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nagito-kissmaeda · 3 years

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Horny on Main Disease - Komaeda x Reader

Summary: Reader catches a strain of the despair disease that means she says everything she is thinking. Kind of awkward considering all she can think about is how much she wants to jump Komaeda's bones. This is intended to be sort of funny, but i still wrote it pretty seriously, just want to make it clear that i did not half ass the smut. i whole assed it.

Word count: 4444 Contains: fem reader, they/them pronouns, despair disease, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, voyeurism Read on AO3 ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

It’s not even a particularly hot day, and yet you’re sweating bullets as you walk over to the dining hall like you do every morning. Your legs are wobbly and your head is aching something terrible, you assume that you’ve caught a cold or something , whatever the problem is, it’s going to be a question for Tsumiki when you meet up with her at breakfast.

Kuzuryu is standing out by the pool, pensively staring into the still water. He probably misses Pekoyama, but you’re smart enough to know not to-

“Hey, Kuzuryu! I bet you miss your dead girlfriend, huh?”

He just stares at you, and it takes a good few seconds for you to even realise what you just said out loud. You clap a hand over your mouth, horrified.

“I don’t know why I said that!” You squeak

Kuzuryu doesn’t look...angry? He shakes his head at you and sighs, “you’re acting weird today too, aren’t you?”

“What? Weird? Who’s weird?”

“Owari was here a few minutes ago, bawling her eyes out on the ground.” He crosses his arms and looks away from you, “I think the bear is planning something again.”

You nod sternly, “anyone with tits as big as Owari has nothing to cry about! Something is definitely suspicious.”

Oh god why did you say that??

“Oh god, why did I say that??”

You just keep saying everything you’re thinking!

“I just keep saying everything I’m-“

Kuzuryu grabs you by the wrist and starts tugging you towards the dining hall, “something is definitely fucked up.” He looks down at where his hand is gripping yours, “Jesus Christ, your skin is on fire!”

“Yeah, cause I’m hot !” That was already an embarrassing thing to say, you are horrified when your mouth drops open again to follow it up with, “bow-chicka-wow-wow!”

There is definitely something wrong with you. In general you are the sort of person who takes the time to carefully curate every word that leaves your mouth, the fact that you are just speaking without even thinking about it is bizarre and alarming. The ache in your head is also steadily growing stronger and you’re starting to feel dizzy, maybe you’re just delirious with flu? It doesn't make sense for you to catch the flu on an abandoned island, but weirder things have happened already.

It is at this moment that you realise you have been (only semi-coherently) mumbling your full internal tirade outloud to Kuzuryu, who is now helping you up the stairs to the dining hall. He has very diplomatically, been either ignoring, or at least pretending to ignore everything you have been saying.

“You’re nice. Probably the politest yakuza i’ve ever met.” you pause, “I’ve never met another yakuza, i'm not sure why i said it like that.”

Kuzuryu scoffs and tugs you up at the last step. Deigning to give your comment any sort of response.

As you step up onto the dining hall landing, you freeze. This is dangerous. Your nails are biting into the skin of your palms, and your already warm face feels even hotter. Don't look at him, don't think about him, don't look at him, don't think about him. Kuzuryu is giving you a look, you must be verbalising your own mental gymnastics, but that is less embarrassing than the alternative.

“Don't look at him, don't think about him, don't look at him, don't think-”

You look up, like an idiot . Komaeda is sitting by the window with his chin in his palm, just sort of staring off into the middle distance, not really looking at anything. The morning sun cascades through the window and catches in his hair. It shimmers. Your heart twists and turns in your chest, you have been trying to keep this little fascination of yours under wraps, but he slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose and-

“He looks like an angel .” You say, and you say it loudly.

All eyes in the room turn to you. Hinata especially is looking at you with his particular brand of exhaustion, that says this is not the first weird thing he has heard today. You scramble, trying desperately to think about anything other than Komaeda, to stop yourself from saying anything stupid. In your desperation, what you say is: “Yes hello! I was talking about anyone in this room apart from Komaeda. Please do not be confused, it was not Komaeda. I want to make it crystal clear that i am NOT attracted to Nagito Komaeda. This is a very convincing lie and you all believe me!”

Mioda straightens her spine and salutes you, “Roger! You are not attracted to Komaeda, I believe you!”

Your sweating even more now, it’s getting hard to breathe, “Forget I said anything!”

Mioda salutes again, “Consider it forgotten!”

“What is happening?! ” Hinata exclaims, gesturing wildly to you, Mioda, and Owari who you suddenly notice is leaning against the far wall and sobbing, “This is not normal!”

Your eyes slip to Komaeda again. He is looking at you and he is blushing-

“He looks so...cute…” You whisper, and Hinata yelps.

“Why are you all being so weird???? ”

Monokuma takes that as his cue to finally show up. Waltzing on into the dining hall like he owns the place, clearly buzzing with excitement, “A good question!” He says, clamoring up onto a vacant chair and holding a paw in front of his face to hide his laughter, “ Oooh , this is my best motive yet! Looks like three members of the class have come down with a bad case of the despair disease!”

“D-Despair Disease?” Tsumiki contributes, nervously playing with her hands, “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“Yeah, well. It’s pretty self explanatory!” Monokuma says, “The main symptom is high fever, along with some other fun despair related effects! It’s a bit of a mixed bag though and no two cases are the same! For example, Moida is suffering from the Gullible Disease...Owari has the Cowards Disease.” Then, Monokuma points his stubby little paw in your direction, “And you have the No Filter Disease. You just say whatever you’re thinking! It’s been lots of fun so far, upupupupu~”

“Oh, does that mean all those things they were just saying about Komaeda were the truth?” Sonia says. Her brows draw together, and she taps her lips with a finger, “How interesting.”

“It’s not my fault he’s gorgeous!” the words escape you before you have a chance to stop them. You squeal and clap a hand over your mouth before you start talking again. Komaeda is now bright red to the tips of his ears.

“That was true? GROSS!” Saionji exclaims.

You glare at Monokuma, “If you wouldn't kill me for doing it, I'd rip out all your stuffing right now.”

Monokuma withers a little, “Aw~ Is that what you really feel? Here I was thinking we were great friends.”

“I’ll gut you like a fish.” you pause, “a bear-fish.” another pause, “a fish-bear.” You groan, “UGH, I can’t stop saying stupid things! I’m all sweaty! This sucks !”

Tsumiki steps over to you, her hand is shaking as she brings it up to your forehead.

“Oh…” you breathe, “your hand is cold.”

“S-Sorry! I’m just checking your temperature.”

“You smell like lavender.”

She recoils a little, “It’s j-just my shampoo!!'' Then she shakes her head and turns to the rest of the group, “Monokuma is telling the truth. They’ve got a fever.”

Hinata hurriedly presses his hand against the foreheads of both Owari and Moida, confirming that they’re also burning up, “What do we do, Tsumiki?”

Before she can answer, Monokuma pipes up again, “did I forget to mention? It’s contagious~~”

Saionji squeals and backpedals all the way to the stairs, “Contagious!?”

“Yeah and I'm a conta- genius . Get it?”

Souda gives you an uncomfortable look and scratches the back of his neck, “How much space in your brain is taken up by bad puns?”

You’re feeling really dizzy now, “A lot of it! But usually I don't say any of them!” your knees wobble and you almost fall over, luckily Tsumiki is still close enough to grab you before you topple to the ground, “I am going to kill that goddamn bear .”

“Could-could someone help me?” Tsumiki squeaks, “If i keep holding them up like this we-we’re just both going to fall over.”

You giggle a little, slipping into a semi-delirium as you cling to Tsumiki for dear life. Hinata and the others start working on a plan to keep everyone safe until the illness runs its course, “Hey Tsumiki…” you whisper, “Komaeda’s got real nice hands, huh?” she is too busy trying to keep you upright to answer, “I want him to carry me. Unless I'm too heavy, Tsumiki, am I too heavy?”

You’re all but draped over Tsumiki now, who is trying in vain to shuffle you over to a nearby wall, when you suddenly hear her sigh in relief, “Oh...Th-Thank you. I’m not very s-strong…”

You manage to flop your head around to face the other direction, lacking the strength to turn your neck properly. Komaeda is looking down at you, it might just be the fever, but you feel like you’re going to burst into flames.

“Aha, I’m sure i'm not much stronger than you, Tsumiki.” He says, gently wrapping his arm around your shoulders and tugging you over to him. You might have moaned, you can't be sure, “But I do have the height advantage.”

The utter tsunami that leaves your mouth is unavoidable. Literally medically unavoidable, but that doesn't stop it from being the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“He’s touching me. He’s touching me…” your head has come to rest on his chest and you are practically hyperventilating, “He smells like chamomile soap and clean laundry...His hands are cold, his shirt is soft...Oh god i'm so sweaty, he probably thinks i'm disgusting! Komaeda, i'm so sorry , this was meant to be a secret!!! I wasn't going to tell you, everyones gonna think I'm weird!” your thoughts are leaving your mouth faster than you can think of them, if Komaeda is reacting to anything you have to say, you don't notice because despite your mouth running a mile a minute you still have an ounce enough of shame and bury your face in his chest to hide from your own words.

The world is spinning, your head feels heavy, everything is so hot , “Your hair is nice, did you know your hair is nice? God, I've wanted to run my fingers through it since day one. This is so fucked up, you almost killed someone! I want to stop talking , i feel like i'm gonna pass out, i'm gonna pass out, i'm gonna pass out. Im gonna…”

***

“I think I passed out.” Is the first thing you say when you wake up. You’re still hot and the back of your neck is sweaty, but you can see that you are now in the hospital, and that you’re wearing a hospital gown.

“Who undressed me?!” You exclaim, disappointed to find that you still can’t help saying everything you think.

At the sound of your voice, the door to your room opens, and Komaeda steps in.

“No! Not you!”

