#eugh i have to get up in the morning and wait half an hour in the cold for my stupid bus thats always late

[soupis4ever]

dreadful, dreadful world (i have collage tomorrow)

[elliexmylove]

Let me care for you

PAIRING: Peter parker x GN reader (I imagined tom hollands Peter while writing but it works for any)

SUMMARY: You're sick and Peter wants to take care of you even if you don't let him at first

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNINGS: none :)

NOTE: I changed the first person pov half way through for some reason sorry and idk how I feel abt this but enjoy<3

Being awoken to the vibration of my phone was annoying to say the least, my head hurt, my eyes were watery and puffy, and my nose was runny and slightly blocked. 

"Hello?" I croaked, 

"Y/n? Are you okay, why do you sound like that?" Peter's voice came through the other end,

"oh, hey Pete, I'm fine, I just woke up."

"Okay, well, I'm about to come over," 

"By that do you mean like a normal person would, or do you mean swing over?"

There was a pause,

"Does it matter?" 

I slightly smile, "No, but I'm sorry you can't come over,"

"Excuse me?" 

"Not today Peter," I say as kindly I can,

"I've never been told I can't come see you y/n, this is like freaking me out what do I do if I can't see you-"

"Bye Pete, love you." I say needing to blow my nose badly,

"No y/n wait-!"

Hanging up, I reach over to the tissue box my mum bought this morning, although they feel soft of my hands they feel rough on my red nose from doing it so many times.

To sum up how I feel is the word eugh.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

An hour later I had fallen asleep watching a movie on my laptop, so failed to hear the gentle knock on my window. The knock was louder the second time, and a little louder the third time.

With a crying groan I sat up, squinting my eyes to the window in my dark room, Peter?

There he crouched on the fire escape, spider suit on, mask in hand.

I peeled the blankets off of me and got up, seeing white for a second as I regained my balance, obviously I got up too fast.

Window now open I spoke, 

"Peter, what are you doing? I said not today."

"I've never been told that by you! You can't just expect me to stay home and not see you all day," he waves his hands around, and you feel the need to sneeze, 

don't look at the light, don't look at the light, don't look at anything light.

Well, too late, you turn around and sneeze into your arm. Ah frick. Gross.

You race to get a clean shirt, that being an oversized t shirt. After getting changed and throwing your pajama top in the wash Peter now sits on your bed in the dark room.

"Are you sick?" 

You give up on acting as though you're not, he basically knows now anyways.

"Yeah,"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Becuase I knew you would want to come over and take care of me, as sweet as that is I don't want you getting sick as well." 

"Well I don't care about getting sick, c'mere," he opens his arms up,

"Uh uh, you're not getting sick because of me, it's a really bad cold." 

"Exactly why I should comfort you." 

"No."

"Yes."

I begin walking put my door, to which Peter puts a stop to by shooting a web and pulling you back. 

"You wanna watch movie?" He asks once he has you sat in his lap, chin resting on your shoulder.

"Already watched one."

"Do you want snacks?" 

"Don't feel like it."

"Cuddles?" 

"Nope."

He puffs his cheeks and blows the air out.

I make a move to get out of his embrace,

"No." He tightens his grip around you, leaning slightly to get to back in place.

"I need to blow my nose," he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously but allows you to get the tissues. Once done you lie back onto the bed, 

"Hey," the boy whines, 

"You can stay, but we're gonna keep our distance so you have a better chance of not getting sick." 

He doesn't look happy.

"Can you imagine spiderman being sick? You would have to swing through cold wind, and fight people with a stuffy nose, not to mention the mask feeling disgusting and getting other people sick,"

"Don't care." He webs the box of tissues to you, and suddenly you need to sneeze, so you take one just before you do.

"How did you-"

"Spidey senses." 

"Thank you,"

"You wanna repay me?"

"By doing what?" 

"Cuddles,"

"No Peter."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

I had been playing pocketlove on my phone for the past while while Peter had a shower because I "so rudely refused to do anything with him". 

A knock on my door made me lift my head up, mum appeared checking if I'm okay, 

"You alright hun?" 

"Yeah, thank you," 

"I'll be in the lounge if you want anything," 

I smiled at her and she closed the door, one second later another opened and Peter walked out with wet hair, he walked to my clothes draws and rummaged through them, 

"You can turn the light on if you want, 

"No its okay, do you still have one of my hoodies here?" 

I scoff, "check the third draw," 

As he does five hoodies come into view and he gasps, 

"I wondered where this was!" He holds up the last one I stole, he yanks it over his head and it falls a little below his waist, Peter also bought oversized things, just not as much as you.

I tap on my phone bringing up my heartstopper lockscreen, and also the time, 3:02. 

"Quiet day on crime huh?" 

At this Peter looks a little guilty, 

"I don't know,"

"Aren't you a little obsessed with this stuff?" 

"Wha- pft no," 

He crosses his arms playing it off, 

"Yesterday you were looking for stuff to help with, and stopped a guy from stealing a bag of sweets." 

"It was a bad thing to do!" He defended, 

"I would have done it,"

He collapses onto the bed, 

"You put on the spidersuit just to do it-" 

"okayokayokay, shhh." He holds his hand against your mouth,

"get off, my germs are going to spread onto your hand," your words echo a bit, and he rests his hand back by his side,

"You needa wash them now," 

He sighs and goes to the bathroom, leaving you and pocketlove to spend quality time together.

Peter emerges from the bathroom one minute later, "what're you doing?" He lies on the bed behind your back, 

"PocketLove," You say eyes intently focused on the game, 

"Do you want food ye-"

"Shh, I'm going on a date with my partner," 

"Well alright then." He fauns being deeply hurt, 

"You could download it, actually please do." 

"Okay, gimme a sec," 

He shoots a web to his phone lying on your desk.

A few minutes later and he's chosen his character, 

"What should I name my boyfriend?" 

"Uhmm, Jupiter? 

"Jupiter it is."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Both of you were very focused on the game, obviously Peter had taken a liking to it as well, 

"Can I see your house?" He rested his chon in the crook of your neck while you lie on your side.

"C'mere," You shuffled around so he could lie his head on your chest. 

"I originally had a normal house but I decided to recreate places from heartstopper." 

"oh no-" 

Peter webbed a tissue to you, 

ACHOO

"Thank you," your voice came out croaky.

"Back to your house?" 

"You're going to get sick." You whine, 

"What places in heartstopper?" 

You were a little obsessed with the comic and now series, and he knew this, he also knew asking about it would get you ranting about it which is exactly why he did it.

"Okay so, this room is from Charlie's birthday at the arcade, and this is the cinema, I haven't got all of the stuff for it yet,"

"Oh my god it's amazing,"

"and lastly the uncompleted beach room." 

You seemed pretty proud, and for good reason.

"Its amazing. My house has plants, chairs a bed and a frog mat."

"Oh! I still have that," 

"It must have taken so long to get all this stuff,"

"It did." You smile, 

"Oh sorry Pete, sit up for a minute,"

He reluctantly does as you asked and you turn away coughing into your arm. 

"D'you want some water?" 

"Yeah I probably should." You get up and walk towards the door, 

"Huh? Wait no! I meant it would get it," 

He quickly scoots off the bed, 

"Just come with me," You walk out into the light and he trails behind you like a puppy.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Peter, I didn't know you were here!" Your mum says, rather surprised from the couch, Peter flinches a little not knowing she was there.

"Haha yeah, I'm here." 

"But I didn't see you come through the door-"

"Hey mum, do we have any lemons?" You intervene, relieving Peter.

"Yeah in the bowl on the bench hun."

"Thanks." You croak out feeling worse again.

Squeezing the lemon juice into the water you try to make sure no seeds get in it. Turning around you see Peter, arms filled with snacks, ready to go.

"Just in case." He defends himself.

"Okay let's go I need to blow my nose." 

Back in your dark room Peter let's the snacks fall onto the bed and you get a tissue your head was pounding and you felt very sick again. 

"Can we cuddle?" You finally give in wanting to feel love and comfort,

"Really?" Peter's face lights up and you nod, without wasting time he fell onto the bed taking you with him,

"Pete," 

"Sorry."

A little more gentle this time, you two got comfortable, Peter's arm was under you allowing you to lie on it and his other was wrapped around you.

"Do you wanna watch Narnia?"

"Mhm." You sigh, 

Peter shoots a web to your laptop lying on the ground then sitting right on his lap, "what's your password?"

"That's top secret information." 

"Y/n what's your password."

"Itsallbanterinit"

"You're crazy," 

"There's no helping my obsession Peter,"

He grins and squeezes you with his arm lying under you.

"Is it on disney+?" 

"Yeah I think so." 

The comforting movie starts playing and you already feel better, but still sick. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

As Lucy meets Mr tumnus you feel the presence of marshmallows calling you from the end of your bed, trying to ignore the urge doesn't work, 

"Petee,"

"Yeah?"

"Marshmallows? Please?" Once again he uses those amazing webs of his and pulls the packet right to you.

"Thank you love." You kiss his cheek, 

"Wow so now you're trying to get me sick?" 

"No I'm sorry I just thought-" 

"No wait wait I'm sorry, I was kidding!" 

You let out a quiet, wheezy sigh, one second later sirens sound from below, on the roads, 

"You gonna go spider man?" 

"And leave you? The chances of that are very unlikely." 

"Wow, an avenger, not doing his job so he could take care of me, I'm in love." 

He scrunches his nose in a dorky little grin looking at you, 

"Edmund made me want a Turkish delight." 

"Would you trade me to the white witch for one?"

"Yeah probably." Peter gasped,

"Sorry Peter you know I love them, and you know I got slytherin in the pottermore quiz." 

"Yes yes okay."

"In fact I would probably trade you for her coat too."

"Okay I get it."

"Maybe even her crown."

"Y/n!"

"Love you."

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek day 4 prompt- tape recorders! once again post canon, but this time babes? it’s pure sappiness

~*~

When Martin dumps the box in front of him, Jon can’t help the sardonic huff of a laugh that escapes him. “Really? I would’ve thought you’d had enough enough of these damn things for a lifetime.”

Martin beams at him, obviously expecting a less than thrilled response to the charity shop cassettes. “Oh, believe me, I have. Buuuut..”

It’s clear Martin wants him to bite, and, what the hell, Jon can’t deny he’s curious. He sets aside the paperback he’s been thumbing through and asks, “But?”

“But it’s been a year and a half since we got here, and you know that I’ve been writing again, and the poems really do sound better on tape.”

“Oh..kay? Is that all? Because, love, you do know you can replicate that sound digitally, right? No need to bring..to bring those things into our home.”

“Aha! I knew you would say that, but, no, Jon, that’s not all. Remember how our therapist said something about softening bad associations by re-contextualizing items with new, positive memories, or whatever? I thought these would be a good start, considering they’re not quite so visceral as lotion or, eugh, peaches. And, yes, there’s always the whole possibility of something listening on the other side, but I have actually accounted for that. I’ve had the recorder in my bag for the past week, and I’ve taken it to all sorts of locations that would be considered interesting or scary, and nothing. I brought it to a job interview, for Christ’s sake, and not a peep. I am almost certain that we have total control over when the recordings start and stop, and who gets to listen to them. You have full veto power here, obviously, and you don’t have to record anything yourself, but, I thought it might be nice, to record just notes and grocery lists or songs stuck in our heads or whatever. Maybe we could make tapes into something mundane and maybe even pleasant, if a bit outdated.”

Standing up for a better viewpoint, Jon eyes the box of cassettes and, crammed in the corner, the recorder itself. He’s not overly enthused at the sight, and if it comes on by itself at any moment, he’s tossing everything into an industrial shredder and never looking back. Yet, it would be preferable to not wince at the sound of static, to be able to use the tape deck in their beater car. He knows already that he won’t be using it himself, the imagined press of the recorder in his hand more than enough to make his skin crawl and throat tighten. Just Martin’s voice, however, might be tolerable. Perhaps even enjoyable, on those rare occasions that they have to spend more than a handful of hours apart. “All right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I suppose it won’t hurt to try. Though I must admit my confidence in this experiment isn’t particularly high.”

Martin rewards his willingness to go along with this with a kiss to the temple, and informs him, “That’s fine. I can be optimistic for both of us on this one.”

~*~

The next morning, Jon rolls over to find an upsetting lack of warmth at his side. He opens his eyes to find his delightful boyfriend has been replaced with a cold, uncaring tape recorder. It’s apparently locked and loaded, as it has a sticky note in Martin’s loopy handwriting that says “Play me :-)”. With bated breath, he ever so carefully presses play.

Hello, love. Remember how we completely neglected to do our shopping on Tuesday? Turns out, we have zero breakfast food now. I’m grabbing some bagels from the cafe that’s too pricey for us to regularly justify, I’ll be back in 15. I love you.”

Huh. Not terrible. Maybe this is something Jon could get used to after all.

After that morning, and Jon’s lack of averse reaction to it, Martin keeps his word and begins to record all sorts of things. Little reminders for both of them, a spoken journal, affirmations for Jon, and, yes, grocery lists, despite Jon’s continued insistence that a whiteboard would be infinitely easier. Martin even manages to capture Jon on tape a few times, either singing or having a very earnest conversation with their incredibly chatty cat.

The wild thing is that it works. Jon doesn’t flinch at the sight of a cassette anymore. At worst, they’re mental background noise, nothing to take note of. At best, they’re audio treats, a physical token of something wonderful or peaceful or loving or all of the above.

This culminates six months later, when Jon finds a tape awaiting it. On it is a spoken clue from Martin, leading to another cassette. He follows the path, and he has to admit, he’s enjoying the playful puzzle. After being lead to a number of locations loaded with fond memories, he ends up in front of Martin, waiting on a bench in the park where they first woke up Here. He goes to sit next to him, and with a silent smile, he’s handed one final tape. Jon raises an eyebrow at him, questioning, but Martin doesn’t give away anything, just nodding at the recorder. Jon shrugs, and goes for it.

My dearest Jon,We’ve been through hell and back more times than I can count, and throughout it all, we’ve somehow managed to stick by each other. Right now, I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been, and I have an inkling that it’s much the same for you. While it’s largely a formality at this point, I would like to declare to the world that we’re going to spend the rest of our lives, and perhaps even beyond them, together. My love, my light, my anchor, will you marry me?

Okay. He can admit he’s glad to have that on tape.

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 5)

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Join the taglist in here (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87)

“You gotta be kidding”, scoffed Bucky, entering the tiny hotel room. Loki, hiding his face between his hands, muttered something among the lines of “so hideous my own mother would throw up”.

“Sorry Bucks, that’s all I could get if you’re staying that far away from the last Hydra base you had contact with. Take turns to sleep or something and don’t fuck up too much”, said Tony from the other side of the line.

“It’s fine”, you said, throwing your bags on the side of one of the two individual beds. “I won’t sleep tonight, I have to figure this out. You guys try to get some rest and I’ll sleep after”.

“After what?”.

“I don’t know, after Christmas, Odinson. What are we talking about?”.

“Wow, mean”.

“I’ll take the one near the window, it’d be easier to throw myself off it in case you two want to keep doing that”, said Bucky.

Loki laid down on the other bed without taking his coat off, adopting a mummy-like position. He kept his eyes open. Incredibly creepy, you thought. Bucky took off his jacket and shoes and jumped on the bed, getting absorbed by it. You know, like a normal person would.

“Ahh, this mattress is gonna do wonders to my back ache”.

“Old man”, you laughed from the floor. You distributed different laptops with information, a pile of papers and files you knew you needed to have on paper, a huge map full of points marked, and a cup of coffee none of them realized you had made in the first place. Bucky muttered to himself "how the fuck..." but you paid no mind.

The sky darkened faster than you imagined, and the only lights in the room were the bright screens in front of you. Your phone started ringing and you glanced at the sleepy boys. Both looked completely passed out. You made your way to the balcony, closed the door behind you, and finally answered.

“Hey Pete”.

“Dude, you won’t believe this”.

“Probably not”.

“I had a dream that I think it wasn’t a dream. I think it was a memory”.

“Mhm”.

“It’s about Mr. Loki”.

“Alright”.

“Can you at least pretend you care?”.

“I care, bro. Don’t stress it. It’s just… Sorry, I’m really tired. Been fighting all day with that asshole. And the only time he didn’t get all snarky on me was when I was on the verge of sweet and peaceful death”.

“You… you were what”.

“Anyways, what was that dream about?”.

“I’m telling you, it was a memory. And it was from Mr. Loki, and I think it has to do with…”.

“Hold it. I can’t take you seriously if you call him Mr. Loki. It’s like I called you Mr. Peter. It’s absurd”.

“He has no last name”.

“Odinson”.

“That’s not a last name, that’s who he’s son of”.

“I don’t know how Mythology works, alright? Wait, so you think we collectively forgot something about him? As in the Mandela Effect?”.

“Didn’t he have mind powers? I’m telling you, I think he is actually up to something. Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that us from all…”, he kept conspiring, but an all-too-familiar voice interrupted his ramblings.

“Hello, midgardian. It’s about time. Do you have the plan already?”.

“Yes”.

“Good. Rest and we’ll do it after”.

“Do you mind?”, you pointed at his bed.

“Not at all”.

You cut the call with Peter after saying goodbye and went to Loki’s bed. As you laid your head on the pillow, you felt the warmth still in there. It was sort of comforting, in an unusual way. It even smelled a bit like him, though you weren’t sure how you already knew the scent. Your eyelids fell heavy as soon as you allowed them to, and you passed out for at least four hours. When you woke up, the morning was barely starting to lighten up the city, and Loki and Bucky were having a staring contest. Or something like that.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were about to make out”.

“Eugh, gross”, said Loki, rolling his eyes.

“Hah, you pulled your eyes away first. I win”.

“Oh, was that the purpose of this? I was just gazing at your dreamy and soft blue eyes, Barnes”.

“I can cut the air with your sexual tension", you said, chuckling.

“The only thing that will be getting cut is your neck. With my knives”.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart”, mocked Bucky, totally getting into the rol. Loki got up with a tiny smile. Deep down, he was enjoying the friendly chattery.

You began explaining the development of the mission. It was quite easy actually. You needed a stick; that pendrive was always on a Hydra worker, and there were three possible individuals. You were three. It was almost as if it was made for the Dark Team.

The first part of the plan was directed by Bucky. He had to kidnap the first suspect and make him think he was the terrifying Winter Soldier. In that fear, he’d take some information out without having to actually harm him physically (or maybe just a little, you know, the whole abduction part).

The second part should be done at the same time than the first one, and this one belonged to the God of Lies. Loki had to pretend to be the man Bucky had kidnapped, and make small talk, little conversations with his coworkers to get a general idea of where the stick could be. Take out information in the most unnoticed way he could.

The third part had to be synchronized in half of the second one. Loki had to pull the third suspect away from his office, whatever the reason. You’d infiltrate in the office and go through his stuff. You studied and analyzed his personality briefly through his social media; he wasn’t the kind of guy to keep something important like that on himself. He had to have it locked away somewhere safe. Preferably on a Hydra base, because what’s safer than that? Who could possibly break in?

“Whichever finds the stick first, lets the other teammates know and we all leave as fast as we can. It’s a matter of minutes until the alarm goes off after that pendrive is out of the building; it has a sensor”, you finished.

“Sounds good”.

“And if something goes wrong?”.

“I have a plan B, C and D for the possible outcomes. Don’t worry”. You handed them earbuds and clipped barely visible microphones to their clothes. “Don’t lose this, otherwise we have no means to communicate. And remember we’re a team, and we behave like such. Every modification to the original plan goes through the other two, understood?”.

“Clear as water”.

“Let’s get working, then”.

[jhoudiey]

The beans day fic is here! Lots of Yoru Jade banter, yay friendship! 3130 words, no warnings!

“What do you want, Jade?” Yoru grumbled. Jade had knocked and let himself into her room, she was huddled in front of her desk finishing her history essay when he interrupted her.

“Oya? How did you know it was me?” He smirked, hand to his chin.

“You’re the only person that ever knocks” She shrugged, not bothering to look in his direction. Unlike her regular guests, Jade wouldn’t visit without reason, she waited for him to tell her what he was after.

