#Could just be me waxing poetic but hey; that never hurt anyone. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theweasleysredhair · 4 years ago

Text

I Wanna Be Yours [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 6025

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Love is complicated. Especially when the boy you love likes someone else. Or does he? [Based on the film Some Kind of Wonderful].

WARNING: brief mentions of alcohol and drinking

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @firewhisky-kisses @obsessedwithrandomthings @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @user12345321 @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whizbangs-78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @andineversawyoucoming | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: i am again naming my fics after arctic monkeys’ songs - fun fact this one is named after my favourite one of theirs, i’m considering having it for my wedding song bc it cute af

also yes i watched some kind of wonderful whilst writing this and cried. it’s not even a sad fic, i’m just emotional smh

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“I know. I know, Freddie,” you replied, your voice quiet as you pressed your lips together, reaching out to grab his hands in yours, “It’s okay. It is, really. I just... I need to be alone.”

“But I- I just... it’s his loss, just so you know!” He pleaded, shaking his head at you, and swore under his breath at the sight of one of his closest friends in tears over his brother, “Merlin, he shouldn’t have given that to her- I shouldn’t have said anything-“

And that’s where your problem had started. Because a few weeks ago, you were, as you claimed, fine. Well, you had a few essays due and were having trouble finding the textbooks to help you write them, but that was all really.

How you wished you could steal a time turner and go back in time.

And yes, when this all started you knew that George had his heart taken by someone else. It’s not his fault, not really, that his whole plan, scheme, escapade turned into something that would completely crush your heart.

Affairs of the heart. That’s where this started. Because before a few days ago, you were unaware of your own feelings. Before a few days ago, you were unaware of any feelings towards him at all.

But that fateful moment - the one where you were sat with George in front of the fireplace, a half-drank bottle of firewhisky sitting between you, laughing and joking - was the one that changed everything.

You hadn’t even realised yourself, until Fred pointed it out to you the morning after, when he’d found you curled up by George’s side, empty firewhisky bottle laying on the floor in front of the couch, George’s arm around your waist, your face buried into his chest.

In Fred’s defence, he thought you knew. He thought you’d be aware of your own feelings.

How was he supposed to know that you didn’t know you were in love with his twin?

_________~*~_________

“This is the year I reckon,” George announced to you as he collapsed onto the sofa beside you, throwing his legs over your thighs as he rested his back against the arm of the couch, his arms resting behind his neck, “She’s finally single, first time since second year. Now’s my chance!”

You popped a Bertie’s Every Flavour Bean into your mouth and closed the book you weren’t really paying attention to, before dropping it on the table in front of the couch, “And how long have you liked her again?”

George blinked at the way you raised an eyebrow at him and sat up a little, “Since I found out she was single again.” At your pointed look, he shot you a grin, “Nah, since before the summer. Point is, I reckon I could really like this girl.”

“Poor love, having you snivelling around her all the time. I wonder how she’ll cope,” you grinned back, throwing one of the jelly beans at his head.

“Well you seem to cope just fine,” he retorted, batting another jelly bean away from his head.

“That’s just because I’m desensitised to you by now.”

“Is that so?” George asked with a raised eyebrow, a grin etched onto his face as he sat up properly, leaning a little closer to you. You turned your head to face him, meeting his stare as you nodded, “Course, how else would I have put up with you so long?”

He leant further forward and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, “Willingly, because you love me, stupid.”

You nudged him, making him laugh as he went back to lying down comfortably, “Yeah, yeah.”

You watched a few first years clamber through the portrait hole, laughing to each other as they made their way through the common room, an absent-minded smile gracing your lips as you recalled being the same in your first year with your friends.

“How do you reckon I should ask her out?” George’s voice brought you away from your reminiscing as you looked over at him, “She deserves something amazing, something no other guy will have thought of for her.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing this would be the topic of conversation for the rest of the evening, but nevertheless gestured for him to continue on. “I wanna go all out if she’s gonna turn out to be everything I’ve ever wanted in a girl,” George finished, a dreamy, faraway look crossing his features.

Reaching into the box of jelly beans, you grabbed a handful and threw them at him, ignoring his indignant “hey!” as you replied pointedly, “Don’t go mistaking paradise for a pair of long legs.”

Because truthfully, that was why a lot of guys were interested in Kiara. She was smart - being a Ravenclaw and all - surprisingly funny, and, as far as you knew, was really kind too. Not that this mattered to many of the boys in your year (and the years above and below), apparently, because she was also beautiful, with long, glossy brown hair, perfect doll-like features and, yes, long, lean legs.

“That’s not why I like her,” George insisted, grabbing one of the jelly beans that had fallen onto his lap and throwing it back at you, laughing as it hit you on the forehead. You playfully glared at him, rubbing your forehead in mock-hurt.

“Sure it’s not, stupid,” you replied, using his minor insult from before. “Ohhh, I’m the stupid one now, am I?” He scoffed, though the smile on his face told you he wasn’t offended in the slightest, “Now you’re in for it.”

He moved his legs off you and poked your sides, knowing you were ticklish, making you laugh out and push him away, “George, stop!”

“Take it back then, love. Say I’m the smartest wizard you know,” he grinned, continuing his minor tickling assault, making you move away from him so abruptly that you fell off the couch and onto the carpeted floor, bringing him down on top of you.

“Ouch- never! You are stupid, stupid!” You laughed, laying on the floor as you tried to catch your breath, George’s hands either side of your head, holding his weight up above you.

Both of your laughter faded a little and you found yourself staring into his brown eyes, his face barely centimetres from your own. You could have almost sworn that he started moving closer - though maybe it was your imagination - before he rolled away and lay beside you on the floor, his hand brushing yours.

“You’ll help me right?” He asked after a moment. You turned your head to look at him, taking in his side profile as he stared up at the ceiling.

“I’ll help you what?”

“Get a date with her,” he said as if it were obvious, turning his head to meet your gaze. You shot him a smile, “You’re George Weasley. You could get a date with anyone you wanted.”

“Just not you, right?” He turned onto his side, resting on his elbow as he looked down at you. You shook your head with a laugh, “Yeah well, I don’t count. I’m not just anyone.”

The smile he gave you made your heart beat a little faster, “You’re right about that.”

***

“All I’m saying is, is it such a bad idea if you just, I don’t know, asked her out simply? By using words? I really don’t think you need to wax poetic, or write her a bloody song to ask her out,” you shook your head in despair at the nerve-wracked boy sat across from you in the Great Hall.

“I can’t just ask her out,” George replied in a horrified voice, “What if she thinks I’ve not put enough effort into it and rejects me?”

“Trust me, Georgie, if she’s going to reject you, it won’t be because of the way you asked her out, I can guarantee that. It’ll be because you’re annoying, or because you smell, or, and I can’t stress this enough, because of your below-average skills in potions,” you laughed at his unimpressed look, taking the opportunity to grab a slice of toast off his plate.

“You’re supposed to be my best friend, you know,” he grumbled, waving his fork at you. “Yes,” you replied, “And as your best friend, I say to just ask her out. Look, joking aside, you’re a great guy, George. She’d be lucky to have you.”

He nodded, smiling gratefully at you as he reached forward and grabbed your hand to give it a squeeze, “Okay, I’ll trust you on this one. I’ll just... ask her out. How difficult could it be?”

Turns out, extremely difficult. You felt second hand embarrassment as you watched George head over to the Ravenclaw table, to where Kiara was sitting, wincing as he nearly dropped a goblet of pumpkin juice over her.

“Who’re you watching?” A voice said from beside you, making you jump. Fred laughed as you rolled your eyes at him, before replying, “For your information, I’m watching your brother ask Kiara on a date.”

“Wait, he’s asking another girl on a date?” Fred frowned, his eyes darting from George, who was currently speaking to Kiara, his cheeks reddening as she touched his shoulder and laughed, to your confused expression as you looked up at the older twin. “Yes?” You replied, bemused, “Why?”

“Does it not... bother you?” He asked gently. You laughed, “Why would it?”

And as you watched Kiara throw her arms around George’s neck, his hands coming to hold her waist, you swallowed thickly, before shaking your head at the odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Why would it bother you?

You forced a smile onto your face as George made his way back to his original seat, a smug grin adorning his features. “Well?” You asked, rather redundantly as you had seen the whole thing yourself.

“She said yes,” he replied excitedly, picking up his fork and popping some bacon into his mouth. “I told you!” You grinned at him, though you pushed your own plate away, no longer hungry.

“Attaboy, Georgie!” Fred congratulated his twin, “When’s the date?”

“This Saturday, at The Three Broomsticks,” the younger twin replied. You zoned out of the chatter on the table about this newest revelation, feeling your heart plummet at George’s words, though you couldn’t place your finger on why.

George was your best friend, you should be happy for him... right?

***

Saturday arrived quicker than you wanted, after a week of tedious lessons, and a bombardment of questions over what George should do on his date.

You watched him pull out two different jumpers, holding each one up at a time and looking at you expectedly. Tilting your head to the side, you pointed to the red one, “Was always my favourite one.”

“Red it is,” he nodded, throwing the other jumper onto his bed as he held the red jumper out to you for you to hold. Without warning, he pulled the t shirt he was currently wearing off, leaving his toned torso on show as he dropped said t shirt onto the floor and held his hand out for the jumper.

You handed it to him, gulping a little as you forced yourself not to stare at his abs. It was no secret the George was good looking - you’d always known it - but knowing and seeing were two different things. Being a Beater had done tremendous things to his body, you noted.

“Do you reckon I should bring her flowers?” George asked you, looking at you through the reflection of his mirror as he messed his hair up a little.

“Couldn’t hurt,” you shrugged, sending him a half-hearted smile as you grabbed your wand, muttering ‘orchideous’ and handing him the bouquet that was produced.

He thanked you, before taking a deep breath, “Well, what do you reckon?”

The smile that spread across your face this time was genuine, a soft look in your eye as you replied, “You look great, Georgie. Now go get her!”

He shot you one last grin, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before heading out of his dorm, leaving you alone. You picked up the t shirt he’d dropped, folding it and placing it at the end of his bed, before grabbing the jumper he’d discarded.

You took a breath before deciding to put the jumper on, relishing in the smell of George’s aftershave as you pulled it over your head, before rolling up the sleeves and heading out of the dorm.

***

“How many dates has it been now, three? Four?” You asked, wrapping your coat further around yourself as you trudged through the thick snow of Hogsmeade, passing by a couple of cute shops.

“The Yule Ball will be the fifth.”

You froze at the mention of the Ball. Somehow you’d assumed you’d be going with George - you didn’t even think about the fact that he’d have a girlfriend he could take, “Oh! So you um, asked Kiara to the Ball then?”

“Last night,” George bit his lip as he smiled, “Can’t wait!”

Your stomach clenched and mind raced, eyebrows furrowing as you realised you now had just under a week and half to find a date to the Ball - if anyone was still available, that was. You thought about every single eligible boy you knew of, wondering if you had the courage to even ask any of them, before you were pulled from your thoughts by George’s voice.

“I wanna buy her something for Christmas, what do you reckon?” George asked, picking at a strand coming off his woollen hat before placing it back onto his head.

“I don’t really know the girl,” you said truthfully, forcing yourself to stop thinking about George and Kiara dancing and him holding her all night, “I assume you’d have better judgment.”

He nodded over to a small shop on your left, one that you’d passed by many times but never had the chance to look in.

“The jewellery shop?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. He grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the door, “Let’s just have a look, yeah?”

The bell chimed as you stepped inside and you instantly became enamoured with the little shop, rows of glass cases showing off sparkly pieces of jewellery and adornments. Most, you noticed quickly, were much too expensive for you - and by default, much too expensive for George, too.

“Are you sure about something from in here?” You asked, staring down at a ring adorned with sapphires, “These are pretty pricey.”

“They might be, but she deserves it. Besides, gotta prove I’m better than all the guys that want to date her, right?” George replied from across the shop.

“Georgie,” you looked over at him with a pointed look, “I can promise you are better than all the other guys.”

“No harm in making sure.”

You gave up arguing, knowing he wouldn’t listen anyway, your eyes taking in the beautiful products, before your focus was taken by a rather stunning necklace. Stepping over to it for a closer look, you breathed out in shock at the price, but nevertheless knew you were in love with the chain, a little pendant surrounded by crystals displayed at the centre.

“What’ve you seen?” George spoke, suddenly standing behind you and leaning over your shoulder.

You pointed at the necklace, “Someday, I’m gonna buy that one.”

George glanced down at the look on your face and grinned to himself, “Someday, I’ll buy that one for you.” You turned to look at him, shaking your head in amusement, “You need to choose something for your girlfriend before you start promising me presents.”

“What’s the fun in that?” George laughed as you both left the shop.

You sat beside George on the couch later that night, resting your head on his shoulder as you shared a bottle of firewhisky between you.

“It was not!” You screeched, your laugh echoing through the empty common room as you nudged the ginger boy, making him laugh along with you. “It absolutely was,” he insisted, grinning before taking a sip of the firewhisky, taking in the sight of you looking so happy, and realising your laugh was one of his favourite sounds, “You were the one who wanted to sneak food from the kitchens, so it was your fault we got caught!”

You shook your head, “It was you tripping into that metal armour. All that noise when the bloody head fell off.”

“You pushed me, stupid!” George scolded indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a child.

“I shoved you,” you corrected, laughing as George playfully nudged you, causing you to nudge him back, and soon you were play fighting on the couch.

He, once again, was above you, almost pinning you to the couch as he looked down at you, and it was only then that you realised just how inebriated you both were, the empty firewhisky bottle having fallen onto the floor.

George’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, “You know I love you, right?”

You smiled softly up at him, arms around his neck as you nodded, somehow feeling like those words had more weight to them than usual. Leaning up to kiss his cheek, you replied, “Of course, Georgie.”

Morning arrived quickly, much to your dismay, and you were woken abruptly by the sound of heavy footsteps stomping down the stairs. You couldn’t bring yourself to move to see who it was, too comfortable with your head resting on George’s chest, his arm securely around your waist, but luckily for you, said culprit of the noise came right by your line of sight, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Well what do we have here?” Fred cooed, rocking back and forth as he looked at you curled up in his twin’s arms. “Me and George falling asleep after drinking maybe a tad too much?” You replied as if it were obvious.

“You look awfully cosy,” he grinned, “But then, I suppose I would too if I was cuddling someone I was in love with.”

You felt like your heart stopped and you nearly choked on air, “Wait wait wait, someone I what?!”

“‘Someone I was in love with’?” Fred repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes at you, “You do know... right?”

At your blank expression, Fred raised an eyebrow, “You do know you’re in love with George... right?”

“I’m not in love with-“ You paused as you thought back over the years of your friendship. You’d never really thought about it before - never really had to. But you treated George differently to any other friend you had. No one could make you laugh like he could, or make you feel as protected and safe as he did. And no one ever made you feel like you were flying, like he did.

“Oh Godric... I’m in love with George!” You whisper-shouted, a hand coming to cover your mouth as the realisation dawned on you.

Fred nodded, “I didn’t know that you didn’t know.”

“That’s why you asked me if it bothered me when he asked out Kiara, isn’t it?” You suddenly realised, gulping harshly.

Fred nodded again, though a tad more hesitantly than before, “Hey, but listen- I really think he feels the same, if it makes you feel any better! He just doesn’t know it either.”

You moved out of George’s grasp and stood up, pressing your lips together as you looked at Fred, “He’s got a girlfriend, who he’s taking to the Yule Ball and who he adores and they’re probably gonna get married and have kids and I’m going to be alone forever!”

“Hey, that’s not- that won’t happen,” Fred replied, his gaze softening as he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and stroking your back comfortingly.

“He loves you, I know it. And he knows it too. He just doesn’t know that he knows it.”

***

Ever since your realisation in the early morning, you’d tried your best to act normal around George. It wasn’t easy, and you felt that maybe you were being a little more distant than usual, however you quickly pushed that thought aside as you noticed George being equally - if not more - distant, sitting at the end of the table beside Fred, Kiara on his other side as he whispered things in her ear, making her laugh.

You felt a pang of hurt, one that got worse the longer you stared at them, watching as they kissed, as George stared at her lovingly, as he pushed her long, brown, stupidly perfect hair behind her ear and making her blush.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table, you made yourself look away, instead immersing yourself in the conversation Ron and Harry were having about the Yule Ball.

“This is mad, at this rate we’ll be the only ones in our year without dates!” Ron hissed at Harry as you were all sat in the Great Hall, supposedly studying. You hid a laugh as Snape walked past and pushed his head.

“Well, us and Neville,” he continued with a small laugh. Harry leant over to him, “Yeah but then again, he can take himself.”

“It might interest you to know that Neville has already got someone,” Hermione interrupted their laughing with a frown.

Ron sighed, catching your gaze as you laughed at him - which made him sigh again, “Now I’m really depressed.”

You observed from the other side of the table as Fred threw a piece of parchment over to his younger brother, winking at you when he noticed you watching, as Ron frowned at the words on the page.

Ron handed the parchment back, glancing around to avoid Snape and whispered, “Who are you going with then?”

Fred grabbed the parchment and crumpled it up into a ball, before throwing it at you, the paper bouncing off your shoulder. You looked down at the paper, before meeting Fred’s gaze with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned at you, before miming the Ball, nodding over at you. You rolled your eyes, glancing round for Snape before throwing the parchment back at him, hitting him square in the face and causing half the table to hid their faces as they laughed.

“Well?” He asked, seemingly unfazed by the parchment that was now resting at his feet.

“Yeah, go on then, I suppose,” you whispered, shaking your head at him as he winked at Ron. When all the attention went back to school work, you caught Fred’s gaze again and smiled thankfully.

He saluted playfully, making you laugh, neither one of you noticing George’s frown and clenched fists beside him.

***

You hadn’t seen much of George since Fred had asked you to the Ball, him being too busy spending practically all of his time with Kiara.

It hurt, you had to admit, that he was constantly choosing her over you. Though you assumed it was only natural, what with Kiara being his first proper girlfriend.

Didn’t mean it hurt any less. And the fact you were so used to having George to yourself didn’t help - sometimes turning to ask him something, and then realising he’s not there.

He’d moved seats in class to sit by Kiara, meaning in some classes you were sat with whoever happened to be her previous partner, which therefore meant you were forced to watch as the boy you loved flirted with another girl, his hands constantly on her waist, sneaking kisses when the professor wasn’t looking, and, more often than not, simply not even acknowledging your existence, not even saying a simple ‘hello’.

In other classes you were sat by Fred, who, by all accounts, was actually a pretty good partner, being able to make you laugh and distract you from the show that tore your heart every time you saw it.

In fact, Fred had pretty much mastered exactly how to make you laugh until you cried, his aim in most lessons now, as he hated how sad you were because of his twin.

You were both giggling in the back of the classroom at something he’d said when McGonagall had pointed it out, asking you both to “Please quieten down.”

You bit your lip to muffle your laughing as Fred looked down at you, just happy he could make his friend smile when he knew how much you were hurting.

Much to the dislike of a certain redhead towards the front of the room, who immediately frowned every time he heard your laugh, knowing he wasn’t the one causing it, but his older twin.

His twin who was taking you to the Yule Ball.

George clenched his jaw as he heard you whispering something to Fred, barely being able to focus on anything else.

He knew you and Fred were friends, but since when were you both that close?

***

By the time the Yule Ball arrived, you and George were barely speaking at all. You’d cried about it more times than you’d like to admit, but you had decided that tonight, at the Ball, you would make it a night to remember, not wanting to mope and ruin Fred’s night since he had asked you pretty much as a favour - despite the amount of times he’d insisted he wanted to ask you, you knew he fancied Angelina Johnson, and had things played out differently, you were sure she’d have been the one he’d thrown the parchment at in the hall that day, not you.

Either way, when you’d made your way down the steps to the Great Hall, your dress swirling around you, hair and makeup perfect, Fred made a huge deal of wolf-whistling and complimenting you.

“Well aren’t you bloody gorgeous,” he grinned, taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss the back of it, “I am one lucky guy.”

“You clean up pretty good too, Weasley,” you grinned, reaching up to straighten out his tie.

George scowled as he watched you with Fred, hating you being in such proximity to his brother, hands clenching and knuckles turning white as he watched Fred kiss the back of your hand. He had to force himself not to run over and shove Fred’s hands away from your waist, as he guided you off to the Hall. He was so distracted by firstly how stunning you looked, and secondly by how forward his brother was being, that he barely even noticed when Kiara had arrived by his side, until she nudged him a little and he forced out a smile.

He complimented the brunette girl, guiding her into the Hall as his hand reached into his pocket, brushing over a box to make sure it was still there.

Fred had been the perfect date all evening. He was a gentlemen - besides the occasional flirty comment - and insisted on staying by your side and dancing, even when you tried to usher him to ask Angelina to dance.

He was just about to give into your insistence with a laugh, when he noticed your expression changed as your attention was taken from him to whatever was going on behind him.

He cursed under his breath as he watched George hold out a small black box to Kiara, who had a huge smile on her face as she took the lid off. She pulled out a necklace, bringing George into a hug immediately, pressing kisses to his face.

Fred stood in front of your view of them, taking your hands in his, “Y/n... I’m sorry. He’s an idiot- he doesn’t know he’s got such a good thing, and wouldn’t know it if you punched him in the face - which, for the record, I think you should do.”

You wiped a stray tear from your eye, forcing yourself not to cry, “He gave her the necklace.”

“I know. I know, but he-“

“No Fred,” you interrupted gently, “He gave her the necklace. That necklace is one I saw when we were in Hogsmeade, and I said I wanted it. He-He even said he’d buy it for me one day! Not that I’d let him but- He bought it for her.”

Fred’s gaze softened, his heart breaking at the sight of your sad face, wrapping his arms around you and swaying a little to the music absent-mindedly.

“I’m sorry,” Fred whispered in your ear. You nodded, leaning against his shoulder, “Not your fault your brother is stupid.”

The song that was playing ended, and Fred grabbed your hand, leading you over to the table where the food and drinks were, pouring you a glass and offering it out to you. You took it gratefully, thanking him before taking a sip.

“Didn’t know you two were that close,” a voice came from behind you. A voice you knew well, one you could pick out anywhere. Fred reached out to squeeze your hand reassuringly, as you placed your glass down, nodding at him before turning around.

“Fred and I have always been good friends. I do have friends, other than you, you know. Which is a good job, considering you’ve been so distant with me,” you replied, focusing on keeping your voice level, rather than on the fact that he’d just given your necklace to his girlfriend.

George felt himself get angry as he noticed yours and Fred’s intertwined hands, swallowing harshly and shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“You know I’ve been trying to impress Kiara, being in a relationship takes up time. Not that you’d know, but I thought you’d understand. Didn’t think you’d replace me that quickly,” George retaliated in the midst of his anger, only being able to focus on you and Fred, and how close you were.

“Replaced you?” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “You barely even say hello to me! So yes, I turned to a friend so I wasn’t alone. You’re the one who replaced me! And you gave her the necklace, George. The necklace you knew I wanted. You gave it to her.”

Not waiting for a response, you shot an apologetic glance towards Fred before rushing out of the Hall, suddenly needing some fresh air.

“Look what you did now!” Fred almost growled, before storming out after you, in an attempt to find you.

George took a shaky breath, cursing as he watched the two most important people to him leave.

“George?” A soft voice spoke from beside him.

“Kiara?”

The brunette girl smiled, pressing her lips together as she looked at the ginger, “I um... I think we should break up.”

George frowned, though he was surprised to find he didn’t feel too badly about what she’d said.

The girl held out a black box and placed it into George’s hands, “This should be hers. It’s more her style than mine, I think you know that too.”

The redhead hesitated, unsure of what to say in this situation, “Look, Kiara, I’m sorry-“

“She likes you,” Kiara interrupted him, grinning despite the situation.

“She doesn’t-“

“She does. And you like her. Now go find her.”

With one last hug, and another muttered apology, he nodded determinedly at her, and ran off in the direction of his brother and, he realised now, the girl he truly loved.

***

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“It’s okay, I promise. It was always bound to happen right? I was always destined to fall for him, whilst he fell for her. Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would’ve realised. I’m- I’m so stupid, aren’t I? Falling for my best friend,” you let out a broken sob.

“You’re not stupid.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and you swallowed back another sob as you turned around slowly, your eyes catching George’s gaze.

He stood, hair messy as if he’d raked his hands through it a few too many times, tie askew and shirt almost untucked in his haste to run and find you. He felt his heart clench, knowing he was the one to make you feel like this, and stepped forward reaching a hand out towards you as you blinked back tears, allowing him to bring you into his arms as you finally let the tears fall.

You knew you shouldn’t, that you should leave to your dorm, but being in George’s arms had always made you feel safe, made you feel protected.

More tears fell as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, muttering over and over again how sorry he was. How he was a fool, a git, a complete idiot.

You finally calmed down a little, looking around the empty hallway, not being sure exactly when Fred had disappeared but thankful for the privacy.

You wiped away the last of your tears, cursing mentally as you realise your makeup would be a mess - if the state of George’s shirt was anything to go by.

“Kiara told me you like- I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he breathed out, a hand cupping your cheek as you blinked up at him.

“Yeah well, you’re stupid. I always knew you were stupid,” you replied with a sad laugh.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked with a frown, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“You never asked. And then you-you got a girlfriend. What was I supposed to do?” You asked quietly.

“I’m in love with you,” George said suddenly, earnestly, genuinely as he held you against him.

“Not Kiara?”

He shook his head quickly, “She knew I liked you before I knew I liked you. Maybe I am stupid.”

“Maybe you are,” you let out a watery laugh, looking away from his gaze.

George suddenly reached into his pocket and brought out a familiar box, “This is yours. I don’t know what I was thinking, giving it to her. It’s yours - it’s always been yours.”

He opened the box, taking out the necklace you loved so much, and offering you a sheepish smile, “It’s not a good enough apology, I know. But I’m hoping it’s a start.”

He gently turned you around, placing the necklace around your neck, you shivering at the feel of his fingers brushing against your skin, before turning you back around to face him, this time much closer than before, his forehead resting against yours.

“So, and correct me if I’m wrong,” he spoke as he leant forward a little more, his lips almost touching yours, “Does this mean that I like you and you like me and we both don’t think of each other as friends?”

You nodded a little, offering him a soft smile, “I don’t want to be friends, George,” you whispered just as his lips brushed your own, “I wanna be yours.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley

2K notes · View notes

peppermint2d · 4 years ago

Text

F#$%ing uh, Calm after the Storm cuz the Storm Thing

It's 2D's birthday today, so enjoy another chapter!

Ch.1 in case you missed it

Chapter 2:

When you come to again, you see that the movie was indeed paused from what you last remember. Since he is in the basement, it was still dark inside 2D's room. You could see his sleeping form on his bed, lightly snoring with each inhale. It was still cold, but you promised to give the jacket back, so you gently lay it on top of him. You leave his room, hearing Noodle giggle far away.

There were no windows in the hallway, so you again relied on the walls for help and tried to follow the noises of Noodle in the kitchen. Climbing two flights of stairs in the dark is easier than it sounds, especially since as you reached the upper floor, the windows helped a little. It was still storming outside, but at least outside was brighter, even if by only a small amount.

As you walk into the kitchen, you hear the hiss of the stove releasing gas and see Noodle with a pack of matches. As she strikes one, you tackle her, and the air above you catches fire, burning your arm that you put up the shield both of you. "Ah fuck!" Tears well up in your eyes.

Noodle quickly squirms out from your grasp and puts a pan on the now lit stove. All that for breakfast? You check your arm and see a blister forming. There is no ice in the fridge since it all melted, so you wet a towel and hold it on the burn. Noodle shoos you away from the sink and fridge, removing butter, potatoes, and pancake mix from the cabinets. "Batā daijōbu? Bīgandesu ka?" She asked, holding up the butter.

"Sure, anything is fine."

She nods and quickly whips up breakfast for both of you and enough extras for the rest of the band. She sits on the island counter next to you. "Thank you for breakfast." You push the food around as you attempt to eat with one hand.

She hums questioningly and points to her left arm, your injured one.

You show her the burn. "It will heal, thanks for asking."

"What will heal?" Russel enters and starts getting his plate of food.

"My arm. Burnt it just now."

He sets a water kettle on the still-lit stove. "How bad?"

"Second degree, I think." You remove the towel to show him.

He grimaces. "Great way to wake up in the morning. Joe?"

"Who's Joe?"

Russel broke out into a sly grin. "Joe Mama. But a cup of joe, coffee?"

"BOO! Russel, boo. I can't believe I fell for that." You accept his consolation prize and he makes coffee for both of you. Noodle reaches for one, but Russel lightly smacks her hand away. "None 'til you're older."

Noodle lets out a quick string of angry Japanese.

"Say all you want but ain't getting none of this 'til you're at least 15."

"I can't believe she is so young. She's the one who made breakfast. Plus, she already is so talented with the guitar!"

"And vocals." As soon as Russel says that, he blushes. "Pretend I never said that."

"She does vocals on the new album? Come on, Russel! You can't just let that slip and not answer my questions!!"

"Can and will. Ey Noodle, Where's your napkin?"

Noodle paused in the middle of wiping her maple syrup on her sleeve. Russel sighed and got her a napkin. "You were saying about her maturity?"

You both share a laugh. "When do you think this storm will end?" You ask Russel.

"Dunno. It's always storming over Kong, at least."

"Do you like it here?"

"Don't hate it. I do enjoy makin music, but the whole kidnapped thing wasn't ideal." You both chuckled again.

"Yeah, I bet. I'm going to be having nightmares of Murdoc kidnapping me now."

"Murdoc doing anything is highly unlikely" Russel's deep laughter boomed throughout the room.

"Oi! I do stuff! I do lots of stuff." Murdoc wiggled his eyebrows. He takes the rest of the food.

"Hey! Leave some for 2D!" You protest.