He freezes, withering under your gaze, “Ah, I see. Being greeted by garbage like me in your current state, it must be insulting .”

You feel like an asshole .

“That’s not what I meant! Please don’t go, I never want you to go.”

Komaeda laughs a little, still lurking nervously in the doorway, “You’re confusing me.”

“I don’t want you to hear what I’m thinking. I want you to stay, but all I can think about is how much I want to suck on your collarbone.” You freeze the second you stop talking, a high pitched whine leaving your mouth as you hide your face in your hands, “I’m so sorry! I can’t stop it!”

Stepping further into the room, Komaeda quietly closes the door behind him. Your heart is pounding.

“I’m nervous.” You say.

He tilts his head, walking over to the side of your bed, “I can still leave if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m not uncomfortable.” You shrink under his gaze, “it just, the way you closed the door it makes me feel like you’re planning something, like maybe we’re going to have-“ you manage to cover your mouth before the rest of the sentence escapes. Keeping your hands tight over your lips as all you can think about is his long fingers, his soft hair, his half lidded eyes.

“Are you...still talking behind your hands?”

You nod.

A smile crawls up the side of his face, “are you saying something embarrassing?”

“I wanna stick my tongue in your mouth.” You say, loud enough that even the tight grip of your hands doesn’t muffle it.

Komaeda remains remarkably calm, “You keep saying those things. This disease...means you say whatever you’re thinking, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s driving me crazy, I’m just being such an idiot and I’m probably freaking you out. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not it.” He sighs, moving slowly as he sits down on the side of your bed, “Honestly, why would you let such thoughts about scum like me take up so much real estate in your mind?”

“I can’t help it!” You exclaim, “I’ve been trying not to think about it, but I just can’t! I want you so badly. I…..I-“ you hold your breath, you can’t let that last part out, no matter what, you can’t say that last part. You’ll die of suffocation before you let him hear it.

“You...what?” He asks

Oh god. You can’t stop thinking about it. Your lungs are aching, screaming for you to just open your mouth.

“What are you hiding, hm?”

It’s too much. The nerves, your sick and weakened body, him right there . You can’t do it, you can’t stop it, the next time you see Monokuma, you are drop kicking him into the sun.

“I’ve touched myself while thinking about you!”

The words echo off the walls of the room like a gunshot.

For a moment Komaeda just stares at you, but then, his shaky hands reach out and wrap around both of your wrists. His throat bobs.

“Hng. I want to suck on the side of your neck, I want to see you covered in marks from my teeth-“ you try to cover your mouth with your hands again. Komaeda grips your wrists tighter.

“No.” He whispers, trembling, “keep going.”

“ God, your hands are so big. I want to know how deep your fingers would reach inside of me. I bet you’re good at it, I bet you’re really good at it.” He just keeps staring at you, ghostly green eyes blown wide, chest heaving , “Are you turned on? Is this turning you on? Just pin me down and fuck me, do it, do it, do it!”

“How...how often are you thinking about me like this?”

“Oh, all the time.” You freeze, mentally (and therefore also verbally) berating yourself, “Not all the time! Just like, a normal amount. However much that is.” He is still just looking at you, the pad of his thumb slowly brushes across the pulsepoint in your wrist and you shiver, “Yes, yes! I’ve wanted this intimacy with you for so long . I couldn't tell anyone, I couldn't tell you. During the first trial, when you went on your weirdo rant about hope and despair. I was scared, i was so scared, but oh god- ” you can't stop yourself. Every thought in your head is pouring out of your lips. Filling up the room, the mortification is drowning you . All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut to avoid looking at him, “I was wet , Komaeda. I went back to my cabin and came three times to the thought of you, I am reprehensible . What do you think the others would do if they found out, huh? That all i can think about is you fucking me over my trial podium. They’ll tie me up next-”

The bed squeaks, and Komaeda brings his knee up and over your hips.

“-Oh my god. You’re doing it aren't you?”

His other leg comes up on the bed, and he settles, hovering up above you. He shrugs, “I honestly don't understand why this is something you want,” he leans down over you, resting his palms on either side of your head, “but who am I to deny the wishes of an ultimate.”

If not for the warmth of his lips pressed against yours, you are sure that you wouldn't be able to shut up, based only on the number of thoughts tumbling through your head like they’re on a spin cycle. You are still sweaty with fever and probably look disgusting, but Komaeda shuffles down in between your legs and hikes your hospital gown up to your waist. So you are suitably distracted.

He laughs as he hooks his fingers around your panties and tugs them down your thighs, “I cant believe that you want scum like me to touch you like this. Usually I would assume that you are lying, or taking pity on me.” He grins, running a finger up the length of your sex, “But everything you say to me is your exact thoughts, isnt it?”

“Yes! Touch me, please! ” You’re quivering beneath him, barely able to breathe in between your frantic pleas, “You feel so good, you feel perfect . I want your fingers inside me so bad .”

He hisses as he slips his middle and ring finger inside of you, eyes glued to where your entrance is swallowing him up, “Ahaaa...you’re drenched . You really do want me don't you?” he pistons his fingers in and out slowly, slowly and deliberately, “Someone like you, desiring me so terribly. It’s such a waste , but i can't help it. I must be selfish and take this chance while i can.”

“Not a….waste....” You force out, helplessly grinding on his fingers, “Want you....want only you…”

“Oh- Ohhhh .” He moans, “I can feel you, squeezing around my fingers. You’re so wet...so warm…”

You hear a zipper coming undone, and your thoughts go into overdrive, “oh my god, oh my god. Komaeda’s going to jerk off in front of me, wanna watch, wanna watch! ”

His fingers still inside you for a moment as he tugs his boxers down far enough to slip out his cock. Your eyes follow the movement of his long fingers as he slowly curls them around the base, and tugs them up again, rolling the pad of his thumb over the head. His hips buck, and you moan.

“You...you’re tightening around my fingers…” he breathes, choking on a moan as he pumps his cock again, “you like watching me touch myself?” Your hips stutter, grinding your clit against the meat of his palm as he continues stroking himself. His eyes are wide as he watches you writhing beneath him.

“The face you make when you do that...it’s so cute.” You say, whining as his fingers start moving inside you again, “it’s even cuter than I imagined. Your cheeks are all red.” You swallow, “and your cock is so pretty...I want you to cum inside me, so bad .”

His breath hitches, “you want me to cum, inside you?” his cock is leaking with pre-cum now, painfully hard in his hand. His chest is heaving.

“Yes yes yes! ” You plead, “I want you, please! ”

“I don’t understand.” He breathes, and you whimper as his fingers slip out of you, “How could someone be so desperate for my pathetic seed?”

“Fill me up , Komaeda!” You exclaim, at this point you are long past embarrassed. The words leaving your mouth are the absolute truth and there is no way you can deny them.

He groans at that, an octave deeper than you are used to hearing and it seems he is having trouble denying you. His own desperation mingling with yours and overtaking his painful self-doubt, he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, and slowly edges the swollen head against your entrance, “f-fuck…” he mutters as he slips inside you, “you’re so warm .”

You can barely even register what you are saying anymore, it’s little more than a string of compliments about how good he feels inside you. About how handsome he is. Your tongue feels weird and loose in your mouth from overuse, but you still can’t stop talking.

He looms above you, halo of white hair bouncing as he thrusts in and out of you, the unmistakable jangle of the chain hanging from his jeans. All things that confirm it is Komaeda inside of you. Your heart races with the fact.

“Th-thank you, for permitting me to do this with you.” He stammers, sweat slowly dripping down his brow, “it’s...so good...it feels like I belong inside you. ”

A moan rips through you, and you hook your weak ankles around his waist, “you do belong inside me. You fit so perfectly , I was made for your cock. GOD I sound so filthy…..I- I can’t help it.”

“ No.” He hisses, eyes meeting yours, “Keep talking.”

“You say that like I can stop.” You dip your head lower, and wrap your lips around his left collarbone, moaning as you suck hard enough to leave a bruise. He keens above you, hips snapping against yours even faster, “Your hip bones are digging into my thighs…”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “I-I’m sorry, do you want me to-“

“Don’t you dare stop, Komaeda. You’re mine , I want to feel every inch of you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

You bring a shaky hand up to his cheek, he nuzzles into your palm, “You aren’t hurting me. It feels wonderful.”

He kisses you then, messy and wet, his lips taste like desperation. Even with his tongue tangled with yours, you are still trying to speak. Sweet nothings, forceful demands, anything and everything that comes to mind is trying to force its way out of your mouth. Something is in the pit of your stomach is twisting tight and you moan greedily into the cavern of his mouth as his hips meet yours again. You can feel that he’s losing his rhythm.

“S-sorry. I’m...im close…” A moan rips from his throat and he buries his face in your neck.

Your hips have started canting up to meet his, you want so badly to be close to him, to feel all of him, “M’close to. I love having you inside me, i want to do this again and again and-”

Komaeda freezes, eyes turning to the door on the other side of the room. Footstops.

“Who is it? Did they hear? Are there going to come in? What do you think they’re going to do if they see you inside of-”

Komaeda covers your mouth with his palm. You’re still talking, but at least it’s muffled now. Kuzuryu and Hinata are chatting in the hallway, the footsteps seem only to be growing closer. You can't stop thinking terrible, horrible things, and while Komaeda’s hand keeps you quiet enough that they can't seem to hear you from outside, Komaeda can definitely hear you.

“I wanna keep going.”

His eyes are blown wide, but you feel the tell-tale throb of his cock inside of you, “ What?! ” he hisses, “there’s no way you can keep quiet like this...they’ll definitely hear us.”

“I don’t care if they hear us, I want them to hear us. I want them to know what you’re doing to me.”

His hips twitch, and he bites his lip hard to keep in a moan, “You're not ashamed to be seen intimately with someone as despicable as me?”

