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something-tofightfor · 1 month ago

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On Deck Part 6: Checked Swing

Pairing: Jack Daniels x Female Reader Baseball AU

Word Count: 11,132

Rating: NOT safe for work. It's a smutty one.

Summary: You're in Texas, and that means confronting a hell of a lot of thoughts and emotions when it comes to Jack.

He might be on the away team, but his fans - and family - love him just the same ... and they take notice of you, too.

To your surprise, it's Jack that takes the first leap when it comes to what you are to him - and what he wants, both now and in the future.

Author’s notes:

This chapter really digs into what it could be like for someone to 'date' an MLB player, even casually - and what it could (and would) feel like to have a ton of realizations about each other in a very short amount of time. They're still getting to know each other, but I'm going to be honest: things are spiraling, and neither of them are really prepared for it.

(On Deck universe masterlist for all the extras!)

While there are a lot of baseball references within this story, you only need to know the basics to enjoy it and understand what's going on - we're not getting overly technical here.

As always, if you have any questions or comments, please feel free to reach out. Thank you so much for being patient with me; I promise updates on this will be coming more regularly.

When a batter “checks” their swing, it means that they stop the bat’s motion before letting the end of it fully cross home plate. The outcome is decided by an umpire - the batter has no say in the call. It’s not an ‘official’ term used by the umps. Instead, it is used casually by players, commentators and fans and can be summed up simply: the player stopped their swing before going too far on a pitch they were uncertain about.

Even though you only had a carry on, there was no way you could take it into the game with you. You were running late, but you still needed to make a pit stop at Jack’s hotel before you went to the stadium. So, as you eyed the time on the Uber’s dash clock, you sat in silence and tried to calm yourself down.

The hotel is close. I’ll be fine.

When the driver let you out, you thanked him before heading into the lobby and straight to the front desk, inwardly cheering at the fact that there was no line. The process was smooth - you gave them your ID, explained that you were there to pick up the second key to Jack’s room, and only moments later you were riding the elevator up, bag slung over your shoulder.

You didn’t know what you expected when you walked inside, but it definitely wasn’t an almost untouched room. The only signs that Jack had even been there were his suitcase pushed into the closet, toiletries on the bathroom counter and an unzipped duffel bag at the foot of the partially unmade bed. He slept on one side.

It made you smile, and after giving yourself a few more seconds to look, you took your bag into the bathroom and focused on getting ready.

You didn’t have much time, and so you only changed your clothes, splashed your face and fixed your hair, deciding that the important thing was getting to the game, not looking perfect. He knows I just got in. He knows I’m rushing, and who knows how far away I’ll be sitting since this was so last minute.

You stowed your bag in the closet next to Jack’s, and made sure you had what you needed for the night before leaving the room again. While riding the elevator down, you ordered another Uber - thrilled to see that there was one close, and it was nowhere near as expensive as you imagined it would be.

And that was because you hadn’t realized that it wasn’t a 7:10 game … it was an 8:05 start. Which means I have time. You relaxed completely at that new information, and when you settled into the back seat of the car for the short ride, you were grinning.

It was still cutting it close, especially with the crowd, but you picked up your ticket at 7:32 and were inside and on your way to your seat - Section 5, Row 7, Seat 5 - five minutes later. There were a ton of people to navigate through, but you made it without issue, plopping down into the chair and eyeing the field.

Some of the home team’s players were still warming up, but you were stunned to notice that the visitor dugout was on the third base side of the field. That meant that Jack was likely only feet away from you, and he didn’t even know it. Or maybe he did. You watched some of the Statesman players moving around and tossing balls back and forth … and then you saw Jack, Ginger a few steps behind him as they walked onto the field.

Loud whistling caught your attention. When you turned toward it, you saw a man and a woman a few rows ahead and almost an entire section over from you standing and clapping, both of them wearing Jack’s jersey. His parents.

There were some good-natured boos and banter from the others in the section, but the couple ignored it, the man cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling Jack’s name. It made you laugh out loud. Even though you knew that you were nowhere near that point with him, you realized that you wanted to meet both of them, if only to learn more about their son.

Jack only turned around when he and Ginger stopped walking, and you watched as he honed in on his parents, pointing at them with one finger and then waving, his teeth visible as he grinned.

You wondered if he knew where your seat was, or if it had been an accident that you were seated so close to his family. I’ll ask him. I’ll… Your mind went blank when Jack’s head turned in your direction and he stopped moving, his grin widening. Well, he knows where I am now. But more than that, Jack’s reaction to seeing you solidified that he’d truly wanted you there, and that was all you needed to know.

You nodded once, fighting the urge to wave. That’s too much. Too obvious. Jack looked away first, returning his attention to his trainer. You finally looked away from the field, too, pulling out your phone and sending a text to Erin.

Guess where I am?

There was no response for the next few minutes, and it wasn’t until after the opening ceremonies were over and the teams took the field to begin the game that you felt it buzz in your pocket.

New Orleans? Where else would you be?

You snapped a picture of the outfield and the open roof, the scoreboard visible in one corner, and then sent it with no explanation. That got a quick reply, your friend’s words making you laugh out loud.

What the FUCK? Did you follow him to TEXAS?

You typed a reply out, giving her a quick rundown and let her know that you’d tell her more when you could.

No. I don’t want to hear a thing until you’re on your way home. Be safe.

That didn’t surprise you - Erin loved gossip, but she’d never want you to cut your time with someone short for the sake of telling her about it. Especially not someone like him.

Jack was hitting fifth, so you had time to spare before he was up. You used it to look around, taking in the entirety of the stadium.

It was beautiful inside, even though it was completely different from the one in Louisville, and while you liked the fact that it was air conditioned, you wished that the roof was all the way open. Maybe one of the other games will be. But after a few minutes, you found your attention drawn back to Jack’s parents, and let yourself look at them.

You saw the resemblance immediately, especially in Jack’s father’s profile. They had the same nose and a similar smile, both men broad in the shoulders. Mr. Daniels was hatless, his hair longer than his son’s and streaked with silver in a way that made you bite your lip as you imagined Jack getting to that point. It’ll be years, but …

They looked happy together, the man’s arm around her seat back as she pointed out different areas of the stadium, and that also made you smile. You wondered how many different places they’d seen him play throughout his career and which was their favorite. They seem so supportive.

You were curious to know what they thought about watching him as a member of the visiting team, and even though you’d been familiar with them from Jack’s own posts and previous interviews you’d watched, seeing them in person - after getting to know Jack a little - was exciting. There was no guarantee you’d ever get to meet them, and so even though you tried to pay attention to the game, you also watched the Daniels’, leaning back in your seat and getting comfortable.

Looking in their direction gave you a chance to look at Jack, too, eyes on him as he waited at 3rd for game action.

It didn’t happen in the first, and when he jogged off the field between innings, you tried to remind yourself that you couldn’t cheer for him in the same way you did when you were at home. Not only would it draw attention to you in a sea of the opposing team’s fans, you knew it would also potentially draw his parents’ attention. And I don’t want to do that because I don’t want him to think I overstepped and tried to talk to them.

When Jack walked up to the plate during his first at bat, you were surprised to hear scattered applause and cheers that weren’t from his parents, and after quickly taking a photo of the scoreboard, you tucked your phone away and stared at home, watching as Jack dug in. He swung and missed once and then didn’t swing at the next pitch, Jack’s father clapping and cupping his hands around his mouth to yell good eye! at his son.

“Wait for your pitch, Jack.” You spoke under your breath, nodding. “Wait for it.” He dug in again, and even from the distance, you could see his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath before the next one came his way.

He swung hard then, making contact, and even though you were unfamiliar with the stadium, the sound was one you knew well. You shot upward and onto your feet, cheering for Jack as he began to round the bases, and clapping your hands together as you raised them over your head. There were others cheering for him, too, including his parents, and out of the corner of your eye you saw them hugging as they celebrated.

When he rounded second base and headed for third, he pointed at the stands, smiling broadly at his parents, who were still on their feet … but then Jack’s attention shifted to you briefly, your eyes locking with his as you nodded twice, widening your smile, and kept clapping. It was quick, but it was enough, and your already rapidly beating heart slammed against your ribs. Oh, Jack.

You sat down when he touched home and headed back for the dugout, the smile still on your face. It faltered briefly when you saw Jack’s mother turn around in her seat, her eyes on you. Act normal. Don’t draw any more attention to yourself. And so you took a deep breath, looking up and at the scoreboard … but when you looked back at home - and the next batter - Mrs. Daniels was still eyeing you, a curious look on her face. Shit.

There was nothing you could do but acknowledge her, meeting her gaze and smiling. It’s not my fault. It’s not like I’m going to speak to her. It’s fine. You focused on the batter, and to your relief she faced forward and then leaned over, talking to her husband, but neither of them looked at you again.

You’d failed in your attempt to go unnoticed, but at least there had been others in the stadium cheering for Jack, too - and it wasn’t just the three of you. The thought comforted you, and when, a few minutes later, your stomach growled in hunger, you stood up calmly and gathered your stuff. It happened and there’s nothing I can do about it.

There was still plenty of game left - which meant that there was more than enough time for you to go and find something to eat.

—

The room was cold when you got back, though the lights were still off, aside from the one in the bathroom that you’d left dimmed.

You didn’t bother turning any others on before you took off your shoes and unbuttoned your jeans, dropping your bag and the room key onto the TV stand. It only took you a few seconds to decide that you did, in fact want to lay down on the still made side of the bed to wait for Jack. He invited me here which means I’ll be sleeping in the bed with him, so getting in now isn’t a big deal.

You stretched out, pointing your toes … and only minutes later, the day caught up with you - and you were fast asleep.

The shifting of the mattress woke you up, but it wasn’t until you heard him say your name that you opened your eyes. Jack was leaning over you, the room lights still mostly off. “Hey there, darlin’.” It made you smile, and before you could stop yourself, you reached for him, the palm of your hand curving against his cheek.

“Hey, Jack.” Murmuring the words, you closed your eyes. “Missed y-” Shit. You cut your words off and reopened your eyes, hand frozen in place against the side of his face. He was smiling, though, and before you got too lost in your swirling emotions, he leaned down, brushing his nose alongside yours before pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“I’m real glad you made it.” He sat back up, taking your hand in his and squeezing. “Thought you might miss out on the game tonight, but then I looked up and saw you right there watchin’ me.”

“Yeah, that was…” You sighed and then sat up, leaning against the pillows without letting go of his hand. “How stupid does it sound if I tell you that I liked knowing that you saw me?” You were still waking up and trying to catch up with the conversation, but each word came out stronger than the last. Because I mean them.

“Not stupid at all.” He laughed, the sound quiet. “I like hearin’ it.” That didn’t shock you, but Jack scooting closer to you did, and so did his lips trailing over your cheek and toward your ear after he’d leaned forward again. “Your flight OK?”

“It was fine.” You hummed, squeezing his hand before you pulled yours back. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I just -”

“You had a long day.” He backed away, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I get it.” The two of you stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, but before you could speak, you yawned, both hands rising to cover your face. Shit. “I’m gonna get ready for bed. You should too.”

“No, Jack. We don’t need to…” He stood, his smile widening. “What?”

“It’s almost midnight. I’m tired. You might not believe it, but I’m not out partyin’ until the sun comes up when I’m in different cities.” He put a hand on his hip. “Especially when I’ve gotta say goodbye to my parents before they head out in the morning.” So that means he’s waking up early.

“Do I need to get up tomorrow and leave before they come up? I don’t want to -”

“No. They’re staying in this hotel too, so I’m just going to go and meet ‘em before they check out. You can sleep in.” He smiled again. “We’ll order breakfast when I get back.” It felt normal - almost too normal, if you were being honest - but you didn’t want to question what Jack was saying. He isn’t. He sounds sure. “Give me five minutes.”

You nodded and he grabbed the duffel bag, turning to head for the bathroom. When the door shut, you moved too, climbing out of the bed and quickly moving to the closet and your bag. But when you opened it, you froze, staring at the contents. Shit. Scrubbing a hand over your face, you groaned.

When you’d packed for New Orleans, you hadn’t counted on spending time with anyone in your hotel room, which meant that your pajamas were lacking. “Fuck it,” you whispered, pulling the ratty, oversized tee shirt from the bag and holding it up. There’s nothing I can do about it now.

You changed in the closet, replacing the clothes you’d worn to the game with the shirt and then eyeing yourself in the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. It reached your thighs, but it showed off entirely too much to be considered appropriate, and you were worried Jack would think you were trying to suggest something with it. I’m not. I just -

“Well, shit. Look at you.” You turned your head and saw him in the bathroom doorway, shirtless and in a pair of low-hanging sweat shorts. Maybe it’s not me that’s underdressed. “I wondered what you wore to bed.” What? He stepped into the hallway and toward you, grinning. “I mean, I know you didn’t sleep in anything at my place, but that was because you didn’t really have any other option.” Jack gestured to you with one hand, the other one rising to rub at the back of his neck. “This is … better.”

“Jack? I don’t… I figured you’d like …” You were rattled, unable to get out a full sentence at first. “I didn’t pack any actual pajamas, because I didn’t think that I’d be seeing anyone overn-”

“This is better,” he repeated, stopping in front of you and reaching out to slip an arm around your waist. “Because it’s you.” You understood what he was saying, but that didn’t make it any less shocking. Why would he care so much? Jack leaned closer, eyes on you. “Bathroom’s all yours. I’ll pick somethin’ to put on TV.”

Dumbly, you nodded and when he backed away, you headed into the smaller room. While you brushed your teeth, you stared down at the countertop, gaze moving between his things and yours on the counter. You tried not to think about how much you liked seeing them together, or how quickly his response to seeing you standing at the foot of the bed when he came out of the bathroom had warmed you. It was more than just sex, sure, but that still didn’t mean that you could get ahead of yourself. Because that’s dangerous.

Stepping back out into the bedroom ruined everything, though.

Jack was in bed, the blanket pulled down and pooled at his waist as he leaned against the pillows along the headboard. The lights were off, which made the glow of the TV dance across his features. For long seconds, you stood and stared at him, trying to commit the sight to memory. “You should take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He turned his head, the smirk on his face visible even from the distance. “Ain’t that what they say?”

“I seem to remember you telling me that pictures were absolutely not allowed.” Crossing the room, you used one finger to tap the side of your head. “So I’ll just have to keep it all up here.” As you approached the bed, Jack stayed silent and pushed the blankets down before patting the space next to him with one hand.

You climbed in beside him, leaning back - and felt that same arm go around your shoulders, pulling you closer while you tugged the blanket back into place. “You always play by the rules?” He kissed the top of your head and you laughed, closing your eyes.

“I do when I don’t want to fuck things up.” Reaching over, you squeezed his knee. “And I would very much like to not fuck this up.” It was the closest you’d come to admitting that you had actual feelings for him, and you hoped that you hadn’t overstepped. But Jack’s response - his fingers tightening on your arm and his quiet sigh as he urged you to stay by his side - told you that you hadn’t. And that’s good. That’s really good.

The two of you watched the TV in silence for a little while, and you were pleased to see that he’d chosen a movie that you loved, turning the sound down low. As you relaxed, you angled your body toward his, moving your arm so that you could drape it across his waist. You began to doze off, eyes drooping as you got comfortable beside him. The faint scent of Jack’s body wash coupled with his deep, even breathing soothed you, and the slow motion of his fingers as they ran up and down your arm did, too. I could get used to this.

“I think we should change those rules a little bit.” He spoke quietly, the path of his hand never faltering. “If you want to, that is.” You shifted so that you could look up at him, finding that Jack’s chin was tucked against his chest, his eyes focused on your face. “And I have something to admit.” What? “I took a picture of you sleepin’ before I said anything to wake you earlier.”

“What?” You pulled out of his arms, sitting straight up and blinking rapidly. “Jack, that -”

“I know.” He sat up, too, scrubbing his hand over his jaw. “I broke my own damn … but I’ve gotta be honest with you, this is new for me. Having someone waiting in my bed when I get back from a game doesn’t ever happen. You just looked so …” He trailed off, frowning briefly. “I liked seein’ it. Taking a picture felt right and I didn’t stop to think about what I was doin’.”

It wasn’t what he was saying - it was the meaning that lingered between the words that really got to you, and so without pause you shifted, rising onto your knees and then moving to straddle his lap. His lips parted but Jack reacted, too, both of his hands moving to your hips and settling there, his eyes locked with yours. But I don’t want to play my whole hand yet.

“That was your rule” You rested one hand on his shoulder, using the other to trail your fingertips over his collarbone. “It was never mine.” His lips twitched, but Jack didn’t reply, giving you a chance to finish. “You take all the pictures you want, Whiskey, and if I’m allowed to take a couple of you, then …” You shrugged and then inhaled deeply, holding it. “Then I’m gonna take you up on that.”

It took only seconds for his grin to widen, and Jack’s hands slid lower, fingers tightening against your thighs in the same moment that he leaned in to kiss you. But it wasn’t a fast or desperate kiss; instead, it was a relieved one, Jack’s mouth finding yours and lingering.

You sighed against his lips, the hand on his shoulder gliding around so that you could curl your arm around him and the other palm flattening against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath it.

That time, it was you that chose to deepen the kiss, pulling back enough that you could part your lips before initiating another one, his full lower lip caught between yours. He liked that, a groan vibrating out from his throat and one hand sliding around further to follow your curves, urging you forward and closer.

As you scooted toward him, his other hand moved up and beneath your shirt, trailing up the center of your back before it came to rest there. But when you tried to take things further by rocking your hips forward, Jack pulled away, shaking his head slowly. What? Why? “Not tonight.” It deflated you - the words dousing the mood more swiftly than you’d thought possible. “Didn’t have you fly out here just for sex. It can wait.” He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve been runnin’ around all day, you’ve gotta be exhausted.”

“Yeah, I am. But I want -” He cut you off with a quick kiss, the edges of his teeth dragging against your lip. Jack, that’s not fair.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, and neither are you.” He said your name, nodding. “You can have your way with me first thing in the morning if that’s what you want, but right now?” He leaned in, kissing your cheek before he rested his forehead against yours. “I’m just looking forward to sleepin’ next to you.”

It was there again in that admission - the confirmation that both you and Jack were rapidly passing the point of no return when it came to letting actual feelings get involved in what was happening between you. At least it’s not just me. “You could have waited a couple more days, you know.” You bit your lip, reaching up to drag your fingers through his hair. “You’re coming back to Louisville the middle of next week, and -”

“I didn’t want to wait.” He pushed gently on your hip, urging you to climb off of him. “And you were already only a couple hours away, so it made sense to ask you to come out here.” Reluctantly, you laid back next to him though you were pleased to see a slight tenting in his shorts - evidence of the fact that even though he’d been able to stop things from going further with you, it hadn’t been simple.

You both stretched out, Jack pulling the blanket up so that you were covered to the shoulders. “I was surprised you asked.” You tried to get comfortable, sighing as you shifted your hips against the sheets. “But this is a hell of a lot better than sleeping alone.”

Jack reached out, slipping an arm around your waist. “I sure as shit hope so.” It made you laugh, but his next words silenced that sound immediately. “I didn’t get much sleep last night because I was thinking about you bein’ here.” Even in the low light from the TV’s continued glow, you could see the apprehension in his eyes when he said it. Oh, Jack.

“I kept you awake?” You didn’t miss the opportunity to tease him, though, moving even closer and hooking one leg over his. “Hard to believe, Jack. We’re basically in your back yard. There’s plenty of other stuff for you to thin-”

“I was also thinking about what it meant that I couldn’t sleep becausea you.” He closed his eyes and took another breath, his fingers pressing against your back when they curled inward. “What all of this means, and to be honest it scares the hell out of me.” The time for joking was over, and you knew with certainty that the way you answered him and steered the conversation would determine whether or not whatever was happening between you continued. Or if it ends right here.

“It scares me, too, Jack.” You paused, thinking. “And I know that we sort of talked about this at your place, but …” You closed your eyes, giving yourself a few seconds. “It doesn’t have to mean anything serious. That’s not why I …” Slow down. “If us being friends complicates this too much, it’s better that we know it now, right?”

“That what you think is happenin’ here?” He moved his hand to your side, resting his palm against your ribs. “It’s too complicated because we’re not just stickin’ to sex?” His voice was steady, but you could feel how tense he was. “Us actin’ friendly and not just sleeping together is the problem?”

“It’s not a problem, no.” You bit down on your lower lip. Tell him the truth. “I’m attracted to you, Jack. And I know it’s a really limited experience pool, but sex with you has been fucking great.” He smiled at that, Jack unable to keep from reacting to your words. “But if you asked me to choose right now if I wanted to be friends with you or keep sleeping with you? I’d pick being your friend. It would hurt a little to know that you were with someone…or someones else, but …”

“But?” You saw the tip of his tongue as it flashed at the corner of his mouth, the lines between his eyes deepening with his frown. “There more to that sentence, or?”

There was a lot more, and you didn’t quite know where to start. I didn’t think we’d be having this conversation tonight. Ever, actually, but especially not tonight. “But you’re a good person. And if I could only pick one of those options, I’d choose the one I assumed would be more permanent.” That was the truth, especially with his schedule. A friendship with Jack seemed like it had the potential to last longer than being the focus of his attention, and when push came to shove, that was what you wanted.

“I don’t want you to choose.” He reached up, twisting his wrist so that he could stroke the side of your face with his knuckles. “But I also don’t want you to feel like … I donno. Like I’m leadin’ you on?” He pulled his hand away, moving it back to settle it on top of the blanket and near your waist. “I’d hate knowin’ that you felt that way, because it’s not what I’m tryin’ to do.”

“No one’s leading anyone on.” You smiled, heart thudding against your ribs. “I think we’ve both been very clear about our expectations for this.” Nodding, you closed your eyes and paused, only opening them when you were sure of what you wanted to say. “But in case I haven’t been?”

He watched you almost warily, waiting. And it took some effort, but you forced yourself to speak again, hoping that your words put him at ease.

“I like you, Jack, but I don’t view this as a relationship. We’re friends that have sex when it’s convenient and we’re in the same city.” This is going to hurt. “I don’t expect exclusivity. If you want to sleep with someone else, I understand. If I want to do the same, it’s fair game. I’d just ask that you have the courtesy to put some time between anyone else and me, because I -”

“Of course.” He looked slightly offended, his head moving back and forth against the pillow. “I’m not that much of an asshole to go runnin’ between women like that.” That made you smile as you agreed, but Jack wasn’t done. “And that’s all great for now, and it makes me feel a little bit better, but…” He trailed off, looking away from you for a few seconds before he met your eye again. “I think I’m scared because a real big part of me is thinkin’ about what could happen later… or what I might want later if this was a relationship.”

That revelation stunned you. You were focused on trying to ensure that you didn’t fuck anything up in the present and Jack was at least partially concerned with something that could happen in the future. And what he wants, or what he might want, or… oh, God this can’t be happening right now.

“We can figure that out when and if it happens.” You squeezed his arm, the muscles in his bicep firm to the touch. “I understand that this with you is different than it would be with someone that had a traditional job. I get it. We’ve only known each other for a couple weeks. It’s not like I’m planning the color couch we’ll have in our house or choosing names for our kids. This is supposed to be fun, right?” He nodded. “Then let it be fun. No pressure on either of us, especially when the season’s over so soon. Maybe… maybe at some point it’ll get there, but -”

You stopped as a yawn crept up on you, forcing your eyes closed before you turned your head toward the pillow to finish it. I’m too tired for this. “Maybe I am an asshole.” He sighed. “You’re fuckin’ exhausted and I’m laying here buggin’ you about my own bullshit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You chuckled, blinking slowly as you met his eyes again. “It’s not bullshit. No matter what happens with us, I think being honest about it is important.” You yawned again, Jack chuckling at the sound. “Thank you for inviting me here. Thank you for actually talking about this like an adult. Thank you fo-”

“You gonna keep thankin’ me, or can I kiss you goodnight?” Your eyes flew all the way open at that, and you found that Jack’s smile was back, the look in his eyes warm. “Because I’d really like to kiss you goodnight.”

He was changing the subject, and that was fine by you if it meant that Jack was going to kiss you again.

Instead of giving him an audible response, you reached up to tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. He took the hint and rolled toward you, but instead of pressing his lips to yours, he started at the corner of your eye and then moved down to your cheek, the soft scrape of his mustache following the path of his mouth.

You felt his hand move off of you and to the bed, giving him leverage - and when Jack’s teeth grazed your chin, you tipped your head back, sighing. He took the hint, lips pressing to the side of your throat before they moved to the hollow of it. He paused there, and then you felt the drag of his tongue along your skin, the sensation making you gasp out his name. He liked that - Jack’s hum of approval a low, rumbling vibration as he kissed his way up and back toward your mouth.

He didn’t just kiss you then, though. Jack stopped and whispered your name, waiting until you’d opened your eyes and looked at him to nod once, shoulders rising and falling as he took a breath. What is he doing? “You’re welcome, darlin’.”

There was no opportunity for you to reply before his mouth was on yours, Jack’s lips parted in a mirror of your own. He used the opportunity, slipping his tongue between them and meeting yours head on. The intensity of the kiss took you by surprise, and you sunk into the bedding as Jack pressed forward, his bare chest against your covered one.

When he pulled away, you could see that he was breathing hard, a wild look in his eyes. You liked the look - liked the fact that just kissing you for a few minutes could rile him up so much, and for a brief moment, wondered what he saw when looking at you. “That was one hell of a kiss, Jack.” He winked at you, and then leaned down to press a softer one to the corner of your mouth before he pushed away and then laid down, still facing you.