“Ahhh Yoru-san, so studious, working on your homework on the eve of beans day, I would have thought you’d be plotting something with Azul or Idia-san...” She twirled hand in the air, gesturing to him to get on with it. “I’m here to ask a favour- I’d like your assistance with beans day tomorrow, assuming you haven’t already made plans, Floyd said he said he was here earlier”

“You really want to waste one of your favours for help tomorrow? Works for me” she shrugged

“About that, I was quite hoping to keep my remaining two favours available and you would help me out of the kindness of your heart” He smirked as she barked out a laugh, still not bothering to spare him a glance.

“Ha! No. Nice try though”

“Oh? That’s too bad, you see, I’m on the opposite team as Azul this year and I was quite hoping to completely humiliate him” Yoru stopped writing, slowly turning to face Jade.

“I’m listening”

“Shrewd as ever I see, Yoru-san. I do already have a plan, of course, though the added certainty you could provide would be most appreciated”

“What do you have in mind? And what’s in it for me if you lose?”

“Fufufufu how hurtful, to have so little faith in me”

“That doesn’t answer my question” she smirked, leaning back against her desk “If I help you and you still lose, what’s in it for me?”

“Perhaps we can discuss repayment afterwards, you see, I do not plan to lose, so I do not know what to offer you at the moment”.

She chewed on her tongue, trying to decide what she would accept as payment. Jade didn’t break his stare, observing her with a light smile on his lips.

“If I help you and you lose, you have no more favours from me”

“Hmmmm, I’m not sure that is a fair trade, Yoru-san”

“It’s my price. Besides, if you’re so confident you’ll win you’ll still come out with two, so what do you have to lose?”

Jade chuckled, the smirk on his face growing to show his pointed teeth.

“You make a sound argument, Yoru-san. Meet me at Sam-sans shop shortly after noon. There we will meet with Idia-san, Ahhh I mean Mister Smith-san to be outfitted appropriately. I will see you tomorrow morning, Goodnight.”

**

“Hey Sam. Where’s Idia or Jade, I’m supposed to meet them here”

“Ahhh my favourite little demon-chan! Unfortunately what your friends were searching for was OUT OF STOCK so they have since gone on their way” Yoru rolled her eyes, she was hoping she wouldn’t have to do any of the lame code word stuff Idia had told her about.

“Out of stock?” She sighed, reciting the words Idia had told her the week before. “That’s too bad, for what I seek is always in stock, at Mr Smiths Mystery shop” Sam finished the phrase with her, beaming.

“Over here, demon chan! Mr Smith awaits” Sam led her to a back room where Idia was waiting

“Hehehe you actually remembered” Yoru rolled her eyes again and sighed, regretting her decision to help.

“Where’s Jade?”

“Not here yet, but here’s your outfit” He handed yoru a series of straps attached to pouches and a headset. She hesitated to grab them, Jade hadn’t mentioned anything about having to wear a costume.

“Uhhh… do I have to? What am I supposed to do with any of this?” Idia shook his head at her, sighing dramatically.

“Yoru, you can’t play co-op without looking the part, so I got you a cool looking skin” She shook the pouches in her hand, wondering what Idia meant by skin - There were a lot of black and orange straps...nothing that looked anything like skin.

“Idia...what…?” She stared at him, “And what do I do with this?” She wiggled the bright orange earpiece at him. “How does it work?”

“Uggggghhhhhh can’t you be cool for even a minute? And give me that so you don’t break it. Get dressed and I’ll help you with this, then you need to leave. I don’t want you to blow my cover” She handed over the earpiece and secured the straps around herself, surprised that he’d considered her wings when putting the “skin” together for her. After tightening all the straps around her arms and legs she popped the pouches open, they were full to the brim with beans.

“Extra ammo for my masterpieces ehehehe” Idia secured the headpiece on her ear, adjusting the microphone in front of her mouth. “Don’t touch this part - you just need to talk and Jade will be able to hear you”

“He’ll be able to hear me? How? How will he talk back?” She reached toward the mic - Idia slapped her hand away.

“Don’t touch it, you’ll probably break it somehow. It’ll work, just leave it alone. Now go away, I think I can hear someone else coming.”

Yoru nodded, crawling out a back window to not alert anyone in the store to her presence. She sighed, hoping she’d be able to get the hang of this “spy” thing. Her job was just to watch, she hadn’t expected the extra technology. She took to the skies, hoping to settle herself in a tree far enough away from wherever Floyd planned to nap. She knew if he found her he’d decide bothering her was more interesting than napping and she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on helping Jade.

“Yoru-san, are you in place?” She nearly fell out of her tree when his voice came over her earpiece half hour later.

“I’m ready, if that’s what you mean. What do you need me to do?”

“Do you have my location?” She shuffled around on the branch she’d taken up residence on, leaning against the trunk of the tree, wings comfortably fitted to either side. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, using her unique magic to search for Jade amongst all the students would be dizzying and she didn’t want to fall.

“Found you, what do you need?”

“Where’s Azul?”

“He’s with Jack at the coliseum”

“Keep an eye on me, let me know if I’m about to walk into an ambush. I don’t believe the monster team would be able to surprise me, but with Azul leading I don’t want to be too over confident”

“Probably a good idea, you never did ask me if Azul had approached me for help”

“Did he?” She saw Jade shake his head and look around to try and place where she was hiding

“I wonder. Have fun Jade” She chuckled and leaned back in her tree, watching as the chaos unfolded on campus. True to her word, she’d advise Jade when he was about to walk into a group of the monster team, but he was no slouch. She was surprised at how well he was doing, she’d known he was sneaky, but had expected him to have more trouble than he was having.

Her attention was pulled from Malleus and Lilias' fight with an urgent request for beans. It seemed Jade had finally gotten himself into trouble. She sighed, watching the two fae fight was the most interesting thing that had happened the entire event so far.

“Hmmm kinda busy right now, how desperate are you?” She heard him sigh and adjusted her focus to be back on him. There were students creeping up behind him. “You’ve got three monsters coming up on your six”

Pew Pew Pew

“Awe man! How did he know we were here! We didn’t make a sound!”

“Leech- senpai is too good!”

“Eugh! Lets just go get lunch, I heard Scarabias dorm leader is cooking in the botanical gardens!’

“Okay!”

“Ahhh Yoru-san, were you perhaps hoping I would be completely out of beans and you wanted to see me get captured? Fufufufu, how shrewd.”

“Is it wrong to want to see you lose?”

“I suppose I should have expected as much when I asked for your help”

“Another monster to your left.”

Pew

“Still have beans?”

“Of course, though a refill would be most appreciated”

“See that huge apple tree about 200 meters to your right?”

“Indeed”

She took off from her perch, clearing the space between her hiding place and the tree mentioned before Jade made it to their rendezvous point. She waited in the branches for Jade to arrive, looking down on him as he took cover from more approaching monster team members.

“Two at your four, three at your six, another two at your nine. Good luck” she smirked and dropped one of her pouches, making sure to not give him enough time to reload in any meaningful way.

Pew pew pew pew pew pew pew

“You didn’t really need a refill did you?”

“I did not, I expected you’d be difficult and planned accordingly”

She laughed knowing she’d been outplayed and settled herself in the new tree. Maybe helping Jade would end up being more fun than she expected. He took off running towards the coliseum, the farmer team was nowhere near getting the lyre - she supposed Jade was off to enact the next part of whatever his plan was. She stretched and lounged across the tree branch, watching chaos unfold all over campus. She found Floyd, surprised he’d decided to participate and watched their team for a while - Jade was doing just fine on his own.

“Yoru-san, I’m in need of a few more beans if you would be so kind” She searched for him, finding him near the main entryway of the school, not a lot of places she could move around without being spotted by any of the other players.

“I’m going to have to meet you somewhere with more cover, it’s too exposed and I’ll be seen” She heard him huff

“There’s no monsters near here, you can meet me-”

“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there”

“...Where are they and how many?”

“How many beans do you have left?” she heard the faint sound of him checking his beans shooter over the headpiece

“Six”

“You’ll be fine…. Just don’t miss”

“Yoru-san” she could hear the frustration in his voice as she vacated her hiding spot.

“I’ll leave you a couple beans two turrets up, make sure to keep the monsters distracted so they don’t see me”

“Yoru this is most unpleasant of you”

“Ahahaha, it’s actually the opposite Jade, this is quite pleasant”

“As I should have expected”

Pew pew

“Do hurry, I have found myself in a sorry state”

“Well that sounds like a you problem, doesn’t it”

She smirked and took to the skies, flying as fast as she was able to minimize the chance that someone would spot her mid-flight. She landed on the roof, hiding herself as best as she could as she deposited some beans in the rain gutter for Jade to retrieve.

“Check the gutter. Azul’s nearby so this looks like your last stand”

“Thank you, Yoru-san” She bit back a laugh as she flew back towards the woods, she saw that Floyd had run out of beans and had planned to offer him a few of her extras when Jade's voice cut across the headset once again.

“Four beans, Yoru-san? Have you decided to change sides after all?”

“You said you needed a few beans, so I left you a few beans. How was I to know you had actually run out when you so easily tricked me before? I didn’t want to over burden you” She had to cover her mouth to stifle her laughter as a group of students ran underneath her new perch. “If you’d care for me to blow your cover I could come back” She heard him sigh.

“I will make due.”

“You’re going to have to, I’ve been spotted”

“Yoru-san! Are you playing too? Are you using your magic?! Your eyes look so cool!” Epel whispered excitedly when he spotted her in the tree.

“Eeeehh? Fugu-chan? You told me you weren’t playing!” She shrugged, helping Epel up into the tree, he was too short to reach the branches on his own.

“Jade asked for help after you left and made me a pretty good offer”

“Eugh you sound like Azul”

“Yoru-san! I thought we weren’t allowed to use magic, does yours not count?” Epel asked curiously, trying not to stare at her black glazed over eyes.

“Hmmm? I’m not a student so technically me playing at all isn’t allowed, not that I’d need my magic to beat anyone here” She grinned at Epel who nodded.

“Ehh? Fugu-chan, you couldn’t beat me” Floyd complained as she laughed

“Maybe not in the sea, but on land I could take you without breaking a sweat”

“Haaaah?! I’ll squeeze you either way, even on land” Floyd threatened, leaning in towards her cracking his knuckles. Yoru sighed,

“Yoru-san trains with Vargas-sensei!” Epel chirped, matter of factly “She’s super tough, probably even more than Vil-senpai and Floyd-senpai! I wanna get strong like her too, can I come with ya again next time!?” There were sparkles in his eyes as he beamed at her, his fired up attitude was so endearing she never minded him joining in on her training.

“Ha! Floyd, why don’t you join us? You can go all out and still lose. It’ll be fun” She grinned at him as the stars in Epels eyes grew. Floyd grinned at the offer to let him go wild - everyone always told him to hold back, Yoru clearly didn’t know what she was offering. She rubbed her neck, tapping one of her pouches “Do you two need beans? I’ve got a bunch left over”

“Ahhh so you hadn’t misplaced your beans, Yoru-san, you chose to not share them with me. How cruel of you.” Jade sighed over the radio. She had forgotten he could hear her, Yoru laughed and pushed the microphone away from her face.

“Yes please, Yoru-san! Thank you!”

“I thought you were just going to nap?”

“Hmmmm~ Betta-chan senpai convinced me, and look at this cool jacket! It’s fun chasing all the monsters too, even though I’m stuck with weak little Guppy-chan”

Epel started to protest before Yoru shushed them, pointing to the North.

“Here’s your beans, go get em” She smiled and waved them off, the boys soundlessly dropping from the tree to sneak up behind the monsters who foolishly had only been searching at ground level rather than amongst the branches. She smiled, Floyd and Epel were an unlikely pair, but an entertaining one at the very least.

She split her vision to focus between the odd duo and Jade, who had finally squared off with Azul. There weren’t any crows near enough to see what they were talking about, but it was sure to be infuriatingly intellectual. She considered revealing herself to watch their battle in person, but it was too late. Jade had lost. She pulled her microphone back to her mouth, hoping she hadn’t damaged it by moving it.

“Boooooo you suck” No response. Either Jade had turned off the receiver or he chose not to answer, she couldn’t be sure which. Whichever it was, she was still free of his grasp, the favours she owed him evaporating as he was captured. She sat back in her tree to watch the remaining students battle, Floyd had somehow run out of beans again even though they’d just reloaded and was using his bean shooters like batons. She almost felt bad for Scarabias vice prefect as Floyd chased him despite him already having been eliminated. Leave it to Floyd to disregard the game entirely and do whatever was the most fun, not that she could blame him- she’d done the same in a way. A net shot from the shadows, finally capturing Floyd, he whined wriggling on the ground trying to tear it away with his teeth

“Floyd, stop struggling, you can’t bite through this net. It'll damaging your teeth”

What? What kind of net was it that could damage teeth? Yoru sat up, curious. Would her fingers be able to rip through it? Her feet? She landed next to Azul seconds later, Floyd still entangled.

“Hey what is this made of?” She asked, trying to cut through it with her nails. The material resisted, stretching along the length of her fingernail instead of tearing as most other fabrics would. “I’m keeping this.” She turned to look at Azul, hands full of net.

“Fugu-chan I can’t get out of you keep pulling it, it’s really annoying” Floyd pouted, trapped completely.

“Oh.” She helped him untangle himself and stand, gathering the net in her hands stretching the fibers between her fingers. It really was amazing what could be done when magic was involved. They trudged their way to the main street, Yoru cradling the net to her chest hoping Crowley wouldn’t show up and take it away.

“Ahhh Yoru-san. It seems despite your help, I still failed to secure a win for the farmers team” Jade lamented, having finally joined them. The smirk Azul wore was so smug Yoru was tempted to wrap him in his own capture net and throw him in the lake.

“Were your 4 beans not sufficient?” She asked with a grin, Jade chuckled, flashing his pointed teeth

“They were not.” He looked over to his twin with a smile on his face. “Did you have fun today, Floyd?”

“Mhmm~ Did you, Jade?”

“Very much so, though if I’d picked a less difficult partner I wonder if we could have won” Yoru giggled and shrugged her shoulders. He knew what he was getting into when he made her the offer in the first place.

“Eeeehhhh~ who cares anyway. I’m starving”

“I missed lunch as well, today was quite busy, hmmm”

“So lets go back to the Lounge and make something to eat”

“I don’t wanna eat in the lounge” Yoru complained “What about-”

“I have to agree with Yoru-san, there is something else I’m craving right now…”

“The meat Rakko-chan was cooking earlier!”

“Indeed”

“So what are we waiting for then?” Yoru asked, leading the way to the botanical gardens with the twins following behind, telling each other about their day, all three of their hearts set on kebabs.

[dranza]

16th December

Draco x Reader

Slow burn babyyyy!

Word count: 2703

Warnings: talk about shitty parents.

Please let me know if you notice any.

I shake snow out of my hair as I enter the Great Hall, weaving through the kids to locate my usual seat on the slytherin table. Sat comfortably, already tucking into his toast, Draco looks up at me with a cocked eyebrow, “Punctual as ever.”

“Morning.” I groan at him, nudging his arm. 

“Morning Y/N” he returns with a side smile. “What took you so long?”

“Ginny and Ron were having a snowball fight in the courtyard, I got roped into it.” I shrug. 

I’d grown quite close to the Weasley siblings since I moved here and I quickly learned that, as much as they love each other, they are almost always ready to jump at each other's throats. I normally like to stay out of the way but when Ginny used me as a human shield, it meant war. If it wasn’t for Hagrid splitting us up, we would probably still be out there. 

“My hands feel like they're going to drop off, feel this.” I place the back of my icy hand against the pale-haired boy’s neck. 

“What... are you crazy?” He flings his hand up to my wrist and pulls it away. “You’re freezing!” Once he is over the initial shock, he balls his fingers around my hands, gently whispering a charm over them. A rush of goosebumps flow up my arms. The temperature from his hands transfers into mine and in a few seconds my entire body is filled with a pleasant warmth. He finishes the last charm and looks up. His gentle grip lingers around my hands for a few seconds before he suddenly drops them and averts his eyes. An awkward cough escapes him “better?” 

I let out a single breathy giggle and lean my head on his shoulder, “Thanks Dray.”

“Not a problem.” Draco hands me a bowl for my cereal and then reaches over the table for an apple, careful not to move the arm I’m resting on. 

“Y/N” a distinct voice calls out to me from a few feet away.

“Uncle Filius?” I look over, confused, at the short man walking towards me (He rarely leaves the teachers table at meal times). Then I notice the cupcake in his hand, a small flame over the icing. The confusion escapes me instantly. Is he seriously doing this? 

“Happy Birthday Kiddo.” He reaches me with an ear to ear grin. 

I try my best to hide my shock and not get too excited, blowing out the candle gently. “Thanks Uncle Filly.” I can’t quite believe he even knew. It's just that I’ve never actually had a good birthday since my father passed. My mother was always “too busy at work” or had “just received a new lead” so she never had time to find me a gift, most years I didn't even receive a card. My friends at school never realised they missed it. I’ve learned to never have any expectations now. To be completely honest, I’d been so caught up in the christmas festivities, I’d forgotten myself. 

“I must rush back but do have a lovely day Y/N!” Professor Flitwick gives me an awkward side hug and continues back towards the teachers table.

I turn my eyes back to my breakfast to notice Hermione sitting opposite me. “I can’t believe you never told us it's your birthday?” Ginny and Harry stand behind her, matching shocked expressions on their faces. 

“We have to celebrate!” Ginny states gleefully.

“I’m sure we could go out for butterbeer?” Harry suggests with enthusiasm.

“I don't know… would you guys really be up for it?” I ask sheepishly.

“Are you kidding me? We’re always up for a celebration!” Ron pops up on the other side of Hermione, chocolate muffin in hand. “The Three Broomsticks has this brilliant crumble pudding this time of the year, it's the perfect birthday treat.”

I let out a soft laugh and agree to their plans, touched by their friendship.

“You're not going to Hogsmeade today, are you?” A soft voice calls out from the table next to us and we all turn to the pretty girl perching next to Neville. “I read there would be a snow storm, quite inconvenient.”

Harry runs his fingers through his dark hair “Please! The sun is blazing and it's a clear sky. Any snow that set last night will even melt by midday.” 

“We’ll leave at midday then.” Ron bounces his hand off the table. “That's if we don’t get snowed in, right Luna?” he leaves the table laughing to himself.

“I’ll send out an owl to Madame Rosmerta to save us a table for eight.” Hermione pulls out some parchment from her robe and begins writing the note. 

“Eight?” I ask, unsure how she can so confidently say so many people would want to come out to celebrate my birthday. 

“The six of us…” she signals to herself and the small group around her, “And you two.” 

To this Draco’s head shoots up, “Me?” his grey eyes flick left to right to make sure he heard correctly. “I…” he stares at the bitten apple in his hands, “I’m not exactly welcome there anymore.”

Hermione lets out a sharp breath, trying her best to not let the memory of Draco’s darker days show on her face. “Okay, well I’ll sort out someplace else. Let’s just meet in the courtyard in 2 and a half hours.” Her eyes cheekily dart towards Harry and Ginny “Don’t be late.”

“We promise.” Harry dramatically places a hand on his chest.

“We’ll be there.” Ginny nudges him playfully. “In exactly 3 hours, right?” she winks at Hermione and pulls Harry away, the both of them chuckling at Hermione’s exasperated sigh.

I wait for Draco in the Slytherin common room, ready for our day out. I have been to Hogsmeade a few times in the last three and a half months but I can’t hold in my excitement for today. This is going to be so much fun. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m really thrilled that it's my birthday. I feel so lucky to finally have people that care to make my day special. It's so foreign to me. I’m basically pacing around the chamber (chewing on mint leaf, after mint leaf) and suddenly I hear a voice coming from the fireplace. 

“Y/N? Are you there?” Hermione pokes her head through the fire. “I can’t believe this is happening, but Luna was right. A snow-storm has literally blocked everything.” 

“I’m suggesting we just apparate but  apparently it’s too dangerous.” A fiery red head pokes next to Hermione’s. 

