chest with how tightly he held me. My eyes were closed the moment I inhaled his alluring scent and I slowly pried them open once he pulled away and gazed down at me. His darkened orbs bore into my own and he raised a hand to pull a loose curl from the front of my face. I didn’t even have a second after that to contemplate his next move… he’d already briskly leaned forward and pressed his soft lips against mine. I could feel his large, masculine hands dancing along the center of my lower back and I shivered at his touch. He smiled against my lips and swiftly moved to replace the gift bag in his lap with… me. Once I’d found my place of comfort there, he rested his hands against my hips and massaged them in small circles. I placed both hands against the couch behind his head and held on tight as he began to grind me against his crotch.

“Does that feel good?” He muttered, easing his lips down to my neck. I only managed to nod in response and was more thankful than ever that he didn’t seem to be the type to get annoyed by my lack of a verbal response, unlike Chris… Snatching my eyes open suddenly, I pressed my hands against his chest and moved away from him abruptly. “What’s wrong?” He asked tenderly. I shrugged my shoulders and stared at him apprehensively “I don’t know....” “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable Sy’Diyah… are you uncomfortable with me?” He asked, concern overpowering his tone. “No, I’m fine. I just… I’ve never really been this bold on my own with a guy before.” I confessed and I could feel the warmth in my cheeks as he stared at me.

He chuckled as he caressed the exposed skin of my thighs “You know what, you don’t even have to worry about being bold right now aiight. Let me take care of you… you just sit back and enjoy it. Can you do that for me?” “But Trey, it’s your birthday… I wanted to make today special for you. You shouldn’t be the one doing all this for me.” “This is special for me baby girl. Being able to make you feel good is very special to me. Don’t think about it as me doing this for you… I’m not doing shit for you,” He said with the most innocent grin that quickly morphed into a soft chuckle, “Making you feel good is what I want more than anything right now. That’s the best birthday gift you could ever give me.” I nodded empathetically and he smiled as he stood from the couch with me still straddling his lap. I secured my legs tightly around his waist and hung onto him as he made his way down the hall toward his bedroom...

TBC...

#chrisbrown #chrisbrownff #chrisbrownfanfic #jasminesanders #chris+brown+fanfiction #jasminesandersff #teambreezy #teambreezyff #fanfiction #fanfic

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ladydracarysao3 · 7 years

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Skyhold Abbey - Episode Six

Anne meets Varric in the tavern to gamble with a few of his friends. (Click title for AO3 link!)

Anne sits nervously in the Herald’s Rest, waiting for Master Tethras to return to the table. She plays with her fingernails, anxiously scraping the soot out from underneath. All the while, she taps the heel of her boot and bounces her knee like a jittery fennec. She’s not sure why she is here, why she even came.

“Listen Sugars, you need to relax,” Master Tethras beams a radiating smile as he slides into the seat next to her, carrying with him two large mugs of unknown alcohol.

“What… what is this, Ser?” she asks tentatively. Taking an offered mug, she sniffs its amber hued contents suspiciously.

“The good stuff,” he winks at her before taking a drink from his. He gulps it down and smiles, nodding his head in encouragement for her to try it. “It’s Dwarven ale. Only the best quality for our ventures tonight.”

She cautiously brings the drink to her lips and takes a sip. It has a pleasant bitterness about it, stronger than the Ferelden ale she is used to, but she likes that. She never cared much for ale, but the flavor of this is full bodied, yet still easy to drink. She enjoys it immensely.

She smiles, shyly giggling, “Master Tethras, this is delicious. Thank you very much”

“I don’t know how you can stand to be so sweet all of the time, Sugars. Call me Varric, no need for the formality.” He pulls a deck of cards from the pocket of his jacket. Sorting through the stack, he looks to find any that face the wrong direction.

“That wouldn’t be prudent, Ser.” She says respectfully. She holds her large wooden mug in her hands, strumming her thumb over ridges a metal decal provides.

“Nothing we are doing here tonight is prudent. Just relax and try to have a good time.”

She muses his invitation to unwind around someone of the Inquisitor’s inner circle. A man famous all over Thedas due to his adventures and the stories he pens. She’s not sure how she could possibly do as he requests, but perhaps she will try. He is being so kind in wanting to spend his evening with her, after all. Perhaps she can attempt to have a good time, as if he is just another one of Skyhold’s workers, rather than its finest.

She hears his voice before she sees him. His rich Ferelden accent, rolling nearby. He says something about trebuchets that causes another deep voice to laugh in a raspy and oddly annunciated way. She watches as Commander Rutherford comes into view from around a thick wooden beam near her table. She feels the color immediately vacate her face, a cold sweat developing on her skin. He couldn’t be here for whatever the author has planned for her, could he?