“Sure was.” You rolled onto your side and faced him, too, sliding your hand beneath the pillow and under your cheek. “One hell of a kiss for one hell of a -”

“I’m already in bed with you. No need for the cheesy pick up lines.” He laughed, his hand gliding up and between your bodies and then under the pillow to move into place atop yours. That made your eyes widen, but Jack only smiled as his fingers dropped between yours and then curled to squeeze.

“One more thing, and then I’ll let you sleep, I promise.” You nodded, heartbeat still racing. “This is just this right now, right?” You agreed, murmuring a yes. “I don’t want either of us to act like that’s all it’s ever gonna be.” What? “I’ve never been lookin’ for anything serious, but that doesn’t mean I’ve sworn it off.” Oh. oh, you … Jack. “So if you don’t feel like that’s something you might want with me, the sooner I know, the better.”

You were stunned into silence, Jack’s words replaying in your head as you attempted to absorb them. Are there people out there that really wouldn’t want more with him? Has he ever said this to anyone before? And if he has, how recently was it? I don’t … oh, fuck. How do I respond?

“I’m …” You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m open to figuring out if that’s what this is with you, Jack.” You exhaled, the sound shaky. “It’s kinda fast to even admit that, but -”

“Not if both of us are on the same page about it.” He leaned closer, though he didn’t take his eyes off of you. “And it sounds like we are.” You agreed, nodding and letting your eyes close. “Now get some sleep. Mornin’s gonna come real quick.”

You agreed, and after he gave your hand another quick squeeze, he released it, his hand moving from yours to your hip. He didn’t have a chance to pull you closer because you moved first, inching toward him and scooting down on the pillow so that you could tuck your head against his chest.

Neither of you spoke again, but when you felt his hand against the skin of your back, Jack’s arm pushing your shirt up to expose it, you weren’t surprised. You’d both move during the night, it was almost a given, but for the moment, you were content to be so close.

—

He woke you up the following morning with lips pressed to your temple and a hand on your shoulder. “Just lettin’ you know I’m leaving.” His voice was quiet as Jack spoke, and when you cracked your eyes open, you saw that the lights were still off in the room.

“What time is it?” You sighed and stretched, moving closer to Jack without thinking. “Feels early.”

“It’s only 8.” He kissed you again. “My momma sent a message and said they’d be in the lobby in fifteen.” Groaning, you reached for him and were surprised to find that Jack was still shirtless. “Stay here. I’m gonna go with them for breakfast, but I won’t eat much. We’ll still order when I get back.”

“No. Eat.” You closed your eyes, turning your face toward the pillow. “‘M fine.” He laughed and squeezed your arm before sitting up and letting go.

“You still gonna be in bed waitin’?” You nodded without opening your eyes. Where else would I be? “Good.” The mattress shifted when he got up, but you didn’t move, already dozing back off. And when the door shut behind him a few minutes later, your breathing was deep and even - and you didn’t hear it.

But you felt it when Jack got back into bed, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling your body so that you were pressed against his chest. You let him, content to melt into the broad expanse of man as you came back to consciousness. “You smell like bacon, Jack.”

“I had some.” He laughed, his fingers curling slightly against your belly. “Wasn’t smoked but it was still good.” That made you chuckle, too. I like this. It was Jack that spoke first, saying your name and then shifting his hips slightly. “I’ve got to be at the stadium around 3:15 today, so we’ve got a few hours. What do you want to do?” We have options?

Rolling over to face him, you met his gaze, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I mean …” His smile widened. “We can go back to sleep. We can wake up an’ order breakfast. We can wake up and watch somethin’ on TV. It’s not even 10 yet, so we’ve got a while.” He paused, and then you watched his lips shift into a smirk. “Or, I could have breakfast in bed.”

It took a few seconds because you were still waking up, but when you realized that he was talking about you, you groaned and then pushed away from him, covering your face with one hand.

“Even for you, Jack, that was bad.” He laughed and then you did, too, the sound turning into a sigh. “Fuck, that was -”

“Enough to convince you to say yes?” You opened your eyes and saw that he was watching you intently, his head propped up on one hand. “I was only half kidding.”

It was tempting. You could tell that he wanted you, and that feeling alone was almost intoxicating, Jack’s attention first thing in the morning something that you never would have thought possible only weeks earlier. “That sounds nice, Jack, but …” Reaching out, you trailed a finger up his arm, wrinkling your nose. “I remember you telling me that I could have my way with you this morning.”

“I did say that, didn’t I.” You nodded, watching as he took and held a breath, his eyes never leaving your face. “I’m not gonna tell you no.” That was all the permission you needed, and so you sat up and inhaled deeply. Alright.

“Take your shirt off.” You gestured toward him. “And then sit up, like you were last night.”

He did what you asked, and only a few moments later, Jack was shirtless and leaning back against the headboard, his uninjured arm bent and tucked behind his head. “What now?” You eyed him carefully, thinking.

“I should go and brush my -”

“Fuck that. Get over here.” He unbent his arm and reached for you, fingers curling around your bicep. “You’re fine.” You climbed back onto his lap and settled in, knees on either side of his thighs. “You wanna kiss me?” You nodded, running the fingers of one hand through his hair. “Then what’re you waitin’ for?”

It was surreal to you that Jack was giving you permission to treat him like that morning was routine between you - that it wasn’t only the second time you’d woken up to each other, or the first that you were staying in bed instead of getting up immediately so that you could leave. But it’s happening, so…

Leaning in, you met his lips with yours, sighing. His hands moved to your hips, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shirt to settle against your body - and when his grip tightened in response, you stopped overthinking.

You kissed him harder, rocking your hips forward, and when he groaned, you used the parting of his lips to your advantage. It was easy to kiss him - easy to get lost in the way his mouth moved with yours, and the way it felt to have him beneath you, the warmth of his body comforting. It didn’t take much before you felt him stiffening through the shorts he wore, Jack moaning against your mouth when you ground down against him.

“Are you sure, Jack?” You questioned him when you backed away to catch your breath, and there was no mistaking the reply, his eyes flashing as he said yes, head moving up and down in agreement.

When you climbed off of him and settled in on the blankets beside his legs, you didn’t pause before you reached for him, the elastic of his waistband making it simple for you to pull the shorts - and the underwear beneath it - down. He helped by lifting his hips from the mattress, and then once you’d worked the clothing down to his knees, Jack kicked it the rest of the way off, leaving himself completely naked in front of you.

You reached out slowly, dragging the edges of your nails up the inside of his thigh. When you wrapped your fingers around him, Jack’s eyes closed and he swore, a quiet thunk reaching your ears when his head made contact with the wood behind him. That made you smile, but it didn’t cause your focus to waver.

Instead, you took a breath and began to stroke his length, Jack hard in your hold and even harder with each pass of your hand. Ok. Here we go. Without breaking stride, you leaned in and then bent forward, breathing out before you kissed Jack’s thigh, giving him warning. He hummed, one of his hands moving to rest against your shoulderblade, but he didn’t speak up or push you away - and so you continued.

You worked your way inward and toward your hand, and when you glanced up, lips hovering inches above him, you saw that he was watching you, his eyes so dark you couldn’t tell where the iris ended and pupil began. “Please.”

It was only one word - but it was filled with trust, and so without prolonging things any further, you lowered your head and took him into your mouth for the first time.

He hissed when your lips closed around him, his fingers curling against your t-shirt, but since he still didn’t ask you to stop, you kept going.

It was a leap forward, and you knew it. He did, too, if the look you saw in his eyes before you closed yours was anything to go by.

He filled your mouth, and when you sunk down lower, the flat of your tongue pressed against him, Jack grunted as his hips jerked forward, pushing himself deeper. You were ready for it, rearing back just enough that you didn’t choke, but you didn’t pull off of him. I can handle it.

You squeezed him at the base, the heel of your hand resting against the coarse hair there, and when you sighed, eyes squeezed shut, you felt Jack relax, his grip on your shirt loosening, too. As you bobbed up and down his length, your hand stroking what wasn’t between your lips, you wondered what he liked - wondered if he wanted things straight to the point or if he liked it slow and messy, giving him a chance to relish the warmth of someone’s mouth.

With a quiet pop you pulled back, opening your eyes and glancing up. “J -”

“Your goddamn mouth.” The hand not on your shoulder moved, rising so that he could use his fingertips to tilt your chin up. “I shouldn’t have made you wait.” You sucked in a breath, lips parting. What? “Y’alright?”

“Yeah, I…” You trailed off when he slowly dragged his thumb over your lower lip, his eyes following the movement. “I was just going to …” You kissed the pad of it, closing your eyes to steady yourself before opening them as you spoke. “I was going to ask what you like, Jack.”

The question surprised him; you saw his eyes widen, and when you began to stroke him again - slowly, your hand gliding fluidly up and down - you took a deep breath, waiting. He was breathing hard, and you watched his jaw work as he eyed you, head tilted to the side. His hand moved back, stroking over your hair.

“It’s been a minute.” He sniffed, hips shifting upward and pushing himself further into your hand. “But I liked what you were doing.” Jack’s lip curled when your thumb passed over his tip, circling slowly before your hand moved back downward. “That alright?”

You didn’t speak, instead nodding as you lowered your head again and took him back into your mouth. That time, you focused your attention on the place your finger had just been, tongue moving in a series of quick, deliberate licks while your hand continued to move beneath it.

He hissed out your name, hands falling away from you to fist the blankets, his muscles going rigid. It emboldened you, and when you braced yourself on his thigh, fingers curling in against his skin to give you more support as you continued, you pushed everything else out of your mind except Jack.

You wanted to make him come.

You wanted to push him over the edge with only your hand and mouth, and you wanted the satisfaction of doing so at his request. Your gaze rose, expecting to find him with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. Instead, he was watching you, chest rising and falling rapidly as he breathed out through his parted lips.

When you caught his eye, he didn’t look away. That sent a flood of warmth throughout your body, the heat settling low in your belly. He closed his eyes first, muttering the word fuck and bringing one hand back to rest against your shoulder. You moaned around him, closing your eyes, too, and when you felt his muscles begin to tense again, you sped the movement of your mouth up and added a slight twist of your wrist as you stroked him.

He was close - you could tell by the changes in his breathing, and as you prepared yourself, you were stunned to hear Jack say your name again before asking you to look at him. “Gonna come.” He swallowed, the motion turning into a groan. “Gonna come hard. You ok with that?” You nodded, flicking your tongue against his slit and then squeezing with the hand wrapped around him. “Oh fuck.” He jerked his head back and you heard the thud as it connected with the headboard again, but you were too focused to pay it much mind.

You moaned, sinking down as far as you could go before returning your attention to his head, hollowing out your cheeks and then swirling your tongue around him, letting out a contented sigh as you savored the taste.

He cried out and it took you by surprise, Jack pulsing in your hand twice before he came, his hips once again rising off of the bed as your hold tightened slightly. You tried to swallow, but were positioned awkwardly, resulting in Jack’s release leaking past your lips and down his length. You kept your mouth on him but slowed the motion of your hand as he finished, sliding your lips upward so that you could clean him with your tongue. When Jack managed to speak your name, his voice was low and somewhat strained.

You looked up again and saw that he was smiling, eyelids hooded. “C’mere. You’re done.” I guess I am. Slowly, you released him, unable to resist giving him one last flick of your tongue that resulted in a quick hiss, though he didn’t stop smiling. Your hand was a mess, and when you pulled that away, you brought it up and into your eye line, considering. I could just wipe it off, but …

That wasn’t what you chose. Turning your wrist, you brought it to your mouth and sealed your lips around the skin between your thumb and first finger, sucking the remaining fluid from your skin with another sigh. He swore at that, and when he reached for you, you let him pull you closer, both of his arms going around you as he tucked you against his body and tilted his head down to kiss the top of your head.

“You’re fucking incredible, d’you know that?” Draping an arm over his belly, you didn’t reply, instead turning your head inward and kissing the center of his chest. If you say so. “You good?” You nodded, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as you tried to keep from overreacting.

Both of you were quiet for a little while, the low thrum of the AC unit the only noise in the room - but it was you that spoke first. “Never been woken up like that before, Jack.” He laughed, one of his hands sliding down the side of your body and over your hip, his touch comforting. “I liked it.”

“I did too.” He kissed you again, and then said your name, the sound quiet. “It’s not fair, though.”

“What’s not?” You didn’t look up, instead opening your eyes to watch as your fingertips trailed over his skin, using one of them to travel between the freckles on his abdomen. “I have no complaints about -”

“It’s not fair,” he continued, the hand on your hip moving up and then down, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic of your underwear and then around so that he could squeeze you. “That you get to have all the fun.” What is he … oh, shit. Jack’s hand moved lower, between your legs. “Fuck, you liked that, didn’t you?”

If you could feel the stickiness between your thighs, you knew that Jack could too, and when you mumbled out the word yes, he sighed deeply. Too much. I liked that too much. You weren’t expecting him to pull his hand away and pull you closer with it, or for him to use his other hand to guide your chin up, raising your gaze so that you could look him in the eye. And you were completely unprepared for the expression on his face - a mixture of excitement and fear, his eyes blazing. “Jack?”

“Get up here.” You moved instantly, scooting up a few inches, and when he kissed you, you felt your chest grow tight.

It was one thing to sleep with him based on mutual attraction. It was another to have him invite you out to a different state to spend a weekend with him. And it was a third, entirely different thing to have him break a rule for you that by his own admission was created to keep distance between him and the people he slept with - and then immediately have him pull you close and kiss you afterward.

And even as it deepend, Jack’s tongue stroking against yours as his hand slid to the back of your neck to support the position you were in, your mind was working overtime trying to make sense of everything that you were feeling - and what it might mean.

You couldn’t ignore it forever, and knew that you’d have to confide in Jack before you got in too deep. It was only fair, since he’d been so honest with you the night before. But maybe I don’t have to now, you thought as his hand slid down your thigh and toward your knee. He said he might be open to more, and I don’t … I don’t want to ruin this yet.

Jack urged you to raise your leg and settle it atop his, and when he dragged his hand back up the inside of yours, you realized exactly what he was setting up. You shivered when he reached your inner thigh and then whimpered against his lips when his fingers made contact with the damp material of your underwear. You felt him smile, but he didn’t break the kiss. Fuck, Jack.

Your hips flexed forward and Jack took the initiative, sliding his hand up and over your abdomen and then down, making its way between your skin and the fabric. Oh, God, he -

It was you that bit down on his lower lip when his fingers sunk into you for the first time, but he didn’t stop with the sudden burst of pain. Instead, Jack curled his fingers as he thrust his wrist forward, changing the angle and filling you further. You gasped at the feeling, and then it was Jack that closed his teeth around your lip and tugged, pulling your attention back to the kiss.

“I hope you slept well,” he mumbled, his lips moving against yours. “Because I’m just gettin’ started with you, darlin’.”

—

By the middle of that night’s game, you were almost positive that the trip to Texas was one of the best decisions you’d ever made.

You and Jack hadn’t gotten out of bed until that afternoon. After dozing off once he’d gotten you off with his hand and waking up a little later, he’d given you a hands on demonstration of just how much better his arm felt while supporting his weight above you.

And when you’d finally left the bed and headed into the bathroom, emerging from it with one of the hotel’s fluffy robes securely tied at your waist, you’d found him heating up a plate of his mom’s cooking for each of you. It was delicious, and while you ate, he’d told you a couple stories about his younger years, most of them centered around the types of meals she’d brought to share with the team.

While he showered, you lounged on the bed and flipped through the TV channels, trying not to think too hard about how easy it felt to be with Jack. That failed miserably when he emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and his damp hair dripping down his neck and onto his chest. You’d seen the look in his eye when he caught you staring, and it hadn’t taken long for the towel - and your bathrobe - to disappear, tangled together on the floor.

After he’d left for the stadium, you finally got it together, opening your laptop and booking your flight home for the following day. It felt wrong to do so, but when you typed in the numbers from the credit card Jack had left for you to use, it felt like another puzzle piece falling into place, the realization that you’d already leapt past the point of just being a hookup a little more believable.

But during the game, as you watched him from one of the seats that had been occupied by his parents the previous night, you let yourself enjoy it all without worrying

He knew where you stood, and you had a better idea of what he was looking for - and how he viewed your situation. He’d made you feel thoroughly wanted from the moment he’d spotted you from the field the night before. Jack had assured you that he wanted you to watch him play again that night, and the frequent glances over while he was on the field solidified it.

You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t in a relationship with him. There was no guarantee beyond that weekend that he’d want to spend so much time with you. But I’m here now, and we’re having a good time. That’s what matters.

The Statesman lost the game, but you were already on your way back to the hotel by the final out, your Uber driver cheering quietly when the last out was made. And when Jack got back to the room almost an hour later, you were already in bed again, the blanket around your waist and a rerun playing for background noise while you scrolled on your phone.

He paused in the hallway, leaning against it with one arm raised over his head and just stared at you, brow furrowed, his other hand in his pocket. “What, Jack? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just thinkin’ about how the next time I walk into a hotel room, it’s gonna be empty.” He stepped closer, undoing his belt and tossing it onto the armchair. “And you’re gonna be back in Louisville.” Hmm.That’s quite the admission.

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I’d much rather be in a hotel with you than at home and working, so…” You shrugged, setting your phone down on the side table. “Both of us are going to be disappointed after tomorrow.”

He undid the zipper on his pants and let them drop to the floor, stepping out of them before he pulled his shirt off and headed for the bed. He’s still got the chain on. Jack crawled to you and then leaned over, no hesitation before he pressed a kiss to your lips. “Disappointed is right.”

“I’m sorry you guys lost today. It was a tough game.” You didn’t want to change the subject, but it was the only way to ensure that you didn’t say something you’d regret. “How early do you need to be on the bus tomorrow?”

“Too early.” He sighed, lowering his head before he moved away and laid back, looking up at you. “It’s a 1 o’clock start.” It meant he’d be waking up early - and that you’d be saying goodbye sooner than you would have liked. “You probably think I’m boring as hell, invitin’ you out here and then going to sleep so early without -”

“You’re a professional athlete, Jack, and it’s almost the end of the season. You might not be in playoff contention, but -”

“Ouch.” He lowered his head and rested it against your shoulder, the golden pendant swinging forward and making contact with your arm. “You had to remind me.”

“I’m sorry.” You ruffled his hair with one hand, focused on the way his lips lingered. “But other teams are, which means that everything’s still full steam ahead. I didn’t come out here thinking we’d be up until 2 am partying. I came here to see you, and if that means being in bed early and watching TV with you, I’m alright with that.”

He looked like he didn’t believe you, but without saying anything, he sat up and leaned over to kiss you again. It didn’t take you by surprise like it would have a week earlier. What did stun you was the way he kissed you - like he’d been doing it for forever - and how much of a response your body had to him. I can’t help it.

When he sat upright again, Jack sighed, his hand dropping down to take yours. “Saw you booked your flight.” He laced your fingers together, palms flat. “You’re leavin’ before the game?”

“I had to. The only other flight back was late, and I didn’t want to risk not being home in time for work.” You shook your head. “Thank you again for offering to pay for that. You didn’t need to; it was really strange to use your -”

“Of course I needed to.” He frowned, arching a brow. “Why would you pay to go home from somewhere I invited you?” Because I don’t want you to think that I expect you to pay for anything for me. “But you’re welcome. I hope you booked yourself a good seat.”

You hadn’t. You’d booked a regular, no frills ticket, and hadn’t even thought twice about doing anything else. Admitting that to him got you a good-natured eye roll, but it wasn’t until you were both laying down and facing each other that he spoke again.

“Gimmie your phone.” What? “Someone’s got to break the ice and I don’t think it’s gonna be you.” You rolled over and reached for it, unlocking it before you handed it over. Jack moved to lay on his back, head propped up by a pillow. He studied the image you had set as your background for a few seconds and then used one finger to swipe and tap.

“Jack, what are you doing?”

“I have a picture of you, but you don’t have one of me.”

“You’ve sent me pictures of -”

“That’s not what I mean.” He glanced over. “And you know it.” He raised the phone and aimed it, and you watched as he took multiple pictures of himself over the next few seconds. What is he doing? “How’re these?” He handed it back to you, turning onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow.

You swiped through them, teeth digging into your lower lip. They were all great - even though they were dimly lit. You could also tell that he was in bed, and shirtless, the gold around his neck bright in the glow of the TV. You knew what it looked like and he knew it too, and when you opened your mouth to answer, you didn’t get a word out before he said your name, cutting you off. “What?”

“D’you want to take one together?” He inhaled deeply, holding his breath as he waited for your answer. What?

“Right now?” He nodded slowly, exhaling. “But neither of us are dressed, and -”

“Nobody but us will see them, right?” You nodded, heartbeat quickening. “Then what does it matter?” He had a point, and you really had no solid excuse to turn him down. And I’d love a picture of us. You sat up and closed your eyes, looking down at where he laid. “That a yes?”

“It is, Jack.” He sat up next to you and wound one arm around your shoulders, easing you closer as the two of you leaned back and against the headboard. While he took a few shots, you tried not to let the uncertainty you felt show in your expression - or in your posture. Taking pictures of each other was a big step on its own, but taking photos in bed - even though you were fully clothed - was yet another leap.

“Think I got a good one.” He turned his head and kissed the side of yours. “What do you think?”

“I think,” you spoke as you swiped through them. “I think that they’re all good, Jack. Do you want me to send any of them to you?”

“All of ‘em.” He moved his hand up and down your arm, squeezing your shoulder. “Maybe not the ones of just my own face, but…” He chuckled, shrugging. “It’ll be nice to look at those and remember the first time you came to see me play.”

“The first time?” Turning at the waist, you faced him. “You think there’s going to be a next time?”

“Probably not this year.” He scratched at the side of his head, wrinkling his nose. “Season’s almost over, but yeah. Maybe next year you can come out to spring training or something.” It was at odds with what you’d talked about earlier. He was planning things in the future, though nothing was certain between you. Jack was acting as if he expected the two of you to still be in contact months down the road, and in a position where you flying out to spend a few days with him wouldn’t seem unreasonable. So maybe he really is thinking about more.

“Getting out of Kentucky and going to Arizona in February or March? Count me in.” You laughed, quickly putting all of the pictures into one text and sending it to him before you leaned over and put your phone back on the table. “I had a lot of fun this weekend, Jack. I hope you did, too.”

You settled back in, rolling over to face him, but Jack didn’t lay back down. Instead, he tilted his head forward, looking over at you. “I did.” He began to chew on the inside of his cheek, brow furrowed. What did I say? “I’m gonna go and get ready for bed.” He gestured to the bathroom. “You need in there?”

You told him no, watching as he got out of the bed and crossed the room. Jack reached for the light switch inside the smaller space, but paused and then looked back over his shoulder at you before stepping inside. “What’s that look for?”

Some of the tension in the room eased with your question, and the rest of it disappeared when he spoke, his smirk visible even from a distance. “Don’t fall asleep while I’m gone, alright?”

With a laugh that turned into a groan, you pulled the blanket up further. This is how it’s going to be for a while. I guess I’ll have to get used to figuring everything out as we go. “I won’t. But if I do… you have my permission to wake me up, Jack.”

—

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boldlyvoid · 4 years ago

Text

Intro to Criminal Minds: Why They Did It

Criminal Minds x Mindhunter AU

Spencer Reid x Peggy Carr (OC) Part 2: The Case

Summary: Spencer is teaching a 7-week seminar on the most interesting criminal cases, explaining their actions to understand why they took place. Only, not everyone in the audience is a student.

warnings: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn! flirting, fluff, eventual smut, idiots in love, OC is Wendy Carr and Jason Gideon's biological daughter. mentions of rape and murder (typical canon violence)

word count: 2.2K

ao3

He’s not expecting her to roll out a full map after the waitress clears the food from their table. They’ve been in the booth for barely 20 minutes. Having mindless conversations about their day and small get to know each other questions while they ate.

“So, I brought all this to my dad,” she explained, dropping 33 files on the table as well as 2 spiral notebooks and a handful of pens. “He thinks I have a case, but he’s refusing to look at the evidence because he’s still triggered by it, which I get, but he said you’d be the best at helping me because I really just need a geo-profile consult.”

“How is he doing?”

She’s been waiting for him to ask but she still didn’t know how to answer, no matter how much time she had to prep, “uh, he’s good. He talks about you every time I see him, how often do you talk?”

“We haven’t talked since he almost died, 6 years ago now… yes, it was in 2015,” Spencer says it like it’s nothing serious.

“Oh,” she’s confused about it all. Her father talks about him more than anyone else, always remembering a case or a conversation that he just had to tell her about.

Spencer was his buddy in her eyes. “Here I was thinking he liked you more than me like you’re his favourite kid.”

“I’m not his kid,” his eyes widen at the insinuation that they’re somehow siblings in any sense.

It makes her laugh, she knows he’s interested in her a small amount. She was hoping he would, she’s heard so many wonderful things about him and she remembers just how cute he was back in 2005. Now he’s a man and a mighty fine one at that…

“I take it you’re an only child?” He changes the subject, “you can’t handle the idea of your father having relationships with people your age when you hardly know him?”

“How about you tell me who you think I am and I’ll tell you where you went wrong?” She challenges him rather than answering, she knows he’s good but she wants to see it in action.

Spencer raised his brow, “if I get it right, you’re paying for lunch.”

“Deal.”

