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#these kiss prompts are taking me a while bc i keep stopping mid sentence to put my hand on my forehead and scream a little
juliandev0rak · 3 years
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writing about ocs kissing mood board
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jonahlovescoffee · 3 years
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Multitasking | J.M.
a/n: kinda cringe? idk but i don’t wanna let it stay in my drafts either so yeah lol happy reading <3
summary: you wanted jonah’s attention and he’ll give it to you, even though he’s on a phone call.
warnings: smut without coitus bc i’m lazy to write that part-
word count: 3040
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“Jonah, your lovely girlfriend is here,” you chirped happily when you entered his house a spring in your step, excited to finally be able to spend some alone time with him, something you hadn’t done lately because of him being busy with all the necessary preparations for the new album’s release while your schoolwork had been taking up too much of your time. However, your face fell immediately when you were greeted with the sight of him on his phone, chatting away with someone. It was supposed to be just the two of you today making full use of the rarely empty house. His face lit up when he saw you, but he made no move to end the call. You nudged your head towards his phone with your arms crossed in front of your chest, urging him to end it or else you’ll choose to end him instead.
“Just one more second, I promise,” he told you, pulling you down to give you a quick kiss in a weak attempt to wipe the evident scowl off your face. “It’s important.”
You rolled your eyes and plopped down on the empty seat next to him. “Fine, but make it quick,” you prompted, taking your phone out to hopefully find some ways to entertain yourself for the time being. He wrapped an arm around you in a silent apology, which you responded with laying your head on his shoulder as he continue talking.
“Yeah, y/n just came over,” he said and you heard a vaguely familiar voice speaking from the other side of the phone, but the sound was too muffled for you to decipher it into coherent words. “Daniel, we can talk about your music ideas another day.”
You internally groaned when you heard the name of your friend’s boyfriend and the mention of music ideas because you knew Daniel long enough to know that it always took ages for him to finish rambling about all his new musical creations. You usually wouldn’t complain about that because you were a huge music buff yourself and having the chance to discuss music with someone as enthusiastic as him was a gift from god but he should know that now wasn't the right time to do so.
Another reply came from the other end of the phone. Jonah seemed to hesitate for a while before offering an answer this time, glancing sideways at you to make sure that you weren’t about to explode with anger. You sighed but sent him a soft smile and he mouthed a silent “you’re the best” in return. “Okay, okay, let’s hear it then,” his hand found yours and gave it a light squeeze.
You scrolled through your chat log to find Emily’s contact, before sending her a message to ask for help. Is there any way you can shut your boyfriend up? Because he is stealing mine from me.
A reply came mere seconds later. LOL I’ll see what I can do.
Just when you were about to thank her, your phone vibrated and another message from her appeared on the screen. Fuck. The studio door is locked and I forgot where he keeps the keys.
You swore the next time you saw Daniel, you were going to hurl all six feet of him into the pool and make him drown. Wow, I can’t believe my luck today.
Don’t be such a whiner. You can try to make Jonah pay attention to you instead ;) She suggested and an idea popped into your head right away.
Have I ever told you how much I love you?
Ahh I love you more bb <3 was the last reply from her before she went offline, the green dot beside her profile picture disappearing.
You put your phone back into your bag and turned towards your boyfriend to find him still deeply engrossed in his conversation. You shrugged his arm off you and moved your body to assume the position on top of one of his thick muscular thighs, facing him. He raised an inquisitive brow. You wrapped your arms around his middle and nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the alluring scent of him that did nothing but fed your lust.
“I want you so bad,” you whined softly, earning a stroke of your hair from him, his hand subsequently sliding downwards to rest at the small of your back, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps down your spine.Your hands did their own exploring too, your fingers tracing the curves and edges of his shoulder blades down to his biceps, humming in satisfaction at all the new muscle you found beneath your fingertips. He hadn’t been joking when he told you that he had been working out a whole lot more lately. The more of him that you felt, the more uncomfortable your southern region became.
Jonah felt it all—the heartbeat between your thighs, the wetness that seemed to be soaking through your pants, the subtle grinding of your body against his thigh, and how the member in his pants seemed to awaken at your movements. Suddenly Daniel’s words through the phone didn’t seem to make sense when they entered his brain that was currently a complete mess. He put his phone away for a moment to whisper into your ear, “Look at you, can’t even go a few minutes without wanting something, huh, baby?” His voice was husky and deep, exactly the way you loved it, and you almost came from the sound alone. He used his hand to help you rock harder against his thigh, urging you to speed up which you did willingly, finally able to relieve some of the pain from your core.
Your whimper was enough to answer his question. He kissed the tip of your nose. “Ride my thigh, sweetheart,” he ordered, brushing a thumb over your lips. “But be a good girl for me and be as quiet as you can, okay?”
You nodded obediently and he returned to his phone call like nothing ever happened. You bit your bottom lip forcefully in order to prevent moans after moans from escaping as you, the friction between your clit and his thigh putting your mind in a blissful daze. “Fuck…” you breathed near his ear, the sound taking him by surprise making him stop talking mid-sentence, hazel eyes glancing to the side to see your half-lidded eyes and lip that was colored in a shade of bright red from sinking your teeth into it too hard, completely forgetting what he was planning to say to his friend.
“Jonah?” Daniel’s voice sounded, snapping Jonah back to his senses.
“Yes? wait a moment bro, got something to settle first, be right back,” he said, placing his phone on the armrest of the couch to focus on you. “Feels good baby?”
“Uh huh,” you said, not expecting him to bounce his knee in a steady rhythm afterwards with so much vigor that you instinctively moved your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself, rolling your hips as you ground yourself down on him hungrily. Feeling your greedy little hole clamping down around nothing as you felt your climax nearing.
“What about now?” he drawled, chuckling darkly when you started to let all sorts of whimpers and mewls fall from your lips. “Tell me, pretty little slut, how good I’m making you feel,” he lifted a hand up to your face to trace your jaw tenderly. Once. Then twice. Then replacing his touch with his lips.
“So fucking amazing, Jo,” you could barely get the words out as you unabashedly ground yourself down against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the overwhelming sensation, gasping in surprise when his palm moved to spank your ass. The movement made you grind against his firm thigh perfectly as you forgot his earlier warning to stay quiet and cried out.
“Shh, keep it down, baby,” he coaxed, his lips curving into a smirk as he beheld your desperation to chase your high, each of your movements getting sloppier than the last. “He can still hear you, you know?”
Another whimper. “I...I’m close, Jo,” you managed to say before grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and burying your face in the crook of his neck, though the movement of your hips remained unfaltered.
He tilted his head a little to press a kiss into your hair. “Cum for me all over my thigh, sweetheart.”
Jonah’s husky voice was the catalyst you needed to send you hurtling over the edge, feeling that coil inside you snap as your orgasm washed over you, his name spilling from your lips in a loud cry, your toes curling as you were completely engulfed in ecstasy. His grasp on your waist remained strong as he continued bouncing his knee, slightly slower than before, not allowing you to move back as he kept grinding your cunt against him, letting you ride out your high. “Shh, you’re getting too loud, baby,” he placed a finger on your lips when you continued moaning his name repeatedly as your puffy clit got overstimulated, although he absolutely loved the way his name rolled off your tongue like a prayer. He felt a certain something straining harder against his designer jeans, yearning to break free.
“Look at what a mess you made because you couldn’t wait for me to finish my phone call,” he tisked disapprovingly, his gaze dropping to his thigh, his hooded hazel eyes looking between your bodies at the darkened wet stain you had left against said jeans with glee, even more when he saw your pants that were utterly soaked with your release. He stopped bouncing his knee then, earning a dissatisfied whine from you. “Enough of thigh riding, sweetheart, your pants are ruined,” he grabbed his phone and released his grasps on you before whispering, “Now turn around. Let me help you get them off you.”
You did as he told, your back now leaning against his chest as he pushed your pants down, followed by your panties and you kicked off both of the garments when they pooled at your knees. He raised his phone towards his ear as his other hand glided over the swell of your hips to your front, his knuckles brushing over your core gently. He started drawing slow circles over your clit with the pads of his fingers, causing you to arch your back into him more.
“Nah, it’s nothing serious. Wes just broke another glass again, that’s all,” he lied to his best friend, the pace of his fingers increasing as he put more pressure on your clit, making you a squirming mess in his arm. Unable to keep you steady with only one arm around you, he put his phone on speaker mode and placed it back onto the armrest before sliding the now free arm around your waist.
“You sure? Because I heard...umm...something and it sounds nothing like shattering glass,” Daniel stated, but Jonah remained pretty unfazed unlike you whose breath caught in your throat immediately, dreading the possibility of getting caught. However, all your worries were immediately forgotten when he dragged a finger ever so gently up your glistening folds that were already slick with your juices. You instinctively rolled your hips against his finger, yearning for as much friction as he could offer.
“Then you must’ve heard wrong. Now, where were we?” Jonah said nonchalantly before sliding a finger into you and your jaw fell slack as you moaned at the sudden intrusion. He pumped his finger slowly to stretch you out but you weren’t content with it. You wanted more so you let your hand travel to your bundle of nerves but before you could do anything, he grabbed your wrist with his free hand. Words didn’t need to be conveyed between the both of you for you to get his message just from the look he gave you that clearly said he didn’t want you to interfere.
“Okay, so I thought of this melody…” you tuned them out, solely focusing on the overwhelming pleasure that he gave you with nothing more than a finger and before you knew it, you could feel your walls clenching harder around it that continued to thrust in and out of you non-stop as he maintained a casual conversation with his best friend.
“Nngh, Jonah,” you whined, “Faster, faster, gosh.”
“Quiet,” he whispered sternly between his sentences just as he slipped another finger into you and you bit his neck on instinct to stifle your moans, making him groan right in the middle of their conversation.
“What the actual fuck was that?!” Daniel exclaimed in horror.
“Nothing,” he shot you a glare but your eyes were screwed shut with pleasure so you couldn’t see it. “But I really really have to go now, bro, I’m so sorry.”
“Wait a minute,” Daniel said just as Jonah’s finger hovered inches above the red end-call button. “Is y/n there with you? Like right next to you?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Please don’t tell me you guys were...umm...doing it while you were talking to me because the weird sounds kinda sound like,” an obvious gulp. “Her.”
“Daniel what is wrong with you today? First you hear weird noises then now you’re trying to accuse me and my girl for having sex while I’m on the phone with you? Well lemme tell you something, Daniel,” Jonah’s fingers thrusted into you quicker, matching the swift pace of his thumb that was furiously rubbing your clit, making you a writhing mess on his lap. Soft moans left your lips since you were unable to compress all of the sounds that threatened to escape.
“Y/N and I would never,” He slammed his fingers knuckles deep into you. “Ever,” His fingers curled inside you and you sucked in a shaky breath. “Do something like that,” He started doing patting motions, hitting all the right places, almost making you scream as your eyes rolled to the back of your head in ecstasy, unable to focus on anything else save for the overwhelming pleasure that he gave you. “Right, love?”
He has to be joking. He can’t seriously expect you to—
“Open your mouth and talk, baby,” Jonah’s voice was soft but authoritative when he spoke into your ear, a smirk present on his face. He knew that it was nearly impossible for you to do anything, especially talking, when you were so close to your climax but all in all, he was still someone who loved testing and pushing you past your limits.