She nervously observes three men, the Commander, Warden Allistair, and the source of the raspy deep laughter, Warden Blackwall, as they approach the barkeep and order a few drinks. Varric also watches the group as he shuffles the deck of cards beside her. He waves at Warden Alistair when the ginger-haired man glances around the tavern. The warden smiles and returns the wave in acknowledgment. He nudges the commander standing beside him, says something Anne cannot hear, and points in her direction. The Commander, smiling, turns to see Anne’s pale cheeks and wide eyes staring back at him, horrified. Upon recognizing her, he looks a little shocked, as well.

This is not a good sign.

“Looks like our friends will be joining us soon,” Varric says.

Incredulously, Anne murmurs to her companion, “You want me to gamble with two wardens and the commander of the Inquisition?” Her voice cracks. Anne blinks wildly, her eyes still glued to the three intimidating men across the room, wondering if she is dreaming. Maybe if she blinks enough this will all go away.

“Oh trust me, they were our best option. Those guys are the most chivalrous men Skyhold. Not only will they let you win their coin, they will lose to you with a smile,” Varric jests, nudging her with his elbow.

Confounded, she watches as the three men receive their drinks and approach the table. This is probably her worst nightmare. She thought dropping the commander’s meal was the worst thing that could have happened. But sitting at a table with four of the most important men in Skyhold for an evening - as they teach her how to gamble - that has to be the most terrifying, awkward, and terrible idea she’s ever heard. She’s honestly surprised the Inquisitor himself wasn’t invited to this ridiculous event.

“Hello, Anne!” Warden Alistair grins a warm toothy smile as he sits across and down one seat from her at the table. “I didn’t know it was you who was learning wicked grace tonight. What a treat!” Seeing the man so directly, she notices how friendly and lovely his eyes are. Warm, shining hazel, with soft laugh lines creasing out from their corners. His good nature actually starts to calm her nerves, until she looks to the man sitting directly across from her.

The commander.

Her heart skips a beat. His intense whiskey colored stare chills her to the core and pools nervousness in her gut. “Hello, Anne. Have you met Warden Blackwall?” He asks and gestures to the raven haired man now sitting at the end of the table.

“No, Ser,” she says meekly. She bows her head to the warden, “A pleasure to meet you, Warden Blackwall.”

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, milady,” he smiles at her through a thick, black beard. His grey-blue eyes sparkle as he looks to Varric and laughs, “Tethras, this is the young woman you wish to ‘roughen up’?”

Varric begins dealing the cards. He only deals one pile between Anne and himself, intending that they share while she learns the game. “Sugars here needs to learn how to use her assets. She’s far too sweet for me to witness nobles walk all over her any longer. I want to teach her some cunning tactics. Coax out the fire that I have a feeling is hidden under this modest exterior you are viewing at the moment.”

Her face blushes. She covers the evidence with the fingers of her right hand, hiding herself and her embarrassment from the entire situation. Varric chuckles and gestures a thumb toward her, “See? What’d I tell ya?”

“I’m not sure I agree with the idea of trying to change her, I think Anne is fine how she is,” the Commander says as he shifts in his seat, straightening and lengthening his back. Anne glances at him, but upon receiving his golden, amber stare in turn, she quickly lets her eyes fall back to the table. She timidly grabs her mug of ale and drinks from it, preoccupying both hands with its heavy cylindrical shape.

“We aren’t changing her, Curly. We are broadening her horizons,” the dwarf speaks in proud assurance.

“How do you feel about all of this, milady?” Warden Blackwall asks. The first time anyone has asked her what she thinks of any of this, a fact that almost stuns her.

She clears her throat and sits a little taller, “It’s a little intimidating, Ser, if I am honest.”

“Just think of it as a game with friends, because that’s all this really is, isn’t it?” Warden Alistair winks at her. She softly smiles and dips her head slightly. He is so nice. Perhaps if she just focuses on him and his kind eyes, she can get through this.

“That’s a lovely thought, Ser,” she responds, a soft blush still creeping on her cheeks.

“Okay, Anne. First of all, call me Alistair. I won’t be involved in the dismantling of a long lady’s innocence, all the while she calls me Ser. I draw the line there.” He grins, grabbing his tankard of ale, he lifts and reaches it across the table in her direction. A bidding for her to do the same, “What do ya say, friend?”

She giggles and lightly taps her mug against his. “I will try… Alistair.” She takes a healthy drink of the dwarven ale, the warden’s name feeling strange on her tongue.