He opens her notebook and takes a look at her notes, flipping through the pages reading the words just as fast as her father said he could. It was incomprehensible, but he didn’t read far… he keeps going back to her drawings, studying the pressure and how her mind worked.

“Your mom travelled a lot when you were a kid, and you always went with her. I’m thinking you have a few degrees, at least 3…” he pauses to watch her microexpressions, trailing her skin with his eyes as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. “There’s a doctorate in there but you hate being called Dr. Carr because that’s your mother’s name and it reminds you too much of people asking about her instead of how you’re doing.”

It cuts deep, but he hits the nail on the head and she just blinks. The simplest microexpression that shows him he got it right, his smile is awkward and he’s sorry for it.

“You were homeschooled so you don’t trust people very easily. You have issues with your father that you can’t place because you still don’t think you know him well enough to really have an opinion, and you’re jealous of me because you wish you knew how he brags about you when you’re not around, but he doesn’t talk about you because you told him not to.”

“I specifically told him I wanted to be left out of his life to stay safe, so it’s really my fault that he can’t brag about me. But I still wish someone would,” she admits with a soft smile. “And I think it’s not really jealousy. I’m not jealous of how he brags about his time with you. If anything, I really admire you now.”

He blushes a little, “alright, your turn.”

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before have you?” She calls him out right away. “You can’t take a compliment seriously because no one has loved you deep enough yet for you to believe them. I already know about your parents, I know that you’re scared of forgetting and that’s why you won't stop learning. I think you probably have a bucket list, you’re desperate for something exciting to happen and that’s why you like me already.”

He blinks right back, “touché.”

“I’ll still buy your lunch,” she smiled, and he smiled right back. “And I do have 3 degrees.”

“I do too.”

“I know,” she reminded him. “You’ve been working on that 4th one for the last 16 years.”

“I haven’t had the time.”

She shakes her head as she laughs, teasing him as if she’s better than him because she knows he finds her interesting already, “I had my Ph.D. by 17, as well 2 masters by the time I was 21.”

“3 Ph.D.’s by 22,” he bragged right back.

It had suddenly become a staring contest, “when exactly did your dad walk out on you?”

“I was 10.” Spencer answers. “When was the last time your mom said she was proud of you?”

“Oh, we're going that far, I see,” she laughed, hurt just a little that he dug that deep, “what happened to yours recently?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m really sorry, I knew about the schizophrenia already because of the fisher king case, that one is the one that still has my dad all fucked up,” she can’t help but rant as she apologizes, placing her hands on his in the centre of the table and he interlocks their fingers like they’ve known each other for years.

“Boston?” He asks her, changing the topic back to getting to know each other without letting go of her hands.

She nods, “Vegas?”

“You knew that already,” he catches her.

“Maybe so,” she blushes at the embarrassment of him picking up on her crush.

“How’d he describe me at chess?” There’s a cockiness behind it that she admires, smiling in response she just shakes her head.

“I don’t play chess, but he says that other than Agent Prentiss, you’re the only person who has come close to beating him.”

“Prentiss?” He looks almost offended at the fact he didn’t know that story.

“You were asleep on the jet, it was right after the trip to Azkaban,” she reminds him.

“Azkaban?” He repeats. “You mean Guantanamo?”

She’s only slightly embarrassed by the slip-up, blushing a deep red as she presses her lips together and squeezes his hand. “My mom calls it Azkaban, she hates it. If it wasn’t for the BAU, she would have never joined the bureau or the government in any way, she’s against the criminal justice system too, so…”

“She’s a woman of science and empathy, I’ve never met her, but I’ve read all her work.”

“So have I,” she’s full of butterflies for some reason as she thinks about him knowing everything that she does, she’s suddenly excited at the prospect of future conversations with him like this isn’t a one-time thing.

He’s still holding her hands over the map, both of them leaning in slightly as they kept talking, it felt overly intimate for a discussion of a case— and they haven’t even started yet.

She takes her hands out of his grip and flattens them over the map, “so I found a pattern, I was asked to look into the rape and murder of a friends sister, and now I’ve found 32 matching cases all over America going in alphabetical order by state, 2 a year since 2005.”

“Are you serious?”

She nods softly, “I’m a private investigator. I hated the academy and simply being in the BAU almost killed both of my parents so I’m not really fond of it, but I need help.”

“How did VICAP not pick this up?” Spencer’s still caught up on the fact this has been happening during his entire career and he had no way of helping. It was very clear by the look on his face.

“Because they’re college-age women getting raped in their dorms, 1 in each state, and men don’t care enough to dig a little deeper when it’s just a little girl who was probably asking for it anyway, right?”

He looks furious, but with her… not at her.

Not like most men, that’s actually exactly what any other guy would have said to her. ‘Not most men,’ they only said that if they were offended; when they knew that they were the exact type of man she was referring to.

He started opening case files then, flipping through everything as she watched carefully, “he always does it the exact same way. It’s every March and November between the 6th and 12th, he’s gotten to the O’s, which means the next hit should be in Oklahoma in exactly 2 months' time.”

“Has there been evidence?” Spencer asks, avoiding eye contact as he both listens and absorbs.

“1 footprint and some random fingerprints at the first few, other than that it’s like he was never there,” she sighs. “This is where I need your help; I’m unsure if he’s attacking randomly or if it’s planned ahead of time, so I brought the map to see if you can make any connection.”

“Alright,” he closes the folder and hands them to her so he can get a better look at everything. “I’m going to need the exact address of each one.”

“I have 32 mini maps,” she says, opening her book bag and handing him yet another folder.

“I’ve noticed they’re in every capital, and it’s always on the east side of the city,” she adds as he spreads them out on the table.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flash, turning it face down and holding the sheets of paper over it, “If you look at them over each other, there might be a pattern. We should call my friend Penelope, she’ll be able to digitally do this and find something.”

“Okay,” Peggy nods along, “I really need to know within the week because I’m moving to Oklahoma.”

“What?” He looks overly worried.

“He’s interested in college-age brunettes,” she points at herself. “I’m going to rent an apartment with a sliding door in the kill zone, and I’m going to wait it out. I’ll make sure everyone knows I live alone, I won't make friends, I’ll keep the windows open when I go to the store, I’ll make myself a victim.”

“No, we can get the bureau to send in a team, you don’t need to be in harm's way,” he protests, “I won’t help if I know you’re throwing yourself in the middle of all this. I refuse.”

There’s an underlying panic that she doesn’t quite understand. He’s almost shaking as he thinks about her playing the victim, they stare back and forth at each other softly, eyes flickering over the other’s expression as he also reads her.

“Fine,” she agrees, finally. “But if you’re getting the team involved, I want to be able to have some say in the investigation. I don’t want to be kicked out for just being a PI.”

“On one condition,” Spencer smirks. “You have to teach the BTK seminar with me.”

“Deal,” she smiled. “But I have some conditions too.”

“Anything?”

He was going to regret that.

“We can’t sleep together until we catch the guy— don’t look at me like that!” she catches the way his jaw drops and his eyes glisten.

He’s in complete shock, trying to say words and failing miserably as she stares at him knowingly. “I only said that because I need rules for myself too. We can’t care more about each other than the victims. Solve the case with me and then I’ll have a crush on you, okay?”

“Okay,” he finally finds the words to agree. “Was it that obvious?”

“We held hands for 5 minutes, I’ve thought you were cute since you were 23 and that seminar was a; 'my horse is bigger than your horse' flirting match,” she calls it all out, “I’m just as into you as you are into me already, if not more so because I know way too much about you thanks to my dad and uncle Rossi.”

“Dave knew about you too?” He’s more upset than she expected.

She nods, “yeah, so that I’d be taken care of if anything happened to my dad.”

He is a little upset and she can’t figure out why from what she knows already, “why?”

“You’re so interesting, you and I could have been friends for the last 15 years and things could have been so interesting but you were a secret,” he whispers.

“I was right wasn’t I?”

He nods again, “Gideon doesn’t know about Maeve, but I had a girlfriend who died in front of me before I could tell her I loved her and it broke me.”

Everything makes sense now. The stares, the stuttering, the defensiveness at the idea of her being in harm's way after only knowing her for a few hours. He was desperately looking for someone like himself to prove that he wasn’t going to be alone forever, and he wanted that to be found in her.

“Solve the case with me, then you can learn what it’s like to love someone who loves you back.”

taglist:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #intro to cm #mindhunter #wendy carr #peggy carr

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frostmarris · 4 years ago

Text

Jailbreak

KakaSaku, KisaSaku, ShikaSaku - Fantasy Au

summary: A witch, a knight, a dog trainer, and an apprentice mage. Great minds think alike.

notes: gift fic for petrikore for the Sakura Haruno discord server's 6 month anniversary exchange!

there's uh,,, a lot more lore and world building that I thought up that I didn't end up including in the fic lol. Maybe I'll continue one day?

Enjoy!

: :

The hall is silent except for the crackling of flames and the whispers of onlookers. The torches perched equidistant along the polished stone walls of the grand hall hold their flickering fires behind fine metal cages, twisting and curled in elegant loops that glow red when kissed by the flames. The court is full, fine silks and satins and lace and pearls crowded together between the towering columns that lined either side of the main path from the entrance to the throne. The noblemen and women keep clear of wide path, necks craving to see over each other and the occasional muffled tap of tailored shoes against marble floor joining the crackling and whispers. Royal guards are placed periodically down the sides of the wide walkway to hold the line, either to keep the members of the court back or to protect them from something else.

All eyes are on the pair of grand doors opposite of the throne, the carved wood aged but well-maintained and the metal lining reflecting the light of the torches. Dancing shadows are cast over the painted carvings of forest creatures - foxes chasing rabbits, a mother doe grazing with a fawn, wolves running as a pack, birds soaring overhead, a hunting party on horseback following a lone stag. In the center, standing atop a green hill, every blade of grass meticulously carved, is a white silhouette of a strange beast - the single horn in the center of its forehead pointing to the heavens and touching a fallen star. The paint and carvings mimic the light radiating from the star, stretching out over the other creatures and bathing them in its ethereal glow.

A chorus of footfalls grows steadily louder from behind the carved wood and the whispers fall silent, leaving only the crackling flames to accompany the low groan of the old doors as the unicorn is split in twain.

The metallic ringing of armor scraping against armor and the sturdy thuds of leather boots against the marble floor soon drowned out the flames, but the entourage of royal guardsmen is ignored in favor of the woman trapped in the center of the pack. Two men stand on either side of her, just a step behind, with their hands on their hilted swords and their keen gazes never leaving her profile. Ahead of her walks the Captain, holding the iron chain attached to the heavy shackles encompassing her delicate wrists.

Her skin is rubbed red and raw under the sharp edges of the cuffs and her gown is torn and stained along the hem. A long sleeve ripped up to her bicep and a straight scratch along her left cheek, but she might as well have been dressed in all the finery and jewels of a queen with how the court stares in awe.

She radiates… something.

Something unseen and powerful and glorious that has breaths caught in lungs and eyes unblinking as she strides forward, the chain slack and her back straight. She stands with all the power and regal air of a royal lady of the court, as if she were here as a guest rather than a prisoner in chains.

The deep green of her gown, velvet and hemmed with silver threads, sweeps over the marble like a curtain of moss, silent compared to the footsteps of the soldiers. Beaded starlight dappled lightly over her skirt gathers together in larger clusters towards the bottom hem, gradient of silver and white sparkles that catch the crackling flames with every movement. Her skirt trails behind her, tattered and torn, and the guardsmen take care not to step on it.

They keep a wary distance from the woman, even though they must remain close - as if afraid to touch any part of her.

Hair the color of flowers only found in the royal garden cascades down the open back of her dress, brushing over unmarred skin and twisting in loose curls. Her head is held high and remains facing forward even as her eyes pass over the awed faces of the court. Eyes like the emeralds lining the King's crown and a face that is both hard edges and gentle curves, her stern expression unwavering and the smallest downward tilt to pink lips is the only inclination to her thoughts as she is led towards the raised dais of the throne.

The guardsmen and their charge stop at the first step of the platform and the hall falls silent once more, except for the soft rustling of fabric as the King shifts in his throne. Hard, aged, brown eyes stare into sharp green and the hall is filled with bated breaths, no person daring to speak or draw breath too loudly lest they draw the ire of either the King or the woman.

She stands tall and unwavering, refusing to break her gaze from the King's. Neither of them speak and the tension in the air grows heavy and thick, the crackling of the flames falling to a soft hush as well.

Then, her eyes flicker upwards and green-stained fingertips curl as her hands fist against the fabric of her gown.

The flames lick and rage against their delicate metal cages, growing bigger and brighter and hotter as her gaze falls on the single opalescent, spiraling horn mounted at the top of the King's throne, the jagged ivory base still stained red.

: :

Kakashi sees a ruby.

It is placed in the center of her forehead, pressed into her skin rather than the metal of a circlet or crown, and it catches the flickering flames of the torches as she passes by.

The Guardian of the Forest, he'd heard them call her - a strange woman inhabiting the mysterious woods just at the edge of the King's claimed land. She kept the creatures of the forest safe, allowing neither hunter nor soldier to enter and discover its secrets. Tales of magical beasts mingling among common animals and an ethereal being dressed in leaves and moss who wandered its hidden paths.

They were bedtime stories and lullabies that all children who lived near the woods grew up hearing, their dreams filled with creatures of legend and fae that would whisk you away into the darkness if you walked too close to those tall, tall trees.

He couldn't recall any mention of pink hair and eyes like green fire, however.

Kakashi stands at the edge of the crowded court, one of his hounds sitting obediently his side while he stands mesmerized, catching glimpses of the strange woman as she is led towards the throne.

He rarely ventured inside the castle anymore, preferring to spend his time in the kennels where he trained and tended to the royal hunting dogs. He'd had his fill of the court and politics and retired some years ago from his position as the Captain of the Guard. No more bloodshed, no more fighting - Kakashi had seen enough battles and men dying to fill several lifetimes.

Now, he took his place as the kennel master, making sure the hounds were kept happy and healthy between hunts and training pups for their eventual roles in the King's hunting parties. He spent a fair amount of time in the woods, but specifically those near the castle that were used for game and sport. Occasionally he ventured to other forests where townsfolk and noblemen hunted for their meals, but never to the great forest to the West, where white stags and black wolves and something otherworldly roamed.

Kakashi had been checking up on an order for new leather leads for the pack when he'd heard the whispers amongst the castle servants.

"A strange woman in chains caught by soldiers."

"A witch was being bought to the castle."

"The Guardian of the Forest had been captured."

So, he'd slipped into the throne room and kept to the edges of the great hall like many other curious members of the palace staff, unable to resist.

And he sees the woman, standing so tall and strong despite how the shackles dwarf her wrists and she barely reaches the shoulder of the guard next to her, soft and lovely and out of place in the court, and Kakashi insists to himself that there must be some mistake.

But then his hound whines and cowers and the flames lick at the metal cages of the torches, nearly grazing him as they seem to reach out in their rage, and the air grows cold, heavy and thick in his lungs.

And he knows that a mistake has been made, dire and dreadful.

: :

Kisame sees a sapphire.

It reminds him of his homeland, where the sea met the land and great waves crashed against towering cliffsides, carving back the rock and stone as it tried to reclaim what had once been under its care. Ocean spray and salt on his tongue, weathering his skin well before calluses and scars from training and combat. His gaze reading the horizon and tides and stars and the grand forests to the West only a legend for the children of seafarers and fishermen.

He'd always wanted to see those green, green woods and trees as tall as cliffs, even though his heart sang for the water and seafoam.

Kisame trained and worked and eventually found his place in the castle guard for the royal palace itself, his ocean home and those rocky shoals seen now only in his dreams. His heart yearned for both the sea and the woods he'd yet to witness, caught between both and unable to choose whether to return or venture onwards.

Now head of the King's personal guard, he dreams of both the past and the future - of before and more.

The Lady of the Woods, he'd heard whispered.

First as a story-creature when he was a child - a magical woman who'd never seen the ocean or horizon or sky, only trees and their reaching arms that hid away the stars and clouds with their canopies of leaves and vines. A being that spoke to the forest and bade the plants to follow her commands. Both a prisoner and a warden, where life was so unlike that of the coast and the inhabitants sounded alien and strange.

And now again, as he stands at his post to the right of the dais, armor glinting under the flames and his hand resting at his side, always just a moment away from reaching for his sword.

Kisame sees her as the grand doors open and the procession of guardsmen enter and his heart stops.

He sees the sunsets over the horizon that he misses, pink and lovely and breathtaking, and the greens of the great forest he yearns to see, cloaking a body with pale skin that had never known ocean spray or the harsh coastal sun.

Her eyes are more green than any leaf and they travel over the staring faces as she passes, unreadable and intense. The sapphire in the center of her forehead seems out of place amongst the greens of her eyes and gown and fingertips and the pinks of her hair and lashes and lips and Kisame stares like everyone else, something thrumming in his chest and in his ears.

Her eyes meet his own and he takes the smallest, sharpest breath, holding her gaze for what feels like hours, but he knows is only an instant, before her attention is turned to the King. Her anger is palpable and sweat beads at the nape of his neck and he doesn't dare take his eyes off of her.

Kisame is privy to more information than most, as he is always at his King's side, and he knows this woman has been brought here for heinous crimes - murder of soldiers, destruction of royal property, defiance against the King's will - but he finds himself unable to believe it.

She seems so delicate and frail, despite the strength behind her gaze. How could one small - lovely, beautiful, otherworldly - woman destroy an entire battalion? How could this woman have possibly uprooted a small fortress and crushed stone into rubble?

And then her gaze moves away from the king and to the horn mounted overhead and Kisame feels a chill unlike anything he's experienced in years.

The bite of ice in his veins and the suffocating pressure of water and drowning, no air left in his lungs and his heart heavy in his chest.

His hand is on his sword before he even realizes it and he's stepped forward, just the same as all the guards and soldiers present. The flames behind him grow wild and unruly, but he feels no heat from their lashing tongues.

Kisame's hand is on his blade but he can find no true desire to draw it, lost as he is in the Lady's gaze.

: :

Shikamaru sees an onyx.

He'd been restless all morning, a heavy pressure at the back of his skull and an unsettling feeling under his skin. He knew what would be happening today, had known for the week leading up to it, but he had no idea what to expect. And not knowing is one of his least favorite feelings.

The Witch of the Moors.

She was a legend - an enchantress, a sorceress, a shapeshifter - who had only ever been glimpsed through trees and branches of those daring few who entered her woods. Ruby hair, onyx eyes, golden hair, topaz eyes, diamonds and sapphires and pearls and emeralds and so many conflicting stories that encompassed years and years and years. Wearing the forest like a gowns and cloaks and hallowed by starlight, the very earth listened to her command and the creatures of the forest both feared and adored her.

She wasn't supposed to be real.

If anything, it was just some reclusive witch hiding in the great forest to the West, driving away people who tried to enter.

But then the King had taken a hunting party to the forest and returned with the most glorious trophy, exposing his sins to anyone who looked upon the opalescent horn he'd mounted.

Shikamaru had been on edge ever since he'd seen the horn, still bloody and shining though slowly dimming as the King laughed and regaled his grand story. He'd wanted to leave, to lock himself away in his study and beg for forgiveness as he knew there would be dire consequences. But his teacher had a place on the King's council and, as his apprentice, Shikamaru must remain at his side. To learn and listen so that one day he'd be able to take his place as a royal advisor and mage to the King.

His fingertips were numb and his shadows restless, flickering at the edges and twisting underfoot as he stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back and his expression tired and every fibre of his being screaming for him to run.

The first omen came the next morning, a dark storm reaching across the sky like a clawed hand, the castle its final mark. Reports claimed that the storm stretched across miles and miles, no break in the black and charcoal clouds. Lightning crackled just under the surface, never striking the ground but filling the air with static and energy.

The storm originated from the great forest, with its massive trees and otherworldly legends, and reached all the way across the kingdom for the King himself.

He had the horn mounted to his throne that evening.

And during the night, he claimed someone - some thing - had slipped into his bedchamber and tried to kill him.

(Reports from the guards claimed that they had rushed to the King's chamber at the sound of his screams, to find him waking from a nightmare and a manic look in his gaze.)

The next day, he sent a small battalion of soldiers to the forest.

Only one man returned, half dead upon his horse with reports of a bloodbath and screams and a witch standing on the rubble of what had once been an ancient watchtower.

The King consulted his mages and magical advisors and they came back with a potion, iron shackles, and a plan.

And now the Witch of the Moors had been brought to the castle to answer for her crimes and, again, all Shikamaru wanted was to run away.

The air is electrifying in the hall well before the doors finally open, the hair on his arms standing on edge but no one else seeming to notice the unrest in the atmosphere. Shikamaru stands to the left of the dais, at the back of the council and behind his teacher but with a clear view of the path to the throne.

The grand doors open and his blood sings.

A powerful force rushes through his veins, both chilling and burning all at once, and he hasn't seen her yet but he k nows she is there. There are whispers and hushed voices calling feather-soft into his ears, drawing patterns against his bare skin under his clothing and making him tense. His shadows writhe and twist and it's the only movement from him as he finds himself standing frozen-still, gaze straining as he waits for her to come into view.

Shikamaru finally, finally,��sees petal-pink hair, green eyes brighter than any gem, and an onyx stone in the center of her forehead and he tries and fails to breathe.

Something is so terrible wrong and he can tell that his teacher feels it now as well as he tenses and inhales sharply through his teeth, but Shikamaru doesn't dare look away from the woman - he never wants to look away.

He feels her anger under his skin and in his veins and he knows she has every right to tear the castle itself down around them and rip apart anyone who stands in her way. He knows the only crime committed has been against her and, then and there, he resigns himself to whatever destruction she desires and knows that he will be leaving the castle by daybreak.

The flames roar and scream and rage and after things are calmed to simmering rather than overboiling and the woman is led away in her iron shackles, three minds simultaneously come to the same conclusion.

Tonight is the only night she will spend as a prisoner.

: :

Kisame brings her food.

He swipes the meal meant for her from one of the prison guards to hand-deliver it himself, using his authority as the head of the King's personal guard and claiming he wants a closer look at the witch, sharp steel in his gaze and his jaw tense.

The hardness of his expression melts away as he faces the door to her cell, high up in one of the tallest towers and far away from earth and soil. He meets her with a hushed voice and light steps as he enters, finding her still shackled at the wrist and kneeling at the far edge of the dark room. There is a single hole high above her, allowing a single ray of light from the setting sun to enter the cell.

She pauses in the midst of singing in a language Kisame doesn't understand and looks up at him, those emerald eyes practically glowing in the dark.

He carefully approaches her and slowly lowers to one knee, setting the food in front of her. Though her meal had originally only consisted of stale bread and water, he'd added a few fresh pieces of fruit that he'd swiped from the kitchen to the platter.

She meets his gaze and Kisame feels as if she is staring into his very soul, reading every thread of his being and slowly taking him apart, piece by piece.

And then her stern, indecipherable expression melts away and she offers him a near-smile, reaching out to touch his arm with her cuffed hands. He's never felt such soft skin against his own and he freezes, breath caught again before he bows his head in reverence and promises his return. Kisame unwillingly backs out of the cell and and doesn't look away from her until the door is closed.

He swipes the spare ring of keys mounted at the guard station after passing the original back to the prison guard, already making plans for a pair of horses and supplies.

: :

Kakashi brings her a blanket.

It's old and from his own home, so he's inwardly apologetic for any lingering dog-smells, but he would rather she have something of his than something belonging to the castle.

It's still fairly early in the evening and he distracts the prison guards with Pakkun, the small dog grabbing their attention as he makes off with someone's coinbag and they chase after him. Kakashi slips through the shadows, unseen and unnoticed and well practiced at getting where he wants to go without being spotted.

He curses as he finds the spare ring of keys missing from its usual spot in the guard station and resigns himself to picking the lock, using skills that have gone unused for some years.

The sound of muffled singing stops just as he manages to unlock the latch and carefully push the door open.

She's kneeling in front of the far wall, hair he longs to touch and run through his fingers cascading down her shoulders as she watches him warily. Still slightly crouched, Kakashi stares at her for a long moment, forgetting why he'd come, before he's startled by a soft bark in the distance.

Pulled from his reverie, Kakashi glances over his shoulder before silently slipping into the cell. Her eyes narrow and he holds up his hands as a show of peace, smiling behind the cloth covering the lower half of his face. Green eyes stare and stare and he holds his breath for almost too long, relaxing when she finally seems to find what she's searching for in his gaze.

Kakashi speaks, softly and lightly and her tense shoulders lower, her head tilting and sending those soft tresses in further waves down her arm as he procures the blanket from under his belt. He holds it out to her and she hesitantly reaches for it, his boot brushing an apple core as he takes another crouched step forwards.

Soft, delicate hands touch his rough, weathered fingers and she gives him the smallest smile as she accepts his gift.

His heart is pounding in his chest and he nearly lets out a small laugh, but then he hears more barking in the distance, grimacing behind his mask. Kakashi promises to return and slips back out of the cell, listening to the click of the lock and casting the door one last look before disappearing into the shadows.

: :

Shikamaru brings her a candle.

He stashes it away in his pocket and heads towards the tower used as a secondary prison with a lie on his tongue and conviction in his veins. He claims that the other mages sent him to see the witch, showing off a vial filled with shimmering black liquid that, in reality, is just metal shavings and ink.