"If the faceache wanted some, he should have woken up earlier." He sneered back, drenching his plate of pancakes in syrup and fried potatoes with ketchup. He poured the rest of the coffee for himself. There was too much for one cup, so he got out two mugs, filled both, and drank from both. What an asshole.

You looked at your own plate. You were too busy tending to your arm and talking to Russel to really eat anything, aside from a piece of potato. You were starving from not having any dinner. But you were the reason 2D stayed up and therefore didn't get up on time. You sighed and took your plate downstairs. "Thanks again for breakfast, Noodle!" You call behind you.

You set the food on the floor so you could knock on the door. Like a poor replay of last night, you had to knock again louder. Frustrated, you shout "2D!" You hear movement on the other side of the door and pick up the food.

"Ah!" A loud thump proceeds the opening of his door and you see him rubbing his chin as he opens it for you.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I jus tripped. Can't really see well at night. Although I guess it mornin now innit?" He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stepped out of the way for you to join him, relighting the candle from last night. "Oh! Yew brought me breakfast? I'm starvin. Wouldda fought that Murdoc ate it all before I got any."

"He kinda did" You admit sheepishly.

"But then how'd yew get dis?" He sat on his bright yellow chair and started to eat vigorously.

"A magician never reveals their secrets."

"YEW DO MAGIC?"

"No D, it's an idiom." He looked confused. "Like raining cats and dogs?"

He swallowed his bite before speaking: "That doesn seem safe."

As you're about to laugh, your stomach starts to growl, causing you to turn bright red.

2D frowns. "This was yours?" You nod. "Well, now yew gotta take some. Yew didn efen 'ave dinna!"

"Nah, 2D it's yours, come on you said you were starving!"

"Eh, don tell 'er I said so, but Noodle's cookin can be off. I don like fese potatoes anyway, would yew-"

"Yes." You sit on the ground by him and he hands you what's left of them. You both sit in companionable silence. Normally, you observe everything as information for your articles, but here, there is nothing to record. Eating is a very intimate act. It's private. It leaves you vulnerable. One does not eat comfortably with strangers. There is an inherent agreement made when eating, a promise of safety and companionship. You don't think 2D values this moment as much as you do, you were waxing poetic while he sticks his tongue out as he struggles to cut a part of his pancake. Even though his struggles may suggest otherwise, he is meticulous while eating, taking extra caution to not allow any syrup to drip while he eats.

"Yew still 'ungry?" He nodded towards your empty plate. "Cuz yew'fe been lookin at me eat, and there's plenty pancake left."

"No, uh, I'll live." You flush, you keep forgetting about his eyes.

"Good! Wouldn't want yew dyin." He grins, showing off his missing teeth. You look around his room while he finishes. It wasn't exactly a mess, but it was not orderly. Clothes littered the floor, but the room felt lived in and as homey as a basement could get.

"Do you like living in the basement?" You ask him as he collects the plates into a stack.

"Didn't 'ave much of a choice. Murdoc put me 'ere before Russ n Noodle showed up. Gets a bit drafty fough."

This would be nice for your article. "Was this even a room initially? Or did Murdoc just put up a wall?"

"I dunno. I fink 'e jus put somefin up since I can see ofer dis wall 'ere if I get up 'igh enough." He opens his door and takes the plates with him. "Can yew blow out the candle? I don wanna bring it upstairs since Murdoc would probably take it for 'imself. Yew can grab onto the back of me shirt if you need 'elp navigatin. Not that I can see where I'm goin eifer."

You do ask he asks and grab onto his yellow tee. "I would offa yew me 'and, but..."

"They're full. Don't worry, this is helping loads."

He just hums in response as he leads you up the stairs, through the carpark, and up more stairs to the kitchen. When you finally reach the kitchen, your hand still holding the warm material of 2D's shirt. Russel hears you two enter and looks above the book he was reading --Wuthering Heights-- to raise an eyebrow at your position which must have looked a lot more suggestive than it actually was. You were in the basement alone with 2D for an hour at least and as an investigative journalist, you could understand better than anyone why it looked suspicious. You deeply flush, feeling the heat reach the tips of your ears. 2D apparently did not catch Russel's expression, leading you to the sink, where he washed the plates while you still held onto him. You didn't need to, you could see just fine now.

Russel sniggered, "I guess your arm's feeling better now, huh?" His sly smile hinting that he thinks he knows, incorrectly as it may be, why you are suddenly so close to 2D.

"Your arm's 'urtin?! Why didn yew say anyfin last night?" 2D turns towards you frantically, grabbing the arm that was holding his shirt, turning it around, trying to find the injury.

"Last night? Damn." Russel is chuckling on the couch, shaking his head. "2D, you have been ploughing through too many girls recently."

This piqued your interest. A new development for your article.

"I'm- I'm- I'm strugglin Russ, yew know dis. Besides, we didn efen do anyfin! We jus watched Dawn of the Dead!" He shakes his head vigorously, waving his arms.

"It starts with Dawn of the Dead..."

"ANYWAY! 'ow did yew 'urt your arm?" 2D harshly changes the subject, Russel fully laughing at this point.

You barely manage to mumble: "Burnt it." Russel's teasing really embarrassed you.

"On the candle?" He still looked so concerned, as if he was the one to hurt you.

"This morning. Not your fault, D." He visibly relaxed at that.

"Plus, it's this arm." You held up your left arm, the angry, sickly yellow blister facing him.

"'ow could I 'ave missed this! Oi, love, why 'aven't yew bandaged this? Does it 'urt still? Did yew put ointment on it?"

"Yo, 2D, chill, let her breathe!" Russel shouted from across the room.

2D flinched in surprise. "Sorry."

You smile and giggle, their concern for you was so cute. "I'm fine. It hurts to move and if anything touches it, it's agony, but really no need to fret."

"We keep a first aid kit in the studio because of, uh, Murdoc. I can patch yew up." He takes your uninjured hand and leads you down to the ground floor and into a cluttered studio. You grimaced at the pelt on the floor.

2D noticed your refusal to step on it. "Yeah, 'm not a big fan of it meself." He digs through a discarded box. "'ere's the kit! Come 'ere, I'll make yew feel be'er."

He rifles through the extensive kit, packed with anything an EMT team may need, including a mini lamp, which he turns on. "Oh! 'ere it is! Alooe Veera soofin cream!" He terribly mispronounces the name. "'ere are some bandages too, I'll wrap yew up afta."

You sat by his side on the floor as he tenderly took your injured arm and inspected it. "I fink dis may scar."

"If it does, then I'll always have something to remember this by. Plus, Noodle would feel so guilty, I'd probably get tickets to all of your concerts." You joke, but 2D's concern didn't seem to waver.

He laid it on his lap while he put some cream on his fingers. "Dis may 'urt a wee bit." He started on the outside of your burn, gently rubbing in the cream, the soothing lotion and soft touches caused you to sigh and relax into 2D's shoulder. Again, he smelled of cigarettes and cedar and his vanilla-scented candle still lingered in his shirt. He was bony so that you could feel his shoulder blade and clavicle, but it was not uncomfortable in the slightest. You could feel his muscles move as he tended to you and if this continued any longer, you would have fallen asleep.

He brushes against the blister unexpectedly and you yelp, yanking back your arm. "I need you to stay still, love." You grumble and tuck your head back into his shoulder, relaxing into him again. He continues with the cream, taking extra care with the blister, pausing when you sharply inhale. "I'll bandage yew up right proper, I will." He whispers, mainly to himself.

As soon as the rough gauze touches your blister, you whimper. "Jus stay good for a few more minutes, yeah?"

"This is hurting more than the actual burn."

"Sorry, love. Uh, lemme know if dis is too tight or loose." He begins to wrap the bandage around your forearm.

"Tighter, please." He pauses and tries again.

"Tighter." He tugs on them even harder.

"Tighter."

"Yew sure? I fink your fingers are turnin red." He was right, they were showing signs of lack of blood flow.

"Please, D? I don't want it to come undone and have to do this again."

He follows your wishes and finishes tieing it up with a bow. "There, all done! If it still 'urts bad, I could give yew some of me painkillers?"

"I could do with some ibuprofen maybe. What do you have?"

"Perscriptions. Nefer wifout em!" His smile didn't quite reach his eyes and you could tell that it was just a cover. You give him a sympathetic smile, you couldn't blame him for being addicted. His smile falls. "Yew won't put that in your article, will yew?"

"Of course not, D! Nothing without your permission gets published, I'll even send you my rough draft for you to OK." You stand up and reach out your good arm to help him up too.

He is lighter than you expected as you yank him up beside you. "Yew don 'ave to do that. I doubt I could efen understand what yew write."

"Oh please, you're very intelligent!"

"Not since I fell on me 'ead, I 'aven't been." He deeply sighs. Then, he shakes his head. "Well, dis is where the magic 'appens! I could give yew a tour?"

You follow his lead and decide to stop talking about his past, but that doesn't mean you have to stop wondering what made this ray of sunshine so sad. He takes you around the space, explaining what each machine does and how it was used on the EP, sometimes complaining how one of them didn't work properly or how it didn't make it into the final versions of the songs. When you reach the keyboards, he practically glows when talking about them, their names (yes, he named his keyboards), which sounds are unique to each, and which ones are the stubborn ones. "Dis one 'as a very stiff F4, could nefer play that note." He pulls down his favourite from the shelf and plays "The Entertainer" beautifully. It would have rude to not applaud.

"And that's the recording boof. I don quite like 'ow claustrophobic it makes me. The sound spikes are scary, too. No good memories in there." He takes the lamp with him as he walks to the door. He holds out his hand for you to take, even though you can see where you are going now. But who are you to say no?

You reach out to take his hand, his being quite a bit bigger than yours. He leads you out the door and through the winding hallways of Kong. Even with his lamp, the place still reminds you a bit of a maze. You hear Russel's deep timbre coming down the kitchen's stairs and you remembered your interaction with him earlier and wondered how it would have been if he'd seen how you still held 2D's hand. 2D led you back down the stairs, through the car park, and down the stairs again. with each step the two of you took down, the darker the space around you got. That was the cons of a basement, you supposed. Once you were both back in his room, he placed the lamp over on a desk.

"Okay, ibuprofen right? I fink I got somethin like tha."

He let go of your hand to open the drawer at his desk, revealing many, many, bottles of pills. You tried to pretend you weren't looking over his shoulder at them all, but you were pretty sure he knew you were. He didn't address it, instead pulling out a specific bottle and pushing the door shut. He held it up close in front of his face, and you watched as he squinted just slightly to read the label.

"'ere we go! Dis should work."

He popped the top of the bottle and dumped quite a large amount on his hand before holding it out to you. You stared for a moment at the pile of pills in his hand before reaching out and grabbing just 2. He blinked, and slowly put the rest of the pills back in the bottle, then dropped it back in the drawer.

"Thanks, 2D. This'll help loads." You smiled up at him. He just smiled back.

You took both pills, faced with the fact you had no water to swallow them down with. It wasn't the biggest deal, but you never were good at swallowing pills, so the bitter medicine dissolved slightly on your tongue before it was gone.

"Blegh." you stuck your tongue out and scrunched your face up, that bitter taste causing you to cringe. You heard 2D laugh at your reaction. "Hey! Rude." You said, but you were smiling too.

"Sorry," he laughed a little again, "Les go get you somfin to drink, yeah?"

"Um, yeah. please."

He starts to lead you back to the kitchen. Your whole time at Kong has been dealing with these blasted stairs. "What yew want to drink?" 2D asks as you reach the car park.

"Got any more soda from last night?"

"No, fresh out, Noodle finished it while yew were asleep."

"Juice?"

"Yeah! We may 'ave some Orange Juice left."

"If it was in the fridge it would have gone bad by now because of the power."

2D sighed. "Then all we gots is water and Murdoc's alcohol supply." You were about to go up the stairs to the kitchen and pause.

"You know any good cocktails, D?" You smiled slyly. Sure, it may only be after lunchtime, but with the clocks out, who really knows what time it is.

"I normally jus drink straight from the bottle." His smile returns your energy, so you turn around and start heading to the Winnebago.

The air starts to turn sour, and you could feel it sticking to your face. When you inhale, it burns your nose and stays in the back of your throat. The stench of death and rot. Of alcohol, sweat, weed, and sex. Of an overuse of Axe bodyspray. You didn't think you would see a grown man cry today, but as you two approached the Winnebago, 2D's eyes watered in a way that could only be described as a constant stream of tears.

"What happened here? Do you think Murdoc's okay?" As you open your mouth to speak, you could feel the stench seep in and can almost taste the putridness.

2D coughed "'e's probably more than okay." He knocked on the flimsy door.

The opening of the door unleashed a plume of stank upon you and 2D. You were expecting Murdoc to greet you, but your eyes lowered until they saw what you could only describe as a zombie in a maid outfit. That was definitely making the article. It gurgled and turned away. A second later, Murdoc appeared, topless. "Hey, Love! Finally come to your sense, eh?" He saw 2D and grumbled, "Ah, why'd you bring dents for eyes? I promised myself I wouldn't make that dream a reality. Besides, my bed's only got room for two." Murdoc leered at you, outlining your body with his eyes. 2D coughed and stood in front of you, causing Murdoc to lean back and cross his arms. "You're blocking her view of all this." He gestured to himself.

"Not to dis one, Murdoc. Not again. We're only 'ere for your booze." His hands balled into fists. You didn't need 2D to speak to Murdoc for you, but you sense something deeper going on here.

Murdoc turned for a sec and grabbed a bottle behind him. "Here you go, Face Ache. It's weak enough for you to stomach, lightweight. And if she," He points at you, "comes to me begging for a shag, later on, then we will both know that you're the issue."

2D takes the bottle and mumbles bastard under his breath. Murdoc leans against the doorframe and grins, cockily, watching you leave. The farther you get away from the Winnebago, the clearer the air looks. "Ah, I can feel my nose again! That stank, right D?"

"Yeah, wha'ever." He didn't look at you, his head tilted down so you guessed he was looking at the floor. He was hunched over and held the alcohol with white knuckles.

"You okay, 2D?" You put your hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged you off. "I jus wanna down dis bottle and forget everyfin 'til tomorrow at least."

You follow him silently back to his room, straying behind so that you were barely within the light from 2D's lamp. He disappeared through the door, leaving you in the dark as you fumbled down the last steps. You find him flopped face down onto the bed, his arms and legs splayed across the whole mattress. You gingerly pick up one of his legs and move it so you can sit on the bed beside him.

"You know I would never sleep with Murdoc, right?"

2D grumbled and opened the bottle, taking a huge swing, not fazed at all. He passed it over to you and you read the label. It was named Satan's Piss and had a cartoon devil on the front. Its main feature was its ABV of 50%, 10% more than vodka. You take a considerably smaller sip and cough, cringing at the strength, causing 2D to snort. At least one of you is getting something out of this.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's left me for 'im." 2D pulled his limbs in a rolled over so that his stomach was touching your back, his legs close to your side. He leaned on one elbow, purposefully not looking at you. You turned slightly so you could watch him. "I don fink I could efer forgive Murdoc for what 'e did. I 'ad a bird and she and I were togefer efen before I lost me eyes, which I also 'ate Murdoc for, but that's a different story. Dis bird 'elped me frough me recovery and efen joined the band after I became the singer. The guitarist before Noodle." He paused and reached out for the bottle, which you handed to him. He took another huge drink and use wiping his mouth as an excuse to rub his eyes as well. "Well, anyway, Russ found 'er one day in the toilets wif Murdoc, givin 'im a blow job. 'e broke Murdoc's nose, that's why it looks so screwed up." He chuckled a little at that and took another drink. "After that, I tried to use other girls as a way of lessenin the pain. It's what Russel was talkin about in the kitchen. I actually 'ad plans wif a bird for this weekend, but well." He sheepishly looked up at you. "I 'ad dated Rachel Stevens for a bit, but Murdoc scared 'er off. Not the first time it's 'appened eifer. 'e's ruined everyfin for me recently." He ended his speech by finishing half of the bottle and handing it back to you.

"Oh, D. I'm so sorry. Paula, she didn't deserve you." You put your uninjured hand on his shoulder and he looked up at you. From the light of the lantern, you could see that his face was wet.

"She said it was me fault she got wif Murdoc. That she was tired of dealin wif me in me comatose state and that I was too fick efen after I came too. And I know I should blame 'er, but I just can't bring meself to 'ating 'er. I loved 'er, you know? Loved 'er proper." As he was speaking, staring at his hands, you drank some of the alcohol, it really starting to affect you.

Your hand started to move up from his shoulder to his hair, slowly running your fingers through the blue. It looked so pointy, you expected it to be brittle with hair gel or something, but his hair was so smooth and soft, albeit a bit messy. When you touched it, he flinched, but as you continued to brush your hand through, he relaxed and moved into the touch. You didn't stop combing through his hair, loving the way the blue fluff would part on your behalf. As you pet his hair, you could feel him begin to cry, his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving, his breathing unsteady. You heard sniffles and choked whimpers, so you made an effort to prevent any stray hairs from falling onto his face, lest it gets wet. You tasted alcohol as you drank some more to distract you from crying too: 2D didn't need that right now. All you saw was a defeated, broken boy who needed so much more love than anyone could give him.

You put the bottle on the floor and lifted 2D by his shoulders with your good arm, pulling him up into a sitting position with you. He didn't complain, only removed his hands from his black eyes, revealing them to be overflowing with tears and had a vague look of confusion. Then you hugged him, pulling his body close, feeling the heat of him through his clothes, hurting when his ribs would expand only to push out the air as a muffled cry. As if you two had done this a thousand times before, he tucked his head into your neck and it fits perfectly. His hair tickled your face and you continued to run your fingers through it. "It's alright. I'm here. I won't let you go." You whispered repeatedly while your friend conveyed every once of his devastation in tears.

After he calmed a little, he lifted his face from your neck. You could feel how wet it was from his tears and snot, but you didn't really mind. You stopped touching his hair, instead you cupped his cheek with your hand, brushing away stray tears with your thumb.

"S-sorry," He hiccuped, "for crying on yew." He looked up at you, his empty eyes rimmed red and you lost some part of yourself to him then.

You continued to stroke his cheek. "Sh, don't apologize, you're perfect."

His arm that used to lay limply over your shoulder while you were comforting him moved slowly, until it rested at the nape of your neck, tangling itself into your hair. He searched your face for any signs of opposition, but upon receiving none, he pulled your lips to his.

You have never had a worse headache or case of cottonmouth. Luckily it was still night, the noises of nocturnal life just outside, so you didn't have to bother with bright lights. You started to stir, but couldn't move half of your body. Looking over, you saw that 2D had wrapped his arms around your unburnt arm and that one of his long legs hooked around you, essentially trapping you. Had you fallen asleep like this? "Please be wearing clothes, please," You whisper. You saw that you were both fully clothed and let out a sigh of relief. You couldn't remember for the life of you what may have caused this. The last thing you could recall was Paula, the bitch.

#2d gorillaz #2d stuart pot #2d x reader #gorillaz #2d fanfiction #gorillaz fanfiction #gorillaz fandom #stuart pot x reader

45 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Just Fine

Prompts: I just finished your Merlin fic Not Bad, and was wondering if we could have something of a sequel to it, if you're willing? Thank you either way! - anon

hi omg i absolute love your works on ao3, you're such a talented writer! i'm in love with your touch starved! merlin fic on ao3 and if you're still writing merlin fics and if you wanted to write it i would love to see a second part! (i've never used tumblr before so i don't know if this is where you even take promps/ requests but i figured i had to try, i love your works so much!) - anon

So many people asked for a part 2 so now we have a part 2 yay

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: this chapter is fluff all the way down, folks

Pairings: platonic merlin & everybody, can be merthur if you want I don't care

Word Count: 4729

Healing isn't supposed to be easy, but maybe the others can help make it easier.

He did say he was going to be pulling Merlin into his bed to cuddle with him in the mornings.

The sunlight is a menace, Arthur’s sleep-slack brain decides one day as it slices knife-like over his eyes through a slit in the curtains. He furrows his brow and turns, nuzzling his face into his pillow and doing his very best to ignore the fact that it’s morning now which means he’ll have to get up and do things. He’s royalty, he shouldn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.

…well, okay, maybe that’s not true.

Arthur muffles a snort into his pillow.

That should show how much Merlin’s been rubbing off on him since he came to Camelot, Arthur before Merlin would’ve huffed in that arrogant prat way—he’s not too proud to admit he has his moments—and said that he gets to decide what he wants to do, no one else. Arthur after Merlin knows that he’s his people’s servant as much as they are his. He may not have had the words to express it before Merlin but he’s always felt that way. Seeing someone so blatantly defy the status quo—and by extension, Uther—helped bring that out of him.

See? This is why he’s tired and deserves more sleep. He’s already waxing poetic about Merlin. He turns over in bed again and resolves to try and get a little more sleep.

Of course, as soon as his head hits that side of the pillow, the door opens, and in come Merlin’s footsteps.

The curtains are pulled open and Arthur winces, the light beaming onto the back of his head. Merlin putters around, probably setting up breakfast going by the smell of sausages, and then there’s a tug on his blanket.

“No,” he mumbles, holding it closer to his face, “lemme sleep.”

“You have to get up, Arthur,” comes Merlin’s amused snort, “you’ve got a meeting with Leon in a few hours.”

Arthur grumbles, refusing to open his eyes. “Then why can’t I sleep until then?”

“Because if I don’t get you up now, you won’t have enough time to wake up properly.”

“But it’s just Leon!”

“Yes, and you know he has this annoying habit of looking pristine even when he’s covered in mud.”

This is true. Arthur sighs, cracking his eyes open, and is immediately greeted by a wonderful sight.

Merlin, his Merlin, is standing in the sunlight.

It felt like a knife on Arthur’s face, but on Merlin, it looks like a cloak. A cape. Something to be worn with pride. He glows, that’s the only way to describe it. Even his eyes are shining.

How can anyone believe that Merlin isn’t magic?

…yeah, he must be really tired.

“Arthur,” Merlin calls, and only then does Arthur realize he must’ve called his name a few times, “you okay?”

Arthur nods dumbly, still grinning dopily up at Merlin. Merlin looks warm. Warm Merlin. Merlin should be warm. Warmth is good for Merlin.

Something cold ripples through his chest as he remembers how cold Merlin was the first day he let them hug him.

Merlin shouldn’t be cold.

“Arthur?” A gentle tap on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Arthur blinks and holds his arms out. “C’mere.”

Now it’s Merlin’s turn to blink. “What?”

“Come here,” he insists, reaching for Merlin, “just come here.”

Merlin’s face flushes an adorable red. “Arthur, I—“

“I’ll get up in a minute, I promise, but come here first.”

Merlin sighs. “Alright, you big baby.”

But Arthur can see the way he trembles with uncertainty as he sits down to take off his boots. He can see the way Merlin’s brow twitches and how he isn’t quite sure of himself as he slides under the covers.

Well. Can’t have that.

“I said come here,” Arthur murmurs, gathering Merlin into his arms, “there.”

“…’rthur?”

“There,” Arthur sighs, snuggling into his new Merlin-shaped pillow, “perfect.”

Merlin’s tunics are scratchy. He’s a bit elbows and knees. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with all his limbs.

But as Merlin’s arms shakily come up to hold Arthur back, a contented rumble comes from Arthur’s chest.

Merlin is warm.

Yeah, they’re not getting up for a few hours. Leon will understand.

Merlin doesn’t like going hunting, which is fine, which is why they’ve affectionally renamed it ‘a woods trip.’ Actually, he’s pretty sure Gwaine calls it ‘get Arthur out of the castle so his prat nature doesn’t consume him,’ but everyone gets the point.

The point is that it’s one of the few times where they can just be a group of men, bit worried about getting stabbed by bandits, yes, but not worried about the rules and hierarchies and eyes of the city on them all the time. They can mess about and joke and partake in the bizarre sense of humor they all seem to have without any of the guards looking worriedly at each other when they think they won’t be seen.

Honestly, most of the guards at this point have just…accepted it. Arthur will never quite get over the one time he overheard a conversation with one of the new guards outside his room.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone that the servant is conspiring against the King?”

There had been a scoff from the older guard, Kodi. “You must be new.”

If Merlin had wondered why Arthur was muffling snorts into a napkin when he returned, he didn’t ask.

The woods aren’t exactly safe, not like Camelot is, but as Leon says, the safest place for a ship is in the harbor but ships were made to sail.

It’s what he tends to pull out whenever one of them complains about camping out for a night.

“Come on,” Gwaine mutters as he tries to get the fire to start, “come on, you bastard…”

Merlin glances over and hides a smirk. “Need a hand, Gwaine?”

“No.”

After a few seconds pass, Gwaine stifles a sigh.

“Maybe.”

Merlin stands, takes the flint and steel from him, and crouches down. He strikes it once and there’s barely a spark. He frowns. Another try yields another failure.

“What’s wrong with this thing?”

“So it’s not me. Great.”

“No, it’s—did someone leave this out?”

“Ah—“ Percival raises his hand— “that might’ve been me. One of the canteens spilled over the pack that it was in.”

“Well, yeah, that’ll explain why the—yeah, that’s it.” Merlin sighs. “Okay, well, um…”

“Can’t you just—“ Lancelot snaps his fingers— “you know?”

Merlin stiffens.

“Hey,” Gwaine murmurs softly, resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “Merlin. Hey, Merlin, look at me.”

Merlin turns, his mouth a hard line.

“You have magic,” Gwaine says gently, “we know. We don’t care that it’s illegal. You’re not bad for having magic and we won’t punish you for using it.”

“…thanks.”

“Anytime.” He nods toward a scrap of kindling. “Now come on, I’m hungry.”

It gets a weak laugh out of Merlin as he stretches his hand out and mumbles something. A fire sparks into existence and roars merrily. Gwaine smiles and wraps his arms tightly around Merlin.

“Good job, Merlin,” he says quietly as Percival drops a hand onto his shoulder and rubs, “good job.”

“…really?”

“Yes.” Percival gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Good.”

New rule they figured out: Merlin isn’t allowed to go near bodies of water unsupervised.

It’s the end of winter and the trees are just starting to grow their leaves out again. The grass is turning green under the lumps of snow that still remain and the birds have started to sing. All around them is the sharp sweet smell of new, the soft cracks as the ice melts.

Soft cracks, mind you. Not big ones that mean someone is about to fall through a thawing lake.

He didn’t actually fall through, but it had been a close thing.

Elyan had fretted for a good few minutes as Merlin’s teeth chattered until they figured out the poor man had just had a clump of snow fall on top of him, he hadn’t fallen through the ice into the lake. He gets a half-hearted scolding as they whip up a fire and a warm drink, quickly replaced by questions of whether he’s okay, is everything still attached to him, is he hurt?

“I’m fine,” Merlin insists, huddling by the fire, “just a bit cold.”

“You’re still shivering,” Elyan points out quietly, “give me your hands.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m going to make sure you don’t lose circulation.”

Merlin frowns but lets Elyan take his hands. The knight begins to rub his fingers in a pattern Merlin recognizes from Gaius, stimulating blood flow back into the digits to ensure that everything is working properly.

Elyan works patiently for a few seconds until he realizes that Merlin’s eyes have glazed over.

“Merlin?”

Merlin blinks and seems to snap out of whatever daze he was in. “Sorry, sorry, I just—um—“

Elyan tilts his head, Merlin’s hands still cradled in his lap as he struggles for words. Absentmindedly, he swipes a thumb over Merlin’s palm and Merlin bites back a whimper.

“Merlin, am I hurting you?”

“I mean…yes? But no, no wait, I don’t want you to stop, I just—it—“

“Shh,” Elyan says, “it’s okay. Tell me what hurts.”

“I just…you’re really warm,” Merlin mumbles, “and I guess I’m just not used to…to…to touch yet.”

“Ah, I see.” Elyan moves his hands slowly, seeing the blood flow is mostly back to normal as he cups Merlin’s hands between his own. “It’s still warmer than you’re used to, right?”

Merlin nods.

“Can I keep holding your hands?”

“Mhm.”

Elyan holds Merlin’s hands in his own until they deem it safe for him to ride back to Camelot.

If Lancelot knows the secret to getting Merlin to feel a little more comfortable in his own skin, it’s to have him hold something.

He’s not sure why it takes Merlin’s mind down an edge as he begins to fiddle with whatever’s in his hands, but it does. The worried furrow in his brow softens into one of concentration, the anxious twitches of his fingers grow more fluid, more relaxed as he twists and turns the thing between them. Over the years, he’s gotten good at figuring out what Merlin needs to be holding, if he does say so himself.

When Arthur has an important meeting that makes Merlin’s eyes dart around the room, Lancelot hands him a shirt that needs to be repaired. Merlin’s hands navigate the stitches with ease as he makes sure Arthur’s got his armor of a different sort.

When there’s a tournament full of knights coming from far away that Merlin can’t trust quite yet, Lancelot hands him a pouch of seeds to sort, collected from one of the children from the flower store. Merlin sorts them deftly, putting each group into a little envelope to be returned, using it to hone his eye.

When there’s a terrible thunderstorm and Merlin can’t sleep, when Lancelot finds him wandering the castle late at night, he gives him a little plush toy. It’s a small thing, stitched together from remnants of clothing, and something that the servants pretend doesn’t exist. But if you know where to look, and who to talk to, there will be a little stuffed toy sitting on your nightstand if you ever need something to hold. Malwen raises an eyebrow when he asks for one but once she knows it’s for Merlin, Lancelot has it before the day is out.

As he watches Merlin fiddle with the toy, twirling one of the buttons around and round its thread, he wonders.

Is this the only form of physical comfort Merlin has ever allowed himself to have?

The answer is an incredibly disheartening yes, and Lancelot resolves to always give Merlin what he needs to help himself.

Then there’s a moment where Lancelot has no idea what Merlin would want to hold.

It’s a visiting lord, because it’s always a visiting lord when it’s not bandits or a visiting knight. They storm inside—Lancelot hadn’t bothered to remember his name—and pronounced that he missed Uther’s way of doing things. That when Uther was in charge, Camelot was strong, that there were roots of evil snuffed out at every turn.