“Eugh,” she shoves him to the side and continues “It is too dangerous in this weather! And anyway, no one can apparate in or out of Hogwarts. I’m sorry.” She gives me such a genuinely sad smile, I can’t help but feel the need to comfort her.

“It's ok, we can’t control the weather.” I tilt my head like I’m convincing a child. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Harry’s voice shouts from behind her “Ginny is bringing the flu powder from her room and we’ll all be there…” 

“Unfortunately that will not be permissible. All students will have to remain in their own respected dormitories until the storm has passed.” Professor Snape interrupts in a low voice from behind me. 

“But…” 

“No ‘buts’! You must remain in your own dormitory until further notice.” and with that, the head of Slytherin house leaves to inform the rest of the students of the new restrictions.

“This is such a bother.” Hermione frowns deeply, a calculating look on her face, trying to figure out some way she can get around it.

“Don't worry about it . Seriously, it's no bother at all.” I attempt to sound as convincing as I can.

“We’ll make this up to you. I promise.” and with a sweet smile she leaves and human/fire returns to being just a fire.

I sigh, annoyed that I let myself get so carried away. Obviously it wasn’t going to be a good day. It never is for goodness sake. I know this. I decide I’m going to spend a lazy day in bed and get away from the rush that is now forming in the dungeon common room. I mindlessly walk through the corridors and turn a corner only to crash into someone’s chest. I take in a sharp, startled breath and a woody scent accompanies the oxygen through my nose. With a lean arm clasped around my waist and a hand gripping my forearm the man stops me from falling. I look up to meet a familiar cheeky smirk. 

“Careful Y/L/N!” Draco lazily unravels himself from me. “Where are you rushing off to?” 

“My birthday is cancelled. The Universe can’t give me one good day. The weather hates me. So I’m going to lay in my bed and stare into nothing for the rest of the day.” I dramatically hold my arms up into the air and try to continue on my way but Draco takes a side step and obstructs me.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Ok, The weather doesn't have emotions (You know that!)...” He raises his eyebrows and brings his head down to my eye level. “I will be personally having a word with ‘The Universe’ to get its act in check for you later tonight, and as for your Birthday. It is not cancelled. That… is actually kind of impossible. Only your plans have changed.” He fixes his back and shrugs nonchalantly. “You and I could still do something?” 

“What could we possibly do, stuck in this bloody dungeon?” 

“Just follow me.” and with that he carries on down the corridor and turns a few corners into places I have never even thought about going down. “Alohomora.” Draco turns back at me with a side smile as he unlocks the door and walks through it. I follow him into a small chamber, confused as it is nothing special until I notice the window. The top half of the glass reveals a beautiful view of the snow and the bottom half is submerged under the lake. Although not many creatures are coming up to the surface because of the storm, I spot a little horn-backed squid and a group of silvery fish. I look over to Draco, my face beaming in delight. “This is amazing! I can’t believe you’re only just showing me this.”

He scratches at the back of his head and points towards the top of the window. “It’s obviously a much better view in spring and summer, you can see all the way to the moorlands and there are so many different creatures in the water. It’s alright, isn't it?” He does his classic impressed, upside down smile. 

“It's perfect.” I whisper as I climb onto the window sill. I notice Draco open a cupboard on the other side of the room and pull out a small bag, from it he pulls out a chocolate frog and holds it up as an offer. I cock a brow at him. “Are you serious? Who knows how long that's been there.”

“About 2 weeks.” He states flippantly as he comes up to sit next to me. “My father told me about this place, I usually come here to study when I want to be on my own.” He hands me the chocolate frog and pulls out a liquorice wand for himself. Chewing it, he leans his head back against the cold window and turns to me. “So, why is it you never actually told us it’s your Birthday today?” 

“Err, honestly I didn’t really remember myself.” I continue to look out into the lake and quieter I add. “Also, I guess when for the last however many years, the 16th of December is just a day that emphasises how much people don’t actually care about me, it can be easy not to talk about.” I try to give a convincing smile (like it doesn’t bother me) but it doesn't work. 

“I recognize that. Although people around me always give me gifts and letters on my birthday, it's clear it's never for ‘me’. They do it to prove a point to my parents or to make themselves look impressive. It's more a statement about themselves.” He looks down and wipes some dust off the bag. 

“We’re a sad pair, aren’t we?” I let out a deflated laugh and slip a mint leaf out of my pocket into my mouth. 

“We should change that. You can carry on from today, a new, happy, 17 year old woman.” he lifts his liquorice as if he is holding a drink and making a toast.

“Might be a little difficult as I’m only 16.” 

“What? That doesn't make sense at all!” He leans his head away from me, trying to get the whole of my body in his view, as if I had some clear visual way of telling my exact age. 

I giggle at his confusion. “McGonagall put me forward a year at Hogwarts because I had already done the 6th year spectrum at Durmstrang. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.” 

“I didn’t.” An impressed smirk takes over his face. “Graduating a year early? You're not just a pretty face then, are you?” 

I playfully slap his arm, distracting from the blood I felt rushing into my face. “Oh shut up Dray!”

We continue in comfortable conversation for the next few hours. Only sometimes stopping to point out something in the window or picking out another snack from the bag. At one point we fall to the ground laughing because Draco is demonstrating a new quidditch move he’s learning and ended up looking like he was doing some strange animal mating ritual. We don't realise how much time has passed until Professor Snape walks into the room. 

“Dinner is being served in the common room if you wish to eat. I also inform you, should you wish to sneak off into one of the unauthorised rooms again please let someone know, it would save me having to search every room in the Slytherin House.” with a flick of his robes he left the room as quietly as he entered it. 

Draco and I stand in silence for a few seconds and then burst into laughter. “We should go.” I say when we calm down and start exiting the room. 

“Wait…” Draco’s voice pulls me back. “I kind of have a present for you. It’s not anything special because… well… I didn’t have much notice. But, I remembered I had this from years ago.” He goes back to the window sill where he had removed his outer robes and from the pocket he reveals a small pot. 

Taking it from his hand I read the label.

‘Sensuale Pingunt Nigrum’ 

I look up at Draco in disbelief, “What? How?” Shaking my head I push it back into his hands. “I can’t take this.”

“You don't like it.” He mutters the statement, barely audible.

“No… I… It’s beautiful but it’s so rare and expensive, I can't take this from you.”

“Please, it's getting wasted just sitting in my old stuff. I know it's cheeky re-gifting (my Aunt got it for me when I turned 12) but it just reminded me of you.” He holds my hand tight around the pot of paint.

“Draco…” I’m speechless. This paint is so rare, it changes consistency and shade based on how the painter feels. 

“I don’t know. If you don’t like it you can j…”

I cut him off by leaning in and planting a delicate kiss on his cheek, his skin warm against mine. A few strands of his blond hair brush against my eyebrow. “I love it. Thank you Draco.” I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around him, I feel the tension release from his body and his long arms fold around my waist. We stand like this for a few seconds and break away in an awkward giggle. 

“Dinner?” I suggest, pointing my eyes to the door. 

“Yes! Err, after you.” He nods.

I smile as I walk towards the common room holding the paint tight against my chest. This is definitely a day I will remember.

Thankyou so much for the support recently, it has been really suprising! Hope you liked this little snippet. 

Here is a link to my masterlist if you want to read anything else I’ve written. 

[hankwritten]

Long Time Listener, First Time Caller

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for @tokyotrain, Music

1. Reveille

There had never, ever, in the history of time or space, an instrument Demo hated more.

The bugle reverberated through the open window that someone had conspicuously left open, just in case the man in bed wouldn’t have been awakened by its bellows piercing through the glass. Not that that would ever happen. Demo was pretty sure he could’ve heard that damn instrument all the way in Hell, and grasped blindly for the pillow he could smother his own face in. It didn’t help. He shouldn’t be able to taste the cacophony the bugle was making, but there was the sting of copper on his tongue, as though his gums were bleeding in revolt.

“I’m going to kill him,” he muttered into the three layers of feathered pillows.

By the time he stumbled down to breakfast, there were bags under his eye, diluted homicidal intent on his face, and his fluffiest robe around his shoulders.

“And he’s finally up,” Mum said, and sipped her tea. Usually she’d be giving him an earful about his lazy behind tarrying in making her morning cup, but since she was smirking at his disheveled state, Soldier must have brewed it for her.

“Grrnn…” her son replied.

Coffee was the only thing that would make this morning better. Thankfully, there was a pot already brewing; Soldier wasn’t that heartless.

“I see you have acquired your morning cup of Joe!” Soldier said when he finally retired from his routine, sweeping into the kitchen on a wave of wholly unwelcome cheer. Beyond him—since the mansion didn’t have a flagpole, he’d found ways to make do—a rake was shoved into the lawn with a Stars ‘n Stripes bandana tied around it. This he erected every day at dawn. “Excellent! Now that you are refreshed and full of energy, you are capable of participating in post flag ceremony drills!”

Demo skipped the not on your life and went straight to, “I’m going to take that bloody thing and re-twist it until you can hang yourself with it.”

Mum laughed, and Soldier grinned jubilantly, confident in the knowledge that he would always win mornings.

2. Taunt

“Whomp whomp whaaaa,” the stupid bloody trombone played at him.

Half delirious from blood loss, Demo bared his teeth at the smug BLU above him who, as soon as he finished taunting, promptly executed his unwilling audience with a shotgun blast to the head.

This was the fifth time this had happened today, and Demo was pissed. Where was Soldier even keeping that thing? Every bloody time there was no sign of the instrument whatsoever, then as soon as victory was assured he reached into hammer space and pulled out five feet of tubing! It was ridiculous to drive a man crazy under the best of circumstances—but having it be your partner was something that garnered a certain degree of necessary revenge.

Demo had had enough. It was about time he did some stooping to Soldier’s level.

The next day, Demo managed to shove Soldier off Upward’s scaffolding with a well-timed shield bash. He couldn’t have hoped for a better opportunity, perfectly executed so Soldier hadn’t even gotten a kill on him that day, which might have ruined the ‘surprise’. He stood, one foot on the Soldier-shaped hole in the wood, and leaned on his knee.

“Nice of you to drop in!” he called.

“Eugh,” Soldier grumbled, impaled haphazardly on various bits of wood.

“As long as we’re both taking a breather, mind if get a bit of piping practice in?”

Not waiting for a reply, Demo pulled out the bagpipes that had been eagerly awaiting their time in the sun. Sitting as they had been for the past five years in the attic, derelict ever since he’d purchased them on a lark, he didn’t blame them. When he flexed the bag, dust came out the mouthpiece.

“Oh no,” Soldier said.

“Oh yes!” Demo disagreed, and began to play.

Soldier was in a very unfortunate situation, arm broken the exact wrong way to keep him from covering his own ears. Thus he was forced to listen as Demo played out a belching and eardrum-bleeding anti-tune, rippling the open air above the drop off with painful ineptitude.

“Never played a day in me life,” Demo said cheerfully as he ceased blowing into the bellows.

“And you should never do so again!” Soldier accused. “The only positive thing I can say about your first attempt is that thank God it is over!”

“Over?” Demo smirked. “Nah, there’s another four movements to get through.”

Soldier’s head flopped back in defeat, helmet rolling off into the abyss and eyes pointing at the sky. “Jesus and Thomas Edison, please give me strength.”

This was not heard over the resuming of what only the foolish and the damned would refer to as ‘music’.

3. Radio

“Do not touch that dial, maggot!”

“I’m shotgun, I get radio privileges.”

“Guh,” Soldier complained as Demo flipped until the NMDX began to flow from the box, polluting the airwaves with its electronic beats. “What even is this hippie garbage?”

“It’s disco, laddie!”

Demo was already grooving in his seat, dead set on enjoying the new wave in direct defiance of his partner’s annoyed twitch. Or, perhaps, maybe because of it.

Soldier grumbled. “Doesn’t make any damn sense! What’s a duck doing at a disco in the first place?”

“He wasn’t a duck when he went there,” Demo scoffed. “It’s like you’re not even listening to the song.”

“I’m trying not too.”

“Fine then! What do you like to listen to in the car?”

Soldier hummed quietly for a second, the fading carols of Rick Dees and His Cast of Idiots catching on the notes and escaping into the hum of the highway. After a moment of contemplation, Soldier peeled his eyes from the road and began to rummage about in the center console. This caused him to swerve wildly along the highway, other cars blaring their horns as the blue Camaro glided over the dotted line. Demo watched these events with mild interest.

“Aha!” Soldier exclaimed, emerging with an 8track clasped triumphantly in one hand. “This’ll get us to Springerville without all that play-it-backwards-to-alter-your-brainwaves nonsense!”

He slid the track into the Camaro’s player.

“…Welcome to the audio edition of the Farmer’s Almanac, for the year of our lord, 1972.”

“Oh god…”

“Hah!” Soldier brightened. “Now this is what I am talking about!”

It was going to be a long four hours.

4. Folk

Demo didn’t mind Soldier’s record, to be honest.

It seemed to be about something at least, more than he was used to the things Soldier liked being ‘about’ anything that wasn’t unquestioning patriotism. Sometime he wondered why, of all the folk records in the world, Soldier had decided to settle on Dust Bowl Ballads as his fixation in the realms of music. Americana of all kinds of blended together in Demo’s opinion, but despite the repetitive twang of the banjo and the stifling trite melody, even he could tell there was a story of deep melancholy to be found between the harmless little tunes.

So it wasn’t the fact that Soldier had a record. It was the fact that Soldier had a record, singular.

The idea that a person might purchase multiple albums over the course of their life and play them at different times when the mood struck them never seemed to have been explained to the Soldier. His concept to the record player was this: play the first side. When it was finished, flip it over and play the second side.

Repeat.

For hours.

No matter how sweet Woody Guthrie’s crooning was, having it repeated over and over again day in and day out could give anyone’s otherwise delightful performance all the dulcet notes of prison moonshine. It didn’t bother Soldier one bit it seemed—he would hum to himself merrily as he sat on the chaise, perfectly content to dissemble his shotgun on the coffee table while the same fifteen songs played.

“Y’know love,” Demo tried. “The reason records don’t come glued on to their players is because you can put other ones on. Look.”

He delicately switched out Ballads for something from his own collection, setting the needle so it could fall where it willed.

Soldier eyed the player dubiously as an entirely different style began to fall from the trumpet’s maw, grease rag in hand.

“I don’t get it,” he said as the first refrain came to a close. “You can’t understand a word she’s saying. What’s the point if you don’t know what’s going on?”

“You can’t understand it because it’s in Gaelic, lad.”

Soldier furrowed his brow. “Are you being vulgar at me right now, maggot?”

“Ach, no! I…” Demo sighed. Sometimes why he wondered why he even bothered. “Gaelic’s the language. It’s rare that anyone’ll make records in traditional tongues, but I had a few and I just thought…ah never mind.”

Gently he slid the record back into its sleeve and put Ballads back on.

“…Okay,” was all Soldier said, still frowning as Demo exited the room.

Demo wasn’t so callous to admit he hated the damn thing aloud, not when he could tell it made Soldier honestly, genuinely happy. They’d rib each other for their interests all the time, but not for something this important, and he resigned himself to having Woody as an unwanted houseguest for the rest of time.

That was, until a dreadful cold found him alone in the living room and unwilling to move.

The sickness (and Mum) had demanded he get plenty of bed rest, but he was just so bloody tired of spending all his time between the same four walls and occasionally the bathroom. He’d thought, well, there’s no harm in a quick trip downstairs, only to discover that once he’d gone horizontal on the couch, he lost all motivation to go back up those stairs.

That was how Soldier found him, cocooned in every blanket in the living room, blinking up pitifully as sniffled at his partner. To his credit, Soldier didn’t chastise him for sneaking out of bed; he simply sighed, moved the tissues box closer, and got Demo a cup of tea.

This was all unsurprising, if sweet. What was surprising was—as Demo lay with his back to the majority of the room—the sound of a record sliding into the player. A moment later the room was reendowed with Fear a Bhàta, the song flowing over his senses as he huddled for warmth under his blanket pile. He lifted his head to look at Soldier, who merely shrugged. That was all. Then he sat down on a chair near his Demoman and opened up an issue of Guns & Haircuts.

After that, sometimes Demo would come home to find a piece from his library playing, wafting through the mansion’s halls with no objection from its audience. If Jane had truly changed his mind, or was just doing it for Demo’s benefit, Demo couldn’t tell, but he appreciated the gesture all the same.

5. Piano

“Nothing?” Demo asked as his hands stilled across the keys, the last notes echoing in the music room to the resounding absence of symphony. The only thing left to fill it was the painfully normal sounds of two people simply being alive. “Not a single word of complaint?”

Soldier grinned, and shrugged. “Maybe we found something we can agree on.”

“And that something so happens to involve me doing all the work.” But despite that he grinned, taking Soldier’s hand and rubbing a thumb across the bones along its back, a private concert undergone and concluded. “You should help out. Grab a microphone, lay sultrily across my piano. That’d jazz up the performance.”

“Sounds like a good way to break a piano.”

“Excuses excuses.”

Soldier leaned down, capturing Demo’s mouth in a kiss, knees pressed against the back of the bench, hand still in Demo’s. When he they parted, Demo thought of how he always tasted like gunpowder, no matter how long it’d been.

Soldier smiled against Demo’s lips. “Play us another?”

“So demanding,” Demo smiled, and put fingers back to ivory.

[banashee]

  CW: - swearing - exhaustion - longing / loneliness

Late night and early morning

 In all honesty, it could have been much, much worse. At least, this is what Jon keeps telling himself as he is wide awake in a hotel bed and doesn't even react when a heavy arm is swung over his shoulder, almost hitting him in the face.

 He sighs, not for the first time that night. Jon simply moves the hand out of his face and closer to his shoulder in slight irritation, knowing it won’t stay there for long.

 Predictably, the only answer he gets is a long snore, about as gentle as a chainsaw.

 Eyes heavy, Jon tries to make himself more comfortable. But once again, this proves itself to be a lot harder now that Tim, fast asleep and dead to the world, seems to have chosen him as his own personal pillow. Or teddy bear - it’s a bit of an even tie so far.

 Truth be told, this is not at all what Jon had expected from this work trip.

    A few hours earlier     -

     It isn’t that big a deal, really. Jon and Tim have been sent to a small village up north, in order to investigate an old, abandoned farm building. Strange things are supposed to happen, and well, given the nature of their job, it is on them to take a close and personal look at it.

 Truth be told, the two of them are happy to get out of the city for a bit, especially since it’s on the institute’s dime. They just have to be there, wander the old abandoned farm and then make themselves a few nice and comfortable evenings. There is a small pub, right next to their hotel, and a lake that is nice to sit nearby.

 All in all, it is a rather nice and idyllic place.

 “This is great, I almost feel like we’re on a holiday. Well, minus this part here, maybe.” Tim gestures around and in the general direction of a very old, ragged scarecrow to prove his point. It really is an ugly thing.

 “The village, certainly. Him over there? Not so much.” Jon nods over to the scarecrow, and for a moment, it feels like it might be staring back. He shakes his head - what a silly thought. He continues,

 “I have a feeling we’re wasting our time here. I cannot see anything out of the norm, this place is just… Old. And abandoned. “

 “Well, it adds to the…      Spooky     factor.” Tim grins at the disgusted look on his friend's face as soon as the word leaves his mouth - he knows that “spooky” gives Jon the hives, and admittedly, he’s having way too much fun with it.

 “Eugh. I wouldn’t put it like that, but… Yes. Yes, I think it does.”

 “It’s a psychological thing… But then again, people did disappear here. I’m just not sure if it really is something paranormal or simply, well, crime.” Tim shrugs, and bends forward to take a closer look at some dusty artefacts in a lopsided shelf on the wall. It’s mostly fertilizer, watering cans and all sorts of small tools - nothing that would look suspicious on a farm at all.

 “And as far as we know, Police never found any signs here that would indicate crimes. Still… I’m really not sure about this… Hmm...” with a thoughtful noise, Jon peaks around the corner of a dusty, cob-web covered tractor. Careful not to touch anything, he searches the corner with a torch and almost jumps to the ceiling when the light cone lands on a fairly large spider in her net, surrounded by several egg sacks in the corner. Jon could swear the bloody thing is staring right back at him with way too many hungry eyes.