You coo at him, running your index finger down the front of his throat and over the mark you left on his collarbone, he tentatively removes his hand from your mouth and pushes some sweaty hair away from your forehead, you smile, “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m in love with you.”

Komaeda sucks a breath in through his teeth, and it is only then that you realise what you have said.

“Oh GOD. I didn't - I'm so sorry.” your eyes are wide, you’re ready for him to jump up and bolt out of the room, “I just thought it and then i said it, and jesus christ im so sorry-”

You’re cut off by his lips. The kiss is gentler, less desperate, but filled with the depth of passion. He starts thrusting in and out of you again, and you gasp in surprise at the feeling. He pulls away from the kiss, and rests his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy as one of his hands slips down under your knee. He pushes your leg up higher and you choke on a moan at how much deeper this new angle feels.

A high-pitched whine leaves his throat as he continues moving inside of you, he swallows, “I...I love you too.”

“Aaah... ahhh .” You’re so close at this point, the coiling in your stomach is about ready to snap, “I love you so much, I want your cum, please! ”

“I’ll give it to you, I...hah...I’ll fill you up...is that what you want?”

His hand slips down to your clit and you shriek , clenching hard around his cock, “Yes, yes, yes! I’m close...i'm so close…”

“I’m gonna...I...I…”

A moan rips through you as your climax finally hits, for the first time this day your mind is void of thoughts. All you can do is feel . Your fingers dig into the bedsheet under you, and your legs tighten around Komaeda’s waist. He writhes and moans above you, he just keeps going, harder and harder and harder, and then, with a heavy groan you feel him release inside of you.

“Thank...you…” you mutter, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Before Komaeda has a chance to say anything in return, someone clears their throat on the other side of the door. The two of you freeze.

“Are you two done?” Hinata asks, he sounds exasperated.

Komaeda clears his throat, “Um...yeah...pretty much.”

“His dick is literally still inside of me! Maybe give us a few minutes!” You wince at the blunt sentence that just left your mouth, Komaeda is clearly trying not to laugh, you huff “Sorry Hinata! I can't help it!”

This disease was going to be the death of you.

#komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #komaeda nagito x reader #my writing #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa fanfiction

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league-of-thots · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Fun

Pairing: Hawks x reader

Warnings: sensory deprivation, ropes and bondage,

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This was part of another lovely server collab that i was so fucking excited to be a part of!! I FINALLY got to yoink my favourite boy hawks and was fucking pumped to write for him so I hope you all enjoy! The masterlist with the rest of the fucking LOVELY writers is right here: COLLAB LIST

It was day three of the quarantine when you finally reached the end of your tether, and as a loud crash came from the other room in your shared apartment, you heard a small tinkling of glass shattering. You feel your pulse beating through your temples in pent up anger and frustration.

“Keigo Takami I swear to GOD! What did you do?!” You throw your phone down on the couch beside you as you angrily speed over to see what your boyfriend had done now in his boredom. You enter the other room and see him sheepishly grin up at you from the floor where he’d somehow managed to end up tied in an awkward position and had knocked into the table, sending a photograph off of it and thus the shattering you’d heard.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaim, grabbing a broom and dustpan to clean away the dangerous glass pieces. “Why are you tied up? How did you even get in that position?” You knew you boyfriend was a man of many talents, but his best talent by far was the ability to get himself into stupidly strange and unnecessary situations.

He just laughs at your questions and as you return with the broom and pan, he’s practically howling on the floor at your expressions. Well, as much as he can with his chest restricted by ropes and hands behind his back, legs at an awkward angle on the floor.

“I’m glad you’re finding this funny.” You harrumph and ignore him, starting to sweep up the glass pieces that make more delicate sounds as you work.

“Aw, babes, don’t be like that!” he gets out as his laughter starts to die down. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bother you; I’m just going stir crazy in here!”

“I can see that,” you scowl a bit, the confines of your apartment, and the stress of the whole situation starting to really make you grouchy. Luckily, it was a rather small photo, so there wasn’t too much glass for you to clean up. Your boyfriend was now sitting where he’d fallen, trying to cheer you up while you worked, managing to wheedle a couple smiles and chuckles from you, as he always does.

After you finish throwing out the shards, you go back towards him, and stand in front of him with your hands on your hips. He’s trying to get the ropes undone, but with the angle he was in, and how they’d tightened when he’d fallen in a heap, was making no progress. It was amusing to see, and he looked so cute with the pout on his face and the sharp ruffles of annoyance through his wings.

“So, are you going to tell me what you were trying to accomplish with, ah- all of this?” you gesture towards his entire body, looped with rope and patterns. You have an idea of what he was doing, but still unsure as to why. To your surprise your usually unrufflable boyfriend flushes slightly under your attention and mumbles something out. You give him a pointed look so as to say ‘Speak up’ and he clears his throat.

“Well, I was bored, and I know you’re stressed so I was thinking of fun ways that we could fix both of our issues, if you catch my drift.”

“… So you did it on yourself?”

“Just to practice! I hadn’t done sexy rope tying before, only y’know, actual hog tying of villains and stuff.”

“If you refer to this as sexy rope tying ever again, I won’t have sex with you for a month Keigo.” He lets out a protested squawk at that, saying it wasn’t that bad.

“I am stuck though, so ah- babes if you would help me out of these, I really would appreciate it.” He gave you a pleading look and you can’t help but laugh a little at him, rolling your eyes and going to untie him. He reaches up to give you a quick kiss when his hands are free, they’re quick pecks, but energetic as he starts kissing all around your face with your head in his hands. You can’t help but giggle as he distracts you from your mood and worries.

“What exactly were you planning on doing with me though, Keigo? Your whole body is somehow almost all tied up.” You couldn’t even fathom how he’d managed it, maybe with his feathers? Were they that nimble? He stands up moving behind you to massage your shoulders gently.

“Well I was reading up on things and saw something about how sensory deprivation in small doses can made people less stressed and anxious. I was thinking it might be an interesting idea to try out, especially because you’re on edge.”

“You’re just horny because you have so much extra energy with the quarantine being in effect.” You say sharply, though you’re touched by your boyfriend’s idea. He was pretty great to you.

“I’m not going to deny that either.” You can practically feel his smirk from behind you. “How can you blame me though when there’s such a hot woman in front of me 24/7 because of this quarantine?” he smacks your ass and you let out a shocked noise, not having expected it.

You lightly swat his hands away, but he slouches on top of you, clinging to you and cooing into your ear.

“The one good thing about this quarantine, is that at least we can finally spend some time together. Even if I drive you up the walls sometimes.” He hums, his fingers starting to tease the waistband of your shorts. “I wish it was less of a complete break, and more of a less busy work schedule, but beggars can’t be choosers.” His hands have gone down your sleep shorts now and started teasing your folds, never quite going where you want them too. He starts kissing your neck, nipping at it and licking it over, humming with happiness. Even though the quarantine was a lot of stress for everyone, you were happy to see Keigo finally getting the rest he needed, the bags under his eyes had started to disappear and he had more life to him.

You whine as he continues his teasing, knowing he loves making and watching you squirm. You’ll let him for now, letting him have his fun because you know by the end of your night, you’ll be screaming his name in bliss.

“So, do you trust me enough to let me try some things, Y/N? I’m really thinking it’ll be fun and let us blow off some of the stress and boredom.”

“You already bought everything for it, didn’t you?” You’re palming his slowly hardening member behind your ass.

“If you said yes, I wouldn’t have wanted to wait at all, can you blame me? I think you’re going to look so fucking hot all tied up and completely in the dark about what’s going to happen to you next.” A groan slips out of you at his words, his fingers finally giving you some relief as they finally breached your wet folds.

“God, yes, I’m so excited to see what you have ready for me Keigo. You know I trust you more than anyone else, so bring it on.”

“You remember the safe word though?”

“Of course.”

“Good, then we can get started love-dove.” You groan at the pun but you don’t really have time to say anything as he whips you up into the air, laughing, carefree for once. He catches you, kissing you as you giggle at his playful energy, it’s been so long since you’d seen it from him.

You lose track of how long the two of you stand in the hallway, you in his arms and his hands on your ass. He bites at your lips, begging to be let inside in his own way, and you respond as you always do, opening your mouth for him and nipping back, making it interesting for him.

He slowly starts walking down the hall with you in his arms, still keeping his lips connected with yours as he kicks open the bedroom door. Pulling back he smirks a little and tosses you back on the bed, his eyes glinting with glee and barely contained lust.

“Clothes off babes, I want to see those pretty tits of yours.” You follow his instructions, practically sliding out of your clothes as if you’d somehow turned into liquid. His watchful eyes never move off of you body as he stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. He licks his lips and catches your eyes after that with a smirk as he quickly worms out of his own clothes. You notice that he’s already half hard, but seems to be completely ignoring it as he heads over towards the closet where he must have hidden his new toys.

You feel excitement running through your veins, as you hear shuffling of fabrics and the unzipping of a bag. Keigo was right, this would be a fucking terrific way to end the boredom that the quarantine had brought. Although you’d never admit that out loud of course, he didn’t have to know the extent of how much and how easily he affected you.

He comes back with a grin as big as the sun itself which is at odds with all the things you can see him carrying, and you feel your eyes widen. That seems to amuse him as he sets the goodies at the foot of the bed and crawls up towards you. His eyes are bright and they take your breath away, you truly understand how his gaze makes people feel as if they were being hunted, the way he’s looking at you now makes you lose your breath, makes you feel as if he’s about to devour your entire being.

He cages you in with his wings, but rather than fear, all you can feel is arousal as he surrounds you, breath heavy despite the lack of action from either of you.

“You have no idea, no fucking idea, how good you look like this.” His hands move to play with your pebbled nipples as he straddles you, leaning down to capture your mouth with his. You let out a small cry that’s easily swallowed by him as he pinches your nipple. You lightly punch him in the side.