Of course, he was quickly glared into submission by Percival and Arthur had cooly informed him that evil was snuffed out by not giving it an environment to grow, not futility ripping weeds from the soil.

But not in time to stop the lord’s words from getting to Merlin.

Lancelot finds Merlin on the balcony that isn’t a balcony, an abandoned training ground far above the rest of the city. He sits on the old stone, swinging his legs back and forth, staring at the ground with a glazed expression. His hands twist and turn over each other and his breathing is a little too controlled to be safe.

“Merlin,” he calls softly, not wanting to startle him, “Merlin, can I come sit with you?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you.” Lancelot eases himself down onto the stone bench, speaking softly as if he’s trying to soothe a wild animal. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Merlin isn’t hurt, good. Lancelot glances down at his hands. They twitch and knead at the fabric of his tunic. They clench into fists only to open a few seconds later. They look like they hurt.

They’re trembling.

Lancelot takes a deep breath and carefully, oh, so carefully, takes one of them in his.

Merlin goes limp, all but slumping into his shoulder. His hands are so cold.

“I’m right here, Merlin,” Lancelot murmurs, giving the hand in his a squeeze, “I’m right here.”

Slowly, he reaches out to take the other, feeling Merlin’s hands twitch lazily in his. Every so often, Merlin will squeeze and he will squeeze back. Merlin’s head tucks itself under his chin and the warm rush of his breath hits Lancelot’s arm. His hands stay safely in Lancelot’s grip.

Lancelot will always give Merlin something to hold. It’s no accident that includes his own hands.

Not many people in Camelot know that Leon isn’t just Arthur’s right hand, but the closest thing Arthur had to a brother.

They grew up together, in the streets and fields and halls of Camelot, running around with sticks before they got given swords, fighting dragons and monsters before they battled the real ones, helping each other in secret before they rose to places where no one could hurt them.

Leon remembers holding an Arthur too young for any of this as his father raged, as the swords clashed too close to his face, as a peaceful village burned around them. He remembers a younger Arthur holding onto his cloak, his sleeve, his hand, always asking, asking, asking Leon to be there, just to be there, the way he didn’t feel anyone else was.

They’re older now, and now Arthur is a man Leon is proud to know. He asks Arthur for things now, for help dismantling the things they hated as children, for help finding ways to take care of the knights when he doesn’t know what to do, for help figuring out what to do in this world where things are starting to make less and less sense day by day.

Arthur is his brother, his friend, and his King. Leon is Arthur’s brother, his friend, and his Knight.

To most others, Leon is nigh untouchable. He is the longest-serving knight in Camelot, he is almost royalty with how close he is to the Pendragon family, and he is near unmatched on the dueling grounds. He has the ear of the King, the unwavering loyalty of the knights, and the faith of the Council.

There is a short list of the few who know he this is not all he is.

There are a few children in the lower town who know he is a kind man before he is a great knight, that there are scrapes and bruises they receive running from something only to be protected by a red cloak and a calm voice. There are a few servants who know that his presence as they walk to Gaius is an impenetrable shield on one side and the softest guiding hand on the other. There are a few stable boys who know that they will never again be beaten for who they are because he is just like them.

But Leon has not truly cared for someone younger than him since Arthur was little. Not the way he used to.

Of course, as he is with most things, Merlin is the exception to this rule.

Merlin, with all his magic and baffling charm and bumbling wisdom, worms his way into Leon’s heart by the time he gets assigned to be Prince Arthur’s Manservant. From there, it isn’t hard for Leon to watch with a certain glow of pride in his chest as Arthur starts to change, from the hardened fist Uther wanted him to be to the man the little boy he grew up with was supposed to be. He keeps his words to himself about how kind Merlin is, relentlessly so, and smiles quietly when Arthur begins to clumsily mimic the acts of kindness. He grows to care for Merlin quickly, making room next to his heart for one more, nestled close.

But it isn’t until he has a chance to comfort Merlin properly that he begins to think of him as a brother.

Don’t get him wrong, Merlin is his brother the same way the knights are his brothers. But Leon hasn’t loved someone the way he loves Arthur in a long time.

He receives a call from Gaius and responds, hurrying down to the physician’s chambers to see Merlin’s face is awfully flushed and his eyes red-rimmed in tears. He hurries faster to Merlin’s side, asking what’s happened, what’s wrong?

It seems Merlin has been fixing something wrong with the magic of this bracelet Gaius shows him, a silver one with a big amber stone in the middle. It looks familiar, it reminds Leon of Morgana for some strange reason, but he can’t quite place it. But it seems something went wrong and now…now poor Merlin is upset.

Leon knows what to do.

He guides Merlin carefully into his room, stopping to remove his mail shirt and leaving him in the softer under-tunic and cloak, and sitting Merlin carefully down on the bed. The poor man looks cold, small, like a scared dog.

“Merlin,” he says softly, “Merlin, I’m going to sit next to you now.”

He eases his weight down onto the bed and waits. Waits for another tear to roll down Merlin’s cheek to let out a soft noise of concern, melting at the sight of someone crying.

“Come,” he murmurs, opening his arms, “shed your tears, Merlin.”

And oh, he hasn’t seen those eyes for a very long time. Not since little Arthur had looked up at him, shining with undisguised hope and want but holding himself back, like a starved puppy too scared to eat. It breaks his heart and he lets out another low noise, reaching for Merlin.

“When Arthur was little,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he begins to gather Merlin into his lap, “he never used to like sleeping alone when his father was away. He said the castle was too big, too empty, even with all the people inside.”

He takes Merlin’s hands and guides them around his neck.

“I never liked sleeping in the castle either, it was too quiet. I didn’t know where anything was, except for Arthur. One night, he came into my chambers and all but tackled me in a hug.” He smiles fondly at the memory. “He insisted I let him stay.”

“St-stay?”

“Yes, Merlin, stay. Stay with me, let me hold him until we both fell asleep. He pulled himself into my lap—yes, just like this, your legs over mine—and wrapped his arms around my neck—there you go, just here, that’s it, you hold onto me now—and we stayed like that until we fell asleep.”

Merlin’s hair ruffles as he settles, Leon’s breath warming the top of Merlin’s head as he tucks the poor man close. Merlin’s hands are ice around his neck.

“And when the nights got cold, we would wrap ourselves up in the blankets,” he continues, beginning to swaddle them both in his cloak, “until we were bundled so tightly together that even the coldest night wouldn’t get it. It was warm, I remember being warm, there, in the bed, in the blankets, safe…and warm…”

There’s a quiet sigh against his neck as he wraps the cloak around the both of them. It’s warm, a perfect little nest. Merlin’s weight settles against his chest and part of him that’s been suppressed for many, many years starts to warm.

“He stopped coming to me when he got older,” he murmurs, “whether because he didn’t need it anymore or if he got too big. Between you and me, I’m sure it’s the second one. He’d still try if he weren’t worried about hurting me. I think he misses it, sometimes.”

He pauses, then leans closer and tucks his face against Merlin’s temple.

“I know I did. I still do, every now and then, but I know Arthur feels safe now in a way he never did when we were growing up. And most of that is thanks to you.”

“M-me?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Leon whispers, “you. You make him feel safe, make the rest of us feel safe. You’re a good person, Merlin, and we care very deeply about you.”

“…you do?”

He can hear the sleep coloring Merlin’s voice. He hushes the poor thing, cuddles him close, rocks the both of them closer to slumber.

“Of course we do,” he whispers to his brother, “of course we do.”

+1.

Sometimes Merlin has good days. Days where he’s smiling and laughing and joking with the knights. Days where he’s bantering back and forth with Arthur like it’s nothing. Days where he uses his magic the way he always has, like it’s a part of him.

Sometimes Merlin has bad days. Days where he’s quiet and they can’t get him to smile. Days where he is every bit the perfect servant for Arthur, which means he’s about as far from Merlin as he could be. Days where he seems to want to pretend he’s never had magic in his life.

Today is a bad day.

Merlin doesn’t talk until one of them asks. He goes off on his chores and they don’t see him for hours. Gaius is worried. Leon is worried. Lancelot is worried.

Percival is angry. Some of the new knights believe Merlin is a traitor—for whatever reason—and spends time educating them on the training fields.

Elyan is afraid. Gwen came to him and said that she hasn’t seen Merlin all day, which means Merlin is avoiding the servants as well as the knights.

Gwaine is upset. Because he can’t find Merlin anywhere and the longer he stays away the worse he’s going to be when he comes back.

Arthur walks into his chambers at the end of the day and sees Merlin sitting on his bed.

He stuffs away the outrage at himself for not thinking to look here first, stuffs away the fear and sadness that Merlin is upset, stuffs away the need to order him to Gaius and have him looked over, and replaces it with a soft call of: “Merlin?”

“Sire.”

Oh, no.

“Hello, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “can I come over to you?”

“If you like, sire.”

“I would.” Arthur crosses the room slowly, wary of Merlin’s reaction, until he can stop within arms’ reach. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Merlin looks up at him. “May I ask you for a favor, sire?”

“Of course, Merlin, anything you like.”

“…m-may I have a hug, please?”

Arthur’s heart shatters.

His face must do the wrong thing because Merlin flinches, withdrawing into himself. “I’m sorry, sire, that was rude of me to ask. I’ll leave you be, now.”

“No, no, no, Merlin,” Arthur stammers, “no, that’s not what I meant, stay, stay, Merlin, of course you can have a hug, come here, come here—“

He gathers Merlin into his arms, to his chest, wrapping him up as snugly as he can.

“You don’t need permission for a hug, Merlin, that’s why I was upset,” he mumbles, “I don’t want you to think you have to earn it, you don’t—“

It seems his ramblings, however embarrassing to him, are helping Merlin calm down. Or at least get over his fear enough to wrap his arms around Arthur too. Arthur squeezes him tight and is content to sit there for a moment to let Merlin have what he wants, but then he feels something tug at his chest.

Tug, tug, tug.

Arthur frowns, tries to tug back, only for the tugging to grow more insistent. He follows the tugging to scoop Merlin into his arms, carry him to the bed, and lie down beside him. As the tugging persists, he tucks Merlin’s head under his chin and pulls him closer, threading a leg through his. One last tug and oh, oh, he understands now.

“You’re not bad,” he murmurs, ruffling Merlin’s hair as he talks, “you’re not evil. You have magic, Merlin, that’s alright. You’re my Merlin. I don’t want a proper servant, I don’t want a normal servant, I want you. You’re my Merlin.”

There.

Whatever wall there is crumbles as Merlin begins to sob desperately into his chest. The tugging renews, guiding him this way, that way, to hold Merlin close, to pull back and let him gasp for breath, to murmur reassurances in his ear, or to roll a little and hold Merlin down as he seizes with the force of the cries.

And through it all, Merlin never stops asking for comfort.

His fingers never loosen their grip on Arthur’s shirt. His legs never let go of the one Arthur wraps through his. His nose never strays far from the crook of Arthur’s neck. He never stops pushing himself into Arthur’s chest, almost as if he’s trying to climb inside and make a home for himself there.

He already has one.

Arthur realizes the wordless asks and answers, holding him as tight as he wants, listening to the tugs in his chest to take care of his Merlin properly, never stops murmuring that yes, this is good, this is alright, Merlin can have whatever he wants, Arthur’s here, he’s here, he’ll take care of Merlin.

He’ll be here. He’ll always be right here.

After, Arthur will ask him softly about the tugs, and Merlin will blush and realize that his magic was asking for help when he couldn’t. Arthur will smile and ruffle his hair and tease him about his magic liking Arthur better than him. The smile will soften when Merlin shakily admits he’s thought the same thing.

After, Merlin will start asking for touch more. He’ll brush his hand against Lancelot’s, sit a little closer to Gwaine or Percival, start accompanying Elyan on his daily walks, or find himself reaching for Leon’s cloak only for Leon to bundle his hand in his and keep it safe.

After, Merlin will slide into bed the moment Arthur opens his arms, letting them both sleep in a little more and enjoy the feeling of warm, warm, warm.

But right now, Merlin is crying in Arthur’s arms and Arthur isn’t going anywhere.

He’ll always be right here.

#merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur #merthur fic #arthur pendragon #knights of camelot #dragonbabbles #fic

23 notes · View notes

writingithink · 4 years ago

Text

Improbable Multiversal Transcending Temporal Spacetime Event Pairing: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Rated: T Word Count: 7,101 Summary: The best way to show someone you care is to blow up their job ... right? Notes: I'm back! And it's not a Tangled Timelines update (sorry!) But it is something? I've had this in my WIPs for awHILE now, and when I was cleaning my studio the other night I found a planning page for it in a random tote bag and was like ... oh yeah. And the ending just came to me and I love it when that happens. Hopefully there will be another chapter up for Tangled Timelines soon, though!

As always, infinite thanks to my wonderful beta, @hey-there-juliet who is fine with me randomly sending her fics at all hours and with no warning XP

All mistakes are mine, as always.

<<READ IT ON AO3>>

If the other him in the other universe had taken the time to imagine their human life together in a parallel universe, the Doctor doubted he would have pictured this. His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was always quite whimsical. Happiness had made him impractical, really. Because despite all of the drawbacks, all of the reasons he currently loathed himself, the Doctor knew every single reason why the other truly felt like this was the best possible option.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Sometimes, despite it not occurring too often, he was wrong.

They had spent five and a half hours on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay.

(I create myself.)

She had been so upset; said that after everything they’d went through, everything she did to get back, the other him owed her a proper goodbye. She had stopped speaking to him when he told her that, actually, he would never give her a proper goodbye.

And she didn’t let him explain why. Now that he finally could.

Now it had been 57 days since she’d last spoken to him. Since he’d gotten more than a brief glimpse of her with his own eyes. That he’d spent piecing together a picture of what her life had been like here, without him. Such a short time, really, now that it was over (almost over), but yet also some of the worst moments of his entire existence.

It seemed fair that the multiverse would demand just that extra sequence of pain, considering everything he could potentially get in return. What another version of himself could only hope for, bitterly gambling eternities, following their timeline through all of it’s complicated swirls and turns, names weaving around each other, stamping themselves on the structure of creation.

Forever isn’t something that ends.

(How long are you going to stay with me?)

Quite the opposite, actually. And he knew, eventually, she would remember that. Knew it, but didn’t feel it.

The Doctor finally understood what all of the human writers meant about falling in love. Not just the terrifying sensation of the unstoppable freefall, but also the immense pain of crashing into the immovable object at the end of the journey.

They had sat on opposite ends of a Zeppelin. He had gone back to the Tyler Manor with Jackie, and Rose had gone back to her flat. Hoping to see her, talk to her, he had immediately joined Torchwood (once they agreed to his very detailed, highly specific, entirely ironclad contract). Their paths rarely crossed, and when they did it was just tiny, insubstantial moments.

A flash of her at the far end of a hall. Her name in a report (a lot of reports). Snatches of her voice, there one moment and gone the next.

It all made everything hurt so much more, somehow, having her so close but yet further than he could have possibly imagined.

But yet …

His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was still quite whimsical. So when he tried to think of the bigger picture, waxing poetic, alone on his office couch, the Doctor tried to look at the last few years as the impact, and this as the aftershock. Still, philosophical jaunts weren’t exactly a solution to his problem. A temporary solution was moving his office even further away, so that’s what he did.

Plus, he found it kind of fitting, commandeering the inside of Big Ben. UNIT may have it in the prime universe, but in this universe he had the fancy landmark office. Well, office-slash-home (without Rose Tyler, a proper house with doors and things was absolutely unthinkable). Not that it was just about having a private laugh. The gears soothed him, the sound of ticking helped the gnawing emptiness that had filled his mind ever since the TARDIS dematerialized without him in it. The Doctor had thought it was kind of fitting - the closest he could possibly be right now to time.

Not that he wasn’t spending every possible spare moment working on the baby TARDIS, just a tiny piece of coral still, currently sitting in the extended electro-percussive environment chamber. He wondered if, in three years (his best-possible projected timetable), when the new TARDIS would be ready for flight, she would still not be speaking to him.

Incidentally, the emergence of that thought and the start of his supposed ‘self-isolation’ coincided to an alarming degree for how coincidental the two really were. The fact of the matter was, he was busy. Tons of experiments to run, alien equipment to identify, classify (and more often than not remove from Torchwood entirely), a baby TARDIS to tend to, and a backlog of Rose’s mission reports to hack into made spending slightly over three weeks in his tower easy.

The problem was the fact that during that time the Doctor avoided sleeping, barely remembered to eat, and existed on overly sugared tea alone. Not sleeping didn’t put the demons at bay, but at least when he was awake he wasn’t forced to confront the man he never wanted to remember being.

It had been 57 days since Rose Tyler had last spoken to him, and the Doctor detonated a bomb in the abandoned annex Torchwood had scheduled to be demolished and rebuilt.

Then the counter reset to zero.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” she yelled, barging into the top floor lab where he had been checking the readings on the EEPEC.

Everything that he wanted to say to her, and the Doctor was struck mute.

“Whatever plans you think you have, however good of an idea it is, for the good of the planet or, or the galaxy or what, you don’t just go blowing up buildings without a word to anyone! Do you know that everyone else was too scared to come up here and have a word with you, because that highly confidential ridiculous contract you drew up made its way through the gossips and isn’t so classified anymore. Now no one wants to go toe to toe with the man who ‘speaks for the planet’,” Rose growled through the air quotes. “So tell me, Doctor, what genius reason you’ve got for blowing up the Records Annex?”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“It worked.”

“What?”

“Remember ‘run’?” he asked, bouncing away from the baby TARDIS and circling her, picking up his new sonic screwdriver as he did and deadlock sealing the only door off the floor.

“Run?” she frowned as he circled back.

“Run,” he whispered in her ear as he passed, running up a small set of stairs to flip a giant switch that activated the clock-lights outside of their automated timer. Likely no one noticed outside with the sun still out, but it lit up the lab. “Henrik’s basement, Nestene Consciousness, shop window dummies, you and me. How did that night end?” he asked, with a manic grin as he skidded to a stop in front of her.

“Oh, that ‘run’,” Rose breathed, trying to fight back a smile. “You blew up my job.”

“I blew up your job.”

She huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and crossed her arms. His shoulders fell, exhaustion pressing down onto each and every bone of his new, much more fragile body.

“I just want to talk,” he told her, only a moment away from begging.

“Alright then. Talk.”

Everything he wanted to say to her, and all of it felt disjointed in his overtired mind. Yet she was here now, and if she left he didn’t have a new idea for getting her back again. So he talked.

“I’m sorry. That I made this choice for you, even if it was technically a different me who did it. I’m sorry that this is the best option, the safest option. I’m sorry I never got the chance to explain everything to you before. But I am never going to say goodbye to you, Rose. Never. And I know that the power of words doesn’t translate as well for you, the science of psycho-kinetic-telepathic influence on the elements of creation. But there are some things I can never risk saying aloud. There are some beings that exist, at least in our original universe, that could easily- … still, no matter what universe we’re in, I’m never going to say it. Forever, Rose Tyler. It’s longer than you can comprehend. An eternal silence stretching infinitely ahead, timelines swirling in every direction. This one is ours, if you’ll- if you could just- if you could see in twenty-odd dimensions and focused on individual temporal waveforms, the quantum reality of specific-”

“Doctor!” she shouted when his legs gave out, immediately grabbing hold of him, joining him on the floor.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but when he moved to get back up she easily held him down. Rose gently manipulated his face, giving him a basic medical check. He couldn’t help but smile a little at how much she had learned while they were away, only to then frown at how hard he imagined it all must have been for her. Floundering, he tried to make a joke. “So, I’m still the Doctor?”

Which went ignored.

“You look like a wreck,” she told him, and it wasn’t new information. The Doctor now made much more frequent trips to the restroom and was well aware of how pale he was, of the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He had at least been making a disjointed effort to shave, which was another activity that had increased with his meta crisis, and admittedly it had slipped his mind for a couple days.

“It’s not easy, doing this without you,” he admitted. “But if you need more time, I want you to take it. I really am alright. There’s just so much I need to tell you, now that I can.”

“What do you mean, ‘now that you can’?”

“Different universe, firm walls in between. I don’t have to worry about using the wrong words at the wrong time and having cosmic consequences … for a lot of things, not all things. With our timeline in a different dimension and reality back as it should be, at least for the moment, I can tell you all sorts of things. Though the most important one, the one I’m never going to miss an opportunity to say, is that I love you, Rose Tyler. Forever.”

“I love you, too,” she sighed, caressing his cheek for a moment before helping him up. “But I’m still mad at you. Now you need sleep.”

“But I’m not done talking,” the Doctor complained, dragging his feet as she led him over to the sofa in the corner.

“We’ll talk more after you’ve gotten some rest, okay? I promise.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, more horizontal than he remembered being just a moment ago. Something soft and warm ensconced his body. He hadn’t realized how cold he had been until just then.

Another breath and black oblivion overtook him. Peaceful until it suddenly very much wasn’t.

A shockwave. A rift in time and space. A breached void. A crack in reality. A big red button. No more. Howling, howling, howling.

“Wake up!”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t know where he was. Nothing felt right; not the air, not time, not even his own body. The Doctor tried to do a quick systems check, and the results were all wrong. His hand flew to his chest, where only one heart was beating.

A choking scream echoed through the space, which seemed to be tick tick ticking, and he didn’t realize that it was him who shouted until soothing hands were brushing through his hair. Vision focusing, he saw Rose Tyler kneeling next to him, or at least it was something that looked like Rose Tyler. She felt too cool. Or maybe he was too warm.

“Are you real?” he asked, hoping that she wouldn’t lie to him.

Just one heart working, and it was beating too fast, refusing to slow down. The air was too thick, he couldn’t breathe.

“Yeah.” A sad smile. “I’m real.”

The Doctor didn’t know if he believed her, closing his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the moment she inevitably vanished. “I’m dying,” he told the being-who-might-be-Rose as he shuddered and collapsed back onto some sort of sofa.

“You’re fine,” she lied, but it was a lie she seemed to believe.

“Only got one heart beating,” he admitted, trying to get his breathing under control as his malfunctioning body began to sweat. The room ticked away, and he wondered if all of this was about to explode, if he should be running, if he even could run. His legs felt like lead. So did his arms. The air was too thick, dragging him down.

“That’s-”

The Doctor shut his eyes tighter, tears escaping that he hadn’t even realized were there. She must have vanished, just like he knew she would. And if she was never real to begin with, why did it have to hurt so much for her to go?

A weight rested on top of him, and he would never forget the feel of her. He vaguely wondered what it meant for him, to be having tactile hallucinations. Olfactory hallucinations. Even the buzz of time that had never left her skin after she took in the vortex was present.

“You’ve still got two beating,” Rose whispered as his arms wrapped around her in a tight hold that didn’t feel nearly strong enough to keep her. He wasn’t strong enough to keep her.

Her heart beat steadily over where his right heart had failed.

“I’m scared,” the Doctor admitted, eyes still closed though it was oddly easier to breathe.

“I’ve got you.”

“Please be real,” he whimpered, even as his mind grew foggier.

She said something, but he didn’t know what. Everything was fading away, darkness becoming darker, becoming void.

Nothing.

The Doctor awoke alone on the couch in his office. According to his time sense, he had slept for eighteen hours and twenty-one minutes. He felt better than he had in weeks, but also so much worse. He grabbed his pillow and screamed into it.

“What’s wrong now?”

The pillow dropped from his hands and his eyes locked with Rose’s as she raced up the slight stair onto the platform that separated his primary workspace from the rest of the top floor.

“What?” His voice cracked.

Rose Tyler sat next to him on the couch, hand immediately resting on his forehead, primitively gauging his temperature. The Doctor cleared his throat before trying again.

“Rose, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad, I’m so very, very glad you’ve come.” Her hand dropped away and he was able to get a good look at her, dressed in a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts (Jackie had bought him a ridiculous amount of clothes before he left the manor, all of which he sent out to be cleaned). He swallowed audibly. “W-why are you wearing my clothes?”

“‘M locked in here. Door’s deadlock sealed.”

Flashes of memories began to speed through him. Attaching a re-calibrated Tziklian implosion grenade to a newly-repaired retroreflective Clishtahrr drone. Obsessively trying to circumvent his vision in order to peer at his own timeline, making himself sick. A contained rift event in the lower levels of the tower that made him feel like he had looked into the untempered schism again.

(Run, run, run!)

“I’m sorry. I don’t … I’ll just …”

He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs, found his sonic screwdriver and unsealed the door. And he wished he hadn’t trapped her with him, even if he was starting to remember why (inky black terror crawling up his spine, wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe).

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” she asked, following him as he went to check the TARDIS on autopilot, looking as if she was worried he would collapse (again).

“It’s coming back to me,” the Doctor admitted. Still had a good four hours to go before the shatterfry process would be complete. He straightened his shoulders, trying to stand tall as he turned to face her. “Things got a little, uhm, unpleasant. I’ll do better.”

“Unpleasant,” Rose scoffed. “I’m pretty sure you had a bleedin’ breakdown!”

“It’s been a difficult regeneration,” he deflected, turning away, leaving the platform and making a beeline to the tiny kitchenette tucked off to the side. Tea. He just needed more tea.

“So, this how it’s gonna be, then? All that stuff about wanting to talk, but now you’re just done?”

He nearly spilled the kettle with the speed of his turn, brows furrowed and mouth falling open. “What? Of course I want to talk!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Just, er, what did I say? Before?”

Memory was still a bit of a blur. Successful energy funnel for the TARDIS’ growth tank. Vodka tasting different in a universe without potatoes. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. No contact.

“You don’t remember?”

“I said it was coming back to me, it’s just not coming in the right order.” he sighed, refocusing on the tea.

“Well, what’s the last thing that you vividly remember?” Rose asked, moving around him, easily finding mugs and sugar and milk.

“Thirteen days ago, creating a temporal disruption chrono-field manipulator. Needed to siphon rift energy for our TARDIS. She needs a very specific growth environment.”

“Thirteen days?! Wait, siphoning the-” She leaned against the tiny countertop and covered her face with her hands. The only sound for a few moments was of the electric kettle quickly boiling the water. “Our TARDIS?”

“If you want,” the Doctor muttered, lifting a hand, wanting to touch her, but then thinking better of it. He clenched his fist as it dropped to his side.

Rose groaned as she turned back to him. “Of course I want that, you daft alien git! But you don’t exactly make things easy, do ya? I spent years getting back to you, and then suddenly there’s two of you and one of you abandons me just like I was always afraid of, but one of you stays and I’m expected to be able to process any of it? And then for weeks it’s an effort just to give myself space, knowing that wherever I go you’re so close, part of me wondering why I’m even trying to stay away when all I wanted for ages was to be back with you. Then suddenly you’re gone! I still know where you are, but there isn’t a chance that I’d actually run into you. And I still don’t know what to feel, but coming here yesterday, seeing you … I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so broken.” There were tears in her eyes. His nails dug into his palms with the effort it took not to wrap his arms around her, to wipe them away. “I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.”

“It’s not. It’s my own fault. You haven’t done a single thing wrong,” he assured her.

“That’s not true and you know it,” she tried to laugh, but it came out watery. “I’ve been an absolute cow. And I still haven’t answered your question. You’d said some things about words being a type of science, and that you could say things here that you couldn’t in the other universe. Like you were paranoid, under surveillance or something? I think you tried to describe how your time sense stuff works, but you almost fainted.”

“Fifty-seven days without you and that’s what I was talking about?” The Doctor grimaced.

The kettle clicked off.

“If it makes you feel better, it was kinda romantic. The stuff about not saying goodbye and forever and blowing up my job.”

“Blowing up your what?!”

“That’s why I had to come here. You blew up the old Records Annex.”

“Riiiiight. That explains the drone bomb. It’s not like they weren’t going to blow it up anyway. Didn’t I help?”

Rose rolled her eyes before moving to fix both their teas. “We’ll get into that later. Right now I don’t even want to talk about us. I wanna know about you, what you’ve been doing these past two months. Because I didn’t even stop to think what this all must be like for you.”

Cuppa in hand, the Doctor led her back to the couch as he tried to think of how best to explain something that he barely understood himself.

“I was created in a two-way human-Time Lord instant biological meta crisis. Hundreds of years as one being, then suddenly two. Exact same mind, almost the exact same body, but different enough that I can barely comprehend existing in it. If you remember, the first forty-eight hours of the regeneration cycle are complicated and dangerous. Barely a few hours into mine I was dropped outside of the prime universe that all Gallifreyans are meant to exist in, cut off from all telepathic contact as the walls of reality continued to sway, slowly falling back into place. It’s been … an adjustment. Sometimes things don’t feel real, even when they are. Sometimes things feel incredibly real, even when they aren’t.”

“You had a nightmare,” Rose told him, placing a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles through his layers. “I woke you up, tried to help. You didn’t think I was real. You thought you were dying, because you only had one heart.”

He tried to smile, and the action felt painful. “Sounds about right.”

“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been so selfish-”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I want you to put yourself first.”

“But I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this. What can I do to help?” she asked, a desperation in her eyes that he couldn’t bear.

“You’re already helping,” the Doctor sighed, finally giving in and leaning into her touch, lying his head on her shoulder. It was the closest he’d felt to time since they’d been left on that bloody beach.

Memories were still racing through his head. Energy coils radiating artron energy into a centrifuge. The smell of burnt flesh against the remains of a Bverni navigational system. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. No contact.

“The other Doctor said that you needed me.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yes, because he needs you. He also said that I was dangerous. I am. He is. We are. But you already knew that. It’s easy, you know, to yell at yourself. Not often that there’s actually a separate you there to yell at. I destroyed the Daleks, but we’d already done that before we met. In fact, so did you. The other me was lashing out, knowing what he would have to do but not wanting to do it.”

“That’s another thing,” Rose said, moving to face him, dislodging his head, “you said that us being here, in this universe, was the best, safest option. What was that about?”

“Something’s coming. Has come. Ended and began. There’s a massive paradox surrounding me in the other universe. Incredibly dangerous, potentially catastrophic. All I know is that it has something to do with a woman named River Song who claims to be my wife.”

