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gryffindors-weasley · 4 years ago

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Mended Pieces

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: When undesirable memories of the war resurface, Draco has you to seek comfort in.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: mentions of the war, guilt, depression, angst, bad days, comfort, fluff

The soft sigh that was heaved across from you was one to join many others that evening, one to join many others that day, actually. When you peer over the top of your book Draco’s gaze is fixed out of the window, focusing on the steady streams of raindrops trickling down the leaves of the trees nearby. His hair flopped over his forehead in haphazard chunks of platinum, dangerously close to obstructing his distracted stare. It wasn’t hard to presume that today had not been his best day, or week, not even a good one—could tell by the very look on his face when he returned home from his shift at St. Mungo’s. That, paired with his need to be close to you despite the lack of any conversation was a clear indicator of such things.

“Draco,” you say softly, cutting through the ongoing silence filling the room. He finally manages to pull his attention to you, a tired smile tugging at his lips upon hearing your voice. “What’s the matter, Love?”

He sits up a little straighter at that, clearing his throat and pushing the hair out of his face. “Nothing, darling.”

It had been your turn to sigh now, because the words leaving his lips were far from truthful and he knew you wouldn’t believe him even for a second. He could tell by the way you folded your page immediately and closed your book, abandoning it entirely as you set it on the nightstand to give him your full attention. Not to mention the way you had pursed your lips ever so slightly, looking over his own expression. His eyes were tired and he slouched, his hair a ruffled mess from undoubtedly running his fingers through it in a nervous habit throughout the day. He sat before you, picking relentlessly at a loose string on his pajama pants.

You waited a few moments before you spoke again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask kindly, patiently, his gaze bouncing around every inch of your face as he mulled over his response. He simply shook his head. Draco Malfoy was not one to talk about things as openly as another may be, he never had been in all of his life so his answer had not come as a surprise.

You nod, understanding in your eyes as you give him a small smile. You do, however, offer him your hand and he takes it without hesitation, allowing you to pull him to your side of the bench as he settles against your chest. A different kind of sigh left his lips this time, one of relaxed contentment as he rested his head over your heart. It was something he’d been waiting to do all day, a feeling he craved so desperately. You knew exactly what had been souring his day, what had been on his mind. The same thing that had always done it; it was the war.

His involvement in the now four year old event was something that continued to weigh heavy on his mind from time to time. Some days were far worse than others. Sometimes he spoke on it, sometimes he didn’t, but it had been the same reasoning every single time. Guilt.

Your fingers run through his hair, gingerly brushing through the minor tangles he’d created before repeating the action over and over. The rain was steady pouring on the other side of the window, its heavy droplets pattering against the window consistently and trickling down the cold panes. The bedroom grew darker by the minute as evening rolled around without pause, the stormy clouds only adding to the shadows filling the room. You couldn’t imagine the inclement weather to be of any help for his mood. A soft kiss is pressed to his forehead, a gesture he wordlessly appreciates more than he could describe in that moment as he squeezes around your waist.

He knew you were privy to what had been plaguing him that day, and he knew you had all the right things to say because you were wonderfully compassionate; so much so that he hadn’t known just what he’d done to deserve it. Not with the person he once was. The guilt weighing him down was far too much for him to articulate properly, of the things he had done, the hurtful things he had said as a child and as a young adult. All of it had danced ungracefully through his mind in this bout of remembrance of his past, taunting him whenever it so pleased. The guilt of the hurt you had gone through at the start of your relationship when your love was once forbidden. Before he could readily and openly defy his fathers wishes to rid himself of you; but he couldn’t let you go, even if that meant not being able to love you as he’d have liked to then. You meant more to him than to do such a thing.

The culmination of the years of mistakes and numerous regrets had proved to be far too much to carry for just one day, and he was grateful of your understanding. He was grateful for your unwavering patience with him.

He gripped your wrist tenderly, pulling your hand from his hair before enveloping it securely in his own. His fingers pushed between yours, hands melding in the perfect fit as he exhaled another breath.

“A new shipment of books arrived at the shop today,” you mentioned after a while, anything to pull his focus elsewhere.

A soft laugh left his lips at that, his thumb brushing over your skin. “And let me guess, they were nearly all romance novels?”

You joined in with his laughter, reaching up with your other hand to ruffle his hair before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Your guessing skills are starting to become impeccable, do you know that?”

“Or perhaps I just know you like the back of my hand, darling,” he says with a lazy smile, one that widens with your delighted laughter. Your laughter doesn’t cease upon the feeling of his lips on your neck, chaste kisses pressed to your skin. Kisses of gratitude for simply being there, but you weren’t privy to their meaning.

“Perhaps,” you murmur.

Your hand drops down to his back, finger tips tracing lightly across the bare skin in unknown shapes and lines. He ignored the chill that ran through him at the action in favor of relishing in your touch, his calloused hand squeezing yours a little tighter. It was moments like these that always meant the most to him. Moments where he didn’t feel like he needed to speak his dark truths in order for you to understand them, moments where you just let him feel what he’s feeling with the promise of being there with him. It made all the difference to him.

Eventually after a few moments when the laughter dies down, he sits himself up, tugging on your hand to pull you to his chest instead. He leans his back against the opposite wall of the window seat, his legs tangling with yours in a silence that could only be described as comfortable.

His fingers splayed across your back, cheek rested on your head as his stare remains focused on the gloomy Thursday night weather. It was ironic really, to have such miserable weather in a day he felt his absolute worst. As if Mother Nature had known his very outlook amongst everyone else and decided to match his countenance, his feelings. But despite that, he feels he’s got the sun in his arms, he knows he does. No one in the world could bring him out of a bad moment the way you could.

The simple act of you laying tucked away in his arms, knowing he could vent to you if and when he chose to, it worked wonders to soothe his racing mind. To know he could feel without judgement, process without pressure. It helped.

He focused on the way your chest would rise and fall against his own steadily, and the feeling of your kiss on his jaw. He focused on the way your thumb brushed gingerly over his knuckles and traveled to the back of his hand. Or the way your lashes tickled his skin with every fatigued blink, your cheek pressed to his chest. His lips ghosted over the crown of your head, kissing once, twice, three times there, his nose nudging affectionately against your temple.

You were a wonder to him indeed, a blessing, if you will. For you loved him for his ins and outs, his ups and downs, through everything. He needed that, all his life he needed that. And now he’s finally got it.

“Will you play me a song?” You ask after who knows how long, eyes curious and tired as you gaze up at him through your lashes. He looks down at you quizzically, brow raised.

“A song?”

“Yes, a song,” you laugh softly, sitting up and leaving the warmth of his arms much to his dismay. “On the piano, Dray.”

A knowing smile graces his lips then, his gaze traveling down to the hand you’ve outstretched towards him. The piano. You had gotten it from the Manor when you’d first moved into your own little cottage; it was a housewarming gift as much as it was a gift of long-standing comfort. You had known of the joy that was bestowed upon him whenever he allowed himself a moment to play it, you had known the distraction it gave. It had done so all his life. You knew it all, you always did, and he couldn’t help the way his heart swells in his chest at the thought behind your suggestion.

With a lighthearted huff he takes your hand, allowing you to pull him through the hall and down the wooden staircase eagerly, your laughter filling the space as he shook his head fondly at your antics. It wasn’t until he’d gotten up that he realized just how drained he had really been.

Moments later, the sleek grand piano had come into view, tucked in the shadowed corner of your living room just waiting to be played. He raised his brow at you once more, hand having not left yours quite yet. You pulled him to sit on the bench with you and he did so with a sigh of faux annoyance, but you didn’t miss the small smile on his lips. He settled down next to you, sitting closely by your side as you switched on a nearby lamp with a simple twitch of your fingers. It took him a moment to decide on a song, but soon he figured it out.

The pattering rain was quick to dissolve into mere background noise as his fingers slowly dance across the ivory keys with a comfortable familiarity, and you could see him beginning to relax. Could tell by the way his gaze focused on his hands, could tell by the way his shoulders began to slump and lose their stressed tension. There was something about creating a melody, one so beautifully delicate, that set him at ease. He created it, he had made something beautiful.

You move to rest your head upon his shoulder, and the smile on his face was immediate yet unseen by you as you let your eyes flutter closed. It was then that he deemed himself to be lucky, the luckiest man in the very strange world he knew. The sorrows of his day hadn’t washed away completely, no, they were still very much there. But they lessened; with the unwavering love you gave him and your wordless comfort, they lessened.

He played. He played a song ever so familiar to him, so much so that he could do it without a second though as if his hands had a mind of their own. A song that was your favorite just as much as it was his, one his mother had taught him as a boy.

In a matter of minutes the song began to taper and lose its tune as he’d become far too distracted by you, his lips pressing to your temple. It was when he’d stopped playing completely that you lifted your head in curiosity, a confused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“What is it?”

He simply looked at you for a few fleeting moments, his eyes bouncing between yours as a soft grin remained to mirror yours. Then he leaned in, his forehead pressed to yours, noses brushing. “You made me a better person. Thank you.”

His words were hushed and they were true, spoken in the utmost appreciation as he spoke them in the close proximity. You let out a quiet laugh as your eyes fall closed for a moment.

“I love you,” you say and his hand settles on your cheek, his kiss as tender and meaningful as his statement. And if it weren’t for the sudden pressing of piano keys as he clumsily tried to move closer to you, it just might have lasted longer.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his laughter puffing warm against your lips. “I love you.”

In that moment, you made him feel whole; you mended his broken pieces.

—

Tags: @dracosathenaeum @awritingtree @amourtentiaa @harrysweasleys @snitches-at-dawn @hahee154hq @lunalovecroft

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco x you #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction

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snaileer · 3 years ago

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Chips & Salsa - Chapter 9

“-remember-?”

Who was that?

“Do you-”

What are they saying?

Why does my head hurt?

Light burst into Lance’s eyes with the pain in his chest.

He jolted forward, stuck, hurt-

Haggar.

He could see her glowing eyes now. Staring at him from just under the darkness of her hood. Even without pupils, he could tell that she was focused solely on him. As if he would tell her anything.

Lance jerked against his restraints. Restraints? “What do you want from me, you hag?!” He shouted, pulling against the metal cuffs again. Though they already felt bruised. His head pulsed with similar aching.

“I said, What..” She creeped forward, clamping her hand around his chin, “Do you remember?” Her voice crawled out of her throat like slime coating his skin.

What do I know? He tried to pull away from her again, “What the hell are you talking about, you freak!?” She was asking about his team, his family… Voltron. “I won't tell you anything. You’ll never get your hands on Voltron!” He struggled for lucidity against another flash of pain in his ever-growing headache.

An odd mix of satisfaction and anger flitted across her face, curving it into a sneer. “We will see about that yet, Paladin.”

He had no idea where the satisfaction came from. The anger, he understood. He’d seen plenty of his math teachers with the same expression; but satisfaction? She had nothing to be satisfied about. Not if she thought she could get anything from him.

“You’re not going to be able to break me, not in this lifetime or the next. I’ll never betray my team!”

A strange hissing growl came from her as she pulled her hand back and turned to the other druids. Other druids? Why hadn’t he seen them? He should have noticed them. Was he really that focused on just Haggar?

“Take him to the cell,” She glanced back at him out of the corner of her eye, “Leave him there for a while. We’ll see how he responds when I come back with further improvements from this information.”

He barely had time to panic before a druid had placed a purple hand on his arm and he felt magic course through him. It wasn’t electricity, thankfully, but it tensed every muscle in his body, paralyzing him in place.

God, the cramps he would get from this. He needed a massage. With coconut oil. And music. Hell, at the very least, a hot bath and copious amounts of bubbles.

When the other druid reinforced the magic to carry him out of the room, he came to the unfortunate realization that he would be getting neither any time soon.

The hallways faded past him in a blur. A tingling feeling niggled at the back of his neck, You should remember this. Pay attention. Listen! It screamed. This has happened before! SOMETHING’S WRONG! It whispered.

It sounded familiar.

Lance tried to pay attention to his surroundings, he really did. He knew it would be important if he wanted to escape. To know where he was going. But every time he tried to focus, the directions and pathways slipped from his mind like sand through a net.

What felt like seconds later, Lance was thrown into the darkness of a cell. And suddenly, feeling rushed back to him in a tsunami. Pain, pins-and-needles, sharpness, bruising, the sting of wounds rubbed raw at his wrists.

The druids moved away, uncaring at the shout he gave in shock when he hit the floor. The door closed behind them unceremoniously.

Lance groaned from his place crumpled on the ground, “Nothing like little torture and paralysis to get ya’ kickin’ in the morning, amiright?” He sighed to himself.

Displeasure sunk into him as the grime crawled its way into his pores.

Reluctantly, Lance pulled his hands and arms under his body, pushing up from the floor. At least he could lean against the wall, presumably less dirty than the ground. God, his head hurt. And his arms. Everything was sore, the thick manacles on his wrists feeling heavier by the second.

With a series of grunts, Lance finally settled himself into a corner of the cell. There was very little light, and most of it seeped in from the space under the door or the half dead purple-lightbulb-in-a-cage right above it.

Still, when he rolled his head to the side in exhaustion, there was enough light to catch on something written- no, carved into the wall next to him.

He raised his shaking fingers up to it, trying to feel what marks he couldn’t see.

D-n--or--g-t

-o--for--

No, there was a space in between there.

Do-t- fo--q-t

He squinted at it, leaning closer. The light caught on the curves of some of the letters. The ones he couldn’t accurately feel. It was an ‘N’, a ‘G’, an ‘R’ and maybe.. an ‘e’?

Oh.

Don't Forget.

Lance dropped his shackled wrists to his lap and huffed a laugh at his efforts. At himself. And then he spoke to the darkness.

“Oh don't you worry, creepy wall carving, I think it’d be pretty hard to forget this.”

-x-x-x-

Lance sat in the darkness for hours, days, however mind-numbingly long it was that allowed him to actually recite his entire family tree through 4 and a half generations. Extended family included. He even started including hypothetical nieces and nephews based on what he thought his sisters would name their kids.

He absentmindedly wondered if all of them were still hypothetical. How long had he been gone? What had he missed?

What had changed without him there to see it?

Something rumbled in the back of his head. It felt hidden behind his absolute monster of a headache now coming back.

Except… wait. No. He recognized that rumble…

Blue?

Blue! It was the Blue Lion! His Lion!

Something broke free in his mind, a small section of fog lifting.

Her presence and his own pressed against each other in his mind. A piece he hadn’t quite noticed was missing.

How could he ever have forgotten Blue?

Her presence purred, the vibrations automatically soothing him, comfort pushing through his bond. Something still felt… off. The bond felt farther, more strained, even though he could feel Blue on the other side. Feel her desire to come closer, feel the worry tinging the edges. Something still kept a distance between them.

He didn’t know what it was but something in his own mind told him to leave it be. It was important. It had to be like this.

Whatever this was.

Lance wasn’t able to figure it out soon enough, their mental conversation interrupted by the harsh grinding opening his cell door.

“Get up,” a discourteous voice commanded.

He looked at them with hooded eyes and a forced smirk, “Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt somebody?” Not that they knew he was having a conversation, but still… point stands.

Their glowing eyes narrowed, “Get up, or suffer, Paladin.”

“Didn’t anyone teach you manners? I didn’t even hear a please. Honestly, people these days have no- AAH!” Lance’s scream cut off his own words as purple lightning struck his body.

The druid barely even moved their hand and pain ran through his muscles. When the lightning stopped, Lance was left heaving for breath on his side.

He felt like the Extra Crispy option on a fried chicken menu. Was God trying to make him go vegetarian through sheer number of shared experiences? Screw that. In fact..

Lance glared back up at them and forced out the words, “Screw. You,” from between clenched teeth and struggling breaths.

He wished he could see the fury he knew was behind those masks.

The druid lifted their hand again and though Lance tried to fight the flinch, he wasn't sure if he succeeded. Instead of lightning, he felt the tight restraints of their magic envelope him and lift him up. He couldn’t even struggle out of it.

“Bite your tongue, child, or Haggar may decide to teach you some manners,” The druid growled and turned around, making their cloak swirl dramatically. Lance wished he could scoff at them, but the paralyzation made that difficult.

“And she will not be as merciful as I was.”

He settled for a particularly scathing, derisive glare. Lance thought they got the message anyways.

He was so focused on trying to burn a hole through their back that he almost missed where they were going. Almost. He hadn’t thought any of the directions stuck through his headache, but now… they were going back to the same room as before.

To Haggar.

He knew he was right when he spotted the Lady Hunchback herself leaning over a table. Seriously, when was the last time that woman stood up straight all the way? When she finished sharing tips and tricks with Satan and Hitler?

“I’d hate to be your chiropractor, lady. I bet it’s costly to find someone even able to tolerate your presence.” He was hoping for at least a twitch as the Druids forced the manacles into place on the table.

Instead, it was his heart that skipped a few paces upon realizing it must have been the same table he’d woken up on.

“I can’t imagine anyone would willingly come near you, despite being paid,” He sneered. It worked as a good enough distraction from what he knew was gonna happen. At least, it worked until she turned around.

“Quite the contrary, little Paladin,” Haggar reached her hands out to his head, clawed fingernails keeping him from leaning away, “I think you and I are going to get very close.”

Lance screamed again as pain shot through his skill. It felt like needles being shoved through his eye, he couldn't even-

It burned. It burned. It burned!

Please! Please Somebody! Help!

I can't-!

“Show me your team, Paladin,” A voice whispered, “SHoW ME Voltron!”

Pain surged again in time with his screams. Idly, some part of him wondered if he could burst his own eardrums.

His thoughts were crushed beneath crashing waves of searing, hot, burning, hot, it’s too hot, it hurts, it hurts it hurts, please please I can't do this I don't want-, somebody please!

Sharp claws cut a path through his mind. These ones didn't hurt.

No.

These claws came from soft padded paws. Metal and yet somehow gentle. Cold and soothing. He walked towards them, down the path they had laid for him, desperate for whatever small relief they could provide. Some distant piece of his soul recognized his bond between lion and paladin. But she was so far away. He could see the doors opened for him, welcoming him home, home to the water. But the path was so long and so dark.

He glanced down.

Dark?

No. It wasn't meant to be dark.

Burning tingled at his fingertips when he looked harder. His lion was blue. A gorgeous sky blue, ocean blue, ice blue. Then why….

Why was there purple leaching its way across it?

He looked behind him.

The heat worsened, pain closer than he remembered it.

His footsteps were clear behind him, each one oozing sickly, purple slime that curled its way around the light. Covering every inch of the gentle blue.

This wasn’t right. Something wasn't-

Sharpness spiked across his skull, snapping his head forward.

“Focus. Focus! Closer. Get closer! You cannot resist me! Not weak like you are!”

Something forced him forward and he stumbled on the path, falling to one knee. He reached to steady himself on the path; and different worlds flowed through his mind.

You’ve done this before, Cub. You can do it again.

They were his words. And they were Blue’s.

But he knew what they meant. He remembered it now. How Haggar was trying to get to his team, to Voltron, to Blue.

What she wanted from them. From him.

no. No. No!

“You cannot have her, Haggar! Not ever!” Lance turned around and moved away from the doors. The bond. Away from Blue.

Fresh agony layered on his skin. Heavier and thicker and stronger with each step.

He could hear Blue behind him now, calling out for him in mewls and cries. She wanted them to do this together. But he couldn’t, they couldn't do it together without endangering her. Endangering everybody. So he kept running. Pushing through what felt like thick slime until he was struggling to keep moving.

The smog pressed itself down his throat, burning, scalding and tearing him up on the inside.

Haggar was shouting out behind him too. She could only go so far, only get so close to her goal with him.

“I will take control, Paladin! You cannot stop me!” Claws grabbed his upper arms and pulled him back. They left deep gashes on his biceps and shoulders, but he pushed against their leverage.

“You don’t think I can stop you Haggar!?” He glanced over his shoulder at her glowing yellow eyes, “Watch Me!”

He turned around and reached into the darkness of her body without form, clutching onto the thickness he felt inside of it. Even as its essence burned like hot acid on his skin.

And then he threw his body backwards, taking her with him.

Away from the doors and through the barrier of Haggar’s magic. Away from Blue and through the pain.

Off of the path.

Almost immediately he felt Haggar get thrown from his mind.

He gathered what little peace he could find. The crashing waves came to a standstill for just one moment. It was enough.

It had to be.

He wanted to cry. Tears welled up in his eyes. He knew this was the best chance he would get to do so, but he couldn't. Not until it was over. Then he could break, could cry, or do whatever the hell it is that is supposed to come after this.

He looked back to stare through the thick, writhing purple of Haggar’s magic. He could see the glimmer of his bond with Blue. Of the ‘path’ they had laid that first day together.

It was dimmed now. Not just by the smoke obscuring his view, but by the purple sludge seeping into its bricks.

She’d gotten farther this time. Closer. More so than Lance had ever wanted Haggar to get. He knew he was struggling, struggling to keep the distance between his bond and her corruption.

It was weird. To be able to look back and remember himself forgetting something. Forgetting how many times they’d had this battle. This push and pull in his own mind.

He still didn't know just how long he’d been fighting back to keep her away. Just that he had. And that he’d keep doing it.

But he was losing.

A traitorous part of his heart told him this couldn’t go on forever. Something had to give, and as it was, Lance was not liking his odds. Something would have to break eventually.

But not yet.

He couldn't let go of her yet. He couldn't. Even if that made him weak, he couldn’t.

Not yet.

He just wanted to stay here a little longer. Stay with her a little longer.

The corrupted magic clearly disagreed with this prospect. Its char-colored surface rippled back to life. Waves were heard in a distance that did not exist.

They were not the bright, colorful waves of his home, nor the cold but fierce waves of his lion, these were riptide waves. Powered by the undertow and ready to pull him under. Drowning and suffocating him, farther, farther down.

He lost sight of the glow at some point, and the darkness snatched him under instantly.

-x-x-x-

The druids stared at the body of their mistress over the Voltron Paladin. So many times before, it had been the same. The same resistance and weakness from him. The same ignorant stubbornness as he protected what their Emperor deserved. He would fall to their magic eventually. As the one before him, and the countless subjects before that. He would fall.

But there were doubts.

They watched as Lady Haggar was flung back from the Paladin as she had been so many times before.

The doubts stood still. Ever wavering, faltering but not falling.

Lady Haggar lifted herself up and neither druid so much as twitched to help her. They knew better.

“He thinks himself strong, thinks himself righteous,” She crowed in that tone that said he so clearly wasn’t, “But his naivety costs him. I grow closer by the day.”

They saw barely a flash of white when Lady Haggar bared her teeth, “But that Lion keeps reminding him, keeps undoing my spells. He needs to be broken; and soon.”

The Druid refrained from mentioning that the spells for the invasion of his mind could only be broken by the strength of ones own quintessence. Reminded of strength, yes; but not given it or shared.

He was a Paladin of Voltron for a reason, though flawed that reason may be.

Lady Haggar finally turned attention to her druids, to fulfill their purpose under her command.

“Rid him of his weaknesses. No weaknesses, and nothing to chance.” She growled as low as a female galra could, “I will get that Lion from him, one way or another.”

As Lady Haggar stepped back, the druids stepped forward, up to the helpless paladin. His face was clear, unburdened and untense. That would change soon. They reached out with their arms and their magic, delving into the surface mind of this Paladin. Only the surface, Lady Haggar would do the rest.

The druids looked to each other, then to their mistress. He was ready, the spell prepared once again.

And from the front of the table, magic shot forward from her fingertips, into the mind, body and quintessence of the Child Paladin.

Their druid magic was nothing to the level of Lady Haggar, the Dark Witch of the Galra; and yet, it was their magic that ripped into his mind and made it possible for her to latch onto his memories.

They laid him bare, and she took what she needed.

The Paladin could do nothing. Would continue to do nothing. Not in the face of the empire’s power.

Then why must we keep repeating this process. The doubts whispered.

The druid ignored the words, focusing instead on the drawing of their power for the spell. When it was finished, the Druids stepped back once more, and Lady Haggar drew forward.

How would the Paladin awake this time?

His face began twitching. Slow, just as the last time.

“What do you remember?”

Nothing.

“Do you remember?”

Why did she ask him this? Their spell would only fail at the interference of the Voltron Lion. It was infallible to tricks of the mind.

The Paladin’s consciousness came closer to the surface. Still too slow. Always slow, this paladin. Magic was infallible and uncompromising, but Lady Haggar was not as patient.

She threw a spark of her magic onto the boy’s chest and instantly, he awoke. He jolted forward against the cuffs, no doubt hitting bruising from the pain of his struggles during Lady Haggar’s procedure.

Recognition flashed across his face. Focus drawn only to their Mistress, just as he was meant to. This was important, his mind still laid open for her to search, she drew her eyes onto his as her magic probed for information. Voltron could not hide forever.

The Paladin jerked forward once again, as if he had not learned the first time, “What do you want, witch?!” He shouted, pulling against his restraints. They would hold, this child was weak. Too weak.

“I said, What..” Lady Haggar creeped forward, clamping her hand around his chin, “Do you remember?” Her magic crawled forward, coating the recesses of his mind as she worked to pull forward his thoughts, his knowledge on Voltron.

His efforts to pull away were futile, though expected, “What the hell are you talking about, you freak!?” Voltron. Voltron. The Other Paladins. Tell us. Tell us of Voltron, the magic chanted.

“You won't get anything from me, I won’t betray Voltron!-” Lady Haggar pushed deeper and pain flashed beneath his eyes, “You won't find my team, not through me!” The trench opened in his mind began to close, Lady Haggar’s magic pulling back.

Accomplishment flitted across her face in pairing with irritation. He was still resisting then… surprising but not irreparable. “We shall see if that is true, Paladin.”

The Paladin seemed confused, but then again, he always did. He was weak and feeble-minded after all, nothing more could be expected.

“I’ll never betray my team and you'll never be able to make me! That will never change!” He shouted. So loud, so foolish.

Lady Haggar pulled back her hand as the last of the Druid’s spell closed, they would have to try again. She looked to the druids, and drew the Paladin’s eyes to them as well. He had not noticed them. Poor awareness, weak yet again. This is why the spell worked so well on young, unguided minds. It led them to purpose. The Empire’s purpose.

“Take him to the cell,” She looked back at him slightly, “Leave him there until I summon for you again. We shall see his results after I have viewed the information gained. Succession is at hand.”

“Vrepit Sa,” Both Druids nodded and turned to the Paladin, their hands coated in magic. A paralytic, they were too close to risk escape with this prisoner.

But you have been ‘close’ for a while now, haven’t you?

The paladin’s eyes widened, his heart jumped pace and his quintessence fluctuated before being frozen by the spell. As if the body could fight it, the spell was instantaneous with contact. Simple and complete.

The Druid’s magic worked in concession to lift the Paladin and disconnect his restraints without removing them. Silently, they began the walk to the cell.

They could see the panic and confusion in the child’s eyes as they turned each corner. It was pitiful that the magic coating his mind would leave him helpless for hours. Still, the effort was commendable. A sign of potential perhaps.

His eyes started to glaze over dim, perhaps not then, if he lost presence that fast. He held little use past his title as Paladin.

It was with this thought that they tossed his unpresence into the cell. Without a fight, this Paladin was nothing more than knowledge to be collected and tested.

The Druids moved away, uncaring at the shout when the Paladin came back to himself as he hit the ground. They closed the door without mind.

Then stepped to the side.

Magic made one weak if you allowed it to. Weakness made one vulnerable and vulnerability was to be exploited. So, they waited; to see if the Paladin had changed in the hours under Lady Haggar’s influence.

His groan echoed quietly through the metal door. After much hesitance, and many pauses, the Paladin began moving. His shuffles were quiet, but his vocalizations of his pain were not.

Lady Haggar had left marks on him this time, his upper arms and shoulders were marked with scratches like a wild Krelshi.

They listened to him rest again, presumably sitting rather than laying now. As he always was when they came back.

The metal of his cuff clinked softly against the cell walls. The druids looked to each other, a wonder if the Paladin would remain the same in his patterns.

Indeed, not a minute passed until they heard the unsure sounds of his untranslated, broken language whisper through the air.

Neither of them understood it. These were not words. They could not be translated. They were just sounds. Gripped by craziness or something else, they were still just sounds.