“The fuck Keigo? That hurt,” you pout up at him as he snickers.

“I’m sorry its just, god everything was getting so serious babe, this is to blow off steam you know?”

“There are better ways to do that then pinching my tit you ass.” But at this point you’re grinning too, pecking him on the lips. “Are we going to get started yet Keigo? I want you inside me.” His mouth parts, eyes wide as you say that.

“Fuck, are you trying to make me rush through all of the special things I had planned for you babes? Patience Y/N, good things come to those who wait after all.”

“Yeah, yeah birdman. I want to see what you have already.”

“Yes ma’am.” He gives a little salute before backing off, going through the togs he’d bought just for you. “I’m going to start slow, ok? It can be shocking if you’re just getting started with this type of thing.” You nod your head in acceptance and he brings out a rather thick blind fold. He trails his fingers up your body, feather light touches that have you shuddering, as he brings his hands up to your face.

The fabric is cool on your face, and slightly heavier than you expected it to be, and it obscures all of your vision, even every bit of light that had been showering the room.

“It’s ok?”

“Yes, you worry-wart. Keep going please.”

“Good. God you look so fucking beautiful right now.” You can practically hear the expression he gets on his face when he thinks you can’t see him; all his features soften and are etched with love. Part of you wishes you could see it, but part of you is eagerly waiting for what he has next.

You hear the rustling of the sheets as he moves, feel the mattress dip as his weight crosses it, and without words he starts tying you up, first your wrists enveloped by a silky-smooth cloth, then they’re brought to your ankles. As he ties them you groan as you feel the cool air hitting your damp cunt, he hasn’t even really touched you yet and still you’re so aroused and ready for him to take you. Even though you know you’re likely going to have to wait a bit as he explores the new options that he has presented to him.

His lips make his way to yours as he sweetly kisses you. “You’re muttering again dove, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I’m just so fucking horny I want you inside me already.”

“Well I think I can help you a little bit with that in one minute, just one more thing for you ok? You’re being such a good girl for me.” You whimper a bit at that, with the position you’re tied in, you can’t put any friction onto your aching cunt and it feels like torture.

You feel a heavy set of what feels like headphones, though you can’t be certain without seeing them, cover your ears, the last thing you can hear is Keigo whispering he loves you until all the outside sound is blocked from you. All you can hear now is the thundering sound of blood in your ears and you shiver in anticipation, tied up and unmoving, unable to see or hear, waiting for your lover to fucking touch you already.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as Keigo starts slowly stroking your hipbones, his touch still light but you’re so taken by it because all you can do right now is feel. You whimper as a feather comes up to play with your breasts, the touch almost ticklish but in your aroused state, it only serves to make you more sensitive as you mewl out for him to touch you more.

He listens, as his fingers come to your sensitive areas and you moan loudly in relief as two of his fingers enter your heat up to the first knuckle, his lips starting to kiss and suckle bruises into your sensitive skin. You think you’re being really loud but you can’t tell, the moans and noises you’re making seem magnified because they’re all that you can hear. You feel Keigo muttering words onto your skin but you can’t tell what he’s saying, all you know is that he’s stopped moving his fingers and it’s driving you insane to have something in your heat but not providing any form of relief from his teasing.

“Keigo, please move!” you plead with him, desperately trying to move your bound body to provide some sense of friction, some sense of deeper penetration as you wail in frustration as he keeps himself deadly still.

Your breaths are heaving as your legs begin to shake with the strain of holding them up because of the bondage. As soon as you think he’s going to leave you there waiting for a long time, he suddenly thrusts deep into your cunt and you clench around him with a surprised shout. It doesn’t take long for him to build you up to that edge, your body so needy and responsive to his touch, as you praise him, tell him how good it feels. It’s so easy to get lost in the sensation of him pounding his fingers into you as he frantically starts rubbing your clit. You feel yourself clench around him, and he shifts the angle of his fingers a little bit to hit your sweet spot.

You swear you see lightning in the darkness of your blindfold, your back arching up sharply as you come undone around his fingers with a lewd moan. He keeps pushing in, helping you ride yourself through it, but doesn’t stop. The sensations feel so much more potent than usual, and you try to squirm away from the added stimulation but you can’t. You whimper as he once again brings a feather up to play with your tits as he adds a third and then fourth finger into you.

You can practically hear his teasing, “but baby, you asked me to touch you, you said you wanted me inside you. That’s all I’m doing babes.” Even in your head he’s smug and deliciously torturous and you cry out again as you feel the tips of his fingers crashing into that spot deep within you, over and over and over again. You’re tightening up once more, hanging onto the feeling of being finger fucked when its all you can focus on, all that you can actually feel happening.

You can feel yourself about to cum when suddenly you’re empty. “NO! Keigo you fucking bastard! I was so close!” You shout out to him, even though you know you won’t hear a response. You feel tears welling up in your eyes at the desperation you feel in your groin, you were so fucking close.

Seeing this must stir something in your boyfriend though, because soon enough you feel the weeping head of his cock at your entrance. You wiggle as much as you can, your body ready and waiting for him. With no warning, he sheaths himself inside you completely, and you blissfully feel full again, the curve of his cock pressing into you just right, the vein on the right side scraping your walls amazingly.

You can feel drool dripping down the side of your face as he pounds into you relentlessly, unable to form any completed thought much less coherent words. You can hear yourself mumbling and groaning out mixtures of praises and his name repeated like a chant. You feel his body shuddering against yours, the excitement and arousal you feel mirrored by him as he leans down and bites at your collarbones, marking you again and again as his, only his.

You feel yourself clench down on his cock, your release sneaking up on you as his rhythm starts to become more irregular.

His pace gets quicker, your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he frantically pounds into you with almost manic energy. You can feel him shuddering and you know he’s approaching his own end. You clench down on his dick, squeezing him to get him to release inside of you and he comes down with a final bite on the inside of your shoulder. You feel the warm liquid fill you inside, and it feels amazing, and good god how much of it there is. He must have been loving every second of teasing you and every second of pleasing your body.

He pulls out slowly, kissing softly at the bite that you can feel pulsing and oozing a bit of blood. It feels so much emptier than it usually does, and you can’t help but whimper, you wouldn’t mind him just staying sheathed within you. You feel him murmuring against your skin, and you can feel the love from him in the care he takes with your shaking body, slowly bringing you back from your high and bringing you back into a world where you have all your senses back.

He starts by cleaning up the mess between your thighs, the touch of the towel rough but relieving to you, the cum already cooling down and starting to stick uncomfortably on your skin. After that’s complete, he begins to untie the nots, with a gentleness so at odds from how hard he’d been pounding into you beforehand. He strokes your skin as he undoes the bondage, kissing your skin and making sure that he hadn’t cut off any blood flow, that you were perfectly safe.

God how you much you loved him.

After he was finished with that, he brings you into his arms, having you sit on his lap as he strokes your back. You squeeze his torso and stay pliant in his arms, feeling absolutely pampered and safe. There’s no better feeling than that, you think. He was right though, you do feel completely relaxed, some of the stress leaving your body.

He lifts off one side of the noise cancelling muffs, and everything sounds so much louder, despite not having your hearing taken for very long.

“You alright dove? You didn’t use the safe word, but you seemed pretty far gone for a moment.”

You hum. “It felt amazing Keigo, but good lord, you’re such a tease you know that?”

He chuckles softly at that. “I’m sorry but you look and feel so good when you’re all flustered and riled up. I love it.” All his motions are slow now, relaxed as he slowly gives you back all the senses you’d been missing; the other side of the muff coming off when he thinks you’ve had ample time to recover.

When your blindfold comes off, you see his wrecked hair and red cheeks and you’re so grateful for the time you’ve gotten to spend with him during these trying times.

You softly kiss him. “Bath time?”

“Of course, Y/N. Let’s get us both cleaned up then love.” The two of you get up, holding hands, and you don’t let go even in the large bathtub until you actually have to, to get cleaned up.

For the first time in a while, the two of you are both spent, relaxed and completely happy, and if there’s any better feeling in the world; you’d probably never find it.

#bnha x reader #hawks x reader #smut #jays writes #discord collab

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amidstsaltandsmoke · 3 years

Note

for the prompt, #2 or #6 plz!!

I’m sorry this took me so long (my usual as of late)! Not sure if this is really any good; I’ve been slowly chipping away at it so I hope you find it decent. I went with “don’t act innocent when we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago.” It’s also a continuation of this prompt because it just seemed like a natural continuation. I also included another anon’s prompt request for “I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips”. Hope you all like it! _______________

She was dead. Flung into the abyss, or a black hole, probably never to see the light of day again.

At least, that’s how she felt, a panting mess lying on her back on Jon’s kitchen countertop, her skin layered in a delightful cold sweat. Heart still racing to disperse blood back into her limbs and to her head. Being feasted on almost first thing in the morning, all whilst trying to be an active participant and listener during her work’s very important virtual meeting, and then for him to take his sweet time having her straight afterwards? And all before seven in the morning? It was, ah, an experience to be sure. One she needed a few moments of him not touching her so that she might teach herself how to be functional again. Which was a conundrum because she wanted him always touching her.

But, he did give her a bit of respite, kissing her knee where her feet had been propped more comfortably atop the back of the chair, and went off in search of some proper clothes for her. The only thing that shook her from her delirious state was when he returned and was sliding some panties down her legs. That, and she was also a little slow to realize her back was cushioned by something soft, no longer the hard surface she was on a second prior.

“Don’t worry, they’re fresh out of the wash,” he murmured, lifting her bum so he could fit them over her.

She peeled her eyes open, and then a waft of food hit her nose, puzzling her. Fresh out of the wash? Food?

“Did I…?”

“Pass out? Aye,” he chuckled softly, taking up a seat at her side and sweeping away from wild hairs and kissing her forehead. “It’s been an hour. Someone was tired. Don’t know what from though.”