“Yes...I...we,” you stuttered as you whimpered softly after each word, his fingers never stopped working their magic inside you. He placed kisses all the way up to your ear from your shoulders before starting to nibble your earlobe. You couldn’t search for the right words to say, let alone speak without giving away the fact that you and Jonah were indeed doing it while having his conversation with Daniel. “We are not doing anything,” you got all your words out in one breath, a little too fast for them to sound extremely convincing but still good enough for Jonah to give you an approving hum.
“Good girl,” Jonah cooed, his voice alone making your entire body tingle with pleasure. “Now end the call,” he attached his lips onto the sensitive spot under your ear, nibbling and sucking it softly, pushing another moan out of you.
“But—”
“No ‘but’s, baby,” a kiss on your shoulder again. “You don’t want me to not let you cum, do you?”
You couldn’t find the energy in you to argue with him, not when release was threatening to spill out of you.
“Bye, Daniel,” you said breathlessly.
“Just so you know, I still don’t believe that—”
“I said bye, Daniel,” you cut Daniel off before he could continue rambling about not trusting your words, reaching over to Jonah’s phone to end the call.
Jonah smiled when the screen of his phone turned black but his following words were nowhere near happy.
“Such a good girl, aren’t you? Always so obedient when you want me to give you what you want,” he snarled. “But what about just now, hmm? You were so loud, so impatient, always wanting more than what I gave.”
“So do you think you deserve to cum, dear?”
“Sorry, it just felt too good,” you whimpered, already on the verge of tears, when you felt the knot in your stomach tightening. “I won’t behave like this again, Jo so please—“
He pressed his lips onto yours, cutting your pleas off with a brief kiss. “Alright, I’ll let you off the hook just this once. Let it all out now, baby.”
And just like that, you released for the second time all over his thigh and he took his fingers out of you and licked them clean, groaning at how wonderful you tasted. “Fuck, you taste so good. It's totally worth ruining my jeans for this.”
“But I wanna taste yours too,” you whined and he smirked.
“Hmm,” he laid you down on the couch and crawled over you, a hand already at the zipper of his pants to pull it down. “Think you’re still able to take my dick?”
“Always,” you yanked him closer by the front of his shirt, wanting to bring his lips to yours but before your lips even touched, a series of meows sounded suddenly.
Both of you turned towards the source of the sound simultaneously to find Wes standing at the corner of the living room, staring at you both intently with his wide, curious cat eyes.
“You know what? Maybe we should do this elsewhere,” you gave a suggestion with an uncomfortable grimace.
He zipped his pants before moving back into a sitting position, which you mirrored. He patted his lap and you went to sit on it right away. “Or,” a teasing grin was plastered on his face as he wiggled his eyebrows playfully at you. “We could ask Wes to join in too.”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU PSYCHOTIC PERVERT!” you screamed in disgust and hit him with the couch pillow you grabbed from beside you.
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taglist: @chilling-seavey @neralondon @mia-marais @randomlimelightxxx @hopinglimelight @kvd963 @cutiebandlover202 @savspersonalproperty @slowdownatthelotusinn @angelzacharyy @freakshows199 @my-fangirling-outlet
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harryhandstan · 3 years
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This is my contribution to @meetmeinfleetwood​‘s “to lovers” fic challenge! I chose the trope roommates to lovers and the prompt “I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.” This was fun to write thank you for allowing me to participate!
Thank you to my beta readers @tbslenthusiast​, @witch-harry​, and @sunflowers-styles​! Y’all are the best!!
no warnings that I can think of other than alcohol tw // bc of the wine they share!
word count: 2.3k
writing tag | masterlist
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It’s 5:45 p.m. when you finally leave work for the day. You should’ve just said to hell with it and went home at 5:30 like you were supposed to, but you were nice enough not to. Too nice you’d been told in the past, but it’s a flaw you’re willing to accept if it gets you a promotion to the position you ultimately dreamed of working when you started there 3 years ago.
After a quick stop to grab a bottle of wine (or two), your car can’t get you home fast enough. It’s Friday and you’re looking forward to spending time doing absolutely nothing for the next two days but curling up in a blanket and watching Christmas movies in the apartment you will essentially be alone in. Your roommate Harry shared the space with you, but kept to himself for the most part. Aside from dinners and movie nights on rare occasions when your schedule lined up, allowing you to spend the evening together.
As if your thoughts summoned him, your phone dinged, indicating a new message. Your eyes dart down to where it sits in the passenger seat, careful to keep your eyes on the car in front of you, waiting patiently for the light to turn red so you can grab your phone to respond.
It’s one simple word, “Home?” so you know he’s either still working or on his own drive home. 
Your reply is just as direct, “Not yet. On my way! Movie night?” 
The light’s green again so you tuck your phone back into your purse, ignoring the next ding until you arrive home. You’re through the door of your apartment and down the hall before you read his message, “Sure. Chinese or pizza?” 
“Chinese! I’ll pick the movie and you pay for dinner?”
“That doesn’t sound fair :(”
“Alright fine, you get home before I’m out of the shower and in my pajamas you can pick the movie..deal?”
“Deal!”
The race is on then, both of you competitive and determined to win. You have a movie in mind that you’ve been dying to watch all day and you don’t want to have to rock-paper-scissors to break the tie like you usually do when the two of you don’t agree on who wins  these little games. 
You’d already shed most of your layers of clothing easily as you moved through the apartment; your boots kicked off by the door, jacket gone and thrown over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, cardigan pulled from your body and tossed on the bed by the time you made it to your bedroom. It doesn’t take long to strip the rest away and to gather a set of pajamas from your well organized drawer before darting across the hall to the shared bathroom.
You know you have at minimum 45 minutes to be done, an hour if he goes to the better Chinese place a little further across town, which he most likely would. You’d been dreaming of ending your week with a bubble bath, but you don’t take the chance now, just hop under the hot spray of the shower, hoping it will have the same relaxing effect. Your eyes are closed as you tilt your head back to wet your hair while one hand fumbles over the bottles to find your shampoo. 
Eyes still closed, you tip the bottle to add a bit to your hand, but you freeze when you open your eyes temporarily to close the bottle and put it back on the shelf. It’s Harry’s shampoo you’ve grabbed instead and for a moment you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how many times you’ve teased him about how expensive his products are. But he would never let you hear the end of it if he came home and you smelled like him. Ultimately you would’ve felt too guilty to waste it, so you work it through and hope he never finds out. Pray that the act washes away just like the suds do when you rinse them from your hair. 
By your hopeful calculations, you still have about 10 minutes left before he arrives by the time you're done in the shower. You decide to give him a fair advantage, venturing into the kitchen to decide which bottle of wine would pair best with dinner. When you make your selection, you pour yourself a glass, settling into a comfy spot on the couch. The black remote taunts you from the small wooden coffee, and you grab it. No harm in getting the movie ready while you wait, right?
You’re 2 glasses deep and 20 minutes into the movie when he arrives, a smirk on his face at the sight of you. Your eyes go wide when you see him. You’re not sure why, there had been many nights he’d found you in the same position, but tonight feels different. You gulp down the sip of wine, too tipsy and unaware that you’re staring. Had his dimples always been that prominent when he smiled? Even without your glasses you could spot that grin that stretched a mile wide across his face.
“Haroldddd..you’re home!”
He hated that nickname, had always despised when other people called him that, but falling from your lips it sounds like a prayer and he would gladly change his name to that if he thought it would make you the least bit happy.
“S’pose I lost, huh? Got the food pretty quickly but stopped to get this,” He holds up a bottle of wine, ironically the very same kind that you’re drinking now, “Shoulda known y’would already have some!”
“Oh good, you got some for yourself..this one’s almost empty..”
“M’not that late, am I?” He chuckles as he makes his way to the counter, looking between you and the bottle.
“Hey..it’s a small bottle! This is only my third glass and I’ve barely even touched it.”
“Rough day?” He’s pulling plates down now and retrieving a glass for himself from the cabinet.
“Rough week. Rough few weeks, really.” You take a few more sips as you watch him prepare a plate of food. You figure he’s just making his own, and you wait patiently for him to finish so you won’t be in the way. But when he makes his way around the counter, he’s holding two plates in his hand and wow you want to jump from your spot and kiss him. You restrain yourself, as hard as it may be, and try to focus on the question he’s asking you.
He holds the plates towards the table and then towards where you sit on the couch, silently wanting to know where you’d prefer to enjoy your meal. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to move closer, knowing how much effort it would take to lift yourself from your warm, comfy spot to go eat at the table.
“Emily still on vacation?” 
“Yes! And she expects us to do double the work while she’s gone! It’s her 3rd vacation this year. I know she’s the boss but..”
“Doesn’t mean she has to be a bitch to you.” He finishes your sentence for you, brow furrowed, upset at even the idea of someone mistreating you in the slightest. 
“Right! Thank you!” 
You hold your hand out to accept the plate he’s made for you, “Got our usual, hope that’s alright.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I was just joking earlier about you paying for all of it. I’ll pay you back for my half.”
He’s already shaking his head no, stuffing a bite of food in his mouth, “It was my turn anyway, r‘member? You paid for those tacos we had last week.”
“Right, I did. Forgot about that.”
You watch him devour a few more bites, your eyes darting from your plate to his, “Yours looks better.”
“Huh?”
Maybe it’s the wine making you more bold, you’d normally never complain, “Your plate it just..looks better than mine. Switch with me.”
“It’s literally the same thing..and I’ve already eaten half the noodles off mine.” He looks mildly annoyed at even the suggestion.
“Don’t care..it looks better. Switch.” You realized just how bratty you sound, so you add a quick, “Please?”
He huffs dramatically, switching the plates and giving you a sarcastic smile, “Happy?”
You return his smile, blissfully unaware of his annoyance in your tipsy state, “Very, thank you.”
You both turn your attention to the tv you realize now you had forgotten to pause, so the movie had progressed further, about 30 minutes in now.
His irritation has already faded when he asks, “What are y’making me watch?”
You start to explain the plot but stop mid-bite of your food, “Wait..have you never seen this movie?”
He shrugs, “Doesn’t look familiar.”
“Oh we’re definitely starting it over then!” 
“No, ya don’t hafta..”
It’s too late, you’ve already discarded your now mostly empty plate of food, nearly knocking your glass of wine over in your excitement of making him watch one of your favorite movies.
Almost an hour in, you don’t notice that Harry’s eyes have drifted to you. In fact, they’d mostly stayed on you since you’d restarted the movie. Your facial expressions were better to him than any movie; the way your eyes softened at the more heartwarming parts, or when your mouth formed a soft ‘o’ and gasped at parts he was certain you had probably seen at least a dozen times before.
You clasp your hand over your heart dramatically and he doesn’t even flinch, just listens intently when you say, “I love this part..this is the moment.”
His eyes temporarily flash back to the tv then, “The moment?”
“Yeah, you know, the moment. Where the guy looks at the girl and realizes he’s in love.” You sigh deeply, “I always wanted someone to look at me like that.”
Oh, you mean like what’s happening now between us? God he hopes for just a glance from you, a chance to show you that you’re living your own moment now if you’d just look at him. 
It’s tumbling out of his mouth quicker than he can stop it, his mouth working faster than his brain, but it’s a low enough whisper he thinks maybe you won’t hear.
“I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.”