Then, a small laugh. A chuffing. Even in a place like this for the prisoner. Always the same.

“Oh don't you worry, creepy wall carving, I think it’d be pretty hard to forget this.”

Always the same, the paladin. Always the same.

-x-x-x-

In some other world, Lance might have wondered why the words carved into the wall were written in English.

He may have even noticed that the handwriting looked scarily similar to his own despite the pitch black darkness.

This was not one of those worlds.

And he did not notice.

First Chapter: https://snaileer.tumblr.com/post/613092735756402688/chips-and-salsa-chp-1

Next Chapter: Not Out Yet! But Soon!

Also double-posted on fanfiction.net and Ao3 under the same name!

58 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

the sex party: ii

(r18+)

shinsou hitoshi x reader

ao3

part 1 || part 2 (you’re here!)

word count: ~9k

You and Hitoshi definitely have a thing for each other, but who would've thought that a 'sex party' would produce a confession?

warnings:

COLLEGE AU! characters are explicitly aged up to college students as early 20 year olds!

not really a sex party, mutual pining, friends to lovers, confessions, reader is canonically bi, brief momo x reader, light dom/sub, spanking, references to drug use, smoking (cigarettes, salem trademarked fic thing), drinking, and smut

---------

once again, thank you to @keiqos for editing, absolute gem :’^). now read and take this nice fluff and smut!!!

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Hitoshi hailed the gang outside just before calling an Uber, vaguely explaining what happened and that you were both headed back towards campus. Denki and Jiro assured the two of you that they’d find the fucker and get him thrown out and spit on.

“What a fucker, I’m sorry that happened, (Y/N),” Jiro frowned, eyebrows creased with anger. She cracked her knuckles.

You felt your chest tighten as you smiled back reflexively, “It’s alright. I’m just glad it's over.”

Mina grabbed your shoulders, “I’m going to ruin him for ya’, (Y/N). Ruin.”

She was deadpanned about it, waving a quick goodbye before running into the party to presumably go and kick the guy’s ass. The rest of the party peers followed, leaving with a similar sentiment and a lot of anger.

Denki remained, rubbing the back of his neck, “Are y’all headed back to the house then?”

You nodded, eyeing Shinsou, “Yeah, back to your guys’ place.”

Denki’s eyebrows raised, a wicked grin coming to his face.

Hitoshi gave a half-hearted glare.

Denki continued looking smitten as all hell. He gave Hitoshi a quick hug and crushed one into you. He flitted back in the house with a lightness in his steps that showed distinctly that he was far more drunk than he was letting on.

...

Part of you had a feeling that the night was far from over.

The Uber arrived a few minutes later, smelling of cheap air freshener and stale cologne. You climbed into the back seat as far as you could go. You expected Hitoshi to take the passenger’s side, but he slid beside you, buckling himself into the middle seat.

You didn’t say anything, but you mentally thanked him.

Considering the number of weird friend boundaries (when were you going to be honest with yourself, god, just say it) that had been breached already, you let yourself fall just the slightest bit into Hitoshi’s side as the car began to move.

Hitoshi continued tapping around on his phone one-handed, all to wrap an arm around the back of your seat, half around your shoulder. You relished his heat and let the details fade away as you stared out of the car window.

At some point, Hitoshi put his phone away, stuffing into the pocket of his jeans.

“Your jacket—” You spoke up, but Hitoshi quickly and quietly shushed you, squeezing your shoulder.

“I already had Momo grab it, no big deal,” You hadn’t realized how close he was until the heat of his breath rolled over your ear. “It’s much more important to make sure you’re feeling alright.”

Why is he so nice?

You remained silent, hyper-aware of the softness of your bare thigh pressing against Hitoshi’s own. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the warmth of his breath so close to your face in such a small space.

And you wanted more.

The neon lights of the city reappeared, growing brighter as the two of you neared Hitoshi’s home. Your mind swirled and spun with revelation after revelation.

How the fuck had you not realized how much you liked Hitoshi sooner?

I mean, it was obvious, but repression really does things to a person.

The Uber finally pulled up to Hitoshi’s home. The two of you swiftly went inside, an odd silence between the two of you.

As you stepped out of your heels, Hitoshi broke it from the living room.

“What if I told you I ordered food from that one late-night diner and it’ll be here in ten minutes?” Hitoshi glanced up from his phone with a dashing smile, the kind only you got to see.

It made you want to fucking explode.

You cracked your own, standing fully and stretching your toes, “I’d say ‘thank god, and god is Hitoshi Shinso.”

“You flatter me,” He chuckled, waltzing into the living room. You followed, aware of the eerie quiet that the house carried. It was rare that Hitoshi’s home was fully uninhabited and fully soundless.

It made your thoughts seem even louder.

“Want anything? Water? I can make us some drinks if you’re still in that mood,” Hitoshi offered, already moving towards the kitchen.

It felt like you were going to burst.

“Water is okay, I’m not really feeling like drinking anymore.” You laughed softly, rubbing the back of your neck. You were desperately trying to relieve your own internal tension, but you just fucking couldn’t.

Hitoshi returned a moment later with a glass for you and a kind gaze, regarding you were the most sacred thing in the world. The glass trembled in your grip as you refused to maintain eye contact with him.

You really couldn’t handle any more of this.

“You tired? I can set up the couch for you if you wanna lie down, unless you want me to walk you back to your dorm?” Hitoshi asked, moving towards the linen closet to grab your usual sheets and blankets. Hitoshi obviously sensed your discomfort and the bastard was too nice for his own fucking good, trying to cater to your every fucking need.

He’s way too nice.

...

You made your decision in that moment.

You swallowed, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. Fear wormed its way into your gut, but you spoke through it.

“Actually, can we talk?” You hated the way how your voice trembled.

Your knees felt weak when you saw Hitoshi’s expression fall, pretty violet orbs drooping.

Both of you were well aware of what the conversation would be about.

Hitoshi stopped across the room, turning to you. His brow was furrowed with anxiety. His voice came out sticky, pushing, “I think you’ve had a long night.”

Fuck it.

Tell him.

How much longer can you keep this up anyway?

“It’s going to feel a lot longer if I’m sleeping on the couch when I want to be in your bed.”

The silence that stunned the room echoed louder than anything you had ever heard before. You stared down at your feet, ignoring the way overemotional tears began to gather in your eyes. Your vision clouded, but your mouth kept spewing.

It had to.

“Hitoshi, I like you. A lot more than friends like each other.”

More silence.

You hold back sniffles.

You’re fucking up your whole friendship.

“And I know, our flirting has always been teasing, but I think it became real for me at some point.”

More silence.

“I don’t want to fuck up our friendship. You’re my best friend, Hitoshi, and I really, really care about you. And, I don’t want to throw away our friendship over a crush, okay? I just needed to get this off my chest. We can just forget I ever said anything if that’s easier.”

Your own arms come to wrap around yourself, thumbs making idle circles in an attempt to unconsciously soothe yourself.

You could hear Hitoshi take a few steps towards you, inhaling like he was going to speak, but quickly cutting himself off.

Ouch.

A few stray tears ran tracks down your face.

Your lip wobbled as you spoke, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, and that I teased you so much while feeling like this, I just didn’t notice—”

“(Y/N).” Hitoshi stood in front of you, low voice shocking you from your thought.

You refused to look up at him.

“H-hey, how about I just go back to my dorm? I’m sorry—” You sputtered, rubbing at your eyes as the carpet grew blurry beneath you.

You felt so fucking pathetic. Maybe it was because it took you this long to figure out your own feelings and say something about them. Maybe, it was because you were fairly certain you were capital l in Love with Hitoshi, yet you didn’t even have the guts to look at you as you confessed.

Maybe, it was all because you were so damn terrified that it was all of these possibilities making you drown in your own insecurities.

Hitoshi, diligent and mindful as ever, took note, even if you didn’t notice.

“(Y/N), look at me.” Hitoshi’s damn near commanded, but you somehow ignored him, spiraling deeper.

You couldn’t keep yourself from shaking as your voice cracked, “I’m so fucking sorry, Hitoshi. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll be better, we can—”

And then there were hands, large and soft cupping your jaw, gently forcing your gaze up.

You shook even harder, unable to avoid him any longer.

Your breath felt leached from your lungs when you finally met Hitoshi’s endlessly sweet gaze.

Hitoshi’s eyes were so fucking soft. There was this melancholic smile on his face that made alarms go off in your skull.

He’s going to reject you.

You got the wrong idea.

You sucked down another sob as you tried to lower your head, but Hitoshi’s grip only became firmer. His thumb rubbed away some of your tears as he released a soft sigh.

A moment of quiet passed between the two of you. The teasing, fleeting glances and lustful eye fucking of the earlier night were long gone. All that remained was a tense string of vulnerability that both of you were terrified of.

You were shaking so hard in his grip.

You didn’t notice, but he was shaking too, desperately trying to keep his breathing even.

You blinked up at him, just waiting for him to reject you.

(Like Hitoshi would ever do that—)

“Can I kiss you?” Oh, his voice rolled so low and deep over you, you could’ve died.

Your eyes widened, and all you could do was nod, brain sluggishly following the situation.

He shook his head, lowering his head just a bit closer to your eye level. So ardently did he refuse to look away from you.

“I need you to say it, (Y/N).” He kept himself composed but god, he was struggling.

You gulped, leaning into Hitoshi’s hands for comfort.

“Yes, please,” Your voice came out soft, breaking and needy and Hitoshi wanted every bit of it.

His face hovered in front of yours for a moment, eyes tracing your features with such reverence.

And then his lips were on yours and all of your mutually stored tension broke.

It shattered.

His lips were soft, so different from what you secretly fantasized about. You expected some sort of roughness to him, but now that you were so sinfully close, he radiated calm and sweetness that you could almost taste.

Hitoshi was so gentle with you, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer.

You moved your lips against his, relishing the fact that he was there and you were there. Maybe it was fleeting, maybe he would pull away and say he just wanted to fuck and you’d have to have that conversation. But, in that moment, you just sank into Hitoshi’s touch, throwing your arms over his shoulders and tangling deft fingers into his unruly hair.

You could handle whatever future you were given. Just a morsel of Hitoshi’s soft but unbridled affections felt like more than enough.

(Little did you know how much of him you were to receive.)

Hitoshi pulled away, but hardly. He stayed so close to you, pupils blown wide as his breath fanned of your cheekbones. You so, so wanted to surge forward and drown in him, but you held yourself fast.

He surprised you by letting out his own shaking breath, all the way in his chest. Your eyes widened.

“You’re such an idiot—” Hitoshi laughed and you faltered for a moment. It must’ve shown on your face because his hands started rubbing at your sides.

He kissed you softly again. Something chaste and sweet, like a type of summer fruit that stains your lips.

He pulled away again, lips parted and scanning you.

“You have to say it.” You told him, trying to keep your voice firm, but failing.

“Say what?” He teased, peppering the side of your face with kisses.

You made a small, half-annoyed noise, pushing lightly at his choice, “You know what, Hitoshi.”

He paused, dragging you tighter to him. A hand came up to cup your neck, fingers tracing idle patterns on your pulse point.

The look he wore (so well) was one of pure tenderness that made you ache in the best possible way.

“Of course I like you.” Hitoshi kissed you again.

You were too stunned for words.

Hitoshi kept going, his own tension apparently having broken as well.

(Duh.)

“You have no fucking idea how much I adore you—” He spoke against your lips, hands digging into your sides as you pulled lightly at his hair. You both craved closeness and finally had it. “How much I’ve wanted this, you—”

You whine into his mouth, pressing into him with everything you had.

His touch felt heavenly. After so many months, years of pent up romantic and sexual tension, his hands felt like divine fire against you. Every part of you ached for more of him, as now you were finally able to express your desires.

You pulled away, just enough to lean your foreheads together. Hitoshi’s pupils were blown wide, flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked, voice still small.

Hitoshi chuckled, popping a quick kiss onto your nose, “Honestly? I didn’t want you to think I was only your friend because I wanted fuck you.”

Your insides twisted.

“Do... you only want to fuck?” You asked, any movement to pull away blocked by Hitoshi’s hold on you. Your heart hammered in your chest.

You definitely wanted more than just a fuck, but you’d take what you could get.

(You wouldn’t have to.)

“Oh, no, not at all,” Hitoshi spoke matter of factly, wearing the smuggest grin. His lips went to just below the shell of your ear, “There’s plenty more that I want from you, (Y/N).”

“Hitoshi,” You nearly moaned his name as his lips brushed against your ear. “You g-gotta be careful, saying shit like that.”

“Why's that?” Hitoshi’s lips met the fragile skin of your neck and sank into him.

“You k-know why,” Your words trembled as he left trails of kisses against your neck.

All you wanted was more.

“Tell me. I love hearing your voice,” Hitoshi crooned against your neck, pressing at the small of your back so you arched into him.

His words were so damn sweet, it made you melt inside and out as a high moan dribbled from your lips.

Hitoshi nearly growled against your neck, sucking at the skin at your collar. You fisted the back of his sweater, toes curling against the carpet—

And then a soft knock echoed from the door.

You both stopped dead, freezing.

Quickly, Hitoshi straightened out, but not before pressing a loving kiss to the skin he bruised.

“Foods here.” He smiled at you as you breathed, open-mouth and near panting.

-------------------------------

Hitoshi came back from the door with the food, setting it on the coffee table and falling onto the couch. You followed suit as Hitoshi took out a few takeout boxes, handing one to you.

“I got that breakfast combination you always get, I hope that’s okay,” Hitoshi passed you a fork as you nodded.

“How are you so calm right now?” You asked, turning to him and folding your legs under your body.

Hitoshi turned as well, raising an eyebrow and holding up one of his hands between the two of you.

It was shaking violently.

“Not calm, at all. Just composed,” Hitoshi broke into his own food, taking a bite. “Eat something, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t fight him on that. Despite the elated, anxious, (horny) twisting of your gut, the smell of comfort food soothed you after such an eventful night.

The two of you ate in relative silence, both in shared contemplation. It was comfortable, sounds of the city neighborhood and old house filling the space with enough ambient noise to feel natural.

You finally set down your empty box, eyes flickering to Hitoshi as he finished off his food, a bit of egg stuck to his fork.

“I was being serious earlier, you know,” You rubbed at the fabric of your dress, suddenly very aware of the way it rode so high. “About sleeping in your bed rather than the couch.”

“I figured you were,” Hitoshi replied, setting his own food down to face you. “I never said you couldn’t.”

“Let’s clear the air then, if that’s okay,” You asked, a bit uncertain.

It all felt a lot better when Hitoshi grabbed one of your hands, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. He nodded to you to keep talking.

“So, I like you. You like me.” You began.

Hitoshi nodded again, a cute smile creeping at the corners of his mouth.

“You... don’t just want to fuck?” Your words sounded unsure, but Hitoshi quickly nodded.

“I’d prefer more, but I’ll take what I can get,” Hitoshi shrugged.

You definitely felt somewhat settled and a whole lot less insecure.

If anything, you felt bold.

Very bold.

Before Hitoshi could react, you shoved Hitoshi’s shoulder into the back of the couch. Your bare legs went over either side of Hitoshi’s built thighs, squeezing as you straddled him.

You could feel the way your dress rode up, almost showing off your ass.

(Not like Hitoshi already hadn’t seen it that night—)

You stared him up and down with lowered lips, biting your lip gently.

His violet tresses were wild, roughed up from the night’s events. His cheeks were stained pink, eyes tearing over your figure.

His hands darted to your waist, rubbing his thumbs over your ribs.

“What do you want?” Hitoshi asked, finally breaking his composure with cute, breathless words.

Your trembling hands cupped his face as you leaned into him. Your ghosted your lips over his, breath mingling as you spoke, well aware of what you were doing.

“I just want you, Hitoshi. All of you. I think I have for a long time.”

That was enough for the two of you.

Hitoshi grabbed at you with a possession that made your insides turn to jelly. His lips pressing to your own, licking in your mouth with a fervor that you craved. One of his hands moved to just below your ass, squeezing the flesh with a grip that was sure to bruise. His other hand tangled into your hair, pulling you to angle your mouth just right against his own.

His actions had a fever to them, hands and lips moving in a way that pulled and pushed you perfectly. You knew from goddamn kink night, that Hitoshi was a far more dominant person, but now that you were getting a personal taste? You felt intoxicated by his demanding touch.

All you could do was grab onto the front of his sweater, kissing him with everything you had.

As Hitoshi’s hand slid up to your ass, you experimentally ground down on the growing bulge in his jeans.

He let out a broken moan, roughly grabbing your backside and moving for you to repeat the motion. You arched into the friction, keening in the back of your throat as Hitoshi nipped at your jaw.

“Fuck, Hitoshi,” You moaned, your hands trailing down his chest to tease at the hem of his sweater.

Hitoshi wasn’t one to be beat, licking a line from your collarbone to your ear, biting and kissing to his heart's content. Your hips stuttered against his own, both of you moaning in tandem. His hardened cock pressing against your practically bare sex made your head spin with potential.

You grabbed at his hips beneath his sweater, dipping just below his waistband—

Suddenly, Hitoshi pulled away from your neck, breathing hard and slow. He swallowed, grabbing your face in both of his hands and peppering slow kisses all over your face.

“You have no fucking idea—” Hitoshi kissed your roughly, squeezing at your jaw. You moaned so prettily for him as he swallowed your sounds with a groan. He pulled away, sighing deeply, “how badly I want to keep going, but—”

You finished his sentence, sighing and touching your forehead to his, “It has been a long night.”

Hitoshi made a noise of agreement, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before you pulled back, “Is that alright?”

You shook out your own breath, nodding, “Of course. I want to keep going too, but I don’t want to rush anything. Wanna make sure we’re comfy, you know?”

Hitoshi rumbled out a laugh, pulling you into a solid embrace. His nose pressed into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, nuzzling into you, “You gotta stop being so sweet, (Y/N).”

You raised your eyebrow, threading your hands through his hair, feeling how he instantly relaxed into your touch, “What did I do?”

“I mean, your existence is pretty sweet. Cute too. Sexy. Hot. I could go on,” Hitoshi nipped at your neck, daring to suck gently at the weak skin. “But, I think that would just rile me up more.”

“Good point,” You gently tugged his hair to bring his face back to yours. “Your room?”

He kissed you in reply.

The shattering of tension left a gentle warmth running through you, and you couldn’t wait to see what else was to come.

----------------------------------

The two of you swayed upstairs hand-in-hand.

It felt weirdly domestic, rubbing off your makeup with the cleansing wipes you had long stored at Hitoshi’s for late nights studying or drinking.

He stood next to you, brushing his teeth in a roomy tee and sweats. You still wore your party dress, rumpled and a bit too dirty for comfort. You found yourself glaring your body down, remembering the very sour event of the evening. Your skin crawled and itched.

Hitoshi caught it easily. He knew you so well.

“You wanna ‘showber?” Hitoshi’s words came out garbled through the foam in his mouth.

“That might be best, yeah,” You sighed in some form of defeat, nervously rubbing your arms for a moment. Hitoshi spit and rinsed as you finished removing the mascara from your eyes.

As you finished, Hitoshi urged you to sit on the toilet seat, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he darted from the room. You straightened up at the freely given affection, loving the way your heart pounded. He returned quickly, carrying a fluffy towel and a pile of folded clothes.

“Take your time. If you need anything, just shout, okay?” Hitoshi laid them on the counter and squatted down in front of you, taking your hands in his and squeezing.

You nodded.

It wasn’t the first time you had taken a shower at Hitoshi’s. You could only be thankful that he and Sero had good enough hygiene habits that it was fairly clean for a college house.

You felt damn near euphoric, getting to wash the sweat, fear, touches and smoke from your skin and hair. You took extra care to cleanse your body the best you could, washing everything properly and thoroughly.

(You know, just in case.)

(For the morning.)

You digress.

Warmed and feeling far more clean both mentally and physically, you toweled off and slipped into the clothes Hitoshi left. The shirt he gave you was way too large, nearly hanging off of one of your shoulders. He must’ve had it mixed in with laundry as it held the scent of his pine-ish cologne that had always made you melt. The sweats he loaned to you also fit poorly, but you didn’t mind too much.

You padded your way into Hitoshi’s room.

It was a familiar spot. Many nights were spent here drunkenly carousing with your pals, rolling on the worn hardwood. Many hours had been spent splayed out on the floor, both of you pouring over textbooks and academic journals, constructing brutal papers with the aid of unhealthy amounts of lukewarm black coffee.

Hitoshi’s room, for a long time, strangely, had been incredibly comfortable and safe. On a night like this one, you couldn't be more glad.

His room was dimly lit, yellowish string lights hung on the ceiling. They dimly illuminated the many gig posters, prints, and thrifted picture frames he had amassed over the years. A desk in the corner, an aged dresser, and a (blessedly) queen-sized bed with a comfy black duvet.

You blinked at Hitoshi, noting the lack of his usual clutter around the room, “Did you clean while I was in the shower?”

Hitoshi was standing in the corner, tapping away at his phone with a furrowed brow, but managed to look up and flash you a smile, “Maybe.”

You chuckled, walking up to him and comfortably wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in his arm. You felt him jump a bit, but quickly relax.

It was all new to both of you, but very welcome.

“Is everything alright?” You asked, watching the way Hitoshi frowned at his phone.

He ran a hand over his face, sighing, “How surprised would you be if I told you Denki and Hanta blacked out and puked on the way back?”

“Not very surprised, but still, yikes,” You looked up at Hitoshi. “Are they coming back here? I’ll babysit if you have to, too.”

He turned to give you a small, sympathetic smile, “That is very sweet of you, but it sounds like they’re going to crash Momo’s or Katsuki’s.”

You felt... suspicious.

You narrowed your eyes at him, eyes darting to your purse on his nightstand, “I haven’t checked the group chat, but did you put something in the group chat?

Hitoshi took a sharp inhale, a cute blush painting his nose and cheeks, “It may have slipped that we finally... said we liked each other.”

“May have?” You raised an eyebrow.

“There may have been a betting pool that I have just been made aware of—”

“Did... Did they all know?”

“And, they wanted to give us some privacy—”

You covered your face with your hands, leaning into him, “Jesus fucking—”

“Very considerate of them, considering,” Hitoshi sighed, pocketing his phone and wrapping his arms over your shoulders. “I’d much rather be sleeping next to you than dealing with blackout Denki.”

“True, true,” You sighed, uncovering your face to look up at Hitoshi. He was beaming at you with a look of adoration that made your chest ache. You frowned, “Are you gonna be able to sleep?”

You knew of Hitoshi’s insomnia well. Though you could manage to sleep, his inability to fall into slumber was something he wrestled with daily. You knew he was able to sleep some, but it was a great difficulty and was the root cause of his incessant caffeine consumption.

“I’m gonna try, if not, it’ll be okay, I’ll at least be very comfortable,” He rubbed his hands up and down your arms. “Besides, it’s easier to sleep next to someone.”

“Really?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. “Like, has it always been easier for you to sleep with someone?”

Hitoshi gave a little sigh, nodding.

“Dummy,” You snorted, lightly flicking his nose. “You could’ve asked me.”

“To... Sleep with me?” Hitoshi blinked down at you.

“Yeah. I would’ve said yes,” you shrugged easily. It was hardly a question. Even if you didn’t have incredibly strong feelings for Hitoshi, you would’ve tried to help. “I’ve always cared about you like that.”

Hitoshi closed his eyes and took a big inhale, the hands on your arms speeding up a little, “You have no idea what you do to me, do you, (Y/N)?”

Your gut dropped, “I don’t—”

Hitoshi didn’t give you a chance to fully answer him before leaning down abruptly and scooping you into his arms. Your arms flew to his neck for purchase as he cradled you to his chest, squeezing and walking to the bed.

“You are just so fucking sweet,” Hitoshi set you down on the bed, allowing you to adjust yourself to look up at him. You sat on your legs, kneeling while looking up at him.

He bit his lip, eyes widened and glassy looking down at you. You gulped as you heard his shaking breaths, felt his trembling hand cup your cheek.

“You’re way too good,” Hitoshi breathed, shaking his head.

The incredibly tense sexual aura of the moment dissipated as Hitoshi sat next to you on the bed, scooting to the inside of the mattress and pulling up the comforter.

Part of you was disappointed, feeling lingering pressure between your thighs, but the more sensical part of you was very tired and wanted nothing more than to finally hold Hitoshi and fall into sleep.

“Hey, get over here,” Hitoshi knocked you from your thoughts as his arms wrapped around your waist. He dragged you up, fitting you in the crook of his arm, pressing his nose into your hair. “If you’re in my bed, you’re gonna be in my bed, fully committed.”

“I’m not complaining,” You purred, more than satisfied with throwing your leg of his own, curling in his chest.

Part of you wanted to check, to confirm that all of this was okay. The night had been a lot and you were sure both of you were pretty keyed up from everything. Getting together with Hitoshi was hardly the outcome you expected of the ‘sex party,’ but you weren’t going to complain. Fuck, you could hardly do anything as Hitoshi’s cologne, heat, and firm body were already lulling your body to sleep.

“You are sleeping, aren’t ‘ya?” Hitoshi teased, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You made a small noise, the most you could muster before burying yourself at his collarbone.

Sleep quickly took you under, Hitoshi beaming you the sweetest smile and lavishing you with quiet, subtle affections as not to wake you.

--------------------------

You woke up to dawn light streaming in through a slit in a familiar set of curtains. You grumbled, half-awake, but really not wanting to move. You were too comfortable. Warmth filled your body, peace floated over your slumber-hazed mind and you couldn’t help letting out a content sigh.

The presence of heat let out a familiar chuckle.

You slowly opened your eyes again, becoming aware of the fact that you were half sprawled over Hitoshi. He was looking down at you, sweetly, eyebrow raised.

You literally gasped.

Hitoshi’s hair was tousled and far more wild with bedhead. The amethyst yolks of his eyes were lit up by the early morning light, and he just beamed down at you.

“You’re so pretty,” You let slip.

The events of the night prior became fresh in your mind. The good ones far outweighed the bad. It was even easier to ignore any and all sour feelings because fucking finally you and Hitoshi were in bed together.

Finally.

“Why, thank you. You’re pretty beautiful yourself, you know.”

You were going to nut.

His. Voice.

It was always deep, a rolling bass, but addled with sleep? It was graveled and coarse and it made you literally wet.

“Fuck.” Was all you could muster as you slowly sat up.

Hitoshi squeezed you around your ribs, a knowing look and smile stretched across his face.

The hold on your waist reminded you that Hitoshi was, in fact, holding you. His hands, soft for how large they were, massaged slow, deep circles just above your hips and through your borrowed shirt. You had to have slept tucked up into him like that all night.

You hoped there would be many more like it.

“Did you sleep okay?” You asked, your own voice rough.

Hitoshi grinned drowsily, “I did. It’s a hell of a lot easier next to you.”

You couldn’t suppress the way your lips curled into a smile. Leaning forward, you ran your hands up his chest to brace yourself, leaving a soft kiss on his lips, “I’m glad. Very glad. Wanna do it again sometime?”

“Oh, (Y/N),” Hitoshi rumbled, hands moving up to tickle lightly at your ribs. “Now that I’ve gotten a taste of how lovely it is to sleep next you, I don’t know if I’ll ever let you sleep anywhere else.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Let me? Interesting word choice.”

“Intentional word choice,” Hitoshi’s eyes darkened, tracing your form as he wet his lips, “You like a bit of control exerted on you, don’t you, (Y/N)?”

You shuddered as Hitoshi dragged you closer, up his body so your hips straddled his own.

“I mean, yeah,” you breathed, clothes beginning to feel way too hot atop your skin. “You were there for kink night, weren’t you?”

You tried to joke, but Hitoshi didn’t let you.

“I was there,” One of Hitoshi’s hands tangled into your hair, rubbing affectionately, but your gut told you he had other, more particular, plans. “And, I have a good memory.”

Without missing a beat, Hitoshi flipped the two of you.

Your back hit the mattress and knocked the wind out of you. A breathy gasp fell from your lips, unabashed as Hitoshi was suspended on top of you.

You almost spoke, but then you noticed the way Hitoshi was looking at you, and you couldn’t. Whatever breath that laid in your lungs slowly dripped out.

He was looking at you like a man starved.

His eyes glittered as he traced each curve of your body, pliant and beginning to tremble under his touchless attention.