He's led to her cell and watches as the door is unlocked for him, one of his shadows slipping into that of the prison guard to inspect the key as he enters the dark room, the sound of singing suddenly stopping. The sun has set and the sky has been dark for some time now, with the only light coming from the torches lining the hall outside the cell doors. The guard places a torch temporarily in one of the wall sconces and closes the door behind him, leaving Shikamaru with the woman.

She's bundled under a blanket and watching him with curiosity, something tickling the edges of his awareness and making him shiver, a buzz of energy under his skin. He stands there for a moment, holding her gaze, before walking forward and slowly dropping to his knees in front of her. Removing the candlestick from his pocket, Shikamaru gathers some of the energy in the air into his hand and passes his fingers over the wick, a flame lighting to life and flickering between them. The light dances across her face, catching in her eyes and the onyx on her forehead, and he waits with bated breath.

Then she chuckles and Shikamaru finds himself smiling, holding reaching to her left and using some of the melted wax to anchor the candle to the stone floor. When he looks back up at her, he's caught off guard by warm lips on his forehead and a spark of energy that rushes through him and makes his hair stand on end, his blood racing and roaring.

With hushed whispers, Shimamaru promises to return, retrieves the torch from the wall of the cell, and returns to his room to pack only the most important of his possessions.

: :

The next evening, after a tense day full of anxious thoughts and restless bodies, the commander of the King's personal guard, the kennel master, and the apprentice mage return to the prison tower.

Kisame and Kakashi arrive at the same door at the same moment.

They balk at each other, both searching for their next course of action and unwilling to harm each other. Kinda-sorta-friends and all that.

"Commander Hoshigaki…" Kakashi says, shuffling awkwardly with his lockpick hidden behind his back.

"Hatake…" Kisame answers back, just as stiff and tense.

A long stretch of silence passes between the men, muffled singing heard from behind the door next to them, and Kisame just barely shifts, the ring of keys hidden under his coat jingling at the movement and slipping out of their place in the picket he'd hurriedly stuffed them into. They hit the ground with a dull thud and both men look down, sweat beading on Kisame's brow as Kakashi’s eyes widen.

The knight grimaced, wondering if it would be quieter to knock him out by punching him in the face and knocking his head against the wall.

"...So that's where the spare keys went." Kakashi mumbles after a moment and Kisame's confusion is just long enough for the silver haired kennel master to sheepishly hold up his lockpicking tool and let out a nervous laugh.

Kisame opens his mouth to speak but is too dumbfounded to find words. They both silently shuffle their feet for a moment before a tired groan from the shadows has both men suddenly turning towards the source, a sword raised and a knife in hand within seconds.

Shikamaru steps out of the shadows, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and holding up the copy-key he'd made with the other.

"Man, did we all have the same jailbreak idea..?"

The three would-be rescuers all stare at each other for a moment, Kisame resheathing his sword and Kakashi slipping his blade back into its spot on his belt as there's a chorus of awkward grunts and murmurs.

"One horse or two..?" Shikamaru asked after a moment, looking up at the much-taller Kisame. He'd only been able to get a single stallion, since he rarely left the castle anyways, and he doubted Commander Hoshigaki would be as unlucky.

"Two," Kisame admits, scratching at his cheek. "I've, uh, got them saddled and ready over by the West wall."

Shikamaru nods in approval but then Kakashi lets out a tired chuckle.

"Cart for me."

At their stares he sighs and shrugs.

"I've got dogs I'm taking with me, alright?"

The air is eerily quiet for a moment as the three men discuss their plans in hushed tones before Shikamaru suddenly tenses, static under his fingers as he sends the door a startled look.

All at once there's a rumble and a crash, the ground shaking and the sound of thunder filling their ears, coming from behind the cell door. The three men share startled looks before scrambling forward to unlock the door, a rush of fresh air meeting them the moment they throw it open.

The far wall of the cell has been blown apart, tree roots and branches digging into the floor and reaching into the room while the light of the moon dappled the darkness through the leaves.

Kneeling on the thick roots with one leg outside of the tower is the witch, who looks back at the men for a long moment. Then, she grins, waves, and hops off the ledge, sliding down the length of a massive tree that had reached up toward the tower, branches and leaves curling away from her as she makes her escape.

Kakashi, Kisame, and Shikamaru stare at the place she'd been for a long moment before the latter finally speaks up.

"S-so, uh… do we follow her or take the stairs..?"

#kakasaku #kisasaku #shikasaku #multisaku #sakura centric #Sakura haruno fic #Thirrinwrites #Thirrinfic #sakura haruno fanfiction #Sakura haruno discord server 6 month exchange #Shdkdjsk witchy sakura fic cause I can't help myself

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calpalirwin · 4 years ago

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Tough Act

Summary: Lip may have finally met his match.

A/N: A season 4/season 5 AU of sorts. My first Shameless/Lip Gallagher fic too, so fuck off if it sucks.

Content: Swearing, fighting, fucked up-ness.

Word Count: 4.3k

And away, and away we go!

The door to the lecture room slammed open, averting everyone’s attention to the teenager rushing into the closest empty seat. Underneath the sea of unruly brown curls was a face red from the exertion of his run across campus in a blind hurry. There was a wild look in his crystal blue eyes as he tore his backpack apart, digging around for a notebook and pen, and a flash of agitation as he came up empty-handed. The adrenaline of his bad morning made all his movements swift as he frantically scanned around to figure out who to ask to help him out of his predicament.

“Psst,” he whispered, his rushing about coming to a standstill as he stopped on the girl seated to his left. “Psst… hey!”

“What?” she whispered back in annoyance, her lips barely moving, her attention still fully on the professor who continued with their lecture.

“You got a spare scrap of paper. And, uh… a pen? I seemed to uh…”

“Forgot to charge your precious laptop?” she questioned with the same note of annoyance.

“Oh, you think I’m one of these snobs?” he smirked, gaze flickering about the room. “Nah. Rough morning.”

Her eyes rolled as she reached wordlessly into her bag at her feet, producing a notebook with a pen tucked into the spirals. “Here,” she hissed, handing it over.

“Oh, I don’t need the whole th-”

“Don’t care. Now, shut the fuck up.”

“Thanks.”

“The fuck did I just say?”

The boy smirked again, but didn’t say another word, turning his attention to catch the rest of the lecture.

When the class was over, he ripped the pages free from the notebook, tucking the pen back in the spirals and handing it over. “Thanks again.”

“Keep it,” she said, pushing the notebook into his chest as she rose to her feet. “You clearly need it more than I do.”

Confused irritation flashed across his face as he followed her out of the classroom. “I was just trying to be nice. Fuck.”

She paused, turning on her heel to face him. Now that they were literally standing toe to toe, she got a good idea of just how tall he was as she found herself eye level with his chest. Or what would be his chest if it wasn’t covered in a white t-shirt sporting the words “Fuck you you fucking fuck” in blue block letters. The same color blue of the simple zip up hoodie he was also wearing. The kind of blue that really made his eyes pop as her chin tilted upwards to find his own gaze staring down at her, unchecked attitude in every sharp feature of his face. She crossed her arms, scoffing. “Are you saying I wasn’t nice back?”

“Look, if you’re gonna be a cold bitch, that’s fine. But why bother helping in the first place?”

“Right. Next time I’ll just let you keep pestering me, then.”

“I just said ‘thank you.’ What the fuck more do you want?! Jesus…”

“You’re welcome!” she snapped back. “Better?”

His temper gave way to cockiness as he flashed a grin. “See? Was that so hard? Can I buy you a coffee? Or like a new notebook?”

“Ugh, I don’t get you. One minute you’re pissed I helped you. The next you’re trying to flirt with me? Pick a side, loser.”

“It’s Lip, actually.”

Familiarity flashed in her eyes. “As in Gallagher?”

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah. How many Lips do you know? Wait… you know me? How?”

“Think you’re the only one from the South Side with a brain? I’m Mickey and Mandy’s cousin.”

“Oh shit! You’re a Milkovich?”

“A Y/L/N, actually. But yeah, I guess.”

“No shit, huh?”

“Yeah, what gave it away? The attitude, or the fact that I’m the only one in this place taking notes by hand?”

“Well, not the only one,” Lip chuckled, waving the notebook he had tucked under his arm.

“Right…” she said before walking off. After a few steps, she turned to look over her shoulder at him still standing there. “Well?” she demanded. “You buying me that coffee, or not?”

That trademark smirk graced his lips before he adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and jogged after her.

“So, how’d you end up here?” Lip asked as they pushed their way out of the building. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them before digging into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lip shook the box at her in a silent question as he placed one between his lips and lit it.

She took one, and when she moved to take the lighter from him, he gave a small shake of his head. One of Lip’s hands cupped around the cigarette in her mouth, the other lighting it for her, before he took a long drag from his own cigarette. “You gonna answer my question?” he asked, pocketing the cigarettes and lighter.

“You didn’t really give me time before you asked a new one,” she responded, blowing a ring of smoke.

“Well?” Lip prompted, twisting his left wrist in a gesture to indicate for her to go ahead and answer.

“Like I said. You think you’re the only one from the South Side with a brain?”

“I mean… statistically no. But to get into a place like this? And afford it? What’s your secret? The Milkovichs fuckin’ got some dirt on someone? Can you get them to threaten them for me too?”

She rolled her eyes. “One, I got in here on my own. Two, I’m not a Milkovich. I may share a little blood, but I don’t share the name. Not that I’d want to anyway. Fuckin’ Terry trying to fuck the gay out of Mickey by having him fuck that Russian broad? Like he has several dipshit sons to pass on those disphit genes. Who gives a fuck if one of ‘em’s a raging homo?”

“Hey, that raging homo is fucking my brother. Watch it.”

She raised her hands in defense. “Like I give a shit who’s fucking whom. None of my damn business.”

“Whom, huh? Jesus, you are smart.”

“Yeah, and for a brainiac you’re fuckin’ slow. Smart isn’t a special Lip trait made just for you. Other people can have it too. Probably hard to see that though with your ego. Does that ever get heavy?”

“Ooo, she bites.”

“She happens to have a name. And I swear if you call me a Milkovich one more time, I’ll show you exactly how I’m not one by not pulling my punches for a Gallagher like some white trash version of Romeo and Juliet.”

It was his turn to hold up his hands in defense. “Shit, okay. Let’s see… a Y/L/N… My age, give or take a year in either direction… that makes you Y/N? Which makes you a junior. Impressive.”

“Is that an ‘impressive’ in regards to your stellar deduction skills? Or an ‘impressive’ in regards to me being a junior.”

“The latter. I’ve already almost dropped out like 6 times.”

“Mmm, then maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are, Lip. Spewing bullshit to illiterates is easy. Actually being smart though requires a little more work.”

“Alright, fuck me for being curious, but I don’t exactly see our kind around campus, do you?”

“That’s probably because we don’t go around flaunting that part of ourselves. We had our chance to get out, we took it, and then we didn’t bother looking back.”

“What like some take the kid out of the hood metaphorical shit? Wouldn’t the follow up to that mean that you can’t take the hood out of the kid?”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why I’m constantly busting my ass to keep up with these silver spoon trust fund brats. It was easy in high school. Pay attention every now and again, and you don’t have to bother with cracking a book to be labeled a genius. Big fish, small pond. Here? These kids have had nannies and tutors since before they could string two words together. Suddenly I’m just an average sized fish in a bigger pond. And out there in that ‘real world’ everyone keeps harping about? Do you see how as the pond gets bigger, you get smaller? But you think I’m gonna let that slow me down? Play into that self-fulling prophecy that I won’t amount to shit because of where I grew up? No. I’m gonna keep my mouth shut, and work my ass off because that’s what got me out in the first place, and that’s what’s gonna keep me from backsliding.”

“Did you just call me a small fish?”

“I’m saying you better get your shit together, Gallagher. This ain’t fuckin’ t-ball, it’s the big leagues. Back home, we might be the big shots. But here? We ain’t shit unless we do something about it. And showing up late to class without a fuckin’ notebook and pen isn’t how you make that happen.”

“Fuck, alright. If I wanted a lecture, I’d just call Fiona.”

“Just trying to warn you. One hood kid to another. But by all means, you could also contemplate dropping out for the 7th time.”

“Anybody ever tell you that you need to fuckin’ relax?”

“If they think that, they’re not stupid enough to say it to my face.” She took a last drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke up in Lip’s face, before dropping the butt on the ground and grinding it out with the toe of her boot.

“Oh, yeah cuz I bet you’re real tough,” he deadpanned with an eye roll, stomping out his own smoked up cigarette, and pulling open the door to the school’s coffee shop.

Y/N scoffed. “Start putting those pretty eyes of yours to good use Gallagher, and you might just realize that in addition to being smarter than you, I can also do anything else better than you. That includes being tougher. And partying harder.”

“Pretty eyes, hmm?”

Her eyes rolled, but the way her cheeks flushed didn’t go unnoticed either. “That would be the only thing you heard… Friday night. 8 o’ clock. And if you have to ask… well… guess you better put that brain of yours to work.” The smirk on her face could rival his any day as one of her hands patted affectionately at his chest. “Bye, Lip.” And with that, she walked backwards from him out of the coffee shop, leaving him wondering what the fuck had just happened, and more intrigued than he’d ever been by any girl before.

~~~

Lip understood what Y/N had meant about not needing to bother with an address for the party. All he had to do was follow the sounds of loud music and drunk laughter.

He could feel the music vibrating in his bones the second he stepped inside, the room dark with the exception of the strobe lights bouncing triadic colors all across the party-goers, one of which was Y/N.

“Hey!” Lip said when he got closer to her.

“Hey!” she greeted with a grin. “Looks like you figured it out. C’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

He followed her deeper into the house, into a brightly lit kitchen that had him squinting. “Pick your poison,” she said, tossing him a red cup.

“So, I still owe you that coffee,” he commented after a beat, while they made their drinks.

“Oh, do you now?” she asked, looking up at him over the rim of her cup.

“I mean… I don’t do well with debts.”

“Who said you were in my debt to begin with?”

“You helped me out when you didn’t have to. What would you call that?”

“I’d call it being nice.”

“Yeah, well you know as well as I do that being nice comes with a price tag attached where we’re from.”

“That may be so. But look around Lip. Sometimes people do things for others without there being a catch. And it was a fuckin’ notebook and pen, not bail money. I don’t need anything from you, because I don’t want anything from you. Crazy concept, I’m aware.”

He took a pause to take a long drink from his cup. “I don’t get you, you know that? Like you’re nice, but you’re such a fuckin’ bitch about it too.”

“The duality of woman,” she smirked, bowing dramatically. “Some people aren’t so easy to pin down, Lip. God forbid you might actually have to get to know them. Or let them get to know you. Which one scares you more, Lip?”

Again, as a chance to get his thoughts together, he took a drink. He decided to take a page from her book. “Bye Y/N,” he called out over his shoulder as he walked away.

She watched him go in proud amusement, knowing that she’d be seeing Lip sooner rather than later.

It took about an hour for Y/N to be proven right.

“So less say you n me get outta here,” the drunk nameless college boy slurred, one hand propping himself up against the wall, the other getting dangerously close to her face.

“Let’s not, and say we did,” she replied, grabbing his hand and dropping it to his side.

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” he crooned, breath smelling like cheap booze and shit weed.

“The fun is that you walk away with the only part of you bruised being your ego,” Lip growled from behind.

Frat boy turned to face Lip, his movements sluggish. “And who the fuck are you?”

“Nobody,” Y/N hissed at the same time Lip responded with “Her boyfriend.” “Nobody,” Y/N repeated in a firmer tone. “Lip, leave. I got this handled.”

“Yeah, leave,” the other boy said earnestly. “Probably be best if you didn’t watch me fuck your pretty little girlfriend.”

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” she spat while the muscle in Lip’s jaw ticked. “You can follow Lip in getting the fuck out of my face.”

“Mmm, feisty. Good. Just the way I like ‘em.”

Y/N’s hand cracked against his face, and then Lip was shoving him backwards. “The fuck did you just say to her?! Get the fuck out of here!”

“Oh, yeah? And who’s gonna make me?”

A snarl ripped itself out of Lip’s throat, before he was throwing a punch, his fist connecting solidly with the other guy’s jaw. “Lip!” Y/N scolded in disbelief as Lip took the next hit square in the face. “Hey!” she yelled, wedging herself in between both young men, each prepared to keep exchanging blows. “Leave! Both of you!”

The drunk frat boy stumbled off, but not before throwing Lip the dirtiest look he could muster. Lip huffed in disdain, but stayed rooted in place. “You alright?” he checked, the lights bouncing off the room showing the area around his mouth already starting the transition from red to purple. With a thumb, he wiped at the trickle of blood spilling from his nose, smearing it with the blood coming from his busted lip.

With both hands, she shoved him as hard as she could. “I had that fuckin’ handled!”

“Well fuck me for being nice, then!” he shot back, matching her anger. He turned on his heel, away from her.

“Where the fuck are you going?!”

“Away! Like you wanted!”

She grabbed his arm, whipping him back around and dragging him to the nearest bathroom. “Sit!” she instructed, as she locked the door and grabbed a washcloth.

“I’m fine,” he protested, but sitting on the ledge of the tub anyway. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

She slammed one of her hands on the counter as she turned on the faucet to wet the washcloth. “See?” she said, cupping his face and cleaning away the blood. “It’s exactly that type of thickheaded stubbornness that’s gonna keep you stuck exactly where you are.”

“Thickheaded stubbornness?”

“Yes. That chip on your shoulder that says the world is always gonna be against you, and that everything comes with a price tag. That fighter’s instinct you disguise as reckless bravery, but is really just a stupid desire to hit the world as hard as it hits you. The world isn’t as black and white as you were made to believe. If this was some piss poor attempt at saying we’re even for giving you a fuckin’ notebook the other day, congrats. We’re even. Thank you. Are you satisfied now, Lip?” She chucked the washcloth in the sink.

“I’m never satisfied. And wasn’t it you who told me that sometimes people can do nice things for others just because? I wasn’t evening a score between us, Y/N. I was just being nice.”

“Well, way to be a bitch about it…” she snorted.

“Oh, you liked it,” he taunted, rising to his feet. “Didn’t you?”

She rolled her eyes in disgust. “No.”

“Aw, not so tough when it’s me confronting you with the truth now are you?”

“Fuck you, Lip.”

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” He closed the distance between them in one step, lifting her up onto the counter, his lips finding that niche where her neck met the collarbone. When her fingers flew to tangle in his hair, he took that as his cue that he wasn’t pushing limits that shouldn’t be pushed. But erring on the side of caution, he pulled back to peel his shirt off, giving her ample time to stop him. When he got a throaty whine of protest instead of her slapping him senseless, he chuckled darkly. “Aw, look who doesn’t want me to leave now.”

Y/N pulled her own shirt up and over her head, tossing it to join his on the tiled floor. She hooked a finger in his belt loop, pulling him back to her. “Fuck me, Lip,” she breathed before their lips collided, heat radiating in every touch.

~~~

Lip’s chest heaved as he tugged his jeans back on. “Here,” he said, digging out his phone and handing it over. “So next time we can cut right to the chase.”

She scoffed but started to put in her number anyway, a warning about how he better call on the tip of her tongue, but the screen changed as the name “Fiona” flashed and his phone started to ring. “Uh…” Y/N said slowly.

He swore under his breath, taking the phone back and answering. “Yeah, Fi? Whoa, slow down. Ian did what? Okay, we’ll keep him there. I’m on my way now. I dunno, Fi, as soon as I can. I’m coming from campus. But I’m coming. Just… sit tight or something.”

“What was that?” Y/N asked as Lip hung up the phone, pulling on the rest of his clothes in a hurry.

“Family emergency. D-do you have a car? Can I borrow it? It’s faster than taking the L.”

“Yeah,” she said, redressing with the same hurry and dangling her car keys. “C’mon, I’ll drive.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he rushed. “Come with me, I mean.”

“I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.”

Figuring that arguing with her would only only result in him leaving later, he nodded his head before letting them out of the bathroom.

The drive to his house was filled with tense silence as Lip bounced his leg and smoked the whole trip. As a quiet act of comforting the young man, Y/N rested a hand on his leg, and while he flinched at the contact, he allowed her hand to stay, the touch soothing even if it didn’t fully quit the storm raging in his head.

She hadn’t even put the car in park before Lip was bounding out, his boots racing against the pavement as he rushed towards the house. Y/N followed as quickly as she could, nearly colliding into his back as Lip froze in the small entryway of the house. “Where is he?” Lip barked, his brief hesitation breaking at the sight of his family huddled together in the middle of the living room while pounding and screaming sounded from upstairs.

“Up there,” a woman a couple years older than Lip directed, her voice cracking with fear and worry. “Mickey’s trying to break down the door to get to him. He’s been locked in there for like 2 hours, Lip. He stopped answering us. I- I-” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pushed shaky hands through her hair. Behind her was a man and woman who looked to be even older than the woman talking, a teenage girl and boy of similar age, and a small toddler, all of them bearing the same terrified confusion.

Lip nodded once, understanding what the woman was saying without her needing to finish the thought. “Are all the knives accounted for?”

“Yeah, I think so. But… Fuck, Lip, I dunno what to do. Like I can’t just call the cops. I- I guess I could call Tony?”

“No, it’s fine, Fi,” Lip told her. “I’m gonna go help Mickey. You guys stay here. Actually, Kev, come with me. Carl, you too.”

As the men sprung into action and headed upstairs, the attention averted to Y/N who was still standing in the entryway. “Who are you?” the woman asked.

“Uh, I’m Y/N. I drove Lip. You must be Fiona?”

Fiona nodded numbly. “Yeah. This is V, Debbie, and Liam. Thanks for driving Lip. Uh…” She dug around in her pockets, pulling out a few crumpled bills. “Sorry,” she said, placing them in Y/N’s hand. “That’s all I got right now.”

“Oh, no,” Y/N responded, pushing the money back. “I- I go to school with Lip.”

Any chance for more small talk was interrupted by a loud splinting crack and an “Ian! What the fuck?!” before Lip, Kev, and Carl all came stomping downstairs, along with Mickey and Ian. “Y/N?” Mickey blinked, as he helped Ian onto the couch.

“Mickey,” Y/N deadpanned.

Mickey looked back and forth between Lip and his cousin, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ hell, Gallagher. You gonna fuck all my female relatives, or what?”

“Shut the fuck up, Mickey,” Lip and Y/N told him.

“Ian, are you okay?” Fiona asked, as Debbie went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water.

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Ian muttered, gulping down the water, whatever that had transpired upstairs apparently long over in the red head’s mind.

Fiona’s gaze flickered over to the other boy’s for a more detailed answer. When Kev answered with a small whistle and twirl of his finger to indicate that Ian was off his rocker, V shoved him. “Kev!”

“What?” the man asked, holding up his hands in defense. “It’s true. Oh, and Fi… we’ll uh… fix the door tomorrow.”

“Don’t care,” Fiona responded, all her attention on Ian.

“I’m tired,” Ian declared.

“Okay, get some rest right here. I’m gonna talk to Lip real quick.” Her voice was soft, motherly even. A drastic change from the scared person she’d been 10 minutes ago.

“Okay. Hey, Lip. You home for the weekend?”

“Something like that,” Lip told him before following Fiona into the kitchen to talk out of earshot.

“What are you still doing here?” Mickey asked Y/N, not caring for the answer as he stalked after the eldest Gallagher siblings.

“Yeah, who are you?” Carl asked.

“She’s friends with Lip,” Debbie explained.

“Oh,” was the knowing reply.

V rolled her eyes. “Alright, Debbie, Carl, take Liam upstairs and go to bed. Kev, c’mon, let’s go home.”

There were some grumbles before the group dispersed, leaving Y/N alone with Ian. “So, you’re friends with Lip, huh? And related to Mickey somehow?”

“We’re cousins on his mom’s side. And I wouldn’t say Lip and I are friends, necessarily.”

“Mmm, right. Yeah, Lip doesn’t really do friends. Or relationships.”

“Good to know.”

“Hey, thanks again for driving Lip over,” Fiona’s voice sounded from behind as her and Mickey came back into the room. “We got it from here if you got somewhere to be.”

“Lover boy’s outside,” Mickey smirked.

“Not a problem. And thanks, jackass,” Y/N said, then headed in search of Lip, finding him on the back porch smoking yet another cigarette. “Hey,” she said softly, sitting down next to him.

“You’re still here?”

“Was I supposed to leave?”

He shrugged. “Everyone else does.”

“Ooo, dark…”

“Wasn’t saying it to seek sympathy points.”

“Does this tough act of yours ever get tiring?”

“Who said it was an act?”

“It’s not gonna kill you to let someone in, Lip.”

“Yeah, maybe. But it sure beats the hell out of watching them leave. Because in the end, they all do. I learned a long time ago that the only person I can count on is myself.”

“What a lonely way to live your life.”

“Better than the alternative.”

“Did you miss the part where I said I was tougher than you? That shit,” she said, jerking her thumb back at the house, “is a fuckin’ Tuesday. If anyone is gonna get the fucked up parts of you, it’s me, Lip.”

“Why?”

“Why do I get it?”

“No, why do you want to?”

“Because you get me back. Look, I know I’m abrasive. I know I piss people off. Because like you, if I push them away from the start, then when they eventually leave it hurts less. But here’s the stupid thing about that, Lip. It still hurts. Maybe this time it doesn’t have to.”

“You know that this is like a complete 180 from you berating me three days ago, right? Or even earlier this evening. Or right now.”

“That didn’t seem to bother you when you were fucking me in that bathroom.”

“How do I know you won’t leave?”