You do hear him, though you don’t believe it at first. Your hand is still resting over your heart, searching his face for any sign of teasing or dishonesty.
“H..did you just..?”
He’s looking down at his hands, fingers fiddling with one of the rings adorning his fingers, nodding before replying, “I did.” 
“How long?”
“Um..since the first week we’ve lived together? That first night we made dinner together and it was a disaster. Thought you were gonna catch the place on fire.” A giggle escapes him at the memory of you, rushing around the kitchen that night, face flushed red and hair a mess.
“That’s my moment? Almost burning our apartment down?”
“That and now, yeah. Just been strugglin’ with the best way to tell you. S’pose the wine’s making me a lil’ more fearless,'' He takes a deep breath, still not able to look at you in case he finds even a hint of rejection on your face, “But I understand if you don’t feel the same..”
“I do.”
His head snaps to look at you then, eyes widening for a second before he composes himself, “Really?”
You can’t stop the smile that blooms across your face at the sight of the thrill in his eyes. There’s a new buzz of elation in the air, but neither of you make a move at first. A pleasant tension fills the space between the two of you.
You break the silence, “So..what do we do now?”
“S’all up to you how fast and how far we take this. M’all in though, ready when you are, love. A cuddle might be nice while we finish the movie, if you’re up f’that.”
“I think I could handle that. I want something else first though.”
He’s trying to read your mind, thinks he knows exactly what it is, but he wants to hear you say it. Wants to hear the words he’s been waiting to hear for what feels like a lifetime now.
“Kiss me, Harry.”
You’ve already turned your body towards him; the movie, the food and the wine all long forgotten. He clears the space between the two of you easily, a hand on the side of your neck to add just enough pressure to pull you towards him.
Your lips crash against his, noses bumping at first but it doesn’t stop you, it only makes you crave him deeper and closer. You press your knees into his thighs, pushing yourself up so that you hover over him, your hair falling around his face. It’s still slightly damp from the shower, and his hand comes to rest on the back of your head now. 
There’s a smug look on his face when he pulls away, a hand still placed on your hip to hold you steady. He’s still breathless when he asks, “Did you use my shampoo?”
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When you wake up in his bed the next morning, you question if last night was a mistake. You don’t regret it, not for a second, just wonder if maybe things will be different in the morning light. 
So when you barely touch the plate of eggs and toast he’s made for you for breakfast, he worries you’re having second thoughts about him, that he’s ruined any friendship you’ve already built by rushing into a relationship. 
So when you say, “Did you really mean what you said last night..about loving me?” He visibly relaxes, dropping his shoulders and beaming at you from across his own breakfast plate.
“Oh, darlin’,” He plucks a piece of uneaten toast from your plate, winking at you as he does, “You don’t know the half of it.” 
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2020 Masterlist
Here’s a list of all the fics I’ve posted this year! (Listed by category, then chronologically:)
Link to my ao3 where you can read all of these: embarrassingresultofmyfreetime
~
Currents wips:
And They Were Quarantine Mates
An old disease has resurfaced on Earth- one which most humans recover from but is permanently lethal to Time Lords.
Because of this, the Doctor stays on Earth to make sure her humans make it through okay.
And because of the Doctor, the Master- against his better judgement- also chooses to stay.
Reluctant to leave the safety of the Doctor's Tardis, the Doctor and the Master find plenty of ways to pass the time but it can be difficult to enjoy each other's company with so many things left unsaid.
Good thing they have plenty of time in isolation to work it out.
Word Count: Currently 88,172
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Spyfall: Battle For Humanity
This is a little number I like to call: Roleswap AU with Dhawan!Doctor and Whittaker!Master
It's sort of a rewrite of Spyfall p2 but it's better.
Word Count: Currently 5,688 (will be about 12k when finished)
~~~
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Main fics (completed):
Please Tell Me Why Do We Worry
Summary: After learning about the final loss of Gallifrey, the Doctor takes some time to grieve and finds herself with surprisingly mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.
To her surprise, a knock at her Tardis door soon reveals the Master not only alive, but in uncontrollable mental agony as he reveals that the Doctor's suffering has been amplifying his own emotions via their telepathic bond.
Note: (After so many kind and positive comments on this fic, I finally gained the confidence to start posting more! A huge thank you to so many people it means so, so much to me!)
Word Count: 5,068
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Second Chances
When Graham finds a teleportation cube offering an all-expenses-paid vacation, he, Ryan, and Yaz take up the offer and give the seemingly-distant Doctor some time to herself.
After the events of Skyfall 1&2, the trust between the trio and a certain timelord is shaken. However, when their vacation quickly becomes a nightmare, it's up to the Doctor to bring about peace on an upsettingly familiar planet.
Note: (A rewrite/fix it of S11 episode Orphan 55)
Word Count: 7,130
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All’s Fair In Love And War
Having escaped alive and alone, the Master dwells on his failure and uncertainty at what to do next.
Purely by accident, he runs into a version of the Doctor he's never met before and she gives him a much needed perspective on their relationship.
Word Count: 4,653
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Truth and Reconciliation
“I... I destroyed a lot of things, but not this... trove of secrets. This is what started it all.”
Missing Scene where the Master goes to Gallifrey and discovers the truth of the timeless child for the first time + alternate ending to The Timeless Children episode
Word Count: 7,563
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The Doctor Finally Gets Some Rest
(Ch2 update Missy pov)
The Doctor promised to guard Missy for 1000 years, but Missy doesn't mind returning the favor.
Word Count: 5,671
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I Wouldn’t Wish It On My Best Enemy
"Just deserts appeared to finally be served for the Doctor. All her running had come to an end, all the lives she's taken or caused had finally been assigned a numerical value, and all the morals she had once believed in seemed to crumble to dust right before her eyes.
A life sentence.
She had JUST BEEN TOLD she would never die, and the first thing the universe does is give her a life sentence.
What kind of cruel joke is that?"
Basically: The Doctor reflects on herself while in prison, the Master rescues the Doctor and actually helps her, and idk read the tags
Word Count: 4,629
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Brand New Reality
In an alternate timeline: The Master is killed in the Time War but the Doctor finds a way to salvage his oldest friend's mind by binding it to his Tardis and building him an android vessel as a way to interact with the physical world.
The Doctor also manages to save the Time Lords from their war- but he is still a renegade in their eyes. As punishment, the High Council uses the Doctor- and by extension the Master- as their personal diplomats/field agents.
The Master isn't too happy about being trapped on the Doctor's Tardis, the Doctor is fed up with being the equivalent of a dog on a leash to the Time Lords, so in a moment of anger and also pure luck- they break out from their world and end up on a parallel one with a very different version of their universe and very different versions of themselves.
(Shalka!Universe Doctor and Master meet their modern counterparts- the Thirteenth Doctor and Dhawan!Master)
Word Count: 10,148
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The Imposter(s) Among Us
The Doctor has been searching the universe for the Master, but it's only when she takes a break to help a damaged space vessel that she runs directly into him!
The Doctor has a hundred and one things to ask him, but there's no time for any of that now. The ship is barely functional and if the mysterious murderer doesn't get to the Doctor first, then the trigger-happy crewmates might throw her out the airlock before the killer gets a chance.
Word Count: 12,655
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My Dear, Doctor…
The Doctor investigates an anomaly to find that her previous self has stood up their oldest friend for the umpteenth time.
Confused as to why the Doctor can't recall ever receiving Missy's invitation in the first place, the Doctor goes searching for answers and ends up finding far more letters than just one…
Word Count: 6,657
~~~
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Series:
And They Were Happy Au Parts 1-4:
Part 1: Dinner and a Show
All his lives, the Master had always believed that he and the Doctor could hold on for about the same amount of time. He always imagined that when they reached their last lives, they would both give all this up and spend their retirement years bickering and raising bees or whatever. The Master didn't particularly like bees, but he had always imagined that the Doctor did and as long as they were together, that was enough to satisfy him.
What he had discovered in the Matrix had proved his ideal endgame impossible.
The revelation that the Doctor was The Timeless Child meant that the Doctor would always live on. They would always evolve and survive no matter what happened. The Doctor would always race to people in need; and now, they would never have any reason to stop.
(AU where the reason the Master wanted the Doctor to kill them both in The Timeless Child is bc he's on his last life)
Word Count: 5,120
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Part 2: Dinner and a Show One-Offs
"The Doctor did her best to space out her visits with O. For every couple adventures she had with her 'fam', she would stop by his home once or so. Sometimes she let months slip by, because she knew that the longer she waited, the less of O's limited time she used up.
She felt guilty to calculate it, but if O was already in his mid-thirties and he lived a full human life...
Suffice it to say, she wanted it to last for as long as possible. She had never had a situation as stable nor as safe as she now had with O. After everything they had both been through to get to this point, she refused to jeopardize a single moment.
For all the pain the Master had caused her, O was well worth the wait."
(By popular demand, a continuation of 'Dinner and a Show')
Word Count: 10,926
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Part 3: Unjustifiable
O- having no recollection of his actions as 'The Master'- returns to being Earth's Horizon Watcher.
O is proud of his work and he cherishes the Doctor's frequent visits, but it's becoming increasingly apparent that she's been keeping more secrets about his past than he had theorized.
To make matters worse, the arrival of an advanced species of aliens on his doorstep brings with it a whole new plethora of problems. Something terrifying resurfaces when O hears they're searching for a Tardis and things go terribly wrong.
Word Count: 23,870
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Part 4: Found Family
The Master finally gets around to seeing the universe in a more peaceful way and runs into a young woman looking for her father.
Word Count: 3,663 (Will possibly be updated at a later date, but complete for now)
~~~
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Oneshots Inspired by others (specific inspiration in the beginning notes of each):
All Alone In The Dark
While heading back to Earth, the Doctor hears someone calling for her help.
She tracks it back to the Master- injured yet alive- and finds him trapped in his own head, reliving his last confrontation with The Time Lord Council before the destruction of Gallifrey.
Word Count: 1,926
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You Again
The 10th Doctor and Missy each escape their last canon appearances believing that the other is dead for good.
So imagine their surprise when they run into each other at a party in the 1920's.
Word Count: 6,943
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Sick Day
The Master has everything set up for his latest evil scheme but when he tracks down the Doctor, he realizes his best enemy is in no condition to fight. So the Master does what any good nemesis does and takes care of him.
Desperate Times, Desperate Measures
Word Count: 2,807
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Prompt: "Right now, I don't know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge!" "Can I pick?"
The Master’s Tardis had traced the call seven minutes in advance to this exact time and location. He pushed open his Tardis door to find himself in front of some no name bar with graffiti scrawled on the side, situated in front of an empty ravine. He was on Earth, and there was probably a similarly ramshackled city around him, but he didn’t so much as spare it a glance.
The Master’s steps were determined, his jaw clenched, and his hands shaking despite his signature device in hand.
He had been on the other side of the universe, licking his wounds like any old villain would when disappointed by their latest nemesis showdown. It all made his blood boil to have caved so soon. To come back and HELP the Doctor.
The Doctor still had O’s number and her call was scheduled to be made in exactly seven minutes. A hysterical, agonizing call that begged the Master to intervene. He wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing the Doctor in so much despair, or the disappointment that hearing her in such agony somehow didn’t lessen his own.
Word Count: 2,410
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The Beginning and The End
Prompt: First Doctor, Dhawan!Master, Gallifrey, and the dialogue: "I know my words mean close to nothing for you. But I do, in fact, love you very much."