 “Jesus! Fuck no…”

 “Everything okay?” Tim asks from behind him, and Jon can hear him stepping closer as his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He      hates hates hates    spiders with a passion, and for good reason… But he isn’t willing to discuss this right here.

 “I- yes, I’m fine… I just got startled, is all. Huge spider.” Jon shudders in disgust, and is ridiculously proud that he doesn’t jump at the touch from hand on his back. Mostly because he knows who is coming up behind him.

 “...That’s one big Nope in a web.” Tim agrees, peering over the smaller man’s shoulder and then makes a face.

 “At least there is nothing else to look at there… No hidden doors or anything strange as far as I can tell.”

 “No, it doesn't look like it. Come on, let’s call it a day. We still need to check in to the hotel.”

 “...Right.” quietly thankful for the excuse to leave,  Jon easily falls into step with Tim. They only arrived a few hours earlier, but they knew that once they checked in, they wouldn’t want to leave anytime soon. So, they make their way to the hotel right after the first, very rough investigation.

 It’s a small village and the hotel is easily found. It’s an old, but well taken care of building. Clearly, it is a very central place and looks pleasant enough from the outside. It is definitely a lot nicer than anything either of the researchers would have booked for themselves. But since the institute is paying… Well, they intend to enjoy the stay while it lasts.

 From behind the service desk, Jon and Tim are greeted by a clerk who is of friendly and helpful nature. This is probably why it takes the two men a second to catch on when he reads back the booking information to them for confirmation.

 “So, that is one double for three night’s then, gentlemen. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

 “No thank you, this is fine - wait, a double? Not a twin?”

 The smile on the clerk's face seems to freeze into place, and he begins typing, slightly more panicked than before.

 “I am so sorry, there must have been a mistake in the booking.” Apologetically, he looks up and back and forth between Tim and Jon.

 “...Usually, I’d offer to rebook but as it is, we’re full for the next two weeks. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, gentlemen.”

 Jon glances over at Tim.

 The two of them have been working together for a while now, and it is safe to say that they’re friends. There might even be something like a mutual crush, but… It’s not like either of them is talking about that part. Instead, they share another quick glance and come to an agreement.

 “That’s alright, we’ll take the double. Please, there is no need to worry.”

 Clearly still embarrassed, the man behind the counter sends them on their way with not only the keys to the room, but also a generous handful of vouchers for the in-house restaurant.

 The evening itself is quiet and comfortable, spent with good food, conversations and friendly banter. It’s easy to forget about the job, now that they’re done for the day. And thankfully, it seems to be a bit of a bust - as frustrating as it is to find that, they still have three nights booked here and they’ll be covered back at the institute for the time being.

 In all honesty, both Tim and Jon could think of plenty that would be worse than being stuck in a nice little village with a friend.

 As the evening is getting late, the two of them make their way up to the small but comfortable room.

 And this is how the two of them end up in the double bed.

     At first, they’re back to back, with a tiny bit of casual distance between them. It’s their careful attempt to not remind themselves of feelings that may or may not be mutual. But that lasts for about five minutes, which is about as long as it takes Tim to fall asleep that night. As soon as he is out, Jon is informed of that fact when the first wave of snores shakes the bed. Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

 “Psst. Hey. Tim. You’re snoring.” he presses out between clenched teeth, but it’s useless. Jon sighs, but he doesn’t try again. For one, he doesn’t want to make a fuss, and he also doesn't really want to wake Tim up.

 Lord knows, he is aware that sleep doesn’t always come easily to him. It doesn’t come easily to Jon himself, either, and that’s not even taking into account someone who clears an entire forest in their sleep right next to his ear.

 And this is when the shifting back and forth begins.

 Arms are flailing, elbows collide with ribs and shins are kicked - Jon does his best to rearrange himself in order to be somewhat comfortable, but it never lasts long.

 That is, until Tim turns over onto his other side and slides his arms around Jon. He shifts a bit, until they’re pressed flush against each other and Jon can feel the warm, even breath on his neck. At least, Tim’s snoring is now way more quiet - more like a soothing white noise instead of the offensive chainsaw.

 Even though it is dark and no one else is awake to see it, Jon can feel the deep flush creeping up his cheeks. But apart from that, he is… Comfortable - happy even.

 His heart is beating faster now, almost hammering out of his chest. It feels like it must be deafening, and Jon is almost surprised that the sound of it doesn’t fill the entire room.

 He didn’t expect any of this, but there is no denying that it feels good to be held, to be close to someone he cares a lot about. But Jon doesn’t know how to address any of this in the future. He is well aware of his ever growing feelings for Tim, but this… This is much more.

 Jon feels warm, happy and comfortable. Laying here like this, surrounded by warmth and with the breathing, sturdy body of his friend pressed against him, the idea of actually talking to Tim about this doesn’t seem too bad anymore.

 Almost without noticing, one of his hands finds its way to Tim’s forearm slung over his chest. Skin brushes against skin, and it feels just right.

 “You couldn't have come up with that position like an hour ago, could you?” Jon asks sleepily, but he smiles. Unsurprisingly, all he gets in response is another quiet snore as Tim tightens his hold around him. It only makes Jon smile wider, but he already drifts off into sleep and doesn’t answer. .

     Sooner rather than later, the next morning comes. The first rays of sunlight creep in through the half closed blinds, tinting the room into a soft glow.

 Tim is the first to wake up, and he is pleasantly surprised when he realizes that there is a weight on his chest and hair tickling his chin. It’s been a long time since he woke up with someone else, and truth be told, he’s really missed that feeling.

 He is especially happy since it is Jon of all people who is currently fast asleep half on top of him. There is something between the two of them, and has been for a while actually. A feeling that seems to grow every day, and yet, neither of them has initiated a conversation about it as of now.

 Tim glances over at the clock on the bedside table - it’s still early, so he closes his eyes again and lets himself drift back off into sleep.

 The next time he wakes up, the sun is completely up in the sky and the clock informs him that they were asleep for longer than they probably should have been.

 Despite all that, Tim doesn’t make a move to wake Jon up, too happy and content to be close to him. Instead, his hands start combing through his hair absentmindedly until eventually, Jon stirs awake. He blinks a few times, clearly taking in the situation, but he doesn’t move away.

 That fact alone makes Tim happier than it probably should.

 “Good morning.” he says, carefully casual while he continues to gently untangle a knot in the other man’s hair.

 “....Just five more minutes…” comes the sleepy response, muffled into his chest.

 “Five more minutes.” Tim agrees, and leans in closer. He’s perfectly fine with that - it’s not like this is a hardship. Not at all.

 But as it is, the idyllic morning can’t last forever. The next time Tim looks at the clock, he realizes that now they really are late - it’s not like anyone would care or find out, but the responsible adult part of him already feels slightly guilty.

 “Jon, wake up. We’re late.” he regretfully informs him, and Jon shifts a bit while opening one eye. He looks like a sleepy cat, and Tim finds that endearing as hell.

 “I suppose we are… But it’s not like anything would wait for us out there.” And grumpy, too. That’s good to know, he figures.

 “Oh wow, I’m sure Creepy Frank over at the farm would be disappointed to hear that.” Tim quips at him, the smile clear in his voice.

 After a beat of silence, Jon lifts his head off of his chest and squints at him through messy strands of his hair.

 “You named the…? You know what, nevermind.” he flops down again and decides to not-care. He’s too tired to deal with this.

 “Well, we’ll spend some time at that farm, we might as well give our ugly friend a name.”

 That actually gets him a laugh.

 “How very charming of you. What time is it?”, he asks then.

 “Half nine.”

 “Half - okay yes we really should get going….” Regretfully, Jon peels himself off of Tim and feels across the nightstand with one hand, searching for his glasses without actually sitting up. Even though they haven’t even left the bed yet, he already feels colder.

     Their day is largely uneventful. Mainly, the two of them keep investigating and walking around the old farm, talking and bantering like they always do. Occasionally, they throw a quip towards Creepy Frank, just for the fun of it, but they still can’t find any evidence of anything that would be relevant to them and their jobs.

 They discuss this while sitting by the lake, comfortably in the shade of a large tree while they’re having a late lunch.

 It’s idyllic and comfortable, and under different circumstances, “romantic” would be a word that could come to mind.

 But as it is, neither of them mentions the last night or the way they woke up. It still doesn’t stop them from sitting closer together than usual, close enough even, so that their legs bump together.

 Maybe, one day, they can come back here together - it's a daydream well worth entertaining.

 When the darkened night sky stretches out over the village, Jon and Tim climb into bed next to each other. But unlike the night before, they don’t even try to keep a distance. In quiet agreement, they shuffle close to one another and rearrange themselves until they’re both in a comfortable embrace. They fall asleep fast that night, listening to each other's heartbeat and breathing until sleep pulls them under.

 By the time morning comes, both Tim and Jon are once again happy, warm and comfortable as they wake up wrapped around each other. Sleepily, they enjoy the gentle physical contact for as long as it lasts.

 They are well rested - better so than either of them has been in a long time.

     Their remaining days in the village are pretty much the same. There is nothing noticeable going on in the old farm and Creepy Frank is unsettling as always.

 Around lunch time on the last day, they have once again made themselves comfortable by the lake. They write their reports there, because there is no point in going back to the farm or the hotel now - they’ll leave later that evening, their luggage already stashed away in lockers at the train station. They’ll miss this place - despite it being technically a work trip, It has been a nice change from their busy everyday life in London. Not to mention the other, more private parts of it all.

 Neither of them has made a move to talk about The Thing between them yet, and maybe that won’t happen until they’re back home - who knows. Just a few times, Tim opens his mouth as if he isn’t sure what to say, but then he always comes around with some sort of joke or teasing.

 Jon picks up on it, but he isn’t great at talking, either. He wants to - but as it is, he remains silent and chews on his words without getting any of them out.

 At first glance, it looks like nothing has really changed, but when Tim and Jon walk to the train station in the early evening, they hold hands the entire way. Once they have found their seats, they continue to do so, but still, neither of them mentions anything. For now, it is perfectly alright. Neither of them wants to have this potentially awkward conversation in public.

 They keep up their conversation and occasionally squeeze the other’s hand in silent acknowledgement.

     The everyday life in London and the Magnus Institute gets them back into its claws almost as soon as they return to work. There isn’t a lot of opportunity to start a serious personal conversation, and so they fall back into their old routine. They work on opposite desks, they share lunch breaks and walk to the library together, and things should be as they always are.

 They are not.

 Jon notices it in himself first. In the short time he’d been away with Tim, those three nights sharing a bed with him had been the best sleep he’d gotten in months, if not years. It had been only three nights - but Jon misses him already.

 When before, he’d been faintly aware of, and mostly ignoring his feelings for Tim, now he lays awake at night because he feels cold and lonely without him.

 Jon stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, eyes itching from tiredness. He’d give anything to fall asleep right now, but he knows it is useless.

 Sleep has always been a difficult topic for him, as insomnia, nightmares and circling thoughts about everything and anything tend to keep him awake on a regular basis. But those three days… Those three days had been special, and Jon isn’t sure he can ever get back from the way that makes him feel.

 One night, about a week after returning back home, he is staring at his ceiling again, half-tempted to text Tim, who always looks tired and worn out when he sees him at work. But Jon doesn’t want to take any chances - what if he does manage a bit of sleep and then gets woken up from a text in the middle of the night?

 His thumb hovers over the send button in their ongoing text conversation.

     Hi,  

     Are you awake?  

 It’s short, but Jon knows it will tell Tim an awful lot. He sighs, unsure what to do. But then, he accidentally moves wrong, and he hits SEND without meaning to. He shoots up into a sitting position in his bed, cursing out loud as he stares at the screen. After the first shock, he calms down. it’s not like he didn’t want to send the text, it’s just that he isn't’t mentally prepared for it. Not really.

 Before he can go down another rabbit hole of thoughts, his mobile phone vibrates in his hand, and a text from Tim appears on his screen.

     Hi, I sure fucking am. Can’t sleep. You?  

     Can’t sleep either. Not since. Well.  

 Jon doesn’t even think as he types his reply, and he sends it off before he can stop himself. He is half tempted to ask if Tim wants company, although he doesn’t know how to phrase that over text. Not with all the feelings they haven’t yet talked about.

 He is saved from agonizing over it when Tim himself asks him the very same question.

     Do you want company?  

 It would be an understatement to say that Jon is relieved.

     Yes, please. I’d like that  

     Tell you what? I’m already on my way. I fucking hate sleeping on my own.  

 That last text makes Jon’s heart beat a little bit faster once again, but he is more relieved than anything. And to his great surprise, it doesn’t take as long as he’d thought it would until his doorbell rings.

 He scrambles out of bed and into the hallway to open the door. It doesn’t occur to him just how frazzled he must look. Deep purple bags under his eyes, hair standing up in every direction as it has escaped from his braid and clothes that are way too big on him and hang off of him like potato sacks.

 He is tired - so, so tired.

 Only a short while later, Tim shuffles out of the lift, and he looks just as exhausted as Jon feels. He must have rolled straight out of bed, put on shoes and a jacket and that’s it.

 Instead of making one of his usual quips, Tim simply slumps into Jon as he hugs him, his head resting on top of the smaller man’s.

 “Hey.” He hugs back and remains standing in the doorway - he is pretty sure they’re both going to fall over if he tries to move now.

 “Hmmm… Much better.” Tim squeezes him a bit tighter, like he always does when he is showing affection. it’s very much him, and Jon finds he is long used to it by now. Even more so, he needs it. It makes him feel warm and reassured.

 “Wanna come in? It’s much more comfortable than the hallway.” he tries to reason, and yawns. All he wants is to get back to bed, preferably with the warm presence that is Tim.

 Quietly, he nods and let’s go of Jon, but very reluctantly so.

 The two of them shuffle back into the dark bedroom, where the covers are kicked aside in a messy tangle. Clear evidence that Jon himself has trouble sleeping as well, even though it is obvious by now.

 Almost wordlessly, the two of them climb in, much like they did the other week in the shared hotel room, and simply hold each other close.

 “Thank you.”

 The words are so quiet, Jon almost misses them. But he doesn’t, and he knows exactly what they mean. As bad as he is with communication and interpersonal relationships sometimes, he understands. He understands and he feels the same.

 “Of course. I missed you, too.” he answers, just as quietly, and without thinking, presses a quick kiss on top of the bright purple mop of hair resting on his chest. It’s ironic, really, how their positions are now in reverse to what they were back on the work trip, but they don’t mind either way. All that counts is that they are close now.

 They don’t talk any more than that, because they are both way too exhausted to hold a conversation.

 As they drift off into sleep, they remain wrapped around each other, soaking up each other's warmth and company like a sponge. Being together feels just right.

 Tim and Jon have been friends for a while, and neither of them could tell when the romantic feelings had first started to show themselves. But they know that they care deeply, and most of all, need each other.

 Falling asleep together is bliss, and it makes them feel safe and loved. It really shouldn’t have been surprising that the two of them had so much trouble after getting a small taste of what could be.

 Jon and Tim hold each other close as they finally fall asleep. Fingers brush softly over beard stubble, hair and exposed bits of skin while their lips quietly find each other in the dark. And really, for now that is worth much more than words.

        “I can’t sleep without you anymore.” They don’t say that night, but they do so the next morning when they wake up, almost in the same embrace as they have fallen asleep in.

 They face each other, and their words are sealed with another kiss. It feels different, in the light of the morning, but it feels just as right as searching for one another at night, exhausted but safe together in the dark.

 “I love you.”, the two of them blurt out pretty much simultaneously soon after, and really, what else is there to say?

 Both Jon and Tim are happy, after all. And so they make their way into the kitchen for breakfast, hand in hand and with a warm, quiet and content feeling spreading throughout them.  

[avengingnomad]

Day 29- Fake Cobwebs

Steve slumped up the steps to the house, eyes half-closed, relying on muscle memory to get him through the door. He and Bucky were tracking down a lead about some arms deal. Not much came from it this time. It happens. But they decided to extend their stay, just in case. But it was fruitless. Bucky was sent off to another area, while he was given orders to go home. At this point, Steve had been awake for...thirty...two hours? He lost count. But he was home now at the Tower. Home with Natasha. She was probably asleep. Or wide awake. He couldn’t tell what time it was. Early morning? Late evening? He shook his head and put it out of his head. He just knew he needed a bed. Or a couch. Hell, he’d even settle for the floor.

He opened the door, and tossed his keys onto a table. Eyes closed, he walked to the doorway of the dark living room—

A stringy mass melded with his face! “Eugh, eugh eugh!” Cobwebs! He clawed at his face. He HATED spider webs. He scratched at his skin, trying to get it off. He shook and fidgeted. “Get off, get off, get off!” His face scrunched up in disgust. He shook and swiped at his clothes—

“Steve. Steve!” A voice approached. Hands grabbed his arms. Natasha. “Honey, hey. I got it.” And she picked off the layer of cotton batting hanging on his clothes. When Natasha pulled off the last of the strings, Steve opened his eyes. A dim light was shining from a lamp. Natasha must’ve turned on a light. Steve looked down at his stealth suit. No cobwebs. They were in a swirling mass pooling at his feet.

He looked up at Natasha, who was looking at him with concern, with a little hint of amusement. In a grumbling voice he said, “I hate spider webs” while looking down at his feet.

Natasha suppressed a smile. “I know, Solider. Sorry, I thought they were high enough in the air they wouldn’t get you” she teased lightly. “But I guess Tony was judging the height from his perception.” She craned her neck upwards towards Steve, who towered over her by at least nine inches. She wrapped her arm around his middle and cuddled close, breathing him in. “I’m glad you’re home. It hasn’t been the same without you here.”

Steve snaked his arm around her waist, and breathed her in. “I’m glad to be back, too. I missed you.”

They stayed quiet for a while, just enjoying each other’s warmth. Steve peeled himself away from Natasha a few inches, to look at her face. He smiled at her.

“What are you thinking, Steve?”

“I was just thinking I can’t wait for the day I get to call you my wife.” Steve took hold of one of her hands, and placed her other hand on his shoulder. He swayed slightly, side to side, humming. “Nineteen more days, Ms. Romanoff.”

Natasha beamed at him. “I love you, Steve. And I can’t wait to be married to you.” She glanced at the cobwebs on the floor, “Even if I’m going to have to become the official spider-trapper of the household.”

“There’s no ‘if’ about it, ma’am. Once I slip that ring on your finger, every time I see a spider, you’ll be getting the call.” Steve kissed the top of her head and held her close.

“Only if you’re the official mouse-trapper.” Natasha bargained.

“Deal.”

[lwjstiletto]

wangxian au where lwj is a popular hand model and wwx is an independent jewellery maker [Part 3]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

wwx shuts himself in his workshop for a month straight, with lwj being his only visitor. everything he makes looks beautiful on lwj but it’s somehow not enough, not quite /deserving/ of lwj yet.

when he tells lwj this, he only gets a slight downturn of his lips in return.

“you have fine craftsmanship.” lwj says, turning his hand so that the lights bounce off the crystal encrusted hand chain. “i have never seen anything like it before.”

wwx watches him in stunned silence. lwj tends to drop these really sincere, heartfelt compliments that both embarass him and motivate him to show lwj he can do even better. another reason for his stunned silence is how ethereal lwj looks in jewellery

wwx wants to cover him in it. a nice jade pendant that hangs just above his bellybutton; a hairpiece that weaves flowers between the silky black strands of his hair; a thick banded crystal choker that sits around his throat just so; an anklet with teardrop pearls perhaps

but for now, he has to work up to making the hand jewellery suitable. the rest can wait

—•—

the next time lwj visits, he looks like he’s one blink away from sleeping where he stands.

“lan zhan,” wwx says, because they have somehow progressed to calling each other by their infromal names, “are you okay?”

“mn.” lwj says, then almost collapses mid-blink. in true rom-com fashion, wwx catches him with one hand around his waist and the other on his arm. he would tease lwj about it but this isn’t the time.