“How do I know you won’t?” she countered. “I’m not saying you gotta fuckin’ marry me, Lip. Just loosen up on the tough guy act. Not everything has to be a fight.”

“But what if I like fighting with you?”

“I’m sure we can find ways of making sure that still happens.”

“Wanna stay the night then? Maybe have a fight or two?”

Tag List

@frontmanash @goeatsomelife @flameraine @creator-appreciator @cxddlyash @1-irwin-94 @sparkling-calm @tea4sykes @youngblood199456 @5-seconds-of-obsession @gosh-im-short @aquarius-hood1996 @talkfastromance4 @itjustkindahappenedreally @philthepegacorn @ashtonlftv @miirandaaa @karajaynetoday @myfavfanficsever @stormrider505 @cashtonisruiningmylife @another-lonely-heart-blog @cullen-collective

#tough act #lip gallagher #lip gallagher fic #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher one shot #shameless #shameless fic #calpal irwin

229 notes · View notes

maggielindemanns · 4 years ago

Text

all mixed up - an elu social media au

summary: it’s simple really - eliott meets a guy at the bar, that guy gives him a fake number, and that fake number just so happens to belong to lucas. the rest is history.

[EPILOGUE PART THREE]

[EPILOGUE PT 2 || BONUS]

taglist: @that-one-meh @a-french-disaster @fallout-of-my-chair @menamesniall @iamshannonmcfarland @yesyoutubeisruiningmylife @yackgrace @moschinobra @xomywonderwallox @jacwena @awake-dreamer18 @noritagrace @lost-inside-fantasy @myverybigmoodboard @ariavds @ididntgowithgrace @laurenkmyers @sunshineyou27 @nanidice @orangefizz4 @blanxkey @bodizzy @q-branchminion-nr43 @nova-on-standbi @boysrunaway @anothergayhpblog @mlhalbertt @valenschmidt @skamchokehold @mostlysh1tposting @lucassdemaury @oceanicinception @yellowballoon @fallinglikeafoolforyou @bluronyourradar @painfully-oblivious @alwayskissmeatnight @katzen-kinder @howlingsaturn @luxandobscurus @anotherplaceintheuniverse @aly-kazam @quint-cssential @rynnsama @vlm2002 @grey-mist-exist

[note: putting it up here w everything else bc this one is long so it’ll be under the cut and i am SORRY . this took so long i was not at my home and i have one lil baby bonus thing i wanna post (later), but i just wanna say another thank you to all of you, like...just finishing out the writing process of this universe today really put me through Emotions LMFAO but i really do just wanna thank you guys one last time for every single thing, the support and love i’ve gotten with this au has been nothing short of incredible and heart warming and honestly my whole world like cannot even express how much this au and you all mean to me so . sadly, here i am to do this 🥺 without further ado, the final part for amu, epilogue part 3 🥺💛]

JAN 11TH, 12:32 AM

Eliott couldn’t sleep. It was officially anniversary day, their six month anniversary, and rather than sleeping peacefully in Lucas’ arms, he was watching the slow and steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. Hair was falling onto his forehead and his eyelashes were casting a shadow onto his cheekbones, thanks to the soft white light of the streetlights peeking through the curtains. To Eliott, he looked nothing short of ethereal, but he always thought that about Lucas.

His thoughts were the very reason why he couldn’t sleep, however. School was starting up in a matter of days, graduation was around the corner, and he was yet to hear back from any internships he applied to last week while at his parents’ house with Lucas. The pressures of life to come were hitting him so very hard, and the timing was just not good.

“Why do you think so loud?” Lucas mumbled in that usual sleepy voice, the one that made Eliott want to hold him forever and never let him go. He opened his eyes when Eliott took too long to give an answer, and that made Eliott smile.

“Why do you listen so hard?” he countered, and Lucas tsked at him, starting to smile back.

“You’re an ass.” He reached over and touched Eliott’s face then, thumbing over his cheekbone and his lips. “Pretty though. What’s on your mind, Lartigue?”

“Too much.”

“Talk to me. I got time.”

“Remember all those internships I applied to with you?” he asked. Lucas nodded. “Nothing back so far. Graduation is in a matter of months. My senior year is going to end and I’m probably going to be stuck at the video club if no one gets back to me. I don’t want to stock DVDs and check things in and out forever, I wanna create and live life as a true starving artist.”

“Eli,” he sighed, “you will get something, don’t stress.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then...you’ll keep trying ‘til you do. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. Even if it takes years and we end up having to use twisty ties as wedding rings and live in your tiny college apartment forever, I’ll still support you and your dream. You deserve it, so.”

Eliott just smiled at him, feeling overwhelmed with the amount of love for the boy laying beside him. Lucas always seemed to know what to say to make him feel better and put a halt to the quick spiraling of his thoughts. His gaze was unwavering and his eyes were bright as he scooted closer to Eliott until they were basically nose to nose.

“I love you,” was all Eliott could think to say. Lucas’ face softened and he kissed Eliott’s nose, feeling like ‘I love you’ back wasn’t sufficient for what he felt for Eliott. Of course, six months didn’t seem like a long time, but to Lucas, it felt like a lifetime of loving Eliott. Of learning everything about him, including what he needs to hear in times like this. And he really did love him more than anything.

“I love you too. More than you know, Demaury. Let’s sleep, yeah?” Eliott nodded at that and Lucas turned over, Eliott snuggling close and pressing a kiss to Lucas’ shoulder.

“Twisty ties,” Eliott whispered, and Lucas simply closed his eyes.

“Shut up.”

•••••

JAN 11TH, 11:54 PM

“This tastes like fizzy glitter water, Eliott,” Lucas laughed, and Eliott laughed even harder, almost spilling his own glass of cheap champagne. They decided to save the drinks for home after spending the night out at dinner so they could come back to Eliott’s together, the rest of their night spent drunk on cheap champagne and wrapped up in each other.

“It is champagne, stop. Glittery because it’s...the shimmers of our love in it.”

“What are you even saying right now?” Lucas asked him, and he shrugged, downing the rest of his glass and pouring another.

“I don’t know, baby. But I do know this - I love you so fucking much, happy six months.”

“À ce soir,” Lucas said, smiling and holding up his glass. Eliott clinked his glass against Lucas’ and they sipped, smiling at each other like goons. Lucas felt warm and happier than ever honestly. Warm, happy, and so very in love.

About an hour after that, it was almost midnight. Lucas felt thoroughly blissed out after being loved on like he just was, still feeling phantom sensations on his hips, thighs, and face where Eliott grabbed on him the most. He shut his eyes for a second, feeling like he still was catching his breath, and he could feel Eliott staring at him without even looking to confirm.

“Why are you staring at me?” Lucas mumbled, and Eliott laughed, shifting next to him and putting his finger on what most likely was some kind of bruise starting to form along his jaw. The thought combined with his touch sent a chill down his spine.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

“You’re corny, be quiet now.”

Eliott chuckled as he shifted some more beside him, laying on his back, and they did indeed sit in a comfortable silence for a bit before either of them said anything.

“Let’s do this forever, Lu,” Eliott spoke quietly. “Maybe you should just move in with me, like...for real.”

Lucas opened his eyes at that, turning his head to find Eliott looking up at his ceiling, blinking slow. He searched his face for any sign of it being a joke at all or if he was going to continue saying anything else, but he didn’t.

“I’ll consider it. Okay?” Eliott started grinning at that and gave him a short nod.

“Okay.”

••••••

JAN 18TH, 6:52 AM

To say Eliott was nervous about today was an understatement. He didn’t have class for another three hours, and yet he couldn’t get himself to go back to sleep now that he was up. He decided to quietly and carefully slip away from Lucas, who was with him more often than not these days, and go take a long shower to just...think.

He’d been standing in the shower for quite some time, how long exactly he wasn’t sure. The plan was to stand here until it got cold or something and try to not look like he’s thinking about everything under the sun before he went back to Lucas in his room.

When he did make it back to his room, a towel around his waist, he saw that Lucas was actually gone. His side of the bed was made up and the only trace that he was even here was the fact that his drawer was slightly open and a t-shirt was half pulled out of it. That, and the note left on the bed, and Eliott grabbed for it as soon as he noticed it, beginning to read.

eli,

i had class at 9:05 and it’s day one, so i didn’t wanna be late. i’m sorry to just leave this note :( i love you though. i know the last few days have been a little hard for you, but take it easy today, okay? you’re brilliant and whatever needs to get done will get done. i know it. don’t stress. make that your mantra or something.

i made toast and eggs, both in the kitchen. eggs might be cold by the time you read this, but still better than the ‘UOD’ you made me way back when.

i love you, and good luck today. <3

-L

p.s. don't go looking for your brown jacket i stole it bc it’s cold <3

Eliott first looked to his closet, seeing that it was indeed open and a hanger was peeking out, as if he ripped the jacket off of it in his rush to go. The thought made Eliott smile, and he grabbed his phone before making his way to the kitchen to eat, his only thoughts now being how much he loved this boy and always would.

•••••••

JUNE 21ST, 4:33 PM

“Just need a height on Demaury and then we’re done,” Sof told them, filling in for Eliott’s wingspan on the cap and gown sheet.

Lucas had been going around him with a tape measure for the last 45 minutes, debating with Sof and Yann about numbers not sounding right. When Sofiane kept asking ‘well, whose best friend is this?’, Lucas always countered with ‘whose boyfriend is this?’ as if that made him more correct than anyone, and Eliott couldn’t help but smile. In the end, they got it done though, and Eliott was now holding the top of the tape measure for Lucas while he brought it to the floor, looking up at him once he got a measurement.

“What?” Eliott asked. “I was 181 centimeters last time I did this, did I shrink?”

“Nope. 183. A whole two centimeters taller.” Lucas stood back up and booped him on the nose, making him roll his eyes.

“Aw, he’s growing so big and strong, how cute,” Yann teased, and Sofiane laughed, shoving his shoulder and telling him to stop. Lucas wound the tape measure back up with the push of a button then, throwing it at Yann after.

“Can’t believe you losers are graduating next month,” Yann mentioned casually. Sofiane and Eliott looked at each other, seeming a bit sad about the idea, and Lucas gave Yann a look that screamed ‘fix it, now’. “But, you know, you guys will be great adults, obviously. You’re great,” he added hesitantly, “I’ll miss you guys.”

“Yann, just stop talking now,” Lucas sighed, making Sofiane laugh. Eliott just smiled, hugging Lucas from behind and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll miss you too, Yann-y boy,” Sofiane teased, pinching his cheek. Yann pushed his hand away, mumbling about hating that Sof called him that.

“Me too,” Eliott agreed before looking at Lucas. “I’d say you too, but I see you all the time.”

“And that won’t change.”

“Ew, please don’t be gross in front of us,” Sofiane groaned, and Eliott started kissing his cheek repeatedly just to be annoying, making Lucas laugh as he accepted the love.

Lucas didn’t say it, but he was going to miss all of this too. And he couldn’t believe he only had not even a month left of this either.

��•••••

•••••••

JULY 11TH, 8:46 PM

“Yours looks better than mine,” Lucas pouted, and Eliott looked at him unamused.

“Lucas, this is my degree.”

Lucas flicked paint off his paintbrush at him and Eliott flinched just a little, starting to laugh. They decided to spend the night in for their anniversary, following a Bob Ross tutorial on some of Eliott’s unused canvases together. Some candles were still burning from their candlelit Chinese takeout dinner they shared, and they were using Eliott’s TV to play the tutorial on. It was all fun and games until Lucas looked over and saw that Eliott’s was like a perfect replica of what was onscreen.

“This is my degree,” Lucas mocked, and Eliott gave him a look before pausing the video. Lucas started laughing and leaned over to press a kiss to his bare shoulder. He then looked at him, not saying anything.

“What now?” Eliott asked, feigning exasperation. Lucas dropped his paintbrush into their jar of water and turned to face him, hugging his knees to his chest. “Uh oh, am I in trouble?”

“Why would you be in trouble, no. I just. I considered.”

“Marriage or the moving thing?” Eliott teased, and Lucas smacked his arm gently.

“The moving thing, idiot. You’re not funny.”

“What’s the verdict, Lallemant?”

“I...guess you can call me your roommate. I’ll move in. The answer’s yes.”

Eliott got visibly excited and immediately got up in lieu of giving an actual response, walking away to his room, and Lucas was beyond confused.

“Eli?” he called out, “where are you going? This is the part where you shower me with kisses and you tell me we’re gonna bang on every surface to celebrate!”

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“That was a joke, Eliott.”

He came running back in and sat in front of Lucas once again, putting a small, maroon box in his hands. A spike of panic rose in Lucas, feeling like he knew what this was.

“Eliott, I love you, but I don’t know if I’m ready to be a husband yet…” he told him, his voice gentle. Eliott started laughing right in his face, and Lucas’ whole demeanor changed. “Fuck you, why are you laughing?”

“No, it’s not funny, baby, I’m sorry—“

“It’s not funny, yet you’re laughing at me.”

“No! Lucas, just. Open it, please.”

Lucas was giving him a dirty look as he opened the box, and when he saw what it was, his face softened again.

“This is...this is for here, isn’t it?”

“This is a key for here, yeah. I was gonna bring it up to you later and give it to you as your gift, but you just kind of beat me to it so I’m giving it to you now. If you want a custom one, I’ll get it for you if you hate it, but I just want you to have keys for what is now ours,” Eliott rambled. “Well, it’s always felt like ours to me, but—“

“Eliott,” Lucas interrupted, looking at him. Eliott took a deep breath and Lucas scooted closer to Eliott, kissing him just once before looking in his eyes. “I love you. It’s perfect, everything. Especially you. Thank you.”

“And I love you.”

•••••••

#skam france #elu #elu social media au #elu fic #elu au #lucas x eliott #my fic #skamfr #skamfr fic #skamfrfic #amu #i never post at this time but i needed this out into the universe asap LMAO

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years ago

Text

The Space Between Us

Alien au? Alien au! I have no self control! Please accept this one shot that quickly spiraled into 23 pages of Virgil being a disaster in space. (If you guys enjoy it, let me know because I’m considering making it a series.)

Summary: The cosmos is a Gigantic place and somehow Virgil’s past still catches up to him.

Words: 11400

TW: Human trafficking, Human experimentation, dehumanization, fighting rings,

Quick taglist: @chelsvans @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders

Read on Ao3 || General Writing Masterlist

“Tell me again why this is absolutely necessary?” Virgil asked, watching Logan’s hands dance across the console. On any other day the sight would be comforting. Every time his digits landed on a key, his nerves glowed with sparks of multicolored light through his transparent crystal skin, creating a beautiful firework show right in front of them all. Logan had told him once it was called Lightdancing, an evolutionary adaptation of the Tenkarie people: their bodies were near invisible in dim light, and they could control the pulses of light just enough to attract other cave dwelling creatures to them before striking the killing blow.

Now, though, the sight made Virgil’s stomach churn. Logan’s lights were a calculated system that he had trained to hone better than most of his race: he could make any part of his body glow at a brightness ranging from a flickering candle light to a flood light, he could make his whole body radiate or he could make just the tip of one of his sixteen fingers, he could even change the color of the light with just a thought. Virgil had always been glad that Logan was the only Tenkarie that dared venture from their caves on L0-G1C; Logan’s kind had perfected the use lights and dancing which made all other creatures become so nauseated they couldn’t fight back or become so mesmerized by the swirling motions that they didn’t see the attacks.

(Of course, because Virgil was rather distinctly human, it took longer for either of the effects of Logan’s fighting to work, which had saved both their lives more than once.)

However, in contrast to the usual focus of Logan’s fingertips on the control panel, lights were flickering all over his body, up and down each of his four arms and burning from the notches around his neck. The lack of control was enough to make Virgil’s stomach churn.

“Because its Remus,” Roman replied, although it didn’t help that he said his brother's name the same way he might have said puppy kicker.

“And we care about Remus because....?” Virgil prompted, running his fingers over his satchel again, checking the latches to make sure they were still there, still closed, still containing the supplies within. “If my memory serves me correctly, Remus was the one that set us up to be ambushed by those space pirates the other week. You know, the ones that nearly killed Patton?”

“We care because, in Erefrenian customs, blood bonds are the most sacred of bonds.” Logan supplied distractedly. “And Remus invoked the Oath of Brothers, which means that if Roman were to ignore his call for aid, Roman’s honor would be forever stained which would prevent him from crossing to the planes of heroes after his death according to the religion of his people.”

“Yeah that,” Roman says, even less excited than Logan at the idea. The bone spikes along his spine had been secreting that red poison that usually only happened when he got annoyed or anxious. Virgil had learned quickly to stay away from him when he was like that: touching it merely made Virgil’s limbs feel pins and needles, but the Orlun thief had screamed until unconsciousness.

It was one of the (very) few perks of being a Deathworlder, Virgil supposed. Most of the things that hurt the other species out here usually had a looser effect on humans because humans rarely made it this far. In fact, it was illegal for humans to get this far by at least sixty doctrines (all of which Logan had filed away in his room).

Humans were juggernauts-- the alien versions of the boogie man told to children to keep them from acting out. Virgil had seen some of the written documents about his kind, and the tales of bloodshed and terror invoked by merely existing were pretty horrifying. Graphic depictions of humans tearing aliens limb from limb, scientific studies on the amounts of chemicals that humans had absorbed and withstood against, an interview with a survivor of a human rampage who revealed the bite marks left by the so-called beast.

Almost every species out here was just as scared of him as he was of them.

The problem came from the ones that weren’t scared.

Which, of course, was how Virgil had ended up hundreds of literal light-years from Earth, on a ship with three aliens whom he was pretty certain he would end up dying for sometime very soon. Yurinks were crafty, shameless, bold, creatures, and they were notorious for visiting Earth and abducting humans for individual sale. Weslors ran fighting rings and humans were almost always the safest bets for some quick cash. Quitans were a fan of skinwearing, which was not something that Virgil ever wanted to see, based on the name alone. And Pol’turs loved learning how things worked and paid very handsome prices for human subjects on the space black market.

Virgil, himself, had sold for 300 griot. (Which was apparently a lot, based on the way that Patton’s eyes had quite literally bugged out. Virgil was still trying to figure out the conversation ratio of American dollars to griot and getting nowhere with it.)

“I hate him,” Roman said under his breath as he threaded through the spare armored uniforms in the storage, trying to find one to fit over the rigid bone plates along his back. His tail squirmed behind him as he searched, dragging the spikes through the air. “I hate him so much.” His bone claws cut through the fabric and he growled as he tossed the ruined clothes to the floor. “We’re gonna save him and then I’m going to toss him off into space, myself.”

Logan made an affirming noise, using his lower left arm to nudge his visor back up his nose. Virgil had only caught sight of Logan’s eyes once or twice, as most light strained his sensitive eyes. They had paid a pretty griot for a repair and a spare of his light blocking visor after the first time some space smugglers had surprised them and managed to break the lens. Logan’s pained scream was the worst thing that Virgil had ever heard and he had sworn he’d do anything to avoid ever having to hear it again.

(That had been the first time that Roman and him had truly worked together on something, Virgil noted absently. Between Virgil’s uncharacteristic bloodlust and Roman’s furious wrath they had taken out the smugglers in less than five minutes and they hadn't been very nice about it.)

Looking from the back, Roman resembled a stegosaurus to Virgil. If, like....stegosauruses ran around on two legs, flourished a sword, and were prone to acting like every minor occurrence was a slight against them personally. His red-ish skin had the appearance of leather but was twice as thick, his bone plates were slimmer rounded triangles than Virgil remembered from his kindergarten picture books but they ran from the based of his neck all the way down his back and to the tips of his tail which he liked to use as a spike-ball-and-chain attack along with his ridiculous sword. Virgil couldn’t count the number of times that Roman had nearly taken him out along with the enemy. His claws were only a few inches long but Roman whined like a baby when they broke-- which was ridiculous because his bone plates literally grew back overnight, and the ones on his forearms were made to be taken off and thrown. (Logan had indeed informed Virgil that Erefren grow new bones every moon cycle and proceeded to lose the old ones which Virgil had then mentioned that humans did that too sorta! With their baby teeth! And Roman and Logan had both looked unnerved by that information.)

“I’ve got it!” A voice sang from the ceiling, which was about all the warning Virgil got before a child sized figure vaulted down from the rafters of the teleportation deck right onto his shoulders.

“Jesus! Pat!” Virgil yelled as he stumbled swaying to accommodate the new weight that had stuck itself to Virgil’s back and then wrapped around to hug his chest. “Give a guy a warning, will you?”

Patton giggled, hooking his legs around Virgil’s waist so that he could sit comfortably, swinging the two other satchels he had been sent to fetch from his hands. Roman accepted one of them readily.

“What's a Jeeezus?” Patton asked, stressing the syllables as English terms never really fit right in his tongue. As far as Virgil was aware no species were equipped to speak human languages, although Roman’s Erefren dialect involved some rolling syllables. He probably could have picked up Spanish, if Virgil hadn’t barely passed Spanish III with a C minus.

To be fair though, that year had been bad. Janus had been in his class, and then he hadn’t. And it was hard to focus on conjugation of verbs when the golden student of the entire school who had sat next to him had been declared dead and Virgil had been the prime suspect of it.

That, and Virgil was pretty terrible at picking up new languages. He had only managed to figure out how to communicate with Logan by luck: hands raised with the fingers spread was a symbol of innocence and fear for the Tenkarie, while a sign of rage and fury for Yurink. This, of course, had also been in the middle of an illegal Weslor fighting ring which Logan had been dragged into and essentially sentenced to die in after being separated from Roman and Patton.

(Virgil tried not to think too much about those days. Alien blood was still blood and it was very not-good to feel dripping from his hands, even if it was him or them, even if it had been his life on the line, even if it wasn’t another human with heterochromic eyes and smug smirk. Virgil had fought nearly six times before Logan had been his opponent, and that was six times too many.)

Regardless, Virgil was lucky that when Roman and Patton had come for Logan, Logan had remembered his reluctance to fight and insisted that Virgil come with them in an escape. Roman and Patton had their hesitations but Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer.

(And Virgil who did not understand Common, had honestly thought that Logan had come back to kill him officially. Not a good first impression.)

Logan had made him flashcards to study from and taught him common in the sitting area of their ship. The endless hours of memorization, the drills, the sentences, all of which helped him more than he thought the others knew. They were something to do with his mind and Virgil had been in desperate need of something to do with his mind those first few months that wasn’t thinking about Earth or home or boys who were dead.

“We could go to Earth,” Logan had offered once during one of their sessions.

Virgil had blinked looking up to from the practice reading he had been studying with a bewildered look. “What?” It had taken a moment for him to realize that he had spoken in English rather than Common, but Logan must have picked up on the meaning of the foreign word anyway.

“You were… badly, ah, stolen,” Logan had said, pointing at the flashcards. “We could give you back.” He had used his lower two arms to mimic the motion of handing something off.

It had been so touching, the way that he had scaled down his speech to match Virgil’s progress, had offered despite Earth being the infamous Deathworld, had been looking at Virgil like he was living being and not just some animal. Virgil had cried.

He should have wanted to go back to Earth, should have wanted to go home, but instead he had begged in his broken, garbled Common for Logan to let him stay in space with them. And Logan had glowed nearly blindingly with purple light, a relief light, a content light, a happy light and promised that he wouldn’t have to go back if he didn’t want to.

Perhaps that had been the day the Virgil had realized he’d die for Logan.

And once Virgil had decided that for Logan it wasn’t hard to decide it for Patton too. The Reytin was just so nice. Even back in those first months when Virgil didn’t know how to talk to them and Patton had been so obviously terrified of him, the alien had made sure that Virgil was eating, that he was sleeping, that he had space when he needed it. Though, Virgil really suspected that their friendship had blossomed so quickly because of Patton's rare Reytin ability to see emotions with his frog-like eyes. Once he realized that Virgil was actually terrified of everything, and it wasn’t just ploy to kill them (or maybe despite that….Virgil hadn’t gotten a straight answer from him), Patton had done his best to befriend him back to good health.

And Virgil liked being on the ship. He liked his room, which was filled with stupid alien plants he had managed to collect and the weird shapes of the bed. He liked being right down the hall from the kitchen so he could smell when Patton was cooking something, and the way that he could always hear Roman singing in his room. He liked slipping out to the observation deck and just seeing Space the way no other human really had.

(Its stupid really, that sometimes he forgot it had been three years. Its stupid really, that sometimes he still turned to ask a question of someone who was never going to be there. Its stupid really that he could be so happy and still feel the gaping hole where someone used to be.)

“Oh this is so exciting!” Patton said happily, shaking his hands in the air to show his excitement. “Isn’t this exciting, guys?”

“Exciting isn’t the word I would use,” Virgil said hoisting the smaller creature from around his waist to settle him on the floor carefully.

“More like Vexing! Or perhaps burdensome! Irksome! Problematic!” Roman snarled, finally finding the armor that would fit around his plates and slipping it on. “You know what? Let’s forget it! Remus got himself into this mess and he can get himself out!”

“Now kiddo…” Patton warned, and wow, Virgil sometimes forgot that the alien who was half Virgil's height and twice as lively, was also older than all of them combined. Reytin lifespans were literally off the chart. Patton had been around way back when humans were first declared illegal on this side of the cosmos. “You know that we can’t do that! He invoked the Oath of Brothers so we have to!”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Roman griped. “Worse case, my soul just becomes eternally damned and I’m shamed by the rest of my race until I die a lonely, lonely death on some distant planet!”