Basically Theta (Academy Era Doctor) accidentally runs into the Master on a burning Gallifrey
Word Count: 4,499
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Kisses Like That
The Doctor's never understood why humans enjoy kissing so much- but a certain, somewhat familiar woman piques his interest.
(Missy goes back in time to give 10 a lil kiss)
Word Count: 1,885
Spyvember 2020
Collection of short fics I did inspired by Spyvember prompts (from Tumblr)
Word Count: 15,506 (6 separate chapters)
~~~
Thank you to everyone who has inspired me, commented on my work, read any of my writing, and overall has just supported me in any way this year!! Thank you for keeping me motivated and helping me improve as a writer!
My best wishes to you in the new year! <3
10 notes · View notes
seeaddywrite · 5 years
Note
Prompt: malex phone calls bc sometimes its easier to say the things you need/want to say when its over the phone
I did this in a 3 + 1 format; three times that Malex can’t say what they need to express without a phone line between them, and one time they can.  there’s a happy ending, i swear!
I. The first time Michael hears from Alex after he enlists, he nearly ignores the call. It’s been over a year since the incident in the shed; his hand is healed, and his heart has developed enough callous that he can pretend it has, too. Answering that call isn’t going to feed into that fantasy, because as soon as he hears Alex’s voice, Michael knows every defense he’s put up to contain that heartache is going to crumble. The smart thing to do would be to hit ‘ignore,’ and block the number – but while Michael may have a genius IQ, he’s never been known for doing the smart thing. The desire to hear Alex’s voice, to know he’s safe, overpowers every shred of common sense Michael possesses, and after the fourth ring, right before the call would be diverted to voicemail, he answers. 
“And here I thought you lost my number,” Michael drawls, refusing to let on that he’s as off-balance as he feels. It’s a tactic he’s adopted more and more, lately, as the entire town starts to move on from Rosa Ortecho’s death while he’s left mired in the guilt and consequences of it.  “To what do I owe the pleasure, private?” Alex isn’t the in the Army and Michael knows it, but since he’s done nothing but breathe into the receiver since the call began, Michael’s in the mood to wind him up, to get on the offensive and stay there so that he doesn’t end up letting himself get his hopes up. Again. It’s too damn easy for Alex Manes to get in his head if Michael’s not on guard against it.��
The connection crackles, and Michael stands up from his bed in the newly-purchased second-hand trailer to move toward the door, where there’s usually better reception. “You planning on saying something, or should I just hang up now?” he demands, and his ears pick up the slightest hitch in breathing, a tell-tale sign that Alex is listening, and reacting, no matter what his silence might imply. But no matter how much of an asshole Michael is, he doubts it could cause the rapid breathing that sounds a hell of a lot like someone trying not to freak the fuck out. 
Abruptly, Michael feels his demeanor thaw, and he sighs. “What’s going on, Alex?” he asks, his voice carefully even. “You okay?” 
There’s another pause, and Michael begins to wonder if Manes had seriously called him to just sit on the line until Michael got frustrated enough to hang up. But then, finally, for the first time in over a year, Michael hears Alex speak. 
“I just had a really shit day,” he says, and his voice is rough enough that Michael can tell he’s being vague more because he can’t talk about it than because he doesn’t want to. “And I got back to my bunk, and I saw your number on my phone, and I just –” 
Michael blows a short, hard breath through his nose, a bitter half-smile contorting his expression. It’s a relief that Alex can’t see him, because God knows how he’d take that, but alone in his trailer, Michael doesn’t have to check himself. “And you just what, Alex? Why’d you call me? It’s been more than a year. And when you left, you made it pretty damn clear that you didn’t want to hear from me.” Guilt, Michael’s constant companion, rears its ugly head. Alex is obviously upset about something to have even made this call in the first place, and MIchael’s rehashing ancient history. But he has to know what this call is and why it’s happening. He has to moderate his expectations; otherwise, he’s going to end up thinking it’s something it’s not – and Michael’s all out of optimism. 
A throat clears on the other end of the line, and Michael tries to picture Alex as he would look now, without the eyeliner and piercings, in ABUs with a buzzcut, but he can’t quite manage it. To him, Alex is always going to be the wannabe rebel who gave him a place in out of the cold – the one person who’d known about the chaos in his head and been able to calm it. 
“I called because – because I watched someone die today, Guerin.” This time, it’s Michael’s breath that catches in his throat. He’s aware, obviously, that Alex is in an active fucking warzone, and that he could get hurt at anytime, but the stark reminder that Alex could end up like whatever poor, unlucky soul they’d lost today was enough to jolt him out of the harsh attitude. “And afterward, all I could think about was how much I wished you were here,” Alex continues, his voice a raw whisper. “Because you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe, and I could really, really use that right now. And I know I’m the last person that you want to hear from, but I –”
“You know better than that, Alex.” Michael cuts him off mid-sentence, unable to take anymore of the tremor in the other man’s voice. There’s a lot Michael would do to protect himself, to protect his family, but standing by while Alex is in pain and there’s something he can do about it is a physical impossibility. He can’t even summon anger, at the moment. “And if you don’t, you’re nowhere near as smart as I give you credit for.” 
He’s about to say something he knows he’ll regret later. In person, he’d never manage to get the words out, but in the isolation of the Airstream, with no eyes on him, Michael can’t stop the words from spilling out. “I always want to talk to you. Every damn morning when I wake up, that’s the first thing I think about. Every time something good happens to me, I want to tell you about it. And every fucking night when I’m lying in bed, I wonder what it’d be like if you were laying next to me.” By the time he’s done, his voice is as hoarse as Alex’s, and he knows there’s no hiding it. As always, talking to Alex has left him flayed open and vulnerable, the layer of callous he’d built painstakingly around his heart worn away to nothing. 
“So, yeah. You need me? You call me. I’ll always answer.”
Again, silence reigns on the phone line, and MIchael’s eyes slide closed against the insecurities that bubble up as soon as he realizes that Alex isn’t planning on saying anything. He rests his forehead against the humid metal of the door, staring down at the dirty tile of the entryway, and is about to end the call – and his own misery – when Alex says, so softly he can barely hear it: “That was exactly what I needed to hear.” 
II.  Michael doesn’t get a phone call when Alex is injured in the line of duty. He’s not family – he’s nothing, apparently, and doesn’t even rate a text. So he hears it about it from Maria in the middle of the Wild Pony a couple of weeks later, just dropped into casual conversation that Alex Manes is coming home since loss of limb disqualifies him from serving on the front lines. That night, after he’s drunk enough that he can’t think about it anymore, he punches Kyle Valenti in the parking lot. The adrenaline rush helps keep thoughts of Alex away, but the night in lock-up passes slowly, and  insomnia keeps him awake, worrying and wondering about Alex, and imagining what it’ll be like to see him again. There’s no way they can avoid each other forever in a town this small, even if part of Michael would like to try, and he knows that the urge to be in Alex’s presence would overpower any self-protective instinct, anyway. 
Alex shows up at the ranch where Michael lives and works a few days later, every inch his father’s son, and the bitterness exudes from Michael in waves the entire time they speak. He’s losing a job and a home, technically, but he cares more about the way Alex barely meets his gaze, and when he does, his expression is cool and professional. There’s nothing in this GI Joe of the boy Michael remembers, and he resents the new Alex for so thoroughly destroying the person he loved. 
t’s stupid, and probably unfair to feel that way. For the last eight years, Alex had held him to his word that he could call if he needed Michael. They’ve talked at least once or twice a year, usually when something god-awful happened and Alex needed the reminder that the world was still turning, that he was still alive. Michael wondered, sometimes, if it wouldn’t have been better for Alex to find someone else to give him that – this dynamic they created couldn’t be healthy, and spending every day hoping for a call that rarely came was slowly driving Michael out of his mind. But the point is that they’ve talked. Michael knew, all along, that military service was changing Alex – in the later calls, some of the things he said, all ruthless and aggressive, weren’t words that would have ever been in teenaged Alex’s vocabulary. So this version of the man, aloof and battle-hardened, every inch the Manes man Jesse always wanted, shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But it still did, and fuck, it hurt. 
Michael gets rid of Alex after that encounter, but he keeps showing up at his door, pinning notices and flirting until he catches himself, but it isn’t until the shitty high school reunion that Michael didn’t even want to go to that he finally sees his Alex beneath the uniform. It’s also the first real glimpse he gets of the prosthetic, shiny and artificial, beneath his pant leg. That’s nothing, of course – Alex could be stuck in a suit a la Darth Vader and he’d still be the sexiest man alive in Michael’s eyes. But it’s just another reminder of everything that’s changed, and everything Michael no longer has.
The kiss that night, the sex the following one – all of it is so good, so reminiscent of their time together in high school that Michael forgets, almost, how hard it is to watch Alex walk away. He’s good at putting on rose-colored glasses when it comes to the past, but this time, he’s definitely done too well. This time, when Alex walks away, calling him a criminal and rejecting him thoroughly in the meantime, Michael feels something integral in his chest shut down. There’s no getting back up after someone shoves him that hard, and he’s not sure he even wants to. He goes through the rest of the day on autopilot; he fights with Max and schemes with Isobel to protect their secrets, but internally, he’s a living, breathing open wound. 
When he finally gets an evening to himself, Michael drinks so much acetone-laced whiskey that he barely remembers leaving the voicemail the next day, let alone what it says. He’d never say any of it to Alex’s face; the guilt alone would kill him. But when Alex checks his inbox next, the words are there, heart-rending and painful, even as it’s slurred and difficult to understand: 
“Hi.” There’s a loud thudding noise, and someone yells for Michael to ‘get the fuck out of the way’ in the middle of the recording. “I don’t know what I’m fucking doing, you know? I haven’t known what I’m doing for ten years. I’m just here. In Roswell, and you were halfway across the frickin’ world and I still couldn’t escape you. And then those phone calls –” Michael laughs bitterly, the alcohol granting the sound a borderline hysterical tinge. “I actually thought they meant something, you know? All that stuff about me making you feel safe. About you needing me. Makes you wonder if whoever gave me that IQ test actually knew what the hell they were doing, right?” Another one of those sour laughs distorts the recording. “I got what, two days, maybe, of spending time with you, and that shouldn’t have been enough to fuck me up when you gave up, but God, Manes, I don’t – nothing about how I feel about you makes sense. I want you so bad it hurts. I was literally laying in bed last night, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how it felt to have you there. So yeah, I want you and I miss you, but fuck, Alex, sometimes – right now – I wish I’d never met you.”
III. After he leaves Michael’s alien-tech bunker, Alex doesn’t know whether he wants to get a stiff drink, to go to bed, or to throw a temper tantrum. He ends up at the Wild Pony and ends up doing two out of three when he sits down to talk to Maria. He realizes, looking back, that talking to her right after he found out that she’d slept with Michael, when the hurt was still fresh, was a stupid idea. He hadn’t been cruel, exactly, but he hadn’t handled it very well, either, and he knows he hurt her. He’s been doing that a lot lately – hurting people he loves. Michael’s at the top of the list, obviously, but now Maria is just below, and he doesn’t know how to fix it with either of them. 