“Your wife?!”

“I said claims. And she did seem to be telling the truth, besides the fact that what she was saying was entirely preposterous. My soul is entirely bound to yours.” The Doctor took her hand and squeezed it. “So I think I have an idea of the kind of man I’ll have to become in order to keep the universe intact.”

“What’s that?”

“A liar. If she is going to believe that I could possibly join myself to someone else, someone who isn’t you, I’m going to have to lie. I’m going to have to forget. I’m going to have to lie so well and for so long that even I believe the fiction I’ve created for myself.”

He wondered what the other him in the other universe would think, then, whenever he caught a rare glimpse at their timeline surrounded in gold, bound with Rose’s for all eternity. What kind of explanation he would craft. The Doctor shuddered.

“But that sounds horrible!” she cried.

“It’s the sacrifice he’s making for the sake of the universe. My timeline is dangerous and someone, something is tampering with it. You and I made one tiny little paradox and it almost destroyed everything. This one is circular, might be able to be maintained, but the scale of it, Rose. And who knows if it will even work. River seems great and all, at least I hope so, but I don’t think she has much of a handle on time travel. That, or she’s a manipulative psychopath. Suppose that’s a surprise for the other me to find out.”

Rose sniffled and he pulled her into a hug.

“He’s going to be all alone.” The words were muffled into his shoulder, his shirt growing damp with her tears. He cringed and tried to think rationally, that of course she would feel this way, that it had nothing to do with how she felt about him him. But then again, maybe it did.

“He won’t be alone. He’ll find someone. I always do, eventually.”

“B-but I-”

“We’ll figure it out. How to get you back there, once it’s safe,” he whispered into the top of her head. Maybe that would be it- what she needed this him for. And if so, it would be enough. It would have to be enough.

“Really?”

The Doctor nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“So it’s not- you really weren’t abandoning me here?” Rose lifted her head, eyes brimming with a hope that had been missing before.

“Never.” The word felt as if it was torn out of his very being.

She cupped his cheek, stubble beginning to smooth out into the beginnings of a beard. He really needed to shave.

“I thought you said to never say never ever?”

“That was before.”

It occurred to him that he had tea, so he took a sip - it had gone cold.

“Oh, right, all the, uhm, psychic-kinetic-telepathy science stuff.”

He opened his mouth to correct her - she was very close, though - but was interrupted by the ringing of the giant clock. It was heavily muffled by the sound proofing adjustments he had made while setting up the office, but still audible enough.

“It’s eight now, yeah?” Rose asked, even as she moved away.

“Yes.”

She walked over to his desk, where the Doctor now noticed a pile of her folded clothes sat. He frowned when she brought them over to him.

“Do you think you could sonic these clean for me? I’m gonna quick hop into your decontamination shower.”

“Th- there’s a proper shower, it’s two floors down. First left, third right, door marked ‘Security Level Alpha’.”

“What, really?”

“Didn’t want random lab techs using it. Has a retina scan. It’ll let you in.”

Rose laughed, ruffled his hair, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing to get ready for work. The whole thing left him confused. He went through his list again, checking and double checking to make sure that this all was real . It was, just as it had been all morning.

More memories. Recalibrating the tower’s new sub-basement weapon’s vault. Burnt toast and no more jam left. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. Contact made.

It wasn’t fair that she had spent almost an entire day with him yet he had missed most of it. Still, he sonicked her clothes, as well as his tea. Finished his cuppa, and then had a second before Rose came back from her shower.

“Why’s there no one around?”

“Dangerous radiation leak,” the Doctor shrugged. “I fixed it almost as soon as it happened, but apparently there’s ‘procedures’. How’d you get in?”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Mighta shot a few of your doors,” Rose admitted, picking up an electro-pulse blaster off of a nearby cart. Non-lethal on organic matter. Very effective on fancy doors. “Nobody told me anything about a radiation leak, though.”

“Classified radiation leak.”

“And why’s that?” she scowled, hands on her hips.

“Everything to do with time travel is classified to this office. Bethany is not being very cooperative about putting you down as a liaison-whatever. Please believe me, I wasn’t trying to keep anything a secret.”

“Oh.” Rose glanced over at the EEPEC, absently biting her thumbnail.

The Doctor didn’t know what she was thinking, didn’t know if he should ask. After a moment she disappeared into the loo to change, promising to be back in a tick.

It was a funny multiverse, really, that his reunion with Rose Tyler would be such a stilted thing. That it would be about him and her, but not this him. Acknowledged with a few questions after his health, sure, but that was just polite. She’d always been compassionate, caring for others. Rose didn’t see him as the Doctor. Not the proper one. Sure, she used his name, but it would be easier for her to do that this time around.

He looked just like him.

He was him.

But he wasn’t.

Memories were still coming. Adjustments to Torchwood’s alien tech retrieval protocols. Nutrition shots. Reports reading: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. Contact made.

He went through the list again. Still real.

Unless it wasn’t.

Unless he wasn’t.

What would have stopped the other Doctor from knocking him out and uploading him into a matrix? Giving him a half-life with a programmed Rose Tyler?

The air here felt wrong.

(Wrong universe. Wrong universe. Wrong universe.)

“Doctor!”

(Daleks exploding. “What have you done?!”)

Pressure against his hands. Why was it so dark?

The Doctor opened his eyes to see Rose in front of him, pulling his fingers away from his palms. Oh. He was bleeding. Hadn’t even noticed.

“Sorry, sorry.” He spun away from her in order to grab the first aid kit from his desk.

“What happened?” she asked, vibrating with barely contained panic.

“Nothing, nothing. Things just got jumbled for a second,” he assured her, efficiently cleaning his palms and wrapping them in gauze in a practiced motion.

“How often do you-”

“Hard to say. I’ve been graphing them. Seems to be stress contingent, but generally decreasing. My senses are gradually acclimating to this universe, so I have to hope that once they do, I’ll be fine. Perfect. Molto bene. No inconvenient lapses.”

“Stress? What h- oh.”

He didn’t like the sound of that ‘oh’. The Doctor clenched his jaw before facing her.

“We still haven’t talked about us,” Rose pointed out, approaching him slowly. Like he was a wild animal. Like he would hurt her. “And you … you don’t really remember yesterday still, do you?”

“Not really.”

His hands hurt. His body ached. One heart, and it was beating so quickly that he was sure it would give out.

Rose wrapped her arms around him and he automatically returned the embrace.

“Maybe I should just call in,” she suggested as she pulled away. “We can just take the day?”

“Or don’t and stay anyway,” the Doctor couldn’t help pointing out. “Some bits have come back, and didn’t they send you here?”

She burst into laughter. “Oh my god, they did!”

And it was beyond words, how great it was to hear her laughing again. To see her smiling.

But …

That was wrong.

Rose was upset with him.

Time didn’t feel right.

The air tasted off.

Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe.

The Doctor staggered backwards.

His respiratory bypass was malfunctioning. It was like it wasn’t even there. He couldn’t get air into his lungs.

Everything went black.

There was a shot of gold, and then a different kind of black.

“Doctor,” said a whisper in the dark. “The timer went off for the TARDIS. ‘M I supposed to take her out of that thing?”

A TARDIS timer?

TARDIS … timer …

The timer for the extended electro-percussive environment chamber!!!

The Doctor shot up from where he had apparently been lying on the couch and ran over to the EEPEC, swiftly shut it off, removed the tank housing their baby TARDIS, and then poured in the pre-prepared aqueous nutrient solution before inserting the tank into the quasi-dimensional artron chamber (currently set to it’s highest opacity setting).

“Hah!” he exclaimed, punching his fist in the air and itching to switch the chamber’s outside view settings to transparent. He turned to Rose, opened his mouth to ask her, and then paused.

It all came back to him, all of it, not just the jumbled recollections he had been getting earlier. Apparently he had fallen into a healing coma, and it seems to have been just what he needed … but it all truly hadn’t been fair to Rose. Though, to be fair, she was currently smiling like it was Christmas, so-

Christmas. Healing comas.

Huh.

“Shall we switch it to transparent?” the Doctor asked, unable to reign himself in any longer. “It was clear when Benny - quite the coincidence, right? - helped me set it up. This is a quasi-dimensional artron chamber. It’s funnelling in rift energy and centrifuging artron particles, and the end result in that chamber is the specific environment needed to properly grow a TARDIS. Well, along with the chrono-nutritio aqueous habitat. Benny describes looking into it as being similar to taking DMT, which, by the way, is completely inaccurate. It’s exactly like looking into an Eye of Harmony. If it’s malfunctioning, it’s like looking into the untempered schism, which I don’t recommend. But everything’s stable now, we could-”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to look into the vortex?” Rose interrupted, and …

“Right … erm, well ,” he hedged, scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, it isn’t actually the vortex, but you’re probably not completely wrong. Best not risk it.”

Excitement abating, the Doctor slumped against the chamber and at that moment realized that he had been changed into jim jams.

Jim jams. Healing comas.

Huh.

At least these were his own pajamas, and not some ‘friend’ of Jackie’s, though how strange was it that he owned his own pajamas in the first place?

“C’mere,” Rose said, beckoning him back toward the couch, which she was sitting next to, but not on. Not your typical decision, but he had likely taken up all of the space earlier. “I made you some tea.”

It really wasn’t worth it, cataloguing the similarities between this and when he had first regenerated into this body … even though the list did seem to be growing.

“Perfect! Just what I need!” the Doctor smiled as he walked over, taking a seat next to Rose on the floor.

Silence fell as he sipped his tea, and he found himself unsure of what to do or say next. There was too much to say, and he’d certainly done a piss poor job of organizing his thoughts earlier.

“Feeling better?” she asked, after another moment.

Small talk. He could definitely do small talk.

“Mmm yes, very much so.”

“Better enough to talk?”

The Doctor coughed, having swallowed his tea incorrectly (bloody hybrid body, still acting up), before nodding. Rose moved onto the couch and he scrambled to join her.

“So,” she began and paused, face scrunching up in concentration (it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who found this whole business incredibly awkward), “I guess … what is it that you actually want? Aside from a working TARDIS, that is.”

His brows furrowed.

Sure, there were plenty of ways he could answer that question and have all of them be true, but he had a feeling that she was looking for a specific type of ‘want’.

Problem was, the Doctor wasn’t quite sure what that was .

“What?” he asked, in lieu of any better things to say (as the runner up response was to ask for some jam, or maybe a banana, or some of the takeaway from the shop down the corner and blimey, he was hungry).

“This whole time, all of it, since you c- since you were- since you stopped just bein’ a hand- ” the Doctor had a list of complaints and corrections that he barely held in “- nobody’s asked what you wanted. The D- the other Doctor chose for both of us, really, and I hadn’t really looked at it that way before. An’ I wanna know. What do you want?”

Removed from the actual experience itself (and therefore not feeling incredibly, deathly ill), visions of the slight peek he’d gotten four days ago of his own timeline played in his head.

The Doctor grabbed Rose’s hand, weaving their fingers together.

“I want this.”

She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Care to elaborate?” she asked with a slight laugh.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “Because as long as you’re happy, everything else is just- just semantics. I mean, obviously it’s going to be a bit dull until the TARDIS has grown enough for proper travel, but I think we can make do?” At least, he really hoped so. It hadn’t been going swimmingly so far, but the Doctor sincerely hoped that he could chalk all that up to the initial side effects of the meta crisis, compounded by all of the, er … technical difficulties he had run into while constructing the TARDIS’ growth tank. Also, his new hybrid body needed much more maintenance than he was used to, including sleep. Really was rubbish without regular sleep. Such a waste of time.

“So, if I were to suggest you moving into the flat?”

He opened his mouth, intending to immediately agree, but then frowned. The TARDIS was here, after all. And he absolutely could not move her. Not at this stage. Not until she could connect to other dimensions on her own. The Doctor looked over at the quasi-dimensional artron chamber, once again wishing that he could switch it to transparent and watch the process unfold.

“How moved in is moved in?” he asked once he forced himself to turn back toward Rose.

“You’d sleep there, shower there, eat some of your meals. Most of your clothes an’ stuff would be there. Y’know. It’d be where you live. With me. If you want.”

“And that’s what you want?” he double checked, trying not to telegraph his surprise - he must have missed a lot while in a coma, as last he knew they were teetering on the edge of a row.

Rose rolled her eyes, and that was much more in line with where he thought they were at, er, relationship-wise.

“Well, I don’t fancy living in a clocktower office. When I’m done working, I’d like to not still be at work, ta.”

She did make some excellent points … but still, it all implied that they would be staying together. And that was what he wanted, of course it was, but the Doctor still couldn’t help but feel he had missed something crucial despite the fact that he could now remember everything clearly.

“You blew up my job. ”

“I love you, too. But I’m still mad at you.”

“You’ve still got two beating.”

Maybe there wasn’t something to have missed. Human emotions were relatively complex, after all, and there was no rule requiring them to happen in isolation.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked, realizing as he did that to Rose it was coming from seemingly out of nowhere.

This was confirmed as she blinked, brows furrowing.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little, but …”

“But?” the Doctor repeated, unable to stand the suspense.

“It’s hardly the first time we’ve had a fight, yeah?”

He nodded, unsure of where she was planning on going with this and hoping that he wouldn’t need to begin apologizing for every insensitive thing he’d said or done since they first met. It would take ages.

“Well, we always end up workin’ it out. And we did live together, travelin’ on the TARDIS, whether we had a row or not, so …” Rose shrugged, now examining her fingernails.

Speaking of the TARDIS, though …

“First things first,” the Doctor began, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up and began pacing, “I want it on record that I would absolutely love to live in a flat with you, with carpets and doors and things. Assuming we’d spend much of our time traveling about, that is.” He turned back toward her, having paced his way back over to the TARDIS’ QDA chamber. “The thing is, it’s … I don’t want you to think that- the TARDIS. She needs me here. This is a critical development period. For the next three to six months, the TARDIS will be growing in the chamber, learning how to connect to and create dimensions. Until she can manage it, I can’t move her and she requires near-constant monitoring. Every hour or two.”

“She’s like a newborn baby,” Rose commented, getting up and joining him at the chamber, where she stroked the side.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose this’ll have to do then,” she reluctantly … agreed? “As long as we’re living in the flat as soon as she’s moveable, mind. The bathroom here is two floors away.”

“It’s a clocktower, Rose! There’s only so much space.” The Doctor scrunched up his face as he said the word.

“Then why’d you pick this place? I know because of the Rift, but doesn’t it stretch further than just the tower?”

“Nope,” he shrugged.

It’s not as though he hadn’t checked.

“Really?”

“Small rift.”

“Yeah,” Rose laughed, “a small rift right under Big Ben.”

The Doctor laughed with her, amazed that he finally could.

Then he frowned.

It was all a little too good to be true.

Was this real?

“Hey.”

He refocused. Rose was right in front of him, their eyes locked.

“You were getting that look in your eyes,” she informed him.

“Look? What look?” the Doctor asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew. Some sort of dazed tell, some sort of glaringly obvious indicator that his grasp on reality was failing him.

“This look you get when you start thinkin’ you’re in the wrong universe.”

Wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe.

“Well, I am in the wrong universe,” he couldn’t help but point out.

“Yeah, I know. Me too. But y’know what?”

Rose wrapped her arms around him, and it was almost as if she were his tether, grounding him to this new reality they’d found themselves in.

“It’s better with two.”

#TenToo x Rose #doctor x rose #pairing: rose x doctor #timepetals #fic: improbable multiversal transcending spacetime event #fandom: doctor who #my fic

11 notes · View notes

bitchin-beskar · 5 years ago

Text

Spidey Sense

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: So the original prompt for this was something along the lines of: "hey, what if Joe and Nicky keep pictures of each other in their wallets to remind them of why they're doing this whenever they have to be apart" and this was born from that. Enjoy!

Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin @perropascal

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my works!

Please like and reblog! I love feedback!!!

Gazing down at the image of the love of his life, forever immortalized by his hand, never failed to bring a smile to Joe’s lips. His drawings would never be as magnificent, as breathtaking as looking at Nicky with his own two eyes, but whenever they were apart, he had to make do with images drawn by his hand.

Slipping the small slip of paper back into his wallet, Joe flipped it shut and slid it into one of his many pockets. He hated going on missions without Nicky, but this particular job had required his expertise in infiltrating one building while Nicky’s skills as a sniper were required four blocks away. It was unfortunate, but not the first time it had happened, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

When Copley had informed them of the job, he’d made sure they knew that he’d been unable to get any estimates on the number of guards they’d have to deal with. It made Joe uneasy, but they’d gone through with it anyways. Some tech company was trying to use their software to hack into the Pentagon to steal the locations of missile silos located all over the US. The government was very concerned about this threat, and so Copley had called them in.

Joe was supposed to create a distraction at the main headquarters, drawing the company’s attention and thus, allowing Nicky to eliminate guards at the warehouse that housed the company's main servers, which would then allow Nile and Booker to get in and plant explosives. Boom! No more servers, no more threat.

Nicky had been worried about Joe causing a distraction when they didn’t know the amount of guards, but Joe had tried to soothe his beloved’s fears as best he could.

“Habibi,” he’d said, hand resting on Nicky’s waist, holding him close. “I will be fine. And if anything were to go wrong, I know that you will not allow them to hold me for long.”

Nicky had leaned his forehead against Joe’s, one of his many, silent, I love you’s that he bestowed upon Joe throughout the day. “I would prefer it if nothing goes wrong.”

“As would I.”

***

Nicky had been right to worry, and Joe knew he would never hear the end of it. There had been twice as many guards as Copley’s estimate, and even with Joe’s healing, and centuries worth of experience, he’d quickly been overwhelmed. They’d knocked him out–although, perhaps they’d killed him, Joe wasn’t entirely sure–and when he woke, he was chained to a metal chair, bolted in the middle of an all white room.

His first thought had been something along the lines of how poor of a choice it was to put him in an all white room, as it undoubtedly would become quite the grotesque scene when Nicky arrived. Blood clashed so horribly on white walls, and Nicky could get quite ferocious whenever Joe was threatened.

His second thought was on the fact that even while bound, he could tell that his wallet was no longer in his pocket. That, in of itself was of no consequence, practically everything in it was fake–it was hard to have valid ID’s and such when you were an immortal warrior born nine hundred years ago–but there was one precious item in that wallet.

The drawing of Nicky was one of many, but that didn’t mean it was any less special. Joe had saved every single scrap of paper he’d ever drawn Nicky’s likeness on, and while some had aged beyond recognition, he hadn’t had the heart to let any of them go. He knew that Nicky similarly had many, many photographs and paintings of him. Nicky always professed that he wasn’t as artistically inclined as Joe, but every time Nicky sketched him, Joe could see the love and care that went into each piece of art, and he fell in love with Nicky all over again.

He was jolted out of his musings by the door opening violently, slamming against the wall. He didn’t react outwardly, instead analyzing each of the men that walked into the room. Ten men entered, the last, an older man with grey in his hair, shut the door behind him, making a show of locking it. Joe wanted to scoff. These men didn’t intimidate him in the slightest, and they would have to try a lot harder if they wanted to get a reaction out of him.

“Who sent you?”

Joe laughed. So this is how they were doing this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man scowled, the expression twisting his features into a mask of hatred. “I don’t like your attitude, kid.”

Joe laughed even harder at that, his body shaking with mirth, although his eyes were cold as ice. “I’m not quite as young as I look,” he chuckled under his breath, watching as the other men shuffled awkwardly. They clearly feared the older man, and he could see in some of their eyes that they feared for him if he continued to antagonize their leader.

There was a sharp crack, and Joe’s head snapped to the side, the backhand delivered with an impressive amount of force. It might’ve hurt, if Joe hadn’t lived as long as he had, and had experienced far worse. Still, he kept up appearances. The longer these men were unaware of his healing and his immortality, the better.

“Who sent you?”

Joe grins, the perfect picture of innocence. “Who says anyone sent me? Perhaps I decided to come all by myself?” He probably shouldn’t be antagonizing this man, but he’s having too much fun.

The man snaps his fingers, and one of the other men rushes forward to hand him something. Joe recognizes it as his wallet, watching as the man flips through it, pulling out his driver’s license. “Joseph Jones? Is that even your name?” The man scoffs. “Why were you trying to break in?”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to break in.” The man looks confused for all of two seconds before Joe opens his mouth again. “I’d already broken in. Your men found me after I got in.” Joe can’t help but brag a little, because, well, their security was shit, but also because he was trying to stall for time, so that Nile and Booker could get in and out without any issues. “You really shouldn’t have picked white walls you know, white stains so easily–”

He gets another backhand for his efforts, and the man in front of him actually growls. He goes back to pawing through Joe’s wallet, and Joe can feel his heart stop when the man pulls out Joe’s drawing of Nicky.

The man looks at it, and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to think at first. He studies the drawing, and Joe can feel sparks of anger igniting in his chest, although he tries not to show it. The man suddenly laughs, and it’s a cruel, mocking laugh. He shoves the drawing at one of the other men before turning back to Joe, a cruel smirk on his face.

“How cute,” he sneers. “Mr. Jones keeps a picture of his boyfriend in his wallet.” The man spits on the ground at Joe’s feet. “God, that’s disgusting.”

Anger clouds Joe’s vision, bubbling up in his chest like rising magma before bursting forth from his mouth before he can stop it.

“Boyfriend? Boyfriend? Nicolo is not my boyfriend,” he spits, fire burning in his eyes. “You are a narrow-minded, childish, little man. Nicolo means more to me than all the stars in the sky. He has been my light, my heart, for over nine hundred years, and he will continue to be my light and my heart for nine hundred more. I have fought a thousand battles by his side, I have gone to war to protect him just as he has for me. There will always be those who try to separate us, those who cannot possibly understand the depth of my love for that man, and yet,” he pauses, a dark smirk on his face as some of the men step back in fear. “Those who try always end up dead. No, Nicolo is not my boyfriend. He’s all and he’s more.”

***

Nicky was in the middle of dismantling his rifle when he felt it. It didn’t even take him a moment before he recognized the feeling. It was the feeling he always got whenever Joe would make grand declarations of love, which, admittedly, happened quite often. While Nicky was more reserved when it came to lyrical speeches, Joe had no such qualms, and would gladly shout to the heavens–and had done so, multiple times–about his love for Nicky.

Just as he was reaching for his phone to call Copley–because clearly something had to be wrong if Joe was waxing poetic about Nicky when Nicky wasn’t even in the same building–the phone buzzed.

Nicky didn’t even have time to greet Copley before the man was launching into an explanation. “Nicky, I’m sorry, there were too many guards, Joe’s been captured. They’re holding him somewhere in the building, but I don’t have eyes inside.”

“I’m on my way.”

Sending a quick message to Nile and Booker, informing them of what happened, Nicky finished packing up his gear quickly, leaving his spot on the roof and descending the fire escape as fast–and safely, he’d be no good to Joe if he executed a swan dive off the fifth story–as possible.

***

Joe could feel his mouth filling with blood, so he leaned forward and spat some on the ground. Apparently the older man hadn’t been too pleased with being insulted, and he ordered his men to get answers out of Joe, while he watched.

The beating, while not one of the worst he’d experienced, had not been pleasant. Thankfully, the men hadn’t seemed to realize Joe was slowly healing from their attacks, but sooner or later they would get suspicious. He hoped one of the others would get here before that happened, he really didn’t like dying alone.

He’d just been punched repeatedly in the stomach when the man doing said punching stopped. Joe was confused, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about a reprieve.

“What?” Barked the older man, pushing himself off the wall and stalking forward. “What is it?” The younger man shook his head, looking around.

“Did anyone else–?”

He cuts off when a loud bang sounds from outside the door. All of the men turn to look at the door, missing as a smile spreads across Joe’s bloody lips. Another bang sounds, louder than before, closer than before, and some of the men jump.

“What do you think it is?” One of them whispers, and before anyone can answer, something heavy slams into the bolted door from the outside. The whole door seems to shake in it’s frame, and it’s only made worse by the sudden scream of pain.

There’s a sudden onslaught of noise, bangs, screams, gunshots, and crashes and–was that a cat screeching? The men all back away slowly from the door, hands on their weapons, but nothing could have prepared them for the way the door was blasted off its hinges, flying into the room and taking out two of the men.

There’s a sudden burst of gunfire, taking out three more of the men before they can react. Watching their companions fall around them, the remaining four men all aim for the door, shooting wildly at a target they can’t even see. The older man, the leader, unlocks Joe’s cuffs only to pull him upright, pressing a knife against his neck, using Joe’s body as a human shield.

Joe rolls his eyes. If only this man knew how ineffective Joe would be at being a human shield. He watches with interest as the men stop firing, only for a knife to fly through the air and embed itself in one of the guard’s skulls. The others start firing again, but even though it's three against one, they’re no match for a furious Nicolo di Genova. Bursting into the room in a flurry of movement, Joe watches, fascinated–and more than a little turned on–as Nicky becomes a whirlwind, attacking violently with his longsword, cutting down the three men–with violent efficiency–who stand between him and Joe.

The older man presses his blade tighter against Joe’s neck, but Nicky doesn’t even blink. Joe stomps on the man’s foot, and Nicky puts a bullet in his brain, quick as you please. The knife cuts Joe as he moves, but it’s certainly not life-threatening, so he’s unconcerned.

Joe looked around the room, taking in the blood and guts and gore that decorate the white walls and floor and ceiling. “I told them that white was a bad choice, blood stands out far too much–” Nicky strides across the room, and kisses Joe hard, before he can get another word out. Joe grasps Nicky’s face with his blood covered hands, bringing him even closer, moaning as his beloved steals the breath from his lungs.

Nicky pulls away, but only just, his forehead resting against Joe’s. “Yusuf, amore mio, are you badly hurt?” His eyes rove over Joe’s face, checking for any and all injuries.

“No, habibi,” Joe sighs. “The marks those men left are quickly fading. I am alright.” Nicky kisses Joe again, uncaring of the fact that Joe’s lips still taste of blood.

They stand there for longer than they probably should, and when they finally part, Joe asks the question that had been pestering him since he first became aware of Nicky’s arrival. “How did you know so quickly, Nicolo? They’ve had me for less than an hour.”

The look on Nicky’s face is one of fond exasperation, one that Joe has been privy to many, many times. “You were being incurably romantic again, weren’t you?”

Joe grins, his eyes shining as he looks at his love. “They dared insult you in my presence, hayati. Besides, you love it.”

Nicky sighs. “I do.”

Joe cups his face once more and kisses him, pouring nine hundred years of love and affection and desire into the kiss. He would defend his Nicolo to the ends of the earth, against anyone and anything that dared try to come between them.

***

“I do not understand, Nile. Why do you keep referring to me as a cross between a human and an arachnid?”

“You have spidey sense Nicky, of course I’m going to call you Spiderman! Except instead of sensing danger, you sense whenever Joe’s delivering a love speech worthy of Shakespeare!”

“Hey! Do not compare me to that jumped-up English playwright–”

“Shut up, Joe!”

#The Old Guard #Joe x Nicky #Fluff #Not even really any angst #Like joe gets captured?#but he's not worried?#joe is an incurable romantic #nicky loves it #nile thinks it's fucking hilarious #writing #fics

167 notes · View notes

crispyjenkins · 5 years ago

Note

Skysolo prompt: Han wont stop bragging about how brilliant, talent, gorgeous, etc. his boyfriend is. Luke wont stop blushing and Leia is absolutely fed up.

(thank you for the prompt!! i put this in the nebulous time between a new hope and empire strikes back, so sometime pre-hoth. i hope you like it! now with a part 2 here!)

It doesn't get any easier when one of them gets captured, no matter how many times the Empire manages to get their claws on them. Most of the Resistance agrees that it's always worst when it's Luke, because Darth Vader has a strange obsession with him and they never know if a rescue mission means trying to sneak around the Emperor's right hand.

With Leia, they mostly have to worry about the body count when they finally reach her, because Force knows she doesn't go, or stay, quietly.

Han, though, they worry because they don't know if Jabba is somehow behind the hit, if they'll even find him alive when they track him down. Luke worries enough for the whole Resistance, of course, because Han might think he can talk his way out of anything, but Luke knows better, and knows his man is one misplaced eye roll from a Spacer's Funeral.

So when Han misses a second check-in on what was supposed to be a routine reconnaissance on a planet they’re considering for a Resistance base, Luke groans and sets himself up to be unable to sleep for the next few days.

On the way to the unnamed moon Han’s signal had gone dark on, Leia tries to tell him that Han had probably just forgotten to check in, and that they’re probably worrying for nothing.

“Chewie wouldn’t forget,” he reminds her softly and flicks a few switches to get the Falcon ready for descent.

Leia purses her lips and says nothing else until they’re planetside.

It takes all of ten minutes to find the Imperial outpost, the black building standing out rather dramatically against the light blue sand covering the surface of the moon, and it takes even less to slip into the base. Through the Force, Luke senses five signatures and several droids, and —thank Keplar and Ghomrassen— Han, who doesn’t feel hurt so much as confused. Leia nods in agreement with his silent question, and they head quickly deeper into the tiny outpost.

They hear Han before they see him.

“And he flies the Falcon better’n even Chewie, y’know?” Han’s voice drawls from the only open doorway in the rather short hallway. “Well, not better, but prettier. Kark, have you even seen how pretty his hands are?”

There’s a long-suffering sigh from the room, and one from Leia as she aims her blaster at the ground. “Well, it’s certainly Han, alright,” she mutters, as if Luke hadn’t frozen against the wall in absolute embarrassment.

Because Han isn’t shy about his affection, he’ll tell just about anyone who’ll listen that he’d somehow managed to snag “The Saviour of the Known Universe”, but he usually keeps it under wraps around anyone not in the Resistance; what if someone used them against each other? Against Leia? This is the first time Luke has heard him slip-up around an Imperial.

“Just tell me where your base is so I can kill you,” a new voice pleads, one of two Force signatures in the room that aren’t Han, and even to Luke, it sounds like an empty threat.