Grinning madly with a roll of her eyes, Dany captured her lip between her teeth and flicked his arm, noting that he must have redressed her in one of his t-shirts until hers had finished drying. “Don’t act innocent when we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago.”

Scoffing, he adopted a good-natured put-on pout. “That was hardly two minutes ago. And I can assure you it didn’t last only two minutes.”

Dany sat up and pushed him against the back of the couch, tossing her leg over his lap with some authority. He looked nothing but bemused. “Someone is feeling a little cocky this morning,” she arched a brow, holding herself up with her hands braced on his shoulders.

He gripped her hips and gave them a squeeze. “Literally. You always say you like a good pun!” He defended when she gave him a certain look.

She felt something very obviously solid developing beneath her, rising onto her knees and peering down at the bulge in his sweatpants. Peeking up at him from beneath her eyelashes, she gave him the most devilish smirk she could pull before yanking down on the material until his half hard cock sprung free. He threw his hands over himself, biting back a grin under her scrutiny.

Dany giggled, winding her arms loosely around his neck and scooting closer so that her face was a hair’s breadth from his. “Why are you hiding your beautiful cock from me, Jon Snow?”

“Haven’t you had enough of me yet?” He frowned, which in turn made her frown harder.

“As if I didn’t want to make a career out of fucking you all day every day?” She asked, and for a moment she didn’t understand what he found so funny, to the point of tears.

“You mean you want to be my escort?” He wheezed.

With a bratty roll of her eyes, she spluttered and sat up, but Jon tugged her back to him and fisted her panties, tearing them with one deft rip. Dany gasped. “Those were my only-”

He surged forward and ate up her complaint with his mouth, forcing a yelp from his sudden attentiveness. With a slight shifting, he leaned back against the couch without breaking from her while his hands roved beneath her shirt to explore her back. “Guess you’ll have to go the rest of the day without any.”

In retaliation she bit down on his plump lip, which only split his face into a grin. She soothed it with her tongue. "Then you're going to have to reap the consequences.”

“Which are?” But he was already making himself comfortable along the couch, hands fixed to her hips to pivot with him.

Dany flung the scrap of material formerly known as her panties onto the floor, shoving Jon’s sweats down to mid-thigh and sliding her hands up his torso, folding his shirt up with them. She pulled a face, making a show of some really hard thinking, to which all he had to do was pinch her sides to get it out of her. She yiped and buckled, falling against Jon in a heap of uncontrollable giggles. Ghost materialized out of nowhere, looking downright ready to wage war against her offender.

Jon pffft’d and shot him a sneer. “Bloody traitor.”

The beast lost interest right after they reassured him with boundless affection and pets. Jon took advantage of their absent audience to smooth his hands over her bare arse. “You were saying?”

Lifting onto her forearms atop his chest, she peered down at him, his pupils spilling into his irises like ink. “If I’m to be half naked the rest of the day, I’m not staying away from you. You’re going to regret it.”

Jon hummed in mock disinterest. “I don’t know, Dany. You might have to show me,” he purred.

To do just that, she ground her cunt over the length of his cock, making him hiss between his teeth. "Seven hells," he grunted, a deep wrinkling formed between his brows.

"You asked," Dany mused, biting her own tongue as she slowly, patiently coated him in her juices. To dizzy him up further she ducked her head and licked his nipple, reveling in his strangled groan. Up close, she discovered a light scattering of brown dots on his pale skin. She used them as a makeshift guide to draw her lips over. “I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips,” she murmured against him, adoring his full-body quiver against her warm puffs of breath over his skin.

“You’d better get up here before I lose my mind,” he bit out the closer she inched toward his cock, purposely avoiding it in favor of paying his muscled inner thighs all of her attention, lightly skimming her thumbs over the junction of his thighs. Before anything else, she helped him remove his pants the rest of the way, and he made quick work of his shirt and she hers.

Bracketing his hips with her arms, she shot him a particularly saucy look as he stuffed a pillow behind his head. “Maybe I want you to lose your mind.”

Before he could think up a witty reply, she ducked her head and licked him from base to tip, his restraint barely contained as his pelvis jerked just a fraction. He blew out a breath, hands lowering to grip her by the arms and slid her forward until she was blanketed over him completely. With a soft kiss, he deflected her pout. “I appreciate it, love, but…”

To finish his unsaid wish, he eased her back until she was seated atop his flushed and hot length. Since he was so generous to her that morning, she didn’t mind giving him his preference; there was still plenty of time in the day for other things, and it appeared that they really were going to make a day out of it before they were back to the grind the next morning.

She knelt her hands against his chest and bent herself at an angle, and with his assistance, she slid back until she was completely full, their breaths mingling while she adjusted for a few seconds. She took him slowly for a while; they had nowhere to be, nothing to do save for take Ghost out for a good walk at some point in their lazy day. Every salivating downstroke gave way to the slightest burn that seared her very skin, and she was lost in studying the way that Jon’s composure crumbled, how his jaw worked whenever she would give an experimental roll of her hips and his breath would catch every single time. Soon her movements became a little more shallow, and his thumb found her clit while the other latched to her thigh, the soft pads and blunt nails digging into her slightly numbed skin.

A pleading whimper escaped her, his gesture matching her rhythm, unable to keep her head up any longer as it dropped and her eyes squeezed shut. To chase the ever rising build deep and low in her belly, fed by Jon’s echoing moans and grunts and struggles to hold any breaths for long, she ground herself against him, which provoked him to sudden remove his hand and take a hold of her at the hips to give her more friction and jerk up into her.

“Oh, gods…,” she whispered hotly, her body warning her of its impending release as she pressed her forehead to his and let it wash over her entirely; whether it was him already having ramped up her body first thing that morning, or if she was simply unable to get enough of him, it took her like a violent tidal wave, pulsing outward to the tips of her fingers and toes and even the roots of her hair. Until she was a breathless mess barely holding herself up over him, but his telltale erratic thrusts ensured that he was on that brink, too.

Jon’s head rolled back and his tendons flexed in his neck as he made a few staccato pumps and then buried himself to the hilt, his laments pouring through grit teeth. Once he was coming down, she let herself melt over him, nuzzling her face into his now-relaxed neck while his strong arms curled around her tightly.

#jonerys drabble #sorry if that seemed to have ended so abruptly #my brain is fried and i feel a bit low so i couldn't think of anything else to add lol

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greenninjagal-blog · 3 years

Text

Trouble

Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out.

Word Count: 7900

Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.

Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.

Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.

Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.

The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.

All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.

“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”

Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.

He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”

“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.

Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”

“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”

“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.

Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.

“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.

The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.

“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”

“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”

Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.

“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.

“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”

“ Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .

They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.

Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.

Patton gets a five.

“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.

Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.

It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.

Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.

He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.

But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.

Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.

Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.

“Virgil?”

Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.

“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.

“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”

“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.

Oh. It was one of those days.

Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--

And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.

It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .

“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”

Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.

He cannot replace his best friend.

Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.

The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.

“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”

Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.

“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.

Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.

“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”

Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .

“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”

The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.

The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.

The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.

Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.

Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.

“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”

Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.

“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.

Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.

And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.

Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.

He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.

Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.

Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.

“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”

“Could what?”

Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.

Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.

“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”

Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”

“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”

“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”

Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”

Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”

“You don’t even remember, do you.”

“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”

“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.

“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”

“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”

Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.

“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”

Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.

“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”

Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.

“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”

Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.

“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”

“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”

Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”

Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.

Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.

Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.

I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.

“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.

Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.

Together. Us. We’ve got this.

“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.

He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.

He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.

That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.

Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.

***

Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.

The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.

He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.

He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”

Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.

Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.

Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.

She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.

After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.

He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.

He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.

“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.

“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.

Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.

Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.

Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.

Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.

“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”

Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--

And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.

“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.

Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”

“You like Disney, though.”

“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.

Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.

Together. We got this.

“Your mom?” He asks.

Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.

“But… Logan…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”

Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.

Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”

“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.

“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.

“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”

Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.

Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”

Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”

“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.

They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”

“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”

Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.

Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.

Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.

“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.

“I won’t win.”

“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”

Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”

Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.

“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”

Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.

“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”

Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight

He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.

“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”

So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.

It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.

And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?

“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.

Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”

“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”

Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”

“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”

“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””

“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”

It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.

“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”

“Language.”

“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”

Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.

So full of hope.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.

He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”

And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.

“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.

“Pat?” Virgil says.

“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.

And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.

But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.

#sanders sides #board gaming #platonic moxiety #Analogical #Logan is the hottest side confirmed #Because everyone wants to date him #(Except Pat)#Me the author: what the fuck is hurt comfort #tw: cancer #I just like board games okay #maybe a little too much #I kNew YoU WeRe TrOuBlE WhEn YoU wAlKeD IN #virgil is a disaster gay #Patton really awesome #Hugs? Hugs.

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famouskittychild · 3 years

Text

Cheeky Mandos - ...and we're off

(Sorry I had a terrible writer’s block in the past 6-ish weeks - I went from reading fanfiction and being inspired by other’s visions to “I’ll never be able to write anything like these and I’m useless” in a single day :( I’m getting back into the groove finally, so I’m hoping to post more soon.)

There will be 18+ content (in the coming chapters soon) so if you are a minor, please don't read further.

Also the characters will be quite open and relaxed about things like gender, attraction, sexual activities, relationships etc, so if you prefer your Din (and their partner) possessive and/or monogamous , this won’t be a good read for you!

***

This pairing is Din Djarin x gn reader / tall reader. I’m short (and cis and woman). There’s so many short (and female) reader stuff out there, I wanted to write for people on the other end of the “why is your height not normal” / "definitely female" spectrum. If I make mistakes or you have advice, or ideas you'd like to see, please tell me!

Word count: 4267

Summary: You’re an armourer and some shiny guy just showed up.