Once the cards are dealt, Varric explains the basic rules of wicked grace to her. Alistair adds a few silly quips of nonsense throughout the explanation. The only one at the table finding them at all humorous is Anne. She chuckles and giggles with each joking comment. Every single time. Cullen side eyes the warden on more than one occasion, a slightly dour and gruff expression on his face.

By the time explanation is over, and Anne has asked all questions that came to mind, the group has had enough ale and discussion for everyone to loosen up a little. Even Anne. She focuses her attention mainly on everyone but the commander. Every time she glances at him, she loses her train of thought and the nervousness threatens to return. So, she opts to avoid it as much as possible.

Varric slyly whispers strategy in her ear as they play. Pointing out little tricks to determine if the others are bluffing. Encouragements designed to get her to trick her opponants. Eventually, she gets the hang of the game enough that Varric begins to play for himself, leaving her to judge her course on her own. If she is honest with herself, she is having a great time. Two mugs of ale into the evening, they up the stakes and start making bets, she finds it thrilling.

The group travels along different topics of conversation as they play. She listens to a small debate on war tactics between the wardens and the commander, first. Varric then adds to the conversation with the difference of writing a good battle scene, versus actually participating in one. All the while, Anne stays pleasantly quiet. Enjoying the learning experience of not only the game, but the topics the men discuss around her.

Of course, it couldn’t stay that peaceful for long. Why would it? To assume as much would be daft. However hopeful she was that she could continue to fly under their radar. Simply enjoy their company.

“So, my darling Anne, where are you from?” Alistair asks during a lull in conversation.

“I was born and raised in Honnleath,” she answers.

“Say, isn’t that where you are from, Curly?” Varric holds his cards to his chest in his left hand and leans in on the table with his right elbow.

“Indeed,” the commander states flatly, not raising his eyes from the cards in play.

“Oh that is interesting, did you two know each other?” Alistair’s voice is bright, an easy friendliness Anne is beginning to truly adore about him.

The commander stretches an arm back to rub the back of his neck. “No, I believe she would have been too young by the time I left for the Templars. Plus, my family moved to South Reach during the blight.”

“I was in Honnleath briefly during the blight, I hope you were not in the area at the time, Anne.” Alistair furrows his light, auburn brows. His large, hazel eyes worry at her.

“I was not,” she smiles, obviously setting his mind at ease due to the return of his normal, pleasant expression, and a relaxed sigh. She continues softly as she places a card on the table, “I fled to Jader.”

“How did you do that?” Blackwall interjects the conversation, scratching his head, “This is the fifth round in a row that you’ve won!”

Proud of herself, she scoops up the few coins waiting for her at the center of the table. “I’ve always been fairly talented in games of strategy.” She makes a smug show of perfectly and precisely stacking each new coin to her growing collection.

The commander grunts, but it a way of competition rather than displeasure, “I think I am on to you now, Anne. I see what strategy you are playing.”

Feeling confident in her many wins, as well as owning a strengthened in courage, thanks to the delicious Dwarven ale, she looks the commander in his gleaming, posturing eyes. “Is that so, Commander?” She smirks while playfully biting the inside of her cheek. He returns her expression, the curious scar on his lip quirking to the left. “Bring it on, then,” she coos.

“Consider it brought, my lady,” he grins.

Alistair, Blackwall, and Varric all fold on the hand, opting to instead watch the two in a fierce stand-off of cunning wit. Round after round of bets placed are ultimately pushed into the servant’s ever growing pile of victory.

“I knew that I was right about you. There is much more to Anne then what you let people see,” Varric exclaims. “You should really let this spunk come out when dealing with your charges throughout the day.”

“Or, I should continue to keep it under wraps if I’d like to keep my job,” she winks at the dwarf. “But I suppose I can work on having a little more confidence in my daily life. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” She looks at the dwarf earnestly, “Thank you for inviting me out tonight, I’ve had a great time.”

“And you’ve made yourself richer!” Alistair laughs, gesturing to her winnings. “What are you going to do with all of that coin, Anne? Have any plans?”

She smiles softly at the redhead, “I will be sending it home, as I do with most of what I earn.” The men look at her quizzically. Before Alistair can ask the question she knows is on his mind, she changes the focus. Placing her last card of the evening, she wins against the Commander yet again.

“I believe you lose, Commander. At this point, you will have to start betting your lovely armor. But I don’t think I can strip the Inquisition of its commander’s protection.” She glances at Varric with a grin before continuing, “Wouldn’t be prudent.”

#skyhold abbey #anne #cullenrutherford #commandercullen #cullen rutherford #cullen #ALISTAIR #warden alistair #flirty alistair #warden blackwall #blackwall #varric tethras #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fandom #dragon age romance #dragon age servant au

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