Post-deployment, Alex knows he’s a mess. He’s always been some level of fucked up; a father who’s leisure activities included breaking one’s bones would do that to a kid. But at least as a child, he’d had other people to turn to. There’d been Jim Valenti, and Mimi DeLuca, and Liz and Maria, who’d become more like family as they got older. He’d had a support system, and people to talk to when he needed to work through the things that happened to him at home. 
In the desert, though, there’s an ‘every man for himself’ mentality that’s impossible to shake now that he’s home. His unit would’ve died for him, and he for them, but they didn’t talk about harsh realities or fears. That was inviting bad luck, and the had enough as it was. And then, when he was sent back state-side, physical therapy was far more important than the ‘sit in a chair and cry’ kind. He did the required sessions, but when that was done, Alex was left to cope on his own. 
Michael’s born the worst of his behavior changes, he knows, just like he knows that the way he keeps walking back into the man’s life for a few days only to leave again is wrong. But how can he commit to anything permanent with Michael when he can’t even keep his own head on straight? He needs to relearn what it is to be a person without a uniform, and he needs time to do that – but he’s always thought, when he manages to do it, Michael would be there. Waiting. But Michael’s sleeping with other people and building a fucking spaceship to leave the planet, and Alex is running out of time. 
Kyle’s call comes just in time to stop Alex from getting shift-faced in the middle of the afternoon, and he supposes he should be grateful. The code-breaking distraction is nice, but it leaves him with a head full of information he doesn’t know what to do with when he’s back at home in the sparsely-furnished cabin. Alone. The place hasn’t really felt lonely before, but Alex supposes he’s never known Michael hates the world enough to want to leave it permanently, either. That’s bound to make a difference. 
When he’s settled in bed, prosthetic propped against the wall near his crutches, Alex scrolls listlessly through his Facebook feed, knowing he’s not getting any real rest that night. He’d like to say it’s purely accidental when his finger lands on Michael’s number – but the truth is that he’s been the number one speed dial in Alex’s phone for ten years, and the cabin is too quiet, and all Alex wants in that moment is to hear Michael’s voice and get some reassurance that he won’t disappear overnight. And why is it so much fucking easier to say things like that on the phone? 
“If you’ve uncovered another government conspiracy, I don’t want to know about it,” is how Michael answers the phone. There’s no noise in the background, suggesting he’s as alone as Alex. That knowledge shouldn’t make him feel as good as it does, Alex knows, but he can’t help it. “Seriously, man, just keep it to yourself, because I’ve had about all the excitement I can take.” 
Alex snorts, and shakes his head before remembering Michael can’t see him. “Just the one,” he promises. “That’s not why I’m calling, though.” He leans back against the pillow behind him, rubbing absent-mindedly at the indents left by the compression sock around his residual limb. 
There’s a beat of silence, then: “If this is some sort of phone sex proposition, I’m going to have to remind you that today you said you wanted to be friends.” The drawl is full of insinuation, and Alex is infused with the knowledge that if he said that he did want to have phone sex, or the up-close-and-personal kind, Michael wouldn’t say no. Even after everything, Guerin’s still willing to drop everything for him. The realization is both humbling and terrifying. 
“I lied,” Alex admits, swallowing heavily. 
“I know.” 
The response is simple and direct, but Alex wishes Michael would elaborate. He knows? How exactly is Alex supposed to take that? Before he can work himself up into proper frustration, though, Michael finishes, “I don’t think we can ever just be friends, Manes. And the way you took off like a bat outta hell when I showed you the console just proves it.” 
Alex’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?” He thinks he knows the answer, or can at least take a pretty good guess, but he’s not sure he wants to say the words aloud and be told otherwise, so he holds his silence. 
“All this time, you’ve been the one walking away,” Michael says, the words succinct and devoid of accusation – he just sounds exhausted, which is worse than any sharp-edged words Alex can imagine. “You were in control. Now, when I might be the one who does the leaving, you don’t like it.” 
Abruptly, hurt swamps Alex, shoving out every other feeling, and his head spins with the redirection. “You think this is about control?” he demands, each word as quick and sharp as the pinch of a needle. “You think I was upset because I didn’t get to hurt you first this time? Fuck, Guerin, why would you even bother to pick up the phone if that’s what you think of me?” 
“I told you a long time ago that I’d always be here if you needed me,” Michael answers, and finally, instead of that world-weary tone, Alex hears resentment creeping back. It’s probably fucked up that he prefers that, but he doesn’t care. An angry Michael is one who hasn’t given up yet, and that’s what Alex needs from him. “And I’d hate myself if I broke a promise to you.” 
Alex doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know where to even begin, so he just blurts, “It’s not about control,” like Michael hadn’t spoken at all. It’s the coward’s way out, but Alex has always lost his courage when it comes to Michael. “I know I’m the reason we’re not together, Guerin. I know I keep pushing you away and hurting you, but the idea of living on a planet where you don’t exist anymore is the single most terrifying thing that I can imagine.” 
He pulls in a shaky breath, holds it for a moment, and lets it out. It’s one of the few useful things his VA-appointed therapist had taught him, and it centers him enough to let him realize that this is the worst possible way to tell Michael anything important, when he can’t even see his face or kiss him, but Alex can’t stop now. “I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen, and I’ve always had this picture in my head of what my life would look like, you know? I’d be old and grey and sitting a rocking chair on a front porch somewhere far away from Roswell, somewhere where there’s actual green grass. And when I pictured it, usually on really shit days when my dad had just knocked me down the stairs, or when I was sweating my balls off in the middle of Afghanistan, you were always right there next to me on that porch– still trying to flirt even with bad eyesight and a bum hip.” 
He chuckles, the sound sadder than it should be, and cuts off anything Michael might have said. “And I just wanted you to know that, before I tell you that the last piece of that console is in your truck bed. I left it there, this morning.” Alex struggles to keep talking; it’s hard to push sound through the lump in his throat, but he manages. He always manages. “Jim Valenti left it for me, and I’m – I’m giving it to you. So you can find your home. Because I want you to be happy, Michael. There’s no one who deserves it more than you. So – I hope you find what you’re looking for.” 
Alex doesn’t want to hear him say goodbye, or to stumble through what would be the final, official end of this thing that’s burgeoned between them for a decade. His heart can’t take that. 
He ends the call. 
IV. Less than a month later, Michael hasn’t gone anywhere. 
Alex has seen him, worked with him, and even flirted with him, but they’ve avoided talking about anything personal. There’s too much raw emotion compressed between them; if given the smallest flame, it would explode and devour them both. There’s no time, anyway – Isobel’s husband is an alien serial killer, Jesse Manes is masterminding a government conspiracy that has to be stopped, and Michael’s entirely too distracted by the realization that his home planet may not be somewhere he actually wants to go. (The latter is hopeful thinking on Alex’s part, since they aren’t talking about anything personal, but after hearing what Noah said about a war-torn world, it’s a distinct possibility.) 
Now that things have settled down more, Alex finds himself alone a lot. It’s no more than he was lone before being dragged into the madness that was aliens and government conspiracies, but the constant company and forced camaraderie that developed among the group of them working to keep Michael and his siblings safe had been almost nice – and the absence of it is obvious, now, while he sits alone in his living room, staring mindlessly at the television. 
His enlistment with the Air Force ended that morning. 
Alex still hasn’t wrapped his mind around that fact; the thing that is simultaneously the best and worst thing that ever happened to him is gone, now, and he’s free. There are choices to make, pros and cons to consider, and all he’s managed to do that day is sit around and feel sorry for himself in the dim lighting of his living room. And drink. Can’t forget that last part. 
What is he going to do, now? Aside from continuing to work on taking Jesse Manes down, Alex has no plans. He can live for a while on his retirement stipend, but eventually, he’s going to need to get a job – go back to school, maybe? Get a degree in IT? It would be the expected thing, considering his background, but Alex can’t help but think a job behind a desk sounds like the most boring fate imaginable. He lost a leg, not his sense of adventure, and he want doesn’t to commit himself to something that he’s going to hate. 
So, what then, does he want from his Air Force-less future? 
When the answer comes, it’s the same one as always. Alex wants to be happy. He wants to leave Roswell and move somewhere that he can have a real yard, and see all four seasons. He wants to have a dog and a job doing something that interests him, and a big enough kitchen that his friends can come for dinner without an invitation. But all of that is secondary to the most obvious of Alex’s desires: Michael Guerin. He wants that future he spelled out for him in that last, painful phone call, with rocking chairs and wrinkles and inappropriate flirting, and he wants it so much that his chest physically aches with longing when he thinks about it. 
Maybe it’s the beer, or maybe Alex has just had enough of waiting and hoping that life will just work out the way he wants it to. He’s been a passive observer in his own life for too long, letting his insecurities and anxiety run the show, and for once, Alex is going to take control for himself. 
Before he can talk himself out of it or even second-guess the decision, Alex is behind the wheel of his SUV, headed toward the junkyard where Michael parks his trailer. He has no idea what he’s going to say, or how Michael will react to Alex just showing up like this, but for once, the uncertainty doesn’t scare him. They’ve both managed to be honest before with a phone line between them – it’s time to stop hiding behind his iPhone and admit that he’s in love with Michael Guerin out loud and in person. After that, the ball will be in Michael’s court, and Alex will have at least tried. If it doesn’t work, at least he won’t have to go to his grave wondering what would have happened if he’d been strong enough to do it.
Alex’s heart is racing by the time he pulls up in front of the trailer, and his palms are sweating. He feels like that teenager about to make a move on the boy he likes in the shed again, and it’s astounding, since Alex has been pretty sure that part of him died in Baghdad. 
Michael meets him outside the front door, wearing old jeans and a ratty t-shirt that mean he’s been working on engines all day. Oil streaks his hands and clothing, he’s sweating, and obviously in need of a shower. Sane people wouldn’t be attracted to that.
Alex has never wanted to kiss him so badly. 
“I thought about calling you,” he begins, a small smile playing around the corners of his lips. “Since we only ever seem to be able to actually talk that way. But – I don’t know. I guess this time, I wanted to be able to see your face.” The space between them closes as Alex steps forward. Michael doesn’t come to meet him, but he doesn’t step back, either, which Alex takes as a good sign. 
“The last time I asked you what you wanted to talk about, you got the after-school special version of my childhood,” Michael says dryly, sauntering toward the lawn chairs sitting around the fire pit. “And then you told me Max, Iz, and I were on a government watchlist, and under suspicion of being serial killers. Should I start packing to run, this time?” He’s mostly kidding, Alex thinks, but there’s something in the depths of his eyes that says it would be easier for him to believe that someone else was coming after them than Alex wanting to commit. Alex supposes he deserves that, even if it stings. 
He joins Michael at the cold fire pit and sits, taking a moment to adjust the compression sock where it’s slipped and rubs against his skin. As usual, Michael doesn’t bat an eye at the sight of his prosthetic – he still can’t quite believe that the other man just took the loss of Alex’s leg in stride the way he did. Even when they were having sex, Michael didn’t ask any questions, or treat him any differently than he had before the amputation. That alone is enough to solidify Alex’s certainty that he needs to at least try to convince Michael to give him another chance.
“I don’t have any bad news this time, I swear.” Alex looks over at Michael and smiles nervously, taking a moment to catalogue every curl of his hair and lines on his face. If this goes sideways, he wants to remember Michael just like this when he leaves Roswell – relaxed and content, heathy and at least mostly happy, now that he and his family are safe. 