“Base... Base...” Han slurs, and oh kark, had they drugged him?

Luke looks wildly back at Leia, who has come to the same conclusion and swears under her breath. “Can you take them?” She jerks her head towards the open door.

Nodding, Luke unhooks his ‘saber from his belt and leads the way down the hall, hoping against hope that Han hasn't said anything the Empire can use.

“‘Don’t know anything about a base,” Han says slowly, “but the last time me’n the kid went to ground– it was this desert planet out in Wild Space, and he grew up in a desert, y’know, so he knew how to keep us alive, and he made this soup-stuff out of this lizard and some sort of bush, I think it was scrag I don’t know, and kark, it tasted awful but it kept us alive, and how smart is that? And he built a fire like it was nothing, and knew how to read the dunes before a sandstorm, and have you seen how blue his eyes are? Probably not the best for bein’ in the sun all the time, but kark, are they pretty.”

If nothing else than to save himself from the mortification, Luke ignites his ‘saber and steps into the room quickly.

Han is strapped to a table with one end raised, and Corellia knows where his vest has gone. Two Imperial officers sit behind a desk on the other side of him, the younger one halfway to his feet at Luke’s sudden entrance, but the older officer looks up tiredly from where his chin leans into his fingers.

He looks Luke up and down before sighing. “You must be the boyfriend, then.”

Luke would honestly rather face Vader right now, especially when Han rolls his head towards the door and notices him. “Kid!”

“I’ll be taking him off your hands,” Luke tells the Imperials, the older one sighing again as the younger looks like he wants to argue, but thinks better of it.

“It was just a truth serum,” the younger grumbles, dropping stiffly back into his seat as Leia pushes in behind Luke and heads straight for the terminal against the wall. “But he won’t shut the kark up.”

“Sound like Han,” Leia says with mock cheer, slicing into the terminal to release the cuffs around Han’s wrists and ankles. Han gets himself upright just fine, grinning loopily, but the moment he tries to take a step, he tips forward and Luke has to move quickly to catch him. He turns off his ‘saber so he doesn’t accidentally stab either of them: he trusts Leia and her blaster.

“Hey, beautiful,” Han slurs as Luke slings one of his arms around his shoulder and gets a grip on his belt.

Despite the situation, Luke finds himself fond, and sighs even as he offers Han a small smile. “Leia’s still going to have your dick for getting captured again.”

“Damn straight,” she agrees, snapping binders around the Imperial officers’ wrists before shooting the terminal so they can’t send out any communications. “C’mon, ‘beautiful’, we need to get Chewie.”

They head back towards the stairs to the surface together, but Luke doesn’t follow her when she turns sharply down another hall purposefully; she’s more than capable of sensing and rescuing Chewie on her own, and with Luke supporting more than half of Han’s weight, it’s not like he’d be of any use anyway.

“You look good in black,” Han says apropos of nothing, head flopping against Luke’s shoulder before he seems to remember how to hold it upright.

“It’d be so much easier if you were gross about it,” Luke grumbles, hauling him up the stairs and thanking Old Ben’s ghost that he can supplement his strength with the Force.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Han scrunches his face cutely, an expression he would never have allowed had he been sober.

“I could hate you if you were gross about it,” he says, though he isn’t sure what he hopes to accomplish with Han drugged to Corellian Hells and back. “And that won’t work on Leia.”

“Mm,” Han grunts in agreement, going slightly cross-eyed in an attempt to focus on the steps underneath his feet. “S’fine, she’s not as pretty as you.”

Luke has to close his eyes and beg the Force for patience, because nobody calls Luke Skywalker, a farmboy from Tatooine pretty, or beautiful, or talented, or at least they hadn’t before Han Solo. He’s almost grateful Han had latched onto Leia first, because it means that by the time that ship had flown, Han already knew Luke almost as well as he knew himself.

“You’re the worst,” he sighs, shouldering open the last door out into the desert night, and drags Han towards the Falcon.

“He’s finally asleep,” Leia says as she drops into the copilot’s seat, settling in to help get them out of atmo. “Chewie’s fine, only needed a little bacta.”

Luke shoots her a smile, and hopes she knows how dead they’d all be without her. “Has Han begged for forgiveness yet?”

She snorts, inputting the coordinates for their first hyperspace jump. “The Imp was right: he wouldn’t shut the fuck up, at least not until I knocked him out. If I have to hear him wax poetic about your flying skills even one more time, I’m throwing him out the airlock.”

Wincing, Luke fiddles with a few settings to avoid looking at her. “He didn’t used to do this with you?”

“Kark no,” she grumbles. “We were too busy arguing to get soft for each other. Luckily he didn’t spill anything more important while with the Imps, and Admiral Ackbar is sending a nearby team to finish taking down the outpost.”

Luke nods slowly, just thankful they hadn’t had to kill anybody in their rescue attempt. Leia seems disappointed for just that reason, and that’s definitely something they’ll have to talk about someday, but for now, Luke lets himself slump into the pilot’s seat and tiredly guide them all back home.

#star wars #ask fill #crispy writes #skysolo #hanluke #han solo/luke skywalker #star wars a new hope #star wars original trilogy #fanfiction #anon #luke skywalker #leia organa #han solo #prompt fill #climb towards the sky

200 notes · View notes

sleepless-in-starbucks · 5 years ago

Text

Falling for You has Never been So Literal

Ao3 link

Summary: Virgil's too gay for this shit. He's outie. (Or Virgil saw a hottie. What's he supposed to do? Stay conscious? Unrealistic) Warnings: Fainting, gay too much, swearing, breaking promises (but in the best way possible don’t worry) Parings: Romantic sleepxiety, platonic prinxiety

Inspired by @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors being just Too Gay and also fueling my inability to not write Too Gay

It had been a long day. Nothing new, of course- it was retail. What did Virgil expect? To be shown basic human decency? Unrealistic.

His shift only had an hour left to it, however, and Virgil was just hoping that his next customers could not be dicks. Was that too much to ask?

Speaking of demons, Virgil heard the sound of clicking approaching his stand, a lovely little spot shoved near one of the back corners of the store. There wasn't much to actually purchase here, so if someone was coming, it was almost definitely a customer approaching.

Mental fingers crossed for some very basic interaction that did not involve asking him to lower prices or any other crappy thing someone could come up with, Virgil ducked his head and waited for the customer to start handing over their soon-to-be purchases. A little awkward, yes, but what could he say? He wasn't a big fan of eye contact.

"I hope you found everything to your satisfaction." Virgil mumbled. Company policy to ask. He thought it was a little stupid, given customers who had a problem had a tendency to just tell you that, but it was still policy, and Virgil still didn't want to be fired just yet.

"Everything was just fine, darlin', thanks for asking." The customer replied as Virgil scanned through their purchases. Mostly just coffee beans and a few bottles of nail polish.

"That's good." Virgil said back, slightly more cognizant of the conversation. Responding wasn't strictly required, but it was preferred. And, well, he wasn't just going to say the customer had a nice voice, that would be weird, but, well... he was definitely thinking it.

Caught up in his totally not gay thoughts, Virgil finished the bagging automatically, pushing the groceries to the side as he punched in a few more things on the register. Finally, he actually looked up at the customer, about to ask how they planned on paying today.

His voice dried up in his throat before he even had the chance to use it, however, which probably had something to do with the fact that idling at his station was arguably the prettiest man he had ever seen.

The customer, aka Hottie McHottieFace, was sporting the absolutely most basic jeans, shirt, and (leather) jacket combo Virgil had ever seen, but it looked very, very good on him. Sunglasses were criminally hiding eyes that Virgil was relatively sure would kill him if he saw them, and his dark brown hair was pulled into a braid over his shoulder.

Worst of all, the customer was smirking at Virgil, intent probably harmless, but the consequences most certainly not.

Virgil wasn't sure how long he stood there, wordlessly gaping, face steadily turning into a cherry, but eventually the customer asked, voice teasing, "See somethin' you like, hun?"

Words, that's right, Virgil had to say words while looking at someone or it was rude. But upon moving his mouth, Virgil found that was apparently not a thing he could do anymore. He was fairly sure he was making some noises, but they were definitely not building themselves into any thing understandable

The whole 'clearly trying to speak and failing' thing wasn't going unnoticed by Hottie McHottieFace, who propped their sunglasses up with a frown and oh Virgil is not making it out of this alive, not when those sparkling green eyes were watching him, even if they were looking very concerned.

"Hey, uh... are you alright?" The customer asked, and Virgil would have loved to tell them absolutely not, please either leave or hold me, but then he reached over the counter to lightly place a hand on Virgil's arm, seemingly worried Virgil was going to fall over, and that was it. Virgil was out.

Virgil didn't completely remember how he went from standing and dying at his stand to lying, assumedly dead, on the floor, but he did remember the cause of it.

He reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, groaning. Great. Super. Couldn't wait to explain this to his boss. 'Fainted because of gay.' He should get himself a sign. 'If you're cute do not shop here, please and thank you, the cashier is liable to fainting like an absolute fool if you do.'

"You up, babes?"

Oh. Virgil knew that voice.

Was it possible to faint again if you were already on the ground?

Instead of doing that, Virgil settled for shooting up like he had heard free money was being handed out. More black spots danced across his vision the minute he did that, something he really should have seen coming, but it was already pretty clear his brain was functioning on 'fried-by-the-gay' mode, and his common sense was severely lacking.

"Woahhhh, let's slow down there." Hottie McHottieFace said, gently pushing against Virgil's chest to get him to lie back down, as if he had already forgotten the exact reason why Virgil fainted in the first place. Hottie smirked. "I know I sound like an angel, but I really don't want to see you have another fainting spell. Especially considering you've already stuck me here for five minutes with your first one."

Virgil cringed a little at that, going to apologize, but Hottie waved him off before he could even open his mouth.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I'm not 'stuck' here." He said, smirk turning into more of a genuine smile. "I just figured it was pretty bad manners to just leave you." The smile turned smug once more, "I apologize also for the angel bit. I know I sound like one, but it really isn't fair to say that without pointing out you look like one."

Dead.

Virgil was dead.

Right?

This simply could not be real.

Grasping for literally anything he could use to stop the blush that was beginning to regrow across his face, Virgil finally noticed that Hottie, who was sitting next to him so that he didn't have to sit up to see him, was now only sporting his jeans and shirt.

"J-jacket." Virgil said. He hoped it sounded like a question. He also hoped Hottie just didn't hear him, because if his first words to him after all of this was 'jacket' he might as well just die of embarrassment right now.

Hottie raised an eyebrow, however, looking confused for a second before realizing what Virgil meant. "Where's my jacket?" He asked in confirmation, and Virgil nodded. Hottie's smirk only grew. "Did you think you were laying on a bag of flour, or...?"

Now it was Virgil's turn to look confused. Laying on... oh, there was something under his head.

Oh.

Kill him now. Please.

"Oh, good. Your processing skills are still intact." Hottie pointed out helpfully, glancing off towards a different end of the store. "Your boss said that was a thing I should keep track of, or something." Hottie glanced back at Virgil. "He's worried you gave yourself a concussion."

The salty part of Virgil would have loved to inform Hottie if anyone had given him a concussion, it would have been Hottie himself, since Virgil certainly hadn't planned for it. But the salty part was still barred by the fact he was currently working with one word per minute speaking wise.

"EMTs got called, too." Hottie added. "I mean, I assume you already saw that coming, but a head's up probably can't hurt."

Shit. Other people. If anything was going to stop him from being 100% a flustered mess, it would be the thought of having to interact with people he preferred not to tell the exact cause of his fainting spell.

Of course, he was still going to be roughly 94% flustered, but it was something.

Virgil moved to sit up, slowly this time, still gaining a very worried look from Hottie that he waved off. "I'm fine." He said, and his voice sounded like he had been screaming for an hour, but it was working, and that was pretty good if he did say so himself.

"Uh huh." Hottie said, disbelievingly, even as Virgil managed to get himself into a sitting position without falling back over. "Just be careful. I think your boss is going to kill me if he finds you fainted. Again."

"Why would he kill you?"

Hottie shrugged. "Beats me, sugar, but he seems to think I sabotaged your ability to remain awake. Don't know why, though, since that's a little ridiculous sounding, don't ya think?"

Ridiculous sounding, yes. Accurate? Also yes.

Virgil coughed. "Uh. Yeah. Ridiculous."

Luckily, Hottie didn't seem to pick up on his obvious bluff, holding out his hand instead. "Remy. Remy Starbucks."

Virgil raised an eyebrow as he took the hand. "Virgil. Is your last name really...?"

Remy laughed, and Virgil had to focus very hard on the fact that EMTs would be coming soon and he could absolutely not be flustered again, because Remy laughing was... nice just leave it at nice Virgil, damnit, if you start waxing poetic about him you're never going to stop looking flustered for the rest of your life.

"Nah, babes." Remy said as he released Virgil's hand, sitting back. "While it has been a spectacular ten minutes with you, you have spent half of them doing a very good impression of me without my coffee, and the other half mostly failing to speak. I'm not supposed to just hand out my last name to every good looking stranger I meet, now am I?"

Virgil fought down the sudden urge to give Remy his last name. He was 100% certain it wasn't nearly as sly of a move as he thought it was... but it would be a move.

Virgil was saved from making a decision on just how disastrous he wanted to be by the sound of someone approaching, quickly followed by his manager coming up behind Remy. He crouched down when he actually got to them, offering Virgil a bottle of water he readily accepted. "How are you feeling?"

Virgil shrugged as he drank the water. "Fine."

His manger frowned. "Yeah. That's why you fainted. You just felt too fine."

No, I fainted because the customer was too fine. Virgil thought in annoyance. Get your facts right.

"Listen, I am fine." Virgil repeated. "I just..." He glanced over at Remy, who was apparently also interested in the reason behind him fainting. "Just, uh... tired."

"You were tired?" His managed replied.

Virgil nodded his head as seriously as he could. "Just didn't get enough sleep last night, I guess." He said, hoping the lie wouldn't be too obvious. Probably helped his case he always looked tired, at least.

His manager didn't look entirely impressed, but it was deemed good enough. "Alright. Well, you still have to wait for the EMTs to make sure you don't have any serious head injuries from your fall, but assuming they clear you, consider your shift off for the day. Actually, take tomorrow too." The manager threw in. "Take a nap. I can't have my employees fainting on me become a common thing."

Virgil gave him a mostly sarcastic salute as his manager stood back up, glancing towards the nearest doors as the sound of sirens approached. "I'm going to go grab them." He said, heading off once more.

Remy watched him run off before turning back to Virgil. "So, can I assume you've got this all under control?" He asked, adding, "Under control as in you don't need random customer who's done nothing but sit around and be snarky to stick around?"

"You don't have to stay, no." Virgil answered, immediately panicking barely a second after the words were out of his mouth, rushing to continue with, "But, uh, my manager might, um, want to give you something as thanks for, y'know, sitting next to me." He said, angrily fighting off his once-more rising blush.

"Yeah. I'm sure that's the only reason I should stay." Remy said, voice lilting and wow here Virgil was, a dumbass, really thinking he really had a chance to survive this experience when he had a million dumb gay brain cells. "But as nice as a five dollar coupon would be, I have a meeting I can't miss, so I'm 'fraid I'll have to skip it."

"Oh, yeah, of course." Virgil said, trying not to sound disappointed. "You should, uh, you should really go then. Don't want to be late or anything."

"I'm already late, doll, don't worry about that." Remy said, winking at Virgil before he flipped his sunglasses back over his eyes. "Fashionably so, of course."

"Of course." Virgil echoed automatically.

Remy scooped up his bag of groceries, which had been lying next to him, and snagged his jacket from where it was sitting, folded up and at the moment useless, behind Virgil. Before standing up, however, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a receipt paper and handing it to Virgil.

"I know I'm supposed to keep that, but it was the only paper I had on me." Remy said with a smirk as he stood up. "If you really need to fulfill your cashier duties, though, well, I hear you have tomorrow off. Call me. We'll make a date of it." Remy said, blowing Virgil a kiss before turning and walking away. He stopped right before the doors, taking a moment to look back one last time and add, "Oh, and feel better, sweetie," before he was truly gone.

Virgil moved a hand to his face, unhappy but not in the least surprised to find it burning. Hand still on face, he looked down at the receipt he had been given, only to find some very swirly writing declaring the number scrawled across it to be Remy's. Virgil didn't know how, but somehow his face got even warmer.

Virgil was still busy trying not to die when he heard a group approaching, glancing over at the doors to see his manager returning with two EMTs. Stuffing the receipt in his pocket, he tried to look as alright as he claimed.

He considered it quite rude the first thing they mentioned was how red he looked.

Twenty minutes later and too many questions about why he had fainted (complete with one of the EMTs asking him suspiciously if being tired was all that had caused it in a tone Virgil didn't care very much for) and Virgil was finally free to go home.

Well. Free to go home as soon as someone picked him up, since apparently being tired enough to faint at random posed a serious risk to his driving ability and he wasn't allowed to do that. He was tempted to just drive home anyways, but his manager apparently didn't want anymore liabilities on his watch, and had helpfully taken Virgil's keys away.

So he was waiting.

Eventually, after ten minutes that had felt like forever, a car pulled up to the curb in front of the store, stopping in front of him. Even if he didn't already know what his roommate's car looked like, the Disney stickers plastered over literally every surface of it was all the identification Virgil needed.

He pulled open the passenger door and slumped into the seat, not surprised to find the Frozen soundtrack playing. After a minute where the car didn't start moving, Virgil glanced at Roman in annoyance.

"Are you going to go?"

"Not until you buckle-up, buttercup." Roman replied, sing-song.

Virgil sneered. "Why?"

"So I don't get a ticket just because you're lazy and angsty." Roman replied. "And don't say you're not being angsty, because I just know you were about to say you're not going to do anything that'll increase your chances of remaining in this 'dark, joyless world.'" Roman said the last bit much more dramatically than Virgil felt he had to, leaning back and putting the back of his hand to his forehead with a melodramatic sigh.

"I don't talk like that." Virgil said defensively.

"No, you just say those words." Roman agreed. "But not with nearly enough emotion. I'm just trying to make you seem exciting."

"That goes against everything I stand for."

"Just put on your seatbelt."

Virgil grumbled some more, but he did as requested, happy when Roman actually started them moving. For a few minutes, everything was fine, Roman's music a little loud but Virgil having long since learned that trying to turn it down only resulted in Roman singing it louder.

When Roman reached out and turned it down, however, Virgil knew he was in for twenty questions, a game he really didn't want to play when the final answer was 'fainted out of gay.' Roman would literally never let it go.

"So." Roman started, trying to sound casually conversational and failing entirely. "You fainted."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Fuck you, Watson." Roman replied before pushing on, "You don't do that a lot."

"Thank you, Capt' Obvious."

Roman rolled his eyes. "I just wanted to ask why, Fainting Beauty."

Virgil shrugged non-committedly. "'Tired."

Roman side-eyed Virgil. "You don't faint when you get tired, though. You get more and more grumpy until someone wrestles you to bed." Roman said, only speaking a little (read: a lot) from experience. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Which means you're lying about why you fainted, which means the real reason must be-"

"-Unimportant." Virgil cut him off. "Something happened, I fainted, and I don't have a concussion. End of story."

"I don't think it is." Roman said, grinning. "Come on. You know I'm not going to let this go. You might as well tell me."

Virgil glared at Roman, annoyed that he was right. Roman wouldn't drop the matter for weeks if that's what it took to figure out the real story. He sighed. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"I swear it on my brother's grave!"

"Your brother's not dead."

"I swear it on my brother!"

"You're just going to take the name of Patton in vain like that?"

Roman huffed in annoyance. "No sense of dramatics in you at all." He complained. "I promise, alright, just spill the tea already."

Virgil hunched in on himself a bit, feeling silly as he admitted, quietly, "It was a cute guy."

"What did you say?"

Virgil cleared his throat and said again, louder, "It was a cute guy."

"I'm sorry, you're really going to have to speak up-"

"I SAID IT WAS A CUTE GUY."

Roman smirked. "Heard you the second time."

Virgil punched his arm. "Jerk."

"I know." Roman said smugly. "Now, details!!!"

"What details?" Virgil asked, annoyedly. "I saw a cute dude and I fainted because of it."

"Yeah, you swooned over him! How romantic! How magnificent! How gay!" Roman exclaimed. "You have to give! Me! The details! How cute is he? Can you see the universe in his eyes? Did he smile and you went weak at the knees? Did he introduce you to a world you didn't know existed?!"

"Our interaction lasted for, like, ten minutes Roman." Virgil pointed out in exasperation. "And I was busy being gay-dead for five minutes of that."

"Five minutes conscious is all you need to fall hopelessly in love." Roman assured him.

"I did not fall 'hopelessly in love' with him."

"Surrrrrrrrre." Roman drawled. "At least tell me you got totally-your-true-love's name?"

"Yes...?"

"Perfect!" Roman said excitedly. "Now you just keep an eye out for him, ask other cashiers to look for him, all that, and eventually, when you find him again, with my careful wingmanning we will get you the best second-meet-cute that can be artificially created!"

"That sounds really excessive and borderline creepy." Virgil pointed out.

Roman pouted. "Well how do you propose we get you and your soulmate properly matched together, then?"

"Well, I could just call him." Virgil responded, so caught up in being snarky that he forgot that sometimes, keeping secrets was helpful.

Roman squealed loud enough Virgil thought he was going to go deaf and, yeah, this was one of those times. "YOU HAVE HIS NUMBER?!"

"Yeah, I do." Virgil confirmed as he snapped next to his ear, a little relieved to find his hearing was, in fact, intact.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?!" Roman exclaimed, much too loudly for the confined space. "You have to call him right now!!"

"I think I will not do that." Virgil responded. "Not with you in the car, anyways."

"Why ever not?!"

"Because you'll take the phone from my hand and set us up before I have a chance to say so much as 'hi.'"

"Blasphemy!" Virgil looked at Roman, unimpressed. Roman sighed. "Alright, maybe a little accurate." Pause. "Alright a LOT accurate. But still! You have to at least text him!"

"And why do I have to do that?"

"So you can be together and have literally the cutest getting together story ever. Duh." Roman responded like it was obvious.

"Invalid reason."

"And why's that?"

"Because you're the only one who knows about this." Virgil answered. "And you are never, ever going to tell anyone else that's why I fainted."

Roman looked scandalized at this new information. "But Virgil!"

"Nope. No buts." Virgil cut him off before he could say more. "You are not telling or so help me I will throw his number right out the window."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, bitch." Virgil threatened. He left out the fact that the number was already saved in his phone, Remy's contact name stereotypically followed with a heart.

Roman sighed. "You live to torture me." He bemoaned. "But fine. If you promise to actually text him and at least schedule one date, I'll keep your gay secret."

"For real? And for ever?" Virgil checked. "This better not come up later, Princey."

"For ever and ever." Roman said with a flourish of his hand. "And if I so break your trust, you can dump him and blame me."

Virgil knew the promise was good. If there was anything more important to Roman than sharing embarrassing gay moments, it was actively supporting the gays in his life. "Deal."

"Magnificent!" Roman said. "Now, go be a dear and get! That! Boy!"

Virgil smirked. "We're already having lunch tomorrow."

"You already set up a date?!?! And you used having a date as blackmail against me?!?!"

"Yep."

"Touché, sir, touché." Roman said, before grinning mischievously. "You know I'm going to get you back for that, right?"

"I'd expect nothing less from you." Virgil replied. "Hence the whole protecting my secret first thing."

"Oh, don't worry Virgil." Roman assured him. "I'll figure something out."

And with that slightly ominous warning, Roman turned the music back up, immediately jumping into singing, the Frozen soundtrack having moved into Little Mermaid.

Virgil tried not to take it to heart that the song now playing was "Poor Unfortunate Souls."

~Time skip of roughly a year and a half~

Virgil was starting to have some doubts about making Roman best man.

It wasn't like he really had a choice- Roman was his closest friend, and given Roman refused to drop the idea he had, in some way, been a deciding factor in keeping Virgil and Remy's relationship going, Virgil doubted Roman would have even allowed himself to be anything other than best man.

But looking at Roman now, Virgil was almost certain he was up to some sort of trickery, and Virgil was pretty sure it was going to be very, very bad for him.

He had been nothing short of perfect throughout most of the ceremony, making sure everyone was in their places, showing people to their seats even though there was an usher, worrying over everything at a level to rival Virgil's worry. You almost would have thought it was Roman's wedding.

But now it was the after party, Virgil still mouthing the word 'husband' to himself over and over like it was unreal, and Roman was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Virgil didn't know what he was planning, but he was planning something. Virgil was almost tempted to demand answers from him, but before he could properly work up the energy to stand up and move in a direction that didn't bring him closer to Remy, Roman was standing at the front of the room, tapping a mic to get everyone's attention. Apparently it was time for the best man's speech.

"Hello guys, gals, and non-binary pals!" He said, loudly, proudly, dramatically. "For those who have lived their lives in shameful ignorance of true talent and beauty, I'm Roman, and I will be the most entertaining part of your evening."

"Rude." Virgil murmured to Remy, who just chuckled.

"You knew this would happen."

"Doesn't make it less rude."

"I can hear the criticism from here." Roman said, once more gaining the grooms' attention. "Though I may, for exactly once in my entire life, deserve it."

"The best present you could have gotten us: a little, tiny bit of humility." Virgil called back, the crowd of guests laughing.

Roman shrugged, grinning. "What can I say? I, of all people, am not blind to neither love nor beauty. And it would be a crime against both to not acknowledge that the true show-stopper of this evening, this day, and likely this entire week will be our two handsome new husbands." He said, sincere. "They are, honestly, the cutest couple I have ever known."

The crowd 'awwwwwww'-ed at this, turning to clap once more at the newly weds. Remy happily took the excuse to wrap an arm around Virgil's shoulders, pulling him closer.

Virgil smiled around his blush. Turns out not even more than a year's worth of dating could change the fact that Remy was the finest man Virgil had ever seen, or cure his Gay. Virgil was just content with the fact he hadn't fainted while they exchanged vows.

"And speaking of cute, every good couple has an amazing meet-cute." Roman continued, his grin turning mischievous, and suddenly Virgil realized exactly what his plan was. "And with our lovely couple here, well, rest assured when I tell you they have the cutest meet cute. Care to hear it?" He asked the guests.

The crowd cheered him onwards, giving Roman time to glance at Virgil, who was desperately trying to telepathically send Roman death threats if he continued onwards. Roman just winked at him.

"I'll take that as a yes." Roman said, turning his attention back to the crowd. Virgil groaned and turned to stuff his face in Remy's side.

"Kill me now."

"You're gonna have to speak up, sweetheart." Remy said, the arm around Virgil's shoulder shifting a little to comb through Virgil's hair while still holding him. "Despite common belief, my ears are not located in my sides."

Virgil moved his head just enough to put his mouth in the air, his voice not muffled this time as he said, "Kill me now."

"But I just got married to you!"

"Roman hates our love."

"How so?" Remy asked, still amused. "I know how we met, darling, I was there."

"You don't though." Virgil moaned.

Remy raised an eyebrow, something Virgil could actually see since Remy had agreed that, for their wedding, he could briefly lose the shades. "Maybe I should listen in, then, huh?" Remy teased, and before Virgil could beg him no please do NOT you'll kill me on our wedding day and that would suck, his husband had kissed him and turned his attention to Roman.

Unfair, Virgil considered in silence, that Remy could still fluster him into silence with something as simple as a kiss.

"Most of you know that Virgil and Remy met in the most romantic place possible: a grocery store." Roman's voice fell flat for a moment before he went back to sounding excited, "And they were brought together by the magic of Virgil fainting. Though the swooning was most certainly romantic, the fact that he fell onto the floor instead of into Remy's arms was a fairly huge detriment to their cute points.

"But there is a very important part of this story that you, my fine folks, are missing out on, an overlook that cannot be allowed to stand. The reason behind Virgil's fainting spell was not caused by common sleep-deprivation, as he claimed. The real reason behind it all was..." Roman paused, dramatics winning out over his desire to say it as quickly as possible, and Virgil went back to hiding his face in Remy's side as if that would block out Roman finishing his sentence with, "being too gay to function."

There was an oooh from the crowd, and Roman nodded in faux sympathy. "It's true! Virgil, poor, sweet, incredibly gay Virgil saw the absolutely stunner that is Remy and found not a single one of his brain cells could cope." Roman smirked. "Though he did walk away from it with pretty boy's number in hand, so maybe he's got more game than all of us combined."

"Got married faster too!" Remy called out, and Virgil wasn't sure if he was going to die of embarrassment or if he was going to die of love for Remy.

Was both an option? Maybe he'd go with both.

Roman's grin just grew as he pointed at Remy. "That he did, sir! That he did!"

Roman let the guests stop laughing again before he continued, "Now, I wish to assure you all that if I wanted to make this a good ol' fashioned best man speech, I could. If you think the dude who met his husband through gay fainting doesn't have more embarrassing stories to be told, you've never met Virgil. I could sit up here for another five minutes and go on til the cows came home.

"But, I do have a little pity for my former roommate, and given that I haven't seen his face for a full minute, I'm thinking he's already as embarrassed as I need to make him to fulfill my job as best man, so I think I'll cut him a little slack and stop it here." Roman said, laughing at the disappointed sigh from the crowd. "I'm sorry to leave you unsatisfied, but I'm not here to make dear Virgil's wedding day his funeral as well."

Too late for that. Virgil thought bitterly. Very much too late for that.

"So with that in mind, I'd like to propose a toast!" Roman said, grabbing his glass from where it had been sitting on the table in front of him, raising into the air. "To Virgil, the gay that went all in on the 'gay disaster' aesthetic, and made out incredibly successfully!"

The guests raised their glasses, echoing the chant exactly, as if they were all there not to see Virgil wed but to have a hand in his murder. Virgil was fairly certain Remy joined in as well, which was complete betrayal on his husband's part if he did say so himself.