“i’m sorry.” lwj tries to straighten up.

“come on, you need to sleep.” wwx says, using his hold on lwj’s waist to guide him towards his bedroom.

“no sleep.” lwj says, planting his feet into the ground much like jin ling does when he wants to be stubborn.

“lan zhan,” wwx cajoles with his practiced baby voice, “come on. you’re tired. just nap for one hour.”

lwj glares at him, “sleep later, work now.”

wwx bends down and puts a hand under lwj’s knees, scooping him up before he can react.

lwj’s sleepy eyes widen, “wei ying!”

“if you’re gonna act like a child,” wwx says walking towards the bedroom, “then expect me to treat you like one.”

internally, wwx is panicking. he is definitely crossing some boundaries here. however, wwx considers lwj a friend and his friend looks like he hasn’t slept for a week. sometimes extreme measures are necessary, jc has taught him that.

lwj twitches in his arms when he reaches his bedroom door.

“you can put me down now.” he says, his voice weak.

wwx ignores him and kicks his door open, gently placing lwj on the bed once he reaches it.

“go to sleep.” he says, pulling the duvet over him, “if you dare come out before the hour is up, i can and will carry you back.”

lwj looks like he wants to protest but he seems to lose the fight with exhaustion and drifts off the sleep before wwx’s eyes. wwx quickly exits the bedroom and closes the door behind himself. lwj. is. in. his. bed. sleeping... he’s sleeping. because he’s tired. and wwx’s friend.

“jiang cheng, lan zhan is in my bed.” he says into his phone once he has shut himself in his workshop.

“xichen’s brother? why? did you kidnap him? tell me you didn’t wei wuxian. xichen will kill you.” jc says.

“ok first of all, he’s here for work.” wwx realises that between working and sleeping he has forgotten to inform anyone about this. “and he was tired. he looked so sleepy and cute, what could i do?”

“you... was he at least... coherent? it was consensual right?” jc asks

“what?!” wwx screeches, standing up in indignation. “jiang cheng oh my god. we- he’s TAKING A NAP!”

“oh thank god.” jc sighs, “wait how do you know lan wangji?”

“ah,” wwx scratches his nose, “long story short, remember that pretty guy from uni? yeah lan zhan and him, same guy.”

“you-“ jc sighs deeply, “i’ve been hearing you wax poetic about lan wangji’s hands?! how will i ever look xichen in the eyes after knowing that you probably- eugh i hate you.”

“ok first of all, it’s not a fetish-“

jc hangs up on him.

this leaves wwx with too much free time to think and that’s never a good thing. so he starts looking around for something to do. this is how his eyes fall on lwj’s gloves lying on the table beside the door. lwj has developed a habit of discarding them as soon as he comes in

and like a magnet, wwx feels drawn to them. it must be annoying for lwj to wear them all the time, but he never complains. wwx, however, has no such qualms and detests them with vigor

today, it’s the white leather gloves. wwx picks one up and examines it. it’s soft to the touch, worn out to smoothness. an idea strikes him and he tosses the glove back as he reaches for his sketchbook. he thinks he has finally got it.

—•—

when lwj wakes, there is light coming through the curtains. he doesn’t remember the last time he had such a comfortable, dreamless sleep. an unfamiliar but pleasant scent surrounds him, safe, warm.

lwj bolts up in bed, remembering exactly where he is. he looks at his phone. it’s six, ok that’s fine. wait... 6AM. lwj throws the covers off and looks around, then back at his phone as if that’s going to change something.

he spent the night at wwx’s place. speaking of, where did wwx sleep then? he ventures outside and sees nobody in the living area. sure enough, wwx is passed out in his workshop, cheek flat on his workbench.

lwj sighs.

“wei ying.” he prods his shoulder gently, “wake up.”

wwx groans and shakes him off, “go away.”

after a few more pokes lwj rules it a lost cause and decides to make tea for himself and coffee for wwx. thankfully, he doesn’t have work until 3pm so he has plenty of time to waste puttering around wwx’s sparce kitchen.

after finding only hot sauce in the top cupboards (one labelled ‘burning hot’ with flames on the cover which makes him cringe away) he finally finds coffee. no tea. it’ll have to do, he thinks.

the smell of coffee near his nose does a better job at waking wwx up. he reaches blindly for the cup before he even blinks his eyes open. ridiculous.

lwj, in the most dignified way possible, sits on the purple beanbag and waits as wwx’s brain reboots with every sip of coffee.

“lan zhan?” wwx asks.

“i have the same question.” lwj says, “why am i still here?”

“too philosophical for this early in the morning. what time even is it?” wwx looks at the wall clock and groans, “why are you awake?”

lwj gives him a blank look, “i was promised a nap.”

“yeah, yeah.” wwx brushes him off, “i’m happy you slept well, you look much better than before.”

lwj feels his ears burn and his heart rate quicken.

wwx has an ease to his words and actions that makes lwj agreeable to existing in his space without wanting to revert back to professionalism. he fears that one day he’ll become so comfortable that he wouldn’t want to leave

“come here.” wwx beacons.

once lwj is bent over his shoulder, he shows him the rough sketches he has been working on all night apparently.

“are those..”

“inspired by the bane of my existence, none other than your gloves!” wwx says proudly.

“why do you hate the gloves?” lwj asks, curious.

wwx gives him a complicated look, “because they’re fabric. how old and boring. wouldn’t you rather be tangled in crystal chains that you can’t wear or remove without help?”

lwj lets him dodge the question, then gives the designs a closer look. “they’re very interesting.”

“it’s just a rough sketch.” wwx refuses to look at him, “i’ll refine the details and start working on it by tomorrow.”

“mn.” lwj says.

—•—

“da-ge tried to beat up su she again.” nhs informs him when he gets to his office a few hours later.

“again?” lwj asks.

“he bumped into him at the lobby. again.” nhs sighs.

“i will speak to him.” lwj says.

“what? no these stalkers just get worse-“

“i meant nie mingjue.” lwj clarifies.

“it should be fine. i’ve banned him from office premises now and i’m working on filing a restraining order against him.” nhs says, “i tried to explain this to da-ge but you know his temper. actually maybe you should talk to him. he might listen to you.”

lwj nods, “i will call him after my shoot.”

—•—

nhs must have mentioned it to nmj because he’s there to pick lwj up after his shoot. it’s late, almost past eleven, and the parking lot is half empty.

lwj gets a text from wwx just before he gets in the car.

wei ying: garnet or emerald?

lwj replies: i’m no expert at this

wei ying: lan zhannnn humour me

lwj: ruby

wei ying: i will fossilise you in one. lan zhannnn be serious

“you look much more at ease.” nmj comments.

lwj realises that he is.

“you don’t need to bother with su she anymore. huaisang has it under control.” lwj says.

nmj gives him a skeptical look.

“i trust him.” lwj emphasises.

“i was told you had previous acquaintance with that man.” nmj says.

lwj sighs, “he was in my cello class.”

“you play the cello?” nmj asks.

“not anymore.” lwj answers.

nmj doesn’t ask further.

they sit in uncomfortable silence until nmj asks where he should drop lwj off. what comes out of his mouth are the directions to wwx’s place. his excuse: he needs to know what a garnet gem is before making a decision.

“i will trust you and huaisang to handle this.” nmj says when they come to a stop, “be well.”

lwj nods, then opens the car door.

“wangji.” nmj’s hand grabs his elbow gently.

lwj turns to him.

“i’d like for us to be friends.” nmj says. it sounds stilted, amended.

lwj frowns, “i already consider you one.”

nmj nods and lets go of his hand. with the hint of a smile he says, “goodnight wangji.”

lwj looks at nmj drive away then turns to face wwx’s apartment building. now that he’s here, his excuse sounds feeble. he takes a deep breath, he’s already here. might as well.

wwx opens his apartment door and stares at lwj like he has seen a ghost. “lan zhan?”

“i don’t know what garnet looks like.” lwj says.

wwx grins at him, then grabs his forearm, dragging him into his workshop. there, on a mannequin hand, is the half finished skeleton of what looks like wwx’s design coming to life. he holds up a red and a green stone. he points to the red one, “this is a garnet.”

“it looks like a ruby.” lwj says

wwx looks like he goes through the seven stages of grief before he says, in a strangled voice, “how could you? you’re– you’re messing with me again, aren’t you?”

lwj gives him an innocent look. he can feel the tension in his shoulders bleed out.

“it’s coming together.” wwx says when he notices lwj looking at his unfinished project. “come here, let me see if you can have mobility with it on.”

lwj removes his gloves and stretches his hand towards wwx. wwx gently manoeuvring delicate silver chains around his hand isn’t something new, but it feels different in the middle of the night. more intimate. lwj discards that word with a flick of his hair

it’s not usual for him to leave it unpinned, but he has spent the day lying on a carpet with his hands stretched upwards, balancing a small perfume bottle between his fingers. coming out of it with a few strands out of place is a minor inconvenience.

“tada!” wwx says, drawing lwj’s attention to his right hand which is now tangled in a complicated-looking array of chains from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist. it’s stunning even in its incomplete form.

“it’s beautiful.” lwj says, low as the silent night.

“it’s barely anything right now!” wwx protests but his cheeks are red, “come on, try to move your fingers.”

lwj does, slowly as to not break the delicate structure in case it does lack mobility. it moves with him, like still water disturbed, pressing coldness onto his skin when he closes his fist.

there is no bite, in fact it barely feels any different from wearing light cotton gloves. he thinks he understands wwx’s vision better now. he opens his fist again, one finger at a time, watching how the chains loosen and hang lower on his wrist.

he’s so fascinated by it that he’s surprised to see wwx standing in front of him when he looks up. his eyes are fixed on lwj, unwavering and shameless in their focus, dark with what lwj would presume was desire if he didn’t know better.

“ah it doesn’t need adjustments for now then!” wwx says, snapping out of it. “it looks great on you! i’m sure your girlfriend will like it when it’s finished too!”

“i’m gay.” lwj deadpans.

“oh.” wwx says, choked. “your... boyfriend then?”

“wei ying i...” think of you as a safe haven in my hectic life? find your rambling amusing? think you’re extremely talented and deserve success? have a teeny tiny crush on you? what is lwj supposed to say? each of those sound worse than the one before

at the end he decides to settle for the worst possible answer, “i don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

he does! well, not really. but he would make time if it was wwx... or something! sometimes lwj wants to punch a wall, break a finger, quit his job as a consequence and live in a secluded mountain in the east for the rest of his days. this is one of those moments.

wwx nods in understanding. lwj would prefer if he /didn’t/ understand and demanded to be lwj’s boyfriend to prove him wrong. ‘i’ll make you have time for a boyfriend’ is what lwj imagines him saying.

instead wwx offers him tea.

“it’s too late for coffee.” he shrugs when lwj mumbles a surprised ‘tea?’

before lwj can ask why he suddenly has tea in his house when he didn’t just yesterday, wwx is already gone.

they sit around wwx’s small breakfast table. as they sip their tea- high quality tea nonetheless- wwx begins to talk.

“this project is going more smoothly than i expected. i already have a couple designs in my mind. i’d say it’d take maybe a month or so if i substitue my sleep enough with coffee.” wwx says.

“do not strain yourself.” lwj replies.

“rich coming from you.” wwx’s lip quirks, “you passed out on me yesterday. oh what could have caused that? i don’t think it was sleep deprivation and overworking because you’d never do that.”

it feels like lwj is being scolded.

“wei ying-“

“lan zhan, are you alright?” wwx asks sincerely, “i know you said that you weren’t hurt back then when i saw your bruises, but we weren’t friends back then. you were in pain when i met you at wen ning’s parlour. -

- wen qing was oddly iffy about telling jiang cheng about you even though she knows that he’s friends with your brother. you looked so afraid when you thought i was stalking you, which, technically my fault but still. i’m sorry for bringing this up but i’m worried about you. i want to help you, with whatever it is.”

lwj sits in silence for a few moments, flabbergasted. it seems like this is genuinely bothering wwx, and maybe it has for a while now.

“wei ying.” lwj starts, trying to mentally arrange it all in chronological order. “i think there has been a slight misunderstanding. i did not persue conventional modelling because i did not want to be in the public eye.

however, my identity was exposed about a month ago. it made me unnecessarily paranoid which is why wen qing was careful about my information, and i was in turn careful about my surroundings.”

“who the hell-“

“it does not matter now.” lwj says calmingly. he doesn’t need another person trying to beat su she up.

wwx fumes silently as lwj continues.

“at wen ning’s parlour i was actually in quite a bit of pain.” lwj says. wwx opens his mouth but lwj cuts him off. “yes, it was due to overwork, and yesterday can be attributed to the same cause. but it does not happen as often as you’re thinking, i promise.”

wwx mulls this over. “ok fine. don’t think i didn’t notice you skipped over the bruises though. they can’t be from overwork so either someone did that to you or-“

“it is..” lwj says, forcing the words out, “as you thought that day.”

he wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but he doesn’t want wwx to have any misconceptions. and well, if he sacrifices his own peace of mind for wwx, it is most likely worth it in the end.

“you mean...” wwx swallows, “you–“

seeing him struggle so much with the words makes it easier for lwj to blurt them out somehow.

“i like restraints, yes.”

this does not bring an end to the conversation, instead making wwx stutter through even worse versions of it.

“you like– to be tied up– oh my god.” he says, “you- that’s what you meant right? handcuffs, ropes all that- like bdsm? is that what–“

“wei ying. please.” lwj says.

“oh of course. here.” wwx grabs both his wrists with one hand.

lwj stares at him. wwx stares back. what the hell.

...

“oh,” wwx draws back like has been burned, “oh my god i don’t know why i did that. i’m so sorry!”

“wei ying it’s okay.” lwj tries but wwx has now put his face in his hands and does not seem to hear him above his mumbling variations of ‘oh my god’ and ‘i’m so sorry’.

lwj lets him go on for a while before he can’t take it anymore. he puts a gentle hand on wwx’s shoulder. this seems to have the desired effect, both shutting wwx up and making him look up at lwj.

“wei ying, it’s okay.” he repeats.

“no it’s not! what was i even thinking? it’s not okay for me to do that! out of nowhere! god, i must have made you so uncomfortable–“

“i don’t mind.” lwj says.

“how can you not? you should fire me!”

“you are my employer.”

“that’s even worse!”

lwj sighs. wwx seems to be transforming into a puddle of shame right before him. he has to put an end to this or wwx will overthink himself into an early grave. no amount of consoling seems to work though. lwj sighs, it is time for drastic measures.

“i lied.” lwj says. he quickly continues before wwx can officially begin his pity party, “i do have time for a boyfriend.”

“what.” wwx says, drawn out of his stupor with the sudden shift in topic.

“i have time... if it’s you.” lwj says and then immediately wants to adapt wwx’s head in hands coping mechanism. “now we are even.”

wwx seems to be dissecting his sentence to make sense of it. “oh. OH.”

“i should go home.” lwj rises from his chair. just as he is turning away, wwx grabs his wrist and pulls him so he’s face-to-face with him.

“lan zhan,” wwx says, his eyes fond, “you’re so.. ugh!”

lwj frowns. ugh. he’s ugh.

“lan zhan!” wwx takes lwj’s face between his palms and grins at him, “do you know i’ve been crushing on you since that day at the university?”

“you have?” lwj asks.

“you really didn’t know?” wwx asks, “lan zhan, lan zhan, do you think a professional jeweller needs weekly fitting appointments?”

“you don’t?” lwj feels just a little stupid.

“not really? i could have made adjustments after i finished everything.”

“you like me?” lwj asks. for some reason it hadn’t occurred to him that his crush could be reciprocated.

“yes!” wwx shifts from one foot to another eagerly, “can i hug you now?”

lwj nods and is drawn into wwx’s arms. wwx presses his nose into the space between lwj’s neck and shoulder. lwj holds his shoulders, glad that he can hide his red face in wwx’s hoodie

wwx sighs, his breath tickles on lwj’s skin.

“will you stay with me tonight?” and when lwj is silent for two seconds,

“not like that! it’s innocent! like a sleepover! i won’t tie you up i promise– lan zhan please shut me up i beg you–“

lwj draws back, simply places a gentle kiss on wwx’s lips and says, “don’t ever shut up.”

The End!

as for any loose ends:

- lwj manages to gain his anonymity back

- su she manages not to get beaten up by wwx or nmj but does get a restraining order

- wwx completes his collection and it’s a success! the best part is that he is holding the hand that started it all!

This fic has a nsfw one-shot on ao3 if any of you want to read it :)

http://archiveofourown.org/works/25827673

[tangerinesmoke]

bento

based on this art by iga_guri which was inspired by Nami’s Nissin Cup Noodles commercial

——–

“How do you do, everyone? My name is Nami. Please take care of me for the rest of our senior year!” The orange-haired transfer student cheerfully exclaims as she bows her head in front of the class. Everyone applauds calmly, but there’s one boy who does it differently from the rest.

“Psst, Zoro.” Usopp lightly kicks the chair in front of him.

The mosshead yawns loudly without looking back. “What?”

“Something’s wrong with Sanji.”

“Everything’s wrong about him, what do you mean?”

“Not that! He’s not exuding hearts at the new girl!”

“Who cares? At least he’s not being annoying for a change.” Zoro replies nonchalantly.

Usopp eyes Sanji, whose mouth is slightly opened, but surprisingly behaving well on his seat. “It’s heckin’ weird, man.”

Zoro flicks an eraser at his blonde seatmate’s head. “Oi, are you dead or dead? Choose one.”

Sanji touches his head at the friction but his eyes never leave the transfer student.

Zoro raises an eyebrow at him. “Hmm? It’s not really unusual behavior. Probably just delayed reaction.” Zoro picks up the eraser that bounced not so far from him and proceeds to sleep on his chair.

Sanji, still not minding the hard eraser that his marimo friend threw at him, says “I think I’m in love,” with his mouth gaped open and cheeks blushing.

———

Not long enough, Usopp realizes Zoro was right about the delayed reaction when Sanji finally finds an opportunity to talk to the transfer student right before break time, and has radiated  hearts like there’s no other girl he would do it for an hour later.

“Nami-san, oh Nami-san, your name is so beautiful! As beautiful as your laugh!”

Nami gives him a blank stare, which surprises Sanji. The orange-haired beauty, realizing the awkwardness of the situation, quickly changes the expression on her face and smiles at him with ease.

“Haha, thanks for the compliment! Your name is?”

Sanji fixes his composure. “My name is Sanji. Nice to meet you! Since it’s break time, shall we eat lunch together, Nami-san?”

Nami looks down on her notebook. “Oh, I’m not so hungry.”

“Eh? Come on now, Nami-san. You won’t be saying that once you see my bento.”

“What?”

“I always bring a lot of food that I cooked myself! ” Sanji hurriedly runs to his bag to get his bento and show Nami. “Here, have a look!”

Sanji proudly opens his bento and it was the most beautiful packed lunch that Nami has seen. It includes a little bit of everything: onigiri, tonkatsu, shrimp, veggies, and fruits like strawberries and sliced apples. He even has a small container for seaweed soup. Her stomach suddenly growls loudly.

“See, I told you, Nami-san! So let’s eat?” Sanji’s eyes turn into hearts by now, which makes the transfer student back off a little.

“Um, well. Sure!” Nami opens her bag and on the side of her books is a small plastic containing one piece of melon pan with a bite on it. She quickly hides it from view. Sanji sees it, however, but pretends that he didn’t.

“Um, it seems I forgot my lunch box…” Nami says nervously.

“Ah, then I’ll share my food with you!” Sanji exclaims.

“Really? You’re my savior!” Nami hugs Sanji around his neck, which turns the blonde almost into a puddle of goo on the floor.

Nami eats too heartily with the extra chopsticks he provides her, as though she didn’t eat anything for two days. Sanji smiles, but can’t forget the face while she’s eating and the face she made when she first looked at him.

———

“Perona, let’s go? We’re going to be late for cram classes.” Tashigi pushes her eyeglasses while looking at her friend who’s panicking slightly. 

“Something wrong?”