“Must you be so dramatic?” Logan asked.

“You won't die alone!” Patton said, “We’ll be right there with you! Probably even die right next to you as well!”

“No offense Pat,” Roman said glumly, “But that makes me feel like I’m gonna be the cause of your death.”

“It’ll be fun!”

Thankfully before Roman could explain exactly there was nothing fun about making all his friends die, Logan cleared his throat and made his upper two palms glow with a soft blue light. Green and pink bulbs flashed up and down his neck. “I have mapped out the perceived trajectory of the enemy ship so we should be able to beam directly into the hold. However because of possible miscalculations I believe that I should be--”

“--The first to beam aboard as I am the only one who is not affected by the lack of gaseous properties and the extreme temperatures of the expanse of space.” Roman, Patton, and Virgil chorused together.

“Must you all?” Logan asked, with just enough fondness in his tone for Virgil to know that he wasn’t actually bothered.

“Change up your speech sometime, Teach,” Roman suggested, and then he sighed dropping his head. “You guys are really willing to do this for me? These are mercenaries, you know. If this doesn’t go well they’ll likely sell us for parts.”

Virgil really didn’t need the reminder. Just the thought of once again having his arms restrained, having his clothes striped away, being reduced from a person to a thing used for entertainment, was enough to have Virgil eyeing the door back to the rest of the ship. Even on the off chance that they didn’t try to take him apart to see how he ticked, they would still sell him for griot. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, survive being thrust back into the fighting rings. He’d shake himself apart before they managed to drag him into that dust riddled death trap.

Patton reached up and tugged the edge of Virgil’s under armor tunic, drawing his eyes away from the door and down to his friend. Patton, of course, was smiling, imitating the human action of bearing his teeth (something that Logan had explained was incredibly threatening to all other species and you may want to avoid participating in that activity with Roman in the vicinity, Virgil).

It was silly things like that that make Virgil hopelessly certain that he would do anything to protect his friends. He didn’t need to worry about being caught and sold off because the others wouldn’t let that happen again, and in turn, he wouldn’t allow them to be taken away either. They were a family, for better or worse.

(He wasn’t going to lose someone again. Not like before. Not without a fight, a trace-- not without Virgil doing every single thing he could to get them back first.)

“We’ll be fine!” Patton told Roman brightly.

“Yeah, cheer up, Princey,” Virgil added, hooking his satchel over his shoulder, “Worse case scenarios are my thing.” He offered out a folded fist, palm up and Roman dutifully knocked his own knuckles against it, as an upside down fistbump (a signal of friendship in Erefrenian).

Patton let out a chittering and jumped up to knock his own knuckles with them. And Logan’s left forearms flickered pastel pink from the wrist up to his neck and he begrudgingly added his own to the pile.

“Everyone remembers their part of the plan, correct?” Logan asked, letting his two lower arms finish typing a final sequence into the control panel.

Patton sprung in the air, jumping Virgil’s entire height, and shook his palms. “I’ve got the emergency pods and the armory, using Virgil’s thingies to shut down the access to the lower rooms and blocking off escapes as I make my way to the medic bay!”

“I’ve got the crew quarters to where I’ll use Virgil’s thingies--”

“Can we not call them thingies?” Virgil grumbled. “They’re just EMPs. Barely enough to take out the door locks. And it's likely they won’t do much of anything if this group has an emergency system reboot in case of an electrical surge. It’ll buy us five minutes, max.”

“--Virgil’s thingies,” Roman repeated with his tail rattling in that way that said he took pleasure in Virgil’s annoyance. “To lock as many of the doors as I can, before travelling to the cell blocks to get my brother and his crew and move them to the medic bay where Patton will have the necessary supplies ready incase of injuries.”

“I will take the Bridge,” Logan said, “and act as the major distraction, as Tenkarie are very rare and it is likely that they will have never encountered nor have preemptive measures against my Lightdancing. Once I have control of the bridge I will cut off the communications to other ships in the area and start inputting the redirection course. Once I have the new coordinates I will send them to Virgil for him to implement.”

“I’ve got the engineering deck,” Virgil said, finally, “To make sure they don’t try to blow us all up with the warp core and whatever. Then I’ll redirect the teleporting course and get us home while the rest of you take out the bad guys. Piece of cake.”

Logan’s neck notches glowed red, “There should be no stopping for cake--.”

“Idiom,” Virgil interrupted quickly, “Human saying. Means it should be easy.”

Logan hummed musically, which sent a vibration of multicolored lights off his shoulders and down under his clothes. “Ah, interesting. This should indeed then be a piece of cake.” He picked up one of the teleportation bracelets from their charging pads and fixed it on his upper right wrist. “I’ve already added in the coordinates to the watches, so merely wait for my signal and press the button.”

Virgil would be lying if he said he didn’t have a little bit of anxiety over their plan. It was pretty slapshot compared to the things that they had put together before, but Remus’s transmission had been shoddy, even after Roman and his combined efforts to clean it up. It was hard to remember that Remus was every bit a ship captain as Roman was with how he had appeared in the picture dressed in ripped and tattered clothes, oozing green poison from his forearm plates, and bleeding profusely from a wound on his forehead. He had been leaning heavily on the communication panel, gritting his teeth through the pain, but his tail had been dancing in the air behind him in the same motions that Roman’s did when he saw a new sword to add to his collection.

Remus had invoked the Oath of Brothers, spit up blood on the console, and then relayed as much information as he could about the attacking ship. They were lucky, in that way. Most of the Pol’tur ships followed the same base model, which meant that the Bridge was always going to be at the bottom, the engines would be at the top and the engine core center would be between them.

If it was possible Virgil was sure they all would have wanted more time to make a better plan, but they all knew that Pol’turs loved to work quickly. They had already lost three days chasing after the ship, and in that time, Pol’turs could cut apart fifty Reytins like Patton.

They were working mostly on the assumption that the Pol’turs would save Remus for near last, and they were going to be absolutely fucked if they had chosen to chop up the other Erefren first.

In addition, their plan had Virgil avoiding most of the fighting. well, as much as he could while being on an enemy ship. Virgil himself wasn’t sure how he would do in a lot of combat, but they had seen what happened when one of the others were in danger (when Logan’s glasses had broken, when the space pirates had almost shot Patton through both his hearts, when the spikes had been pulled from Roman’s spine by the Quitans before the new ones had grown in--). He could fight, and he could fight well, but the cost was a little bit of Virgil’s sanity and his ability to sleep through the night.

Patton plucked his own teleportation watch from the pad and hooked it on, before offering Virgil his. Well it wasn’t really his, the same way that the red one wasn’t Roman’s and Patton didn’t own the blue one. They were all Logan’s pet projects, but he had tailored them to their favorite colors. It felt a bit like coming home when Virgil clicked the locking mechanism into place and the screen lit up with the digital alien symbols.

“I shall see you all soon,” Logan said matter-of-factly, as if he couldn’t see all the ways that their plan could go wrong. Then with barely more than a breath he clicked the activation button and his form flickered out of existence.

Roman made a nervous noise with the back of his throat, which ended up sounding a bit like the first bars of a Disney song Virgil had forgotten. Virgil gently tapped his tail with the toe of his boot, avoiding the glisten poison spikes. Roman startled just enough to laugh.

“Its funny, you know?” He said, glancing towards Virgil. “A year ago Remus told me he had taken in a Deathworlder, and I thought he was crazy. A Deathworlder? But now that I know you guys I can’t believe I didn’t get my own sooner.”

“Remus has a human on his crew?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, I wonder if you know each other!” Patton added.

Virgil bit back his original comment, and let the weight settle in his stomach. If Remus had a human in his crew there was even more of a chance that Remus was dead, because the Pol’turs had chosen to save the mysterious human for last.

“Earth is a big place,” Virgil said instead. “Like really big. They’d probably be from like Russia or something.”

At the blank stares he got, Virgil tried rewording, “We probably never have met before. Or speak the same language.”

"There's more than one human language?"

Virgil breathed through his nose, warding off a memory of rolling Rs and failed pop quizzes. "Yeah," he said, "Humans can't agree on anything."

Roman thoughtfully crossed his arms, but Patton made a chittering again and bounced, “Oh well! Now you guys are gonna meet! All the way out in space! How cool is that?!”

Virgil hid a smile in his shoulder. Trust the Reytin to find the bright side to everything.

Roman looked like he had more questions (questions that Virgil wasn't exactly enthusiastic to answer; Earth was a sore topic for him) but mercifully each of their watches let out several musical bars from Patton’s favorite song. The alien shook his palms one last time, beaming at each of them.

“Oh this is gonna be so much fun, guys!” He said right before pressing the activation button and disappearing.

“I’m so going to kill Remus for this,” Roman grumbled, one hand on his sword hilt.

And, really, Virgil agreed with him on that. Tossing Remus into the airlock and ejecting him directly into the void sounded like an excellent plan for when they got back to their ship alive and whole and safe.

“Let’s do this,” Virgil said and jabbed his thumb into the activation button.

***

Predictably, their flimsy plan fell apart within seconds of them appearing on the ship. Starting with, exactly, Virgil did not appear in or near the engineering deck. Instead he had landed approximately two feet above a box in the Cargo hold of the Pol’turian ship, which likely meant he was somewhere left of where he needed to be.

It also meant that the Pol’turs in the Cargo Hold had a grand view of his body blitzing into existence, landing on a crate, and then tumbling off it with a lot of English cursing. It was a mere matter of luck that Virgil was able to roll his body to the side just before the first BZZZTTRRRT of their blasters went off.

(There was an actual name for the guns that most aliens used, and Virgil was pretty sure that it started with a hard K sound but he had never been able to remember it. He stuck to calling them blasters in his head, and hoped somewhere back on Earth George Lucas was proud of himself.)

The Polyfurnish of the crate hissed and sizzled as it took the brunt of the attack meant to vaporize Virgil, and the human hissed another curse as his hands dug through his satchel.

One of the Pol’turs-- the deep purple one although Virgil hadn’t truly been able to catch sight of how many there were-- shouted something in its language. Probably something along the lines of “Stop”, “Surrender”, or “Kill him”. Virgil wasn’t exactly a fan of any of those options.

He had heard them before-- too many times. The hundreds of variations of the terms spat and yelled and cheered down at him, and he scrambled away from the edge of a sword, as he tasted nothing by dust and dirt as he dodged another attempt on his life, as he desperately backed away from an opponent who couldn’t understand that Virgil didn’t want to fight, please, stop, please, I’m sorry, please I don’t want to hurt anyone--

Virgil curled up as another gold blast ricocheted off the top of the crate he was cowering behind. The air was cooler here, he told himself, the air was cooler and the floor was slicker, and he was surrounded by shelves of goods. He was not in a colosseum and he was not in a fighting ring and he was not alone.

He had the others to regroup with and no time to panic over the past here and now. Virgil gritted his teeth, remembering the feel of Roman’s knuckles bumping his, the sight of Logan’s excited lights, the sound of Patton’s laughter, and then his hand wrapped around the homemade smoke bombs in his satchel.

He yanked the pins from their sockets, wound back, and launched them over the crate into the mass of where all the shooting was coming from. Almost immediately the shoots veered off course, and the cavernous room echoed with high pitched screams. Virgil ripped his turtleneck up and over his nose and then he grabbed the edges of the nearest shelf and hoisted himself to a higher area, out of the range of the low hanging gas.

It was a pale red, near pink thing: a concoction formed by Logan out of Roman’s poison that had taken them literal years to perfect. Virgil was mostly immune to it, the same way he was mostly immune to most poisons that horrified the other species. Inhaling it made his head dizzy and his limbs a little numb, which was just unpleasant enough that he tried to avoid inhaling anything when he had the chance. Other species though...they weren’t so lucky. According to Logan, inhaling it allowed it directly into the bloodstream where it would swiftly ignite all the pain sensors in the body and could make one feel like they were being stabbed everywhere at once.

(He knew this, Logan admitted, because it had taken him many times to get it right. His scientific journals recorded experiments #1 through #357 as “unpleasant” and “ill-advised” and Virgil had nearly throttled him when he discovered that Logan had used himself as a test subject.)

Using the shelves he boosted himself another level until his head was parallel with a box of what he thought were floating Welsor hearts, before he scanned the ground under him. There were three Pol’turs on the ground writhing in pain, blasters discarded, and pale smoke floating ominous above them. Their usually languid tentacles flopped up and down on the floor like a bunch of fish out of water.

The glass container next to his hip exploded, missing him by mere millimeters. Virgil cursed as he scrambled up another level, eyes darting around to find where the hell that shot came from. His armor took much of the hit but it was sizzling with heat in a way that was decidedly not-comforting.

“Up there!” Something shouted.

Another blast missed his ear and a container of Sblorp fangs shattered and sent the teeth spilling to the floor. Virgil kicked his feet through the lower shelf pushing through a crate and a dozen jars of various indeterminable body parts and squeezed his body in the place of them. The crashes on the next isle were rather satisfying.

He ripped the pin from another smoke bomb with his teeth, and felt his tongue buzz slightly as the proximity to the toxin before he launched it out at the direction of the other shooter. There was another scream and Virgil took the time to roll into the next isle and leap back down to the floor.

The gas still hadn’t cleared around the original three Pol’turs, but they had gone unconscious from the pain, with a few seizing tentacles here and there. Virgil would feel bad about it, really he would, but the last time he had been in a room of Pol’turs they had been discussing how nicely his skull would look in the centerpieces of their tables and tried to buy him for 270 griot.

His skin tingled the same way he thought it might right before he would get struck by lightning back on Earth. Virgil ignored the feeling in honor of sliding across the polished flooring to the nearest fallen mercenary and hoisting it up as a shield, while he grabbed its blaster from the floor.

Two blaster shots sunk into his Pol’tur shield and it dissolved into ashes in his hand. Virgil cursed again, raising the blaster with his other arm and using his ash coated hand to slide the trigger, because this blaster-- like all other blasters-- were not made for human anatomy at all.

The last Pol’tur was a sickly orange color, like some type of invasive evil moss with long arms. Virgil grinned as the blast exploded forth in a dangerous golden ray of death. The heat singed the edge of his fingers, although the mild numbness prevented him from feeling much more than the slight pressure he assumed was warmth. The shot went wide, and the kickback sent Virgil to the floor, but it was enough.

The blast shattered though several items on the shelves and Pol’tur scrambled back to avoid the avalanche of perishables-- scrambled back right into the pink fog of Virgil's last smoke bomb. It was screaming before Virgil could even sit back up.

Virgil inhaled heavily, sucking as much oxygen into his lung as he could afford and breathing it out through his nose. He squeezed his hand around the handle of the blaster, and tried to pretend like his skin didn’t feel too small. His empty hand-- the one that had held the Pol’tur-- was trembling, shaking, burning.

“I just think you’d be better off spending time with someone else.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Storm!”

“What was it like, Virgil? When you killed him?”

His hand was covered in soot, tingling from nerves and poison and the heat of the blast that had annihilated all evidence of the living, breathing alien.

“It wasn’t….” Virgil breathed heavily, “I didn’t….”

He sucked in another breath, two, three, seven breaths, until he could feel the masquerading gas in the air turn his face numb, and the voices in his head went back to threatening buzzing.

“Fuck,” he whispered softly, and pushed himself off the ground.

Virgil took the blaster with him, and made a private note to ask Logan to look into building communicators for times like this. There were an untold number of things that could have happened to get them mixed up: the Pol’tur ship could have barrel rolled at the time of, or before the final teleportation codes were in, it could have slowed or sped up, it could have marginally changed direction. All of which just proved that only stupid people like Virgil, Logan, Roman, and Patton would dare attempt a teleportation on a moving ship. Virgil tried not to think about what would have happened if his coordinates had been a little lower in space, a little closer to the box he had landed on, a little more personal and prompted whatever was inside of the crate merged with whatever was inside of Virgil.

It took him a moment to realize that the lights had started flashing an interspaced red and yellow series: a visual alarm to the crew.

“Fun,” Virgil mumbled, hugging the wall next to the exit, with one last breath, and then punching the exit lock. The hydraulics took a moment to work (probably due to excessive use of the doors and wear on the components), but it opened to reveal a brightly lit, completely empty hallway. Virgil raised his blaster, checking both the direction before he stepped out and punched the door closed behind him. Then he lined the blaster up with the door controls and fired.

You know, for safekeeping. The last thing they needed was the Pol’turs inside to wake up with a vengeance and come after them before they were off the ship.

(If he was still on the ship by the time that they woke up, Virgil was pretty sure he’d be dead. But hey! Surprising things happened all the time when one lived in fucking space.)

The floor was springy under his feet, some mixture of carpet and flooring that Virgil didn’t know the name of, just that it was weird and he didn’t want it in his Sims House. He could feel the fibers through his shoes as he hugged the wall and sprinted towards where he thought the Engine room would be located.

He could hear the sound of more blasters echoing from the depths of the ship, some yelling, some cursing: all lovely signs that Roman was doing his best to be the most annoying moving target anyone had ever seen. Virgil found his lips curling into a smile as he faintly at the noise.

“Oh come on!” Roman taunted, “I’m a big guy! Surely, you can’t be that bad of a shot!”

There was deafening BZZZTTRRRT, a clamorous crashing, and an ear splitting series of screams.

Virgil flung around the last corner but in time to see Roman stand up from a kneeling position over a clump of bodies that had probably been more alive a few seconds ago. There were blaster marks all along the walls, and several had blown through a wall revealing a cozy living quarters with giant sword slices in the beddings and floors.

“Oooh, so close!” Roman said with faux-empathy bordering on smugness which at this point should just be his default to the mass. “Maybe next time you’ll think more before attacking an Erefren!” He spun at the sight of Virgil coming around the corner, pointing his sword and then shaking his tail in a greeting.

“Roman,” Virgil sighed in relief. “You okay?”

“Virgil! It seems like I got a little off course! Checked the prisoner cells but they were all empty. And then a few new friends of mine had some fun things to say about Remus.” Roman looked feral as he bared his teeth. He jabbed his sword down into the corpses and something wheezed painfully. Virgil didn’t look at them, didn’t look at them, didn’t look.

“Do you know where he is?” Virgil asked.

Roman used the edge of his shirt to wipe the blue grey blood from the tip of his blade. “Not yet, but if you give me a few more minutes with these lovely fellows of mine I will!”

It did not take “a few more minutes”. Roman hoisted on still gasping Pol’tur up by its gangly neck and it had already started blubbering in a mix of languages. Virgil watched the halls while Roman took notes from their new best friend.

Half a minute later Roman dropped their captive to the ground with a fire in his eyes and turned to Virgil with his bone plates clinking, and dripping poison.

“He was on the Bridge.” He said, coldly, “He didn’t know if they had finished with Re or not, but he was up there”

“Okay,” Virgil said.

“The rest of his crew, Virgil,” Roman growled, squeezing the hilt of his sword. “His friends! His family!” He stared down at the shaking cowering alien life. “They..!”

The back of Virgil’s throat tasted like his stomach acids.

Remus had tried to have them killed, he had sold them out, he had been a thorn in their side since before Virgil had become part of the team. Between the harrowing escapes and the near deaths, it wasn’t hard for Virgil to absolutely despise him.

But his crew? His entire crew? In three days?

Just….gone?

Condensed into the memories with a snap, removed from the future in just a blink. The initial attack on them must have been bad and bloody for Remus to call them for help, a surprise ambush type of attack. And for all Virgil hated Remus, he couldn’t help but wonder if Remus had had plans with them-- had they been discussing visiting the bars on L3-012 or shopping on K5-369 or relaxing on C2-276? Had Remus made plans with the people he had been close with and now those plans were meaningless because the people he had made them with were dead and gone and never coming ba--

The Pol’tur on the ground giggled something hysterically, one last brave blubbering comment, and Roman took the toe of his boot right into the creature's soft flesh. Its tentacles flopped on the floor with a plu-plat.

“Virgil,” Roman hissed, without looking up.

Virgil blinked and swallowed hard, “Right, Engines,” He said, turning to go back to his task but Roman reached out and hooked his claws on Virgil’s shoulder, stopping him there.

“Change of plans,” The Erefren said, “You’re coming with me to the Bridge to get my idiot brother.”

Logan was on the Bridge too. Roman didn’t need to have Virgil come with him-- in fact, Virgil shouldn’t come with him. Too many people, too close to fighting, and Virgil couldn’t wipe away the feeling of grit on his hand.

His entire crew. In just three days.

Roman didn’t mention anything about how Virgil was shaking from head to toe, and Virgil didn’t point out the way that Roman’s voice wobbled with silent pleading. He just nodded at the alien and let him lead the way towards where they suspected the examination rooms would be.

Two heads are better than one, and all that.

It was less of a guessing game when the halls and doors were labeled and Roman was very fluent in Pol’turian. Roman was quick to move, quick to sort his way through the poorly designed areas, quick to move. Virgil kept the pace as well as he could, watching the halls behind them for stragglers attempting to get the drop on them and Roman cut down anything in his way.

Blue grey blood splattered across their shoes, filling the air with a sickly sour smell that made Virgil want to gag. He settled for squeezing the handle of the balster and counting out his breaths again as he avoided Roman’s tail striking forward at astonishing speeds and squeezing his eyes shut when he thought he saw a pair of mismatching eyes in the reflection of the lights.

There was no way for them to go quietly through the halls, not with Roman stomping hard enough to shake the entire ship and his poison attacks turning every enemy into a screaming, begging, crying puddle.

“Roman!” Virgil yelled as heat billowed around them, and the taller alien stumbled back, hit the wall and fell to his knees.

Virgil snarled at one of the mercenaries and fired three times at them. Between the near misses and the scattered yells of “Deathworlder!” they retreated into nearby rooms and locked the doors after them. Virgil tore one of his EMPs from Roman’s belt and sent it flying down the hall to keep them trapped there for a little bit, before he turned to check on Roman.

His shirt was smoldering, and one of his bone plates were cracked, but he just looked out of breath and angry, “I’m fine.” His claws scraped the floor as he stood up. “Armor took most of it.”

Virgil checked the hallway again. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, like a cancerous lump that he couldn’t get rid off no matter how much he swallowed or coughed. It pulsed to a beat that he wasn’t sure he could replicate: too fast and yet the space between each thud had felt like forever. It was so loud he almost was afraid of missing the sounds of another attack.

(An attack where Roman’s armor wouldn’t be enough, where he wouldn’t be able to wheeze off the pain, where he’d hit the wall then the floor and he wouldn’t be able to get back up and it would be all Virgil’s faul--)

Roman’s claws pricked his shoulder as he looked. With a slightly trembling hand he pointed in the direction they needed to go and Virgil did his best not to let his churning stomach get the better of him.

“Virgil! Roman!” They both spun at the voice; Roman in particular struck out with his tail, and just narrowly avoided impaling Logan’s crystalline chest on spikes.

Logan didn’t even flinch, not that he could really. His lower arms spread with palms out to signal innocence but his upper arms were busy holding up the profusely bleeding Erefren that was leaning mostly on him. Logan’s arms were flickering with so many colors Virgil couldn’t keep track of them. (Vaguely it reminded him of a disco ball, of party lights, of something so Earthly it would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so busy trying to hold back a panic attack.)

“Remus,” Roman breathed, reaching forward, impossibly gently.

“Ro’mn,” Remus slurred, shifting his head ever so slightly. His blood was pooling down the left half of his face, his eyes were partially glassy, but other than that he looked remarkably like Roman: they shared the same face with a strong jawline, the same dark dark hair curled the same way, and the same long tail with dozens of bone plates. The only real difference was the tinge of white in Remus’s hair, the oozing green poison leaking from his bone structures in place of Roman’s red, and the gaps where someone had torn out his bone plates before Remus had grown new ones in.

“Didn’t think…” Remus’s head lulled to the side, showing off the smile he was desperately forcing on his face, “didn’t think… you were comin’.”

“I’m throwing you out of the airlock,” Roman told him.

“‘ounds fun…” Remus murmured, dropping his head back to Logan’s back, and wincing like each inhale was a battle.

“They had him on the Bridge,” Logan explained, “When I arrived, they were attempting to retrieve information from him through barbaric methods. I may have gone overboard with my retaliation.” Logan shifted Remus’s weight slightly, drawing a groan from the other alien. “I am by no means a medical examiner, however, I suspect that he may have several rib fractures, and a few wounds that need to be looked at and well bandaged.”

Roman nodded, although Virgil didn’t think he actually heard anything. Virgil was an only child himself, but he could guess that even if Remus had been the biggest asshole in the entire cosmos seeing him reduced to this weakened, bloody, broken mess was terrifying. From the stories of their childhood, Virgil had always guessed that Remus was as lively as they came. But this version of him couldn’t even stand by himself.

Roman’s head shot up, “Patton. Where’s Pat? We’ve got Re, now its time to get out of here and get him help--”

“NO!” Remus shouted lunging forward suddenly. Logan stumbled at the change of weight, nearly dropping him to the floor, but it seemed that the movement had taken most of the rest of his power. “I can’t… They have…Jay… I prom’sed…”

Virgil checked the hall for enemies because that was easier than looking at the desperation in Remus’s eyes. His voice was scratched and grated like a glass under the assault of a diamond. He coughed so violently it dragged out a glob of purple blood from him.

“Remus, you can’t--” Roman said.

And despite Remus looking like a simple breeze could end his life, he grabbed at Roman’s outreached arm, above the danger of the forearm spikes.“Me and... my crew,” Remus coughed, weakly. “The oath…”

“I talked to one of those bastards,” Roman countered, forcibly soft, forcibly strained. “Re, your crew is--”

“Ro…” He pleaded, “Please.”