The noise died for a brief moment, everyone silenced with their drinks, and when it came back it was quieter, murmurs around the room. Virgil still stubbornly refused to remove his face from the safety of Remy's side, however, only scooting closer when his husband tried to pull away and reveal him.

A pair of footsteps approached them a moment later, Virgil able to discern them from the crowd only because he was good at hearing traitors. They stopped in front of him and Remy, their traitorous cause laughing.

"Aww, did I get him that bad?" Roman asked Remy.

"He doesn't want to show his face." Remy answered, ignoring the muffled gasp Virgil gave when Remy dared to positively interact with the betrayer. "Which is unfair given I'm sure he looks adorable just about now."

Remy just chuckled when Virgil mad angry noises into his shirt. "I can't hear you, babes."

Virgil continued his angry mumbles without an attempt to explain them.

"He really is cute, ain't he?" Roman agreed. Virgil made an extra loud angry noise.

"And so angry." Roman added, voice still teasing.

In pure annoyance, Virgil tilted his head up just enough to free his mouth, muttering to Remy, "Throw a fork at him."

There was a slight clang noise and than an 'ouch!' from Roman. "What'd you do that for?!"

Remy's shoulders moved as he shrugged, and Virgil smirked, "It was requested by the cutest person in the world."

Virgil finally pulled away from Remy at this, openly gaping at Remy as he hit his arm. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

"And I am!" Remy assured him, arms shooting out to grab Virgil's hands before he could get them away. He pulled them close to him, lifting Virgil's left so he could plant a kiss over Virgil's new, shiny ring. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are, inarguably, the cutest most amazing man I have ever met, and I refuse to remain silent about this fact for even a second, love."

Virgil's face turned red so fact he was surprised his hair didn't literally start to smoke. "I hate you." He mumbled, though any heat to it was busy turning his cheeks redder than roses.

"Bullshit." Remy said happily.

"Gaaaaaaay." Roman helpfully commentated, gaining a glare from Virgil and an amused look from Remy.

"Enjoy it." Virgil bit at him. "This will be your last chance to see me gay and happy."

"And why's that?" Roman asked with a smug grin.

"Because I'm going to die of embarrassment in five minutes." Virgil said solemnly. "Now that not only everyone, but also my husband, knows I am a weak, useless gay in every single way, I have no choice but to perish."

"Babes, I can tell this is heartbreaking for you, so I'm not one hundred percent sure how to tell ya this..." Remy paused for a moment, mouth quirking into a smile when Virgil looked distrustfully at him. "Well you weren't exactly subtle about it."

"No." Virgil said instinctively.

Remy nodded sadly. "Yep."

Virgil blinked at him a few times, ignoring Roman's barely withheld laughter, before saying, "Change of plans. I'm going to die one year and many months ago, after I fainted. Saves me a lot of trouble."

"Nooooooo." Remy whined. "No dying. I just married you. You're not allowed to die on the day of our wedding. Or to time travel to your death on the day of our wedding."

"Unfair. And I thought you loved me."

"It's because I love you and your cute, adorably weak gay heart that I refuse to let you die."

"You're too sweet." Virgil complained, leaning forward to kiss Remy before resting his forehead against his. "Which is why I hate to tell you that if I'm not allowed to die, I have to divorce you."

"You can't blackmail into letting you die."

"This isn't about blackmail." Virgil told him, turning to glare at Roman. "This is about Roman breaking his promise to never tell. I told him if he ever broke the promise I'd break up with you. And I have to be a weak gay of my promises. If you have a problem with this, I invite you to throw more forks at Roman."

Remy picked up another fork from the table, raised it, and aimed it. Roman turned away defensively, waiting for the projectile to hit…

But then Remy put it down.

"Nah. No problem for me, sugar." Remy said slyly, gently cradling Virgil's face with one hand and turning Virgil's gaze back towards him, smiling softly. "'Cause if you divorce me, I'll just have to chase you down, probably date you all over again, fall in love with you all over again, marry you all over again." His smile grew as he cupped Virgil's face now with two hands. "Twice the perfect memories sounds pretty good to me."

"I- You can't-" Virgil laughed, sounding a little watery, which might be because he was a few more sweet words away from crying in joy. He reached forward, wrapping one hand loosely around the back of Remy's neck and carding his fingers into the base of Remy's hair with the other, ignoring as Roman discreetly walked off. "You're going to make me faint again, Rem."

"That's alright, too." Remy assured him, scooting forward with his chair, pressing their legs together as he leaned forward to kiss Virgil properly, still smiling so softly, so adoringly, so lovingly as he pulled away and once more pressed their foreheads together, trapping them in their own little world, where all that mattered was each other, blocking out the guests and noise outside of their little bubble. "Because this time?

"I'll catch you."

#anyways turns out I'm an awful liar #because like #two days ago #I said I don't write plotless fluff #yet HERE WE ARE #what can I say?#I like the gays #the cryptid speaks #ts virgil #ts roman #ts sleep #ts remy #sleepxiety #platonic prinxiety #ts sides #sander sides #fanfic #fanfiction #violet

444 notes · View notes

mikauzoran · 4 years ago

Text

Ladrien: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Ten

Read it on AO3: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Ten: Rêve Bleu

“Alyaaaa,” Marinette whined into the receiver the next morning. “I think I messed up.”

Alya blew out a snort, switching her phone to her other ear as she closed her laptop and carried it with her back into her bedroom. “Understatement of the year. I assume you’re talking about asking Adrien out?”

Marinette paused, taken aback by her best friend’s seeming clairvoyance. “Wait. How did you know?”

“Nino and Adrien just left my house, like, thirty minutes ago,” Alya informed, closing her door behind her and settling down onto her bed. “Girl, what were you thinking?” she asked nonjudgmentally. “Seriously. Talk me through it. I just want to understand what was going through your head.”

Marinette sighed, collapsing backwards down onto her chaise. “I don’t know, Alya. I was so convinced that he would say no if I asked him as Marinette. I mean, he’s never really treated me any nicer than anyone else, but…but you said he had a crush on Ladybug, and I thought, ‘Wait. I’m Ladybug’, so… I messed up.”

“Yeah,” Alya affirmed gently, shaking her head and smiling sadly.

“And the worst part is he totally has a crush on Marinette,” the girl in question groaned in agony.

“Wait. What?” Alya pulled back to frown down at her phone before bringing it back up to her ear. “How did you finally come to that absolutely correct conclusion?”

“He told Ladybug!” Marinette whined in exasperation. “I gave him my Ladybug phone number, and I saw his favourite contacts list, and I was like, ‘Who’s ‘Princesse’?’, and he was like, ‘Oh, that’s my friend Marinette. You know Marinette?’, and then he went off, Alya. He went off on this, like, doctoral dissertation on how amazing and wonderful I am.”

“I love when he does that,” Alya giggle-snorted, trying to contain a full-blown case of the giggles as she imagined the look on Ladybug’s face as Adrien waxed poetic about Marinette.

“Alya, I almost died,” Marinette asserted theatrically, as if she actually believed it. “He is the sweetest human being, and he says the most beautiful things. Like, the sounds that come out of his mouth are gorgeous.”

“I can’t tell you how vindicated I feel now that you know I was right all along when I told you he was sweet on you,” Alya chuckled smugly.

“Yeah, yeah. Rub it in,” Marinette grumbled, flipping over onto her stomach to bury her face in her throw pillow. “I just can’t believe how easily he told Ladybug he had this huge crush on me.”

“Marinette, he’ll tell anyone who will listen how great you are,” Alya sighed in amusement. “You should have listened to me.”

Marinette grunted and then whined. “I just wish I could have heard about his feelings for me as me, though.”

“Well, you could have if you had just asked him out to coffee as you,” Alya chided without heat.

Marinette gave another pitiful moan for good measure. “I should have just asked him as Marinette. Now, yet again, I have made my life unnecessarily complicated. I really didn’t think this through.”

“Well, I mean, the way I see it, you’ve got a couple choices,” Alya began to innumerate. “First off, you could wait until he inevitably realizes your secret identity and then feels hurt and betrayed because you lied to him and used your superhero status to trick him into dating you. In the alternative, you could come clean and date him as Marinette. Lastly, you could cancel on him as Ladybug and ask him out as Marinette. I think those are the main options, so…what do you think you want to do?”

“Alya, I can’t tell him my identity,” Marinette stressed, a hint of panic in her tone. “That would put him and me and all of Paris in danger! No one can know who I am.”

Alya bit her tongue on the issue of Alya knowing Marinette’s identity and how the world hadn’t stopped turning. “Okay. So, cancel on him.”

“Alya, I can’t cancel on him,” Marinette groaned, rolling over onto her back once more. “He’s really looking forward to this. If I cancel without a good reason, it’ll break his heart, and he’ll get akumatized, and I can’t fight Adrien, Alya. I just can’t, and then Papillon will win and Paris will be destroyed!”

Alya pursed her lips. “Okay. So…are we just going to lie to Adrien, then, and wait for him to figure things out and get hurt by your duplicity?”

Marinette winced. “You don’t take any prisoners, do you?”

“Nope,” Alya confirmed.

“Isn’t there an option where I can still date Adrien but not have to have my identity exposed?” Marinette haggled, as if Alya could magically make it be so.

Alya gave an indignant cluck, shaking her head. “I don’t think so, but…I mean, it’s your life, Marinette. You’re the one who has to make this choice and live with it. I’ll be there to support you if it blows up in your face, but…what do you want to do?”

Marinette was silent for a long stretch as she analyzed her options and mulled over the decision. “…I think…I want to go on the date with Adrien as Ladybug,” she responded slowly, giving each word its due weight. “Just the one date, and then I’ll tell him that I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to date me as a masked superhero because that’s not really fair to him.”

Alya bit the inside of her cheek, doubting Marinette’s ability to stop after just the one date but letting her friend make her own choices. “Okay,” she agreed. “If that’s what you want, do that…. Do you want me to pump him for information on his ideal romantic date?”

“Oh my gosh. Yes, please!” Marinette laughed giddily, happily kicking her feet in the air now that the decision had been made and she could allow herself to actually look forward to her long-awaited first date with Adrien. “Could you really?”

“Yep,” Alya confirmed. “On it.”

With God as her witness, Alya was going to make sure that this date was everything Adrien and Marinette had ever dreamed it would be.

She wasn’t going to let a minor setback like Ladybug asking out Adrien get in the way of her master plan to make sure Marinette and Adrien got married.

Saturday morning found Adrien agonizing over his outfit for the day.

“Plagg,” he hissed in a panic, poking his head out of his walk-in closet. “I don’t have anything to wear! What am I going to do?!”

“Kid, she thought you were charming the other night when you were wearing pyjamas,” Plagg pointed out tiredly, having been subjected to this particular brand of nonsense all week. “Just…put clothes on. If you’re feeling especially fancy, put clothes on that match, but I’m telling you she won’t care.”

Adrien turned a disappointed pout on his kwami, sticking out his bottom lip. “Plaaaagg. Pleeeease? I really need your help.”

“Oh, fine,” Plagg sighed, switching off his soap opera and floating reluctantly in to survey the wardrobe situation. “What exactly is the problem here? You’ve got plenty of clothes.”

Adrien frowned at the two-tiered wall of clothing. “It’s called choice paralysis. There are too many options, so I feel like I can’t possibly pick the right one.”

Plagg flew up to the top rack and grabbed a green argyle sweater with three-quarter length sleeves, dropping it on Adrien’s head. “Didn’t your girlfriend tell you that that one really brought out the green of your eyes?”

Adrien blinked, holding up the shirt to inspect it. “Uh…yeah. I think Marinette did tell me that.”

Plagg tossed down a white, collared shirt, instructing, “Put that on underneath and roll the sleeves into cuffs like you do with your usual overshirt. She likes that.”

“Oh. Um… Thanks,” Adrien replied haltingly, genuinely surprised that Plagg was being so helpful and offering real fashion advice. “Wow. That’s… I think this will actually look really good. Thank you, Plagg.”

Plagg gave an indignant snort. “Of course it will look good. I, for one, have been paying attention the past seven years, unlike a certain model I know. I trust you can pick out your own jeans?”

“Yeah, I should be able to manage,” Adrien chuckled, shooting his kwami a grateful smile. “Seriously. Thanks, Plagg. I’m kind of freaking out.”

“You’re welcome,” Plagg replied as he made his way back into the main room, calling over his shoulder, “Make sure you’re not wearing embarrassing boxers you wouldn’t want your date to see!”

“Oh my God, Plagg,” Adrien whined, his face, neck, and ears exploding in a heated scarlet blush. “Don’t be gross! It’s just a date. A first date! We hardly know each other,” he protested. “At least…we’re not supposed to know we know each other.”

“Yeah, well…let’s just say I’m anticipating you two hitting it off,” Plagg snickered.

“Stop teasing me. Meanie,” Adrien grumbled petulantly, turning to his large assortment of jeans.

He bit the inside of his cheek.

There were…a lot of jeans, and he wasn’t quite sure which would go better with the sweater. A dark wash? Light wash? Distressed? Ripped?

Adrien pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “…Hey, Plagg?”

At one o’clock on the dot, Ladybug landed on his window ledge and gave the pane a perfunctory rap.

Adrien’s jaw dropped as he suddenly realized why she had called Chat Noir earlier in the week asking how he had made small modifications to his suit over the years.

In place of the iconic, spotted bodysuit, the girl at his window wore a red, cowl-necked sweater dress with black suede boots, black leggings, and a thin black belt resting on her hips. Her hair was pulled up in a messy chignon at the base of her neck, and instead of her usual mask she wore oversized rose-coloured sunglasses.

“Wow,” he greeted her as he opened the window. “You look great. I love what you’ve done with the suit.”

“Thank you,” she chuckled, stepping down into his room and tucking a stray bang back behind her ear. She smiled appreciatively as she took in his outfit. “As much as your pyjamas suited you the other night, I think I like this ensemble better. The sweater really brings out the green of your eyes.”

His cheeks quickly reddened to match her dress. “Oh, yeah? You think so?”

“Mmhm.” She nodded bashfully, smile shy yet sincere.

“Oh, good,” he chuckled, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “I was kind of stressing over what to wear. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve got almost zero fashion sense.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” She waved away his self-deprecating assertion.

In fact, she knew it wasn’t true because Adrien had often times given Marinette spot-on advice on her inchoate creations. But it wasn’t like she could tell him that because Ladybug had no way of knowing.

She was beginning to see the flaws in dating Adrien as her superhero alter ego.

“I’m completely serious,” he insisted, laughing at his own expense. “Typically, when I’m going to be leaving the house, my father’s personal assistant puts out pre-approved clothes for me. Today, I’m not officially scheduled to be anywhere, so I was on my own as far as getting dressed.”

“I’d say you did pretty well,” she praised.

“I cheated,” he admitted shamefacedly. “My friend Marinette told me this looked good on me, and she’s an aspiring fashion designer, so I trust her opinion implicitly.”

Ladybug, unexpectedly, looked away to the side and blushed at his proclamation of Marinette’s trustworthiness. “Well, I mean…it’s good that you have a friend you can trust with your wardrobe dilemmas like that.”

“Yeah,” he hummed warmly, “I’m lucky to have her.”

Ladybug was going to explode. Between him complimenting Ladybug and praising Marinette, she wasn’t going to last through the whole date.

“So, um… Well…you look very nice,” she managed, only sounding a little flustered. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely!” he cheered enthusiastically, smile rivaling the natural light that flooded into his room through the windows in brightness.

She pursed her lips as a sliver of doubt seeped in. “You don’t think anyone will recognize me, do you? I mean…I wasn’t thinking very clearly when I asked you out. If Papillon thinks that we’re close, I could be putting you in danger.”

Adrien stopped bouncing excitedly in place and gave her an earnest once-over. His brow furrowed as he scrutinized her from all angles, his hand coming up to rest thoughtfully on his chin.

“…I honestly think we’re good,” he finally decided after much deliberation. “The only things that really scream ‘Ladybug’ about you are the earrings which are too small for passersby to notice and the yoyo, but that just looks like a ladybug-themed purse when it’s not in use. I think people will realize it’s you when they see us flying through the air on your yoyo, but once we get where we’re going, you can always set us down in an alley, and we can walk out surreptitiously. I think people are more apt to recognize me than you when we’re on the street.”

“Okay, good,” she blew out in a sigh of relief with a shaky smile. “I’ve just kind of been freaking out because I’m a little scared I’m about to get you killed or kidnapped or tortured or something. Sometimes…” Her voice caught, and she swallowed and tried again. “Sometimes I’m a little scared of how far Papillon is willing to go.”

He reached out and rested a reassuring hand on her arm, giving her his best confidence-inducing smile. “Ladybug, don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine. I trust you…and I’m more capable than I look. Nothing bad is going to happen, so let’s just go out there and have fun getting to know one another, okay?” He turned up the wattage on his smile before pulling out and slipping on his own pair of black movie star sunglasses.

She nodded, smiling tentatively as she wrapped her arm around his waist, preparing for takeoff. “Okay. You’re right. Let’s…Let’s go have fun.”

“Where are we going first?” Adrien inquired as they crossed over to the Right Bank on the opposite side of the Seine, headed northeast via yoyo.

“Montmartre,” Ladybug informed with a mischievous smile. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

His eyes lit up, and his grin spread even wider. “Really?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at his earnest excitement. “Yes, Silly. I mean, I know we kind of talked about date ideas via text—the definite ‘no’s and some things we would be interested in, but… Today is supposed to be one big surprise, so… Let’s just say that I have more than one trick up my sleeve.”

“I can’t wait,” he chuckled, heart overflowing with joy.

He’d dreamed of this day for so long, it was hard to believe it was actually happening. Ladybug really had come up with a romantic surprise date all for him.

Suddenly, Ladybug’s swing reached its apex, and she pulled her yoyo loose from its anchor, throwing it once more to carry them forward.

Just for a second before the yoyo latched onto its next mooring place, they were freefalling, and the drop made Adrien’s stomach flutter.

He couldn’t keep in a giddy laugh. He wanted to whoop and scream like on a rollercoaster, but he somehow didn’t think that would be appropriate.

“You doing okay?” Ladybug inquired, giving him a concerned sideways glance, trying to watch where she was going and monitor him at the same time.

“Never better,” he answered, and it wasn’t even that much of an exaggeration. “This is exhilarating! Sorry. It’s just…maybe the ride is smoother in your super suit, but I feel like I’m on a thrill ride.”

“Oh. Yeah,” she chuckled, blushing slightly as she remembered the times when Chat Noir had carried Marinette. The experience was a good deal bumpier without the suit to absorb the impacts.

“Do you like thrill rides?” she wondered, mentally crossing her fingers. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to make the transitions less jarring, but—”

“—No, no,” he hurriedly assured, still laughing. “This is wonderful. I love this.”

“Oh, yeah? Good.” She smiled, an impish glint in her eye as she threw her yoyo harder, latching onto one of the thirty-story hotel buildings that had been built before the law banning buildings from being more than six stories inside of the ring road.

She launched them high into the air and then let them drop into a dizzying spiral.

She held Adrien tighter as he laughed his head off, screaming, “Woohoo!!!” like he was having the time of his life.

“You okay?” she chuckled as they came out of the fall and back into a regular swing.

“Do that again!” he begged. “Please do that again!”

“As my Prince commands,” she readily acquiesced, propelling them up and then letting them fall as he screamed in elation as the adrenaline made his heart beat faster.

“Sorry. I’m screaming in your ear, aren’t I?” he realized too late as they returned to her normal swinging pattern. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated guiltily. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh, no worries!” she assured. “The suit protects my hearing. Besides, you have a lovely scream.”

“No one…has ever told me that before,” he spluttered, trying to keep from bursting out laughing.

“Glad I could be the first,” she replied through a grimace, internally cringing at the stupid things that perpetually escaped her lips.

“You should hear my singing voice,” he teased, giving her a wink that nearly did her in.

“Oh? Do you sing well?” she hummed in interest, glad that he hadn’t called her out for being a total weirdo.

“Very,” he replied with confidence. “Do you sing, Ladybug?”

“Not particularly well,” she admitted with a pained smile. “I mean, I sing okay as a part of a chorus or as a backup singer, but I don’t think I’m particularly good at singing solo parts.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re lovely,” he insisted, his kind eyes full of confidence in her.

He couldn’t say, “I hear you hum and sing to yourself sometimes when we’re on patrol”, but he knew she had a sweet voice when she didn’t think anyone else was listening.

“We could sing something together, if you like?” he suggested.

Ladybug mentally froze, trying to remember if Adrien had ever heard Marinette sing and deliberating whether he would be able to recognize her voice. Was that something he’d paid attention to?

“You mean…like a duet?” she asked cautiously.

“Mmhm. Just for fun,” he encouraged. “I would never make fun of you, and no one else is listening, so…how about it?”

She pursed her lips and debated whether she really wanted to embarrass herself in front of her crush.

On second thought, she always embarrassed herself in front of him, so that wouldn’t really be anything new.

He seemed in earnest, though, and he obviously wanted to sing with her, and the point of this outing was to take Adrien on a romantic date straight out of a fairytale, so…

“Okay. If it would make you happy, I’ll sing a duet with you, but I was completely serious when I said I wasn’t that good. I’m not just being modest,” she warned. “So…what would you like to sing?”

A faint blush spread across his cheeks as he tentatively broached the subject, “Well, I can think of one song in particular that would be appropriate for the situation. Do you know Ce Rêve Bleu from Disney’s Aladdin?”

She had to think about it for a minute. “Um…yeah. I think I know most of the lyrics at least. I’m sure you can help if I get stuck.”

“But of course,” he assured with a charming smirk. “I’ve always got your back, My Lady.”

Her entire face turned as pink as the tint of her sunglasses, and her heart skipped a beat.

It should have felt wrong for Adrien to call her by Chat Noir’s special nickname, but…somehow it didn’t. In the back of her mind, she chided herself for her betrayal.

She forced herself to breathe and smiled kindly as she gently informed, “That’s actually what Chat Noir calls me, so we probably need to find a unique nickname that only you are allowed to use.”

“O-Oh!” he stuttered, mentally kicking himself for slipping up less than half an hour into the outing. There was no way his identity was going to survive intact through the date if he kept going at this rate. “Sorry. Right. I knew that. I’ve heard him say that during interviews,” Adrien covered smoothly.

“No worries,” she insisted, giving him a little squeeze of reassurance. “I would just prefer for you to call me something only you call me.”

“Right.” He wracked his brains for something he hadn’t already used as Chat Noir. “How about…Nelle? As in ‘coccinelle’?” He bit his lip, brow furrowing. “That’s not very original, is it?”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured with a musical chuckle, adoring being able to see his facial expressions this close. He was absolutely adorable, and she love, love, loved how expressive his eyebrows were. She could watch them dance through emotions for hours. “I mean, Chat Noir calls me ‘Buguinette’ sometimes, so they’re on a similar level. Besides, ‘Nelle’ is kind of cute.”

Adrien’s frown deepened as he began to worry. “Is ‘Buguinette’ not cute?”

“Don’t you dare tell a soul,” she replied in a semi-threatening tone. “I’m swearing you to secrecy on this, you understand?”

He nodded, not sure if she was joking or if she really planned to kill him if he let whatever she was about to tell him slip. “Mmhm. Of course.”

She burst out laughing. “I actually love it.”

His heart swelled with pride and joy and vindication for all those years she had denied it left and right. He knew she secretly loved it.

“At first I wanted to throttle him because I thought he was goofing off too much while we were supposed to be working, but…” She shook her head, a warm, affectionate smile clinging to her lips. “It’s really grown on me.” She looked back to him with a deadly serious expression. “Don’t you dare tell Chat Noir. I will never live it down if you do.”

“If I had a free hand, I’d raise it and take an oath,” he swore. “I promise Chat Noir won’t hear it from me.”

Because he’d technically heard it from her but…

“Good,” she decreed, sounding satisfied. “So…singing?”

“Singing!” he agreed enthusiastically.

“…Do you want to start?” she inquired when a few seconds passed and no singing occurred.

“No, you sing Aladdin’s part,” he encouraged. “I’m obviously Jasmine.”

She blinked, wondering how he was going to sing the higher part. It actually worked out better for her because her voice got a little shrill and crack-y when she reached for the higher notes, but…

“You know. Like how she’s trapped inside her empty, lonely palace because her father is misguidedly trying to protect her, and her only friend is a cat?” Adrien explained, misinterpreting Ladybug’s silence. “And you’re the daring adventurer who’s come to rescue me from my boredom and isolation and show me a whole new world?”

“Oh,” she responded, coming back into the present moment. “Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” She paused, mentally rewinding the tape. “Wait. Do you have a cat?”

Adrien pressed his lips together and tried not to smile at the irony. He only succeeded in looking extremely guilty. “…No.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, a puckish smile curling up the corners of her lips. “Adrien Agreste, are you hiding a stray cat in your room?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny your accusation,” he answered with an incriminating grin.

“Mmhm,” she snickered. “Well, you’ll have to introduce me to him—her?—one of these days.”

“Him,” he confirmed, giving her a soft smile. “And yeah. I think that’s probably a good idea. Maybe not today, but…yeah. Soon,” he promised, knowing in his heart that it was hopeless to fight the inevitable.

If she didn’t figure him out, he was bound to crack under the guilt of keeping secrets and the frustration of her not seeing her partner standing right in front of her when she was with Adrien.

“So…” he gently guided them back on track. “…singing?”

“Singing,” she affirmed and then shot him a sideways look that informed him that she meant business. “No making fun of me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he swore solemnly.

And then she began to sing. Her voice was tentative at first, but she slowly gained confidence as Adrien grinned at her like she had personally created the oxygen supporting life on planet Earth.

She sang a little more assertively, her notes syrupy and sweet as the deeper melody line brought out a richness in her voice.

She fumbled some of the lines and started to lose her nerve, but Adrien gave her a supportive squeeze and began to whisper-sing along with her until it was time for Jasmine’s part to come in.

And then he belted the lines he had clearly memorized long, long ago.

Ladybug stared at him in amazement as his voice soared, the words so clear and crisp. He didn’t need to drop it down an octave either, and she found herself a little jealous that he could sing higher than she could without sounding like he was straining at all. His notes resounded, playful and bell-like, making her almost forget to pay attention to where she was headed with her yoyo.

Adrien Agreste could sing.

And, oh, how she wished she were recording this. She could listen to his voice for an eternity.

That was it. They were having Disney movie singalong night. It had to happen. Either as Ladybug or Marinette, she was going to find a way to get him to sing for her again because now that she knew what his singing voice sounded like, there was no way she could survive without it. She wanted him as her ringtone.

She mentally hit the pause button to wonder if she were acting too stalkerish again.

It was in that moment that she realized she hadn’t been singing Aladdin’s descant to Jasmine’s lines.

Adrien didn’t seem to mind, though. His voice gracefully glided over the notes as he looked yet again like he had never had more fun in his life.

She smiled as she joined back in, singing soft and low, trying to mesh her voice with his.

Serendipitously, they sounded pretty good together, and she found herself relaxing and just enjoying the way their notes melded lusciously into a cohesive whole.

In that moment, being with him felt so right, and all of her fears of rejection and humiliation and making him feel bad and ruining their friendship left her.

As she set him down on the slightly sloped roof at the base of the white domes of Sacré-Coeur, she finally felt at peace.

#Ladrien #Adrinette #Adrienette #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Alya Césaire #Date #Singing #Disney Songs #Dorks in Love #Fluff #Mikau's Writings #Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.

7 notes · View notes

melynen · 5 years ago

Text

You Bet - Bill Tanner/Alec Trevelyan

Written for the Trope prompt table’s prompt ‘Betting pool’.

For once, the betting pool wasn’t about James or Q or their relationship.

Alec had stumbled upon it completely by accident, when he’d hacked into R’s work laptop in search of something else entirely — namely, information about a particular gadget he’d heard James mention the last time they’d been at the pub celebrating yet another successful mission. James had waxed poetic about it and how Q had allowed him to test it out at the labs, so of course Alec got curious.

Perhaps he also lamented the fact that he hadn’t thought to nab himself a Q Brancher when he’d had the chance, if those were the perks, but that was neither here nor there now that he was taken and happily so.

Of course, not everybody knew about his and Bill’s relationship; M knew and by extension Eve did too, and he’d naturally told James who’d shared it with Q, but that was it. And it wasn’t like they were keeping it a secret, either, it was just that Bill wanted to keep private matters private and Alec respected that.

Alec had managed to lure his more reticent boyfriend into a few empty rooms in Six for a bit of snogging here and there, though, so he considered it a fair deal.

Still, the betting pool made no mention of Bill. None at all.

It had everything to do with him, however. It seemed that someone had heard him say that he was in a relationship, but not with whom, and the whole thing was centered around the identity of his mysterious partner. Bond and Q taking him along into their relationship was currently the option in the lead, but Eve, several other field agents, some people from Accounting and Medical, and even M had their names connected to his.

Alec was both extremely amused over the assumption that Bond and Q would want anyone else to join their relationship, and a tiny bit hurt over no one thinking that Bill might find him attractive enough to date.

Bill himself would probably find it all perfectly hilarious, though. Alec was going to tell him during their date in the evening, in any case. Perhaps they’d find some more amusement in it together.

Alec knocked on Bill’s door at precisely 7 pm. Bill let him in almost immediately, which told him that his lover had been expecting him.

“Miss me?” He grinned and, without so much as removing his jacket, pulled the man into his arms and kissed him on the lips.

“Apparently not as much as you did,” Bill said dryly when they drew away for Alec to finally lose the jacket, though there was enough of a sparkle in his eyes to tell Alec that he hardly meant it.

Alec shrugged and picked up the bottle of white wine he’d brought along then offered it to Bill. “I was bored,” he said by way of an explanation.

Bill snorted. “I’m sure. Weren’t you sparring with Bond for most of the afternoon?”

“Man can win, or lose although that’s just another way of looking at the same thing, only so many times in a row,” Alec said loftily.

“And you didn’t think to finish up your paperwork with all that time you had to kill?”