Michael gives him a moment before raising an expectant eyebrow. “There’s a shower calling my name, Manes, so if you want my attention you better start talking.” The teasing note in the other man’s voice is the same one that has crept in the last few weeks as they danced painstakingly around the giant pink elephant in the room, and Alex hates it. He hates the distance it puts between them, and everything it represents. 
“The last time I called you, I told you that I was in love with you,” he blurts, and immediately wishes he could take it back and dress up the declaration into something better than that bald, blunt truth.  “And I wanted to say it again, in person, because last time it got twisted into a goodbye, and I’m so fucking tired of saying goodbye to you, Guerin.”
Stunned incredulity blossoms over Michael’s face, and Alex sits stiffly in the ensuing silence, waiting for him to say something. He understands needing time to process, but Alex feels like he’s sitting on pins and needs as he waits. 
“What?”  When the response comes, it’s not at all what Alex wants. Michael looks genuinely confused by what he’s said, like he thinks he heard wrong or something ridiculous, and Alex wants to shake him, to say it over and over again until he understands. 
“I love you,” Alex repeats baldly, turning frustration to courage with sheer force of will. He pushes himself out of the flimsy lawn chair and skirts the fire pit, moving to Michael’s side and grabbing his hand to tug him up, out of the chair. To his relief, the other man doesn’t fight it, and stands directly in front of Alex, less than six inches of space separating them. They’re close enough that Alex can feel the heat wafting off of Michael’s body, and the scent of a man who’d spent a long day doing physical labor in the sun shouldn’t electrify his skin, but a shiver runs down Alex’s spine anyway. Sex has never been a problem for the two of them, and even now, Alex is pretty sure he’d want Michael in any form he came. 
“I’m in love with you,” he modifies, in case there was any doubt, and rushes on before Michael can tell him to stop or leave.  “I was sitting at home today trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life, now that I’m out of the military, and the only answer I could come up with was that I wanted to be with you. Everything else, I have no fucking clue. Do I go back to school? Do I get a job? How am I going to support myself? I don’t have any idea, but I know that I want to get old with you and make people uncomfortable with how sappy and in love we are in fifty years.” Alex can hear the hopeful longing in his own voice and hopes that Michael can, too, so he knows how serious he is, this time.
Michael opens his mouth to say something, but Alex puts a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “I know what you’re going to say. I’ve shown up like this before, and I’ve always gotten your hopes up and left, and I’ve hurt you so many times that you have absolutely no reason to trust me, but God, Guerin, I feel like I’ve been on pause for a decade of my life, waiting to finally feel like the person you deserve to be with. But I’m never going to be that person. This is who I am – but every part of me is in love with you, and I’m done running. Try one more time. Take a chance; I swear you won’t regret it. I –” 
Anything else Alex might have said is swallowed by Michael’s mouth on his. The movement is so quick Alex can barely track it; suddenly, there is a big, calloused hand at the back of his neck and another at the collar of his flannel, yanking him in. He almost overbalances on his bad leg – and shit, wouldn’t that just ruin the moment? – but Michael’s chest is there, warm and firm and supportive. And then, just like that, they’re kissing. 
Just like every other kiss they’ve shared since they were seventeen, this one is so intense that Alex goes from anxious to turned on in less than a moment. Every brush of Michael’s skin against his feels like static electricity, and he can feel himself flush under the attention. It’s soft, tentative and sweet for a fleeting moment as they get used to each other again, but it turns hard and bruising quickly, as both men lose their patience to pleasure. Alex would have been fine to end the conversation there. This is what he wanted – to touch Michael and be touched in return, to kiss him and hold him whenever he wanted, to know that when he needed him, Michael would be there, and vice versa. They’d been dancing around this for so long that now, standing on the cusp of it, Alex felt like he was diving off of a cliff … and he’d never been happier to be so fucking terrified. 
“You talk too much,” Michael rasps, when their screaming lungs force them to come up for air. Their foreheads are leaned together, sweaty and flushed, but Alex only cares that they’re still fused together. Half of him is afraid that if Michael lets go of him, the magic of the moment will wear off and Alex will find himself back at home, alone again. 
Alex tries to glare at him, but he’s fairly certain the expression is far too sappy to be considered angry. “Excuse me?” 
“You talk too much,” Michael repeats, unrepentant. “If you’d let me get a word in edgewise, we could’ve been kissing like ten minutes earlier, and we could be in bed already.” He nuzzles a kiss alongside Alex’s jaw, just the barest hint of lips against the sensitive skin, and Alex shudders. In return, he slips the fingers of one hand up into Michael’s curls, carding at the matted hair gently in the manner he knows will make the other man melt. To his delight, Michael pushes his head into the contact, urging him to continue. 
“Everything I said was important,” he tells Michael, trying to muster up some indignance – and giving in quickly. He’s too euphoric to feel anything but happiness, and he doesn’t wan to even try. “You have to know that I’m –
Michael huffs, and shakes his head, interrupting Alex’s explanation. “You still don’t get it,” he says, and there’s a fond exasperation in his eyes that makes Alex feel warm all over. “I told you a long time ago that I’d always be here when you needed me, Alex. That wasn’t bullshit. I’ve never given up on you. Even when I wanted to. So it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve walked away, as long as you’re walking back.” He drops a kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth, then wraps his arms around his waist and hugs him so tightly that Alex gasps a little at the impact. He clutches back just as tight, feeling a little light-headed. This is real. This is happening.
“So, that means –” 
“It means we’re gonna have to figure out where we buy matching old man rocking chairs,” Michael drawls, the fingers of his good hand soft as they slip beneath the hem of Alex’s shirt and rest against his bare back. “Because you’re stuck with me for at least the next hundred years.” He kisses him again, then, and Alex tastes the words he didn’t say on his tongue. 
I love you.
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almostviki · 6 years
Text
pursed
mmmmmm hello ya’ll. shit’s been wild. um this is 1-2 days late for this exchange (let’s see if this goes up after midnight or not) so I’m incredibly sorry to @swlotakulady34 34 on tumblr for the delay! anyway this is a shortened version of the original concept because i could not get the ending to work out the way i wanted it to so i just cut out the whole thing lmao. the editing’s a bit jank and i swear i’ll fix it later and also probably addd a sequel bc this is mad unfinished and weirdly enough, i feel like this doesn’t even actually answer ur prompt that well because i’m so bad at writing fluff but anyway here’s ur hurt/comfort fic i hope you like it and that everyone else does too!
Title: pursed
Genre: Angst (I really tried to make it fluffy but it wasn’t working out)
Word count: 3,184
Summary: The situation is this: Logan and Patton have been dating for two years and three months when they meet Virgil and Roman. Six months later, Patton asks Logan permission to date them, and Logan reluctantly agrees. Two months after that, the nightmares start again.
Or: Logan is insecure and bad at communicating his needs. 
Ao3 Link!
   Patton shoved his wallet and phone in his back pocket and bustled around the kitchen, searching for his keys.
   "I don't know if I'm going to stay the night," he said. "I'll text you later if it looks like I'm staying."
   "Alright." Logan was stirring soup in a pot, eyes fixed determinedly on the individual bubbles rising and popping, the surface of the water rising and falling as steam expanded, and tried to suppress the feeling of his own hot gas rising in his chest. This wasn't Patton's first time visiting Roman and Virgil's apartment. He went there with enough frequency that he had a small stash of his own clothes at their place, a fact which unsettled Logan in a way he didn't want to analyze. 
   "If I stay, I'll be back tomorrow morning, so we can go to lunch before your calculus class because isn't your test tomorrow?"
   "Yes. It's at eleven."
   "I'll be back by ten, then." Patton stopped rushing around in time to shoot Logan a reassuring smile. "You'll do great though. I know you will."
   Logan knew, too. If there was one class he wasn't worried about failing, it was mathematics. He returned Patton's smile with one of his own and turned off the heat on the pot.  
   "Don't worry if you're late," he said, taking in deep breaths to disguise the unsureness of the words. "I'll understand if you'd spend the morning with them."
   "No, I'll be on time. You're still important to me, Logan. I said we're having lunch together and we are." Patton sighed, running his hands through his hair.  "I don't get the feeling that you're comfortable with this. Do you need me here tonight? Maybe I shouldn't go."
   Logan was either very good at controlling his facial features or he had grown too tired to emote regardless, because he didn't think any of the truth of Patton's words showed on his face.  
   "You didn't manipulate my actions, Patton. I want you to go on this date because it would make you happy. As your boyfriend, it's part of my job to support you."
   "But I don't want you to think I'm not putting you first. I'm going to call them and cancel."
   Logan grabbed Patton's wrist before he could reach behind him to get his phone. "No, you won't. I'm not an egocentric child. I can handle having my boyfriend go on dates and I can handle spending the night alone. Don't alter your plans because of me."
   "Logan, I just-" Patton stopped mid-sentence, searching Logan's eyes for answers. "Are you sure you're okay?"
   "We're okay," Logan said, and if Patton noticed he didn't answer the question he didn't get the opportunity to pry. Logan turned Patton by the shoulders and pushed him in the direction of the door. "Enjoy yourself. Tell Virgil I said hello."
   "What about Roman?"
   "I have nothing to say to him."
   Patton cracked a smile and kissed Logan gently on the cheek. "Be nice. I love you. See you in the morning." He picked up his backpack from the door and was gone.
   Logan waited fifteen minutes for Patton to forget something and burst back into the apartment before releasing the breath he'd been holding. He wanted so badly to throw his mixing spoon across the room, to dump out the pot on the stove onto the tiled kitchen floor and let the broth spread over the kitchen like a violently expanding oil slick, to turn the burner back on and place his hands directly on top and wait until his skin was charred and his hands and head were finally numb to pain.  Logan hadn't been lying; he wanted Patton to go on dates with other people. He wanted Patton to be happy. He just hadn't known making Patton happy would hurt so bad, feel so isolating. The apartment had never felt emptier. There were still bubbles popping on the surface of the broth, but it felt colder than it had just moments ago. If he tasted it, Logan was sure it would be bland.  
   Dimly, Logan wondered what Patton was eating for dinner. Probably something sweet with Virgil's fingerprints on it. It made Logan want to throw up.
Logan and Patton met in freshman year, when both of their respective roommates dropped out and they were forced to room together second semester. Logan's previous roommate tended to keep to himself, and they mostly only exchanged greetings when coming or going. Patton was decidedly the opposite of that. He was a dance major, and somehow his four-hour practices never depleted his boundless supply of energy. Logan sometimes thought Patton managed to put extra hours into his day, because he was in a borderline excessive amount of clubs and weekend expos but still managed to keep up with his schoolwork and find time to laze around the dorm doing nothing. He was also too nice. He would go out for food and bring Logan something as well and then not let Logan pay him back.  
   "I just noticed you haven't left the room except to go to class," he said, holding out the bag. "Gotta keep your energy up if you want all that studying to mean anything."
   Logan bit back a question about how he could possibly know that when Patton himself had hardly set foot in their dorm since sunrise, but he accepted the food graciously and ate it all, just to please him. He pretends he doesn't notice how their fingers brush in the handoff, or how bright Patton's eyes look when Logan takes anything he gives him.
   Three weeks before the end of term, after a dozen more food runs and late nights, Patton set down Logan's coffee with a smile and turned to head to practice.