Roman made a noise like something in him was physically shredding him apart. Virgil suspected it was his hero complex, which usually manifested the urge to save every living being he saw. Lost wasn’t a good look on Erefrens, Virgil decided right then and there. Hopeless and terrified and sad-- all of them made Roman look wrong.

“What's wrong, Vee? You look like you want to say something.”

“....It’s nothing.”

“What? Not even a joke? Come on, I know you--”

“Let it go, Ekans.”

Virgil blinked away the unwanted memory. He sighed out of his nose and reached up to hook on the back of Roman’s armor collar. “Let’s go.”

“Virge…” Roman murmured.

“If we don’t do this now,” Virgil said, “We’ll regret it.”

He didn’t wait for the others to catch up with his train of thought, or maybe he wasn’t waiting for his own train of thought to catch up. He tugged Roman back a step and nodded at Logan. “We’ll double back and find any crew that’s left and get Pat. You take Remus to the engine room room and get the codes ready for us to get back.”

“For real?” Roman said.

“Understood, Virgil.” Logan nodded back. He glowed purple softly, around his neck notches as if he had expected this after all. “Don’t be late.”

“Time is a construct.”

Remus laughed like he was choking on a handful of rusted nails. Roman tensed at the sound, gritted his teeth, and then tightened his grip on his sword. Resolved hardened in his eyes, burning through the lost expression like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

“Right,” Roman said, “Let’s go.” Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand and took off in the direction they had come from. “Any guesses where the guy’s gonna be? Or where Pat is?”

Virgil felt his stomach churn. He closed his eyes and let Roman pull him along as he tried to remember the 3D diagram of a Pol’turian ship. “Well if I was in cargo, you landed near the prisoner blocks, while Logan was on the Bridge...that means that while Logan was doing the calculations the ship probably did a half roll on the longitudinal axis, which he couldn’t have accounted for. Since this ship appears to be the same as the other makes and models of Pol’turs that means that Patton probably ended up in the medical bay. And if I had to guess that’s where any last member of the crew would be as well. Take this left here.”

Roman nearly stumbled over his own feet. “How in the name of the Great God, Disney-- have you memorized all the maps?”

Virgil furrowed his brow at the alien, “Haven’t you?”

“Well yes, but--” Roman’s face flushed with a bit of his purple blood, “Nevermind, Deathworlder.”

The medical wing of the ship was easy to get to compared to the other places. It seemed that either the Pol’turs had wisened up for an ambush or they had fled when they had the chance. Either way they only came across two mercenaries and Roman made quick work of them.

He knew they had arrived by the buzzing of air, the tingle of his skin that made him feel too big and too small at the same time. The walls were bare and there were four rooms lining them, each with a number engraved in the door and the lock panels glowing red with what Virgil guessed was the Pol’turian symbol for “closed” or “locked” or “dangerous chemical inside do not release”. Virgil reached for another EMP, but his bag was empty. There were scents around them, faint scents: something metallic, something sour, something clean, something, something, something--

Something that smelled like blood. So many different kinds of blood.

Virgil swallowed hard. He hadn’t known a lot about Remus’s crew, but he knew that Remus had had a dozen different species with him. A dozen different species that hadn’t survived the encounter.

“Pat!” Roman yelled down the hall, brandishing his sword.

“Roman! In here! Help--” A voice that was most definitely Patton’s yelled out.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward to the room the voice had come from, almost feverishly, desperately, and he didn’t bother with the password. With a swift violent motion he jabbed his sword into the locking panel and then pried open the door with his claws and his hands.

Virgil thought that it would have been one hell of a sight: if he had been strapped to a table, a knife jab from death’s door, begging, pleading, crying and knowing that all his friends had been taking to the room before him and had not come back out intact? If Virgil had been bleeding out and clinging to the slippery bit of hope that was a miracle, and then he saw his captain’s brother literally prying open the door with his bare claws to get to him---

Virgil thought it would have been pretty awesome.

Not something that should have warranted a knife being thrown at them.

Roman let out a curse in Erefren and it was one of those don’t-repeat-this-don’t-tell-Patton curses that Roman specialized in. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder where the knife had sunk in all the way to the hilt, Jesus! What the hell! Virgil kicked the rest of the door open, dropping low as scalpel skirted by where his body should have been, and then he sprung back up with his blaster set on that asshole.

Except.

“Virgil!”

The room was small, almost claustrophobically small. Just standing in the doorway made Virgil’s breath shorten (his cell back at the Welsor fighting rings had been bigger than this--). And it was lit with cold harsh white light, nearly blinding, if it weren’t for the greyed walls and the splashes-- the splashes of faded pink and blue and other colors that Virgil recognized all too well as blood. The table took up most of the room, leaving just enough space for a Pol’tur to sweep around and a small hand tray of twisted instruments.

In fact there was a Pol’tur on the ground right there. Limp and unmoving with an eye scoop so far in it’s skull there was no way it was coming back out.

But Virgil wasn’t staring at the body.

“Don’t you get tired of being everyone’s favorite person?”

It couldn’t--

“Just shut up and help me with these conjugations, will you?”

This wasn’t--

“What do you mean no one can find him?”

He hadn’t--

The detective had looked at him with such a pity that it had made Virgil’s entire body flinch. He squeezed the plastic cup in his hand, crushing it, letting the fragments cut into his skin. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything. The man was still talking to him, talking softly like anything louder would shatter the fragile reality around them, talking so quietly Virgil couldn’t hear a single thing he was saying at all over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“You’re wrong,” Virgil had croaked. “He’s not dead.”

But he had been.

He had been for nearly two years now.

And everyone had thought that Virgil had done something to him, had thought that Virgil was the last to see him, had thought that his dark clothes and his eye shadow and a few sneers in the hall had meant that Virgil was suddenly capable of killing Janus Ekans in cold blood.

Except.

Except that Virgil was staring at Janus --fucking-- Ekans right now.

It was unmistakable, the shape of his face, the curve of his lips, the slimness of his nose. The wispy brown hair that turned golden under the summer sun, the mischievous eyes danced with different colors, the flick of his tongue that moved so freely when he let it, the tattoo of two theater masks on his chest that no one was supposed to know about-- Virgil could have spent days naming things, committing them to memory, staring in disbelief at him. This was the same boy who had sat next to him in Spanish. The same Janus who had been convinced he was so completely untouchable up until Virgil had dragged him off his stupid, golden pedastal.

It was the same Janus who was currently wrapped around Patton like a boa constrictor cutting off the alien’s ability to move and had a knife perched ever so closely to one of Patton’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Virgil had said because-- because--

Because Virgil had asked Logan once if there was a race that could pick through minds, pull memories from heads, change the way someone thought. And Logan didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to him. There were no alien types that could break into a mind and drag illusions into reality and there were no races that could bring ghosts back from oblivion.

“Virgil,” Janus said barely a whisper, barely enough to be heard, barely enough to mean anything. The knife was tilting in his hand, tipped like he wasn’t sure what he was saying, wasn’t sure what he was doing. “What-?”

Partially drugged, Virgil thought with absolutely no room to breathe in his chest. Partially drugged, holding a knife to Patton’s weakest point, and alive.

“Janus,” Virgil said, ”Put down the knife.”

He’s still partially strapped to the table, bound by his left ankle and sporting a lovely series of cuts on the side of his face as if someone had started carving scales into his cheek for funsies. If Virgil had to hazard a guess he would have assumed that Patton had dropped in literally as the Pol’tur was taking Janus-- Janus, alive, breathing, real-- apart one centimeter at a time, then proceeded to win a very cramped fight in the room. Virgil would even say that Patton had started taking the restraints off of Janus when he had gained enough consciousness to realize that he needed to defend himself.

(The fact that they found something capable of drugging a human, a Deathworlder, was concerning, so concerning, terrifying--)

“Virgil….You are not real,” Janus said, slowly, blood dripping down his neck. “You cannot be real. None of this is real.”

“I’m the one thats not real?” Virgil muttered. “You’re the one that was declared dead.”

He laughed. Virgil’s stomach swooped.

For a second, a brief fleeting second, he could have sworn that this was all a dream. A fever dream in which Virgil would blink himself awake from and find himself on the floor of Janus’s stupid, giant ass room surrounded by a dozen cans of off-brand energy drinks, a half eaten bucket of popcorn, and the credits for a horror movie scrolling on the screen. For a second it felt like he would roll over and bump elbows with Janus who had woken up an hour previously to study for that stupid Spanish test that wasn’t until Monday. For a second it was like he was seventeen again and his biggest worry was figuring out if it was too weird to ask to run his hands through Janus’s silky hair.

“Of course, I was declared fucking dead!” Janus said, like it was the obvious thing that would happen, “I am dead. I have to be, because there’s no other way that the kid who's afraid of going outside made it this far into space.”

“Janus, put down the knife.” Virgil took a step forward, a half a step, but Janus just squeezed the knife tighter.

“Why don’t you come and make me?” Janus smiled at him, smiled, smiled, smiled.

Smiled like he knew that this was a dream and nothing he did was going to matter. Smiled like they were back on that balcony of his room with their feet swinging between the bars and two Seagrams gone each and they were going to get in a shit ton of trouble for it. Smiled like he had never been dead and Virgil hadn’t had to bury the thought of him.

Patton made a noise, a small whimper, and Virgil felt it in his chest. The near silence of the room, the soft muted buzzing in his head, the fuzzy dream like quality of reality-- it all shattered at the sound. Shattered like glass, like a mirror, like the concept of “forever”. It shattered and Virgil was suddenly hyperaware of how small the room was, how cold he felt, how metallic the air smelt.

“Hm, just as I thought,” Janus said softly, smile dropping into something wistful and disappointed, “I really am just seeing thin--”

Virgil didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing; he surged forward, throwing his blaster to the side, and using his left hand to catch Janus’s wrist millimeters from putting that knife in Patton. He twisted his hand, pining his fingers into the soft flesh of Janus’s nerves until his hand jerked open on reflex and the knife fell into the open air.

Janus froze, inhaling so sharply Virgil was certain that he took all the oxygen in the room away.

He was warm, Virgil realized absently. He was warm and had a pulse and for some reason both those things made Virgil’s chest hurt. His skin was soft and his breath was sweet and Virgil had gotten punch-drunk stupid on less.

Which probably explained why, how, when, Virgil’s lips ended up on his, pressing firmly, and tasting like something from a past Virgil had thought he had given up on. Virgil had always been stupid, but this was another level of stupid. This was incredibly dumb, unbelievable, ridiculous.

Janus’s mouth was on his, and Virgil’s hand was tipping his head back ever so slightly, and Patton had managed to scramble out of Janus’s absolutely shocked slacked hold.

“You’ve always been so annoying,” Virgil gasped between breaths, “Always thinking you know everything. Have you ever considered you might be wrong before?”

“You’re--” Janus whispered, “Real? For real?” Then, “Don’t you know what the fuck consent is?”

“Fuck you,” Virgil told him.

Janus grabbed him by his collar and yanked him forward again. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Don’t be coy.” Janus shot back because he was still the same asshole who needed to have the last word. He bit at Virgil’s lip, and then pulled back to show off a wolfish grin.

Virgil was stuck somewhere between wanting to smash his stupid smug face in and wanting to kiss him until he lost all sense of direction. Janus was like that, Virgil remembered suddenly, even when they were kids, when Janus was trapped on that pedestal everyone had put him on, when Virgil couldn’t have cared less about him and somehow had ended up unsure how to live without him.

“Not that this isn’t the fucking cutest shit I’ve ever seen--“ A voice behind them called and Virgil stiffened.

“Language!” Patton interrupted, as Roman grunted through the pain of still having a surgical knife in his shoulder.

“--But can the two of you save your weird-ass….human…. greeting custom…. for some other time?” The Erefren snarled with one hand clutching the hilt and then yanking it out with a wheeze that Virgil felt physically. His purple blood spouted out from the wound but Roman didn’t seem to care, beyond tossing the knife to the floor.

“That’s an Erefren,” Janus said because he’s just as good at stating the obvious as he is at kissing. “That is not Remus.”

Roman snapped out something in his native tongue, which by the stress on the syllables was probably not nice and definitely not Patton approved. The Reytin even puffed up, shaking his head in a way that normally prefaced an hour long lecture on manners and the reintroduction of a swear jar.

However, Janus just laughed that pretty stupid little laugh of his but when he opened his mouth the words were all forgein. It took Virgil a moment to catch up, a moment to realize that he hadn’t even fumbled, that Janus had actually spoken Erefrenian and it had been grammatically correct enough that stunned Roman for a whole half second.

“You speak Erefrenian?” Virgil asked.

Janus blinked up at him a smug looking expression on his face. “You don’t?”

Virgil had a good response, he did. It was a response that had been some-three years in the making and Virgil had been ready to wipe that prideful expression of his face. But before they could do anything the entire ship lurched to the side, taking gravity with it. Virgil let out a yelp and grabbed for Janus and clung for stability.

(Space had done wonders for Janus’s abs, Virgil thought distantly.)

Roman slammed into the door frame and stumbled out into the hall, with all the grace a drunken ballerina, and cursed again when Patton landed on top of him.

“That’s our cue to leave!” Roman growled.

“Ya think?” Virgil shot back. He lunged for the end of the table where Janus’s bare foot was still strapped to the table. He didn’t look at the rusted color on the buckle, at the stiffness of the leather strap, at the rawness of Janus’s skin where it was biting into his ankle. He didn’t, didn’t, didn’t--

His hands shook. Janus reached over and clasped his forearms, the fabric of his tunic, him.

“Virgil--” Janus said, softly, unsuredly, with no trace of that previous pompous expression on him. “I--”

There was blood on his face, trailing all the way down his neck in scarlet silvers from the cuts. His hair was sweat matted, pressed and tousled in a way that made Virgil feel a certain rage in his chest, like someone had been running fingers through his curls while they sliced him apart. His eyes were still slightly glassy from whatever they put in him. There was an unspoken question on his lips, in his eyes, through his fingers as he clung to Virgil.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil told him, practically scooping him up. Janus heaved a breath as his feet touched the ground again. “Us humans have to stick together, right?”

Janus Ekans was alive.

It sounded surreal even in the moment, because Virgil had been mourning him since they were seventeen and stupid. Everyone else had moved on, had buried his memory, had forgotten about him. But he was not dead, and Virgil had not killed him. Somehow he had ended up in space, ended up with Remus, ended up here on this ship in the several billions of lightyears from anything they had known previously.

There would be no more late-nights-turned-early-mornings study sessions, no more sneaking over the gated walls of the Ekans mansion, and no more scaling the lattice underneath Janus’s balcony. They were never going to go stargazing on the hills outside of town again, never going to ruthlessly text each other under the desk during History class, never going to skip prom together to go trespassing in the woods somewhere to find Mothman. He was never going to butcher Spanish past participles in the cozy corner of the school library after hours and he was never going to get to listen to Janus brag about obtaining his Seal of Biliteracy finally despite his proficiency in about three languages.

Janus had disappeared right before senior year. And Virgil, who had been the biggest thorn in his side, the biggest instigator of all their fights, the wild and unruly punk kid that lived in detention-- Virgil had stopped looking for him. Because everyone said he had died. Because everyone said that Virgil had killed him.

But Virgil could feel Janus’s pulse, could hear his heartbeat, could see the way his chest moved as they stumbled out of the room.

Part of him was afraid that if he let go now, later, ever, Janus would disappear again. Shimmer and fade like a mirage in the desert.

“Careful Virgil,” Janus said breathily. “I almost think you missed me.”

“I hate you so much,” Virgil said back, as Roman and Patton led the way toward the engine rooms by blade and alien jujutsu and well-placed pun.

“Somehow, I don’t think you mean that, at all.” Janus said, grinning.

And then he closed that last little bit of space between them again.

[Next installment: Stars Die (But We Don’t)]

#Sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #Logan Sanders #Alien Au #Sympathetic Deceit #Sympathetic Remus #23 pages of Virgil in space #humans are space orcs #blood #Anxceit #background intrulogical #Probably will end up as part of series if you guys want more

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bnhayyy · 4 years ago

Text

The Call (1)

Chapter Title: Slayer

Wordcount: 4.1k

Ao3 Link: Click

Notes: Written for day one of @aot-au-week , since a Buffy AU very technically counts as a College AU, and because it's the least I owe @cookietonwrites for convincing them to take on another fic. As you can see, the idea quickly spiraled into a multi-chap, for which I am not even remotely apologetic.

Summary: There is only ever one slayer at a time; the chosen one, a girl strong enough to fight against the vampires, demons, and forces of darkness.

Mikasa has accepted that for her, being the slayer means living a reclusive life, haunted by the image of the first person she failed to save and unable to ever truly let anyone in. However, everything is called into question with the arrival of Annie, a girl who claims to also be a slayer. Mikasa's life becomes much less solitary seemingly overnight, but friendship is followed by a deadly conspiracy, and with it, the threat of loss and heartache.

Mikasa's world consisted of a haze of blurred vision and the gentle buzzing in her ears. She blinked, and the figures on the paper before her solidified into numbers for a heartbeat before fading out once again. Trying it a few more times didn't yield any better results. It only made her aware of how much her eyes burned and how heavy her eyelids were. How heavy her entire head was. How easy it would be to just slip forward and…

The buzzing reached a crescendo. A hand reached out to grab her shoulder. She jerked back upright to find Armin sitting across the table from her, one hand still extended and a worried expression on his face.

Mikasa faltered. Words played at her lips, semi-contradictory things like 'it's fine' and 'what's wrong', but none of them felt right enough to actually be voiced. Instead, Armin was the one to break the silence.

"When's the last time you slept?" he asked.

Mikasa sighed. He must be really worried if he was cutting straight to the point like that.

"Don't worry about it," she said, even though she knew it wouldn't work.

Armin's frown deepened as a hint of disapproval trickled onto his features. He pitched his voice into a whisper to say, "you don't need to go out every night. You can't- you shouldn't be doing this alone."

"I do," Mikasa countered. "I'm the only one who can. You know that, Armin."

There was one girl in the whole world charged with keeping the forces of darkness at bay. She couldn't cast that duty aside just because she was tired.

It was with that thought that she realized that her gaze had begun to drift back toward the table. She snapped it back up as Armin asked, "does Erwin know how thin you're wearing yourself?"

Mikasa pursed her lips. "Erwin's only been here for a few weeks. He'll get used to it."

"You shouldn't be used to it," Armin insisted, the softness of his voice warring with the rapidly mounting undercurrent of anxiety. He was still talking, too, about how Erwin wouldn't approve and she would be more productive if she wasn't dead on her feet. She didn't absorb any of the actual words, his voice fading back out into that gentle, incoherent buzzing.

Then there was a flicker of movement as something faded into sight in the corner of her vision, and everything Armin said became utterly doomed to sail right over her head.

Mikasa very determinedly did not look at the figure. She didn't turn her head and didn't allow her eyes to move in his direction beyond that first involuntary twitch. It didn't matter. He leaned forward, and she caught a glimpse of the green eyes peering out from what she knew would be a placid-yet-piercing expression.

"He's right, Mikasa," he said. "You need to take better care of yourself."

She allowed her eyes to flicker shut even though it did nothing to block out the man's voice. The voice of her own imagination.

"You've always been like this," he sighed. His voice had a whisper of warmth in it today, a touch of fondness tucked within what sounded like age-old resignation. "But you shouldn't. You're at your best when you have our friends with you."

Something flickered within her at the comment, although she was pleased to note that she managed to keep it within. There was no need to remind the hallucination that she didn't have any friends. Not even Armin, truly. Because for all that they were fond of each other, no amount of fondness could ever make up for-

"-kasa?"

It was the hint of iron intertwining itself with the worry in Armin's voice that got her to open her eyes. Mikasa forced herself to look at Armin and only Armin, who was leaning halfway across the table at this point.

"You really need to get some rest," he said. She moved to open her mouth, but he cut her off by asking, "you don't have trigonometry for five more hours, right?"

Mikasa nodded.

Armin gave one short, decisive nod, which appeared to be more for himself than anything. "You should take a nap, then."

The shift in her expression was subtle, just a faint downward turn to her lips, but apparently still enough for him to catch, because he quickly added, "you're going on patrolling again tonight, aren't you? Even a couple of hours would be better than nothing. I promised to meet up with Annie in a little while, but. I could walk you home?"

Mikasa didn't bother asking who Annie was, but she didn't protest either. She could see the logic in his argument, even if it felt painfully like a waste of time. "No, it's alright," she said. "I can walk myself."

Armin frowned. "Okay, but you will-"

"Go home and take a nap. Yes." She was already standing up as she finished agreeing. If she was going to keep her word, then it would be better to get it done sooner than later. The earlier she left, the sooner she could return. "I'll see you tomorrow," she promised.

With that, she turned around and left without taking another look at the boy who maybe, in another world, could have been her friend.

Or the distorted memory of Eren Jaeger.

Mikasa laid in her bed and closed her eyes.

Thud.

"Clear!"

Thud.

"Clear!"

Thud.

"Cl-"

Coughing. Choking, sputtering, straining, a strain in her chest that turned into an ache resonating throughout her entire body. A pain worse than anything she had ever felt in her fourteen years.

Shouting. Rushing. Urgent voices talking rapidly. Not to her, with her aching body and spinning vision, but to each other. White coats and flashing lights. They were talking, talking, and there was something she had to say, something more important than the flashing lights or the unreal pain or the whisper of strength that shouldn't be there. There was something, someone, she had to ask about-

Her voice cut off in a hoarse croak when she tried to speak. Her throat stung, like it had been worn ragged by- by-

Salt.

Memories flashed by her in a dreadful kaleidoscope. The parents. The men. The boy. The other man, the one they'd thought would help. The sea - he'd thrown them in the sea, her and-

A jolt of energy. Mikasa forced herself upright and grabbed the wrist of the first person she saw. Surprise was on his face. Surprise and discomfort; her grip was stronger than it should have been. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was-

"Eren," she croaked.

"Eren." The white-coated man's voice was softer than she needed it to be. Focused on her. He needed to be focused on not her. "Is that your name? Eren?"

Through parched lips and a throat like sandpaper, she croaked out, "where's Eren?"

The man gave her a long, sad look. No. No. He shouldn't be looking at her like that.

"He saved me," Mikasa pressed. "Then he- the-" monster “- we went in the water together."

One faltering moment that lasted for an eternity.

The man redirected with talk about her. What's her name, can she describe what she's feeling, she's okay, it'll all be okay - it didn't matter. It didn't matter and it wouldn't be okay. It didn't matter, because in that moment, he didn't need to answer.

His expression spoke only of death.

She woke up feeling more awake, but just as tired as she had been before.

Mikasa didn't even try to pay attention during trigonometry. The nap may have refreshed her to some degree, but not enough for that. Besides, she still had a solid C. Spending class zoned out was... admittedly detrimental, considering that she had been in a similar state for her last two classes, but not so devastating that she wouldn't be able to recover from it. She would just have to cram as hard as she could once she had the opportunity to spend a few nights on her classwork. It wasn't a pleasant routine, but it had gotten her through her first two semesters of college. She could make it work for this one as well.

Besides, she had more important things to spend her brainpower on.

A girl had been marked absent during roll call. Mina Carolina. A single absence was not unusual in and of itself, but although Mikasa couldn't claim to know Mina well, she had not seen the girl take a day off before. That didn't mean that she couldn't - she could be well and truly sick, or an emergency could have popped up. People took days off all the time, even those who normally didn't.

The trouble was that there had been a marked increase in people turning up absent lately. Most of them never returned. There were no bodies found or hints as to their whereabouts. They were simply never seen again.

Mikasa didn't want to feel a sense of distant mourning. She wanted to hope that Mina would show up at their next class with some excuse for the teacher about how she can sick or had to deal with an unignorable situation. However, that same part of her had also wanted to hold out hope for Franz and Hannah when they disappeared from her American Literature class, and now they were nothing but faces on missing posters.

The semester had only been in swing for a month and a half. Mina would be the third victim person she had shared a class with. Not third overall - just that she had shared a class with specifically. When she scaled the radius up to encompass the entire campus, she would be the fifth disappearance.

According to Erwin, Paradis' level of supernatural activity was on the low side of average. She suspected that that was the reason he had been hinting that they should relocate. He felt that she was wasted here, and as her Watcher, he wasn't comfortable doing nothing about it, no matter how new to his position or unwelcome he was. And truthfully, five people disappearing off of a college campus during the first semester and a half wasn't unusual. College was stressful. She didn't know the details regarding two of the disappearances, and even with the couple who had seemingly disappeared off the face of the like, a human culprit was just as likely as a demonic one, if not moreso.

So why was she so certain that Mina Carolina had met her death at some point since she had last seen her?

Why did she feel like she had failed to stop it?

Once the feelings of dread and guilt grew strong enough for her to be actively aware of them, Mikasa decided to redirect her attention to the students who were there.

Armin probably would have been one of her classmates if she hadn't insisted that he not take any classes that run past sunset and directed him to the morning trigonometry course instead. However, it wouldn't have been a large class even with him and Mina.

Four of the students scattered across the room were unknown to Mikasa. However, her seat near the back of the room allowed her to keep an eye on them with relative ease. That, in turn, allowed her to be fairly comfortable in her assessment that they were normal human students.

She could say the same of her four other classmates as well. They, however, were a little higher on her radar.