“Y-you’re bold, you know that?” You managed to stutter out.

Hitoshi chuckled to himself, shaking his head, “Just observant. You always say that I’m a good listener.”

You shuddered as Hitoshi leaned down, nose trailing down your jaw to your pulse point. He paused above the fluttering beat of your heart before licking a strip down your neck with the flat of his tongue.

“Jesus, Hitoshi,” You scraped out, swallowing as heat rushed through your tense body.

He pulled away, only to hover just above your face, staring into your eyes with an intensity that would be stifling from anyone else other than him.

“Do you want me to keep going? We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” Holy fuck, did Hitoshi’s voice somehow get lower? Is that what fucking happened when he got horny?

You were going to die.

“No, no, we should keep going, yes,” You really tried not to sound desperate, but it hardly mattered. Hitoshi could more than tell, he knew you so well.

You didn’t give him a chance to tease you, hands clasping behind his head to gently pull him down to your lips.

God, you were positive you wouldn’t ever tire of Hitoshi in any way. Everything about him seemed so right, good and perfect especially near you.

Hitoshi nipped at your bottom lip, one of his hands insistently rubbing at the bones of your hip. You shuddered at the onslaught of sensations, slotting your mouth against his to bring him as close as you could manage.

One of your hands flitted down his frame, tugging at the hem of his sleep shirt. You’d seen Hitoshi shirtless plenty of times, eyed him as much as was acceptable for ‘bros’, and then moved on with a reddened face, but you would be damned if you weren’t going to ogle him a bit, now that you had the open opportunity to.

Hitoshi sat back on your hips, pulling his shirt over his head with ease and became what you could only be certain was a manifestation of your dreams.

It was clear he indeed had very much been working out, all the muscles of his abs and arms were toned and well-used, even holding a bit of the tan from when he started his training last summer.

You noted, drool puddling in your mouth, that he (and assumedly Denki) did get their nipples pierced for their ten-year friend-iversary last fall. Cute barbels hung from his nipples, surprising, but also very hot. You followed the ‘v’ of his hips to the waistband of the soft grey sweatpants he was wearing, noting with a shocked raise of the eyebrows that Hitoshi was already considerably hard and considerably large.

“You like what you see?” Hitoshi teased, leaning back over you to worry at your neck with a few well-placed licks.

You swallowed, hands pressing to his chest, running up and down the soft skin before going to pinch one of his nipples, “I really do, fuck.”

Hitoshi’s breath stutters against your neck, “Like ‘em?”

“I thought you two were kidding.”

“Oh, never—!”

Hitoshi’s words were yanked from his chest as you pinched and twisted both of his nipples, albeit lightly. You were doing it partially to get a reaction and gauge how sensitive he was. With the way he whined from the back of his throat, you inferred that he was very sensitive.

“Aren’t there more important things you could be doing with your hands?” You chided, though not an edge of malice was in your voice.

Hitoshi just seemed spurred on by this, grunting and swiping your wrists into his grip. Your hands were pressed above your head, pinned to the mattress by his body weight.

A low whine spun from the back of your throat.

“You’re really lucky that I like brats and that I love you—”

Both of you paused.

He...

Did he just—

Did he just drop the L bomb?

He dropped the L BOMB .

You stared up at Hitoshi, frowning at the absolute terror in his eyes.

“I, I mean, I didn’t mean it like that,” Hitoshi sat back up on you, nervousness in every motion of his body. “I just meant—”

“Hey,” You interrupted, sitting up with him. “I love you too, you know. I’m pretty sure I have.”

Hitoshi doesn’t say anything for a minute and neither do you. You’re both in stunned silence. Enraptured by the other, your forms painted with the precious, vibrant gold that streamed in from the curtained window. The other sounds were that of the ambient city awakening and the unsteady breath that was shared between the two of you.

It was oddly perfect, and neither of you complained.

“So,” Hitoshi broke the silence, running his hands up your arms. “I love you.”

Oh, did it feel like a drug to hear his morning voice say the new phrase in such a way.

You nodded, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his navel, “And I love you.”

“Then, it’s settled.”

There was certainly more to discuss involving the nature of your relationship, including the fact that you both had your heads so far up your asses for so long and were definitely in denial for a good portion of time, and that your love was a lot more complicated than either of you were making it out to be.

But, you both certainly shared the history for it.

All of the late nights where you both eyed the other secretly, turning away at the last moment before being noticed.

There were plenty small moments of caring, too.

There was the way how whenever you were over, you made Hitoshi a new pot of coffee, no matter if the old one was out.

There was Hitoshi’s intentional habit and insistence (that had lasted years) that he walked you back from parties, sharing cigarettes or half-carrying you. He never minded.

There was the way you had memorized each other's takeout orders months ago.

There was the small drawer in Hitoshi’s desk that was dedicated to things you left and might need. Several extra pairs of socks, makeup remover, a spare notebook, an extra laptop charger for when you inevitably forgot your own.

There was, of course, the way that you and Hitoshi were currently looking at each other. Fuck whatever fragile, easy-to-tear-away eye contact that had been occurring between the two of you for years, all that there was now between was the collection of lost time.

“Please kiss me.”

The request was obliged.

Hitoshi was quick to pin you back to the mattress, bratty behavior forgotten and stored away. There would be plenty of time to explore that mutual side of your relationship, but now only desire was Hitoshi and your shared pleasure.

Your lips slotted together, pulling a moan from your chest as Hitoshi immediately licked his into your mouth. It was a bit sloppy, rushed in the heat of the moment, but he quickly slowed down. Cupping your jaw, he deepened the kiss as you moved against him, lightly rolling your hips for any sort of friction.

You were the first to pull away, nosing to his jaw and lavishing it with bites and kisses. The rough groans and grunts that Hitoshi spilled were all the motivation you needed to go lower and lower on his neck.

Marking him as you pleased, you sucked at the skin of his neck, leaving bruises and spittle in your wake. You teasingly blew at the wet spots a few times, loving the way he shivered against you.

Hitoshi wasn’t to be outplayed, hands roving over your body. He left quick squeezes and rolled his thumbs anywhere he could reach. It was like he had to touch everything.

Your back arched and you cried into his neck as Hitoshi’s hands squeezed your breasts over your shirt, worrying a nipple with the pads of his fingers in the same way that you did to him earlier.

“Can’t take what you dish out?” Hitoshi chuckled in your ear as you squirmed underneath him.

You shook your head, biting on one of his collar bones, “I want more.”

His lips were back on your own before you could think.

You could feel how wet you were getting, unattended heat that desperately needed contact of any kind. As Hitoshi’s teeth nipped your neck, trailing lower to the wide collar of your shirt, it only got worse.

“Can I take this off?” Hitoshi asked, ever the gentleman.

You didn’t answer, but rather whipped your shirt off as quickly as possible.

And then your upper half was bared to him.

Your breasts spilled with gravity and rose and fell with your own light panting, glistening with sweaty dew.

You swallowed as Hitoshi’s hand went to your navel, flat-palmed. Slowly, he dragged it upwards, stopped to palm your tits only for a moment. You took note of how thick his fingers were and how you wanted nothing more than for them to fuck you into oblivion.

His fingers trailed to your sternum, then to your throat, tracing up the column before roughly grabbing your jaw.

“You,” Hitoshi voice sounded thick as he pressed his knee into your sex. “Have no idea what you to do me.”

“Then fucking show me.” You spit back out at him, one of your hands teasing at the top of his waistband,

Fuck Hitoshi’s knee, apparently, because he immediately slid down the bed to hover in between your legs.

You snapped your knees closed out of surprise, all the same dripping against your panties

“You want me to show you?” Hitoshi seemed to be speaking more to himself than you. “Then I will.”

Hitoshi slipped his thumbs under the waistband of the borrowed sweats, pulling them down and off of you with ease. He situated himself back between your legs, parting you by your inner thighs with a bruising grip.

You heard his sharp intake of breath as he hovered so close to your sex.

“Already so wet for me? I’m flattered.” Hitoshi didn’t give you any chance to quip back as he licked your slit through your thin panties.

You squirmed for him, all for him.

“Please, more, ‘Toshi,” Your voice was warped with pleading, but you could hardly care. The burning look that Hitoshi flashed you was more than enough to nonverbally explain his intentions.

He set to marking up your thighs, murmuring sweet nothings to and about the flesh and how you cried out for him so well. He dotted you with lovely bruises, kissing closer and closer to your dripping cunt.

With one final, pleading look, Hitoshi all but tore off the thin panties you wore and ravished you.

He licked from your opening to your clit with a flat tongue, making your thighs stiffen and toes curl. You felt him hum against you as he shifted your legs over his shoulder. One of his arms wrapped under your thigh, pressing at the bottom of your tummy and locking you in place.

He sucked hard on your clit, just once, almost as some sexual litmus test to assess your ability to move freely.

It was very low as all you could do was arch for him, whines filling the air.

It seemed like it was more than enough for him.

Hitoshi tongue fucked you sloppy, refusing to give you any more stimulation on your clit, no matter how you tried to buck at his face. All Hitoshi’s hold would allow you to do was gently grind against his face as slick and spit soaked the bed below. It was more than enough to make your brain gummy, craving nothing more and more of his touch.

You squeezed your thighs around Hitoshi’s cheeks as he carefully pressed one of his aforementioned thick fingers into your cunt. Hot pleasure permeated every corner of you as you panted for Hitoshi, all for him.

He curled his finger just right and you screamed.

Hitoshi was quick to take the hint, pushing around another inside to repeat the motion, lips, and tongue working your clit as the pressure built beautifully.

“You close, kitten?” Hitoshi’s words were muffled by your cunt, but holy fuck, you knew exactly what he said.

You whined at the use of the word, nodding and panting out a muddled affirmative.

Hitoshi sucked lewdly at the mess between your legs, pulling your body to the apex of its hot pressure, before breaking.

Your back curled off the bed, Hitoshi’s hold released to all you to fully fuck his face as he slurped at the juices between your thighs. Your mind went fuzzy as pleasure crackled through your frame, fingers curling into the rumpled fabric below and your head bowing back into the pillows.

You slowly came down, twitching as Hitoshi continued to kiss around your sex. You could half-tell he was grinding against the bed; he was that turned on.

You sat up, swaying a bit, drunk on bliss, and already semi-fucked out.

Yet, you still wanted more.

“‘Toshi, please,” You looked at him helplessly.

He sat up on his knees, hands going to play with your tits as he raised a smug eyebrow, face wet with you, “Want my cock, kitten? Is that it?”

“Holy fuck, ‘Toshi, please,” Your voice came out as mixture between a whine and growl as Hitoshi chuckled, reaching to the side for the nightstand and condoms, you assumed.

“I thought I’d have to do more to get you begging, with that little bratty shit you pulled earlier,” He mused, stepping off the bed for only a moment to finally pull off his sweats.

If your mouth had been any more open, drool would have fallen into your lap.

Hitoshi was, once again, sculpted. The guy put in work and it showed. That was less important and less relevant as you were currently lewdly, literally, drooling over his cock. It wasn’t only cervix-shatteringly long, but it was thick and curved just right. It was flushed, fully hard against his abs and leaking beads of preek, all from the friction of the bed and giving you head.

“Can I do it?” You asked as Hitoshi unwrapped the condom.

He nodded, cheekily, handing you the package.

You crawled to the edge of the bed, stopping to sit on your knees as he stood above you. Carefully, you rolled the rubber on, clenching your thighs together as your oversensitive cunt throbbed.

You stared at its girth, biting your lip nervously and looked up at Hitoshi.

Immediately, his gaze softened and he caught your face in his hand, thumbing over your cheek, “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, just, uh,” You stumbled over your words, gaze flipping from his very pretty cock and his very pretty face. “Do you have lube? It’s been a while and I don’t want to tear.”

“I do,” Hitoshi’s worry dissolved, pulling a bottle from the same drawer and tossing it on to the bed. “And, I will try my best not to tear you. We can go as slow or as fast as you like, hm?”

You nodded, biting your lip and crawling back onto the bed.

Hitoshi cooed sweet words to you as the two of you adjusted. Perhaps it was to his own natural nervousness, or maybe yours. All the same, the loving comments about your body and how good you were for him turned you to putty underneath him.

Your legs were thrown up over his shoulders, feet prepared to lock behind his head. Hitoshi knelt between your legs, holding your thighs spread as his lubed cock ran over your folds.

“Tell me if you need me to go slower, okay?” Hitoshi reminded you, ever attentive.

You gulped as Hitoshi breached your cunt with the head of his cock and holy fuck. You stretched, and it burned, but it was nothing that you couldn’t handle. Hitoshi kept praising you, running his lips wherever they could reach as he leaned over your pillow-propped form. Inch by inch, he pushed into you, stopping when your breathing got too harsh.

And then, Hitoshi’s cock was fully sheathed into you and you felt so fucking full, you could die.

“Hey, ‘Toshi?” You spoke breathlessly, wiping sweaty strands of violet hair from his cheeks. “I love you, okay? For a lot more than your dick, but this is a huge perk and I’d feel bad not saying so.”

He was still and silent for a moment, head bent out of your view.

“You’re gonna tell me, while I’m buried this deep in this cute, little cunt of yours, such sweet shit? That you love me?” Hitoshi growled, darkened eyes lust-hazed.

You nodded.

Hitoshi swiftly pulled almost entirely out of cunt, only to slam back into you, angling your hips perfectly to hit your g-spot.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, head thrown back and you gave a breaking wail, body shaking with the sudden cracking of pleasure.

And, Hitoshi didn’t relent.

He continued his hard, deep, and long thrusts, increasing his speed as he felt you loosen for him. With each thrust, wet squelching sounds spurred the two of you on.

Hitoshi’s face buried itself in your neck, sucking harsh marks that sparked pain across your heated skin. You couldn’t get enough of it. You couldn’t get enough of him.

Hitoshi accented each thrust with a more desperate, broken sounding ‘I love you,’ quickly unraveling at the seams as his thrusts and kisses became more erratic.

He reached between the two of you, blessedly circling your clit as your own orgasm was close to cresting.

You came before Hitoshi, just by a second, the clenching of your cunt and the way you moaned his name being more than enough for him to blow his load, fucking you through both of your orgasms.

You both stilled, panting.

Hitoshi fell next to you on the bed, instantly pulling you to his chest and smothering you with kisses. You returned them, shuddering and coming down from the earth-shattering peak you had just been at.

“Fuck, Hitoshi,” You squeezed around your arms around his waist. “You fuck like a god.”

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple, “You say shit like that and it’s gonna inflate my ego.”

“Guess I gotta keep saying it, then.”

You smiled up at him, moving to straddle his waist, ignoring your bodily complaints.

“I love you, you know,” Hitoshi beams from below you, looking at you with a reverence that you craved for so long, but were too afraid to voice.

You let out a shaking breath, smiling right back, “I love you, too.”

Hitoshi pulled you in for a sweet kiss you returned easily, smiling against his lips, melting into him—

His cock hardened against your thigh.

“Round two?” Considering the smiles you beamed each other, that was a definite ‘yes, please’.

But, you were rudely interrupted by the slammed of the front door. You both stiffened, Hitoshi immediately going to grab your waist and drag you onto the bed. He threw a blanket over you, but it was hardly necessary.

Denki’s voice rang over the house, “HEY! Did y’all fuck yet? If you did, please tell me. I’m against Mina in the betting pool and I’m in deep.”

All you and Hitoshi could spare was a laugh and a sweet kiss, before you shouted back, “What do you think?!”

#salem writes #shinso hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #mha smut #mha x reader #mha reader insert #shinso x reader #shinso hitoshi x y/n #hitoshi shinso x y/n #bnha x reader #shinso hitoshi #shinsou x you #my hero academia shinsou

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skvaderarts · 3 years ago

Text

Hiraeth Chapter 55: Disclosure

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty-Five: Disclosure

Note: I know you’ve been waiting a long time for the answers, and now you’ve got them. This is the beginning of the end in regards to the secrets surrounding Belial’s Arc and what he hopes to gain. Enjoy… if you can.

(-~-)

It didn’t take long for everyone present in the house to make their way to the living room, especially once it was revealed that information pertaining to them had been unearthed. Despite the fact that Brenowin and Morgan hadn’t known Sirrus for more than about a day, the fact that everyone else seemed to know or otherwise welcome him was really all that it took for them to be willing to at least listen to him. And from what they could tell, he had no compelling reason to lie to them about anything.

Making the executive decision that it was probably best that they all know about what was going on, Dante called Lady and Trish, both of whom were luckily not far away, and seemed to have just finished a job a few hours prior. They agreed to come over and see what was going on despite the fact that it was probably a bit too early for them. They both sounded like they had just woken up when they’d answered the phone. That would surely get him shot in the head later on.

But what was more of a surprise to anyone that knew him was the fact that Vergil had actually made a similar decision. Taking a moment to step aside and make a phone call, Vergil had subsequently disappeared for several minutes to go and fetch Magnolia, something that had gone completely unnoticed until they had come back through the front door together just a short while after. It wasn’t a new notion that Vergil was capable of benign stealthy, but none of them had realized until then that he was able to dip out of a crowded room and just disappear from everyone’s consciousness. Perhaps they had spent too much time actively tuning him out until now? Even Dante hadn’t noticed at the time, more than likely because he’d been talking to Lady on the phone.

Within a few minutes of their return, Lady and Trish came around, and they had brought along Morrison. According to them, they had run into him as they were leaving, the middle man presumably interested in getting in contact with them to offer a job. Or, at the very least curious as to how well the last job they had been on together had gone for them. Dante wouldn’t have been surprised if Morrison had been the one to provide them with whatever work they had been doing lately. He was resourceful like that.

As was Ludwig family tradition at that point, Flora made a fresh pot of tea that everyone was welcome to share. If she was going to sit there and listen to Sirrus talk for goodness knew how long, she wasn’t going to do it without a cup of tea in her hands, especially since Magnolia had brought a tray of macaroons with her when she’d arrived. Vergil’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect, in her opinion.

“Ok, so what’s up?” Nero said nonchalantly as he sat down on the couch next to V. Considering everything that had happened recently, he was pretty sure that nothing Sirrus could say would be particularly shocking to him, and he was hoping that he wouldn’t be proven wrong in that regard. “You said that you had something to tell us?”

Sirrus nodded, watching as everyone settled in and made themselves comfortable. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about repeating himself. The only person who wasn’t there was Nico, but it would have taken several hours for her to reach their location. Or perhaps it wouldn’t, considering her driving skills...

“First, I’d like to start by making it clear that I have obtained some of this information from Aluta and Willow, so if you’d like more in-depth information, you will have to contact them. I’m just the messenger in that regard.”

Various members of the team either shrugged or nodded in response, silently indicating that they would like for him to continue. He leaned back against the corner of the wall nearest to the window, the warmth from the fireplace licking his subconscious as he tuned its presence out, for the most part, noting its existence, but not sparing much in the way of attention to it. He drew a long breath before proceeding, sure that he was about to ruin several people’s day in the process. Oh, how he hated that sort of thing. Being the bearer of bad news was never pleasant, but in cases like this, it was a necessary evil. One way or another, someone was going to have to tell them. It might as well be him.

Gesturing for him to continue, Vergil sat down in one of the armchairs nearest to the couch. He wasn’t quite sitting next to V, but he was as close to doing to as it was possible to be without actually doing it. The young summoner seemed to silently note this for a moment, allowing his gaze to travel towards how father, but otherwise not reacting. He was clearly anticipating bad news, and considering everything that was going on and the fact that he was locked in a losing battle against a devil prince, that was more than understandable.

“Now that we have that out of the way, I’d like to say that I’m genuinely sorry to always be the bearer of bad news in these instances. What am I, the wild hunt?” Sirrus scoffed and shook his head before realizing that that at least half of the people in the room didn’t have any idea what that even was. He then sighed and folded his arms around himself. “Would you prefer that I get straight to the point, or go into a bit more detail?”

“Considering the implications of what I assume you are here to tell us, I would prefer the former and then the latter,” V said softly, rubbing his arm absentmindedly in an attempt to soothe it. Just thinking about what was going on was enough to make the malevolent ink that coursed his veins tingle from excitement, something that the rest of his biological composition didn’t approve of or appreciate very much.

Putting his arm behind his back, Sirrus nodded in a manner more akin to that of a curtsy than anything else. He glanced over at Morgan who in turn nodded in agreement. She didn’t need him to ask for her to be able to tell that he was awaiting her permission to continue. He then cleared his throat before leaning over and pouring a few sips of wine that he summarily gulped down in the least refined manner possible. He hadn’t spoken a word yet, and he already hated this conversation.

“Fair enough. I suppose nothing worthwhile is accomplished by beating around the bush all day, is there? We all have things to do and places to be.” He went in for another topped-off glass, indirectly signifying to everyone in the room that he almost certainly didn’t want to be here talking about this right now. “The Ludwin family sent some of their family members to go and investigate Belial’s activities and they have found an almost definitive answer as to what he wants with both Morgan and V. I trust that you don’t need me to tell you it’s not to simply spread the good word.”

“No, I suppose you do not.” Vergil wasn’t amused, but he was also keenly aware of the fact that Sirrus hadn’t exactly meant that in a humorous way. He’d clearly been using his cynicism and sarcasm as a coping device. “Continue.”

With a casual shrug, Sirrus turned his attention back to V and Morgan. “V, do you recall what you said about the attack that destroyed Lympha about three years ago?”

To the surprise of no one, they both nodded. Morgan looked as though she would become sick to her stomach at the mention of that place, but she did remember. There was no way that she would ever forget. V looked down at the floor for a moment in discomfort, considering the possibility of speaking. But when he finally did, it wasn’t about the town. “How did you hear about that, Sirrus? You were outside.”

Sirrus nodded in agreement, reaching for another glass of wine but finding that the bottle was a bit too close to being empty for his liking. “Your quite right. I was with Nico. But I have very good hearing, and I am not at all ashamed to admit that I did, in fact, eavesdrop on you. I can see why you’d find that strange, however. My apologies if I’ve upset you or caused you undue confusion.”

V seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding, brushing his concerns aside. He had done nothing to offend him. He would know if he’d done something to cause V any distress to the young summoner. That made sense. After all, Sirrus was not exactly a normal person, and he had several abilities that he knew very little about. “Think nothing of it. But please, what does this have to do with what happened in… that place?”

Leaning back again, Sirrus adjusted his shoulders. “It seems that before Belial disbanded his cult and destroyed just about every trace of it, he had tasked them to take care of something important. And that “something important” was in Lympha.” He turned to Morgan, his focus lingering on her for a moment as he attempted to find a tactful way to put into words what he wanted to say. “You made mention of an old story. Something about a prophecy?”

Morgan nodded. “Yea, it was something about how some settlers were run out of the area a few hundred years back on suspicion of being witches, and the leader of the coven’s son was killed before he could be used as a vessel of sorts of a ritual to bring back their fallen leader. She cursed the town or something like that. I think it was… “ she stopped, clearly unable to remember what all she was supposed to remember in that situation.

“And onto this land, I lay a binding of blood and bone. For never again shall the shadow depart. And the snow shall run red with the blood of the self-righteous until upon the altar of the Lord of the Disquieting the flesh of the so chosen repository is offered and the blood is spilled, melding their beings into one. And so he shall walk the damned soil again and hold dominion over the dominion of humanity as the storm holds dominion over the sky.” Sirrus looked displeased to have had to even speak those words. He didn’t like curses at the best of times, but full-on generational damnation? That was going several layers too far into the depths of insanity. “That is the first half of the actual prophecy. It was quite the thing to translate from Enochian, but I managed to do it on short notice once it was discovered in the Ludwig trove. Aluta deduced from what I shared with her about your story that it was relevant.”

Nodding in consideration, Dante seemed to linger on the words for a while. He clearly understood them, at least for the most part, but he was still at the end of his rope in regards to what that was related to in their exact circumstance. “Yea, that’s pretty metal and all, but what precisely does it have to do with V and Morgan?”

Realizing that he could stand to be a bit more transparent about it, Sirrus looked over at Morgan, displeased about what he needed to say. “The curse was created by a woman named Atropa Lundwick nearly exactly 500 years ago. She was the only survivor of a heinous attack by locals, and she was cursed herself at the time by those same townspeople after the deaths of her family. They apparently enchanted their crops to help them through the hard winter as an act of kindness, and they all nearly starved to death as a direct result of refusing to eat food that was “tainted by unnatural forces.” She was the matriarch of what you now know as the Ludwig family. That curse is the reason that members of the Ludwig family only ever have daughters. The locals incorrectly assumed that that would be a disadvantage to her. Fools.”

Flora and Magnolia both looked visibly horrified by the statement, but not at all angry. A sort of deep sorrow seemed to overtake them as they collectively realized the unintended butterfly effect that this still had on things in so many of their lives even to this day. It was a tragedy that had borne more tragedy, and no one had really emerged the winner in the situation. What a painful and shameful legacy for their ancestor to have left behind. “What does this have to do with V and Morgan, Sirrus.”

Taking note of the pain in Magnolia’s voice as she asked him that question, he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head in deep dissatisfaction. “For a cause to have any bearing, it has to have a source of anchoring, a natural or unnatural force to draw from. The Ludwin family at that time had dealing with several powerful demons as a result of their somewhat Umbran ancestry. One of the demons they guarded against was Belial, but once tragedy struck, Atropa sought the tutelage of the very devil she had sought to destroy, her grief gaining the upper hand as she mourned the death of her only son. She formed a pack with him, and that pact led to the enforcement of the curse. She used the power he lent her to see forward into a time that had not yet occurred for him, and the prophecy was borne of the outcome that favored him. She promised him everything if he succeeded, and ever since then, his influence strengthened by her curse has allowed him dominion for one season of the year over the town of Lympha to seek out his vessel. Her coven had never intended to sacrifice her son to him, but he had requested as much as he would have been a powerful asset to a devil prince who was physically incapable of crossing over into the human world.”

Morgan looked horrified. “So that’s what was wrong with all the people in the town? They were being subconsciously influenced by a curse and a demon all at once? That’s why the animals and anything else that ventured into the woods disappeared into the darkness? Because he was taking them to the underworld?”

Sirrus made a gesture to indicate that she was half right. “You’re mostly correct. Belial could not bring them into the underworld due to the fact that he could not open a gate, and there were no existing ones in the area. But he fed off of their fear, and he warped them into the horrible creatures that were sometimes seen around the town. Like in the story about the dog that you told V. At night his corruptive darkness changed those weak enough to be changed, and assimilated those who would not bend to his will, making the forest stronger. And it construed in a cycle unending until the day that his cult came to the city… looking for both of you.”

It was Nero’s turn to ask a question now, the young devil hunter clearly displeased by everything he had just learned. “But what did they want with V and Morgan as opposed to literally everyone else in that cursed hellhole of a town?”

The red-haired man gave him a sad smirk. “What did the Order of the Sword want with you in the grand scheme of their master plan?”

Nero seemed to think about the question for a moment before he visibly paled and felt the breath leave his lungs. Oh. Oh no. He didn’t mean that… He couldn’t mean that…

“On their 20th birthday, every one of the young men in the town was compelled to enter the woods. This was a test on Belial’s part. He is the Lord of Disquieting from the prophecy. Apparently, he was testing the mental resolve of each of the potential vessels in the town. The one who could resist the incredibly powerful and increasingly strong pull of his influence would be the one he would pick. And that is how he located V. V was basically entirely resistant to all but the very strongest of his mental barrages, save for the one occasion with the full moon which was literally the anniversary of the curse being placed from what I can tell. And more importantly, why his cult descended upon the town that day. Their master specifically wanted V. And he wants him alive. But there was another half to that prophesy.”

Brenowin looked ill suddenly. He shared a concerned look with Sirrus and then at his sister, clearly realizing something that none of the rest of them did. But he couldn’t speak of it, and he had a feeling that Sirrus would do so for him anyway. “You don’t mean…”

Much to his displeasure, he nodded. “Unfortunately, I do. I can tell from the ill look on your face that you know of what I speak. The cult must have made mention to it, then?” He watched as Bren nodded and then looked over at his sister, a look of immense concern on his face. He then continued, wanting to get this off of his chest. “And upon the twin thrones of darkness shall sit the vessel of darkness and the eyes of prophecy, she who will be gifted future sight as I was and who shall make material the brood of the machinations of the lord of shadows, Insanity made physical. For only through the union of darkness and foresight can be brought true retribution to cleanse humanity of their petty mortality.”