Alec, who was following Bill to the dining room and was therefore behind him, felt it safe to roll his eyes. “Of course not.”

Bill’s, “Don’t think I didn’t see that,” quickly disabused him of that particular notion, however.

People never really gave Bill enough credit. They’d see him and think that he was just another polite, soft-spoken bureaucrat, but Alec knew the truth. He knew that Bill had a core of pure steel, and that he was witty and intelligent and that he genuinely cared about other people. Knowing that only made him appreciate the man more.

Besides, not just about anyone could hold their own with a double-oh agent, and Bill was among those few that could.

They reached the dining room, a light and spacious room with a large table perfect for both dinner parties and smaller, more intimate get-togethers, and Alec could see that Bill had everything ready and waiting for them. The only thing that was missing was the bottle of wine, which Bill deposited into a bucket of ice, and they themselves.

Bill always insisted that whenever he cooked for them, they’d dine together properly in the dining room, complete with wine and dessert and all the works. Alec found it sweet, so he never said no when his boyfriend suggested that he come around for dinner.

Today’s menu was on the simpler side, a baguette with an olive tapenade followed by a fettuccine Alfredo as the main course and chocolate mousse for dessert, as Bill had had a long day at the office and hadn’t had too much time to prepare. To Alec, who really didn’t like cooking at all, it all sounded perfectly heavenly.

“It smells so good,” he said as he took his seat at the table. “I can’t wait to eat it… and you, afterwards.” He followed the words with an exaggerated leer and a wink as well, and was silenced by a glare that had more fondness in it than any other emotion.

“Just be quiet and eat your food, you menace,” Bill said as he opened the wine bottle and poured them a glass, though he didn’t sound like he was all too serious with his words.

Alec chuckled but did what he was told, and enjoyed each bite immensely.

“Thank you, it was delicious,” he said once they’d both finished eating and he was helping Bill clear out the table. “I honestly have no idea how you do it each and every time.”

Bill shrugged, looking quietly pleased. “I love cooking.” He paused, smiled, and pressed a tiny, gentle kiss on Alec’s cheek. “And I especially love cooking for you.”

After, they retired to the living room to relax and have some more wine. Alec wrapped his arm around Bill’s shoulder and took a sip of wine while his boyfriend made himself comfortable next to him.

“I found something interesting today when I hacked R’s laptop,” he said after a few moments of silence.

“What did I tell you about hacking R’s laptop?” Bill asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Not to do it,” Alec replied dutifully. “But Q’s is too well protected and I couldn’t be sure which minion had the information I needed.”

Bill snorted. “Not to mention that Bond would kick your arse if you tried.”

“Hey now,” Alec protested. “I’ll have you know that I won all our sparring matches today.”

“I was under the impression that you lost them,” Bill said innocently. “Since winning and losing are the same thing and all.”

Alec poked him on the side with his elbow. But lightly, as he didn’t want to hurt him, simply make a point. “Either way,” he said, eager to share his news. “I found a betting pool centered around yours truly.”

“Oh?” Bill said, sounding only mildly curious. “Do tell?”

So Alec did. He explained what it was all about, and also went through the people that were being guessed as his secret lover.

“None of them mentioned you,” he added, still a little affronted for his boyfriend.

Bill shrugged. ”Honestly, I’m not that surprised. When people were betting for Q’s secret lover, nobody suggested me then either.”

“People are idiots,” Alec said.

“Let’s not go quite that far, perhaps,” Bill said, and then a slow smile spread over his face. “We could have some fun with it though. Make an anonymous bet and win a lot of money. And in addition, I could even go and bet on someone really unrealistic. Like Eve. Or M.”

Alec felt himself start to grin. “I like the sound of that.” It was things like these that made him love his boyfriend more.

“We’ll donate the money to charity afterwards, of course,” Bill continued, matter-of-fact.

And that, too.

“That’s settled then,” Alec said, nodding. They deserved to lose their money for ignoring his Bill like that, and the money would go for good cause.

Alec did so love killing two birds with one stone.

#mely writes fanfiction #007 fest #teambondvillains #bill tanner/alec trevelyan

14 notes · View notes

ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 5 years ago

Note

Can you do another Punk Jask with Vicious Mockery? I love that AU soooo much. Maybe Jask sees the reader getting crushed in a mosh pit and jumps into the crowd to drag her out?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Punk!Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,478Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak a/n: This one got a tinge of angst but I’m me so it ends happily. Hope you like it! PS, the lyrics I use are from the song Trust by the band 7 Seconds.

“Hello Seattle!”

Jaskier’s voice echoed through amplifies surrounding the venue, the roar of the crowd nearly drowning him out.

“How are you doing tonight my Mockingbirds?” Jaskier cries out, raising his voice above the din. You’ve heard him do the start of show banter a thousand times but it never gets old.

“We have a great show for you tonight, Geralt has even threatened to crack a smile,” Jaskier says, gesturing to the man sitting at the drum set who cocks an eyebrow and shakes his head. The crowd screams especially loud at that and you know he’s going to catch hell for that after the show.

“Alright enough of this, you’re not here for conversation you’re just here for the good times,” Jaskier says and you laugh out loud, the sound lost in the crowd and the sound of the guitar as Jaskier seamlessly transitions into the first song. You knew he was quoting a song he was still working on. You’d sat next to him drawing while he and the bass player, Yen, worked on the tune to fit the words he’d penned. Those little moments were the ones you loved the most, just getting to be around him as he worked on his craft, giving you a little smile every time his eyes met yours. This was a close second though, standing in the crowd and watching him perform.

He’d been anxious about you going into the crowd but you’d insisted on it, waxing poetic about the energy of a mosh pit and the comradery you felt with other fans when you were down there. Your relationship wasn’t officially announced but you also didn’t really hide it and that had already made your life a little more complicated with security details including you and your friend as you toured with the band. But you were determined to keep this part of it the same as before and so you stood in the pit with a crush of other fans in matching Vicious Mockery merchandise. Jaskier played to the crowd as he usually did though he did sometimes pause and sing a few bars meaningfully at you. The crowd jostled and danced around you and you felt the adrenaline pumping through your veins and realized that this moment, possibly, was the most perfect moment you’d had in your life so far.

And then you fell.

Jaskier kept his promise to you, playing to the whole crowd and not just singing to you as he’d come to love doing backstage. He still kept you in his sights at all times, even if just in the periphery. That’s why he was able to catch when you disappeared from view. One moment you were looking up at him, singing along to the words you knew so well, and the next you were gone. He knew all too well the danger a mosh pit could pose. He waited a beat – looking for signs of anyone around you helping you up – and then he dove.

The crowd grasped at him, mistaking his sudden leap into the crowd as a part of the show, but he ducked low, looking for you in a tangle of limbs. You had crawled to the edge of the stage, hands raised over your head protectively, and he pushed through to reach you. He could hear security trying to move people back and Jaskier pulled you to your feet. He wanted to check on you right there, make sure nothing was broken or bleeding, but he knew it wasn’t safe and he let a guard guide the two of you through the throng. He heard Yen’s voice singing into the crowd, improvising to keep the crowd happy while he was gone and he made a mental note to thank her.

“Is she ok?” you heard your friend ask. They’d chosen to watch the concert from the wings of the stage as they usually did and hadn’t realized what was happening until Jaskier had leapt into the crowd. You drop your hands, still trembling slightly, and Jaskier takes your face in his hands, looking you over carefully.

“I told you not to go down there,” he said, “Are you hurt?”

“This happens to people all the time it’s fine,” you said, pride more damaged than your body.

“People die that way all the time too, Y/N,” Jaskier says, his voice angrier than you’ve ever heard. His blue eyes are stormy and his face a dangerous blend of anxiety and anger.

“I’m fine, I promise,” you say soothingly, resting your hands on his. Andrzej, the band manager, walks over with a first aid kit. He’d made sure he was trained in first aid and CPR to provide quick care if the band or crew needed help on the road and he began to gently examine your face, feeling for bumps and asking you to move your limbs to check for fractures.

“You should go back out and finish the show,” you say, rotating your wrists for Andrzej.

“No I’m going to stay here,” Jaskier replies.

“Um. No. That’s ridiculous,” you blurt out the words before you can temper them.

“You went down in a mosh pit, I’m staying here until I’m positive you’re ok,” he argues.

“Andrzej are you worried?” you ask, turning to the manager who glances between you and Jaskier, clearly not thrilled to caught in the middle.

“I’d suggest we still get you checked out by a doctor after the show just to make sure but so far everything seems fine,” he answers.

“See?”

“Still I-”

“Jaskier would you do this if a fan got caught in the crowd?” you ask. His hands go to his hips and he glares at you.

“This isn’t the same. You’re not just a fan,” he argues.

“I know. But I’m ok and this is your job and I won’t let you put me before it,” you insist.

“You don’t get to decide what I prioritize or why,” he snaps, “If I want to make sure my girlfriend is ok more than I want to finish a show that’s my choice.”

“Well it’s not mine.”

You stand in stony silence, glaring at each other for a few moments. Finally Jaskier sighs and runs a hand through his hair and you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. When he looks up at you again his eyes are kinder but still pained and you want to pull him into a hug and tell him everything will be ok but he nods a couple of times and you wait to see what he’s going to say.

“Look we need to talk about this some more but let’s find a compromise for now,” he says. You nod though your heart is thundering in your chest. ‘Needing to talk’ about things never led anywhere good. Not in your experience at least.

“I will go out and finish the show if you stay up here with Y/F/N instead of going back into the crowd,” Jaskier says.

“Ok. Of course,” you say, and then, because you’re afraid it might be one of the last times you’ll get to, you pull him in for a hug, wrapping your arms around him tight. He holds you tightly, one hand covering the back of your head and the other around your waist and he rocks you slightly, the emotions that fueled his anger bubbling to the surface in ways that can’t be expressed in words, only touch. When you pull apart he gives you a smile and pulls you in for a quick kiss.

“Alright, go knock ‘em dead,” you say encouragingly. He gives you a little salute and runs back on stage. The yelling in the crowd spikes at Jaskier’s return and you see Yen pass his guitar back over, picking up her bass and getting back in position.

“I’d like to dedicate this song to my girlfriend,” Jaskier says. Your friend squeezes your hand and gives you a little nudge which you return, blushing hard as he murmurs something to Yen who nods at Geralt.

“Hey now I’ve this feelingThat I’ve never felt beforeI know it ain’t cool to say this nowBut I can’t help the way I feel inside…”

The song sounds familiar and you’re surprised because Jaskier doesn’t usually do covers. He’s still managed to make it his own by slowing the pace. You realize he must have been practicing this when you weren’t around and when he looks to you in the final verse there are happy tears in your eyes.

”You inspire me intenselyWithout any doubtYou keep me thinking, help me tryShow that I can do withoutWith you there’s more foundationMore than any other timeAnd when it comes to you my heart is trueUntil the day I die.”

#Anonymous #Punk!Jaskier x Reader #jaskier imagines #jaskier au #reader request

14 notes · View notes

dakotacrisis · 5 years ago

Text

For Better or Worse (3)

Adrien.exe is applying updates. Do not ask hard to answer questions or flirt with the sunshine child at this time.

---

The rest of Adrien’s car ride home was spent with his face buried in the neck of his sweater blushing like a mad fool.

It was really starting to sink in. Adrien had just told Marinette he wanted to date her. He wants to be her boyfriend and have a real, romantic, relationship with her. He wanted her. Wanted to be with her in a way he had only ever thought he’d want with Ladybug.

Ladybug.

Ladybug didn’t love him the way he loved her. No matter how much he convinced himself that there had to be something there. Staring at the pictures of kisses he didn’t remember and telling himself that she had to feel just something. Maybe there was something there. Maybe she could return his love. Maybe things with Marinette aren’t meant to be forever and Adrien and Ladybug do get that fantasy life in his head.

But that wasn’t what was happening now. Ladybug was still a faraway dream and he’d always have a place in his heart for her no matter what. But Ladybug was no Marinette. She was a superhero and a good friend and the object of his affections for nearly a year. Marinette wasn’t a magical hero swinging around the city defeating evil but she was a heroine in her own right. To list all Marinette had done for others would take long hours of interviewing every citizen of Paris she had ever come in contact with.

Marinette was always helping others. Marinette was super passionate and a hard worker. Marinette was talented yet humble. Marinette was the kind of person that could rip her enemy to shreds in the sweetest and most graceful way possible. Marinette was scary clever. Marinette was lots of fun. Marinette was a dork. Marinette stumbled over telling jokes as well as her own two feet. Marinette was tardy to events. Marinette loses the ability to pronounce words correctly when she’s caught off guard. Marinette was hot-headed. Marinette jumped to conclusions.

Marinette

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was beautiful. From the ends of her pitch black hair to the tips of her toes. Whenever she was super focused her tongue stuck out. Her nose did a little scrunchie thing when she was trying not to laugh. Her hands were so soft and warm.

He recalled the hesitant goodbye kiss he had given her when he dropped her off at home. The smell of the bakery clinging to her even after their walk.

He’d have to tell Ladybug about this which he wasn’t looking forward to for a whole mess of reasons. He was excited about this new relationship and where it may go but it was also surreal to just let go of his long standing crush and efforts to woo Ladybug. It wasn’t exactly like she didn’t know about his feelings either. If he stopped altogether with no explanation she might get suspicious. Or not. He had no idea how she would react.

Why was he worrying so much about it in the first place? She’d probably be happy for him for taking this step and finding someone he wants to be with. She was great like that.

After getting into the house Adrien slumped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Marinette is his girlfriend. A week ago she had just been a cute friend in his class. Now they were dating.

“Gotta say, kid,” Plagg floated by his head, “I didn’t think you had it in you. Great work scoring the baker’s daughter though. Can you say all the free cheese pastries we could eat or what!”

Adrien laughed. “Is that all that excites you about me deciding to date Marinette?”

“Adrien, trust me, nothing could make me happier.” Plagg flew into his cheese cupboard, “Except maybe my delicious camembert.”

“Eat up now cause after I finish my homework we need to head out for patrol tonight.”

“You gonna tell Ladybug about your new girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I should say something but I also really don’t want to have that conversation tonight. It was already an emotional talk with Marinette and to have another heart to heart with Ladybug? I don’t think I could handle it.”

“No one’s asking you to wax poetic. Just tell Ladybug you have a girlfriend so you won’t be constantly trying to woo her anymore. Simple as that.”

“You are giving me the same advice you did before I went to talk to Marinette.”

“I’m just saying you could have killed a lot of time by being straight to the point.”

“I don’t think Marinette would want to date me if I told her that I only wanted to be with her so I could have free cookies.”

“And cakes and pies and eclairs and brownies--”

“Plagg, please stop before you make me hungry.”

“Also, I didn’t say to date her just because she’s a baker’s daughter. I told you to date her because you’re happier with her around and from what I gathered she’s happier when you’re around too.”

Adrien stared down at his math homework with uncomprehending eyes. His brain was so frazzled from the past couple of hours that it was impossible to focus.

“Plagg, transform me.” Adrien transformed into Chat Noir and leapt out of his window into the night. It was still early so he didn’t need to meet Ladybug for patrol yet.

Being Chat Noir had always been the ultimate escape for Adrien. It was a time to unwind and be impulsive. Running along the rooftops especially had done a lot for clearing his head. It was not a rare sight to see Chat Noir bounding across the Paris skyline at two in the morning because of it.

Maybe if he ran fast enough all these complicated feelings and worries would fall away behind him.

“Incoming!” The shout stopped Adrien dead in his tracks.

Ladybug was gracefully falling from the sky and landed perfectly not a foot in front of him. “Hey Chat. Ready for patrol?”

“Always.” he relaxed a bit. “Shall we get started?”

“Let’s go.” they leapt off into the night.

It started out as normal a patrol as you could get. Leaping across buildings, checking alleyways, waving to citizens, and escorting someone home who doesn’t feel safe walking by themselves at night. Through it all though Adrien kept stealing glances at Ladybug and trying to formulate a lead in to what he wanted to tell her.

Why was he being so weird about this? He needed to spit it out already! What is the worst that could happen?

“Chat Noir?” Ladybug interrupted his thoughts. She was watching him, her brow furrowed in worry. “Are you alright? You’ve barely said anything all patrol.”

“I’m fine. Good. Great even. If not a little mentally exhausted.” Adrien sighed, “I had an...interesting day.”

“Anything you need help with?” Ladybug asked, “I may not have any advice but talking about it could clear your head.”

“I uh...the things is...I was out with this person and…” All his words seemed to leave him. He didn’t want to do this tonight but the sooner he did it the sooner it would be over with.

“Geez,” Ladybug gave him a comforting smile, “You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof. What exactly did this person say to you?”

“She said she wanted to date me.” he mumbled. That familiar warmth spreading in his chest as he thought back to him and Marinette walking along the Seine.

“Oh…” Ladybug rocked back on her heels, “And how did this old tom cat respond to this confession?”

“No tom cat here, milady. I am a perfect gentleman at all times.” He slouched against the roof railing, “But I can say that it was a rather precarious conversation that ensued. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or give her false hope but I also wanted to think about what she said on my own. After that and another long talk with her I decided--we decided to, y’know, date.”

“Hmm,” Ladybug came to rest next to him. “Is it mean to say I never really saw you dating anyone?”

“Why?”

“Your constant flirting with me?”

“Ah, yes, that would do it.” Why did he have to have this conversation? “To be honest I had never thought of this girl in that way before but after she confessed I realized I sorta had a crush on her but was too enamoured with a certain lady to notice.”

“I see…”

“I’m not giving up on you or whatever but...how do I put this?” He ran his hands through his hair, “I feel like I’ve matured past my crush on you. It’s not to say that I don’t still care for you but I can see the line between us more clearly. And I know that I’ve had a problem of crossing that line in the past but not anymore. I value you too much to lose you.”

“Oh, chaton,” Ladybug flicked one of his cat ears, “I’m happy for you. If you found someone you like that much and who treats you well then I am proud of you. You have a big heart and deserve someone to share it with.”

Adrien breathed out in relief. “I knew you’d be happy for me but a part of me was almost kinda hoping that you’d drop into a dramatic act of declaring your love for me in a jealous stupor.”

“Oh yes, forgive me, just a moment,” she brought one of her hands up to her forehead in a dramatic pose, “Oh Chat Noir!” she spoke like a wounded soap opera star, “I can bear it no longer! My love for you is like a tsunami that cannot be contained a moment more.”

“My lady, how forward!” Adrien gasped in equal ridiculous fashion as Ladybug fainted into his waiting arms, “What can one say to such an unexpected confession?”

“Say that you’ll leave this unworthy maiden who has stolen your heart from me. For I am your one true lady!” she brought her other hand over her heart.

“Sorry Bugaboo, as tempting as running away with you may be, I really like this girl and I have no intention of screwing this chance up.”

She smiled softly at him. Ladybug righted herself so she was no longer draped in his arms. “You like her that much, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Then all I can say is that I hope things go well for you two. She’s a lucky girl.”

“Trust me, I’m the lucky one.” he thought back to Marinette and his heart warmed just thinking of her.

Ladybug gave him another warm look before wrapping him in her arms and squeezing him tightly. He hugged her back. Putting all the love for her into it as he could.

“Come on,” Adrien let go first, “let’s wrap up patrol so I can get home and maybe get some sleep tonight.”

“Unless Hawkmoth decides to send another late night akuma.” Ladybug groaned.

“Does that man ever sleep?” Adrien grumbled, “Probably some jerk that can work from home and take naps whenever he wants.”

Ladybug snorted, “Do you think he sleeps in a giant cocoon hanging from a tree?”

“The real reason we can’t ever find Hawkmoth is because he’s wrapped up in a giant cocoon in a tree somewhere between akuma villains.”

“That would be our luck wouldn’t it?” Ladybug laughed, “If that’s the case then we should go start shaking some trees and see if a purple butterfly man wrapped in a sleeping bag falls out of one.”

They took off back over the rooftops. He was glad that he said something to Ladybug. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Now he could really move forward with this new relationship with Marinette. No more hesitations. Well, less hesitations.

“Nope.” Ladybug popped out of one of the park trees, leaves stuck in her hair, “No Hawkmoth in here.” Adrien laughed as he pretended to be trapped in a different tree.

And more importantly, Ladybug was still his friend.

---

(1) (2) (4)

---

(tagged)

@ladylb

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrinette #writing

64 notes · View notes

gillywulf · 5 years ago

Text

Soft and Slow, Watch the Minutes Go

AO3

Summary:

The bird, the fish, and the place where they live.