First full piece/chapter/course! In which people seem to catch things. Thoughts? Viruses? Dropped facts? Who knows!?? Also contains a dilettante’s attempt at space electronics and some barely-canon-reminiscent Mando world-building. Still no spiciness sorry, marinating is a long process :P

Rating: T for some mentions of heavier topics.

CW: Mentions of mandalorian history, playing somewhat loose with canon lore (as in, my SW knowledge is patchy. sorry.)

Author’s note: I tried to find more info but it seems like the mandalorian alphabet doesn’t have names for the individual letters so I used aurebesh (also I liked the little Dorn(e) meta in there). And sorry for the bad puns. They’ll keep coming.

Prologue

One - ...and we're off

***

You aren’t worried about taking a stranger on board, you’ve done that plenty of times before. You hope he’s willing to put in the effort himself, too, just as he promised at the assembly.

The stranger leaves behind his ship, saying a friend will come to pick it up together with whoever might want to join the cause. You spot him from the cockpit as he walks over with a repulsor pallet in tow. He stops for a moment when your droids surge past him, busy at their pre-flight tasks, before moving on towards the ramp.

All his baggage is a satchel at his hip and a small bag on his shoulder, and two large crates of weaponry. You put him up in the spare cabin, the one that had been Sal’ee’s, your former apprentice, before she went on to be a journeyman. He stands in the middle of the room, staring at the two cots on opposite sides of the room, the lockers, the fresher in the corner.

“All mine? Where will you sleep?”

You don’t understand the surprise in his voice.

“Over there” you show him, pointing at the cabin opposite from his. It’s much more lived in, some of the blankets and trinkets and pillows visible through it’s open door. “There’s a third cabin that I mostly use for storage but has more fold-up bunks in case I need to transport more people. That’s rare though.”

“Ohh.” He nods, then turns to look around his room again. “Okay. I thought all of these rooms were cargo space.”

You smile, and quickly think through your to-do list. You’ll have to rearrange your schedule somewhat but it’s not that big of a bother.

“Come on, I’ll show you around the ship.” Before he gets lost in its cavernous interiors, you might add - but you don’t. If his reaction to a separate cabin and his current ship - an old ARC170 - is any indication, he must be used to very cramped quarters.

***

Your trusty Brick, a beat-up YV 929, is armed to the teeth and ugly, just as you like it. The ship is a scavenged one, gutted from most of its original factory issue armaments, engines, and even wiring. It was perfect for your former master when she found it at a scrap heap: she wanted to rebuild it herself, deliberately piecemeal; panels sourced form here, engines from there, concealments added. She modified the inner workings of the engines so that the power lines could be redirected to a concealed forge.

That forge is your pride and the main reason you haven’t settled at a permanent place yourself. When your master retired from travelling, the ship passed to you, and you continued her mission of offering your knowledge and expertise to those of your people who otherwise had no access to an armourer.

…

The next standard month is spent with adjusting, both for yourself after getting used travelling alone again since Sal’ee left, and for the stranger who found himself a passenger on someone else’s ship. Apparently he used to live a very similar life to yours, with the exception that he was a hunter not a craftsman.

You travel together, share meals, research the places you are directed to. He joins in the effort that is maintaining the ship. Still - he is very taciturn at the beginning, keeping his words to the bare minimum. The first few days it feels as if you are still on your own aside of your droids. By the middle of the month, he progresses from short answers, through sharing information, to willingly starting to tell stories; but you know that chatting will never be his defining feature.

His armour seems to fill the spaces of the Brick’s corridors. You feel as if it’s not him who has the presence, but that set of glinting, perfectly made handwork of an armourer you already admire. Some of the pieces were sourced elsewhere, you can tell by the different shapes and designs; they seem haphazard and mismatched compared to the rest. Most of the set is the work of a single person. On those, there’s not a single uneven line, a broken curve, an edge at the wrong place. The angle of the panes of the metal, the ridges, the simplicity and elegance of them all - you have to hold yourself back from touching them, to admire them. You would give a lot to hold those pieces in your hand, to study them, to analyse them with your eyes and hands and with your tools.

You’re a master, yes. But so much knowledge was lost. So many masters gone, with their knowledge and their workshops. Apprentices became heads of Forges in the absence of the more skilled. The survivors still to this day have to piece together half-remembered lessons and forgotten details, experiment with techniques that were known before but the methods got lost as decades of civil war and occupation and murder kept eroding your heritage.

Sometimes a set of armour comes along that is just made in a way you never had an opportunity to learn. Often the person who forged them is long gone. Not the stranger’s armourer though. As far you can tell, she’s alive. Or at least was, when he last saw her. Not too long ago; though your usual method for guessing forging dates is mostly useless as it is based on the condition of the suit’s paintwork. Which he doesn’t have, so you can only guess from the small amount of scratches. You try to ask once, but whilst he’s forthcoming with general stories, he doesn’t go into details.

It’s a common theme with him. He talks about people and planets and events, and leaves out a lot - and you don’t even notice it first. Only when you try to glean information about his armour do you realize how well he fuzzes over those facts and nuances. It’s only up to the peculiarities of Basic and its use of gendered pronouns that you know his Armourer is a woman, or at least he considers them so. He doesn’t even tells you his own name, and when you ask your Elder in one of your communications, she tells you he didn’t gave it to them either. You keep introducing him as a friend, and that is the end of it for a while.

***

The visits to this first few coverts with him are… interesting. You can see him fidgeting from the corner of your eye. He always follows half a step behind and off to a side, as if not wanting to be in your way. He keeps quiet and doesn’t mix much, and around small children and droids, he is positively withdrawn. He only comes alive when he talks about his mission.

You had learned early on during your apprenticeship that keeping the helmet on is a safe bet when meeting with unfamiliar mandalorians. That led to later getting in contact with his type of believers too, despite their notorious secrecy even from the rest of the People. When you tell the stranger about that, he immediately showers you with questions, but you can’t give an answer to most of them. You never met with anyone from his particular covert, or heard of it. No name, no description seems familiar. It’s painful to watch his shoulders slump after daring to hope.

During the course of the month spent travelling, he gradually comes to be more social. He starts to stand and walk beside you. He doesn’t withdraw to the background anymore; he can actually be quite chatty if approached the right way. Droids still make him stop, though he warms up to kids in his own way. He’s good with them, at least in your opinion, though you know some would still call him aloof and distant. He isn’t a cuddler, nor does he crouch down to ask cutesy questions. He juts sits nearby them, and in that way of children having a good sense about adults, they know he’s trustworthy. They go up to him to chatter, to hand him a toy to hold, to ask him to fix a latch on their boots; than they go back to play.

He teaches you too, inadvertently at first during everyday conversations and later by his own volition, about his Way. About his Creed. It keeps throwing you off how much it differs from most that you had met before. Not even meeting briefly with people who followed the same Way as him could prepare you for the details that he does share. The degree of strictness, the loyalty, the barest bones Old Tradition beliefs and their willingness to follow them is very rare amongst the People as far as you can tell. Their devotion earns your respect.

At other times, your jaw hangs open and you can’t believe you are talking to an adult roughly around the same age as yourself, who by his own admission had spent three decades living as a follower of the Creed - not knowing about things children are thought through plays and songtime. His ignorance is so staggering, your admiration towards his unknown Armourer wavers. How could she keep so many things hidden from them? Why not talk about your own history? Your greats? Your artefacts?

About the many other who would call them vod’e, siblings?

You are an armourer, a craftsman, a person who makes a living by making things with your hand. You’re not a leader, or a scholar, or someone who decides what to tell your people. You do have a status within the community, but that is a status of service. From what the stranger says, their Armourer was a leader in every aspect: elder and lorekeeper and moral guide and more. All in one. It is something you can see developing from the old songs and histories amongst groups who take tradition more literally.

You are good at observing people, even at copying their habits to make them feel more comfortable with you, but less good at determining their underlying motives. The reason you think of him as “the stranger” even after travelling with him is because it’s so hard to figure out what drives him. There’s a melancholy to him that overrides the more typical mandalorian fight-readiness or aggression. You see how he gazes off to the distance sometimes, turning his head to the side and freezing. How he keeps to himself when he can. But you can’t tell why. Grief? Regrets? Determination to change? Planning something greater and being preoccupied with that?

He doesn’t pick fights to test you. He spars with you when you invite him to, he helps when you ask, and often even without it. He’s polite and considerate; he keeps conversation to practicalities and interesting stories, and doesn’t bother you with anecdotes or insistent questions about trivialities or your private life. He even does the dishes.

He’s deadly boring in his reliableness.

You are used to being on your toes around people all the time. When you meet a new group, it’s all unknown people. With ones you had already visited, the problem is having to remember them. They remember you of course, the ‘wandering armourer’; and surely you remember them too.

What is worse, when people stay the same but you don’t remember them, or when they change and you just can’t place them?

He becomes a good excuse after you’ve been to several coverts together. It’s interesting to notice how your dynamics change even further once you two get into a comfortable routine. You start to retreat to your forge and tools, and let him take all the attention. And he doesn’t just talk about his mission anymore, or lets little ones play around him whilst he’s quiet. He converses with people about news, about their children, about weaponry. You have more time to focus on your work.

Sometimes, people ask you what do you think of his mission. You tell them that you will follow what your clan decides, and that’s mostly true. It is something people don’t often debate, at least.

He quickly becomes a part of your everyday life. You are content with your usually solitary travels. You know that your family, your clan and your friends wait for you at home. They message you and you can find the time that suits you to message back. You don’t miss the constant hubbub of the covert most of the time. But now that you have someone that is not a droid, someone who is your equal in every aspect, on board again, it’s not even lonely anymore.

***

“So what’s up with you and droids?” you ask one day, after you got back from a covert and are safely in hyperspace to the next destination. You tinker with your astromech’s navigational systems. Poor 2-T keeps bumping into walls and crates. Again.

The stranger looks at you and your droid, than over at Mouse who for a change isn’t zooming around at foot level.