The richest student of Class 3-B keeps rummaging her huge bag and books. “I can’t see my Givenchy crossbody bag?”

“What? You just bought it two days ago, didn’t you?” Tashigi asks worriedly.

“I know! It’s not like I can’t buy another but…Dad’s still going to get mad.” Perona pouts.

“We need to find it. Ask around these guys and I’ll go back to the girls’ restroom. I’ll check if you left it there earlier?”

“Okay, although I already looked around…” Perona frowns. “Oh hey, Nami!”

Nami freezes in place when she sees Perona approaching her. “Sorry to bother, but did you see any silver crossbody bag around here?” The pink-haired elite student asks.

“I didn’t, sorry. Excuse me, Perona, but I’m running late for my part-time job. Bye! I hope you find your bag…” Nami runs toward the classroom door.

Sanji wonders why Nami took the expensive bag.

———

The next day, Perona’s missing Givenchy crossbag becomes the talk of town, until she sports a Fendi handbag when she comes to class, saying “I just dusted it off from the closet!” She doesn’t seem to mind the loss, but Sanji, as a ladies’ man, likes to think otherwise.

Sanji insists sharing his food with Nami again at lunch time even though she says she’s on a diet. She had the same gusto in eating the food he made, but he wonders if her not having lunch is just an excuse now.

After class dismissal, Nami leaves again in a rush. Sanji tries to go after her but Luffy and Usopp start playing around like kindergartners.

“Can you guys-” Sanji, in an attempt to see where Nami is going, shoves the two boys having a friendly brawl in front of him.

“Ouch, that hurt, Sanji!” Usopp exclaims.

“Can you guys flirt somewhere else? You’re blocking my way!”

“Eugh.” Usopp fakes throwing up, and Luffy snatches his waffles while he’s distracted.

“Hahaha! You lost, Usopp!” Luffy runs outside the classroom and in the hallways.

“Dammit, Luffy! At least share with me the waffles I bought from my own allowance!” Usopp chases Luffy while Sanji shakes his head in disbelief.

“Huh, wait? I lost Nami-san.” Sanji runs in full speed to the hallways and thankfully, he easily spots vivid orange hair as the girl turns around the corner. Sanji keeps a considerable distance and silently follows her to the school grounds.

———

Sanji finds out that Nami is working in “Arlong Park Cafe,” one of the biggest restaurant & cafe chains in their district. He hides himself behind the huge menu board and tall potted plants beside the store’s door. He sees Nami through the window getting scolded by one of the managers for being late. She apologizes profusely and goes to the back door, then comes back immediately in view, all dressed up for work.

Before she clears one of the tables, Sanji is shocked to see her sneaking to eat the leftovers on the plate. 

Sanji has decided that he would wait for Nami after work.  He pulls a lollipop from his pocket and starts eating it.

She doesn’t come out of the cafe until four hours later.

“Sanji-kun.”

The blonde is taken aback to see Nami standing by his side while he is seated on the ground of a nearby alley.

“I know you’ve followed me all the way here. I saw you on the subway and through the window at work.” Nami says with that same blank stare she gave him a day before.

“Well…Let me expla-”

“You saw me eating the leftovers, didn’t you?” 

“I did, but…”

Nami tightens the hold on her bag. “I know you’re disgusted by it.”

“No, Nami-san!” Sanji flails. “You’re not one bit disgusting.”

“It’s okay to be, just don’t tell everyone about it in school. Why did you follow me?”

“I promise you, I won’t. Cross my heart.” He gestures a heart with his hands and smiles nervously. “I am actually here to ask you about something.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about Perona’s bag.”

The orange-haired beauty’s demeanor suddenly changes. “You knew?”

“I saw you taking it when you thought no one else was looking.” Sanji says, putting his hands in his pocket.

“Just so you know,I’m not going to give it back to her. But don’t tell anyone about it in school. I will share you half of my earnings when I sell it, if that will shut you up.” Nami’s eyebrows crease.

“It’s not really about that.” Sanji asks.

“Yes and keep it that way.”

“I care about you, Nami-san.”

“I need money to pay for my rent, not your care.” Nami starts walking away from Sanji. But the boy is quick to pull himself up and catch Nami by the arm.

“Anyone who eats my food with a smile on their face automatically gets that, you’re no exception.” At this, Nami stops walking.

“I don’t know what problems you’re dealing with, but I’m ready to help.”

Nami touches the hem of her skirt. “No one can help me but myself.”

“Just remember you’re not alone. See you tomorrow, Nami-san.” Sanji walks by her and waves coolly from behind, with the lollipop between his fingers.

———

Nami walks to school the next morning, and as she approaches the entrance. he sees a familiar figure leaning on the wall from afar.

“Sanji-kun.”

“Been waiting for you, Nami-san! Here’s your bento.” Sanji extends his arms to hand Nami the lunch box he prepared.

“What? For me?”

“Yep!” Sanji says excitedly. “Open it!”

Nami opens the bento hesitatingly, but when she sees omurice, sausage, sliced potatoes, and tangerines, she is almost drooling.

“Why, Sanji-kun?”

“It’s nice to see you eat the food I made.” Sanji’s heart eyes start appearing.

At this, Nami wholeheartedly laughs. “That’s…nice, I guess. Thank you, Sanji-kun!”

“And I also brought some money.”

“Money? For what?”

“I’ll buy Perona’s bag.” He replies indifferently.

Nami’s eyes bulge.“What?!”

“I can’t let a beauty like Perona stress over a Givenchy!”  Sanji’s tears flow uncontrollably.

“Don’t go making me feel guilty now… You can’t possibly pay for it, can you?” The orange-haired girl eyes him suspiciously.

“I can’t, but I’m not alone on that.”

Before Nami could ask, a bunch of boisterous voices echo all over the school grounds.

“Oiiiii Sanji!” Luffy comes running to shake Sanji. “And uh what’s her name again?”

“Her name is Nami!” Usopp says as he fixes his backpack.

“Oh, Mami! Hey!” Luffy flashes his teeth at Nami with all smiles.

“I said it’s Nami, idiot!”

“Hey, loser. How’s your head? Why are you still alive?” Zoro says, in his coolest and most collected manner, to piss Sanji off.

“Shut up, mosshead. You think I don’t know what you did the other day?”

“So what, you think you’re smart now?”

“Can’t we just go to class normally and stop this bickering?” Already exasperated, Usopp goes ahead of them toward the building.

“Luffy, what the heck! Stop shaking me!” Sanji’s face is almost blue.

“Hahaha!” Luffy chases Usopp toward the building entrance, followed by Zoro.

Nami just watches the scene unfold in front of her and can’t help but feel delighted with her cheerful classmates.

“Those guys are gonna help you out as well. As I’ve said, you’re not alone, Nami-san.”

“Why are you doing this, Sanji-kun?”

“Because I looooveeee Nami-san! Do you love me too now, Nami-san?” Sanji starts the noodle dance around Nami.

“Sure, sure.” She answers halfheartedly, but maybe with a little truth in it.

—-

end

[amuseoffyre]

October Prompts - 26th

Prompt - Graveyard shift

There was something soothing about the patter of raindrops on the roof above him.

Aziraphale always found rain a pleasant reminder of the first encounter he had ever had with the angel currently nestled in his arms. Crowley had never once hesitated to shelter him, not even when he should have considered him the enemy. It had certainly given Aziraphale’s perceptions a good hard shake.

Crowley made a sleepy sound, shivering.

Not a bad shiver, for a change, but one of cold. Aziraphale reached down, drawing the thick woollen blanket further up to tuck him in more snugly. It was a ridiculous monstrous patchwork made by Crowley’s legion of excitable children. He had taught them to knit and, in turn, they had gathered up colourful mismatched squares they created and turned them into a blanket.

Crowley shed joyful tears when they presented it to him for Christmas.

For some reason that Aziraphale had never understood, the angel adored textiles, especially home-made ones. He had a peculiar selection of them stored neatly in the chapter house.

There was one so old and worn and faded that it was barely more than ragged scrap of cloth. It had always been folded up beside the couch where Crowley slept and when he added the bed to his home, it had been relocated to the bedside, though Aziraphale had never seen him touch it. A security blanket, he’d called it, and got so embarrassed that Aziraphale showed mercy and didn’t ask any more questions.

It was so quiet in the darkness of the chapter house.

Occasionally, there was a flicker of light through the windows on the lower level when the moon managed to fight its way through the burgeoning black clouds, but most of the time, there was only silence and it was good.

Well, not entirely silence.

Crowley still snored quietly.

The angel had one arm and one leg flung possessively across Aziraphale’s body, his face buried in the comfortable padding of the demon’s chest. He had his fingers curled into Aziraphale’s pyjamas – a fine plaid pair, which the angel had presented to him with great delight – and he was, for the first time in… well, in an awfully long time, sleeping peacefully.

Aziraphale continued to gently card his fingers through Crowley’s hair. The angel liked that quite a lot, found it soothing enough that it often drew him to sleep even when he insisted he wasn’t tired. And Aziraphale took equal amounts of pleasure in both providing the soothing comfort and in indulging his millennia-held desire to bury his fingers in Crowley’s beautiful thick hair.

It was the boon of his demonic nature that he didn’t need to sleep. It meant that he could be awake and attentive and see the moment when Crowley relaxed utterly in his embrace, the lines of his face softening until they all but vanished. Sometimes, in the dark stillness, he could see the angel smile.

Yes, there was still the eternal fear and anticipation of the moments those lines returned and carved deep in the seconds before the angel cried out, but they had been diminishing night on night, and Aziraphale could not deny he was waiting for the coming of dawn with bated breath.

A night without terror and screams and bruises raked into his skin. A night without shaking the angel awake, drawing him back to a reality where he had not watched Aziraphale dissolve in Holy Water or struck asunder with searing flames or Falling.

The dreams of Falling were always the worst for him. One or other of them Falling. Himself, reaching out, trying to catch Aziraphale. Or worse, the ground of Heaven giving way under him and Aziraphale watching impassive from the sidelines as he Fell, screaming and burning, away from everything he knew and loved and built his world on. He had clawed Aziraphale’s back open in terror in the worst of them and had refused – could not comprehend the possibility – of letting go of him for almost seven hours afterwards.

One could talk away their deaths. They were both clearly alive, after all.

Falling, though…

Falling was still a possibility, no matter how infinitesimal.

Tonight was… good. Tonight was progress.

As the night crept onwards, the angel shifted and squirmed and eventually rearranged himself on top of Aziraphale, his head tucked under the demon’s chin, his arms looped under Aziraphale’s arms, reminding Aziraphale of a tiny monkey clutching at its mother. It had the unfortunate side effect of pushing the blankets down, but when he shivered this time, Crowley grumbled against Aziraphale’s throat and with a floomph, his wings erupted around them, a dark, warm shelter against the winter’s chill.

“You silly little sod,” Aziraphale murmured fondly, curling his arms around the angel’s body, spreading broad palms on his back. “Look at the state of you.”

Perhaps, somewhere in his slumbers, Crowley heard him. He nuzzled his face even closer and sighed, the warm gust of air rippling delightfully across Aziraphale’s throat.

“Bastard,” Aziraphale murmured happily, stroking his back.

Minute by minute, hour by hour, time ticked inexorably on.

Once or twice, Crowley stirred and tensed, but Aziraphale hummed softly, catching the tenor of the familiar mood quickly and turning it. Warm wings, warm hands, warm comforting sounds, and Crowley subsided, settling as if he had never stirred in the first place.

On and on it went, until the first blades of sunlight cut through the windows below. And still, he slept, and Aziraphale eyes were burning with relief and happiness as he hugged the angel closer.

With a surreptitious snap of his fingers, he cleared the table below, replacing everything on it with Crowley’s rare favourite treats from cafés and restaurants scattered in the four corners of the earth. It was a victory and as such, it merited a worthy celebration.

Only when he knew Crowley would get cross with him did he allow the scent of rich Turkish coffee coiled up from the table, the only scent he ever used to gently draw the angel back to the land of the caffeinated. For a moment, there was no reaction, then Crowley snuffled against his throat. His face was so close that the flutter of his lashes whispered against Aziraphale’s skin.

“S’it morning?” he mumbled.

“Mm.” Aziraphale stroked his back. “Slept well.”

“I…” With effort, sleep-muzzy and yawning, the angel sat up over him. “Yeah… think I did.” He beamed drowsily, planting his hands on Aziraphale’s belly, his wings settling across the bed around him. “Don’t remember any bad dreams.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, untroubled and glowing and ebbing with warmth. “Not one, my love.”

Honey eyes stared at him and blinked as if Crowley couldn’t quite grasp what Aziraphale was saying. “Eh?”

Aziraphale stroked a hand down Crowley’s bare thigh and smiled with absurd happiness and pride. “Not a single nightmare, my darling. You slept peacefully all night.” And, because one cannot be too soft, he added, “Aside from the point when you decided that I was your mattress and pummelled me into your position of choice…”

Crowley was still staring at him. “No nightmares?”

“No nightmares.”

“Really?”

Aziraphale pushed himself up on his elbows. “Not even one.”

Crowley’s eyes brightened and he pressed his clasped hands to his mouth, a sound half-laugh, half-sob, escaping him. “No nightmares!” His voice broke and he was laughing, reaching down to pull Aziraphale up to hug him tightly. “No fucking nightmares!”

Aziraphale wanted to give him words of celebration and pride and relief, but they all died in his throat and the best he could do was hold the angel close and press mute kisses on his bare, freckled shoulder.

Crowley’s fingers sank into his hair, drawing his head back, and kisses were pressed instead all over his face between happy laughter and happy tears and Lord, what sentimental soft baggages they were proving to be, salted smiles all over their faces.

They were both breathing hard when Crowley broke the damp kisses, pressing his brow to Aziraphale’s. “Thank you.”

“Oh, do be quiet, angel,” Aziraphale grumbled good-naturedly.

“Nope. Never.” The angel kissed away the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Thank yourself, darling,” Aziraphale protested, pinking in the cheeks. “You did it. You were the one who fought them off.”

Crowley considered him, then licked the end of his nose.

“Eugh! Angel!”

“Take my gratitude or I’ll do it again,” Crowley threatened, laughing.

“Angel!”

He darted in and licked him again.

“Stop that!”

A sloppy lick to his cheek this time.

“I’m not an ice cream!”

Another cheek firmly and soggily licked.

“Fine! You’re welcome!”

Crowley sat back in his lap smugly, eyes dancing. “And you got me coffee. I should thank you for that.”

Aziraphale squeezed his waist. “Is this what a good night’s sleep does for you?” He teased, his heart welling up with delight. Lord, it had been so long since he had ever seen Crowley so happy. “Makes you insufferably gracious?”

To his utter astonishment, Crowley scooted even closer, until his lovely naked pink body was utterly flush against Aziraphale’s tartan pyjamas. “Among other things,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows and then his hips. “I’ve been keeping you up all night for months. Maybe I should… keep you up all day instead, eh?”

That was the moment that Aziraphale, demon of the pit, creature of Hell, and Fallen Angel, fell in love all over again.

[lefaystrent]

So help me, I’m not moving from this spot

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: queer platonic LAMP

Summary: Virgil has the day off from work and chooses to spend it in true Virgil style.

Notes: I just wanted to write some qpr/qpp stuff. If you don't know, qpr stands for queer platonic relationship, qpp is queer platonic partner. While sharing some qualities, it's not a romantic relationship, but it's more than just being defined as friends.

AO3 Link

           Roman came home to find Virgil lying on a pallet in the living room. As far as pallets go, this one was rather excessive. In place of where their coffee table usually sat in front of their couch, it seemed as though Virgil had taken all of the blankets and pillows in the house and made a nest for himself.

           “You’re left to your own devices for a few hours and this is what I come home to?” Roman asked, brow raised comically high.

           Virgil didn’t show an ounce of embarrassment, remaining in his relaxed position leaned back against a pile of pillows. He was dressed casually in his favorite hoodie and sweatpants. A bag of potato chips laid on his stomach. He lazily pulled a chip out while scrolling on his phone.

           “It’s my day off,” Virgil explained.

           “Have you been here since we left this morning?” Roman asked, referring to their two other partners they lived with.

           “Yuh, and I don’t plan on moving from this spot for the rest of the day.”

           Roman stood by the side of the pallet, surveying the pile of snacks Virgil had set nearby. “My, my, you certainly have quite the set up. But whatever will you do when nature comes calling?”

           In answer, Virgil picked up and waved an empty water bottle.

           “Eugh! What the hell is wrong with you, Virgil?!”

           He laughed and tossed the bottle at Roman to thunk harmlessly against his chest. “Relax, Princey, I’m joking. I’ll go to the bathroom like a civilized human being.”

           “Your jokes are disgusting. And here I was thinking of joining you in splendid relaxation,” Roman scoffed, stepping over Virgil to go to the kitchen. Virgil immediately abandoned his chips and phone and held up his hands in a plea.

           “Wait, no, come back. I’m sorry, come lay with me, babe.”

           “I don’t cuddle with heathens.” Roman turned his nose up at him and stayed his course. He could still see Virgil’s top half from the open archway that connected the two rooms. They both knew that Roman would join him in ten minutes tops, but for the moment it was enjoyable to peek at him and see the unabashed longing in those dark eyes.

           “Babe,” Virgil tried imploringly. Roman ignored him in favor of making a sandwich. He listened as Virgil continued. “Babe. You just here for your lunch break?”

           “No, I suffered valiantly to finish up my work early today.”

           “Or you called it quits early and decided to put off the rest until tomorrow, you mean?”

           Roman put a hand over his heart, gasping in offense. “Excuse you, Amy Lee-ave me alone. I work hard you know. Procrastination is more your territory.”

           “Tell that to all your wips.”

           The offended gasping intensified.

           The next to arrive home was Patton. It’d only been a couple hours since Roman had gotten home.

           “It’s not even four,” Virgil commented. Was everyone getting off work early today? So not fair; Virgil’s job never let him off early. He demanded justice.

           But you know, it was kind of worth it, seeing the way Patton’s face brightened at Virgil’s set up.

           “Oh my gosh,” he squealed and tossed the plastic store bags he’d been holding onto the nearest armchair so that he could dive onto the pallet, landing horizontally across Virgil.

           “Pat!” Virgil grunted. Had it been Roman, he’d just be annoyed, but Patton’s giggle took all the fight in him right out. He wiggled his arms out from under Patton to lay them over his back, patting at him. “Happy to see you too, but give a dude a warning next time.”

           “Sorry,” Patton replied, sounding too cheery to be taken seriously. “Oh hey, what’s Roman’s katana doing here?”

           Virgil glanced over at the sword casually laying by the pallet. “Oh that? Apparently I said ‘fighting words’, so Roman had to wave that around to make himself feel better or something.”

           “So he is home!” he exclaimed. “I saw his car outside, but I didn’t expect anyone else except you to be home yet.”

           “Yeah, he got off early.”

           “Where is he?”

           “In the bathroom, probably taking a massive dump because he’s so full of shit.”

           “Virgil!” Patton chided, sitting up enough to throw a disapproving look at him. “Now is that any way to talk about someone you love?”

           “Who said I loved him?”

           Patton frowned and just stared at him in determination.

           Virgil averted his gaze to the side. “I’m a pit of darkness. I don’t feel love.”

           “Say you love him.”

           “Uh-uh.”

           “Say you love him!”

           “He’s not even in the room; why does it matter?”

           Patton just stared harder into his soul. Virgil rolled his eyes. “I thought this was like, an understood thing or whatever.”

           “It still makes me happy to hear you say it,” Patton said and a helpless warmth seeped into his gaze, making his stern face melt into a smile.

           Virgil covered his own face with his hands. “God, you’re too powerful. Fine. I love Roman, even if he is a huge dork. I love all my QPPs.”

           Satisfied, Patton booped him on the nose.

           By the time Logan arrived home, Roman had begun working on dinner. Patton must have been busy upstairs, seeing as Logan didn’t spot him. Virgil on the other hand was sprawled out clear as day on a pallet in the living room floor, earbuds on and listening to music from his phone.