   "Hey, Patton," Logan said, unable to contain it anymore.  
   "Yeah?" Patton said, stopping midstep.
   "You know you don't have to buy me coffee, right? The coffee shop is down the street, and we also have a coffeemaker in our dorm, so it's a waste of money."
   "Yes, but the coffeemaker doesn't make it the way you like it," Patton pointed out. "So I take the liberty of getting you something you want."
   "But I never asked you to do that."
   "I want to," Patton said, uncharacteristically tired. "Don't you get it Logan? I want to do things for you."
   Logan didn't know how to handle to excessive emotion in Patton's voice, so he just swallowed and nodded, and Patton breathed out heavily and went to practice.  
   Four days later, Logan set a banana smoothie hesitantly on Patton's desk when he returned from his morning calculus class.
   "If we are expressing affection through the exchange of food," Logan said, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. "Then I would like to, um, reciprocate."
   Patton blinked up at him, but then his smile stretched so wide Logan worried he'd be blinded.  
   "Thank you, Logan," Patton said. He picked up the smoothie and took a sip.  
   They were good for two years before it all came crashing down.  
   "We need to talk," Patton said one day as they were eating dinner on the couch. He'd made spaghetti, which he only does on days he wants to eat with chopsticks, despite Logan telling him numerous times that these are "not that kind of noodle". Logan froze, then set his pasta down and turned to Patton.
   "Is something bothering you?"
   The look on Patton's face was one of apprehension, and even though Logan has seen Patton nervous over the smallest of things, this fear sits deeper in Logan's gut because it's him Patton is scared of. Logan feels dirty and guilty in equal measure.  
   "I have a crush on Virgil and Roman," Patton finally said
   Logan looked at him for a minute, processing the words over and over and still not able to find the correct meaning.  
   "What?"
   "I have for a while now." Patton didn't look at him; his eyes flit across his food, the TV remote, the door, anywhere but Logan's face. "I thought it would go away but...it didn't." He must've caught Logan's rapidly closing expression in the corner of his eye because he was quick to reassure. "I didn't act on it. I wouldn't do that to you. But I can't hide it anymore so...I just wanted you to know."    
   Logan blinked, feeling as if the piece of his brain that's supposed to tell him how to react to this has atrophied in his skull. "Are you polyamorous?"
   Patton shifted uncomfortably. "Can't say I've put a lot of thought into it. I've only been panicking about this for a week or two."
   "What were...what do you want to do about it?"
   Patton's hands dug into his sweater. "I won't do anything about it if you don't want me to."
   What a cop-out.
   Logan had met Roman and Virgil. He didn't dislike them, but he also didn't know them that well. They were Patton's friends, not his. Now he wished he'd gone out more with them, that he'd accepted Patton's invitations to see movies and get pizza, because maybe then he wouldn't have such a twisted, dark-faced image of both of them. His entire being trembled with a foreign and ugly emotion. Patton, for his part, didn't react. He waited, still and silent, for Logan to push back down his frightening emotions and take a deep breath.
   "Thank you for your honesty," he said, "but I need time." His voice sounded painfully formal with how tight it was but if he let a single shred of feeling into his voice he would self-destruct.
   "Of course," Patton said, nodding quickly. "Whatever you need." And it occurred to Logan that Patton thought he'd be angry, thought they might break up over this, but the thought of breaking up with Patton, of living without him, is too bizarre to even consider.  
   "I'm not upset," he said softly. "But this is a lot to process."
   "I understand." Patton matched his volume and tone. He always was a good energy-matcher, great at reading moods and adjusting his own behavior to complement Logan's. Not that this skill comes into play often; Logan made it a habit to always remain as neutral as possible.
   "I love you," Logan tried, and the soft smile Patton gave him evaporates some weight from his chest.  
   "I love you, too."
   And just like that, the decision was already made.
   Roman was loud and brash and stuck too stubbornly to unfounded opinions.  In the beginning it grated on Logan's nerves like nothing else. Logan tried to at least be cordial, to not make this harder than it had to be, but he didn't exactly know what the protocol is for interacting with the people your boyfriend is dating. Roman is taller and louder than Logan and has more arrogance in his pinkie finger than Logan has encountered in the sum total of his life. Patton was enamored by him. Roman's boyfriend, however, was a polar opposite. He was slightly shorter and ganglier than Roman, sometimes looking as if he was swimming in his hoodies and sweaters. He trailed behind Roman quietly most times, but when he had something to say, all he has to do is touch Roman's arm and he'd fall silent, giving Virgil his full attention. Their dynamic is tight, solid like the floors under Logan's feet or the walls around him, and just watching them together, feeding off each other in a perfect loop, made Logan feel immensely off-balance.  
   Logan's phone dinged with a text message from Patton, telling Logan he made it to Virgil and Roman's apartment safely. All the energy in Logan's body went towards sending an affirmative response. He dished out the soup he made for dinner and sat on the couch, letting the hot bowl warm his numb hands. He didn't want to eat, or study, or do anything. Most distinctly, he wanted to not feel like he's being abandoned for no good reason at all.  
   It was only six-thirty but he put his bowl in the fridge and went to bed.
   At midnight, he woke up with a scream on the edge of his lips, sheets damp with sweat. He wasn't crying or shaking or digging his nails into his skin, so it could be worse, all things considered. He can still hear the taunts in the corner of his mind, see the disappointed frown burned into his retinas. Patton's voice echoed in his ears, a mockery of his true tone, yet the words are incisions in Logan's skin, whispers of clingy, indecisive, possessive. It might've been five minutes before he found the strength to get up. It might've been an hour. Logan's grasp on time tends to get a little shaky at times like this.
   As quietly as he can, he stripped from his sweat-soaked clothes and showered, trying not to scrape his skin raw with the stress of his fingernails. and even though the water is scalding he still has gooseflesh on his arms. He didn't cry though. Patton has some kind of sixth sense for when Logan is crying and Logan definitely doesn't want Patton to find him now, definitely doesn't want Patton to ask him what's wrong with those honest eyes of his that make Logan feel guilty for having secrets. So he doesn't cry. He doesn't go back to sleep either. Instead, he walked to their small bookcase and took everything off of it and reorganized it. Up until that point, it was organized by color, but seeing the blocks of red and purple made him sick to his stomach. In the morning Patton would see it, and he'd know that Logan didn't get any sleep, but at right then Logan's biggest concern was quelling the stress building in his chest. He put them in alphabetical order, the correct order, he convinced himself, but then doubted himself and sorted them by date of publication. By the time the sun has risen, his hands had stopped shaking and his heart wasn't beating out of his chest anymore, but he felt as if he'd been awake for much longer than one night.
   He's no stranger to nightmares. He used to get night terrors all the time as a kid. He'd wake up screaming and crying, with no air in his lungs and fire crawling up his skin. He hardly remembered the dreams then but he remembered the unadulterated panic that followed, and his mother would grab him in her arms and soothe him softly until he wasn't shaking and his heart wasn't beating out of his chest.
   Over time the night terrors lessened into ordinary nightmares, which meant he didn't wake up screaming like he was dying, but on the downside, he remembered these dreams. Formless, plotless, sometimes just swatches of color on a blank background mixing and crashing themselves into a crime scene. When he was nine he woke up and vomited on the floor of his bedroom, hair practically standing on end. That was when his mother's patience ran out.
   "Clean up your mess," she said without emotion. "You really should get a handle on this, Logan. Whatever is troubling you, fix it."
   So Logan cleaned up his own vomit and threw his clothes in the wash and sat on his bed, afraid of going to sleep for fear of waking up again worse than before. He dragged himself out of bed and padded to the living room, where his parents kept a giant bookshelf that was mostly decorative, but the books on it were definitely real. He picked out a random book on sociology and started reading, even though he didn't understand over half of the words in it. As long as he was avoiding sleep, he might as well do something useful with his time.
   Nothing helped. Not village remedies of teas and meditation, not medicines, not simply staying awake until he thought he was too tired to dream. His psychiatrist told him at age thirteen that he was internalizing too many of his feelings and they were now manifesting in a negative light. Logan didn't see how that could be possible. How could he be internalizing feelings when his mother always said he didn't have any?
   Now in his dreams, his mother's pursed lips were replaced by Patton's narrowed eyes, her silent judgment overshadowed by Roman's biting tone and Virgil standing with his hood up, face hidden to shadows. Instead of birthdays, he fears disappointing math tests and home-cooked meals with no one at the table with him. The only thing that stays constant is a door that slams over and over again, a thousand times in his lifetime, and absence of countless figures followed by Patton walking out the door, leaving him and his smoothies behind, telling Logan that he'd always liked the other two better anyway.  
   His fingers itch to call Patton. Logan throws the phone across the room. He's not going to call Patton because Patton is staying the night at Virgil and Roman's apartment and Logan doesn't want to ruin that, and anyway if he calls Patton he'll probably wake up the others and then they'll be asking after him, their fake worry indiscernible to the naked eye from their truthful concern. If he calls Patton he'll be admitting that he's weak, that he can't handle himself, that even though he's twenty years old he still has night terrors that leave him too scared to move or think and then Patton will leave him because he's been wasting his time.
   Even worse: Patton won't be mad. He'll come home and wrap Logan up like his mom used to do before things went bad. Logan will tell him what he's scared of and Patton will reassure him that he's making things up, that he doesn't love Logan any less now that he's also dating two other people, And then Logan will cry, not because he's relieved but because he's nervous and biding his time for the escape. Because it took two years for him to realize how fragile everything is around him.
   He won't call Patton because whether his boyfriend picks up the phone or not shouldn't wreck him the way it will either way.
   Patton makes it home by 9:30 and finds Logan on the couch.
   "You look tired," he said, immediately concerned. "Did you even sleep?"
   "I've been up a while revising," Logan says, and Patton's lips form a thin line. They look just like they do in Logan's dreams.
   "Okay," Patton says, unconvinced. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?
   "Of course," Logan says, and crossed out another equation on his notes. "But I assure you I"m in perfect condition. How were Roman and Virgil?"
   Patton's eyes light up as he begins to talk, and Logan thinks of boiling soup, closes his eyes, and holds his tongue between his teeth with all the control he can muster.
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astralmaenad · 6 years
Note
Hello yes can I get a #9 from the kiss prompts with Yugi and Seth, with a side of #4 from the dialogue prompts if possible please?
Two things. Firstly, thank u so much for requesting these absolute thirst machines. Secondly, i hope i didn’t veer too fa off bc this scene has been on my mind and i wanted to get it out. I hope u enjoy it anyway!
9.one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other 4.
“I find that answer vague and unconvincing.”
—-
Lunge. Block. Spin. Back back back- shit!
“Argh!” Seth ducked, threw himself to the side and rolled. Sprung to his feet just in time to regain the offensive. “That all you can do?”
Mahaad laughed. The breathlessness in his voice did not translate in his moves. He backed up, spun to the side, slid away from Seth’s blade fluidly. “Big talk for someone who’s on the ground.”
“I’m no-” He didn’t get to finish the sentence, or see Mahaad spinning towards him. Seth felt the weightlessness of sailing mid-air, his blade flung from his grip. His back hit the ground, air knocked out of him and wrist throbbing in sympathy.
A shriek. “WHAT THE FUCK!!”