“Bad memories.”

“Gunk sat on you?” You tease. You hope it’s just something silly and not him having some sort of snobbish organics-are-better philosophy. He is quiet, and you focus on your work. He’ll talk if he wants to, that much you know already about him.

Inside the body of your astromech, a rivet from stars knows where is stuck between two circuit boards and blocks the access to a short-circuited piece of wire.

“Kriff. Toots, this will take a while, sweetie. Can’t access that kriffing panel.” He chirps back something and you read the translation on the small display. “No, it’s not that. My hand can’t fit in that small space. Let me find those pliers… should be in that other drawer somewhere.”

You search in the chest of tools, and despite your usually good organization, you can’t find them amongst the droids’ tools where their place is.

“Let me help.” The stranger’s voice beside you makes you jump. He can be awfully quiet. “Sorry. I think I might’ve put them back into the wrong drawer. I used them the other day when I fine-tuned that scope.”

He points at another drawer, where you keep your fine electronics stuff. No wonder he mixed them up. He stands beside Tootee a bit awkwardly until you find the tool.

“Here! No problem by the way. “ You turn back to him and to the droid, than have an idea. “Do you mind a bit more help? You can say no if you don’t want to work with the droid, I’ll understand.”

He doesn’t object yet, so you go back to 2-T and show the stranger the area you’re working on. You see him lean closer in your peripheral vision.

“That’s where I need to get that burned piece of wire out and install a new one, but first, I need to get that rivet out of the way.” You point at the root of the problem, than explain your plan, pointing out each part in turn. ”If you could hold those using this, than I could get here, remove this, with that tool, than have to get those bundles out of the way too, so than that wire there could come out. Easy.”

You look up at him, and his helmet is way closer than you expected. You can almost see your reflection in that black visor as it stares back at you for a second, and you almost apologize again, when the stranger starts to speak.

“Just have to hold the wires to the casing, or pull them like…” he moves his hand in the air, showing what he means.

“Hold them to that panel, there, with the pliers, so I have room to access the rest.”

He thinks for a moment, than he starts to tug one of his gloves off.

“You don’t need to take that off, just hold the pliers” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“No, I can fit my hand in there, I’m pretty sure. If not we can try it with the tool.”

You realize that this is the first time you see his skin. Than it occurs to you that he might very well misunderstand this whole situation. You just asked him to hang his hand inches from yours in an enclosed space; inside a droid nonetheless, just after you basically told him you noticed he has a problem with them. It would be so easy to get caught up in there, to touch his hand, and hush it up as coincidence. Especially now that he took his glove off as well. He might even think that it was a careful plan of yours: have an area to work with were your slightly larger hands don’t fit but his might.

Your fingertips already tingle from knowing you can’t make mistakes. Which means you’ll probably do. He reaches between the panels and gets to the part where you got stuck. He wiggles his fingers a bit and scrapes around.

“Ha, found some wires. Are these the ones you need out of the way?”

You peer down into the quagmire of electronics, trying to find the best angle to see everything.

“Yes, those are the ones. Just hold them like that.” You try to focus on what you are doing, but after those earlier thoughts, your hands are jittery. You somehow manage to remove the obstructing rivet, than find the burned out part and replace it without accident, the stranger patiently holding things out of your way. You direct him here and there, occasionally stumbling as it’s a lot of instructions, or at least a lot of “could you please” and “thank you”. It gets particularly awkward when you stumble over the lack of name spectacularly.

“Could you pull those the other way, so they aren't that taut, please? Thank you, you. I mean thank you.”

“Din. Din Djarin.” Your head snaps up while the rest of your body freezes. “I should have told you my name sooner, but I’m so used to not telling it… and it just became more awkward to bring it up as time passed. I apologize.”

You close your mouth that of course was hanging open in surprise, than shake your head.

“I thought at first that I missed it when you said it so I was ashamed that I didn’t remember.” That did happen before, and it was one of your greatest worries about meeting new people. “I actually asked my elder. Sent her a comm. So when she told me you went nameless, I didn’t wanted to demand it.”

He doesn't answer right away. His voice is softer when he speaks a bit later.

“Thank you. For being considerate.”

You smile and try to wave it off. Which results in your hand slipping and pawing at his, still motionless and stuck in the inside of the astromech.

“Oh shucks, I’m sorry… didn’t meant to.” You withdraw your hand quickly, and start to look for your tools to cover your mistake.

He doesn’t seem bothered, luckily. You calm down, reminding yourself not to behave like you drank one too many glasses of your cousin Ree’s home-made tihaar, and finish the repair.

“You can let those go now, I’ll finish from here. Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome, any time.”

He sits back on a nearby crate and watches you work for a while, ignoring Mouse zooming around the room. You’re surprised a bit: you didn't expected him to stick around. And than he starts to ask about 2-T. How long you had him, is he temperamental, can you install a vocoder on astromechs, and why not. His tone is somewhat cautious, his voice stiff, like someone asking about a dangerous predator. You remember how you asked him about his distance with droids, but don’t want to push that question. He already told you his name today.

…

By the time you finish with the rest of the repairs, clean Tootee up and tidy around your workplace, interrupted by having to leave hyperspace and land at a spaceport, it’s the middle of the night in local time. You planned to have a nap and search out the local covert just before dawn.

You go to the galley to have a bite before turning in, and the stranger - Din, you remember, although his last name is less clear - is cleaning up some dishes. There’s another bowl in the middle of the small table, covered by a plate.

“That’s for you, if you’d like to have it. Used up the last of that spice mix we got” he tells you as you enter. You sit down and stretch your legs out one side. As you take the plate off from the steaming bowl, you think about how nice it is to find warm food on the table and not having to cook your own all the time.

“Thank you.” You pull the bowl close and take the spoon that he put beside it. You swirl the soup - it looks very good: clear broth with lots of veggies and other fillers in it - and gather your thoughts. “So ummm… I want to ask something before it gets awkward again.“

He finishes piling the bowls and cups and sits down on the seat opposite. You blurt the question out before you might change your mind.

“What was your name again? Din, that was clear, but the rest… sorry but it sounded something like “jarring”?”

He chuckles, and it’s a clear sound even with a vocoder, no snort or sigh to distort it.

“It’s Djarin. Dorn-jenth-aurek-resh-isk-nern. Djarin.” You nod, a bit embarrassed, and he continues. “Don’t worry, you aren't the first to ask. Probably not the last either.”

“Thanks for being patient. I’m not the best with names, to be honest.”

He tilts his head.

“Is that why you are always so focused when someone introduces themselves? I can ask them to repeat their names for me too if you want to, than both of us can try to remember them.”

You blink at him.

“That’d be…” Unnecessary, and don’t bother, and it’s not your job, you think - but stop yourself. That would actually help. No shame in accepting it. ”That would be nice. Thanks.” You are good at a few things, like making things with your own two hands. Not gaping when something surprises you, or remembering faces or names, any names, not just people? Nah.

You tuck into your soup, and the two of you sit in companionable silence. You wander if Djarin sits there because he wants to, or if he’s waiting for more questions from you. You asked a lot from him during the last few hours, and he was really kind with all his help and telling you his name and not being bothered when you misremembered it.

You are halfway done with your meal when he stirs. He leans forward with his lower arms on the table, and takes a deep breath. You wonder what his question will be - you commit to answer whatever it might be. He deserves that after today.

“So you asked earlier about me and… droids, right?”

Your hand with the spoon stops in the air. You weren’t expecting this question, at all.

“Yes…” You want to say he didn’t have to answer. But you already told him that. You’re sure he remembers that too - since he brought the topic up again. “Yes, I did.”

He shuffles on his seat a bit, and looks out to the side like he sometimes does. You lower your spoon and eat, letting him gather his thoughts.

“When I was a kid… I don’t know how old you were then, but during the war. The Clone wars.” You nod, understanding what he’s getting at, and he continues. “We were… the place I lived came under attack. Some separatist battle droids. Mandalorians saved me.”

You swallow your soup. That was the shortest possible description of someone having their entire life and probably everyone they knew ripped away from them and finding a new way of life for the decades to come.

“I’m sorry” you say, because really, what else is there to say. He nods, and gazes off again. Than he shrugs his shoulders, as if he wants to shake the weight of the past from them.

He gets up, and walks around the table on his way out. He stops beside you for a moment and hesitates, and you almost turn towards him to ask what he needs when you feel him squeeze your shoulder. Than he straightens and steps away.

It’s warm where he squeezed it, and you remember how long ago it was that someone touched you.

You need to talk to your friends asap, and hug at least some of them. He turns back from the door.

“Get some sleep before dawn, all right? Have to be sharp to remember all those new names.” You don’t see him wink but you’d bet he does behind his visor. You scrunch your nose at him and pout before smiling, and he dips out of the galley.

Your hand is still hovering in the air, holding the spoon, while you listen to his footsteps getting more distant as he walks down the corridor to his cabin.

It’s just your luck that you don’t need your wits the next place. It’s only two people with the same, simple name and you met both of them before.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x tall reader #din djarin x gn!reader #post season 2 #mandalorian oc #armourer oc #cheeky mandos #my writing

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arrestjellyfish · 4 years

Note

Uhhh....17 (whispers) with Platonic Moxiety? If that's Oki?

From this October prompt list! I am still taking requests!

oOo

Title: Tender Loving Scare

Summary: Best friends Virgil and Patton want to scare their university housemates the night before Halloween. The closet isn’t as big as it looks.

Word count: 2.4k

Content warnings: Swearing, claustrophobia, panic attack.

Also on AO3!

oOo

‘Ow, ow, ow!’ Virgil whispered as his foot was suddenly crushed.

‘Whoops, sorry!’

‘Can’t you move over a bit?’

‘I’m trying, kiddo.’