           “No one informed me of a slumber party,” Logan commented to Roman. He looked up from his place at the stove and grinned.

           “Reminds you of the old days, right?” Roman laughed in memory of their shared childhood. All of them had been inseparable even then, staying over at each other’s houses all the time. “But no, this is just how Virgil chose to spend his off day.”

           “Is this because we’ve banned him from sitting on top of the fridge?”

           “Heh, perhaps, but all the same he’s refused to move from that spot all day.”

           “. . . not even to relieve himself?”

           Roman’s eyes took on a deadly serious glint. “I made sure he went to an actual bathroom even if I had to carry him myself.”

           “Good man,” Logan pat his shoulder approvingly. Roman caught his hand and brought it to his lips, the affection making the usually stoic man temporarily short circuit. Roman said something, but Logan had to blink and ask for him to repeat himself.

           Roman smiled knowingly. “I’ll give you a dollar if you can get Gloom ‘n Doom to move from his sacred spot.”

           “Amazing, a whole dollar? Wherever would I spend that much money?”

           “Anywhere your heart desires. Possibly a vending machine.”

           Logan smiled a little despite himself. “Is dinner almost ready?”

           Roman absently brushed his thumb across the hand he still held. “Yes. Patton brought home stuff for pasta. Should only be a few minutes.”

           “Very well.” Logan slipped away to go to the living room. He returned to the kitchen not even a minute later, expression pinched.

           “Logan?”

           “Hm, my first attempt proved unrewarding. I tried to tempt him with dinner, but he asked for his plate to be brought to him.”

           “We could deny him, leave him to have to come join us at the table,” Roman suggested.

           “Hm,” Logan hummed again, rubbing his chin. Patton popped into the kitchen. Seeing Logan there, he scuttled over and hugged him from behind.

           “You’ve got your thinking face on,” Patton noted.

           Roman threw an answer over his shoulder while he stirred the noodles. “He’s brainstorming ways to get Virgil to leave his pallet.”

           “Yes, Roman bet me a whole dollar as compensation.”

           “Just one dollar?” Patton asked. “Well that doesn’t make a lot of cents.”

           Logan groaned to cover up the urge to grin. Patton just nuzzled into his neck, tickling him enough to get him to laugh.

           “So why are you guys trying to get Virgil to get up?”

           “Because he presented us with a challenge,” Roman said. “Plus, I go to the trouble of preparing dinner and he doesn’t even have the decency to want to join us? Rude.”

           “He’s not joining us?”

           “He requested for his plate to be brought to him,” Logan told him.

           “Oh, well we could just all eat in the living room.”

           “Seeing as we are eating spaghetti tonight, that would be ill advised. The sauce could make a mess on all of those blankets or the carpet. It would be better to eat at the table.”

           “So we bring the table to him!” Patton suggested with a broad grin.

           Roman snorted. “Do you think our little emo would get up then, if we set the table over him?”

           “If anything, he might bite our ankles in retaliation,” Logan pointed out.

           “This is too hilarious. Yes, we’re doing this. Patton, darling, the table.”

           “On it!” Patton saluted and hurried over to the table.

           “Patton.”

           Patton froze, hands on either side of the wooden tabletop. He looked up from behind his glasses at Logan’s strict posture.

           “Come on, Specs,” Roman groaned, turning off the stove and moving the noodles to a colander in the sink.

           “Patton should not be moving the table like this,” Logan stated before moving over to the other side of the table to place his hands in a ready position. “It’s rather heavy and could cause strain to his back were he to move it alone. I shall assist.”

           Patton beamed at him.

           Virgil tensed up when a large thing moved over him. He flinched, dropping his phone and ripping out his earbuds.

           “What the fuck, you guys?” he demanded as Logan and Patton moved their dining table over his spot on the floor.

           “Sorry, not sorry,” Logan said. He made sure the table legs didn’t knock into Virgil as they sat it down with him directly under it. “If you insist on remaining in this particular spot, then we have no choice but to resort to drastic measures.”

           “Okay, who’s idea was this?” Virgil asked. He sent an accusing glare at Patton who merely smiled at him.

           “Dinner time is family time,” Patton said cheekily and bent down to kiss the top of Virgil’s head.

           “I’m running away,” Virgil threatened, voice monotone.

           “Falsehood,” Logan denied, bending down as well to place a kiss on his temple. “After all, you’ve sworn to not move from this spot for the rest of today.”

           Virgil hated the smirk he wore when he said that.

           Roman brought the food in, and Patton and Logan went back for the chairs. They began to eat while Virgil bemoaned their presence. Once he realized they weren’t going to hand him his plate, he gave up and crawled out just enough to sit up on his knees and eat at the table.

           Joke was on them though, ‘cause he still didn’t have to move from his pallet.

Tag list:  @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos (let me know if you want to be added or removed from my general tag list)

[purplesurveys]

707

Do you think you're clever? I can be but I wouldn’t say it’s a dominant personality trait. Did you wear socks today? No, I haven’t worn socks since the last day I went to school :/ Can you remember how you celebrated your 10th birthday? I don’t remember how the whole day went but I do have a photo of me on that day. We were in our old house then and I was at the dining area smiling with my cake, surrounded by my mom and sister.

Know any magic tricks? Nah I can’t perform any of them. Do you sleep well most nights? These days I certainly do. They’ve suspended online classes, and acads is really the main thing taking up my time (and head) most days until recently. Without that I’m just sleeping, eating, and having random bursts of productivity everyday.

Are your nails painted? No. Is there somebody you know that you really don't trust? Yeah I have a couple of orgmates that are a little sketchy. I also dunno if I can trust my mom in the bigger scheme of things - we’re just not close like that. Is there music in your head right now? No need to have it playing in my head, I already have a lo-fi livestream playing on YouTube at the moment. When's the last time you baked a cake? Grade 6 when we baked a rainbow cake in home economics. What time was it half an hour ago? 7:26 PM. Did you ever play cowboys and indians when you were growing up? I have no idea what that game is. Probs an American thing? Can anyone confirm? When did it last rain? My dad said it drizzled earlier this afternoon, but I wouldn’t know because I was taking a nap. The last time it rained and I caught it was two nights ago. Would you like to become a dancer? I would love to be able to dance gracefully and call myself a dancer, but I wouldn’t want it to be my Number One Agenda, as in joining contests or have it be my whole career and stuff. It’ll be nice to simply have it as a hobby. What colour is the bathroom of your house painted? The top half of the wall is white, the bottom half consists of light brown tiles. Which country is to the north of your home country? Taiwan. Name one person of the same sex as you you wouldn't mind doing: My girlfriend. Haaaaah you thought. What is the most gory film you've seen? Evil Dead, but I’ve only seen the 2013 reboot. Is there anybody that you know that you just feel really sorry for? Yeah I guess, like my uncle for stubbornly never getting his life back on track. I’ve been done waiting for him to get better. Do you like the Austin Powers films? I’ve never seen any one of them, even the one Beyoncé is in.

Where is the worst place you have ever travelled to? All the places I’ve been to have been wonderful and it wouldn’t feel right to tag one of them as the ‘worst’ because all the trips have been paid for by my parents lmao. But the one trip that didn’t exactly turn out the way we would’ve wanted it to was Caramoan in Camarines Sur. It was raining almost the entire time, so the scenario was either 1) the rain messed with the cable signal and we only had one channel every time we were in the cabin or 2) we had to make do with being rained on whenever we wanted to go out to the beach. It was also in the middle of nowhere, so we didn’t have internet. Ever fallen down a hole? Nope. That’s one of the scenarios I’m particularly afraid of. Do you like to read poetry? No I hate having to. I’ve never understood poems. What's your preferred frozen snack? Other than ice cream? Idk, frozen fries maybe? Those hit differently. Is rap music overrated? I’d say some are, but rap generally has a rich underground culture as well so I wouldn’t say all of it is overrated. Do you work better in a clean or messy environment? That doesn’t matter to me. I care more about how warm/cold it is, because I can’t start working anywhere I find too hot or else I’ll feel too sluggish. Do you know any vegans? Only from the internet. Filipinos are big meat eaters so it’s hard to find resources for if you want to become vegan. There are vegan food stalls but they’re VERY few and far between, and they’re typically situated in hipper, more cosmopolitan parts of the city since veganism isn’t a known concept here. Earphones or headphones? Earphones. Do you like bananas? Eugh no. What's a film you've seen that confused you? Interstellar confuses me to this day. But I loved it a lot and I enjoyed the premise, and that’s what matters to me. Do you ever wear black lipstick? I don’t think I’ve ever worn it before. You can take any illegal drug without any bad consequences, which one? That’s a really dark question but uh... I’d go with meth because idk, Breaking Bad? I certainly wouldn’t want to try heroin though. What is next to your bed? I have a drawer with my clothes and other knickknacks on one side, and a chest with a bunch of memorabilia and old books I’ve had since I was a kid on the other side. Are your fingernails dirty? Nope. What would you change about yourself appearence-wise? I’d straighten my front teeth and make my teeth in general smaller. I’d also have some hair grow on my left eyebrow because I permanently damaged the hair growth there by plucking too much as an anxiety habit. How long do you normally spend in the shower? Depends on how relaxed I need to feel. If I’m showering for school it takes me 4-5 minutes. If it’s been hot all day like in the summer I’d take up to 15. When's the last time somebody called you "baby"? Sometime today, I don’t exactly remember when. Have you ever had to keep something important from your family? Like... my 4-year same-sex relationship? Yup. Don't you think things feel much better after a good cry? The things that made me cry don’t get better or automatically get fixed, but it’s always nice to give myself a break and to let everything out. Do you think the UK should keep its monarchy? I honestly don’t know enough about their system to confidently form an opinion about it. My only contribution to this conversation is that the royal family does interest me and I know more trivia about them than the average person should hahahahaha. True or false: you'd do Mila Kunis. I’d do her character in Friends with Benefits but like I don’t really feel that way for IRL Mila, mostly cos I’d rather do wholesome stuff with her hahaha. Which colour would you rather have your hair: pink, grey or green? Green > grey > pink. Don't you just hate the sound of people eating? NOOOOOOO are you kidding. Mukbang ASMRs are my faveeeeeee. What's your favourite music video? Meh I don’t really watch music videos. Is it your aim to be perfect? About the things I do, yeah. I’m not obsessed about having *everything* be perfect, even stuff I have no control over.. Ever climbed to the top of a mountain? No. That’s on my bucket list though. Have you ever fell for someone believing you could "fix" them? No. That’s never been a reason I’ve had feelings for someone. Someone's paying for a fancy dinner, where do you eat and who do you take? BLACKBIRD. I’ve wanted to try it for a while now but Makati is a bitch to get to + their food would literally take away two weeks’ worth of my allowance. I’d take Gab with me for sure. Can you honestly say you are truly happy with your life? Not right now, but I’m not hopeless about it either. Can you paint well? I can’t paint at all. Describe a picture of yourself that you hate: The candid ones are the ones I end up hating the most. If you could keep any animal as a pet, which would you choose? Just all the dogs would be fine, thanks. Something you did in the past that you're embarrassed about: I was bidding Gab’s dad goodbye because he was leaving to meet up with his friends or something. Anyway my shoes chose to be slippery that day and I completely tripped the whole way walking over to him and I even unconsciously grabbed onto his arm to keep myself from falling flat on my face. I AM WINCING JUST TYPING THIS OUT PLS SEND HELP Would you rather play a good or an evil character in a play? Evil. It’d be easier acting that way. Do you like porridge? It’s alright. I mostly avoid it because it was all I ate for breakfast from when I was 4 up to when I was 10, and I’m so so sick of the taste and texture by now.

Has anybody ever lied to you just to impress you? Idk, probably. Strangest gift you ever received: Don’t think I’ve ever received anything I was genuinely baffled by. But I try not to be like that - all gifts are gifts so I’m always grateful whenever someone gives me one. Do most people annoy you? Nah. But 14 year old Robyn taking surveys would probably say yes just to sound edgy :/ Don't you think you should really be doing something more productive? Idk man we’re in the middle of a global health crisis. I think being productive shouldn’t be a priority for once. Have you ever felt really out of place? Yesssssss this was me when I was trying to apply for AIESEC. The crowd was just too different and I didn’t last long in the application process. What's your favourite shade of blue? Royal and sky blue. Do you have any odd phobias? I used to be afraid of watching advertisements at night, but I think it’s mostly gone now. What's the longest you've gone without sleep? 18-20 hours maybe. I don’t let myself pull all-nighters. When was the last time you just wanted to be left alone? Earlier this noon when I felt disrespected by my dad. Do you believe in karma? Sure. Can you remember a world before iPods? Nope. Google says the first iPod came out in 2001, and I don’t remember being 3 years old or younger. When was the last time it was sunny? This morning. Would you like to be photographed by Terry Richardson? I’ve never heard of him but I checked Google just now and apparently he’s been an asshat to his subjects? So no. Smoke? Yes please I so have been needing one throughout this quarantine. I ran out of puffs for my vape pen which is even worse. Would you rather have a lazy day or a day of being really busy? I’ve had 31+ lazy days now. I wouldn’t mind a busy day. Do you like the way that spoken French sounds? I don’t get to hear it all that much but it was spoken so beautifully in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, so I guess I’m alright with it for the most part. I just don’t like the times it comes from the throat and it sounds a bit like hawking. D: But maybe it’s just a cultural thing - Filipino isn’t throaty at all so when we hear sounds like that we’re just not used to it. What's the best film soundtrack? As stupid as the storylines were, they really made sure the Twilight Saga soundtracks SLAPPED. Bon Iver, St. Vincent, Muse, Death Cab for Cutie, The Black Keys, Florence + The Machine, PARAMORE?????? They weren’t fucking around. Interstellar and Gone with the Wind also had amazing scores. Where did you go on your last date? My informal first date with Gabie was at a museum + this quaint Italian place in Greenbelt that has since closed. My legit first date with her was at a Bonchon LMFAOOOOOOOOOO Do people find you "cute"? Not really... only my girlfriend calls me that. Who does the best remixes? Eh not a fan. What is most of your money spent on? Gas, food, dates.

[polyfacetious]

kingofdirtandnothing said: Freezing

“Not to question the actual witcher in all his...witcher-y knowledge. But don’t you think it’s a bad idea to hunt for an ice troll during the winter solstice?” Jaskier’s breath is a pale puff of air in front of him, his every step encased in the crunch of deep snow.

“Geralt?” The witcher is a few leagues ahead, his dark armor hard to miss in all this white. He doesn’t answer.

“...Although, I guess, the good people of Skellige wouldn’t be having troll problems in summer, would they?” Jaskier gets a grunt in response, this time. But then, perhaps it was the wind, or a falling rock. Geralt woke up in a particularly surly mood today.

“Is the black wardrobe a strict must in the witcher order? Don’t you think it’d be better to blend in with the snow? Geralt?” No answer, just more snow crunching. “Honestly, I know you didn’t want me to come, but must you keep acting like I’m no—“

“Quiet.”

They may not have traveled together for long, but Jaskier has by now learned the difference between Geralt’s ‘shut the fuck up, Jaskier’ voice, and his ‘there’s a monster close by’ voice.

So, Jaskier goes quiet, and when Geralt motions at him sharply, he hurries to the edge of the snowed-in path, to hide behind a...well, a larger mound of snow.

Geralt stands alone in knee deep snow, his sword raised and his golden eyes searing and bright in an otherwise pale and blue world.

Jaskier’s breath trembles with terrified anticipation, his heart a panicked drum between his temples as he looks around for any sign of whatever alerted those sharp witcher senses.

The ice troll barrels out from under a snowy hill with a roar that Jaskier feels down to the bone, and Geralt meets it head on.

His silver sword gleams in the icy air—covered in ogroid oil from the moment they left the inn this morning—, and chinks like steel on steel against the beast’s hard skin. Or perhaps, steel on ice—as the blade cracks through and Geralt earns himself another angry roar.

The troll yanks his arm back to swat at the witcher, but Geralt is faster, a swivel on his heel that’s barely hindered by the snow, before he thrusts the sword against the beast’s barrel chest and pushes on with a roar of his own.

It should be ridiculous—a man of Geralt’s size having any effect on a troll’s weight. But the monster cries out, stumbling back towards the outcrop of a deep ravine. Stone and snow immediately begin to crumble beneath its weight, and the bard breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s a mistake.

Jaskier should’ve known better than to allow any sense of victory to take root, as the troll’s hand lashes out with surprising speed and grips Geralt’s arm.

“Geralt!” He cries out, watching in horror as both troll and witcher fall out of sight, with only the whisper of snow, the crumbling of rock, and the fading roar of the beast to prove they were ever there at all.

“Fuck—“ Jaskier hisses, running from his thrice damned hiding place to fall to his knees at the edge of the ravine.

“GERALT!”

His voice echoes hopelessly all around the mountain pass, and when no answer comes, neither from the monster, nor from the witcher, Jaskier makes a decision.

Digging through the pack he convinced Geralt to let him carry, he pulls out the witcher’s silver chain, and a short dagger. Rope would’ve been best, he thinks, but—still better than nothing.

With only his harried breaths for company, Jaskier secures the chain to the sturdiest tree at the edge of the cliff, and pushes all reason and logic aside to start making his way down the steep ravine, using the chain to hold onto, and the knife to help keep purchase on the icy rock.

It all goes more or less according to plan, though he still takes a graceless tumble down the last third of the way, falling against the solid body of a—

“—that’s a dead troll. Oh, Gods—Geralt!” He calls out, scrambling to his feet to move away from the enormous corpse and look for the witcher. “Geralt!”

With no answer, and no witcher in sight, Jaskier entertains the horrible notion that the troll might have fallen on top of Geralt. But before he can even consider trying to move the big, ugly thing, he hears a cough.

“Geralt?” Jaskier stumbles further down, and feels his heart fall to his feet. “—Geralt!”

The witcher landed in the freezing river, the lower half of his body under the quiet current trickling down beneath a thin layer of ice.

“Oh, Gods, please, don’t be dead, please, don’t be dead, don’t you dare be fucking dead—“ He all but falls to his knees at the witcher’s side, yanking off his glove to feel for Geralt’s pulse with trembling fingertips.

He waits, biting his lip, and trying to listen past the panicked drum of his own heartbeat.

There! It’s weak, and terribly slow—slower than usual—, but it’s a pulse!

Jaskier crawls over to take hold of Geralt from under ridiculously muscular arms, and pulls him out of the river with no little struggle.

It’s too wet down here, there’s no way he can build a fire, and he can’t climb back up the ravine with the witcher on his back.

“Fuck—!” His voice breaks as helpless panic and fear begin to truly sink in, and Jaskier continues dragging Geralt to the body of the troll. Dead, horrid eyes stare blankly at him as he gently places the witcher down, and Jaskier brushes wet strands of hair from Geralt’s pale face.

He’s paler than usual, his lips already blue, and the rusty color of blood in his hair. He’s also not shivering. And Jaskier knows that’s not a good sign.

Witcher heartbeats are impossibly slow. That makes them particularly vulnerable to the cold.

Jaskier doesn’t know how he knows that—perhaps something Geralt mentioned, on one of his rarer, informative days—, it doesn’t matter. He has to get him warm.

“Why couldn’t you have fallen in a nice mound of snow?” He scolds the witcher uselessly, and looks desperately for any source of warmth they can use. He sees no caves, no place to keep the cold at bay. Only bare trees, a frozen river, and a dead troll, Geralt’s sword still embedded in its chest.

“Eugh.” Dark blood has seeped into the ground around the felled beast, a puddle of black gunk that seems to have melted the snow around...

—Oh.

“Alright, Geralt. You’d better not yell at me when you wake up—you needed a bath either way.” Jaskier mutters to the unconscious witcher as he steps over him to reach the dead troll.

Putting his glove back on, he takes hold of the sword embedded in the ice troll’s ribcage, gripping it with all his strength to dig it further in. The monster’s sternum gives with a sickening crack, and Jaskier feels his own stomach contents roil as he continues cutting along the troll’s front. From chest to navel, until a (hopefully) witcher sized gap has been carved.