Everyone in the room seemed to linger on those words for a few moments before slowly coming to the realization of what they implied. And each one of them looked varying degrees of physically ill as they all came to the same unanimously horrifying conclusion. And V especially was mentally kicking himself. Why had he not considered the fact that Belial’s cult could have been the same cult that had killed the people of Lympha a few years ago? Perhaps the devil prince’s dark influence had been what had made him feel compelled to stay in the first place. The demonic part of him could have been drawn to the aura that his influence provided…

“So you’re saying that… Belial wants to use V as a vessel that he can, what, possess so that he can come to the human world and take everything over, and then he wants Morgan to… so they can… and she’d be… That’s…” Dante looked between his nephews and his brother, noting their stunned silence and the will to live exit V’s body with silent indignation. He’d actually prefer dying to a fate like that.

“Quite literally the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” Nero said breathlessly, looking over at his brother and the horrified shivering young teen girl sitting next to him. He couldn’t tell which of those options was the worse fate. Being used as a meat puppet for darkness incarnate was bad, but the idea of being stuck with him to create descendants of his bloodline purely for the purpose of helping to subjugate the rest of the world was literally too vile for him to comprehend properly.

And with the will of a Devil Lord in the body of a descendant of the great dark knight Sparda, he could undo every safeguard and protective ward your father placed with enough time and the proper know-how. And he could easily gain access to both… after all, who would stand a chance against that kind of power…” Lucia looked mournful and horrified. She couldn’t imagine something so dark coming to pass. No one deserved that, but V? No one could deserved that fate less. And Morgan…

… Our father’s spell stops the possibility of a demon as powerful as Belial crossing over into the human world, but possession of the movement of power and consciousness into another living being. Only his essence needs to pass over… and in that respect, his horrific and contrite plan is actually entirely possible. And I loathe that.”

“Over my dead body,” Magnolia said, genuinely angry. She didn’t even bother to hold back the tears that were forming in her eyes. “I will not allow the momentary hubris of my one forebearers to lead to the damnation of two children, and by proxy, the entirety of humanity, over the mistakes of a few people nearly a millennium ago. This dies with her, as it damn well should have back then.”

Sirrus nodded in agreement. “And that is why I am here today. To propose the idea of stopping that before it starts. We need to go on a little road trip. And we need to do it now. I need you to see the conduit. And I need you to see it now.”

(-~-)

And there it is, Belial’s horrible plan finally revealed! Let me know what you think in the comments! I had a blast writing this when I got back from grocery shopping today. You all take care. I’ll see you next week on Wedsnday! And for those of you who dropped in on my Tumblr account during DMC OC Week, thanks for the love and support! See you in the comment section, and stay safe out there! Enjoy the nightmare fuel! Bye Bye!

#Devil May Cry #V #Vitale #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU OC's #My Post Devil May Cry V AU Fanfiction #My Post Devil May Cry 5 OC #DMC #DMCV #DMC5 #Dante #Vergil #Nero

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vesuvian-american-fics · 4 years ago

Text

better with time. Ch 4

fevers.

You’re struggling with a harsh fever. (AO3)

Words: 1,633

The following weeks were a blur of the same old routine. Reading, writing, drawing, and trying to speak. Progress was made but it was all too frustratingly slow for your own liking. You could make sounds now but they were embarrassingly hoarse and your throat was sore from the work. Only Hange was around for the vocal lessons and you were pleased with that. Who knows how Levi would tease if he heard your voice as it was now?

You could sound out your vowels and other simple noises, your irritated huffs and puffs now came with sound, something Levi wasn’t too happy about. Hearing you express your agitation with his presence annoyed him like no other but he often held his tongue. One stern glare would settle you down for the time being, you knew your place and that was enough for now.

“Oi...” He said, as he opened your cell door just a crack for you to come retrieve your lunch. No response, even though you’re sitting right there in your cell reading at your desk he presumed. Levi rolled his eyes before stomping into the cell and harshly dropping a tray down next to your slumped form. The loud racket from the clanking metal and glass shook you from your slumber. You must have dozed off instead of studying.

A gleam of cold sweat made your forehead shine as a few loose strands were sticking to you. Levi frowned before snatching his hand away from you, afraid of being too close. He recoiled in disgust before exiting the cell and heading towards Hange’s office.

“Shitty Glasses, your favorite titan looks sick.” He says wiping his hands clean on his handkerchief. Hange didn’t take their eyes from their microscope lens, they simply hummed at nothing in particular. Levi’s eyes narrowed; he’s sure they hadn’t actually heard a word he said.

“Oi! You hear me?” He asked, stepping closer, again, he was partially ignored.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah. Someone’s not feeling too good right?” They said, slipping a new slide under the scope and scribbling notes haphazardly in their messy notepad. Levi pinched the bridge of his nose before kicking at Hange’s stool to garner their full attention. Hange gasped as their arms flailed to grab the desk before them as to not fall on their ass.

“O-oh! Who’s sick?” They sheepishly asked as they tried to set everything back to rights on their disorganized table. Levi huffed at the scene before him before giving Hange a well-deserved lecture about keeping tidy and listening when they’re spoken to.

“That brats down there sweating like a hog, get them a bath. She looks shitty.” He said as he turned to make his leave for a cup of steaming black tea.

“I’m busy why don’t you do it?” Hange complained taking one last glimpse at the specimen in their microscope slide. Levi said nothing, simply leveling Hange with a stare over his shoulder.

“Joking, joking! Right away!” Hange rushed past Levi in their haste to get a bath running for you. Levi shook his head before continuing down the opposite hallway for his tea and some quiet time in his office signing off on reports.

You had hardly touched your lunch when Hange got to you. They cocked their head to the side as they watched you pick away at the vegetables on your plate, long gone cold. Hange playfully huffed at the sight, surely a hot bath, fluids, and some rest and you’ll be right as rain.

You gave Hange a weary smile and wiped your forehead clean of any lingering sweat. Hange returned that smile and ushered you off to the bath, this time allowing you to wash your own hair. The two of your shared a few laughs as Hange walked you through their latest experiments and the daily goings on with the Scouts.

“They’re really curious about you, you know. Sooner you can talk and we get things cleared up I think Levi will let you meet people.” You snorted at that, sure he would.

Hange barked a hearty laugh before continuing.

“He’s actually not so bad when you get to know him.” They said with a soft smile, reminiscing on the good times.

You scrunched your nose up at the thought but you also were the type to see the good in everybody, and surely, he had some good qualities if Hange could stand him. Of course, he’s strong, intelligent, and admittedly handsome, but is there truly anything charming about his character? Not yet at least, you thought.

The time spent in the hit bath must have taken its toll on you, your face was flushed red and you were out of breath just sitting there. Your heart was pounding and your vision was growing dark around the edges. You motioned for Hange to come help you stand and with hand movements you told them you desperately needed something to drink. Swiftly, the two of you made it back to your cold damp cell where you shuffled into bed and they were off once again to grab you a cup of warm tea.

On the way to the canteen for a clean glass, Hange spotted and angry Levi storming down the hallway. Quickly, Hange tried to avoid the Captain but he caught up to them with little effort and grabbed them harshly on the arm.

“Shitty Glasses... where are those reports I asked for yesterday?” He grilled, folding his arms over his chest with a look on impatience plastered of his pale face.

“Uh... I got carried away in my research– but, I can work on that right now and get them on your desk tonight!” Hange clasped their rough hands together, almost begging for Levi’s patience. He sighed before he agreed and begin to stalk off further down the hallway.

“Ah! But can you get our guest some tea? I think she’s just dehydrated. Thank you!” Before Levi could protest Hange was gone in an instant to go finish up those reports as ordered.

“She’s no guest.” He muttered to himself as he fixed two cups of steaming jasmine tea, adding a bit of mint to both drinks. His light footfalls descended the stairs and you groaned realizing it wasn’t Hange but Levi that was bringing your drink, meaning he’d probably sit down here and watch you until the early evening. You tried to feign sleep, hoping to avoid any awkward interaction with the man but he saw through your trick in an instant.

He cracked open the cell door before sighing in annoyance.

“Oi, come get this cup.” You hesitated a moment before tossing the thin sheets off of your body and shuffling towards the bars. You gave Levi a curt nod before graciously taking the warm tea from him and drinking it like you hadn’t had water in weeks. It did well to soothe your aching throat and warm your body instantly.

He quirked an eyebrow at that but instead of commenting he slammed the cell shut before taking his seat. He drank his tea with more patience than you, savoring the cool minty flavor that could ease any illness he ever encountered. Thinking back to Hange’s words earlier you decided to show your gratitude properly now that you finished that delicious tea.

You raised your tea cup to Levi in cheers before giving the man a shy yet genuine smile. He simply nodded before closing his eyes and continuing to sip his drink. You flopped down onto your bed as your pounding headache began to cloud your senses.

For the next three days your mind was foggy. You don’t remember much other than sleeping majority of the day, sweating, a skull shattering head ache, and a fresh cup of tea three times a day.

You also developed a dry cough that destroyed your throat, unfortunately you found the tea did little to soothe that even though you hardly had the energy to sit up and drink. You looked horrible, soon enough Levi and Hange knew this was no mere dehydration spell. Something was clearly wrong, maybe you were battling a fever of some sort.

An emergency report was sent to Erwin and the next day he was standing before you, a heavy hand over your forehead.

“Definitely a fever.” He said, confirming their conclusions.

“We should move her to the infirmary for the time being until this fever breaks.” He spoke as he pulled the damp sheets from your body. You shivered at the change in temperature, shrinking in on yourself.

Levi frowned, he wouldn’t like the idea of you being out of your cell and upstairs but you looked gravely ill. He sighed in defeat, if he were in chargehe’d bring any medicine you’d need down here but Erwin was too foolishly kind.

As you at up to stand with the Commander’s help a sharp pain shot through your chest. You gasped and clutched the sweat laden fabric over your chest, your lungs were on fire, heart pounding against the back of your sternum. You doubled over as a violent cough racked your body, drops of crimson blood spilled to the wet stones underneath your feet.

Hange gasped, rushing forward to catch you before you hit the ground, your consciousness quickly fading. Levi’s eyes widened at the sight before him, lines of blood spilling from your lips, utter pain etched across your features, drenched hair dripping with sweat, your labored breathing loud and rushed. Erwin rushed out of the cell carrying you up to the infirmary with Levi and Hange hot on his heels.

Your consciousness was wavering, all you know was that you saw many concerned faces on the way to wherever you were being carried.

And then everything went black.

#levi ackerman #levi #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #better with time.#fic #illness #blood mention #aot #attack on titan #snk

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years ago

Text

Just a Friend

Hope you enjoy the next chapter of this story. Thanks to you all for reading this. You comments are lovely to read.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Chapter 5: From Facebook to Friends

When I was a little girl, Uncle Lamb would sometimes take me into university with him. I would creep into the lecture theatre and sit at the back watching him as he enthused about Phoenician trade routes, or long gone military strategies. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but I loved it anyway. The passion he had for his subject matter thrilled me.

And once the lecture was over, I would join him in his office and we would squeeze together in an old armchair, drinking hot, sweet tea while he tried to explain the principles of a three thousand year old civilisation in words a seven year old would understand.

The armchair is now in my office at the hospital. It looks more than a bit incongruous amongst the standard NHS furniture. The rich green velvet fabric has faded to a shabby eau de nil colour and years of shuffling bottoms have left a large depression in the seat cushion. But I won’t have it reupholstered. I love it as it is. It’s a great reminder of my wonderful uncle. I sit in it and somehow it comforts me, like a soothing hug.

**********************

I glance at the clock as I walk into my office, paper cup of hot, sweet tea in hand, and head straight for Lamb’s chair. Gratefully, I sink into its depths and take a tentative sip of the steaming liquid before closing my eyes for a moment. The surgery was long; much longer than anticipated—having taken all morning and most of the afternoon, in fact. It had also been far more complicated—my original plans for keyhole surgery had to be changed, but, eventually, we completed the operation successfully. I’m always proud of my theatre team, but never more so than in situations like this.

And now, after hours of concentration, I feel in need of some light relief. I can go home, have a wonderfully reviving shower and then what? I know that Dougal is taking Geillis out for a meal tonight, so she’s not available. Mary and Anna are both working nights this week, so no joy there. Other friends live too far away for an impromptu midweek activity. I could go to the gym. I should go to the gym. Or… more likely, I’ll go home, have cheese on toast, a glass of wine and watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ for the fifteenth time instead.

I reach for my phone to check for messages. A notification for a Facebook friend request appears on my screen. I very rarely get new friend requests—other than the odd random gentleman hoping, I presume, to make some sort of connection. I always delete immediately.

And, yes, the request is from a gentleman—one Jamie Fraser. The profile picture is definitely Samsonite Jamie, even wearing the Scotland rugby shirt I fingered whilst foraging through his suitcase. I click accept. Why not? I don’t think I have anything too embarrassing on my posts. In fact, I don’t use it very often at all.

Neither, it seems, does Mr. Fraser. His cover photo shows a very youthful bunch of Scottish rugby supporters and his recent timeline seems to comprise mostly of being tagged in photos by Laoghaire Mackenzie. Is it my imagination, or does he have a resigned look on his face on each of their ‘selfies’?

My tea is cool enough to drink now without scalding my tongue. I put my phone down and take a large gulp whilst considering tomorrow’s workload. My job is a series of highs and lows. Today, for example, started as routine, slumped to a worrying low, before peaking at a very relieved high. Tomorrow appears to be an easier day, certainly—a review of patients’ case notes in the morning followed by an outpatient clinic in the afternoon. All follow up patients, and all doing well as far as I know, so tomorrow is shaping up to be a very good day.

I open up my phone again. Facebook messenger is encouraging me to ‘say hi to your new Facebook friend.’ Without thinking, I send a little waving hand emoji to Samsonite Jamie.

I have no sooner put the phone down than it pings. Waving hand returned. I smile. What are we… thirteen years old? Next I’ll be asking him out for an Irn Bru and a bag of chips.

Ping again.

You owe me…

Shit! The stain on his t-shirt, no doubt. I watch the dots on the screen. Perhaps he’s calculating the cost of a dry cleaner, or a new t-shirt.

You promised me an ice cream.

You up for buying one for me tonight?

I hesitate for a moment. I hope Jamie doesn’t think I’m after him or anything like that. I mean, he’s not really my type. As I’ve said before, I’ve always been attracted to academic, cerebral kind of men like Uncle Lamb, rather than Viking marauders.

And I’ve never subscribed to the idea that men and women can’t be friends. One of my closest friends at university was a man—Joe Abernathy. If it wasn't for the fact that he is currently three thousand miles away, working in Boston, I would be arranging platonic ice cream outings with him.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose, I type my response.

If you can get to the kiosk by 6:30, it should still be open

A brief pause, then the response.

Great. See you there?

****************

Even at a distance, I recognise him sitting at a table next to the kiosk. No white t-shirt today, it looks like some sort of check lumberjack shirt. I breathe a sigh of relief. Not what I would call ‘first date’ clothing. Which is handy, seeing as I’m wearing ripped jeans and an oversized Aran jumper. I’m clean, presentable and fresh-smelling but definitely not dressed to impress.

He stands up when he sees me and greets me formally with a handshake. His hands are warm and dry—no nervous, sweaty palms here, which is another good sign. His shirt is blue, red and cream flannel and actually quite hideous.

“I hope this ice cream lives up tae ma expectations,” he says with the merest hint of challenge.

I crane my neck and look him straight in the eye. “No doubt at all. Cherry bakewell, is it? Double cone?”

“Aye. With a flake too. Compensation, ye ken.”

He stands aside to allow me to make the purchases. Before accepting the cone, he picks up half a dozen or so paper napkins and stuffs them in the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m prepared fer ye now. Do yer worst, Ms Beauchamp.”

I ignore his clear inference and follow him to a nearby bench.

“I can manage to eat and walk at the same time, you know,” I say in mock indignation.

“Hm,” he replies. “All the evidence sae far suggests the contrary. I need proof afore I believe it.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both focus on our ice creams. I lick neatly all the way around, trying to prevent any rogue drips trickling down the cone. Jamie pulls the flake from his cone and consumes it in two mouthfuls. He looks at me and laughs.

“Caught me. I’m a bit of a bugger fer chocolate,” he mumbles before swallowing.

“Right,” he continues, much more clearly now. “I suggest we get all the boring stuff out of the way. Ye ken, name, age, family, job, blah, blah blah. I’ll go first, if ye like.”

I nod my agreement.

“Sae, I’m James or Jamie Fraser. I’m thirty years old. Since our last conversation I am most definitely single. I live in Glasgow, obviously, but grew up on a farm near Inverness. My parents still run the farm. I have one sister, Jenny, who’s married tae Ian, my childhood friend. I have one nephew—a grand little lad known as Wee Jamie and a wee baby niece, Maggie . And I dinna think it’ll be long afore they’re joined by others. They all live here in Glasgow. My job, weel, I have a business—FraserFood—recipe boxes delivered tae yer door.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. ‘From farm to fork.” That’s you, is it?”

He smiles proudly. “Aye, it’s me and ma family. Looks like ma marketing manager is doing a fine job, then.”

“Oh, forgot tae say, after the blah blah, ye have tae tell one confession. Only a wee one, mind.” He takes a large mouthful of his ice cream.

I purse my lips. “Really, and what if I’ve nothing to confess?”

Jamie snorts with laughter and does a funny sort of blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes. Is he trying to wink? If so, he’s failing miserably. I try to look angelic and sin free. Judging by the look of scepticism on his face, It doesn’t seem to be working.

“Sae, my confession is, dah-dah-daaaah,” he does a fake fanfare, trying to build suspense. “I wanted tae be yer friend on Facebook because I wanted tae see if there were any photos of ye in Barcelona, with all yer...er… accessories.”

I feel myself redden. I’ve just remembered catching Geillis on Facebook the other day at work and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

“Verra interesting… in particular, the one with ye and six penis shot glasses. How d’ye manage tae get two of them in yer mouth at the same time?”

I inwardly curse Geillis and her desire to live her life through social media.

“Excuse me,” I reply somewhat primly. “I don’t think we’re at the Q and A stage yet.”

“So,” I continue in a lighter tone. “Me. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I’m thirty two and I’m a paediatric orthopaedic surgeon, here at the children’s hospital. I love my job so much, I can’t begin to tell you. As of two weeks ago, I am thankfully single. I was born in Oxford and moved up here when I was twelve, when my Uncle Lamb became a professor at the university. He brought me up, you know. Raised me when my parents died in a car accident... I… er...I was four at the time.”

I can feel Jamie looking at me, but I can’t raise my eyes. Telling people about my parents never gets any easier, no matter how many times I say those words. I concentrate on picking bits of wafer off my cone and throwing them to the ducks loitering nearby, waiting for some sort of treat.

“So it always was just my uncle and me.” I carry on talking. “Then he died… seven...seven years ago…” I can hear my voice start to crack as I fight back tears. A hand creeps into my vision and I gratefully accept the proffered paper napkin and wipe my face.

“Och, lass.” He says softly.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry. We were having a nice conversation and then there I go, getting all teary. It’s just, well, we were a team, Uncle Lamb and I… the two musketeers. He was my hero.”

Blowing my nose in a most unladylike way, I toss the napkin into the neighbouring bin.

“And that’s pretty much me. As for a confession, well… I suppose it’s kind of one.”

He raises one eyebrow quizzically, making a better job of that than the whole winking lark, I think.

"Ok, well, when I had your case, I tried to ring before I emailed you. I called the number in your case… twice. A woman answered and told me I had the wrong number—"

"Laoghaire."

"I know that now. But she obviously knew how to get onto your phone."

"Why did ye no' tell me?" He smiles as he says this. It's not a reprimand.

"I would have but you seemed to be coming to a conclusion anyway. No need to add more fuel to the fire."

"Happen ye're right."

He notices me shivering and gets to his feet. “Aye, there’s a bit of a chill. Fancy a wee walk tae warm up and we can carry on wi’ round two. It’s a quick fire round.”

I stand up and we move away from the pond. The ducks have already lost interest in us since they realise that we’ve nothing more to offer them. It’s pretty quiet in the park now, the cooler evening air seems to have kept people at home. The gravel crunching loudly under the soles of our shoes, I glance down and notice Jamie’s doing a sort of awkward stuttering movement with his feet. He’s clearly trying to match his stride pattern to mine. Which isn’t easy when his must be a good few inches longer than mine. Nice, considerate gesture, though.

“Sae, quick fire questions and answers. Ye can go first,” he says generously.

It only takes me a moment to think of a question that I have been wondering about ever since I explored the contents of his suitcase.

“What were you doing in Barcelona? I mean the contents of your case weren’t really fun-weekend-away stuff.”

“Nah, ye’re right. It wasna a holiday—flying visit only. I was there on business—talking tae a food wholesale company. Serrano ham, chorizo, saffron, that kind of thing,” he explains, a look of excitement on his face. “We’re expanding our range, starting with Spanish influenced recipes. A full three courses ready tae prepare, plus wine delivered straight tae yer door. Dinner party FraserFood style.”

He can’t stop smiling as he talks about these plans. And his hands move animatedly as he continues to elaborate on his new venture. His business is obviously his passion. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t got the desire for a relationship with a girlfriend—FraserFood seems to be his one love. No girl could compete.

He stops talking for a moment. “And here I am, boring ye.”

I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s really interesting.” I don’t have to lie. It’s the truth. My mouth is watering at his description of albondigas and flavoursome chicken and chorizo with cannellini beans. I’m ready to sign up for this delivery service any time.

“Sae, ma turn tae ask a question. Tell me, d’ye like this shirt?”

I try to stifle a laugh. The question is so unexpected and the shirt so awful. Trying to be diplomatic, I search for the right words, evading the actual question. “I’ve only seen you in white tops before, no colours.”

He sighs. “Ye’ve only seen me twice afore... anyway I dinna think ye need tae say any more. I ken ye’re being polite, but ye’re a terrible liar. I can tell by yer face ye dinna like this shirt. Laoghaire hated it, always made me change it. I did wonder if that was jes’ her being difficult. But apparently no’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ye dinna need tae apologise, Claire. Being honest is a good thing, is it no’? And friends should always tell each other the truth. And that’s what I think we’re going tae be, Claire— friends. D’ye no’ agree?”

I crane my neck and look Jamie straight in the eye. “Yes, I do… friends.”

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 5

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isuckatwritingmyfriends · 5 years ago

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The 5 times Eddie doesn't know Buck speaks spanish +1 he finds out. Be gentle,, I used google translate lmao

"Ni siquiera ves lo que me haces, ¿verdad?"

Buck's eyes are startled up from his phone, lifting to meet Eddie's where he was sitting next to him on the couch, hand rubbing soothing circles into his bad leg. Buck tilts his head, confused, and that's where Eddie makes a fatal mistake.

He laughs softly, "You'll ruin your eyes, staring at that thing so intensely."

Buck, still confused, opens his mouth to ask, but the bell rings and Eddie is gently placing his leg down to rush off to the trucks. He has no choice but to follow.

Sitting across from his best friend, Buck tries to think back on every interaction they've had since they met and- holy shit. Eddie doesn't know I speak spanish.

The call was relatively easy, but the shift had been long nonetheless and when they get back to the fire house, Buck's too distracted to remember to ask Eddie about what he said, before he's off to the showers. And why he lied about what it meant, he thinks. He narrows his eyes down at his boots, it's not like it was anything bad. Why lie?

And Buck gets close, so close to threading a very important needle when Eddie clangs his locker shut. "We'll see you for movie night tomorrow?" he asks, almost to the door already. Buck, mind elsewhere, nods distractedly at him. And he's gone, running off to pick up Christopher on time.

Buck tells Maddie. Because of fucking course he doesn't think about the consequences of his actions. She grins at him, and immediately he knows he's made a mistake. "Oh? What do you do to him, Buck?"

He groans and tries to shove his hand in her face. "Stop, it's not like that." She gives him a flat look. He sighs. "Its not that I don't want it to be, you know that, I just don't want to mess it up with my feelings."

"Really though? What if he feels the same?"

"What if he doesn't?" Buck looks down at his plate, pushing his food around with his fork. "I can't risk losing him and Christopher on a what if."

Maddie frowns at him, but doesn't push much harder. "Well, you're going to tell him you speak spanish then?"

Buck shrugs, "I mean, yeah. I just don't get why he'd hide something so simple."

Maddie looks at him, thoroughly unimpressed, but before she has the chance to tell him that he's the smartest idiot she's ever met, his eyes catch the time on his phone. "Oh shit," he grabs his jacket and keys, fumbling around the table to kiss her cheek. "I love you, I'm gonna be late to movie night!"

"Bye, I love-" The door slams and she hears his quick steps fade down the hall. With a small smile, she pulls out her phone. Chimney's gonna love this.

Buck makes it barely on time, maybe speeding a bit through the less busy roads, but no one can prove it. He arrives two minutes before 7, bustling through the door without knocking.

He manages to close the door behind him before he catches an armful of Christopher. "You're here!" he shouts.

Buck grins down at him, lifting him for a squeeze and a twirl. "And I wasn't even late!"

Eddie walks out of the kitchen, smiling, "Just barely. Are your tires smoking?"

Buck sticks his tongue out in response.

Eddie's eye roll is instant, "¿Cómo estoy enamorado de un hombre tan inmaduro?"

Buck fumbles, almost dropping Christopher. He plays it off by setting the kid down, and asking "What'd you pick for a movie?"

Christopher, oblivious to Buck's small heart attack, happily takes his hand and leads him to the living room, rambling about how The Little Mermaid never gets old.

"Hey, how about you help me get the popcorn and drinks, buddy?" Christopher obliges, moving for the kitchen and releasing Buck. Eddie watches him until he's out of earshot, then turns to Buck. "Was that your leg? Is it bothering you any?"

Buck shakes his head, face turning red. "No it's just-" you literally just told me you love me, I think I'm allowed to freak the fuck out!

"It's okay, you go sit down and we'll be out in a sec."

Then Buck is left staring after his best friend, some weird feelings clenching in his chest.

"HE SAID WHAT?!"

Buck slaps a hand over his sister's mouth. "Shut the fuck up! He'll hear you!"

Both pause and lean to look into the living room of Buck's apartment where Eddie and Chimney are aggressively mashing buttons on controllers. Chimeny looks over and smirks. Eddie glances over with a soft smile aimed at them. Buck waves.

He turns back to Maddie, still smiling, but frowns when he sees her face. "Stop it."

"I didn't say anything." She's grinning though, and Buck has been on the receiving end of that grin too many times to be so naive.

"Leave it."

Maddie looks like she's going to burst, so he takes her arm and pulls her over to his front door. "Oh was it so cute when you told him? Was he embarrassed?"

Buck mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

He shot a quick glance back towards the couch, letting him have a moment of mourning for his poor game before turning back. "I didn't tell him."

Maddie's eyes went wide, her mouth opening to presumably start shouting at him, but cuts herself off with a garbled noise. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Buck braces himself. "So you're going to stand there and tell me that he told you, to your face, that he loves you-"

"More implied I think."

She slaps his arm and he winces. "Boy if we were alone, I swear to god!" she whisper-shouts. "Are you trying to ruin your friendship?"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to avoid!"

"How is this avoiding anything but your feelings?"

"Because he doesn't know I understand what he's saying!" Maddie gives him her best were-you-not-just-paying-attention-to-the-whole-ass-conversation-we-just-had look. It's very good. She's had a lot of practice. Buck pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to explain himself better. "He isn't comfortable enough to tell me when he thinks I'll know what he's saying. And it's different, he has a kid to think about. And I respect whatever choice he makes."

Maddie puts her hands on his shoulders. "You need to tell him. The fallout will be much worse if you let it continue." She smiles reassuringly at him, then walks back to their drinks on the counter.

It's after Maddie and Chimney have gone home for the night that Buck and Eddie have a few more drinks and chat. Eddie's talking about the sleepover Chris is at tonight while Buck zones in and out. How does one even begin to explain the thought process that lead him to keeping this secret? Oh god, he thinks, this is gonna be one of those little white lies that snowballs until I have to take it to my grave-

Fingers snap in front of his face, his eyes managing to focus on the smile on Eddie's face as he looks at him. "You okay?"