Closest to her, his desk seated directly in the last few rays of evening sunlight, was a muscular blond man. Mikasa thought that his name began with an 'R', but didn't know much else about him. He'd caught her attention with a loud, outgoing personality and general demeanor that made him seem like an odd fit for the class. At the moment, it looked like he wasn't paying much more attention than Mikasa herself, fiddling with the ring on his left hand and only occasionally glancing up at the teacher.

The blonde next to him was as much of a stranger, but she at least looked like she was focusing. She had gained Mikasa's attention by joining a week after classes had started. Since then, however, she had proven quiet and distant, only interacting with her classmates when she glared at the man next to her for trying to talk to her while she was working.

Jean Kirstein, meanwhile, clearly didn't want to be a stranger. Over the past year, he had made a few attempts to reach out that she could admit were enduring. If she didn't have her duty, he might be someone she could consider a friend. As it was, she couldn't bring herself to do anything but brush him off, for his own sake. He didn't pay her much attention in class though. That wasn’t to say that he was completely focused, even though he had claimed a seat at the front of the class. She often glimpsed him speaking to the student next to him. There’d also been enough instances when she’d heard a frustrated comment from him regarding the course for her to get the sense that trigonometry wasn't particularly easy for him. However, she also suspected that he was hardworking and dedicated enough to make up for it.

The student next to him was Marco Bott. Cheerful and painfully earnest, he was honestly mostly notable to Mikasa because he was Jean's friend. He seemed like a good person though. That meant he was a reminder of why Mikasa couldn't let Jean become her friend no matter how hard he tried or let herself rest no matter how much Armin tried to insist. If she faltered, if she slowed, there would be consequences.

Mina used to sit behind Jean and Marco.

The sound of chairs being pushed back and writing implements being put away drew Mikasa out of her stupor. Rather than look at the clock, she glanced out the window.

The sun had already begun to set.

She quickly stuffed her textbook, pencil case, and notebook in her bag, feeling only a brief pang of guilt for the blank sheet of paper that stared back at her. The items landed haphazardly, and she knew that if she looked, they would likely only partly obscure the stake, crossbow, and knife that laid carefully arranged at the bottom. She zipped it shut before anyone could get curious and try to sneak a peek; a reflex even though she knew that no one would be bold enough to try that with her.

Despite being the last one to start getting packed, she was the first one out of class. Just like she always was. From there, it didn’t take long to get off the campus.

The first two blocks of Mikasa's walk went like she was heading home. It was as she reached the third - the one that would have lead back to her apartment - that she took a sharp right. From there it was four blocks straight on, then one block to the left. A simple route, but one that had come to haunt her nightmares.

Dusk had descended on the cemetery by the time she reached it.

Logically, she knew that she wasn't likely to run into anything for several more hours.

Instinctively, she knew that Mina Carolina wasn't likely to return to class.

This wasn't a night to take risks.

Mikasa wandered deeper into the graveyard, where she was less likely to be spotted by any passerby, and pulled out her stake. There, she began to wander.

It wasn't a small cemetery by any means. That was what made it the ideal hive for demonic activity. Not only were cemeteries where the majority of newly turned vampires rose, but large ones were also rife with additional dead bodies and crypts. This one was even separated into several different sections, which made it easy to get lost.

Getting lost made it easy to watch the time slip by.

A couple of hours into her patrol, a familiar figure flickered into existence at the edges of her vision. She didn't say anything to him, and he followed her silently, gaze occasionally flickering to one side or another as he took in the graveyard. As if he might notice anything before she did. Technically speaking, she supposed that he might. He had "caught" things a few times in the past, when she was subconsciously aware of something but hadn't been fast enough to process it with her conscious mind. It was the only thing that made sense, for all that she desperately wished that it wasn't.

A slayer whose hallucination needed to point things out for her couldn't mean anything good for the world.

She forced herself to look away from the figment and focus on her surroundings.

Not five minutes later, the sound of shifting earth caught her attention. Mikasa turned and strode toward it, her grip on her stake tightening and her gaze fixed straight ahead. Within seconds, she had spotted it; a grave with the earth beneath it stirring. As she watched, a hand punched up and out of it, grasping desperately at the ground. The head came next - an unfamiliar man, his face distorted by lumps across his forehead and nose, slitted yellow eyes, and fangs. The visage of a vampire prepared for predation. It glared at her as it struggled and snarled, eventually freeing its other arm. Once that was done, it had a much easier time dragging itself to the surface.

It never got the chance to free itself fully. The second its chest was completely exposed, Mikasa sprang into action. She grabbed the thing by the lapels of its dirt-stained tuxedo and dragged it upward. Fear flicked across its face, causing the predatory features to fall away and leaving a normal face behind. A face that could have been human if she didn't know better. She didn't allow herself to look closely.

In a blink, she had rammed her stake through the vampire's chest and into its heart. It dissolved into dust a few seconds later. Mikasa stood and watched the flecks flutter back down to earth.

She was drawn out of her reverie by a firm, "you shouldn't be patrolling tonight."

Mikasa grit her jaw. "I already rested," she pointed out.

"It isn't enough. You've been exhausting yourself, one little nap isn't going to make up for that."

"You just saw me kill a vampire."

"Yeah, and it took way more out of you than it normally would."

Mikasa whirled around to face the figment. Something in her chest threatened to hitch as she allowed herself to look directly at him, just as it so often did, even years after he first manifested.

The thing before her almost could have been a ghost. It wasn't though; god knew she had done enough research on the subject. Ghosts, when they visibly manifested at all, took the appearance they wore at their time of death or at another point in their life.

Eren Jaeger had been fourteen when he died. Even if he responded to the same name, this grown man with distant, unreadable eyes couldn't be him.

He wasn't anything. She'd run all of the tests as she learned more about the Supernatural. She wasn't haunted, there weren't hints of a demonic presence lingering around her - there was nowhere he could have come from other than her own mind.

He was nothing but a manifestation of her guilty conscience. She had come to terms with that years ago, yet she was still wasting time arguing with him.

At that instant, it was suddenly very tempting to look away. However, she forced her gaze to remain steady as she coldly said, "leave."

The figment blinked. "Mikasa-"

"No," she interrupted.

Something flickered in the illusion's eyes. It was difficult to identify, caught behind that distorting wall that so often covered his emotions, and she didn't even bother to try. He opened his mouth again, but she didn't let him get another word in.

"I'm not willing to put up with you tonight," she said. "Get out."

His expression finally came together into something real and visible. Alarm. "Mikasa, move!"

Mikasa lunged to the side just in time to avoid being grabbed by the shoulder.

She spun around to find a burly vampire standing over the ashes of the one she'd just killed. He was musclebound and bulky enough that he might be somewhat difficult to face in hand-to-hand combat - but not so much as to stand a real chance against her. "Slayer," he snarled. "I am going to grind you into dust."

Mikasa didn't bother responding. He lunged forward and she spun to the side, ducking beneath his flailing fist to get behind him. As she moved, she noticed that Eren had disappeared. Good. She sprang forward, stake in hand, only for the vampire to swing back around at the last moment and grab her wrist. He squeezed, a horrible grin on his face, and she had to fight to keep from automatically releasing her grip on her stake.

As the vampire leaned forward, she twisted to punch him in the sternum with her free hand. It only made him falter for a moment, but it was enough for her to wrench her wrist out of his grasp. It was also enough for her to come to a terrible realization.

Her blows weren't as hard as they usually were and she was moving slowly.

Eren was right.

There wasn't any time to ruminate on that. The vampire lunged forward, and Mikasa dove to the side again. She leaned into the momentum and swung her leg out to land a kick to the vampire’s side. He stumbled, a curse on his lips.

It didn't bring her any sense of victory, for as she brought her foot down, it landed on uneven ground. Not observant enough.

Pain shot up her ankle and the world began to tilt.

Eren still wasn't anywhere to be seen. Funny. If her mind was going to conjure up even a distorted version of Eren Jaeger, she would have expected it to happen when she died. She had thought that he would watch.

Mikasa hit the ground, the side of her head slamming hard against a flat gravestone. The world continued to spin around the sound of the vampire chuckling. She clenched the hand holding her stake, only to find that it must have fallen out of her grasp during the fall.

She forced herself to sit up, hands pushing hard against the ground to make up for the way the world was spinning around her. When she looked up, the vampire was glaring down at her. She tried to stand up, to scurry back, but her ankle gave out when she tried to bear weight on it. A sprain - just a sprain - nothing that wouldn't heal in a couple of days with her abilities, but even a sprain couldn't bear weight immediately. The vampire was saying something now, but she couldn't make out the words, couldn't hear anything past the buzzing in her head, couldn't feel anything but the sensation of warm blood oozing from the cut in her head.

The vampire was reaching for her.

She hadn't wanted to take a risk, and because of that, she was going to die tonight. And Eren wasn't even there to see it.

Maybe that was fitting. She hadn't witnessed his final moments either. Maybe he wanted her to die alone as well.

The vampire's hand closed around her neck. She forced herself to look up, to at least look her death in the eyes-

- and the vampire exploded into dust. In his wake stood the blonde girl from her trigonometry class, stake in hand and gaze locked on Mikasa.

The girl said something. Mikasa blinked, hearing her words, but unable to process them. The girl frowned, and Mikasa grit her teeth, just to give herself another sensation to focus on.

"Repeat that," Mikasa ordered.

The girl extended a hand. "I asked how badly injured you are," she said.

Mikasa ignored the hand and moved to force herself to her feet. Her injured ankle protested once again, but she bore the majority of her weight on her other leg and managed to get upright. "I can handle it," she said. "Who are you?"

The girl didn't seem at all off-put by Mikasa's blunt question. If anything, she seemed like she expected it. "Annie Leonhart," she said.

She paused for a moment. It did nothing to prepare Mikasa for her next, impossible words.

"I'm the slayer."

Weeks later, armed with only an axe, her memories, and the desperate research of a lonely girl scared she was losing her mind, Mikasa went hunting.

She found the one who had snatched them from the bodies of the original monsters and tossed them into the ocean.

She took his head, and he turned to ash at her feet.

#mikannie #mikasa ackerman #annie leonhart #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #snk fic #AoTAUWeek2021 #my writing #my fic #The Call #it's a multichap so it gets its own tag

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snowdice · 5 years ago

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Gaps in His Files (Part 12) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Remy, Virgil (but only in the epilogue)

Summary:

Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.

When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.

Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts, medical procedures mentioned, very brief unhealthy views of sex

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

This one is very heavy. Patton is spiraling hard and expresses some very unhealthy deep seated views of himself and his role in relationships. So be warned and if you want to wait to read this, feel free. Basically all of the warning in the notes apply in this one except medical procedures.

Patton’s back ached from falling asleep on the floor next to the couch once again the night before. It had been horribly quiet in the apartment in the last 24 hours since Patton returned from the hospital to find Logan gone. He didn’t know what to do.

They’d defaulted back to looking through the files that they’d already pretty much read through at this point and Patton was starting to wonder if there was even any point. They’d looked through the red ones last night and the green ones this morning before rotating back to the blue ones which were now spread all over the coffee table.

Patton had snagged one of the fluffier blankets from the closet and curled up under it, but it didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, he might feel worse because he couldn’t keep insisting that Logan pet it like he normally would.

Logan didn’t even seem to care enough to voice his obvious unhappiness with Patton. His silence just made Patton feel worse and worse and made his thoughts spin and spin. Logan was tapping his fingers against the table thinking about something. Usually Patton would respond to that action with patient fondness, but today it just made him want to curl up into a ball wondering what he was thinking. Patton’s mind kept returning again and again to that place it had been in on and off the last two months except that place was getting darker and darker every time he came back around to it.

Ever since the rejected proposal, Patton had tried to figure out what it was about him Logan didn’t like. He’d tried all sorts of things. He’d tried not inviting himself over to his apartment as much, not being as pushy about Logan taking care of himself, offering sex less, offering sex more, not being as pushy about spending time with him, being more quiet, letting him decide what they did on dates, not talking as much about his job, not depending on him as much when he was stressed, not crying in front of him when he was overwhelmed. He’d tried. He’d tried so many things.

The problem was Logan. Or at least Logan before.

What Logan hated most in life was change and he’d clearly gotten used to how Patton naturally acted over the years. Thus, he kept getting distressed when Patton tried to change something.

When Patton avoided his apartment for over a week, he’d asked if Patton was mad at him and then since Patton had that Saturday off, he’d managed to cajole Patton into spending all day in Logan’s bed napping and cuddling.

The not pushing him to care for himself had only lasted a few hours. Patton knew it had to be annoying, but he couldn’t stop himself from reminding him to eat breakfast and Logan hadn’t seemed mad when he’d started back up. He’d even brushed a kiss across his cheek when Patton handed him a plate of bacon and breakfast potatoes.

He seemed to be able to tell when Patton wanted to have sex with a startling amount of pinpoint accuracy, like he had Patton down to a science. When Patton wanted it, but didn’t start something, he initiated it himself and he looked at him with abject confusion when Patton tried something when he didn’t want it.

He showed up to the hospital to take Patton to lunch in the cafeteria when he didn’t mention meeting up for lunch because he assumed the reason was that Patton was too busy that day. He pushed when Patton didn’t speak much, citing that he was worried something was wrong and he insisted on his input on dates before he’d move forward with any plans.

Patton had kept quiet about his job for three days before Logan had gone and talked to Remy behind his back to ask if something was wrong at work. Under pressure from both of them, he’d spewed out the buildup of stress all over the place. And it was so hard. It was so hard not to cry about it when Logan pressed soft kisses to his cheeks and temples and asked him if he was okay.

But now Logan wasn’t used to Patton and wasn’t set into patterns that he probably didn’t actually like, but just allowed because he wanted to be nice to Patton and was used to it. The problems with Patton were becoming apparent every time Logan side eyed him.

Patton had been hoping that maybe he could figure out from this version what parts of Patton he really did not like. Then Patton could hold more firm about getting rid of those things once Logan got his memories back. He’d definitely appreciate it after an adjustment period. That is if Logan even wanted him after this. He hoped he’d at least give Patton a chance to fix himself.

Patton was good at pretending. He knew how to cut pieces of himself off to get people to love him back. He’d had a lot of practiced. Make sure to do your homework at the dinner table at mom’s house so she knows you’re not being lazy. Cook when you’re at dad’s house so dinner is ready when he gets home from work, but make sure you’ve cleaned up by the time he gets home, so he doesn’t see you cooking. Don’t let grandma cook potatoes; she doesn’t like them and will blame you for them being on the dinner table. Never turn on the television at mom’s house; it rots the brain. Make sure the television is on the sports channel by the time dad gets home. Don’t touch grandma’s remote no matter how loud the volume is. Sit up straight for mom. Don’t cry in front of dad. Be quiet for grandma. Pretend dad doesn’t exist for mom. Call dad’s new girlfriend mom. Don’t try to correct grandma when she calls you by your dead grandfather’s name. Get good grades. Get into a good college. Get a job that pays well. Don’t complain. Don’t get in trouble. Don’t be gay.

Patton knew how to do it all. Logan had never asked it of him. Never, not once had he told Patton that he needed to fix himself or that he had to change for him; he deserved it more than any of them.

“We’ve talked a lot about me,” Logan said surprising Patton out of his churning thoughts especially since he had barely spoken all day. “but what about you?” he asked. “Tell me more about you. Tell me about our relationship. Why do you want to be with me or at least the me with my memories?”

“I…” Patton started. “There are a lot of reasons.”

“Then tell me one.”

Patton bit his lower lip. “You read my papers.”

“Your papers?”

“I’ve written a few research papers and you looked them up and read them and tried to understand them because you wanted to be able to talk to me about something I was interested in. That was the first time in my life that someone looked at me and it felt like they actually wanted to know me. And you kept doing things like that. You remember my coffee order and bring my favorite sandwich to the ER even when you know I’m in surgery and I can’t be there to see you so you just leave it with someone else to give it to me when I’m done. You eat the stupid cafeteria food at the hospital when I only have time for a 30-minute lunch just to spend time with me and after the first time we had sex, you got up early and cooked me an omelet because you didn’t know how to cook anything else. You try to find ways to help me feel better when I’m upset even though it doesn’t come naturally to you and you’re willing to throw popcorn in my mouth from across the room with your powers just because I ask even though you think it’s silly. You once took me on a picnic to a park 5 hours away because I mentioned how much I loved it when a group of us went there on a retreat during medical school even though you don’t like eating outside because of the bugs. And you didn’t even complain… well, I mean, you did complain, but only enough to make me laugh, not so I thought you really resented being there with me. When we go to parties and I say I want to go home, you pretend to get a migraine so we can leave early and sometimes we end up having sex in the car outside. And even though you complain about how annoying you think Remy is, you know he’s my friend so you still make a point to make an effort with him and hang out with him even when I’m not there. So…” he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You really love me,” he stated, eyes intent on him and unreadable.

“Every part of me loves you Logan,” Patton said, gripping the soft blanket in his fingers. “You can have whatever pieces you want.”

“Whatever pieces?” he echoed.

Patton forgot for a moment that the man in front of him did not have context, that he didn’t and couldn’t understand what Patton was asking. “Look,” he said. “I know there is something wrong with me. I know there are parts of me that annoy you or make you angry, but if you just tell me what they are I’ll change them.”

“You think I don’t like all of you?” Logan asked.

“Clearly not!” Patton said, standing up suddenly and throwing the blanket off onto the ground. He paused and took a breath, forcing his tone to be calm and clinical, like he did when he got too emotional at work. “Look at this,” he gestured to the piles of files in front of him: blue, green, and red. “This is everything from your personal files to your work files to the files for your alter ego, but where am I? You have the receipt from the first fast food order you bought with your credit card, the invitation from your five-year high school reunion that you didn’t even go to, and your sixth-grade report card. But there is nothing in here about me. Not really. I am not important enough for you to keep. But I can be if you just tell me how. I can be whatever makes you happy. If you love me at all, I will rip myself apart until I’m what you need.”

Logan looked him directly in the eyes. “If I love you, I don’t want that.”

Patton blew up. “Then what do you want, Logan?!” He snapped his mouth closed and looked away, tears that had been building since Logan had lost his memory, since Patton’s marriage proposal had been rejected, since his mom had first called him stupid because he’d gotten a B on a math test in the 5th grade, springing to his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he swallowed and stood, a picture of calm. “It has been a stressful couple of days,” he said, flicking a tear off his cheek. “I think I need to go back to my place and rest for a while. I’ll come back tomorrow morning and we can… I don’t know, try aromatherapy or something.”

Before Logan could say anything more, Patton beat a hasty retreat.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 13

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #tsss #superhero au #memory loss #past child abuse #past child neglect #emotional suppression #self deprecation #gaps in his files #labeled universe #relabeled; refiled #adriana writes #unhealthy views of sex

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ddaehyeon · 4 years ago

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– ♡; FIRST FALL ; KANG MINHEE

pairing: kang minhee + reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 1.5k

summary: the question kept running in your head and maybe, you didn't want an answer. >> star tears au

a/n: i really enjoyed writing this one aaaaa i have a part two idea. if you want a continuation of this one-shot let me know! (´｡･v･｡｀)

do you like minhee?

like a broken record the question kept on spiraling in your head. after it was asked by your best friend, the words became attached to your mind. at some point, it would even make you space out.

a sigh left your lips as you leaned to the railings. located on the fourth floor of the apartment building, your new unit gave a good view of the busy city. during the day, it would give a fair scenery of the people pacing around, most were university students who were to attend their classes. during the night, office workers who had been trampled by exhaustion would be trudging on the sidewalk, wanting nothing but be comforted by their beds or if they have enough energy, drinking would be their go-to.

you retrieved your phone from your pocket, swiping it unlock as soon. minhee should be here by now. in his last text, he said he'd be there in ten minutes.

a few days ago, minhee agreed to go with you to buy some indoor plants. you just moved into a new unit and as per your mother's wish of keeping you former plants, you ended up budgeting this week's allowance to buy yourself another batch of flora companions. there was something in having plants decorating your room. seeing the greens gave a good amount of serenity. something that you needed as a break from all the piling homework assignments your major was throwing you.

"hey, y/n. did i make you wait?" minhee's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, your head turning to him.

straightening your composure, you shook your head. it was a lie. you've been waiting for him... rather impatiently, but you didn't want him to know. at least he was already there. a faint smile came to your brim. "let's go?"

the walk was a silent one. judging from the dark circles that were painted under his eyes, he probably didn't get much sleep last night. his major was as taxing as yours, having to deal with numerous code under the dim lights of his computer screen. there were a lot of things that he had to remember and the midterms examination was just around the corner. minhee was dealing with codes as you were dealing with numeric equations. he could've just told you that he was to rest today, but then again, you can't blame him for wanting a break off the bustling student life. if given the opportunity to, getting outside the dormitory was far better than lying on the bed. a single turn to the side and you'd be seeing your study table where all the school-related works were waiting.

this wasn't so different from your first encounter with minhee. a quiet walk as he carried the rubber plant you purchased. seeing you struggle on the sidewalk, urged him to lend you a hand. minimal words were exchanged. few questions uttered to learn something about the stranger who was walking beside you. he was attending the same university, the only distinction was he was under the department of information technology, while you were in the engineering department.

his own dormitory was farther than yours and sometimes when you were to attend your morning classes, he'd end up bumping to you. the previously solitary walk altered by his presence as he treaded with you. without noticing, it became a routine for the two of you whenever your schedules match.

once again, the question came knocking in your mind, anticipating an answer. however, you denied it, pushing it to the back of your head.

with the bells chiming, the florist welcomed you with a warm greeting. the smile coming from the old lady was vibrant as usual. something that could easily pull the same expression from you.

your feet immediately brought you to the location of the indoor plants.

minhee followed you, eyeing each plant curiously. he lifted a kalanchoe. "this looks pretty. the small blooms would suit your window sill."

humming, you took a mental note of picking that one up. you reached for a peace lily, a beam gracing your lips as you do so.

"you gifted me that plant last year." a soft chuckle was heard from the male as he moved closer to you. standing behind you, his hand was extended to hold the same pot. his fingers brushed by the back of your hand, bringing a pale hue of red to your cheeks.

there was an awareness that coursed throughout your body, resulting in you being conscious of your senses. your ears enclosed by the rapid beating of your heart. cheeks growing hot each passing second. butterflies were in chaos as they flutter in your stomach. his presence alone was taking your breath away.

no, you told yourself. refusing to submit to the query that had been plaguing your mind ever since it was spoken.

"you still remember it, huh?" gaze fixated to the plant both of you were holding, you asked. it was an attempt to distract yourself, to put your mind to another topic.

but his answer immediately pulled you back to your best friend's question. "of course, i still have it by my study table. it's such a nice plant."

yesterday, your best friend joined you in the aimless staring by the balcony. legs propped together as you leaned to the wall. the wooden bench holding the two of you as you silently stared at the night sky. the stars were glimmering above, making you wonder how it was possible to see its light when it was a million miles away from you. the celestial canvas gave way for comfort to wrap around your figure. it was one of the nights where the sky was clear, offering a wonderful view of the black ocean with smothered sparkles.

"hopefully none of us will have those stars slipping out of our eyes," your best friend said.

for a moment, you tore your gaze away from the sky to look at her. "what do you mean?"

"star tears disease," she replied, pausing for a moment. "the result of unrequited affection."

it was a known illness in your place. people day by day were losing their gift to see colors, the saturation decreasing each passing day of their unreciprocated feelings. at extreme, some even see the world pitch black-- all colors snatched from them.

cruel. how come the universe would take away your ability to see the beauty of the world and still leave you with a broken heart?

the serenity that surrounded you shattered by a question that came out of her lips. "do you like minhee?"

four words. four words that were punctuated by a question mark came penetrating past your ears down to your stomach, making it flip in a terrible manner. you never asked yourself such. all you knew was you enjoyed the male's company. you froze in your place, unable to voice out a reply. you were unsure of what to answer.

or perhaps you knew the answer, but you were reluctant to succumb to it.

you declined to fall under its spell that would bring nothing but worry to your veins. as if the question sitting by your brain wasn't enough to intensify such feeling.

"thank you for today, minhee," you said after he placed the last pot on your table. different kinds of flora would be your company tonight.

the male let out of a chuckle. "no problem. it was fun." a beam became visible on his countenance as his gaze landed on your figure.

"you should go and rest now. seems like you didn't get much last night as well." among the group of plants, you lifted a pot of echeveria. you walked toward the male, handing it to him.

"what is this for?" minhee tilted his head to the side, a brow raised. he accepted the plant without much thought anyway.

you hunched your shoulder up. "nothing. a thank you gift, i guess?"

"oh-" nodding his head, the smile he had on his lips became brighter. too much for your liking. if he keeps on having such a vibrant smile, you might end up giving him all the plants you bought. "i'll take care of it then."

few more exchanges and minhee finally bid goodbye, wishing you a pleasant evening. there was a smile that spread on your lips, the answer you've been searching for coming to you in a single hit. its wave strong enough to make your knees grow weak. minhee left the room, the door closed cautiously. it also served as an answer to your unspoken confession.

along with the jingling sound that came to your ears as a soft music, a star cascaded down your cheek.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ masterlist ☆ request ☆ jungmo star tears ☆

#cravity #minhee #cravity imagines #minhee imagines #cravity scenarios #minhee scenarios #cravity oneshots #minhee oneshots #cravity fluff #minhee fluff #cravity angst #minhee angst #cravity drabbles #minhee drabbles #cravity minhee #kang minhee #star tears au #requests

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museflight · 3 years ago