Clarke Griffin, international pop star extraordinaire and her very soft girlfriend Lexa carve out a piece of the world just for themselves.

~~~

The stars were an old comfort.

It was easy to gaze at them over the dusty roads as they rose just above the tree line. It was easy to get lost in the magnitude and implication of their mere existence and simply block out everything on earth that was just terrible.

Mostly, Lexa liked to use them to imagine the good. Clarke’s smell and warmth always came easier to her when she looked through the massive skylight in their new apartment. She could practically feel her body weight pressed against her like she wasn’t on the other side of the country.

The front door opened and proved that, thankfully, she wasn’t.

“Babe?” Warmth flooded Lexa’s chest and she grinned.

“Bedroom,” she called, not shifting from her position. She closed her eyes and listened for Clarke’s movements. The twin thumps of her sneakers hitting the floor, the soft patting of her steps traversing the halls, the swift intake of breath as she launched herself into the spot beside Lexa.

“Hey,” Clarke murmured as she tucked herself along her girlfriend’s body.

“Welcome home. How was shopping?” Lexa shifted her arm so that Clarke could lay her head over it and pulled her closer.

“Riveting.”

“Oh yeah? I knew I missed out.”

“Absolutely. Nothing better than the glamorous adventure of grocery shopping,” she paused to kiss Lexa’s cheek as she laughed. “They were out of the peach flavor of that yogurt you like, though. I got another flavor for you try and if you don’t like it, I think I will.”

Lexa’s mind flashed back to sitting on top of her truck, her eyes glued to the whirling dust above the canopy that lined the road. Anya’s encouragement and later warning about timing and it all seemed ridiculous and so long ago. How did she almost let this slip away?

“You’re the best.”

The bar quieted the second the door closed behind them. The street was still wet from the earlier rains, the scent overtaking the alcohol and vomit from overzealous patrons earlier in the night. Lexa patted down her pockets to ensure she still had her keys, wallet, and phone before turning her attention to Clarke.

“Clarke, can you check- oh, no, babe, your shoes,” she groaned. Clarke had removed her heels about an hour ago and now they lay in the gutter as she swayed tipsily down the sidewalk towards their apartment.

“They were free, no big,” Clarke replied with a wave of her hand. Lexa huffed and scooped them up, then jogged to catch up.

“Wait, wait, that’s not the point,” she tugged Clarke’s hand and then stood in front of her, draping the hand over her own shoulder, “there’s all kinds of shit in the street, climb on. There’s no need to hurt yourself.” There was a long moment of silence as Clarke seemed to register what she’d said, just long enough to make Lexa self-conscious. Was that weird? Oh no, that was weird. Clarke was going to break up with her-

Another hand found a grip on her other shoulder and suddenly all of the superstar’s weight was leaned against her back. Lexa breathed a sigh of relief and tucked her hands under the knees at her hips. A gentle humming vibrated against her cheek as they set off. She was composing.

“I’m writing my next album about you, you know,” Clarke admitted quietly into her ear a few minutes later.

“Yeah?” Lexa asked. She couldn’t have stopped the disbelief from leaking out if she’d tried. All these years of knowing her and Clarke still surprised her. Still found ways to show just how much Lexa meant to her and it baffled her.

“Yeah. I’ve got a few songs written already. I think they’re really good,” Clarke melted further into Lexa’s back with each step and the warmth of her almost made the alcohol in Lexa’s system spread that much faster.

“Can I hear one?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, absolutely. I was going to play one for you tomorrow when I was a little less drunk, but I will sing for you now. Soft skin's soft as, all of these beautiful lives and beautiful thighs. They always kept me up at night, but I can't change my appetite, 'cause your pussy is a wonderland and I could be a better man-”

Lexa laughed, her whole body shaking. “I love it. Number one hit on the radio, calling it now.”

“I’m going to have Alanis Morissette do the chorus,” Clarke announced.

“I’m sure she will be delighted to sing about my vagina.”

“I know I will be.”

Lexa sighed as she approached her front door. Her new job was good, but just because it was more desk work and overseeing that her last job, didn’t make it any less exhausting. Talking to people left her tired on a good day, whatever the situation. She slid her key in to the lock and froze. Through the wood came a sweet melody from the piano in their living room. A soft, lilting thing that accompanied the gentle tone of Clarke’s voice. She twisted the knob slowly so as not to alert her girlfriend.

“... your cheeks says that you bleed like me and the 808 beat sends your heart to your feet. Left my shoes in the street so you'd carry me through a breakdown.” The lyrics trailed off into humming as the melody meandered through a part she hadn’t written lyrics for yet.

Clarke was sat at the piano, her hair piled into a messy bun and the rest of her wrapped in her coziest hoodie. A notebook, loose papers, a pen and her phone were scattered over the top of the black wood and she reached for the pen to scribble in the notebook when she paused her playing. Lexa leaned in the doorway to watch. Her exhaustion was immediately gone.

The song picked up from where she’d left off with more humming. Lexa wasn’t often privy to Clarke’s songwriting process. She kept things private and close to her chest until she had a finished product. Patience was a virtue Lexa was still learning. Midway through the next play-through, Clarke’s eyes met hers and - with a brief smile - she continued on. They didn’t speak until she had gone through two more times, adding lyrics with each play.

“You were quiet,” Clarke said as her fingers continued to move over the keys.

“I don’t get to see you play very often and it was very pretty. It would’ve been a crime to interrupt,” Lexa pushed off the wall and slid in beside Clarke. “I don’t tell you often enough how much you astound me.” The song cut off abruptly. Lexa looked up to find blue eyes boring in to her.

“I’ve been asked to debut a new song at the Grammy’s. Will you go with me?” Her voice was soft and vulnerable and despite what Lexa felt about crowds, there was no world where she would deny Clarke.

“Yeah, of course.” Clarke kissed her soundly before she’d finished.

Later that night, her arms pulled Lexa close, like she was trying to absorb her. “I am amazed by you every day,” she whispered into the skin of her shoulder. Lexa hugged Clarke’s arms tighter around her.

“Well, as an adult, I have to work tomorrow. I’m going to head out before I let you pay for any more of my drinks,” Anya pulled her coat over her arms and patted her pockets to check for her belongings.

“You mean you’ll start waxing poetic about Raven once you’re drunk enough,” Clarke teased.

“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth. Get home safe, you two. Good night.” The couple watched as Anya disappeared around the corner and followed suit not long after, pulling on jackets and double checking for their belongings. When they hit the street, Lexa felt Clarke reach out and try to lace their fingers. Her hand remained stiff.

“Hey,” Clarke tugged them to a slow stop, “are you okay?” She frowned when Lexa looked anywhere but her. “Talk to me. Please,” she pleaded softly, running her thumb over the skin in her grasp. For a moment Lexa tried to find the words, to piece together something that wasn’t entirely emotion and that wouldn’t cause undue pain, but she shook her head and turned back towards their apartment.

“When we get home. I need to think before I speak.” Clarke’s lips tightened, but she nodded and stayed beside Lexa the entire way. The walk allowed the words to settle with each step. She wasn’t mad at Clarke- couldn’t be mad at her. It was irrational and her girlfriend had proved time and time again that what she felt for Lexa was real and there was no getting rid of her.

She was endlessly grateful for the quiet, for the chance to organize herself and the affection swelling in her chest helped ease away some of the frustration with herself. Lexa remained silent until the front door was locked and their coats were hung up in the hall closet. Then, at length, she turned to face Clarke.

“You are very successful and you’ve worked very hard for that. I couldn’t be more proud of you and the effort you put in every day. I want to start with that,” she finally made eye contact and Clarke nodded to encourage her to continue. “That being said, I don’t want you to pay for every bill willy-nilly like it’s nothing. When you wave away my offer to pay for something I feel like I’m not contributing anything to us,” Lexa explained. Her shoulders were tense and almost up by her ears by the time she finished. She watched Clarke’s heart immediately break on her face.

“Oh, baby, no. That’s not- I never meant- I’m so sorry, come here.” She held out her arms and folded Lexa into herself. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know you don’t need me, but I’m frustrated any time I’m reminded of it,” Lexa breathed into Clarke’s neck. She felt the full body laugh and the hands tightened around her.

“No one needs anyone, but by god do I want you.” Tears began to form in Lexa’s eyes without her consent. Trust her to start crying in the middle of their argument. “Hey,” she felt Clarke pull back enough to see her face, but kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want her to see how red they were. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

Her arms were suddenly empty and her eyes flew open to catch Clarke dart across the room to the expensive stereo system she’d moved in with. She pushed a few buttons and came back to Lexa, settling her arms around her neck as a slow song filled the room. Lexa tried to ignore the way her hands so automatically fell to her hips.

“Do you remember prom? We danced more with each other than our dates,” Clarke laughed. Lexa remembered. Clarke had gone with Finn and she’d gone with Costia, a girl she knew had been crushing on her the whole year, in a vain attempt to get Clarke off her mind. They’d spent maybe fifteen minutes with their respective dates before finding one another like magnets.

“I can’t believe we didn’t know then.”

“Excuse you, I certainly knew. I was just worried you didn’t. Turns out I was right,” Clarke countered. Lexa hummed.

“Let me rephrase; I should have known.”

“Yes, but I’ll forgive you as long as you know now.”

The new suit was incredibly comfortable. It was custom cut and designed just for her to match Clarke’s own enchanting dress. The label had insisted on it and Clarke had worked with her to find something she’d like that wasn’t too loud, but didn’t look a wash next to Clarke. Lexa privately believed everything looked awash beside Clarke, but who was asking?

They had walked the carpet with flashing lights and rising panic. Clarke’s hand firmly clasping hers was the only thing keeping her grounded and present. And it was hardly a hardship when the press asked her to stand away for individual photos of the singer. Looking at Clarke was her favorite thing, especially when she was as dressed up as she was.

She leaned back in her assigned chair. Clarke had been pulled a few minutes before to prepare for her performance and Lexa was beginning to get antsy alone. All at once, the lights came back up and a host walked on stage.

“And now, three-time Grammy nominee with her new single, Clarke Griffin,” he gestured to the center stage and Clarke’s figure was lit with a spotlight. She’d changed clothes again and had her oldest guitar slug over her shoulder. Lexa remembered her playing it at the school wide talent shows that she always seemed to sweep. She began playing before the applause died down.

“Your eyes, so crystal green, sour apple baby, but you taste so sweet,” Lexa felt her face redden immediately. Clarke hadn’t been joking when she said she’d written about her extensively. And so obviously. She couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

Twenty minutes later Clarke found her way back to her seat with a nervous grin. “What did you think?” she asked, her pinky pressing to Lexa’s hand. Lexa laughed again and took Clarke’s hand in her own.

“I love you, but if there is actually a song about my vagina on the album sung by Alanis Morissette, I will scream,” she replied. The quiet admission in the crowded theater wasn’t lost. Clarke’s eyes shown with nearly-there tears as she pulled Lexa’s hand to her lips.

“I love you too, but it’s staying.”

Clarke burst through the door and Lexa nearly dropped the dish she was holding.

“It’s done,” Clarke announced, ripping off her heavy coat as she crossed the apartment, jabbing her finger into the buttons of the stereo system. Lexa blinked, bewildered.

“What’s done?” She set down the dish carefully. There was no need for more property damage than Clarke’s excitement would cause. She watched her girlfriend shove a before unseen disc into the player and whirl around, arms wide and a grin stretching across her face.

“My new album.” She pulled the blanket from their sofa and laid it out over the floor. As soon as it was flat, she marched over to Lexa, pecked her cheek, then tugged her down to the blanket with her.

“I get to hear?” Lexa asked, making herself comfortable.

“I said you could when it’s done. Now without further adieu, may I present; Clarke Griffin’s Untitled Third Album.” Clarke pressed the play button and after a few moments of silence, sound filtered through the speakers.

It was always a surreal experience listening to Clarke’s new music. She put so much of herself into every track that Lexa was always left feeling like she’d learned something new about the girl she’d known most of her life. And she wasn’t stupid; she knew songwriting was very personal for a lot of people - Clarke included - and to be let in like this was a show of trust unlike anything else.

Lexa smiled and found Clarke’s hand as she listened.

“Can you guess where I am right now?” Clarke asked from thousands of miles away. Lexa chewed her lip and tried to recall the schedule tacked to the fridge. She would get up and look, but she was comfortable in bed and Clarke would surely call that cheating.

“I want to say Florida.” Her answer was met with a laugh.

“Which stop in Florida?”

“Tallahassee?”

“You know sometimes I think you memorize that thing, but no, that wasn’t what I meant, guess again,” Clarke demanded. Lexa hummed and made a show of trying to really put her brain into it, but she was so exhausted by work that day that she couldn’t get beyond ‘not in bed with me’ and decided to groan like she was stumped.

“I couldn’t even begin to track the life of an international pop star. Where are you?”

“On the roof of the bus.” Lexa’s eyes - which had slid closed over the course of the conversation - snapped open.

“Oh yeah?” She forced the nerves and panic out of her voice.

“Mhmm. Found a step ladder and went up the hatch at the back. Gus is standing just below like he’ll be able to ninja catch me as I start falling,” the singer laughed.

“You never know with him. Can I ask what you’re doing up there?”

“I was missing you, so I wanted to see the stars.” Lexa’s world stopped and narrowed down to one thought; I will marry this woman. There was no other choice. After all the years of pining and missed opportunities culminating into the life they had built together, anything else would be a disservice to themselves. It wouldn’t be soon - she could handle a little bit of waiting - but it was going to happen. The revelation knocked the wind out of her and she sat up in bed, then, struck by the image of Clarke under the stars, moved to their bedroom window and pushed it open.

“What a coincidence, me too.”

#clexa #the 1oo #fanfiction #mine

13 notes · View notes

ceruleanmusings · 5 years ago

Note

HI ITS ME AGAIN!! can i request “I’m scared” for wynn and riya pls 👀😇😇

Let’s pretend it didn’t take me so long to do this one. Also, my end of the deal is done, @isaaclahys. Now you have to do yours!

��—–

“How can you be so calm about this?”

Wynn looked up from beneath her lashes, blowing a strand of curly hair out of her face as she continued to knead the dough beneath her palms. It would’ve been much easier to use a food processor to get the pie crust done right but she preferred using her hands. It made the pie taste better in the end, she thought. Made with an extra dose of love.

“Because we don’t have all the facts yet,” Wynn replied.

Riya let out a laugh of disbelief. It made Wynn take pause, an eyebrow raising, but a moment later she went back to kneading.The few nightwalkers around them barely looked up from their plates of heavy carbs and mugs of coffee. The usual teen fare spilling out of their usual booths were few and far between. A fact Wynn didn’t want to take particular note of. “We don’t have all the facts?” she repeated. Leaning forward, she hovered at the edge of her barstool and lowered her voice. “Dilton is dead,” she said. “Dead. Okay? What more facts do we need to know? That game had something to do with it!”

“Unless that game is Jumanji, I don’t think it can have that much control over someone,” Wynn said. But even as she spoke the nagging doubts weighed down in her mind. Ever since the pamphlets appeared in their lockers at school, Gryffins & Gargoyles have become common topics of conversation around Riverdale High.

In fact, it was all anyone could talk about. People sharing strategies, bragging about their ranks and levels. Even the Vixens, a group so high up on Riverdale’s social pedestal that any rain falling from that height would be from a nosebleed. It was odd, Wynn had to admit. Though it was the second occurrence, it was a brief topic on her podcast for the past week but that was back when the talk was in it’s baby stages. It was safe to say that now it was a full blown epidemic.

Still, there was a strange sort of beauty in something so sinister bringing so many social circles together. Wynn couldn’t help but admire it.

“I just…” her hands stilled and she heaved a heavy sigh beneath Riya’s stern gaze. “I need…more than that. More than talk. I get it, Dilton…may he rest in peace. But that could have just been a tragic accident.”

“And what about Ethel?” Riya insisted.

“Ethel’s…always been a bit lonely. Ever since we were kids. She’s always tried to find a way to fit in or…be important.” Wynn’s nose wrinkled at her choice of words as she picked up the pie crust and laid it into a nearby tin, pressing it into the grooves. It was to be a pumpkin pie. A strange choice for the dying days of summer as school came back around but it was best to get a head start on their autumnal fair. They flew off the shelves once the cold grip of October came around the town.

Riya’s mouth fell open for a second and then she leaned back on the barstool, shaking her head. Her fingers gripping the counter, marred by years for fingerprints and smudges, began to turn white. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“That’s…that’s not what I meant!” Wynn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Logic. I deal with logic. And facts. This…this just doesn’t fit, Rose. It doesn’t fit.”

“Wake up, Wynn! All the rules have been thrown out the window!” Riya shook her head; her short, choppy cut battering her chin withe each turn. “The game’s got Fangs too.” Her voice softened and her eyes dropped to her hands where they fidgeted with the rings on her fingers. “And Sweet Pea. And Toni. I can’t…I can’t just do nothing, Wynn. They’re my friends, I—” Her lips pressed together, briefly forming a line. “I’m scared.”

Wynn’s mouth twisted to the side, Riya’s words stabbing her in the gut. She reached over the counter and squeezed Riya’s hand with her flour-covered one. “Everything will be okay.”

“How? Archie’s in jail. Sweet Pea and Fangs are becoming obsessed with this…this stupid game. It’s like…the whole town’s possessed.”

“Don’t you mean obsessed?”

“No.”

Wynn pointed at her. Noted. Her eyes roamed the diner. The quiet diner. The empty diner. Never in her life had she seen Pop’s so…still. Quiet. Dead. She gritted her teeth, a muscle pulsing in her jaw. They needed the money, yes, but it was the lack of life in Pop’s that niggled at her, poked and prodded her nerves until she could no longer ignore it. Riverdale was hurting but what could she do about it?

The speakeasy below brought in most of their patrons but even she wasn’t sure they would trade in their source of escapism just to hear her wax poetic about the degradation running in the undertow of their town.

A slow smile appeared on Wynn’s face as she leaned forward, her elbows resting on the counter. “Hey Rose…have you ever been on a podcast?”

#isaaclahys #answered #my writings #oc: riya rose #wynn tate #the only good thing about riverdale is that it gives me an excuse to use purple prose #jughead jones eat your heart out #riverdale #riverdale oc

9 notes · View notes

vincent-frankenstein · 6 years ago

Text

Shatter

Chapter Ten: Insecurity

Summary: Logic is a storm. He’s a furious fire, raging deep inside; thunder strong enough to tear the mindscape to pieces, lightning bright enough to take control. And the storm grows with each time he’s ignored or disregarded, each time his so-called “family” pushes him aside. This is a golden opportunity — how could Rage not take it?

When lightning strikes, Deceit is left to pick up the shattered pieces left behind. The light sides are the only ones who can stop Logic and take Rage off his throne, the only ones who can save Thomas. Deceit just has to fix the damage Logic wrought. He just has to bring back the light.

(And maybe, maybe fall in love with them in the process.)

Warnings: violence, manipulation, blood, corruption, sympathetic deceit, villain logan, swearing, dark side ocs, basically just logan and rage being ASSHOLES and hurting everyone including thomas

Pairings: eventual DAMP (starting with Roceit, then Moceit, and finally Anxceit)

{ Read on AO3 | Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Interlude | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine }

@dante1138 @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur @dealings-ofthe-raven @nerdypandastuff @sammy-the-eye @spirits-in-my-thoughts @c0re0psis @just-a-baby-bee-witchblr @theultimatemomfriend (lmk if u wanna be added to/removed from the taglist!)

reblogs > likes

Oh, Deceit was so happy with the situation at hand.

As the hours drew on, his injured leg became more and more painful, until he could barely walk without toppling to the ground. Sides healed quicker than humans, at least, but not quickly enough to relieve him of his agony any time soon. Climbing down the tower was out of the question, especially considering Roman had torn most of the ivy away during their battle. He was trapped — injured and alone in a tower with someone who would never grow to trust him.

He groaned, glaring at the ceiling. He’d propped his leg up on an armchair in search of some relief, but that left him to lay on the floor, and, really, there was nothing more uncomfortable than a stone floor. His back ached, a dull thrumming beat to accompany the shrill agony of his leg.

He didn’t know what he dreaded more: the continued silence of Roman’s sleep, or whatever was coming when he awoke. Deceit prided himself on being a master of cunning, devious plans, but he’d turned the situation over in his head again and again and again, and the only idea that presented itself to him was… impossible.

Furthermore, planning something was easier than actually seeing it to completion, and he had no idea how to even begin moving forward. Bringing Roman back to his old self wouldn’t be easy; he’d have to build his self-confidence back up from square one, which would entail copious amounts of compliments and reassurances and other disgustingly soft things like that. Soft thing that he didn’t even know if he was capable of producing.

Oh, he could certainly fabricate them. Flattery got a man everywhere, after all, and it was oh so easy to wax poetic about someone if every verse was a lie. But he had a feeling lies weren’t going to cut it this time around. The old Roman had been particularly susceptible to his flattery, but that was when he still had that shred of confidence, that hope that maybe, maybe he wasn’t as bad as his thoughts told him he was.

Roman had clung to his compliments because he used them to feed that shred, to convince himself that the mask he wore was his true face. But Logan had snuffed out that hope, leaving behind only insecurities and doubts, and without it, there was nothing to feed, nothing to nurture. He wouldn’t accept Deceit’s compliments at face value, too overpowered by doubts to believe them. No, he’d call Deceit out on his, well, deceit, and they’d get nowhere fast.

But would genuine compliments work? Or would Roman’s insecurities drown them out as well? He sighed sharply, fingers tapping against the floor in a thoughtful pattern. He’d reached the conclusion that compliments wouldn’t work several times, and each time he’d remained just as unable to work around it. It frustrated him to no end.

There had to be another angle. What else motivated Roman, beyond validation? Quests? Could he fabricate some wild goose-chase, perhaps, send him gallivanting across his own kingdom and hope he regained some of his prince-ness along the way…?

He froze, eyes snapping open. On the bed, Roman groaned, shifting in his sleep. With a hiss of pain, Deceit drew his leg from the chair and stood as best as he could, supporting himself along the bed frame as he stepped up to Roman’s side.

Roman curled tighter into himself, a small, sad noise escaping from his lips. Deceit lowered himself onto the bed, hoping for the best and bracing for the worst as Roman’s eyes fluttered open. He caught his bearings for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, pain filling his eyes…

And then his gaze fell onto Deceit.

“Wh — what a-are you doing here?” he asked, and his voice shattered and fell into pieces between them. There was no anger in his voice — but there wasn’t anything else, either, nothing but a shaky, resigned exhaustion. He didn’t move to sit up; he only tensed, as if he expected Deceit to attack.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” Deceit asked, voice as smooth as ever, even as his insides burned with doubt.

“Why are you here,” Roman said, more of a quiet statement than a question, like he’d convinced himself that he already knew the answer. He moved his gaze from Deceit’s face, gray eyes boring into a spot over his shoulder.

“To save you,” Deceit said. “To fix everything.”

A humorless laugh tumbled from Roman’s mouth, pitchy and broken in all the wrong places. He wrapped his arms around his torso and held, tight, his knuckles turning stark white against the ashy gray of his skin. “T-To fix everything?” he repeated. “You’re a bigger idiot than I am, Deceit.”

“What, no clever nickname?” Deceit shoved away the heavy dread that landed on his shoulders. Roman’s voice was… not Roman, in the worst kind of way, a shattered, empty thing.

Roman’s breath hitched in his throat. “Get out,” he whispered, his voice a barely-there imitation of anger.

“Come now, Prince Roman,” Deceit said smoothly, and opened his mouth to say more when Roman reared his head up and stumbled from the bed. Tears glimmered like broken glass in the corners of his eyes.

“Get out!” he said again, and oh, there was his anger, burning hot and fueled by hatred. “There is nothing here to save!” His chest heaved, his face contorted with grief, as though he was grieving the man he’d once been. Deceit pushed himself to his feet as smoothly as he could with one injured leg, and Roman threw his arms wide, laughter laced with self-loathing falling from his lips. “Do you see anything here worth saving?”

“No,” Deceit said, with a deadpan stare. “Thomas is so much better off without you. We don’t need you back.”

“Liar,” Roman hissed.

“Well, yes, but —” Deceit cleared his throat. His suave facade was slipping in the face of Roman’s unyielding insecurity, but he couldn’t let himself break. He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders, and shoved away his need to lie. “Logan is making a mess of things. Thomas is unhappy, the mindscape is crumbling, your fellow light sides are broken, and Rage is ruling it all with an iron fist. You are a prince, are you not? Go slay the villain.”

Roman laughed again, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. “I’m no prince,” he said, voice breaking. “I couldn’t even stop Logan! I-I let them all down! He was right — I’m nothing more than a failure!”

“Wow,” Deceit drawled. “Every word that just came out of your mouth is a lie. And I thought I was the liar here. Roman —”

“Shut up,” Roman breathed, voice haggard and shaking. “Stop — stop trying to —”

“Trying to tell the truth?” Deceit finished for him. “That is what I’m doing here, after all, and it is not exactly easy for me. Trust me —”

“Trust you?” Roman repeated with an incredulous laugh. “How can I — how can I trust anyone anymore? I know you all hate me! And I can’t even blame you! How could anyone care about someone like me?”

Well. At least he hadn’t lost his flair for the dramatic. The thought gave Deceit little comfort as he watched Roman crumble before him, a flood of doubt spilling from his mouth, like a broken record repeating Logan’s cruel words. Deceit swallowed, shoving away the power of Roman’s room before his own doubts could eat him alive.

“Easily,” he said, as gently as his aesthetic would allow. “You are more than what Logan said you are.”

“Liar!” Roman yelled, and flung a hand out in front of him. Something appeared in his grip. Deceit raised an eyebrow, staring at the… whatever it was. It looked like the hilt of a sword, almost, but the blade itself had been broken off, leaving only a few sharp shards of metal at the bottom.

But Roman — Roman stared at it like someone had just told him Broadway was canceled forever. His face crumpled, a sob wracking in his chest, and he curled in on himself as though he’d been stabbed, pain flashing through his tortured eyes. The hilt fell from his hand and shattered on the ground between them.

Oh, Deceit definitely knew how to comfort someone who was crying. He watched with dawning horror as tears built in the corners of Roman’s eyes and spilled down his ashy gray cheeks. “A-Ah,” he started, suave facade slipping. “Please, ah. Do not do that?”

Roman sobbed harder. Cursing under his breath, Deceit paused to think, eyebrows furrowing. What would a light side do? What… what would Patton do? He cleared his throat and tried to slip into the same mindset he’d used when impersonating Patton.

“Hey there, friendo,” he tried, stepping forward. “It’s gonna be okay!”

Roman stepped back, a pained noise tearing from his throat, and Deceit floundered. Okay, Patton wasn’t working. What would Virgil do?

“Princey,” he tried again, and Roman looked up as if on instinct at “Virgil’s” voice. Deceit hesitated, biting his lip. He knew how to impersonate the old Virgil, the one he knew, not the softened version the light sides had created. He cleared his throat, forcing as much gruff, reluctant care as he could into his voice. “You’ve gotta breathe. I’m, uh. I’m here for you. Just focus on my voice, we’ll do the 4-7-8 thing, okay?”

For a moment, it seemed to be working — but then Roman gasped, new tears pooling in his eyes. “S-Stop — stop trying to be them,” he managed through his sobs.

He… didn’t want the light sides? If Patton and Virgil didn’t work — and Logan certainly wouldn’t — what other options did he have? What other personas could he put on? Who could he be?

He could be himself.

The thought was so sickeningly soft, he almost vomited right then and there. “Be yourself,” what kind of foolish bullshit was that? He was Deceit; not being himself was practically in the job description.

But… perhaps it was worth a shot. What would he do?

He’d lie, he’d manipulate, he’d spout a flood of flattery and rebuild Roman’s confidence on a foundation of fabrications, and he’d leave the duct-taped approximation of “fixed” to the light sides for them to truly fix —

He stepped forward, drawing Roman into his arms. Roman tensed at his touch, his breath hitching in his throat, but to Deceit’s great surprise, he didn’t try to pull away. Deceit lowered them both to the bed, leaning against a bedpost and allowing Roman to lean into his chest. He didn’t say a word, only held Roman as tightly as he dared as he sobbed into his chest.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, how long it took for Roman’s sobs to soften and die out, shaky breathing fading into something gentler and slower. Deceit’s skin burned wherever Roman touched him, and he never, ever wanted it to stop.

He blinked. Where had that come from? Of course it had to stop; he was there to fix the balance and be on his slimy way. There was no use hoping (ew) that this moment of quiet would ever exist outside the tower. Roman had the light sides to return to, a family to build anew, and Deceit… well, Deceit had heat lamps and a solitary job. That had always been more than enough for him.

Why did he feel like it wouldn’t be enough anymore?

No. No, he refused to follow that train of thought. He glanced down at Roman’s sleeping face, and sighed, gently pushing him away. Roman curled into himself the moment Deceit’s touch disappeared, uttering a string of soft, sleepy noises that Deceit didn’t have the energy to interpret. He watched the prince for a moment longer, and then limped to the armchair, settling into it as comfortably as he could.

He held himself as he fell asleep — and absolutely didn’t miss the warmth of Roman’s touch.

#shatter #shatter fic #roman sanders #deceit sanders #ts deceit #sympathetic deceit #roceit #sanders sides #thomas sanders #celeste's portfolio #uwu...

14 notes · View notes

dontshootmespence · 6 years ago

Text

Broken Homes Fix Broken Hearts

Chapter 37

Seeing the hate in her eyes nearly broke him in his tracks, but he couldn’t stop to comprehend anything. He had to get away from her to keep her out of danger, no matter how much it was killing him inside.

Without thinking, he drove. He let his mind go blank and somehow, 15 minutes later, he was at Spencer’s door. “Hey kid, can I stay here for a couple days?”

“Yes, of course,” Spencer replied, opening the door and stepping back to let him in. “Shouldn’t you be with Juliet? What happened?” Spencer wasn’t great with relationships, but Derek looked miserable. Something was wrong.

“I-I can’t talk about it. Can I just stay here while I figure things out?”

“Again, sure.” The psychologist in him begged his brain to prod Derek for answers, but his friend was in pain. “Make yourself at home.”

That was two days ago. He’d walked into the apartment, taken a seat on Spencer’s couch and stared off into the distance trying to figure out what to do. He’d barely moved.

But the universe took this inopportune moment to send another complication Derek’s way. His phone rang. It was Garcia. They had a case.

He heard Spencer pick up in the other room and quickly inform Penelope that he was on his way in. Derek just lay there, letting the phone continue to ring. The idea of picking it up, of going to work seemed...unimaginable.

In part he just wanted to wallow, to be allowed to sit in his own sorrows without the rest of the world creeping in. But, in his heart of hearts, Derek also knew he would be a detriment and not an asset if he went back to work now. As much as that hurt, knowing he couldn’t do his job, it was nothing compared to the suffering settling into his head and heart in the wake of losing her.

He hadn’t slept. Every time he tried to close his eyes, the look on her face as she’d walked away kept him awake.

Everything reminded him of Juliet.

The stack of books on the coffee table. The sound of running water as he washed his hands. His own face in the mirror.

She was everywhere and nowhere and in that, he was lost.

“You staying here?” Spencer asked as he hung up with Garcia.

All Derek could do was nod. “I’m no good to you right now.”

Spencer could see that. It was fairly obvious. “I know, but,” he hesitated, grabbing his go bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “I hope you know that whatever it is that’s going on, you can tell me. I won’t tell a soul if that helps.”

The corner of Derek’s lip twitched up. He couldn’t risk it. He didn’t want to put his kid brother in danger too. This was bad enough as it was without bringing the team into this mess. “I know, kid. Go save the world. I’ll be back soon.”

Spencer swallowed hard against the lingering uncertainty and closed the door behind him. For a profiler, he was having a very difficult time figuring out what was going on in his friend’s mind.

-----

“Miss Juliet?” Jefferson piped up from the other side of the desk. She looked up, only then realizing she’d stamped the same book three times.

“I’m sorry Jefferson. Now you’re book has extra stamps, for good luck.” Juliet gave a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and handed over the book. Jefferson waddled off to the children’s section once again to start reading his new lucky book. She stirred herself from the fog that had taken hold as best she could and went back to work, checking the book requests currently on file.

Her little ones hadn’t noticed yet but Juliet was a sight for sore eyes in the view of any adult. Dark circles hung under her eyes. They were bloodshot. And her nose still felt stuffy from crying. After finding resolve to get to the bottom of what was going on with Derek, she had jumped in head first with calls and texts and emails. At one point she even stuffed a letter in the mailbox at the post office.

Nothing.

Just silence and a growing sense of dread.

While the kids had their quiet time, she headed back through the fog and toward the computer, checking to see what books she had to pull from the shelves and for whom. A few of her regulars were going to be coming in soon for their weekly book - man, did she wish she had more time to read - but there was one patron coming in whose name was a surprise - Spencer.

Considering Derek didn’t have an apartment anymore since he’d moved in with her, in all likelihood, he was staying with Spencer. He wasn’t responding to any of her messages, but if she could slip something into the book Spencer was taking out maybe he could get it to Derek. It was her only chance. Something was very wrong, and she wasn’t about to give up on him. What he claimed just wasn’t him anymore.

Quickly, she took her phone out and snapped a picture of the book title, checking online for a copy of it; she would need to destroy the book and the book-lover in her couldn’t do it to one already on file in the library.

If Derek didn’t answer her this time, she wasn’t sure he ever would.

-----

8pm rolled around at an alarmingly slow pace but finally Juliet was out the door and headed home.

It didn’t really feel right to even call it that in the absence of the man who had transformed it into one many moons ago. But there was no time to waste on waxing poetic, she had to destroy some ancient poetry to preserve her own verse of potential happily ever after.

For the second time that day Juliet did something she’d never thought possible; she walked into a massive chain bookstore and willingly bought a volume of poetry that was available just blocks away at a free, community-oriented, public library. It made her shiver. In her line of work, corporate bookstores were evil, but she also couldn’t destroy a library book if it wasn’t necessary, so she relented and hoped she wouldn’t burst into flames upon entry. Under any other circumstances she wouldn’t have even set foot inside, but desperate times called for even more desperate measures.

Surprisingly that was the most difficult phase of her totally impromptu mission. Mission Impossible movies wanted everyone to believe that the only people in need of burner phones were the unfairly attractive super-spies and their nemeses. While Derek Morgan was built like a Greek god, this was no globe-trotting Bond adventure and Juliet was sure as hell no one’s Pussy Galore. It was less sleek, sexy action movie sequence and more a perilous hail-mary with no gorgeous sports car in sight. Rotten Tomatoes would not have scored it highly.

Surprisingly all it took was a wad full of cash and some small-talk with a convenience store owner named Earl and Juliet was walking out of the MiniMart with a nondescript burner, no gold-plated spy ID necessary.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the Road Runner so she couldn’t get back to her house in the blink of an eye, but she did the best she could, slamming the door behind her so she could participate in the sacrilegious act of defiling a book in the confines of her own home. It made her physically ill to think about, but living without Derek or living with regret was even worse.

With the utility blade from Derek’s toolbox, she dug into the pages, hollowing out enough to safely bury the phone inside. Her previous determination to do anything to save her relationship faded into a hollowness that settled into the middle of her chest when she realized what she was using. The man she loved pervaded every aspect of this house. House - not home. Not as long as he was absent. She allowed herself to wallow for a moment before banishing all doubt and sadness from existence. Juliet had learned from the best personal superhero around so it was time to become her own.

-----

“Hey Morgan? I got this book out of the library. It’s a book of pieces by Ovid, the Roman poet.” Spencer explained from his spot in the kitchen.

Derek didn’t look up, just continued staring into the couch cushions. “That’s nice kid.” He sighed.

“Well, yes, it would be. If it wasn’t defaced. Pages have been cut out and...there’s a phone it in. Along with a message. This looks like Juliet’s handwriting actually. She must have seen the request in the inter-library loan system and gotten this to me. I think it’s for you.”

Just hearing her name hurt. All the things he’d said. All the tears they’d both shed. He couldn’t get her face out of his head. “What?” He reached out for the book, taking it tentatively from Spencer’s hand as if it were a ticking bomb that might explode at any moment. “This is her handwriting.”

Most of the book had been hollowed out, but a section at the top of one page was highlighted, her handwriting scrawled underneath.

Fortune and love favor the brave. The passage read, before her words covered up the rest.

I think Ovid might have been right. So this is me trying to be brave, for the both of us. I don’t know what happened but I know something must be wrong, because you promised I would be stuck with you forever. And Derek Morgan is a man of his word. If you’re reading this, call me. Please. Whatever it is we can figure it out as long as we’re together. Be brave my love.

-Juliet

Without a word, Derek swallowed against the lump in his throat. Spencer had already left the room, wanting to give him the privacy he so obviously needed right now. As he pressed the button to dial, his heart raced.

One ring.

Two-

A third ring didn’t come, but silence did. “Juliet?”

A sob wrenched through her body when she heard his voice. She knew he was lying. She knew he wouldn’t do that to her. She’d been right. “Derek?”

“I’m here,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry, I-” His voice started to shake, the look on her face when he’d broken things off burning into his brain. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever forget it.

Juliet stopped him in his tracks. “What happened? Why did you walk away? I know you were lying, but why?”

Leaning back into the couch, a tear fell from his eye. “Someone is threatening me. When my mom got sick? That was him. I thought it was a prank or something, but it wasn’t. And then I got another call saying I had to break it off with you and if I let anyone know, you, the Bureau, my family, anyone...he said he’d kill you. Baby, I had to walk away. I had to-”

“I know,” she breathed. The sense of relief she felt was akin to feeling the weight of the world leap off her shoulders. The tears kept coming as she tried to speak. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. We will fix this, Derek. We have to. God I just- I just miss you so much.” Juliet broke off, a sob taking over for words.

Derek felt himself beginning to weep. He hadn’t let himself feel it in so long for fear of losing himself to it forever. But she was here. He could hear her voice. And it was all too much.

They both just stayed there like that. Listening to the other cry on the other end of the line, knowing that their love was there. That this was real.

@virgoswlw @crimeshowtrash @literallyprentissstwin @jazz91121 @tommyhollandd @spencer-puppies-and-stuff @fl0werb0nes18 @stunudo @spencerthepipecleaner @theofficeofsupremegenius @ultrarebelheart @lookwhatyoumademequeue @lukeassmanalvez @mentallydatingspencerreid @nobravery @criminal-anatomy @matthew-gray-reidler @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @original-criminal-fanfics @lovelukealvez @stories-you-wont-hear @speedreiding @marvelfanlife @butsomeofusarelookingatthestars @wonderboygenius @naturallytom @imagines-for-criminal-minds @acespence @sweater-vest-reid @criminalmindskeepsmealive @spenncerreiid @sam-carter-in-training @parker-hopper @spencerwreid @ssahotchner @profiler-in-training @were-skye @trollitis @heyboywonder @ficrecswithcassie @janiedreams88 @gingeraleandcontemplation @cynbx @fortheloveofspencerreid @tippy06 @cleocc @bestillmystuckyheart @ssaunitchief @xxm3xxj @xocriminal-minds-imaginesxo

#derek morgan #derek morgan x oc #derek morgan x juliet hunter lewis #derek morgan fanfiction #derek morgan fanfic #derek morgan fic #dontshootmespence #veroinnumera #broken homes fix broken hearts

28 notes · View notes