This is it. This is when you tell him you speak spanish. Buck opens his mouth, "Um actually," he pauses. Eddie looks at him, expectantly. "Uh, yeah, just tired." Damnit.

"We can turn in for the night," he suggests.

Buck nods, "Wanna spend the night? I've got clothes you could use?" NO. Absolutely not. Because you will share a bed and he will be wearing your clothes and you are a serial cuddler. So NO.

Eddie's smile grows, "I'm more concerned about how you hog the blankets."

Buck gasps in mock offense, shoving at him playfully. "I do not!"

Eddie just laughs.

Fuck. I'm so screwed. He just doesn't realize how screwed until they're laying in his bed, Eddie sprawled out on his stomach and Buck on his back, every muscle coiled tight. It's quiet for a while, long enough that Buck thinks he might have drifted off, but he shifts and his voice comes muffled from the pillows. "I can actually hear you thinking. Please sleep."

Buck rolls his eyes. Jokes on you, I'm not thinking, I'm panicking.

Eddie moves again and now he's looking at Buck. "Is it your leg?"

His heart twists in his chest and he shakes his head. "It's nothing. Probably you rolling around so much."

Eddie's quiet, so Buck turns his head to look. "Podría acostumbrarme a esta vista."

Buck's eyes widen. Then he sees a moment of small panic where Eddie thinks 'what if-?' But it's gone as soon as it arrives. "Just enjoying the blankets while I still can."

He huffs, but it's lighter between them and Buck starts to drift off.

When they wake up, Buck finds he has taken another victim. Eddie had rolled onto his back sometime while they were asleep, and had Buck tucked in close, wrapped around him. Buck doesn't immediately panic because it feels too right. But when he wakes up more, he knows he should move before Eddie wakes up.

Buck tries to be subtle, slowly pulling his limbs back to himself, trying not to wake Eddie in the process. Except when he looks up, Eddie is watching him with a small smile. Buck's heart roundhouse kicks his ribcage and he let's out a startled "Oh."

Eddie just laughs, "Eres tan hermoso."

Buck's mouth falls open, but he doesn't say anything as Eddie extricates himself from Buck's grasp and starts for the stairs. "I'll make breakfast."

Once he's out of sight, Buck throws himself back on the mattress, slapping a hand over his eyes. "Fuck me."

He doesn't want to tell Maddie. Partly because she'll lose her shit, but mostly because he knows she's right. He's waited too long already, if Eddie finds out- When. When Eddie finds out. I can't keep this up forever.- he's probably going to be mad.

Buck ends up telling her. Obviously. She has the same reaction he thought she would. "He called you beautiful and said he wants to fall asleep to you?!"

Buck winces and holds the phone away from his ear for a moment. "Uh, basically I guess that was the gist of it."

"THE GIST?!" Buck grimaces, brings one hand up to scrub his face. "And you still didn't tell him?!"

Buck sighs, because he knows, okay? He really does, but he's scared too. "Mads I-"

Her voice is softer. "Buck, I know you're nervous. But you've said it before, you're basically family. Anyone could look at the two of you and Christopher and see how in love you are, see how much you'd do anything for them."

"Yeah but not Eddie." Bucks spins in his chair, he's tired and doesn't know what he's going to do. "If everyone can see how much I love him too, why can't he? Why doesn't he tell me all this? Why does he only say it when he thinks I don't understand?" Maddie sighs, but Buck continues. "I have to assume there's more here than I can see. If he doesn't want me to know, then I don't."

Maddie's quiet for a minute, just the sound of her breathing comes over the phone. Her voice is gentle when she says, "What happens when he finds out?"

Buck kinda just wants to cry. "I don't know, Mads. I don't know."

Buck and Christopher are playing with legos in the living room. Well, Buck is playing, Christopher is actually building something. He's talking about his day at school and that he's excited for the weekend because he gets to see the rest of his family. Buck's listening attentively, asking questions where it matters and nodding along, until he hears a snippet of what Eddie is saying.

The other man is pacing back and forth behind the couch, on the phone with his family in El Paso. They're talking about the barbeque this weekend, presumably what Chris meant when he talked about being excited to see his family. But I'm not supposed to know that.

He's tense when he stops at the farther end of the couch, talking quickly into the phone. "-él debería poder venir, prácticamente está criando a Christopher conmigo." A pause. "No es justo. ¿Has hablado con Abuela?" He's quiet for a few minutes, then, "Christopher ama él. Lo amo él. Él viene, lo quiero allí, y eso es todo."

Eddie hangs up the phone. With his back still to the boys, he lifts his hand to rub his face with a sigh. When he turns around, he meets Buck's gaze. Okay? he mouths. Eddie nods back, and finally smiles. "I'll go grab some snacks, then we can watch some tv?" Buck grins and Christopher celebrates.

It isn't until after they put Christopher to bed and are sitting together on the couch that Eddie tells him about the barbeque.

"I want you to come. I mean," he scratches the back of his neck. "If you want to come, I would like you to."

"Is that what the phone call was about?"

Eddie gives him a long look and Buck thinks, this is when he realizes. But he doesn't, just sighs and says, "Yeah. Some of my cousins are... well, I'll just say difficult. My parents thought it would be best if it was just Christopher and I, but I told them that we want you to go."

Buck is, well, he's- I'm fucked. I love them. Eddie mistakes his silence. "No pressure though," he laughs.

Buck smiles and nods. "Yes. Yeah, I would love to go."

Eddie's smile lights up his face. "Good, cool, that sounds- uh good."

Buck just smiles back.

What Eddie failed to mention when he told Buck about his cousins was that when he said 'difficult' he really meant 'homophobic'. And just as Maddie predicted, it was getting harder to hide that he knew Spanish. Curse her and her intelligence. Luckily, most of the family were happy to see Eddie and Christopher. And, if Buck was feeling less than modest, most of them loved him.

It started out great: playing with the kids until they all tired him out, eating around a huge table filled with family, chatting around. Buck was finding out many blackmail-worthy stories of Eddie when he was a teenager. With each new piece of information, he had to restrain himself from calling the team and telling them everything.

Buck was also finding out that almost everyone in the family thought they were together. Discreetly of course, they let most of it slip in Spanish, so they probably figured he didn't know they were talking about him. Unfortunately for Eddie, he talked about them all the time, and now Buck knew.

After the initial wave of guilt subsided, Buck made a plan. He went to the kitchen to grab Eddie and him another drink. I'm going to tell Eddie when we get back home. Buck was too busy thinking about how to break it to him, when two of the 'difficult' cousins walked into the kitchen behind him. He didn't notice at first, not until they started shit talking in Spanish.

"Es como él no respeta a esta familia." Buck doesn't turn. He's not supposed to understand what they're saying. Calm down. Leave it alone.

"¡Lo sé! ¿No entienden lo asqueroso que es ver eso?" Wow, that was incredibly offensive. He pushes around a few cans, looking for the drinks they had earlier.

"¡Y ahora Christopher está expuesto a eso!" Buck's hand tightens on a glass. Breathe. Don't say anything you'll regret later. It's not your place.

"No me sorprendería que juguete chico de Eddie corrompa al pobre niño."

Buck stands abruptly, smacking his head off the top of the fridge in his haste. His knuckles are white and he has to force himself to turn and smile. "Found it," he tries to make his voice light. With forced casualty, he walks past them to the counter for the bottle opener.

"Es una pena, él podría haber resultado genial." They continued, or more accurately, tried to continue.

Buck spun on them in an instant. "I know it's not my place to say anything to you, but the two of you are cruel and I genuinely don't know how you come from such a kind and supportive family." The women stood there stunned. "What goes on between me and Eddie is none of your business. And Christopher is growing up to be a kind and caring person. If he turns out to be even half the man Eddie is, he'd still be three times better than you." Buck sucked in a breath and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I think it's time you leave." The voice came from behind Buck. He felt his blood run cold when he heard it. He'd know that voice anywhere.

Buck turned to see Eddie standing in the doorway, arms also crossed, expression hard. He watched his cousins walk past him, embarrassment clear in the way they couldn't meet his eyes. He watched until they made it all they way down the hall and back out to the yard.

As soon as Eddie turned back to him, Buck asked, "How much of that did you hear?"

Eddie didn't uncross his arms, expression now cautious and confused. "You know Spanish."

It wasn't a question. Buck nodded anyway. "I know I said things I probably shouldn't have, but when they started talking about Chris I- I don't even know. I just got so mad because you and him are the best people in the world and-"

"What you said is not the problem," Eddie interrupted. Fuck. He was hoping he wouldn't notice. "Why didn't you tell me?" His expression cracked into one of hurt. Buck's heart twisted. "The things I've said- oh my god, Buck, have you known the whole time?!"

A nod.

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, he looked terrified. "Was this a joke to you? See how much I'd say so you could laugh about it later?" Buck tried to intervene, but Eddie seemed to realize more. "Oh my god, I told you I love you. I told my family and- oh my god you were sitting right there!" He slapped his hands to his face. "Everything my family has said, I can't-"

Buck jumped forward, grabbing Eddie's hands in his. "No, no! It wasn't a joke to me! I'd never- I wouldn't- I could never have made this a joke."

Eddie shook his head, but didn't pull his hands away. "Then why?"

Buck ran a hand through his hair, bringing it down to rub his face before grabbing Eddie's hands again. "You have to understand, I tried to tell you. I thought you knew and then the thing you said on the couch made me realize you didn't. Then I told Maddie and she kept telling me to tell you but-" he let out a sigh. "It was just scary, okay? I didn't want to lose what we had, I didn't want to lost Christopher."

"Buck," Eddie's voice was softer. "I literally told you that I love you. How would you making a move ruin anything?"

Buck tried his best unimpressed look. "You only said those things when you thought I didn't understand. I just thought, maybe you needed time. That you'd tell me when you were ready."

"Oh my god. You're an idiot. I'm an idiot. How do we ever get anything done being so stupid?"

Buck laughed quietly. "That's not nice to say when we just had this really emotional moment."

Eddie just rolled his eyes before pulling Buck for a kiss. When he pulled back, he was grinning. "We can't tell the team about this. We'll never know peace."

Buck let his head fall on Eddie's shoulder. "I told Maddie. They definitely already know."

---------

Here are the translations in case y'all were wondering...(if they're not right, blame google, I did my best lol)

Ni siquiera ves lo que me haces, ¿verdad?- (You don't even see what you do to me, do you?)

¿Cómo estoy enamorado de un hombre tan inmaduro?- (How am I in love with such an immature man?)

Podría acostumbrarme a esta vista.- (I could get used to this sight)

Eres tan hermoso.- (You are so handsome)

-él debería poder venir, prácticamente está criando a Christopher conmigo.- (-he should be able to come, he's practically raising Christopher with me.)

No es justo. ¿Has hablado con Abuela?- (That's not fair. Have you talked to Abuela?)

Christopher ama él. Lo amo él. Él viene, lo quiero allí, y eso es todo.- (Christopher loves him. I love him. He comes, I want him there, and that's it.)

Es como él no respeta a esta familia.- (It's like he doesn't respect this family.)

¡Lo sé! ¿No entienden lo asqueroso que es ver eso?- (I know! Don't you understand how gross it is to see that?)

¡Y ahora Christopher está expuesto a eso!- (And now Christopher is exposed to it!)

No me sorprendería que juguete chico de Eddie corrompa al pobre niño.- (I wouldn't be surprised if Eddie's boy toy corrupts the poor boy.)

#911onfox #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #!!! its v long !!!#also #im so so sorry ive been a ghost here #the whole quarantine thing wrecked my already spotty healthy lol #and school is Not Great™ rn #but im trying to write more so enjoy:)#my stuff

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lochrannn · 3 years ago

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AU-gust: Walk a mile in my red boots

Read on AO3

No warnings

prompt no 8: Character Swap

Characters: Lila Pitts, Diego Hargreeves, Five Hargreeves

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

“Five, I have to find him! I just don’t understand why you can’t see that!” Lila throws her hands up in the air, exasperation with her oldest brother hitting a boiling point.

She’s been having this argument for days now.

After they returned to 2019, to an empty mansion, no mom, no Pogo, they had spent a good few days talking about what they had experienced and how they would go on. It didn’t take too long for them to split up, though. Allison wanted to get to LA as quickly as possible to see Claire and Vanya decided to travel with her. Having left Sissy back in Dallas and learning about how her life had been leading up to her causing multiple apocalypses had been tough on her, and she said she needed some time to re-evaluate where her life should go.

Lila isn’t ready to let go of her experiences back in Dallas yet, though. She feels like it’s her responsibility to find Diego and see if he’s ok.

“Lila, he’s a lunatic who manipulated you and tried to kill our siblings. Really, really wants me dead! Why are you so desperate to go after him? What are you going to do if he tries to hurt you? You know there’s not that much you can do if we're not there for you to copy our powers. And Diego’s a highly trained assassin!” Five is trying to be understanding, but Lila can tell by the way he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet that he’s going to try any tactic he can to dissuade her.

“God, Five, why don’t you get it? You told me all about the loneliness you experienced in the apocalypse. Diego’s just lost everything. Everything he believed in has been taken away from him, I can’t imagine a place more lonely than that, except for the apocalypse, maybe. And I know he’s dangerous, but I don’t believe he’ll hurt me. And wouldn’t you rather know where he is and what he’s up to than have to wonder whether he might not come back to finish the job?” Lila knows that’s a low blow but she’s desperate. She can’t quite put into words why she feels so strongly that she has to find him, she just knows that she does.

“I’d like to see him try,” Five mumbles off to the side, but Lila can see that she’s slowly getting through to him.

It’s not like she needs his permission. She helped the little gerbil from the Commission, she’s sure she can wangle a favor out of him, she doesn’t need Five. But after everything they’ve been through, she’d much rather he was on her side on this one.

There’s a tense moment between them and then Five lets go of a long breath and nods once and Lila smiles broadly at her brother.

Before leaving the kitchen she ruffles his hair and earns herself a pretty hard slap to the hand in return.

In the end it’s not hard to find him.

Of course Herb has been keeping tabs on him. Not only is Diego a rogue Commission agent now, but the new interim head of the board is genuinely sympathetic towards the catastrophic loss Diego’s experienced and when Lila makes contact with Herb, he presses a pre-programmed briefcase into her hands and wishes her good luck.

Lila studies the sign outside the cantina. Her Spanish is a little rusty but she’s quite certain that it says no women are allowed inside.

Well, fuck that.

Usually she’s not too concerned about local customs, different strokes for different folks and all that. And it’s not like she’s traveled, really, outside of missions with the Umbrella Academy when they were children. But this sign can fuck right off. She hasn’t come all this way to find Diego to be turned away by outdated gender norms.

So she walks in holding her head up high and instantly draws everybody’s attention.

But all she can focus on is the figure that scrambles in a blur to what seems to be the back of the large room with its wooden ceilings.

He’s out of sight before she can even start running, but in her pursuit she swipes a knife off of a table and flings it out of the back door before she sprints through it herself.

She hasn’t had any real opportunity to practice using this power as she only found out Diego had it when he had repelled Vanya’s attack and had toyed with Five by whizzing a knife fractions of inches away from his head when they were fighting in the barn. At least that’s how Five tells it.

Well, Lila decides to simply wing it. Intuition has always served her quite well in copying her siblings’ powers, so why not now?

And at the same time as she bolts out the back door, she hears the sound of a knife imbedding itself in a clay wall and a loud yelp.

She turns to the noise and there he is, knife pinning his jacket to the wall, a line of blood welling up along the tear in the material - oops - and he has her leveled with a deadly glare. But he doesn’t move, just stares her down.

“Gotcha!” Lila says, trying to ease the tension between them, she thinks she deserves at least a bit of co-operation from him, seeing as she de-escalated the fight between Diego and Five back in Sissy’s barn. With her words no less!

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Diego spits out at her, his expression still murderous, but he also still hasn’t moved, so Lila continues approaching slowly while she says, “Oh you know, I’ve been jonesing for a bit of a holiday so I thought to myself ‘Where’s that bastard who played and manipulated me while I was at one of the lowest points of my life? Would really like to know what he’s up to these days.’”

For a second something almost a bit like guilt flashes across Diego’s face, but then his scowl deepens and he doesn’t say anything, nor does he make a move.

So Lila chances it and steps up to him, only to regret that the second he pulls the knife pinning him out of the wall, launches himself at her, slams her back against the wall and presses the knife to her throat.

Shit, she may have misjudged this. Maybe snark wasn’t the right choice after all.

There was a time when she thought he was quite charmed by her sharp tongue, but right now she remembers that she can’t actually be too sure about anything concerning Diego. However, there’s a feeling deep down inside of her that still believes that he won’t actually hurt her, but maybe Five is right and she’s just desperately naive.

Diego is towering over her breathing heavily, not from exertion, but clearly from rage.

“Why the fuck are you here, Lila? Is that little murderer you call a brother with you? Cause he can see what he gets for hunting me down!” he snarls.

Entirely out of options Lila decides the only way forward is with the truth. “Five’s not here. I came alone.” Oh you idiot, the voice in her head that sounds a little too much like Five chimes in. “Came to make sure you were ok,” she says, staring up at him imploringly.

That’s clearly not what he expected as she can feel his forearm twitch where he has it pressed to her collarbone and his grip on the knife at her throat falters for a second.

“Why?” he whispers. For the first time she feels like there might be a tiny bit of uncertainty in his voice.

“Cause you’re all alone, Diego, and I made you a promise and I’m not sure you really heard me… you know, the whole family thing?” Lila had made an impassioned speech back at the barn, but even though every word had been completely sincere, she feels a little awkward about the whole thing now.

A nasty grin stretches across Diego’s lips and he sneers, “I don’t believe for a second that all of your siblings feel the same way. Doubt they’ve forgotten about how I tried to kill them. Came pretty close, as well! And what the fuck makes you think I’d even want to be part of your family, anyway?”

He’s leaning against her heavily now and Lila knows he’s trying to intimidate her, but if he wanted to hurt her he would have already done so. Clearly he’s not actually willing to just leave this conversation either.

“They’ll get over themselves,” she says with as casual a shrug as she can manage with a knife to her throat, “and I care about you, Diego, the same way I think you care about me. And I don’t believe you actually want to be alone. But beyond that, it’s up to you.”

At her words she sees something crumble behind his eyes and suddenly they seem to fill with unshed tears. “Jesus, Lila, I drugged you and took you to the Commission against your will. You’re fucking crazy to be anywhere near me!”

“Yeah you did. And maybe I am. But what can you do?” Lila just says gently.

Apparently that’s how easy it is. Diego closes his eyes, presumably to stop the tears from falling, tips forward, and knocks his forehead against hers.

Then the knife is gone and Lila uses the opportunity to wrap her arms around him and he melts into her hug.

And while they stand there, Lila with her back against the wall, slightly struggling to hold a sobbing Diego upright, she rubs soothing circles into his back and whispers into his ear, “It’s gonna be alright! We can make it alright, I promise!”

#au_gust_2021 #fanfic #tua #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #dielila #diego x lila #diego/lila #five hargreeves #lochrannn lxd au challenge

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flowesona · 5 years ago

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Sweets for the Sweet - Yandere! Taehyung x reader

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

“Hey, hey (Y/N). You okay?” The steadying presence of Namjoon’s hand on her back to keep her straight and his soothing voice were able to coax the young woman out of her nauseous state.

“I’m fine, it’s just-”

“It’s a lot, I know. Don’t worry, if this is too much you can leave and we won’t hold it against you.” (Y/N) shook her head, feeling more stable than ever with his comfort.

“I’ll be fine. Just- how long until they pick it up for autopsy?” (Y/N) kept her eyes trained on Namjoon.

“Just a minute. They need to finish photography and then we can get it out.” (Y/N) took another glance at the corpse, finding it just as appalling as her first sight of it. The chest gashed open, wound dragged all the way up to the collarbone as if to tear it apart. And a haunting look on the victim’s face, as if she had seen a ghost.

Sensing how her body had frozen up, the senior detective gently guided her out of the apartment, letting her catch her breath outside.

“I’m sorry, you know that I’m usually okay with murders, it’s just-” (Y/N) rambled, cut off when Namjoon gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“We all have bad days. I’ve not not-so-great experiences with cadavers myself .” The young woman relaxed.

“Do we have any information on the victim yet?”

“A visitor to the city. Aged 18, neighbours only knew her as ‘Min’ and we’re still waiting for her records to come back. Apparently she was renting this place for a month all alone.” He glanced up, seeing (Y/N)’s gaze was still slightly unfixed.

“Do you want to go and conduct interviews? I’ll investigate the scene myself and Yoongi can handle forensics .” Namjoon offered, earning a grateful nod.

»»———————►

The apartment was somewhat homely, (Y/N) noted, as she sat on the sofa. An elderly woman was bustling about at the stove with a kettle, preparing mugs with tea bags and even a plate of biscuits out of hospitality for junior detective.

“Thank you Ma’am.” (Y/N) nodded politely as a steaming beverage was placed in front of her, blowing on it before taking a tentative sip.

“Just call me Gwen, love. Gwendolyn if you must.” The elederly host smiled. “I’m presuming that this is because of that poor girl next door?”

“Yes. Can you tell me what you know about her? Can you see any reason that someone would want to murder her?” (Y/N) flipped open her notepad, pen poised.

“Ah, well. She’s a dark tourist. No doubt she came here because of the Candyman and no doubt she died for it.” Gwen had a spark in her eye, knowing she’d snatched the detective’s attention.

“Pardon? Could you elaborate on that?”

“Kim Taehyung is a phantom within this very apartment. A figure of romantic tragedy who kills those who summon him.” The elederly woman’s voice had become hushed, as if this supposed phantom could hear them. “He was killed by his girlfriend many years ago, and to this day he’s still looking for love.”

“Are you saying that this phantom killed her?” (Y/N) frowned.

“All you have to do is say “Candyman” five times into a mirror. People always think they’re better than death, but you shouldn’t test him.”

“Ma’am this is a serious murder inquiry.” The young detective frowned, only to be shushed by the older woman.

“I’d be careful if I was you. Pretty young women like you are always his prey.” Gwen sighed, knowing that (Y/N)’s ignorance would be her downfall.

»»———————►

“Are you kidding me?!” The howl of the wind whipping around snow in a huge flurry was a worrying sight. Namjoon pulled the door shut hurriedly, not wanting to let in any more of the freezing air.

“We can’t go out in these kinds of conditions.” Namjoon announced to the minute crowd of his officers who’d agreed to work overtime, earning murmurs of worry from the people who wanted to get home and forget the whole day. Not a soul in that workforce would willingly stay in the same building that a gruesome murder just took place in. Not when the killer very likely was still lurking around these halls. “We’ll set up a base in the empty apartments on the fourteenth flour, and I want all residents to be informed they should not be leaving their apartment at any time due to the danger.”

There were more unhappy murmurs amongst the officers, but there was no room for objection. Not in these conditions, and certainly not against their superior.

Once the small force had dispersed to inform the residents of their new conditions, (Y/N) was able to latch onto Namjoon. She hadn’t had to deal with the crime scene at all, spending the afternoon conducting interviews to no avail, but there was still a queasy feeling in her stomach that she couldn’t quite explain.

“(Y/N).” The detective finally turned away from a small conversation he was having with one of the forensic specialists to face her, a warm smile working its way onto his face. “Are you feeling better?”

“Uh yeah, I just-” The young woman paused, unsure how to articulate her feelings without sounding pathetic. Luckily, as always Namjoon was easily able to read her emotions.

“Do you want to help me set up an office for us? I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight, so I’ll work on this overnight and catch up on my sleep once we’re out of here.” (Y/N) nodded at his suggestion, but the feeling was not yet gone.

»»———————►

“Hey guys!” A cheerful voice echoed through the small bedroom. The owner of said voice plopped himself down on the ground next to his colleagues, seemingly unfazed by the pictures spread about the room.

“Don’t crumple the photographs, Hoseok.” Namjoon warned, eyebrows still scrunched in focus as if the mystery would simply unfold in front of him if he stared hard enough.

“I just thought you two could you some help, Joon.” Hoseok dug into his jacket pocket and produced a flask, waving it excitedly in front of the chief detective.

“Just how much have you drank already, you lightweight.” Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head.

“Just enough to keep me going. (Y/N), you have some!” The young woman caught the metal flask with ease and popped it open without hesitation, letting the warm feeling of whiskey slide down her throat and instantly comfort her.

She passed the flask to Namjoon, who similarly took a gulp of the liquid courage, determined to not let sleep get to them.

“Something about this case is really off.” (Y/N) broke the silence. “I can’t see any of her neighbours having a reason to kill her. She was just a dark tourist who kept herself to herself.”

“But we can’t find a weapon.” Hoseok bummed. “The wound was much too jagged to be a knife. More like a meat hook really, but who on earth would have one of those around here?”

Everyone present grimaced at the idea of a meat hook as a murder weapon, being dragged up the victims body as she screamed in pain.

“But how could it be an outsider? Yoongi said this guy left zero traces. No DNA at all.” By now, the alcohol had started to work its magic on (Y/N), and she opened her mouth to say something she hadn’t brought up for the entire evening.

“Her neighbour says it was a phantom.” Namjoon spluttered whilst Hoseok tried to maintain a somewhat straight face.

“Apparently, in this building if you say the name “Candyman” five times into a mirror, he’ll be summoned and kill you or something.” Hoseok slapped his knee.

“Of course, the answer we were missing all along! It was a ghost!” He snorted, snatching the flask out of Namjoon’s hands and taking another swig.

“Blaming the murder on a ghost… can’t say it’s a new one…” Namjoon muttered, rubbing his temple.

Suddenly, a shrill ringtone rang throughout the small room, as Hoseok scrambled to get it.

“Hi! What? Okay, I guess I can give you a hand. See you in a minute.” He stood up, stumbling slightly but a grin still plastered to his face.

“Duty calls. Yoongi’s found something. I’ll go talk to him and I’ll report back ASAP.”

With that, Hoseok left the room. But they were still quite not alone.

“What do you say we give it a try?”

»»———————►

For a few seconds after (Y/N) had whispered the name into the mirror, intermittent in drunken giggles, nothing happened. The young woman collapsed into a fit of laughter at the sight of Namjoon’s slightly perplexed face.

“You actually thought it would work? Oh no, some virgin loser is going to crawl out of the mirror and kill us?” The chief detective blushed.

“Put that thing away and lets get back to work.”

“Oh? Do you want me to move?” By this point in the evening, the slightly drunken junior worker had shifted herself to sitting on Namjoon’s lap. “I think you rather like having me here, don’t you?”

“(Y/N), don’t do this to me. I swear, you’ll regret it.” Namjoon groaned, but the woman just giggled, turning around to face him. For a few seconds, they just looked at each other. Then, with an impulsivity that would surely be her downfall, (Y/N) kissed her superior, smirking as he returned the favour.

In an equivocal movement of passion, Namjoon started to unbutton her shirt. He then moved to start trailing his mouth down her neck, light moans letting him know he was making the right move until a light pitched noise let him know he’d found the sweet spot.

However, before the intense moment could progress any further they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it.” (Y/N) winked, pulling herself up and adjusting her shirt so that her bra strap was covered. Yet when she opened the door, no one was waiting in the corridor.

“There’s no one here. Must have been one of the junior officers playing a prank.” She announced, closing the door and turning back around.

She was met with a grizzly sight. A younger man had one hand wrapped around Namjoon’s mouth and the other clutching a meat hook, driving it deep into Namjoon’s back until the end peaked out of his chest. A terrified squeak left (Y/N)’s mouth, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen to the spot as the killer drew the weapon out of Namjoon’s back, letting the body slump to the floor.

“(Y/N).” The deep voice echoed throughout the room, sending shivers down her spine. “I’m here for you.”

She could not move, she could not scream for help, even as the mysterious man stalked over to her.

“You can say my name whenever and I’ll be here for you.” She felt the cold touch of his fingers on front skin, and the threateningly cool touch of the hook glistening with blood which easily marked her hands as he held them. “Listen to my voice, for it will guide you.”

“Who...who are you?” (Y/N) finally choked out.

“You know me. Kim Taehyung. Candyman.” His breath was chilling on his skin, his eyes hypnotising. Every part of him was like a hallucination. “I’ve been waiting for you. For so long.”