“Right.” Jaskier tosses the sword aside, trying his best to breathe through his mouth. But the heat coming out of the beast’s innards is actually trailing with steam — this might just work. “Okay, now for the fun part.”

Taking a deep breath, he digs his hands into the troll’s guts, pulling out a half digested—yeah, he’s not going to look at that—something, and a whole lot of innards to make room for Geralt.

The heat of the troll’s blood is seeping through the sleeves of his coat, and it helps him regain some of the feeling in his hands as he crouches down in front of Geralt, patting his cheeks.

“Come on, Geralt, you can’t die like this. What kind of a song would this make? The white wolf freezing to death in some Gods forsaken ravine? That’s shit.” He takes hold of the witcher once more, picking him up under his arms to drag him closer to the troll, “Whew! You’re heavy. Should lay off the stew for a little while.”

In the end, he gets Geralt inside the troll feet first, shaking with exertion by the time he manages to lift his ridiculously toned upper half and shove him completely inside the beast.

Panting, Jaskier yanks blood soaked gloves off and reaches in to feel Geralt’s pulse—still weak, still slower than usual, but still there.

“Good. Good, good.” He whispers. Now he just has to make sure the wind doesn’t freeze up the troll’s insides before Geralt comes to. Looking helplessly about, Jaskier makes a decision.

“You better wake up soon, Geralt.” He scolds with a weak laugh, and shrugs out of his coat, fitting it over the witcher like a blanket of sorts, or a stopper against the wind. “I’ll be needing that back in a bit.”

It’s hard to tell the time when the skies are this grey, but Jaskier is mostly sure they’ve got a few more hours of daylight. Plenty of time for a witcher to recover.

“But you...you rest, now. I’ll just...I’ll take a little breather.” His teeth are chattering from the cold seeping into his bones, and Jaskier lowers himself down to curl up against the troll, just by Geralt, his hands held to his chest in vain attempt to protect them from the ice.

Hopefully some of that monstrous heat will still make it to him.

“You’ll see.” A hard shiver rakes up his spine, and Jaskier wraps his arms tightly around himself. “We’ll be alright.”

His body feels heavy, and before long, the shivers stop coming altogether. It’s the troll’s heat, he thinks to himself. It must be working. Surely, that must be why.

“See? What’d I tell you? Good as new in no time.”

But for now, he’ll just...he’ll just take a little nap.

“I’ll see you later, Geralt.”

The weight of the cold wins over, and Jaskier feels his attention wane, exhaustion falling over him like a heavy blanket.

He closes his eyes.

He won’t open them again.

Not in this lifetime.

[cherry3point14]

Freaky Friday

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Body switching crack basically, mainly hijinx, overreaction, mentions of feelings.

Word Count: 3886

Prompt: Sam and Dean have switched bodies, which you would have found hysterical if you had known BEFORE you went to your best friend Sam to mope about how felt about dean and how he had no clue.

A/N: Did y’all miss me?! I put out a cry for prompts because I was in a major writing rut and my girl @divadinag hit me up with a ton. Obviously, they’re all fantastic. So this is the first of several fics based off her brilliant brain. P.S please be gentle as I try to remember how to write again.

Ao3 if you prefer.

“The witch is dead why are we still like this? Why’d it only happen when we got back here?” Sam’s tone is more panicked than normal, asking more questions than he’s prone to. Sam normally has the answers. “I don’t know Dean,” Dean’s voice emphasizes the name with the same annoyance Sam normally utters it with, “funnily enough I didn’t ask the witch before we killed him!” “Ok, enough, just, we gotta figure this out, dude. I can’t stay in this body. You’re all gangly.” Dean’s face looks affronted at the accusation, “gangly?” “Yeah,” Sam shakes his arms through the air as if they’re new, “Son of a bitch have you always been this long? It’s unnatural and I don’t like it.” Dean’s face gets this little ghost of a smirk on it that Dean, the one trapped inside of Sam’s body, recognizes, “I thought you’d like the extra length Dean.” “Shut up Sammy. I’ve got plenty of length where it- just shut up ok. We’ve gotta figure this out.” Sam, the one currently residing inside of Dean, clamps a hand on his own shoulder, “guess I, or should I say you, better get reading huh?"

It had been quiet since you got back from dealing with the witch yesterday. The relative calm that hung over the bunker wasn’t unusual at first. It had been a long drive and after you’d all spent ten hours plus in the Impala together the three of you tended to scatter for some alone time. It was just unusual for it to stay quiet for so long. Dean usually crawled out of whatever binge he fell into after a few hours in search of food, and Sam usually preferred the communal comfort of the library to working in his room. But right now you haven’t seen either of them since you got back yesterday morning and their absence is making time tick by achingly slowly. Eventually, you’d even go as far as to say you’re starting to miss them both. However, you are not one to sit around and mope about it. Instead, you decide to take action to curb your loneliness. Sam’s door is a little further from the library than Dean’s which means you walk past it every time you go to see the youngest Winchester. And every single time you stop. Something tight in your stomach makes you pause, stare and imagine. What if you walked in and kissed those lips that you’ve been dreaming of? What if you strode in with all the confidence you normally possess, like he doesn’t phase you, and straddled his lap with absolute certainty? What if you finally admitted to Dean all the dirty things you’ve thought about doing to him? The answer, as your brain was so good at reminding you, was that you would make an idiot of yourself. Dean has never shown even a passing interest in you like that. Your friendship would be ruined to boot and you’d probably have to move out just to be able to live with yourself. But that was, you know, just one of the many worst-case scenarios that eventually got you walking again. You knock when you get to Sam’s room but you never wait for a response before your hand is twisting the handle and you’re sliding inside. Neither of you cares much for privacy around each other, it’s not a luxury you’re afforded on the road in cramped motel rooms so it became a habit back at the bunker too. Or at the very least Sam knows to lock his door when you’re not welcome. Since it’s unlocked you walk in and land unceremoniously on his bed with your limbs spread out like a starfish. He’s sitting at his desk but that probably wouldn’t have made a difference. You’ve fallen on him before and no doubt you’ll do it again at some point. “Y/N?” There’s a confused inflection in how he says your name that you quickly question. “Who else is it going to be? Don’t tell me you have another friend?” You turn your head to the side, smiling at him, waiting for the start of your familiar back and forth, but are met only with this bug-eyed stiffness to his body like he’s still not sure why you’re here. His straight back and frozen expression of fear ends your attempt at a joke as quickly as it began, “you ok? I’m not interrupting anything, right?” “No! Erm...” he cocks his head a little, which makes his hair fall into his face and in turn seems to frustrate him as if he forgot it was there. “No, I was just... reading! Yep. Research. You know how I love me some research.” “Ok” you drag out like he’s a weirdo. Because he is. And the book at his desk isn’t even cracked open so he’s either lying or he doesn’t want you to see what he was reading. You’re guessing it’s the latter but the old, leather-bound book of whatever lore he has a boner for looks uninteresting at first glance. “Anyway, I’m bored. Don’t suppose you’ve found any new cases yet?” “Nah, I’m working on the thing.” He says turning back to the book, opening it this time but holding it at an awkward angle. You can see the front cover but whatever he’s reading inside is well and truly hidden. The unknown project, as well as his shadiness, piques your interest despite the title of the book being some boring, long ass anthology of pagan magic, “what thing?” You’re only watching out of the corner of your eye so as not to seem suspicious but you notice his eyes dart about before he answers, “nothing, it’s just something Sa- me. Something me and Dean are working on.” You’d been about to dig deeper and find out why Sam is being so weird but then he had to go and mention his brother. You fling your arm across your face with all of the dramatics you usually reserve for talking about Dean, “seriously? You couldn’t go ten minutes without mentioning him?” “Hey! What’s wrong with me-my brother?” You roll your eyes under the arm stretched across your face. You know Sam must tune out you out like 50% of the time, you hope he does at least for his own sake. Except for the amount of time you’ve spent lamenting about your unrequited feelings he can’t have completely forgotten, right? “I don’t know why you’re being so weird but please stop.” You huff out a breath and slump your shoulders, “seriously I’d just got him out of my head.” The book slams violently shut in a way Sam never treats books, “nope, that’s it. Now I want to talk about it!” “Really?” Sam had been understanding when you first developed your crush but you were pretty sure the other reason he tuned out your ‘Dean talk’ was because you were talking about his brother. It can’t have been comfortable to listen to. Although now he wants to talk about it? “I mean. Ok, fine. I thought you were sick of me talking about how pretty your brother is but I guess not.” He had swung around and leaned forward on his knees when you first opened your mouth but as soon as you mention Dean being pretty Sam begins choking on his own tongue. “What?” “Calm down bud,” you jump up and clap him on the back before slumping back onto the bed. “I won’t call him pretty again in your presence. Lesson learned. But seriously, I almost told him today. I was five steps from his door. I could have gone in and done it.” You puff your chest out a little, proud of the progress you’re making from being six steps away from admitting the truth. “Told him- you almost told him?” “Yes, you giant dummy. I almost told Dean that I maybe, definitely want to knock boots.” Sam’s mouth is caught in this limbo of half opening and then snapping shut making him look like a defective guppy. There’s no sound is coming out, so you continue, “oh come on. That’s not even the worst thing I’ve ever said to you about him. Remember when I told you about that dream where he spent an entire hour... well I won’t say it again. Last time you couldn’t look at me for days.” If you hadn’t been making yourself laugh with the memory then maybe you’d have noticed how suddenly interested Sam had been in hearing the story again. And maybe you’d have thought it to be a red flag. “How long have you been feeling like this?” . “Eugh. Every time you ask me that and then you tell me to put on my big girl pants and go tell him.” “Why haven’t you? Maybe he would want to know.” He poses a good question and it’s not the first time he’s asked you. It is, however, the first time you’ve been interrupted by the object of your affection running into the room, “dude I think I found something!” Everything stops for too long a second. You stare at Dean, Dean stares at Sam and Sam can’t stop looking at you. It’s all very Days of Our Lives, you just need some dramatic music in the background. If your mind weren’t elsewhere you might wonder why they are being so secretive and climactic. However, you’re too busy praying to any available god or even demigod, that Dean didn’t hear what you’d just been talking about. When Dean finally looks at you he misreads the awkwardness in your face, “oh good, you told her. Listen, I know it’s weird but I think I found something to put us back. It’s not really a reversal of the spell just a detour, kind of.” “What spell? What are you talking about?” As soon as he mentions a spell almost getting caught with your crush fades to nothing. You’re in hunter mode without faltering. Especially so soon after just killing a witch. “The spell the witch cast before he…? Dean didn’t tell you?” His face creases, pouts more like it, in Sam’s direction. Actually, if you had to put a name on it you’d say that he does a classic Sam bitch face. Except it’s Dean doing it at Sam. Before your brain can unpack how wrong that it there’s something else he said that’s sticking in your craw. “No Dean. Since I haven’t seen you all day no, you haven't told me anything. What the hell is going on guys?” You look over at Sam, your trustworthy best friend who normally explains it all. There are no answers though. Sam’s face is blank except for those wide eyes again. Dean steps forward, “Y/N. It’s me, Sam. There’s no easy way to say this but Dean and I, we kind of got switched, this morning actually. We think the witch put a spell on us but maybe time delayed it somehow? We didn’t find any hex bags anyway. But I think I’ve found...” Dean, or Sam anyway, could have started reciting the declaration of independence, in French, backward for how much attention you pay anything else he says. Realization sends a shudder up your spine that turns into a white-hot flush of equal parts embarrassment and fury. You slowly turn back to Sam, well Dean. Dean in Sam’s body. Dean who you just unwittingly admitted your long hidden feelings to. You can feel the intensity of the red staining your cheeks. Somewhere in Dean’s body, Sam is still talking but the real Dean has the decency to make Sam’s face look sheepish at least. In the back of your mind, you joke that he can't pull off Sam’s infamous puppy dog eyes properly. Not that it matters, because you’re about to do the only thing you can do right now. Monsters you can face, demons you can kill, ghosts you can burn but this situation? Yeah, you’re going to run. Dean, or Sam, fucking whatever, falters over whatever he’s saying when he reads the decision on your face. But even half blocking the door he’s no match for your speed, especially not in a new body that he’s not used to. He barely raises his hands in a defensive attempt to ask you what’s wrong when you shake your head and side step him altogether. Three well-placed steps and you’re past him. Then it’s just you and the sound of your pounding feet echoing through the empty corridors of the bunker. All the way to the garage where you take the first set of keys your fingers wrap around, start the engine of an old pickup, and get the hell out of dodge.

If you wanted to be found, like an idiot, you’d have gone to a bar. Or maybe a diner. You know, somewhere they'll obviously look first. You don’t want to be found for a long time. Instead, you stop at a gas station and buy yourself the nicest bottle of whiskey they have along with some random armfuls of snacks. Then you drive to a motel, turn off your phone and curl up in bed, in the fetal position sucking on your drink like a baby’s bottle. They’re going to be beyond pissed that you took off and turned off your phone but maybe you’re beyond pissed that Dean just let you sit there and spill your guts. Everyone can be mad about something. Or maybe you should have gone balls to the wall and told Dean all those months ago. Whatever. There’s lots of blame to go around. What sucks is this could have been funny. Like this could have legitimately been the most hysterical supernatural situation to find yourselves in. You and Dean could have hidden all of Sam’s things in places too high for him to reach, well you’d have watched Dean hide the stuff anyway. And Sam could have taken Dean’s body out for a run or to a make your own salad place. That’s just your initial ideas. Given an hour you’d have a list of pranks ideas for them both. Instead, you’re almost halfway through a fifth of whiskey and two bags of chips deep into your snack pile. Alone. You don’t remember ever feeling the embarrassment on the level you’re experiencing now. It’s agonizing and you're absolutely sure it will never fade. Alcohol only dulls your chagrin as you keep flashing back to using the phrase ‘knock boots’.   You’re close to insanity when there’s a knock at the door. You’re slow to get up and even then you take the time to press your face against the peephole. Your shoulders roll back in annoyance at not being as well hidden as you’d hoped, “no thank you. Do not disturb.” He knocks again and you sigh, stamping your foot in a mini, slightly drunken tantrum. “Y/N, it’s Sam.” Reluctantly you swing the door open and try not to frown at him still wearing his brothers face. While you manage to keep your expression in check you still splutter, “why do you still look like him?” “We haven’t tried the spell yet. We’ve been looking for you since you left.” You still think you were pretty justified in running away but you kinda wish you could talk to Sam right now. Your Sam. “I’m sorry.” The apology tastes of whiskey and potato chips but not of actual regret. “No, you’re not.” He smiles. In your head, you know exactly how that smile would look on Sam’s face. It’d be comforting and friendly, playful even. But on Dean’s lips, the smile reminds you of the fool you’ve made of yourself. You huff and wander back to the bed and your bottle, “you’re right. I’m not. He just sat there and let me tell him! And now he knows. And I can’t talk to you when you look like him. You’re going to have to turn around or something.” Sam shuts the door behind him but makes no attempt to look like anything less than Dean. It’s motly annoying that you didn’t see it earlier. There’s the occasional way he moves that’s so utterly Sam, like the way he shakes his head or the way he carries himself. Now that you think about it there were lots of those clues while you talking to Dean. If you’d have recognized even one then maybe you wouldn’t have opened your big, dumb mouth. “Want to talk about it?" “Absolutely not Deano. Oh sorry, Sam. Right. Sam! It’s so hard to keep track.” You sweep your arm through the air with the bottle hanging precariously from your hand. Alcohol-fuelled sarcasm dripping from your tongue. “Look where talking has got me tonight. I can’t even run away for more than a few hours before you find me, all looking like Dean!” He strides over to you wordlessly and you forget. For all of a second, it’s another daydream. It’s Dean, the actual Dean, coming towards you. It’ll be his hands on you when he reaches you and his lips about to kiss yours. “I think you’ve probably had enough of this.” Sam mothers the bottle away from you, breaking the spell. Even though it’s soulful green eyes that you’ve memorized staring at you, it’s Sam that shines through them, somehow. “I never used to be like this you know. Maybe you don't remember when you first met me. I was a badass. I killed a demon by squeezing his head between my thighs, I mean I exercised him after but the thigh thing really slowed him down. I was cool Sam and I was hot!” He’s moving your snacks from the bed to the table while you ramble on, “both at the same time, huh?” “Yes! Because I wasn’t bogged down with dumb feelings for your dumb brother.” You lay back without being told to. Drunken exhaustion has crept up on you and with the bed now empty you fall into it easily. The mattress is lumpy but not completely uncomfortable. Sam pulls the blanket over you and patronizingly pats you on the head. “Maybe if you’re lucky things will be different in the morning.” He says earning a grumble for treating you like a child. You don’t correct him though. You hope things will be different in the morning. You hope you wake up in a world where today never happened. You close your eyes as Sam lets himself out, Dean being the last thing you really see.

There's no pounding behind your eyes when you peel them open and for that, you'll have to thank Sam at some point. It wouldn't have been the first time you drank yourself to sleep and you were far from tired until he tucked you in and took away the good stuff. Although it was gas station whiskey so, mediocre stuff. Your body drags as you get out of bed like the air is slowing you down. It's a tragic shuffle to the bathroom where limp arms barely find the tiny bottle of mouthwash to banish the day-old whiskey breath. You run your fingers through your hair and give up after the second tangle. The palms of your hands make a small semblance of an effort to flatten the creases from your clothes, but you still look like you slept in the clothes you’re wearing. Eventually, you accept that, yeah, you're going to have to go back like this. They'll both look like stock photo models for the Canadian tourism board and you'll look like the human embodiment of the hair that gets pulled from the shower drain. It will be a fitting return for you after yesterday. Your brain tries to convince you that you should drive straight home. The faster you face the music the faster you can get on with your life. It’s just, then you see the mound of junk food on the table. You try to pretend it's your hunger that makes you sit cross-legged on the end of the bed, salty snacks and candy bars resting in your lap, even if you know it's the fear in your chest making you procrastinate. You're throwing M&M's high into the air while trying to catch them with your mouth when there's a knock at the door. The falling chocolate bounces off of your forehead and lands somewhere on the floor amongst its other fallen brethren that missed the target. Getting off the bed is now a loud affair of creaky mattress springs and crinkled wrappers and you take long enough that your visitor knocks again. "I'm coming, I'm coming." You huff out. You hadn't really paid much attention to the time but for some reason, you're expecting the robust man who rented you the room to be there demanding you leave or pay for another night. It's why, unlike last night, you don't check who's there. Everything seems safer in daylight so you almost lurch the door off its hinges with the force you exert to open it. “Really? Come to drag me back already?” Dean is standing there, well his body anyway, and you're just as frustrated as you had been to see him last night. “Seriously you guys didn’t have time to do the spell yet?” He smirks. It’s enough to know from that alone but he still confirms it for you, “we had time. ‘S all taken care of sweetheart.” Everything is happening too fast to blush or run or slam the door. “What are you…?” He takes a step so that the edge of his boots are almost touching your feet. One hand cups your cheek, his thumb stroking a lazy line back and forth over your skin like he’s admiring art and his other arm wraps around your waist. You’re already breathless. You’re already fucking done. But Dean hasn't even started. He ducks his head at the same time that he lifts your face a little, angling your mouth in his direction. You let out this whisper of a gasp, unable to actually comprehend this series of events as his lips connect with yours. It could all be a dream. You’ve dedicated entire REM cycles to just this moment. The kiss. But in your dreams, he never tastes like coffee as he does now. And dream you never worries about if she still tastes of alcohol. Plus there all those little things you hadn’t thought to imagine. Like the way his arm pulls you into him so you’re halfway into a Hollywood style dip except you’re crushed against him enough to feel his muscles twitch. His lips are fuller somehow, softer but he kisses you more intensely than dream Dean. His tongue chases yours and maps out your mouth for a lifetime. It’s still not enough. When you both somehow telepathically agree to breathe you still don’t want to give him up and you rake his bottom lip through your teeth just because you don’t want to let him go. He laughs at that. The unashamed desperation that you finally let out. “Thought I should wait till I wasn’t in Sam to do that.” “You know, to anyone else, that’d be a really weird thing to say.”

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278