Braced on his elbows, lungs painful on every harsh draw of breath, Seth tilted his head back to regard their new company. Yuugi stood off to the side, hand pressed to his mouth to suppress a giggle. His friend Ryou was in a simmilar state next to him, and besides-
“Uuugh… You missed.” He told Mahaad. The thief let out another anquished shriek, kicking the fallen sword further awwy from him. Mahaad’s subsequent bout of laughter was so sharp it could cut, Seth thought, the rush of adrenaline and victory giving a wild edge to it. He tapped the flat of his blade against Seth’s shoulder.
He looked away from the affronted thief, up at Mahaad – come to stand above him, sword loosely resting in his left palm, victorious.
“Something to say?” Mahaad asked, cheeky grin in place. His bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat, whisps of hair escaping from the thick braid he had pulled it in for sparring.
“Fuck you.”
“Not with that attitude.” He winked. Seth scoffed at him.
“Babe?” Yuugi called, letting Mahaad make his escape. “You okay down there?” Seth flopped on his back and raised a single thumb in affirmation. “All body parts intact?” Yuugi asked again, an airy chuckle behind the words.
“Mm.” Seth offered, rolling to the side to brace himself on his less abused arm. All his limbs were heavy and every muscle burned with exertion. “All the important ones,” he allowed, winking. Yuugi returned the grin, chewing on his lip before hopping off the porch to offer a hand. Seth caught him by the wrist, felt Yuugi’s other hand join the first in a steady grip and let himself be hauled up. He mis-calculated, mindful as he was not to let Yuugi bear his full weight, coming to a stop just shy of tipping over his smaller lover.
“Hi,” Yuugi offered, making no effort to step back. Unphazed by the sweat, he poked Seth’s stomach with a finger, just above the navel. “I find that answer vague and unconvincing.”
Mahaad reappeared, sticking a cool water bottle on Seth’s bicep. “Oh yeah?” Seth asked, pausing to take a hearty swig. From the corner of his eye he caught Yuugi’s eyes following a thin trickle of liquid that escaped in his haste, past his jaw and down the column of his throat to pool on the jut of his collar bone. Amused, Seth asked “What can I do to convince you, then?”
Yuugi swallowed, his apple bobbing with it and violet gaze fixed on his neck. “Mmm what?” A small hand drew a trail down the middle of Seth’s belly, following the dip of his abs. Yuugi absently toyed with the elaborate jewel on his belly button, caught between thumb and forefinger.
“Perhaps…” Seth tapped his chin to catch his attention, held his eye as he leaned down. “A demonstration?”
“Oh?” Yuugi’s hand opted for his wrist, effectively keeping his hand in place. “What do you propose?”
A feline grin tugged at Seth’s mouth, mirrored by Yuugi’s in faux-innocence. He leaned down the rest of the way, his free hand catching Yuugi by the waist as he rose on his toes to even the distance and meet him in a quick but firm press of lips.
They parted, but without stepping away from one another. “I don’t know,” Yuugi said, his small hand on Seth’s cheek, his fingers tucking stray hair behind his ear. “I’m unsure if I’m convinced.” He looked at Seth, a playful sparkle in his eyes that was all too familiar.
Two could play at this game. “In that case, allow me…” His hand dipped from Yuugi’s waist to the back of his thigh, bending his knees to get a good grip on his smaller lover and hoist him up in his arms. Yuugi followed with a gasp of surprise and practiced ease, his legs locking around Seth’s waist, thighs hugging Seth’s hips and his slim upper body snug against Seth’s chest. Yuugi caught his face with both hands and fit their lips together with no breath to spare, languid and warm, poking his tongue in Seth’s mouth in a brief, teasing invitation to play.
Seth spared a hand to flip off the thief – who was very loudly booing in every language he spoke – and accepted the challenge. His fingers bit into Yuugi’s thigh and he felt Yuugi squeeze his legs around his waist in return, tiny teeth catching on Seth’s bottom lip and tugging.
“Why don’t I take Bakura and meet you downtown?” Ryou asked the moment they came up for air.
Yuugi tilted his head, forehead lightly knocking into Seth’s. “Thanks babe, you’re a charm,” he told Ryou.
Ryou laughed and waved at Seth before turning to go. “Of course. Don’t go too crazy, daylight’s wasting!”
“Unbelievable,” the thief grumbled, loudly complaining about the drive even while being insistendly herded back through the hall.
“Love you!!” Yuugi shouted at Ryou’s back, returning his attention to Seth with the smile of a cat who got the cream. He linked his hands behind Seth’s neck, placing a butterfly kiss on his nose, then his lips, followed by a nibble. “Think you can carry me upstairs, tiger?”
“Any day,” Seth agreed, catching Yuugi’s mouth in another bruising kiss for the road.
—-
Note: Yuugi calls Ryou “babe” and nobody bats an eye. That’s just canon. qpp heartship anyone?
💕Send me more kiss prompts?💕
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intimatevoid · 6 years
Text
the delirium was fun
written while getting progressively drunk with @littledonkeyburrito
1) How many bank accounts do you have? 3.
2) Have you ever been in an ambulance?
Only once, I was in a car crash and was unharmed, but I still had to sit in one while I answered some questions for the paramedics. 3) Do you remember your first time on the internet? No, but I do remember that when we first got internet, I spent all my computer time going to lego.com :D 4) Have you ever had the flu? I had the flu this year and it sucked so much arse. Ash ended up taking me to the hospital at like 1am. The delirium was fun. :D 5) Would you ever consider going on a cruise? Yeah, I have considered it before.
6) Do you ever drink alcohol? well there was this one time that was now
7) Have you ever had a terrible hangover? Actually, I have had maybe one or two hangovers in my entire life. I don’t get ‘em often. 8) How old were your parents when they had you? I think they were in their mid-20s? I have no idea how old my parents are lmao
9) Is there a big age difference between you and the person you like? Actually my partner is exactly ten years older than me. And the person I lost my virginity to is fifteen years older.
10) Do you try to spend a lot of time with family? Pffthahahaha, no. My bio family and I aren’t on great terms. But that said, I’ve slowly built up a little fambly of my own, and I try to spend as much time with them as possible.
11) What would you say is your favorite genre of music? Electronica, metal, chiptune, and orchestral/soundtrack.
12) Are you good at giving advice to people? I have been told by some that I am good at the advice thing, just once or twice.
13) What is your goal for the next few months? To move house in April, and also to save up for my Sydney trip in May~
14) Do you think you have a good sense of style? On paper, I have a great sense of style. In reality I just can’t afford to look like how I want to XD
15) What is your star sign/zodiac sign/whatever? Aquarius. 16) Does your personality match the characteristics of your sign? I am actually a scarily accurate match to my sign. I don’t even believe in zodiac stuff, I just match it really closely. 17) Would you rather be on a nude beach or at a concert? I would definitely rather be at a concert. Public nudity could be a death sentence for me lmao 18) Have you ever been caught passing notes in class? No, I didn’t have any friends to pass notes to, BUT this does remind me of an interesting story about class subterfuge! Once in year 12 English, I was wearing my spray jacket, and had run an earbud up under it, past my neck, to my ear. I sat next to a wall so nobody could see. However, the guy sitting behind me saw it in my ear, and he was a massive dickhead, so he tried to dob me in to the teacher. 
Just in time, I flicked the earbud out of my ear and dropped it into my collar, out of sight. The English teacher (who loved me and did not like the idiot behind me) asked if this was true, and I turned my head to show that there was nothing in my ear. He insisted that he saw something, and I said maybe he saw a fly or something. He started yelling about it and the teacher sent him out of the classroom. I got away with it, nobody ever suspected me.
A little unjust, perhaps, but he was an asshole who constantly disrupted class and I don’t regret anything.
19) What is your New Year’s resolution? My New Year’s resolution is always the same: to be the kind of person my younger self would be both intimidated and a little bit turned on by. 20) Do you know anyone who suffers from depression? Do I know anyone who doesn’t? 21) Would you rather be 13 years old or 30 years old? 30. It’s closer to death, that’s an obvious benefit. 22) Here’s a personal one. How many times do you pee a day? I don’t keep track, you perv 23) Have you ever had your significant other fall asleep on you? Actually, Ash almost never falls asleep on me. But it’s so nice when they do. 24) Name me a random word that starts with ‘O’. Opulence.
25) Which berry is your favorite? Watermelons and avocados.
26) Have you ever tried to learn a foreign language?
Yus! Japanese and French so far.
Maddie’s trying to pressure me into learning Spanish too lmao
27) Which baby animal is your favorite? Literally any of them tbh :D Whether they’re in my lap or on my plate, I don’t mind. 28) What was the scent of the last candle you burned? The last candle I burned was a scent-neutralising deodorant candle, because I had gastro and couldn’t stop farting :D 29) Are there any plants in your home? I have two beautiful moon cacti named Snuggles and Smooches. 30) If you could have a small garden in your backyard, what would you plant? WEED
Vegetables! I miss having homegrown food, hopefully I’ll be able to grow some at my new place ;w; 31) What pets have you had while growing up? My family has had few dogs and a few cats and even a bird, but the only pet that was actually mine was a big ginger tom. Such a beautiful kitty. I named him Sovereign because he thought he was the king of everything. 32) What type of museum would you like to go to? I like lots of different types of museums! Natural history, science, art, you name it. 33) Have you ever been to the circus? Literally never. Though I kinda hate the concept of circuses. So much potential for animal abuse. 34) What are some of your favourite scents? The ones that add up to dollars! :D
Forreal tho, I love the smell of my Lush vanilla body wash.
35) What branch of science interests you the most? Oooh where do I START. I love chemistry a lot, and that filters down to biology and psychology. But I also fucking love physics, and would even be good at it if I was any good at math.
36) Are you one of those lucky people to own a walk-in closet You can walk into any closet if you try hard enough.
37) Can you play electric guitar?
A little! I have more experience with acoustic but electric is more fun.
38) When was the last time you drank something through a straw?
About six hours ago.
39) Are you a fan of industrial metal?
What, like mild steel?
(lol jk i do)
40) Can you handle the cold?
I desire the cold more than anything. Or at least the Australian version of cold, which is really just “slightly below boiling”.
41) Have you ever been to Canada?
Not yet!
42) How old is the person you last kissed?
35~
43) Have you ever tried to balance the light switch between off and on?
Everyone has been ten years old, so yes~
44) Are your feet touching the floor?
Nope. My desk has a bar running underneath it and my feet are propped up on that.
45) Are you one of those people who keep their feelings bottled up? Literally never. I am not just emotional, but I also prompt other people to release theirs. 46) Is one of your friends extremely odd but you love them regardless? Who wants to be friends with NON-odd people? Odd is interesting. Normal is boring.
47) Do you have any piercings besides your earlobes? 13, but I’ve had 22 total.
48) How many push-ups can you do? *shrugs* idk, i used to be able to do heaps bc it was part of my roller derby trailing but now I’m so unfit
49) When was the last time you wore a button up shirt? Literally today~
50) Do you own any striped sweaters? Alas, I do not D:
51) Write the first person you think of whose name begins with T? Tanya Dobson, a dear friend of mine. 52) When was the last time you got a haircut? Just about a couple of weeks ago! Not a proper haircut, just getting my undercut reshaved.
53) How old were you when you had your first crush? I don’t remember how old I was -- probably preteen -- but it was Lt. Helga Sinclair from Atlantis: The Lost Empire.
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