“W-what?” It felt like a hallucination, but the feeling of his body under her hands was no dream. He was real, the Candyman was real.

“I’ve waited to find my love. And here you are. Can’t you see that we’re soulmates? How else would we have met, right here in this building that I haunt?” Taehyung smirked.

“No! You…You killed Namjoon!” (Y/N) protested.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat. He deserves nothing less for trying to steal my love away. Taehyung cooed. “Trust me I will do it again for you, my love. But now is not the time.”

He offered her his one hand.

“Soon enough, that other detective will return. You don’t want his blood on yours hands as well?” (Y/N) shook her head determinedly. “Come with me.”

The phantom was beckoning her, trying to draw her in with his hypnotic ways.

“Don’t twist my arm, my love.” He sung, smirking when she finally gave him her hand.

“Nothing is left for you on this earth but me. I’m your sweetness, see.”

#yandere bts #kpop yandere #yandere kpop #yandere x reader #yandere v #yandere au #yandere #yandere bts au #yandere taehyung #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #yandere kim taehyung #yandere v x reader

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starkeristheendgame · 5 years ago

Text

Starker Valentine

Firstly, I want to start by wishing @softstarkerstuff a wonderful Happy Valentine’s, and also every other wonderful noodle that may see this! This is my second time participating in a challenge and I am beyond excited! Softstarker requested a High School AU where childhood best friends drift apart after Tony rejects Peter’s feelings for him. Naturally, Peter has the mother of all glow-ups over summer and Tony is quickly forced to reconsider.

I didn’t wanna go absolutely crazy on the word count for this, so I haven’t actually written out the majority of the backplot. This fic takes place after said rejection and focuses on the requested act of Tony developing his character in order to deserve Peter’s affections.

(I said that and this ended up being over 4,000 words!)

@starker-valentines

TW: Light Angst | (Not) Unrequited Love

“Tony. Get up,” Natasha hissed above him, and ordinarily the glint in her eye would have been enough for Tony to hop to, but the situation outweighed whatever horrible consequence she could bestow him, and he shook his head.

“We live here now,” Clint shrugged happily, popping another nacho into his mouth from the bowl he’d swiped before joining Tony in an act of solidarity on the floor, hiding behind a countertop in the kitchen. Natasha arched a dangerous eyebrow at the other boy, and even Tony twisted to look at Clint.

“Why are you down here?” Tony asked, risking leaning over Clint’s thighs to peek around the corner. Fuck. He couldn’t see him anymore, but that didn’t mean it was safe to move. He blew out a harsh breath and curled back up against the counter, scowling.

“Barnes has that leather jacket on again,” Clint announced simply, as though that explained anything at all. Above them, Natasha heaved a put-upon sigh, settling for kicking Tony in the shin with an unimpressed frown.

“Him I can understand,” she begun, motioning to Clint, who paused like he didn’t actually know if he ought to be offended or not. “But you. I had higher expectations of,” she sniffed, eyes scanning the room behind them before she reached down, grasping a fist of their shirts and hauling them to their feet despite their yowls of protest and clamours to hide behind her.

Heart in his throat, Tony cast a quick glance around, but couldn’t find the object of his fears. Or... The person. He relaxed a fraction, mindlessly pawing at Natasha’s iron grip with the dull awareness that his shirt would likely be crumpled.

“Idiots. The both of you. If I were less of a friend I’d complain about you ruining my night,” Natasha sniffed as she begun to drag them out of the kitchen, Clint still desperately clinging to his snacks and having no qualms about stealing a bowl. Tony kept himself alert as they walked, fugitively scanning the rooms as they made their way towards the door.

He couldn’t exactly say he lamented leaving - Contrary to every single clichè American film, high school house parties were often measly affairs, more pizza than booze and always with that one weirdo pretending they were absolutely wasted off alco-pops and mixers.

This party was largely no different, thumping music that made it hard to talk, pizza that had long gone cold and Tony would rather starve than touch, shitty drinks with a 4% content.

Mm, but no. What made this party truly, utterly horrific, was the fact that Peter Parker had shown up. And really, that sounded meaner than it was intended. Tony didn’t hate Peter - Not even close. Wasn’t disgusted by his presence but terrified of it.

Peter was - Or rather, had been, his best friend. This is where Tony’s sort kind of did realise the typical ‘teen film’ plot.

Boy meets boy. Boys grow up as childhood best friends, joined at the hip and vowing during recess to never, never, ever break friends. Boys navigate pre-teenhood together. Boy gets crush.

Apparently, other boy also gets crush. Boy admits crush. Other boy is too emotionally repressed and terrified to admit crush. Boy rejects boy. Summer comes. Boy gets glow up. Other boy now doubly regrets rejection and is left to wallow in pitiful regret and jealousy.

Yeah. Tony liked it about as much as he liked Marmite, which was to say, not at all. When Peter had rolled over on their bed, eyes imploring and voice soft as he admitted his feelings, something within Tony had died.

Because Peter was this perfect, pretty thing he was destined to never have. The flower that Tony was too scared to pick because he didn’t want to see it wither and die.

“He’s gone all thinky and melancholy again,” Clint complained at his side, and Tony thumped him on the shoulder, tripping over the welcome mat as Natasha lugged them along like reluctant suitcases.

Tony would have given a smart quip in response, something scathing about how Clint was also running away from someone, but a soft voice interrupted the quiet of the front yard just as they reached Tony’s car.

“Tony?”

Fuck. Fuck. Don’t turn around. It was easy to pretend he hadn’t heard, grabbing Clint by the scruff to stop the moron from turning and waving as they hauled into the car. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t face it. Him.

They were barely even in the car before Tony begun to pull away, Clint and his nachos rolling around in the back as the teen struggled to buckle himself in. From her seat up front, Natasha eyed him.

“Coward,” she announced, and Tony immediately agreed without shame. He was, of course. He was a coward. Had been from the start, from the moment he was old enough to let his feelings morph from the love of a friend to just...Love. He drove with a grim expression and an ache in his chest that felt like drowning.

He lay in bed for the remainder of the night, nose filled with chamomile and flora and heart aching with every memory that encompassed all that he had left of Peter. He had run away that night, recoiling from the prospect of ruining something he loved, and knowing he was ruining it by running. A vicious circle; a rat maze he was destined to run forever.

The torture of it had only increased upon their return, when cheeks round with baby-fat had slimmed and sharpened, when Peter’s unruly curls had smoothed into rolling, silky waves. He’d worked out over summer a little too, no longer just slim but lean. Summer glow-ups were nothing new, but Peter’s had hit hard.

Peter’s new looks had only succeeded in turning him from a neutral, friendly nerd to the newfound adoration of Queen’s Public High School, the boy suddenly inundated with attention and propositions. Peter seemed to have taken it in stride, not exchanging his personality for popularity, and still sat with the same two friends at lunch, still studied hard and ignored the feral social ladder.

It only made Tony love him all the more.

His sleep was restless and by Monday he was tired and grouchy, stalking through the halls towards his locker with a pair of deep shades covering his stinging eyes. Natasha cast him a glance as sympathetic as she could offer when she had made her opinion of his torment clear, and steered him towards first period.

Peter was already there when they arrived, slouched over his desk and engaged in an enigmatic conversation with Ned. Tony allowed his gaze to linger for exactly six seconds before he slumped in his own desk, decidedly across the room from Peter and slightly in front, so he wouldn’t have to spend any of his lessons watching the other boy and lamenting the loss of his warmth.

A shadow fell over his desk and Tony slowly lifted his head from where he had been staring at the floor, willing his migraine to jump ship. The shadow belonged to one Steve Rogers, who’s summer glow up had happened over the previous year, and who had gone from your average joe with pretty eyes and a jawline to a six foot tall, broad-shouldered, lean hunk of very biteable meat. If Tony wasn’t fairly (entirely) certain one Bucky Barnes would knock all his teeth out, he’d have tried a taste.

“Can I help you?” he asked blearily, tipping his head so his glasses dipped and he could see Steve without a vignette of black. Steve merely raised an eyebrow, and Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously in response.

“Hm.” And then Steve turned away, striding towards his own desk. Tony blinked dazedly at the now empty space, cast a sideways glance at Steve who sat down and begun to talk to Clint without a peek in return, and sighed. Ah. So Peter’s presumable warning about not going after Tony for breaking his heart must be nearing its end, then.

Wonderful.

At lunch, Tony snuck off campus and drove to the nearest Starbucks, returning to Natasha’s side with a coffee that was more espresso than water. He slouched in his seat and gave a pathetic whine, rubbing at his temples, and she slid a manicured hand through his hair, deliberately catching the tips of her nails on his scalp.

“If you weren’t such an emotionally repressed baby, you wouldn’t be like this,” she ‘soothed’ gently, and he cast her a sideways scowl.

“Yes, thank you for that. Nothing compares to your compassion and support,” Tony grumbled, scowling at her from behind his glasses. He needn’t remove them - she knew him well enough by now. Across the table Clint leaned forwards, petting idly at Tony’s forearm whilst his gaze remained steadily on Bucky from across the hall.

“Thighs like that should be illegal,” he sighed dreamily, and Tony and Natasha raised a brow in unison. Tony wasn’t the only one afflicted with love-interest related drama; Clint had gone and fallen in utter besottment with Bucky Barnes, also known as the second side of Steve Rogers’ coin.

Unlike Steve; Bucky had always been tall and broad, with a slick haircut and a face that was already breaking hearts across the school.

Tony’s gaze drifted, away from Barnes’ denim clad thighs and instead to the sweater-clad form besides him. Peter was sprawled in his chair, sipping absently at a Cola and paying delighted attention to whatever conversation was happening. He looked...

Soft. Soft in a way that Tony knew was huggable, touchable. His sweater was a deep blue to match the unlaced Doc Martins on his feet and his hair was askew like he’d been running his hands through it all morning.

“Stark!”

Fuck.

“What can I do for you?” he ground his teeth, voice faux sweet as he turned to eye Ms. Hill, who arched a brow at him and leaned down, plucking his coffee cup from his grasp.

“Please, correct me if I’m wrong, but last time I checked, the campus lunch hall didn’t stock Starbucks,” she announced, voice steely as she stared him down. Tony only offered her a short smile and an easy shrug.

“Correct.”

“Well then. I hope you’re sufficiently fuelled for a long day - you have detention. Immediately after last period.”

Tony simply cast her a serene, unbothered smile, taking his cup back before she could throw it in the trash. Tony’s grades more than made up for any mishaps he might incur, but Howard would still be displeased with him. Even more so at the triviality of why he was facing detention.

Neither of his friends deigned to say anything about the instance, though Clint had given a dramatic wince at his punishment and had tossed a scowl at Hill’s retreating back - ever the supportive friend.

Natasha disappeared shortly before the end of lunch, though Tony had long since learned not to question her. He’d once found her lounging behind the bleachers, making a scalpel out of a piece of plastic card, some gum and a pencil.

Since then he hadn’t dared to think too hard about what she might be doing whenever she wasn’t sitting in view and judging everyone.

She was back by the time last period rolled around, sitting primly in her seat with her book open, interest lost in a magazine she had apparently pulled out of nowhere. A glance at the cover showed it was a rifle magazine and Tony was not, at all, surprised.

Last period was history, and their tutor was a decidedly crabby old man who was never pleased with the efforts of his students. He was a fair grader - Never shorting them of their achievements, but he sung little praise and always had something to say about improvements.

They'd been given homework that no amount of groaning would rescind, and Tony pulled his from his bag with a sigh, rooting in his bag for a pen. In this class, he sat at the back, and it gave him a full vantage of where Peter was practically sitting in the lap of the pretty girl that had transferred here not too long ago. He had a vague notion of her name, but he knew for a fact that Peter always called her 'MJ'.

"Students! I should hope your weekend was spent wisely. Anyone not in possession of their homework will receive a detention," Mr. Ardell announced, hands clapping together. Tony breathed through his nose at the sound, pressing at his temple.

"Stark. This is not a nightclub nor a fashion show. Take the glasses off, and keep them off," he added in a snipe, and Tony forced a brittle smile, steadfastly ignoring the way that soft, honeyed eyes turned to him as he slid his glasses off And set them on his desk.

Even the typical 'bad type' student or the dumbest of them all listened to Mr. Ardell. The man had a booming voice and no hesitation about dealing punishments.

At a glance, Tony could see that every student had their homework on their desk. Every student except Peter, who was rummaging around in his bag with a growing sense of urgency. Tony perked.

That was unusual. Peter often had his homework out before the teachers even got a chance to ask. Tony’s gaze remained fixed on the boy, who was now frantic as he dug around, mindlessly passing Mr. Ardell his homework as the man roamed the room, collecting sheets, right up until he stood opposite Peter, who floundered.

“I... I did it! I packed it this morning. It was right in my folder and now it’s gone!” Peter breathed, panic blossoming in his eyes. Mr. Ardell was quite clearly having none of it as Peter rambled and rifled through his bag, until Mr. Ardell finally held up a hand. Despite himself, Tony sucked in a breath, wincing in sympathy.

“Detention, Mr. Parker. And such a shame. You’re one of the few that don’t frequently make me wish I had the money to retire sooner,” Mr. Ardell sighed, and Peter crumpled.

It made Tony’s heart clench in his chest, sympathy surging through his veins. He had no doubt Peter had done the homework - But perhaps he’d simply forgotten to pack it.

He was sitting there, chin on his palm as he watched MJ comfort Peter, when he sat bolt upright.

Detention.

Tony had detention.

That meant -

“Aw, fuck.”

“Mr. Stark!”

As Tony packed his bag at the end of class, Clint came sidling over, nudging him with a meek smile. “Hey, man. It’s not that bad. Just put some earbuds in. I bet he hates your guts too much to talks to you anyway!” he added cheerfully as they strode from the room, and Tony cast him a flat look.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem! Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow. I gotta dash if I wanna make it home to walk Lucky before food!”

And then, there was just Tony and the rapidly emptying hallway. He heaved a sigh, ground his teeth, and strode towards the detention room. It was only half an hour.

That was nothing. He could make it. The wild notion of fleeing and dealing with a double detention tomorrow crossed his mind, but Tony could only stand being in school for as long as he had to, and with a duck of his head he strode down the hallway at a faster pace. The sooner he got there, the sooner it was over with.

He reached the door and was about to push it open when the sheet of paper caught his eye.

Detention students - Room 3A12.

Tony frowned, but turned on his heel, making his way towards the other room. Perhaps that one was being cleaned or something. He was putting his earbuds in when he pushed into 3A12, Guns’n’Roses already filling his ears when a yelp of; “don’t let the door shut!” filtered through, followed by the soft slam of the door behind him.

He blinked across at Peter, who had stopped mid-stride, arm outstretched, looking pained. “Fuck! It locks from the outside. Now neither of us can get out,” Peter whined, and Tony scoffed.

“None of the doors in this place lock only from the outside.” to prove his point he turned, grabbed the handle, and slammed shoulder-first into it when it did not move as he did. Tony frowned, lips thinning as he jiggled the knob, tried again.

It wouldn’t open.

“Who the fuck installs a door that doesn’t open from one side!” Tony exploded, panic beginning to seep like cold water through his veins as the reality of the situation hit him. He was stuck alone in a room with Peter. Opposite him, Peter groaned and sank back down onto the -

“Son of a bitch.” They weren’t even a proper classroom. There were barely ten tables in here, a tiny whiteboard and a miniscule teacher’s desk. They couldn’t have been put in a smaller room if they tried. But speaking of the teacher's desk…

“Where’s the teacher?” he asked, nose crinkling. Opposite, Peter heaved a sigh, fidgeting on the edge of his seat and tugging at the ends of his sleeves.

“I don’t know. I’ve been in here for ten minutes, nobody has come in,” Peter sounded quiet, miserable, and Tony’s heart squeezed uncomfortably within his chest as he sunk down into a chair, frowning.

Maybe the teacher was just held up with a student. They’d arrive soon enough, and Tony could be out of here and far away from that plush mouth, those dark eyes.

The minutes ticked by, with nothing but the sound of the clock on the wall. Tony tried texting Natasha and Clint, but they were both home already. If Peter had text anyone, he’d had similar luck, because ten more minutes passed and still not a soul even passed the door.

Tony blew out a breath and tossed his phone down, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair. From the corner of his eye, he could see Peter watching.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“There’s not a lot in this room to look at.”

Tony gave a soft sound, eyes closing behind his shades as he settled. This wasn’t so bad. He could do this. They just had to wait and hope that a caretaker came around, or that someone called the reception to report that they had not come home. More minutes ticked by.

“You’re still staring.”

“I can’t help it. I haven’t...I haven’t seen you in a while,”

Tony sucked in a breath, eyes closing and fingers beginning a tempo against the table. No. He couldn’t do this. If he did this; he’d crumble. He’d get to his knees and beg for all he’d lost, and he couldn’t do that. Not as a Stark, and not to Peter. Couldn’t lead Peter to a reckless end.

“We’re in all the same classes,” he noted roughly, and Peter made a soft, frustrated sound besides him. Tony winced but said nothing more, steeling himself. Peter deserved better than him - especially now, when it would look like Tony only cared because he’d changed. Except... Peter hadn’t changed all that much. He’d just filled out a little, gained some confidence.

“You’ve been avoiding me and ignoring me.”

“So have you,” he replied evenly, relenting to the fact that Peter wasn’t going to drop the issue. He let his head loll to the side, almost startled when he found Peter leaning forwards, arms around himself, staring at Tony with shining eyes.

“I haven’t wanted to. You pushed me away, disappeared, came back and won’t even look at me”.

Tony ground his teeth, chewing his tongue. “It’s not like I wanted to either, Peter, but I couldn’t…” Couldn’t be around you, knowing that, and not taking advantage of it. Couldn’t see you hurt. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t.

“What, you were so disgusted with me you couldn’t even bear to be around me?” Peter sounded defensive now, voice hardening slightly, and part of Tony was thankful. Yes. He could do barbed. He could fight. He could take Peter hating him. At least he wasn’t hurting him further, that way.

“I’m not disgusted at you,” he replied quietly, turning his gaze away. He couldn't bring himself to say anything else, throat tight and hands gripping his desk to stop them from shaking. He thought about ringing Clint, bribing him to come open the door, but Peter spoke again.

"I get it if you don't like me that way but... It's not fair. Treating me this way. Being so... Awful about it.”

"I'm not being awful. I'm…"

"Running away from your feelings? Yeah. That's kind of your MO.”

And Peter said it so bitterly that Tony flinched, teeth clipping the edge of his tongue as he sucked in a breath. Low blow. An emotionally neglectful childhood was bound to leave it's scars.

Peter seemed to regret his words immediately, because he actually stood, taking a few steps to reach for Tony. Despite himself Tony leaned away from the reaching arm, mindless of how much he longed for the contact.

"I didn't mean…"

"Words said in anger are still words with intent.”

"Tony…"

"I can't do this. I can't pretend to hate you and I can't be around you without wanting what I can't have!" he didn't explode, but it was said with some degree of passion, standing to round on Peter, who sank into a chair, looking up at him sorrowfully.

"You can have me!”

If only.

"You said it yourself. I run from my feelings. I can't have you because I'll fuck it up, and I’d rather lose you without hurting you and without attaching myself. I'm a fucki-"

The rest of Tony's emotional rant was cut off sharply as Peter reached up, grasping him by the front of his shirt and hauling him down, so he had to brace himself with one hand on Peter's chair back and the other on the table as Peter's plush mouth met his own, clumsy and a little too forceful.

A man with a stronger will would have pulled back. Would have stuck to his cause and not been selfish.

Tony was not that man.

He let his lips part, opportunistic of the way Peter gasped against him, licking into his mouth and moving his hands to cradle Peter's jaw, relishing in what he knew would be the only time he could indulge his festering love.

There was a click, and then -

"I told you it would work.”

They jerked apart, mouths red and eyes wild, Tony twisting to find none other than a prim looking Natasha and a dubious looking Steve taking up the doorway.

"What." Tony managed, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Obviously this was a set up. A good one, too. It took forever to sneak around and replace the door lock. You two were disgusting and all... Pining. It had to be stopped," she announced, like a mad plot was nothing unordinary.

But turning, looking at the flushed grin on Peter's mouth and the sparkle in his eyes... Well. It was worth getting another detention for missing the first, and it was worth the hours of agonising emotional talk with Peter, tears and sloppy kissing and the jeers from their friends when they came into school on the Wednesday, hand in hand.

"How come I wasn't in on the whole plot?" Clint whined at their table during lunch, casting a mulish glance around them. Natasha gave a sigh and pet at him with faux pity.

"Because you're an idiot with a big mouth," she informed him, twirling a lock of hair around a finger. Overnight she'd gone from fiery copper to a blue-black. It suited her well. Some black lipstick, and she'd be every boy's wanna-be-goth-girlfriend.

"Only we get to insult the idiot and his big mouth," came from above them, and none other than one Bucky Barnes ducked down, pressing a kiss to Clint's cheek, before moving on to Steve.

"That's... New," Tony managed, glancing across at Peter, who looked equally perplexed. Clint had the decency to look sheepish.

"At least I didn't need to get locked in a room to sort my shit out," he grumbled, and Peter giggled, before kissing the affronted look off Tony's face.

Tony wasn't good at feelings. And he'd never been in love before. But Peter was worth it. Peter was worth trying, learning for.

#StarkerXOXO-2020 #Fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #starker fic #starker valentine #starker valentines #starker theme #starker nco #starker ncc #starker au #ironspider #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider fanfic #ironspider fic #ironspider au #ironspider valentine #sie fics

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hypnoshatesme · 5 years ago

Text

Wrong and Right, and Perfect

Gerry hadn't known Michael Shelley, at least not well. They had talked when Gerry had gotten stuck waiting for Gertrude in the Institute, which happened a lot, or when he himself ended up needing some sort of information from the Archive. Michael had always been eager to help. Maybe Gerry had flirted with him on those occasions. Initially it was more teasing, boredom and curiosity getting the better of Gerry. Michael was timid and fussy, and nobody seemed to ever talk to him unless to request his help. Gerry had wondered how he’d react if somebody did. And so, after waiting for more than five minutes and with no sign of the waiting being over anytime soon, he did just that.

Michael did not disappoint. Gerry couldn’t even remember what exactly he had said, but the other man had frozen, face flushing brightly as he tried to stammer an answer, getting more embarrassed by his own flusteredness. It was cute. So Gerry made it a habit. With time, Michael started being more comfortable, so they could actually hold a conversation without him dissolving into a blushing, stuttering mess. But his eyes were still bright, his cheeks still blushing, hands fidgeting nervously. He was cute. Gerry liked talking to him, liked the soft, clear voice that could get all high and excited, and low and grave within only a couple minutes. It was fun.

Gerry hadn’t known Michael Shelley well, but he hadn’t been oblivious to him, either. So when he glanced at the tall, lanky figure that came to stand next to him in the alley he had ducked into to smoke in peace, the first thing that came to his mind was Michael Shelley. Which was ridiculous. The figure was even taller than Michael had been, limbs longer. The hair looked too long, too, though it was hard to tell since Gerry had never seen it outside of the messy bun Michael had worn it in every day in the institute.

Most importantly, looking at Michael had never given Gerry a headache, had never made his skin tingle as it was with him eyeing the figure beside him now. It wasn’t human. Gerry scoffed internally at his own certainty about that. Of course he could tell that in a dimly lit alley without even looking properly at the figure. That’s just how his life was.

Still, in the back of his mind, the picture of Michael Shelley kept creeping up. Gerry had assumed him dead when Gertrude returned without him. She had said he wouldn’t be coming back, though. Nothing about him dying. Gerry turned around to get a better look at the figure in the dim street light. It was dizzying. There was movement. Its hair was curling itself into spiral patterns, defying gravity and all logic; its body vaguely human, but not quite, too many sharp edges, skin looking like it’d cut. It probably would. Its fingers too long with too many joints, twitching, much like Michael’s hands had, but less nervous, more wrong.

When Gerry finally managed to control his eyes enough to look at what should presumably be the face, despite his head throbbing the harder he tried, he froze. It was Michael Shelley. Same round, unthreatening face. Except full of sharp edges, split by a unnaturally wide grin revealing a row of pointy teeth. Except with eyes that looked like a nightmare, all colours and shapes, all moving together, independently and all at once, instead of the warm, grey eyes that Gerry had gotten used to making sparkle with the right words.

Gerry had to avert his eyes to collect his thoughts, to remember how to build sentences.

“Michael?”, he decided to ask, mind still racing with colours and shapes and the implications of the being standing beside him and the fact that he wasn’t sure if he could fight it now that he had looked at it for so long his head felt like it was exploding.

It laughed and Gerry held his head, the noise like shattered glass, engulfing him, reverberating inside his brain. Somewhere mixed in there, though, it sounded like Michael’s laughter, sweet and shy. It was both and neither at the same time and Gerry thought that he might be losing his mind.

He had been disappointed when Michael didn’t return. He hadn’t allowed anything beyond that sharp pang in his gut. There was work to do. Gerry was feeling tears when he looked up again after the laughter stopped. Were they his? Of course they were. How did that question even occur to him.

“In a sense. It is a name.”, it said after a moment of consideration, and the voice was Michael’s, too, but it clearly was nothing like it.

The pain Gerry felt at the sound had nothing to do with how wrong it sounded. Or maybe it had. He wasn’t sure. He was obviously dealing with the Distortion, there was no trusting his senses. Gerry took a long drag of his nearly burned down cigarette, exhaling slowly, trying to calm down.

“You...ate him?”, he asked.

His voice didn’t sound like his own. Was he shaking? He stared at his fingers, but his view was still cloudy from tears. He cleaned them away with the back of his hand.

It cocked its head to the side. Too far. A human neck would’ve broken at that angle.

“As much as he ate me.”, there was a permanent sliver of amusement in that voice, an inaudible chuckle, a cackle.

Somehow, that was more disconcerting than everything else to Gerry. It was grating at him, bringing out something raw and angry Gerry had been ignoring, burying deep within.

“Spit him out.”, Gerry hissed, and the anger was clear in his voice now.

Suddenly, he wanted to punch it. He didn’t. It looked sharp. It would be foolish to attack it with his bare hands. Gerry felt triumphant for having a thought so reasonable in that moment.

It moved its head further to the side and Gerry couldn't tell if he imagined the crack that motion made. It didn't seem bothered by it. It chuckled, again, this time softer and it didn't make Gerry want to double over in pain.

"If I told you to spit out your heart, would you?"

It probably could make him, Gerry thought first, mind still processing the meaning of those words. It was the Distortion. It was also Michael Shelley, though Gerry couldn't tell how much of him was left beyond the suggestion of his form.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, "What do you want?", and in the back of his mind he got ready to fight, because what else could it want but to drive him insane. It was its nature.

It laughed again and Gerry braced himself, but it didn't hurt as it had. It tingled, that distinct feeling of wrongness when fazed by anything relating to the Spiral; a discomfort, the earlier pain dulled. Gerry wondered if that was done on purpose.

"You shouldn't trust her.", it said and pulled a face, voice shattering into something akin to a gasp and utterly unlike it.

Gerry’s ears were ringing, "Her?"

It took some time to spit out the next words, face further contorting. Distantly, Gerry thought it looked like pain.

"The archivist."

There was venom in those words and Gerry nearly took a step back, feeling the impact of the word like a blow. Trusting Gertrude Robinson beyond their wary collaboration currently in place had never occurred to him. She did not seem like the trustworthy type. He didn’t trust easily.

It took Gerry a moment to find his voice again, "I don't. Why are you telling me this?"

"I wanted to.", it said with a pained expression that made that hard to believe.

"Michael Shelley wanted to?", Gerry asked because that sounded more likely.

It nodded its head mechanically, only half a nod before it’s face contorted in agony and it stumbled back.

It was holding its head and Gerry could see the pointy fingers burying into its scalp as it gasped, "He worried, in...the end. About you."

That sounded awfully like Michael Shelley. Gerry’s stomach twisted into a tight knot; maybe literally, considering the being in front of him. The being heaving and swaying, reaching out to steady itself against the wall. A door opened, creaking, and then the entity was going through it, dragging itself in stiff motions and Gerry thought there was something wrong with its face. More wrong. There was blood trickling down its mouth and nose, its eyes. Gerry watched as the creature closed the door behind it.

When Gerry blinked again the door was gone and he felt a distant burn on his fingers. He looked and his cigarette had burned down completely. Gerry watched the small spot of irritated skin for a moment longer before cleaning the ashes from his fingers and stepping back unto the street, head still spinning. He felt numb at the same time and instead of making his way back to the club he walked home, letting the cool night sooth the remnants of his headache. He tried very hard to not think about what he had seen.

It turned out that wasn’t easy, as the being appeared again. And again. It became a somewhat regular occurrence in Gerry’s life. Michael, Gerry decided to call it for a lack of a better word. Because it was Michael, it just wasn't Michael Shelley. Not anymore. In the Institute, in the bars and cafés he frequented, when he was out for one of his jobs, in his apartment. The door would appear. Michael would step out. Sometimes it would even help Gerry if he had found himself in a sticky situation. Usually it would just be there.

They'd talk, but keeping up a coherent conversation with the Distortion was nigh impossible. Gerry got used to it. It kept things interesting to try and make sense of the vague, scattered sentences Michael would give him as answers to questions, or sometimes unasked. There was only one thing it was always clear about, despite it paining it to say it. Don't trust the archivist. It didn't matter how many times Gerry assured it that he didn't, it kept saying it. Gerry got used to that, too.

It was worrying how quickly Gerry became comfortable with it around. He never let his guard down completely, he wasn't that stupid, but he got used to the slight headache, the buzzing sensation warning him that something was wrong. It became a way to tell Michael was there. Days, weeks and sometimes more would pass between Michael's visits, and Gerry noticed that, eventually, he started missing it, looking forward to whenever it appeared again. It was a somewhat disturbing realisation to have.

It was the familiarity of it all that had Gerry not even look up from his notebook when he started feeling the dull headache on one of his few lazy afternoons spent on the couch. It had been nearly two weeks since it had last appeared. Gerry tried to ignore his skipping heartbeat that had started to accompany the headaches by now. Just another warning sign, he told himself.

"Michael.", he said when he heard the steps approach.

"Gerry.", it answered, as always.

The fact that they had something of a routine made Gerry feel warm inside despite himself.

He didn't hear it come closer, but suddenly it was bending over him from behind the couch, stray strands of blond hair falling into Gerry’s vision. One touched his nose, making a shallow cut in the process. Gerry wrinkled his nose.

"Ouch.", he said, despite him barely feeling it, more teasing than anything.

Quickly, sharp edges were turned soft, an apology mumbled as a finger, pointy but no longer sharp, came to clean off the small trickle of blood. The barest touch from Michael always felt like electricity. When the finger retreated, Gerry bit his lip to keep himself from asking it to stop. Gerry quite liked the sensation.

"What are you doing?", Michael’s voice came right above him, curious and, as usual, amused.

"Drawing.", Gerry answered, nodding at the notebook in his hands.

Michael sounded surprised, "I didn't know you draw."

"I rarely get to do it.", Gerry sighed, looking up.

Michael's face was closer than he had thought and he fought the blush creeping into his face, "What do..uh...what do you want?", he asked, desperately trying to say something, unsure if it his mind was struggling because he was looking at Michael or because Michael’s face was so very close to his own.

As usual, Michael shrugged. He only ever had a proper answer when he came to help Gerry on the job, and even then he managed to say anything but.

"Do you want to sit?", Gerry asked, looking at the grinning face right in front of his own, his headache starting to worsen with the effort. He was losing the fight with the heat rising in his cheeks, too.

Michael seemed to think for a moment before nodding and, instead of coming around to the couch, he simply stepped over it and sat down next to Gerry.

"What are you drawing?", it asked, head coming to rest on Gerry’s shoulder so it could look at the drawing. It didn't seem like the most comfortable position to Gerry, their height difference making it bend its neck at an odd angle, but he guessed that was the advantage of not being human. Its hair tickled Gerry’s neck, little sparks against his skin that had been difficult to ignore in the beginning. He managed, now.

Gerry turned the notebook for better view, readjusting his position so he could continue comfortably with Michael’s head on his shoulder. By now he was used to how off it felt, Michael seemingly having taken a liking to resting it there or on Gerry’s own head when it managed to catch Gerry relaxing. Or just not running. Gerry barely glanced at it by now, his mind knowing what exactly it will find and so stopping his eyes from giving into the urge to check what the source of the weird feeling, not quite a human head but not not a head, was.

Michael could see now, that Gerry was drawing an eye. It was an intricate design, the longer he looked the more details he saw, smaller shapes and fine lines all coming together for the overall picture. It was somewhat hypnotic to look at and Michael had to admit, somewhat begrudgingly, that it liked it.

“Another tribute to your patron.”, it wasn’t a question, the eyes on Gerry’s knuckles in clear view from where Michael was sitting.

If Michael cared to, he could shift his head to look at the eye on Gerry’s throat, too, or the twin one at the back of his head. He had always wondered if there were more. And where those might be.

Gerry thought about that. He hadn’t intended it to be a tribute, wasn’t even sure he’d set out to draw an eye. He had always liked drawing eyes, and it was his go-to motive when he didn’t really have a plan.

He shrugged, “Did save my ass more than once. I do still think it’s better than most oth-”, he stopped, looking at Michael with a crooked, half-apologetic grin, that threw Michael off-balance for a moment, but in a very different way from what it was used to, “No offense.”

“Mhm, none taken.”, Michael chuckled his shattered glass laughter, trying to shake off the weird feeling, and Gerry closed his eyes for a moment because that was a lot to take when Michael was so close to his ear.

When the wave of dizziness passed, he opened his eyes again, looking at his half finished drawing.

“Do you have any suggestions what else to draw?”, he asked, shifting to look at Michael again.

Michael made a thoughtful expression - at least that was the closest Gerry could describe it as - and Gerry forced himself to look, because it was fascinating to watch, no matter if looking made his headache worse. The facial features looked human enough with his usual, wide grin, but when they shifted into any other expression it was in a distinctly unhuman way, too obvious, janky. It made it easier to read the face and harder to do so at the same time and it was simply interesting to watch.

“How about...a spiral?”, it ended up saying.

Gerry burst out laughing, “I thought you’d say that.”

Michael blinked at him, as if confused, before laughing, too. It was a rare occasion, to hear Gerry laugh, and Michael quite enjoyed the sound. It was infectious.

Gerry continued with his current piece after his laughter faded, and Michael watched from his shoulder. It had become accustomed to seeing Gerry’s fingers wrapped around books and files, lighters, the occasional weapon. It had even seen him hold a pen to jot down notes, once, but this was different. They looked more relaxed. Long fingers - for human standards - wrapped around the pen losely, rather than the vice grip Michael remembered seeing as he frantically took notes in a hurry about two weeks ago. Michael watched, enraptured by the subtle shift of muscle, more noticable thanks to the eyes on each knuckle shifting with them.

They were nice, his fingers, and Michael thought it had always liked to watch them move, to look at them. It was a memory, not its own, but undoubtedly belonging to it. It hurt when it remembered, and so it just tried to focus on those fingers as they continued moving smoothly, beautifully. Michael would have liked to hold them, but that would mean he couldn’t watch them anymore, so he didn’t. It stayed where it was and watched on in comfortable silence.

Gerry did draw it its spiral, because why not, and considering who, or rather what, it was for he went all out with labyrinthine details, spirals made out of elaborate smaller patterns that twisted and turned, none quite like the other, all of them making one big spiral. When Gerry looked at the finished piece, it gave him a headache, and he was sure Michael would be satisfied. Michael had had left a while ago, by then, but Gerry knew it would be back eventually.

It appeared again two days later, as Gerry was about to get to dedicate the rest of the night to going through the files he’d gotten from Gertrude to track down another Leitner. He had had a run-in with the Hunt on his way home and ended up arriving much later than intended. Still, he wanted to finally find some more specific leads, so he sighed and sat down at the table on which had thrown the copies when he had come home before heading straight into the shower. It would be a long night, but Gerry wasn’t the biggest fan of sleep, anyways.

Gerry didn’t hear any doors open, but he felt the slight buzzing light-headedness that always accompanied Michael’s proximity before he was through with the first file. He raised his head and saw a mug being set down in front of him by a hand with too many bones.

"You forgot your coffee in the kitchen.", Michael said and Gerry couldn't remember making coffee - he did remember wanting to, at least - but he gratefully accepted the mug with a mumbled 'thanks' and took a sip.

Michael looked over the covered table, "I thought you spent your long research nights right in the Institute.", his voice dropped a little, something close to venom added to the usual amusement at the word 'institute', as always.

Gerry couldn't blame it, really. He didn’t know details, Michael clearly not wanting to talk about what happened. But he knew enough. Gerry tried not to think about it too much. The idea of soft-spoken, sweet Michael slowly losing himself in the hallway, shattering, un-becoming and being forced back into a shape that wasn’t his, was wrong for everyone- and thing involved. He didn’t want to imagine it. So, obviously, his brain sometimes made it topic of his dreams, when it got bored of his own horrors to torture him with. Gerry never asked for more details because he was doing fine adding them himself.

"There's some renovations going on and it’s noisy, so I just copied what i thought I might need."

He also had gotten into yet another disagreement with Gertrude and had desperately craved putting some distance between them. But the archivist was not somebody Gerry mentioned to Michael if he could help it. He knew it upset the other, too many emotions, none of them positive. He wondered sometimes, what Michael Shelley felt. Would have been feeling had he still been there. Betrayal, probably. But would he get angry, the way Michael did? Vindictive fury was such a difficult thing to imagine on that face. Then again, it was the same face that expressed it so very clearly to Gerry every time he mentioned Gertrude. It looked wrong, and Gerry could never tell if that was due to Michael’s nature or because Michael Shelley's face had not being cut out for such expressions. Gerry would never know.

Gerry looked at Michael as he drank his too-hot coffee and tried to calculate how likely it was for him to actually get any work done with it here. It's not that Gerry wanted to send it away, but it was a fact that it was harder to form clear thoughts with Michael around. He didn't mind, not really. Most of the time, talking to it was much more enjoyable than work. As Gerry watched Michael watching him, he felt his will and motivation to work dwindle.

He sighed, getting up, "Did you come to get your spiral picture?"

"Oh? Is it done?", came the answer and Michael was quite literally radiating waves of excitement.

Gerry thought that if he'd try hard enough he'd be able to physically see them. He turned around to get his notebook, an amused grin on his lips. There was something endearing about the instances when Michael got so caught up in its emotions they started to ooze it with every fibre of its being. Well, it was endearing as long as it wasn't his anger directed at Gertrude, at least.

Gerry finally managed to find his notebook and the correct page. He ripped it out carefully and held it out towards Michael.

"Careful or you'll cut it.", he decided to add because, as far as his eyes could tell, Michael's features and limbs and everything was still sharp; the hand being raised to reach for the paper still had knife points for fingers.

They were dulled as the hand reached the piece of paper. Michael brought it up to his face to look at it - he held it so close that Gerry wasn't sure he could even see much - and Gerry reached for his coffee to finish it as he watched Michael as intently as he dared to without making his headache overbearing.

His head had trouble comprehending what was happening to Michael's face. The usual wide grin grew wider, literally splitting the face in two, thankfully without detaching the halves. Its eyes didn't just widen in the metaphorical sense, but they expanded, the shapes and colours even more frantic than usual and Gerry wasn't sure if the appropriate reaction to this was to scream or to laugh because it looked both utterly horrifying and completely ridiculous. So he just stared, mesmerised by the head shifting from side to side on a neck that seemed like rubber to look at the piece of paper from different angles.

Gerry considered pointing out that it could just turn the paper around in its hands, but he didn't. He didn't want to interrupt as Michael thoroughly examined it with an expression somewhere between awe, glee and a headache. Gerry wasn't sure if it was headache-inducing or if it looked like Michael was having a headache. Maybe it was both. Gerry brought his hand down flat on the table, starting to feel a little woozy from staring at Michael for so long.

He averted his eyes, and when he tried to speak his chuckle came out a little broken as his mind was still processing what his eyes had just experienced, "I take that means you like it?", he said, and his tongue tasted like static. A stray thought found itself at the forefront of Gerry’s conscience then, wondering if that would be what Michael tasted like. Gerry shook his head, dismissing the thought.

Michael was nodding his head furiously as Gerry glimpsed up again, making his face look even more horrific. Gerry looked down again, head spinning.

"I love it! Thank you!", its voice was about four pitches too high to be anything but grating and Gerry cringed as his ears protested.

The next moment he felt himself being squeezed against what he assumed was Michael's torso. His body was singing, the tingling sensation amplified tenfold where their bodies met and then Michael let go and stepped away, and Gerry's spinning mind ground to a halt painfully. Gerry blinked away the remnants of confusion before looking up again and being met with what probably counted as a sheepish smile for Michael.

"I'm sorry, that was...a bit much. But I finally understand why humans love presents so much. They're delightful.", he marveled and clapped his hands.

Gerry shook his head, grinning, "Its fine", and it was fine. In fact,Gerry was tempted to ask it to do that again, "I think I'm not going to get much work done anymore, though.", he added glancing at the table again.

"Ah...you should take a break anyways, Gerry. Humans break without breaks.", the laughter that followed after Michael realised what it'd just said was hysterical and Gerry worried the neighbours might complain. Death metal at 3am was one thing, maniacal, ear-piercing laughter another.

"Michael?", Gerry tried, unsure if it would hear him over its own laughter.

Michael did stop, looking at Gerry attentively.

"Not so loud, please.", he said rubbing at his temple.

Michael nodded, its expression still so bright it hurt to look at it. At least the facial proportions were back to usual by now. It looked cute, that way, so much like Michael Shelley any yet different. But still cute. Gerry sighed, glancing at the files on the table one last time. He really wasn’t feeling it now.

"Want to join me for some Netflix?", Gerry asked when he looked back up.

Gerry knew that Michael had enjoyed the last time Gerry had let it watch series with him, so he wasn’t surprised when Michael’s answer came with more nodding. He was fairly sure that a normal neck would have broken from all that excessive nodding already.

Minutes later they were sitting on the couch, some random series playing - it didn't matter because when Michael was there, every series ended up just wrong, which was fine with Gerry, since they usually bored him - both of them clutching a steaming mug of tea in their hands. Michael always held his mugs with both hands, an impressive task considering it could wrap one hand around the mug at least thrice. It would bring it up to its face just to sniff it and enjoy the sensation of the heat rising up to meet it. Gerry found himself watching it more than the laptop screen. It was adorable.

Gerry was still careful when he leaned closer, resting his head against Michael's arm. Usually Michael kept his edges soft now, around Gerry, since it found out that that made Gerry come closer. It liked when Gerry did. Tentatively, it put one arm around Gerry, waiting for him to tense and relax again. It had taken some time, to get to the relaxing part. Gerry had always been on edge, expecting Michael to attack, to use the opportunity of a lowered guard against him. Michael never did and, by now, Gerry could relax again, tension bleeding out of his shoulders right underneath Michaels hand. He was still alert, of course, but at least they could sit like this now without him nearly jumping up at every shifting motion from Michael. It was nice. Michael wished it could pull him even closer. Instead, he drew patterns on Gerry’s arm, and Gerry hummed appreciatively.

Michael left when Gerry went to bed, as usual. As usual Gerry found himself wishing it hadn't. It was harder to ignore at night, the pounding of his heart when he thought of the way Michael's fingers had felt against his arm, how he could still feel a slight buzzing from where they had touched his bare skin. It made Gerry feel unfamiliarly warm and fuzzy and wish it were still there. He groaned, throwing one arm over his eyes. It was getting harder and harder to ignore and he should really tell it to get lost.

Gerry didn’t tell Michael to get lost, of course. He was already in too deep. And fairly sure that wouldn’t make much of a difference. Not like he had ever invited the being over. It just showed up, a yellow door appearing wherever Gerry was at random times.

Despite Michael showing up on a somewhat regular basis, Gerry never opened the door himself when it appeared. He let it be, knowing that, sooner or later, many-knuckled hands would start turning the doorknob. He never gave into the curiosity of opening it, which he was proud of. He had always been too curious for his own good.

So when Gerry did open the door for the first time it was because he didn't realise what door it was. He was bloody - most of it not his own, as far as he could tell - and the blow to his head when he had fallen earlier left him somewhat disoriented. The only thought left clearly in his mind was the urge to run, to escape. So when he saw the yellow door it didn't even occur to him that it looked completely out of place. It was an escape and so he didnt think twice about opening it and slipping inside, closing it behind him as he carried on running, aching muscles telling him that he'd need to find a place to catch his breath, if only for a moment.

He stumbled as he thought that, and then he was falling but instead of the concrete floor from the warehouse complex he had been in a moment ago it was ugly, green carpet coming closer. And then it wasn't as he stopped falling, leaning against something that felt like a wall, but with imbs to wrap around Gerry. He froze, and glimpsed a row or mirrors to his side, hung on the yellow walls of a hallway. The hallway. Gerry had read enough statements to know. He was inside the Spiral. Which meant that the wall he was leaning against was probably Michael. He looked up, craning his neck nearly painfully to try and see the face attached to the chest Gerry was resting against. It didn't feel like a wall at all, now that he thought about it.

He didn't manage to really see the face, vision swimming with a headache he hadn't felt in a while. The face came to meet him, though, and suddenly Michael was right there, so close Gerry was surprised he didn’t feel its breath, before he remembered it didn’t breathe.

“Gerry? Are you...alright?”, it was saying, voice frantic, worried.

It sounded wrong, and Gerry was having trouble focussing on the words as he could only watch those lips move, lips he’d been wanting to kiss and now they were right there and his head was throbbing.

“Can I kiss you?”, he heard himself say, the desire to close the gap between them the only clear thought in Gerry’s head as his blood rushed in his ears, mostly srill from being hunted, but not exclusively.

The words registered slowly and Gerry felt the colour rise to his face when Michael pressed its lips to his. Something clicked into place inside Gerry at that, something hollow Gerry had been deliberately ignoring filling to the brim with the electrifying sensation of those lips on his; those lips that didn't quite have the right shape, were both hard and soft at the same time and utterly intoxicating.

His right arm was going numb, and Gerry kept it pressed to his side, using his uninjured arm to wrap around a too-long neck, pulling Michael closer. Gerry realised that it had been a close call, that he had come closer to the end than he would have liked to, that he had nearly been gone without experiencing this kiss that felt so very perfect and right and yet wrong. The small hairs at the back of his neck were standing up as something slid into his mouth, not quite a tongue but also not not a tongue. Gerry pressed closer, in spite of his body's revulsion at the sensation. It did taste like static, Gerry thought distantly, as his hand buried in hair that really wasn't hair at all, steadying himself as he felt thin fingers rubbing his back, holding him like he might disappear any moment, desperatley pulling him closer.

Gerry was lying on his back, back against something soft as he was kissed breathless, pointy fingertips following the line of his throat, a dull scraping sensation that was driving Gerry mad in the best way, making him gasp and clutch at Michael's back, first a shirt, fabric like static against Gerry’s fingers, before it dissolved and his fingernails were burying into not-quite-skin and Michael made a noise that sent Gerry's mind spiralling, so very unlike anything human and so very much Michael.

"Michael.", Gerry managed to breathe out in between kisses and his voice sounded foreign in his ears, heated and desperate and wanting.

It understood, as the next moment Gerry's clothes were gone, long, long fingers meeting sensitive skin, fingers like knivepoints, dulled to not break skin as they traced his chest, his naval. They were everywhere and Gerry’s head was whirring, his skin hot, and he noticed his arm wasn't stiff and hurting anymore so he brought it up to bury in ever moving fractal hair, glass shards made soft, to pull Michael even closer. It was never close enough.

Gerry was still dizzy by morning, the unmoving body next to him, which never truly ceased to move, making it impossible to fully clear his head. Gerry didn't mind. He turned to look at it and it was staring at him. It didn't sleep. It smiled at him, the usual grin made softer at the edges. It looked fond, and Gerry smiled back, leaning his forehead against Michael's.

It only occured to Gerry after Michael had left later that morning that he had actually gotten a fairly good night’s rest, despite having the Distortion pressed against him all night. He froze at the realisation, halfway between his bathroom and the kitchen. Gerry didn’t sleep well in company, never had. Well, he didn’t sleep well in general. But usually the prospect of there being somebody to witness his violent tossing, or being there when he awoke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and ready to fight whichever horror was attacking him, because there was always, always something out to get him, made sleeping impossible.

But he had slept. With Michael. Gerry blushed a little at that. With Michael in his bed, he should rather say. The former was frankly less surprising to Gerry. Which was a realisation that only made him blush more. He shook his head. That was besides the point right now.

What Gerry truly was wondering about was how he had managed to sleep through the night with somebody - or something - next to him. Especially considering that something gave him headaches when awake already. Especially considering Gerry did not remember those fading, or even the static seemingly coming off Michael, making Gerry’s skin tingle where they touched. It had certainly been there when he was falling asleep, he remembered it clearly, his whole back tingling as Michael’s chest lay against it. How had he even fallen asleep? Did he misremember? Gerry sighed, finally taking the last steps into his kitchen. He needed something to eat. Maybe his head was still a bit foggy and he was misremembering. Or maybe it had been exhaustion. He had been exhausted. Gerry decided to think about that later as he started cooking, a soft grin playing on his lips.

Gerry got to try out his theory soon enough, as Michael appeared again a couple days later, when Gerry wasn't running for his life. Instead, Gerry was in the Institute when it showed up and there was a moment of hesitant awkwardness as both stood across each other, unsure about how to proceed. It was Gerry who closed in, unable to take it anymore, and pressed a quick kiss to Michaels jaw, since that was as far as he could get on tiptoes when Michael was standing at its full height.

The effect was immediate, Michael's arms wrapping around him and pulling him close as it bent down to kiss Gerry. Gerry felt his body hum under the touch, the buzzing sensation making him feel aware, alive. His arms wrapped around Michael's neck, holding it in place as he kissed back with equal fervour. Neither of them even thought of pulling apart, Gerry aware, somewhere in his whirring mind, that they weren't alone in the Institute, but he found it difficult to care when long fingers were tracing the line of his spine, making his breath hitch.

Gerry was breathless when they pulled apart and forgot to breathe completely when he looked into Michael's eyes, intense and focused, only for a moment, only on him. Gerry’s head was spinning with how close they were, and Michael was grinning widely, as always, except it wasn't quite as always. It looked like it was a grin specifically for Gerry. Gerry grinned back, feeling somewhat drunk.

Michael watched him work for a while, never straying too far, hand coming to twist Gerry’s hair around long fingers whenever Gerry dared to stay in the same position for longer than a couple minutes. He had a vague memory of the same sensation lulling him to sleep a couple nights ago. And then he was back to wondering.

Eventually, he looked up, nearly bumping his nose into Michael's head, which was much closer than he had expected. It was difficult to tell, sometimes. Michael looked down to meet his gaze, curious. He had always been very interested in whatever Gerry might do next.

"Do you...uh...want to stay? The night?", he ended up mumbling, barely intelligible as his face grew hot.

Michael looked somewhat surprised, a rarity Gerry always enjoyed seeing on those features, before grinning, running fingers down the side of Gerry's face, "Depends. Are you planning to spend it in the dusty archive or in your dusty apartment?"

Gerry drew his eyebrows together, "My apartment isn't dusty.", he said, taking some insult.

He wasn't the most meticulous in keeping his living space clean, and he spend a lot of time outside of it, but it really wasn't that bad.

Michael laughed wholeheartedly and Gerry's cheeks turned even darker at the memory of a similar laughter, lower, right next to his ear as he was coming undone under fingers too long and too thin and just perfect.

There was a glint in Michael's eyes, like it knew exactly what Gerry was thinking about, when it spoke again, "Yes.", it said, simply, fingers trailing down Gerry’s neck.

It took Gerry a moment to understand what it meant, his thoughts already hard to pin down when Michael was just close, much worse when it was touching him. Even when Gerry managed to discern that it had answered his question, he wasn't entirely sure what exactly it had answered. Maybe he should specify that what he’d meant to do was seeing if he could sleep again. The feeling of Michael's fingers tracing the eye on his throat sent a shiver down his spine again, and Gerry decided that that wasn't necessary.

He did sleep. And he did so again and again whenever Michael would extend his random visits until morning, which it generally started doing most of the time. It took convincing, sometimes, because in the morning Gerry was dizzy from staying so close for so long, and Michael disliked being responsible for him struggling to get up without falling. But Gerry didn't care much for mornings when he actually got some proper sleep. Nightmares didn't come for him when Michael was there, his sleep usually dreamless, then, or full of colours and shapes and static.

When Michael wasn't there, all was back to normal, so Gerry couldn't say that it just had stopped. Michael seemed to make it stop. He didn't know why, but it wasn't like much of Gerry’s life made sense in the first place, so he stopped mulling over it and simply enjoyed the nights he didn't wake up close to panicking. When Gerry told Michael about his strange discovery, the other had somehow managed to look pleased and displeased at the same time. It was in his nature to bring fitful nights, so Gerry was describing a failure. At the same time, it didn't want to make Gerry suffer, so it was glad to hear that, despite the groggy mornings, the nights were apparently restful. It was a whole new experience for Michael and it was thrilled.

As Gerry became more busy helping Gertrude and spend even less time at home, Michaels visits became more rare. It didn't like being too close to the archivist and most of the time Gerry was too busy anyways. It was fine. Occasionally, Michael would join him in his hotel rooms, keeping him company as he worked, slipping into bed next to him when Gerry had finally reached the point of exhaustion where he couldn't stay up any longer. The lightheadedness in the morning was more of a problem on those trips, however, and Michael often left after what he assumed where a couple of hours of good sleep for Gerry. Gerry didn't complain about it, didn't say much of anything as he was usually too tired. Michael also didn't say much, only pressing out his first warning through gritted teeth, not wanting Gerry to forget, no matter how painful it was to say. He was spending more and more time with the archivist and, despite Gerry reassuring Michael that he really didn't trust her beyond what was necessary for work, Michael was afraid that was already too much.

Gerry was home for the first time in what felt like years. He wasn't even sure if it had been a month. Somehow coming home had felt nothing like it. His apartment felt strange to him and he had spent most of his time in the Institute, anyways. Nothing new, then.

Gerry had no idea what time it was when he carried himself into his kitchen to make the next cup of coffee. He had lost count of how many he’d drunk since coming home from the Institute with more files and more leads to follow up on.

He wasn't even sure how long he had been standing there, in his kitchen, staring down at the coffee, when he felt a familiar weight settle on his head, thin, too long arms wrapping around his middle. Gerry barely felt the slight ache of his head he knew must be there through the haze of exhaustion.

"Gerry.", Michael whispered, squeezing him softly.

"Michael.", Gerry returned, letting himself indulge a little, leaning into the hug.

He sighed. He missed having Michael around somewhat regularly, but he hadn't had much free time to even think about it. Michael didn't like coming for visits when he was travelling with Gertrude, which had been most of what Gerry had been doing lately. There just was no time. Quite literally, considering they always seemed to only locate rituals when they were about to be completed.

"You need to sleep.", Michael mumbled into his hair, voice a bit sterner than Gerry remembered. When had he last heard it talk?

Gerry sighed, "I'm not done yet."

"You'll never be done.", Michael said, voice going a little softer at the edges, one hand coming to Gerry’s hair, removing the hair tie.

Gerry hadn't even realised how tight the ponytail had been and sighed as the tension bled out of his scalp, hair falling loosely. He felt his shoulders relax, too and it took him all his self control to straighten up and trying to shake Michael off. He still had things to do. He couldn't give in like this.

Michael didn't let go, running his fingers through the black locks instead, seemingly undisturbed by Gerry's efforts to escape the hug. Not that Gerry was trying too hard. He was tired. He missed Michael. His laptop waiting with another 50 tabs to check was having a hard time sounding more appealing than the feeling of Michael's fingers in his hair.

"Please sleep.", Michael whispered.

Gerry sighed, resigned, leaning his head back a little, into the touch, and looking up at the face above him. Michael looked worried, in a way it only ever did when Gerry had had a particularly rough run in with an avatar or the sorts. Gerry must really look like shit if Michael was giving him that look.

"I give up. I'll take a nap, okay?", he mumbled, pressing his face into Michael's neck, inhaling that scent he could never quite remember because it was like so many things at the same time but also like nothing at all. It was Michael.

Michael made a sound that made it clear it wasn't completely satisfied with the prospect of Gerry taking a nap, but Gerry felt him nod anyways. He let Michael pull him to the bedroom, energy draining from him as he embraced the idea of taking a nap. When had he last sleep?

Gerry let Michael tuck him in, his eyelids already heavy the moment his back hit the mattress. Michael looked delighted by the fact that, for once, Gerry was letting him do that without complaining about it being unnecessary. Gerry liked that expression. Then again, he liked most expressions on that impossible face.

His hand reached out to catch Michaels wrist as it started pulling away. He sounded sluggish when he spoke, "Where're you going?"

"Letting you sleep."

"How will you know I did if you're going?", Gerry pulled on its wrist lightly, "Come in."

Michael hesitated, "You need rest. Proper rest...without...confusion."

This wasn't the first time they were having this conversation, but certainly the first time Gerry was struggling to keep awake enough to explain that he'd rather have Michael next to him and wake up somewhat groggy than not having Michael next to him when he awoke.

It took too many words to piece together such a sentence now, so Gerry pulled a little harder, looking up at Michael in exasperation- albeit a very tired version of it - and simply said, "Michael!", sounding like a whiny child insisting on its candy.

Michael couldn't keep itself from chuckling, though it tried to keep it down as to make it easier on Gerry’s ears. It definitely hadn't imagined ever seeing Gerry like this and, were it not for the circles under his eyes that looked worse every time Michael stopped by, it would have been thoroughly endeared by the view. It was it was still very cute, and warming Michael from the inside, in a way only Gerry ever did. Michael carefully pried Gerry’s fingers off its wrist, squeezing them for a moment because Michael missed touching his fingers, holding his hands in its own. They felt even better than it remembered.

It walked around to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers next to Gerry, who instantly wrapped his arms around it, rolling up against Michael's side and sighing into its shoulder. Michael caressed his cheek for a moment, noting that it looked somewhat hollow and wondered if Gerry had forgotten to eat again. It would have asked, but Gerry’s eyes were already closed, his breath slowing down as he slipped into sleep. So instead, Michael brought his fingers up to tangle in his hair, watching as it wrapped strands around its fingers only to release them again.

Michael knew exactly what he could do playing with Gerry’s hair without disturbing his sleep by now, many a night spent exactly like this, or in similar positions. Michael always liked when whatever sleeping position Gerry went for allowed it to play with his hair. He didn't let it do that a lot when awake, usually too busy and finding it distracting. It used to be something Michael could do when he caught Gerry relaxing, drawing or just watching movies on the couch. It had been a very long time since Michael had managed to find him like that, so he was glad for the current opportunity. Gerry made a small, satisfied noise, probably already more asleep than awake. This was better than nothing, at least. And Michael would see to it being a very long nap.

Gerry knew he'd slept too long the moment he awoke, light making it through the cracks in the blind and unto his face. He sighed, shifting to hide his face in Michael’s arm. He could still feel the other’s hand in his hair, just as he had before falling asleep for good. Not for the first time he found himself wondering how Michael didn't get bored with it. Peeking up to look at its face, there was the same wonder in it he had gotten used to seeing there every time Michael would play with his hair.

Gerry reached up to take the hand in his hair and gently pull it down, pressing a kiss to its palm, "Morning…"

"I think it's midday or something. Good morning.", Michael answered with a grin, oozing with self satisfaction.

Gerry groaned, rolling unto his back and rubbing his eyes. So late and so much to do. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He did feel better, rested. His thoughts were clearer, despite Michael beside him. He also felt Michael more clearly now, head light and a dull ache at the back of it. It felt right. He had missed this feeling.

"You look like you should eat.", Michael mumbled.

Gerry turned his head to face it, take it in. He never quite remembered it right, its features a bit too off, body too sharp for Gerry's memory. He had long given up trying to remember Michael Shelley. Every time he tried the smile was too wide, the eyes never the right shade. But still not an accurate depiction of the Michael as it lay next to him.

"I think I'd rather kiss you."

Michael raised his eyebrows a little too high, "Not a good idea if you want to get work done."

"I don't care right now.", Gerry grinned, pulling Michael into a kiss.

Michael returned it, eager as ever, and Gerry smiled. He clearly wasn't the only one who missed this. Arms were wrapped around him and he was pulled close, his body humming in response to having Michael all around him. Yes, he had certainly missed it.

As expected, he had to close his eyes and wait for the worst of the dizziness to subside when they pulled apart, but he stayed close, one hand drawing small circles on the palm of Michael's hand. The touch still send small sparks through him, like electricity but not - he was fairly sure he would have electrocuted himself by now if that were the case - which wasn't helpful in shaking the lingering lightheadedness.

"I told you it was a bad idea."

"Shut up, this was the single good idea I had in months."

Michael sighed, and even in his sighing there was a chuckle. It wrapped his hand around Gerry's and squeezed.

"It's not going to go away while I'm here, you know."

"Don't go.", Gerry said it quickly and with such desperation he surprised himself.

Michael was also stunned into silence, which was certainly an achievement. But Gerry was too shocked himself to notice.

Michael turned its head to face him and Gerry opened his eyes again. By now his brain barely reacted to the obviously-should-be-broken neck. A short spike of discomfort, gone in a second.

"I thought you had work to do.", it said, sounding genuinely confused.

"I do."

"You also want me to stay."

"I do."

Now Michael laughed and Gerry thought his ears might bleed. Michael noticed him flinching and cut itself off, touching his cheek in what might have been a calming motion if it weren't for the electrifying nature of its touches.

"You're just...being very contradictory. You'd have made a great avatar of the spiral.", there was mirth in its voice but also something else underneath, something that had always sounded like jealousy to Gerry.

Sometimes, Michael was ridiculously human, in a way.

"Mhm…", Gerry mumbled, leaning over and pressing his lips to its jaw, "Maybe it's your influence.", he brought his free hand up to its face, brushing some hair out of its forehead before tracing its features tenderly, "Maybe I'm just getting demanding.", he chuckled against its neck, planting feather light kisses down to its collarbone.

Michael shivered, eyes fluttering close again with a sigh. It didn't want him to stop. It reached out to pull him closer, flush against it, and buried its face in Gerry's hair. Gerry chuckled against its chest, low and fond, and Michael wondered, not for the first time, if it would combust from the warmth spreading inside of it at the sound. It felt Gerry’s fingers on his back, tracing a too-long spine, slipping under the fabric of the shirt covering it when they arrived at Michael's lower back, drawing another shiver from it and a satisfied hum.

"Let's stay a little longer like this, hmm?", Gerry asked, a bit teasing, but loving.

Michael brought its hand to the nape of his neck, playing with his hair, occasionally brushing the sensitive skin between where his hair roots ended and his shirt began, making Gerry shiver, too.

"Alright.", it mumbled, voice muffled by Gerry’s hair but it didn't matter. Gerry knew it would never say no to such an offer.

Michael did leave a couple hours later, leaving Gerry to his work. Gerry's apartment felt empty and strange again, with it gone.

It didn't show up again before the morning of Gerry’s flight, when it sat on his bed and watched him pack.

“That’s a lot of things.”, it commented.

Gerry looked up at it, “It will probably be a long one.”

It looked disappointed. Gerry sighed, finishing packing and putting on his coat. He was tired and part of him couldn’t wait to get on the plane and hopefully get some sleep. The other part wanted to roll up next to Michael and just sleep here. He shook his head. It had taken so long to finally piece the leads together. Finally, the nights spend researching were going to pay off.

“I’ll be off, then.”, he mumbled, stepping up to where Michael was sitting.

It was an interesting perspective, to be able to see its face so clearly while standing up without craning his neck. He sighed. Gerry disliked goodbyes and wasn’t particularly good at them. Now he found himself wishing Michael hadn’t come, which made him feel guilty because it was looking at him with something akin to a pout, clearly disliking the idea of Gerry leaving again. Or maybe it wasn’t that clear, but Gerry had just become that good at reading its incomprehensible expressions. It had been quite some time since it started its visits.

He pressed his lips to Michael’s forehead, running his fingers through its hair. He lingered, longer than necessary, feeling Michael leaning into it. Gerry chuckled at that, looking at Michael after pulling away.

Michael met his eyes, “That felt..nice.”, it made a face when saying it, but Gerry was used to the contradictory expressions it made for comments like that.

“Mhm, I’ll keep that in mind, then.”, Gerry grinned, pressing his lips to Michael’s for a moment, “I’ll need to go now.”.

Michael looked sad again, and Gerry knew he had to really get out because he couldn’t bear that look. He could deal with the dizzying headache that came with looking into those eyes, but being looked at by them with that expression made his throat feel tight at the same time. He kissed Michael’s forehead again, this time just a peck, before turning around, picking up his luggage and leaving the apartment.

Michael simply watched as Gerry locked the door to the apartment behind him. It never liked the idea of Gerry spending time with the archivist. Even worse when he was travelling with her, making it difficult for Michael to stop while avoiding running into her. It didn’t want to see her. It wanted to see Gerry, to see that he was okay despite spending so much time with her. He had always been, until now. He didn’t really trust her, he said. Michael still couldn’t shake the creeping worry, something it was fairly sure had not belonged to him before. It didn’t like it.

Gerry was alone in the hospital room when he felt the end coming. There was no fight left in him. The doctors had been pretty clear about how this was the most likely outcome. So he wasn’t surprised. Or scared. But he was alone. Gertrude had left to meet up with their contact, though she had looked quite uncomfortable in the first place. Or maybe rather disapproving. Gerry guessed it was a good thing he wouldn’t die under that scrutinizing glare. He could still feel it, now, even with his eyes closed and her gone. He should be glad she was gone.

There were fingers brushing through his hair, gentle, despite feeling very unlike fingers. Gentle probably wasn't the right word, but there had never been right words for Michael. Gerry opened his eyes to see blond curls moving on their own, a pair of bright eyes looking down at him. It hurt to look as always, but Gerry was beyond caring.

"Michael.", he said and regretted it instantly, cringing at how weak his own voice sounded.

Michael continued petting his hair with his many jointed fingers, "Gerry."

Gerry waited for it to continue. It didn't, just kept running fingers through Gerry’s hair. It was hypnotic and Gerry was unsure how much of that was the motion and how much it was the nature of Michael being so. Or maybe it was because he himself was barely there anymore.

"Say something.", Gerry asked after the silence dragged on, this time keeping his voice low so he wouldn't have to hear it breaking so loudly.

It still took a lot of effort to form the words. But he wanted to hear more of Michael’s voice, wanted to be sure it was really there. The fingers felt real, but Gerry’s vision was swimming, Michael’s edges dissolving. He wanted to hear it.

Michael didn't know what to say. It had waited for the hospital staff and the archivist to leave, trying to understand what was happening. It hadn't expected to find Gerry in the hospital in the first place. He should have been in his hotel room, unpacking. Not lying in a white room full of beeping machines and needles in his hand.

"I warned you not to trust her.", Michael finally said because he remembered the archivist's look as she left, calculating, and it knew Gerry would suffer.

Its usual amused tone didn't sound right, like that wasn't the emotion it wanted to convey at all. Gerry was used to it by now, to the slight nuances in that voice hinting at what it truly was conveying. In that moment he wished he hadn't been. Michael sounded frustratingly sad. Gerry wanted to comfort it, but he could barely speak.

Gerry licked his dry lips, collecting his strength to answer, "She has...nothing to do with this."

There was something wrong with Michael's face, he noticed. Well, there was always something not right about it. That was the point. But the expression it was wearing was foreign to Gerry, something he couldn't read or place. There was something running down its cheeks. It looked like tears. It looked distinctly unlike tears.

Gerry felt the urge to reach out and touch but he could barely feel his arms anymore. The order from his brain did not reach them and so all he could do was squint up at Michael, trying to bring the slightly blurry image into focus. Gerry knew that Michael was never quite in focus. But he had the impression that it was worse now and Gerry was afraid that that might be more due to his body shutting down than due to the nature of not-being of Michael's. Gerry wanted to see it.

"There will be pain.", Michael whispered, and yet it pierced Gerry’s ears, making his head ache.

He mumbled, "I'm used to it.". Because he was. Michael knew.

Michael shook his head violently, hair bouncing wildly. Gerry was struck by the urge to touch it. He remembered its texture. Nothing like hair. Utterly wrong. So very right between Gerry’s fingers, smoothed edges wanting to go sharp again, to cut. But Michael had always liked Gerry’s hands in its hair. It had kept its edges smooth.

"It's nothing like you know. It's worse, it's…", Michael struggled, face contorting from the effort of speaking clearly, of finding the right words.

Right hurt him. Gerry didn’t want it to hurt. It was difficult to follow the words by now, anyways. He wanted it to stop.

“Kiss me?”, Gerry didn’t know if he ended up saying it, barely registering his mouth moving, not hearing his own voice.

He must have said it though because Michael’s blurry image came closer and then Gerry felt a slight tingle against his lips, a shadow of the intensity he remembered from those kisses. It was better than nothing, though, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation, trying to stay.

He wanted to hug Michael, keep him there, but all he managed was a weak twitching of his fingers. Michael must have noticed, covering the hand in question with its own and squeezing it lightly. Gerry felt it, but distantly. He struggled to open his eyes again, but gave up when it became obvious that it was too much.

Michael watched his eyelids flutter, his face contorting with the effort of opening his eyes before he stopped with a broken, frustrated sigh. Michael caressed his cheek. It felt off. Cold and dry and fragile. Michael knew how easily Gerry could break and rip and die. Michael seen him get hurt many times, had been the source of a bleeding cut more than once when it forgot how quickly Gerry’s skin was punctured.

Never had it felt it. Never had it actually feared Gerry might crumble under its fingers. Michael was hurting, but not from doing the right thing this time, but from how very wrong Gerry felt. Looked. Thin, skin sickly pale, black hair oily with sweat despite his skin feeling dry. His roots were showing and Michael knew Gerry would wrinkle his nose if he'd see that. He had always kept up with the dying, hating to see the natural colour coming through. Michael had helped, sometimes. It couldn’t help now.

Gerry couldn't see it now. Gerry looked exhausted. More than he ever had. Like all the exhaustion in his life had caught up with him now as he was bound to this hospital bed in a strange country, unable to move and slipping.

Michael traced gerrys eyebrow with one finger. It wished those eyes would open again and look at him, sharp and clear, a trace of amusement or mischief, or even annoyance or seriousness in them. Michael wondered if he was missing Gerry. He shouldn't. Gerry was here. A little bit of him.

Michael’s other hand started combing through his hair again and watched Gerry relax, a rare occasion in life. His face went slack and his breathing soft and shallow. Michael could see him slipping. He didn't let go, didn't stop caressing because he knew Gerry liked it, even if he couldn't feel it properly. Michael continued even after Gerry’s chest stopped rising, machines attached to him starting to beep differently. Michael didn't stop because he didn't want to, then, not because he knew Gerry liked it. There was nothing Gerry could feel anymore. Gerry was gone.

Michael bent down again, pressing his lips to Gerry’s forehead. Gerry, of course, didn’t react. And Michael was hurting. It was hearing steps approaching, so it forced itself to let go of Gerry’s hand and hair, to pull away from his face.

A yellow door appeared and it stepped through it. The yellow door was gone by the time the nurses opened the door to the hospital room.

#tma #gerrymichael #gerard keay #gerry keay #michael shelley #michael the distortion #michael tma #fluff & angst #tma fanfic

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years ago

Text

Auld Lang Syne

Some poly!Queen, based off my own frustration that I fell asleep hard at like ten last night, and didn’t make it to midnight for New Years (I didn’t wake up till nine this morning, y’all. Like what even was that, the one night my staying up should have been easy to do lol.)

Quick synopsis: Everyone falls asleep before midnight except for John. And normally that would be whatever, but it’s New Years, and he’s not happy about being the only one awake for this night.

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“I cannot believe you all,” John puttered around the living room, mugs of tea balanced in his hands and the crooks of his elbows. “Asleep! With two hours to go!”

“And awakened by nine in the morning,” Freddie grumbled, though he took the mug with an appreciative smile. “What a world.”

“Yes!” John continued. “You lot are never the ones to bed early, and the one night it counted-”

“With all respect,” Brian interrupted. “It’s only New Years, Deaky. By definition, we will all go on, and things will be okay.”

The wrong thing to say, quickly apparent with John’s scoff and the dumping of Brian’s tea into the nearest plant.

“Was that really necessary?” Freddie sighed. “That plant is fake, anyway...”

“I’ve been watering it for at least a month,” Brian whined. “When were you going to tell me that?”

“You didn’t look at it?” Freddie laughed. “It’s obviously fake.”

“In his defense,” Roger interjected. “I have also been watering it. I thought it might be fake, but I didn’t want it to die and upset anyone if it was real, so...”

“So if it was real, we would have killed it anyway,” Brian muttered.

“I’m glad the plant is worthy of your attention,” John didn’t shout, but his voice carried out the open window, loud enough to stop the conversation their neighbors were having outside. “Let me know when I am as well, will you?”

He was in the spare bedroom with the door slammed and locked before they could so much as blink.

“I think we fucked up,” Roger mumbled. “In my professional opinion.”

“Professional opinion?” Freddie asked.

“As someone who’s had his fair share of fuck ups,” Roger replied.

Freddie nodded. “I agree. But all the same, I feel like I’m missing something. He didn’t seem all that into celebrating last night; I figured he’d be the first asleep anyway.”

“That’s true,” Brian noted, and they could see the wheels in his head turning. “But, think of it like this. He did organize the little party for us. Bought groceries. Bought the champagne. Had it all ready for us as we each got home.”

Freddie set his mug on the coffee table and ran a hand down his face with a sigh. “We fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Brian winced. “We did.”

---

It wasn’t that he held any great love for any holiday (except maybe Christmas, that one wasn’t terrible.) But he had put so much work into New Years this time, and they had seemed to be enjoying it. They’d all been a bit pissed, but surely even drunken promises to stay awake for two more hours meant something, right?

“I’m being an ass,” John muttered to himself as he paced the room. What had he been hoping for anyway? Something stupid and overly romantic, something he didn’t normally concern himself with too much. But it had stuck in his head a few weeks prior, the idea of trading kisses right on the hour (they were boyfriends after all, even if their relationship together was often low-key, easily mistaken for and hidden as only friendship when necessary.)

And when midnight had struck, they’d all been passed out. He’d fought so hard to stay awake for them, and they seemingly hadn’t even tried to stay up.

“Get over it,” he grumbled to himself again. He wanted to let himself shout it all out to the walls, as he’d done in the past when he was the only one in the flat, but he certainly couldn’t do it now, even if keeping it in his head made him feel overwhelmed, his mind overfull with thoughts. “You’re just tired anyway, you were up until fucking midnight.”

It had actually been more like two in the morning before he’d gotten to sleep himself. He’d left them in the living room, draped on the floor and in a chair and on the couch. The idea, as upset as he’d been that night, even more than now, was that he would enjoy taking the bed from them. It barely fit all four of them anyway (hence the spare bedroom, with its own decently-sized bed), so it wouldn’t be luxurious, but it would be all his.

Instead, he’d tossed and turned (and if he was honest with himself, cried for a short while) and when he did sleep, it wasn’t restful at all.

He stopped pacing and let himself drop onto the bed. Maybe a nap would be reset enough, to quell the fire in his head over something that, even as he was upset over it, he knew was stupid.

---

“John?” Freddie knocked at the door of the spare bedroom, but heard nothing in reply. “He’s holding a grudge, apparently.”

“He is good at those,” Roger said softly. “Let me try?”

They exchanged places, and Roger leaned against the door. “Deaky? We’re sorry, we are. We didn’t realize this was so important to you. That’s on us; we’re stupid like that sometimes. But that’s no excuse, and we’d like to apologize proper and make it up to you.”

Nothing.

“Did he mention something he wanted to do last night, and we were too pissed to remember him saying it?” Roger hissed to them.

Freddie and Brian shrugged. If John had said anything, they certainly didn’t remember.

“Talk to us, at least,” Roger continued to the door. “We can’t help and make it better if we don’t know the details of how we fucked up. And I really am sorry, but we only have a glimmer. We know you must have had something planned for New Years, but we don’t recall what it was, and I admit, that’s terrible. If you can bear it, tell us what it was, remind us, and we can try and fix this.”

Still nothing.

Roger looked utterly gutted. “He always responds when it’s me. Why isn’t he saying anything?”

“I don’t know,” Freddie sighed. “Come on, the tea’s gone cold. We can make more, and Brian...”

“I’ll try,” Brian said, and moved past Roger to sit on the floor by the door.

He waited until they were off to the kitchen to talk. “John? I don’t know if you can hear me. I presume you can. I-”

He stopped himself. The words he had on his tongue were too angry, too frustrated with John for not communicating to them.

He took a breath. “I’m sorry. We did fuck up, and we’re all sorry for that. But you’ve hurt Rog now, you know? He thought for sure you’d reply to him, and you didn’t.”

A pause. He wanted to just shake the doorknob until John opened up, but all the same, he knew that would be both childish and totally useless.

“We want to make it up to you. Make things right. But we can’t do that if you don’t talk to us. Give us a chance to apologize. This isn’t like you, anyway. You have your quiet moments, but usually, when we fight-”

Brian leaned in closer to the door, a sound barely perceptible through it.

Snoring.

He had to laugh, he couldn’t help it, as he stood and walked to the kitchen.

“Glad this is so funny to you,” Roger frowned. “I know you and Deaky have your moments, but really-”

“He’s sleeping,” Brian interrupted him with another giggle. “He went in there to mope, probably got frustrated with himself over it, and fell asleep as soon as he lay down.”

“How do you know all that?” Freddie asked, fighting with their breakfast, for now just a few eggs in a pan. “Roger, can you help here?”

They switched spots, and Freddie met Brian’s gaze. “Seriously. You can’t just make presumptions and hope it’ll soothe things.”

“I’m not,” Brian scoffed. “I can hear him snoring. Go, sit by the door, and lean in close as you can. He’s out cold.”

Freddie walked past him and to the door, and returned a moment later with a smile. “Poor thing. How late do you think he stayed up last night, without us?”

“Everything was cleaned up,” Roger replied. “So too late, I would guess.”

“Get a plate out,” Freddie instructed. “We’re going to pick that lock and get him breakfast in bed.”

“You mean we’re going to wake him up when he needs to sleep, and force food on him?” Brian suggested.

“No, because you know that if he sleeps too long into the day, he fusses anyway,” Freddie replied. “Because then he won’t be tired enough to sleep later tonight, and he’ll just keep rolling like that, from one grumpy mood to the next.”

“Fair point,” Brian nodded. “We should find something to use as a tray...”

“We have one,” Roger said. “...wait, no. We did. The fake plant is sitting on it, I think. Didn’t want water to drain out of the pot and onto the floor...”

“Oh, but we are a foursome, aren’t we?” Freddie laughed. “If he sits up, and eats carefully, he can just set the plates on the bed.”

“I’ll go get the tray and clean it,” Roger said. “The plant doesn’t need it anyway, or so we now know.”

“I could swear I told you two it was fake,” Freddie noted, but Roger was already off to the living room, leaving him and Brian to tend the food.

---

In his dream, it was almost too much. He couldn’t even enjoy it, he knew it was a dream.

They fawned over him, well beyond anything anyone would do for him in real life (and to a degree that made him uncomfortable.)

Freddie, naked in his lap, trying to get him to sip champagne from an overfull glass.

Roger, clothed only in the tiny rugby shorts he occasionally shared with Freddie, offering him toast on a plate. Just toast, oddly enough.

Brian, a telescope in hand, nearly forcing him to look through it. “It’ll fall at midnight, you know.”

“What?” John’s tongue felt fuzzy in the dream, heavy to move, but maybe champagne in dreams was just stronger. “The moon?”

Brian nodded. “If you want it to.”

“I think we need it up there,” John replied. “For tides, and things like that.”

Brian shrugged, and handed him a plate with scrambled eggs on it.

“What is this for?”

Brian shrugged again, and pointed to the moon. “There it goes!”

He watched the moon dip down, falling to land who knew where, its light dimming as it fell.

A panic rose in his chest, and though there was nothing he could do to stop it falling, he felt he had to try.

Before he could get up, trying to gently push Freddie off his lap, Freddie handed him, of all things, a mug of coffee.

“What in the fuck is going on?” John asked him, but Freddie didn’t reply, his gaze falling on their front door.

The knob shook and wiggled, and the sounds of someone trying to pick the lock suddenly came through clearly.

---

“This alone might wake him up,” Brian laughed. “We’ve done this before, how is it taking so long this time?”

“Says the man holding the tray, not trying to get the lock open!” Roger muttered as he fought with the lock picking kit and the door.

“I’m helping in the best way I can,” Brian replied, playfully miffed.

“And you?” Roger asked of Freddie, who was barely holding back his own giggles.

“I...am moral support. I believe in you! You can do it!”

“You don’t remember how to use this kit, do you?”

“I do not,” Freddie replied confidently.

“Delightful,” Roger shook his head, but he giggled as he kept on at the lock.

The door swung open, and took him with it, onto John’s feet.

“Good morning!” Roger chirped, muffled as he picked himself up. “We’ve brought you a ‘we’re very sorry’ breakfast! It’s still warm, even.”

John’s eyes jumped over each of them a few times, their faces showing how eagerly they were awaiting his reaction.

He burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. All he could think of was them in his dream, half clothed and offering him breakfast.

“Um,” Roger said softly. “It isn’t that bad. I mean the eggs look a bit rough, but that’s because Freddie helped with them-”

“I did my best!” Freddie interrupted. “They’re scrambled anyway; they aren’t meant to look a masterpiece.”

“If you settle back in bed,” Brian interjected, peeking past them to John. “I can set this down, and you can eat, and we’ll go away again.”

“No,” John sighed. “You don’t have to go away. Did you make enough for yourselves?”

“Yeah,” Roger replied. “Mostly because I kept forgetting to do less than what we usually make. It’s habit, you know?”

John nodded. “Let me eat out there with you all. This was very sweet though, I’ll say that.”

“Not till you say what we did wrong,” Brian stammered, seemingly surprised at himself, shrugging as Brian and Roger looked to him with confused frowns. “I mean. We could just smooth things over with breakfast, but that doesn’t really make it better, does it? We should work through what actually happened, or rather didn’t, since we fell asleep last night.”

John shook his head. “Was stupid. And I didn’t help things; I didn’t really say to you all what I was expecting. You couldn’t do what I didn’t tell you I wanted.”

“Fair, but I doubt it was stupid,” Roger said. “What was it?”

John blushed bright red. “Just wanted a kiss from each of you when it hit midnight. God, that sounds stupid out loud, doesn’t it? How old am I? Like some damsel in a movie, or something...”

“Hang on,” Roger reached over and pulled him close, then dipped him down and kissed him, even as he giggled.

He brought them back up with a snap, apparently struggling not to just tip over. “Sorry. That was kind of shit, but best I can do at this time of the morning.”

John grinned. “It’s nearly noon.”

“Morning, noon,” Roger shrugged. “What is time, anyway?”

Freddie nodded, and motioned for John to come over to him. The kiss was soft and sweet and still tasted slightly of champagne. “Not midnight, but I think it still counts.”

Brian smiled, then frowned at the tray still in his hands. “Can I set this down before I have my go? I don’t want to spill coffee on you or something.”

“Here,” Roger took the tray from him, and nodded for Freddie to follow him. “We’ll be in the kitchen, getting the rest ready. Freshen up the coffee and tea as well, all that.”

Brian’s kiss was as gentle as Freddie’s, a hand holding the tip of John’s chin up.

“Can I ask you something?” John murmured as the kiss ended.

“Sure,” Brian smiled.

“Would you watch the moon fall, let it fall, if I wanted it to?”

Brian blinked, clearly confused. “I suppose I would. If it’s falling out of the sky, chances are good something serious is going on anyway, whether you caused it or not. I couldn’t stop it, and the effects would be monstrous, so if it would make you happy-”

He paused, and nodded. “Yeah. I’d watch it fall with you.”

John hugged him tightly. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

Brian still looked baffled, but he smiled and welcomed John to his side as they walked to the kitchen, towards the sounds of Freddie and Roger running amok, and the scent of just-starting-to-burn coffee.

#text post #LeeH writes #queen band fic

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