The weight was lifted from Virgil’s foot only to immediately drop back to his toes. Virgil sucked in a pained breath and stumbled back with his free leg. Something large, clunky, and very painful met his knee. The vacuum, probably.

‘Pat, you’re stepping on me,’ he hissed. With a light shove on his friend’s arm - at least it felt like his arm - his toes were finally released. He wiggled them in his sock, wincing at how they ached.

Then there was the sound of rustling fabric and metallic screeches that made Virgil want to cover his ears. If only there was room to raise his arms above his torso.

Patton’s huffy chuckles made the swell of frustration in Virgil’s chest dissipate. ‘The closet sure looked bigger from the outside, huh? It’s like a reverse TARDIS!’ Then Patton clearly stumbled again, going by his small gasp and more screeches, presumably from the hangers on the coat rail. ‘And I’m sure getting TARD-of-IS,’ he mumbled after the noises had settled.

As usual, Virgil couldn’t contain a snort at Patton’s pun. He took the opportunity of Patton leaning further back to lean down a little and wrestle something from where it had wrapped around his ankle. A hose? A cable? It was hard to tell in the darkness. The pitch-black darkness. Virgil gritted his teeth as he breathed out slowly.

It was only a dumb closet, it was fine. There wasn’t anything sinister in here. There was a vacuum that should have been replaced weeks ago, some of Logan’s old Bachelor’s Degree textbooks, Roman’s lacrosse gear and painting easel, Patton’s French horn, Virgil’s SFX makeup box (he should really get that out ready for tomorrow night). No murderers, no monsters, no demons. The only things in here with ill intention were the two university students wanting to jumpscare their housemates.

‘Maybe we should’ve taken some of this shit out first,’ Virgil grumbled under his breath. He was more than a little incensed at the cable that snaked around his foot and the darkness that swallowed him whole and the walls that wouldn’t let him stretch or move or breathe.

‘I dunno, these coats are a pretty nice cushioning for me,’ Patton’s voice mused. In quick succession, there was more shuffling, a strained creak, a metallic clatter, and a muffled thud. Virgil’s feet were immediately swallowed by a mound of heavy fabric, all the way up to his knees.

‘Did you just break the coat rail?’

Patton replied from the floor, wheezing, ‘I think it broke me.’

Finding Patton’s hands and hauling him up to his feet was no easy task, not least because of the other boy’s weight and the complete lack of visual aids, but Virgil managed. On account of the floor now being covered in jackets and scarves and a large metal pole, their space was even further limited. It forced them closer together, Virgil’s cheek being pressed up against Patton’s shoulder and Patton’s arm and leg needing to wrap around him slightly to keep balance.

And that was okay, really. A year ago, this closeness to another person would no doubt have sent Virgil into a downward spiral of overthinking and hyperventilating. Though since moving into this accommodation several months ago, he had come a long way in being comfortable with being close to his friends.

Even the idea of being friends with his new housemates would have baffled Virgil all those months ago. But he had soon found Logan’s monologues and structured routines and soothing words to be comforting and grounding. He had soon found Roman’s improvised singing and witty nicknames and melodrama to be amusing and endearing. Though it was Patton who had been the first one Virgil had felt truly comfortable around, the first one Virgil had allowed to see the real him. The first one in Virgil’s whole life who he could call a friend.

It was an unlikely pairing, he was sure everyone knew. Virgil had been so moody and so quiet and so, so emotionally closed off. Whereas Patton was so bubbly and so loud and so, so emotionally open. He couldn’t change who he truly was - and he was learning not to want to anyway - but Virgil had learned a great deal from Patton over the past few months. Namely, he finally felt comfortable expressing his emotions (his real ones: fear and giddiness and confusion). He finally felt comfortable asking for help when he was stuck. And, though he still struggled to outright ask for it, he finally felt comfortable accepting Patton’s physical affection.

When Patton had first started bestowing friendly touches upon him, Virgil had always tensed. Not in discomfort, but in shock, perhaps, that Patton would willingly be close to Virgil, so close that they shared physical contact. It became easier to accept it over time, and with that came the urge (as yet unspoken) for more friendly touches. Each time that Patton squeezed Virgil’s wrist during stressful visits from the landlord meant that Virgil wished Patton would wrap an arm around him when they chuckled at Roman rehearsing for his comedy skits. Each time that Patton absentmindedly stroked Virgil’s hair during their Disney movie marathons meant that Virgil craved for Patton’s warm embrace and thumping heartbeat against his cheek as Virgil struggled to breathe in, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four…

So it was not the intimacy that made Virgil’s breath stutter as he was pressed into Patton’s side in the closet. No, the intimacy was fine. Welcome, even.

It was the stifling heat of the enclosed space as their breaths bounced off each other. It was the impossibly heavy coats working like vices around his ankles, seeming to drag him down like quicksand. It was the all-encompassing, overwhelming, inescapable void of darkness that surrounded them like a black hole that crushed his chest and distorted his thoughts and sucked the breath from his lungs.

‘This was a dumb idea,’ he growled to hide the shake of his shallow breath. Why had he suggested this to Patton?

‘No, c’mon, Virgil,’ Patton pleaded, curling his arm around Virgil’s shoulders to squeeze reassuringly. It helped a little. ‘They’ll be back any minute, it’s gonna be great!’

Right, Logan and Roman would be back from their evening run at any minute. They would open the closet and Patton and Virgil would yell ‘Boo!’, as they had discussed, and the others would scream and then laugh and it would all be so very jovial.

Virgil’s shoulders tensed up to his neck. But what if it wasn’t? What if Roman was so pissed off that he decided he didn’t like Virgil anymore and convinced the others to stop talking to him? What if Logan was so startled he threw his running shoes at Patton’s head and gave him a concussion? What if Virgil was kicked out of the house because they all suddenly hated him? What if Patton got hospitalised?!

‘No, no, bad idea, bad idea!’ he frantically whispered, chest heaving with rattling breaths. The air was stale and humid and not fucking enough.

The arm around Virgil’s shoulders got heavier and fingers started massaging at his shoulder. He felt like it stopped him from floating away into the turbulent storms of his thoughts. ‘Hey, bud, look at - I mean, listen to me.’

Virgil scoffed at the slip-up but angled his head towards Patton all the same.

‘You wanna talk or count?’

‘Talk,’ Virgil croaked, fingers jittery and tapping at his thighs. He longed to wrap them tightly in Patton’s sweater but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not least because Roman had knitted it for his birthday and would probably kill Virgil if he warped it.

‘Okay, we’re gonna talk you through it.’ Patton spoke softly, his voice like a soothing comfort blanket to the blood rushing in Virgil’s head. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’

That one was easy. ‘You could die!’ Virgil shrieked, his own panicked words reverberating around the small space and grating on his ears. From the sheer adrenaline of his panic, Virgil’s body spasmed and he spun around in place. There was a faint crash as the vacuum tipped to the floor and Virgil collapsed back into Patton’s chest.

Patton’s arms held him secure. ‘I… I’m gonna be super honest, I have no idea how you got from closet to death.’

It didn’t matter, Virgil didn’t care, everything was spinning. But he couldn’t see a damn thing, so how could it be? No, it was, it was!

‘Pat,’ Virgil whispered. He swallowed thickly (ignoring how dreadfully audible it was) and without a second’s hesitation, he threw his hand out blindly and gripped onto the first thing he could find. It was warm and it gripped back. Patton’s hand. Virgil squeezed it tighter and begged, ‘I really don’t wanna be in here anymore.’

There was barely a second’s wait between Virgil’s admission and his body being tugged and his feet being dragged across coats and hangers. Patton always was quick to act.

They struggled past the collapsed coat rail and made it to the door. Right as Virgil’s free hand fumbled for the door handle, Patton stumbled over the vacuum and fell forwards with a yelp, their linked hands been yanked right along with him.

Both boys crashed into the unlatched door with a bang and tumbled to the floor. What little breath Virgil had managed to gasp into his lungs during the fall was promptly forced out of him as he landed on his front on the hallway carpet. Except didn’t the hallway have floorboards? Virgil opened his eyes.

Correction: What little breath Virgil had managed to gasp into his lungs during the fall was promptly forced out of him as he landed on his front on Patton’s chest.

‘Sorry, man,’ Virgil groaned, gathering the strength to push himself off from his friend.

‘Uh, boo!’ Patton yelped flinging one hand out dramatically. (His other was still clasped tightly in Virgil’s, and Virgil had no intentions of letting go anytime soon.)

The strange outburst made Virgil frown. ‘Bless you?’

‘No need for that when you’re already blessed by my glorious presence!’ a melodic baritone bragged.

There was only one person in the world conceited enough for that line. With a shallow sigh, Virgil rolled off from Patton to be met with the sight of Roman and Logan both looking down at them, shocked though clearly thoroughly amused.

‘When we told you guys to have fun while we were out, we didn’t quite think -’

‘Zip it!’ Virgil cut off Roman’s cheeky remark before it entered dangerous territory. ‘We were gonna scare you,’ he admitted, blushing a little at the realisation that they had failed quite pathetically.

‘I can’t say that I am scared,’ Logan chuckled, offering Virgil a hand to help him up as Roman mirrored the action with Patton. ‘Though the concept of walking in on our housemates being intimate - in the communal cloakroom, no less - was quite a disturbing one to behold.’

Thankfully, Patton giggled, so Virgil felt comfortable enough to allow himself to laugh a little too. They were both back on their feet by now and Virgil actually leaned against Patton’s side as they caught their breath. Roman and Logan were busy shoving their running shoes in the cloakroom and complaining about the broken coat rail.

‘If we were actually dating that would’ve been an awful way for them to find out,’ Patton said to Virgil with a cheery bounce to his words. He lifted his thumb from where their fingers were still interlinked to stroke over Virgil’s knuckle.

‘Would kinda be fitting though, right?’ Virgil muttered quietly so that only Patton could hear him. He was slightly shy about what he was about to do though still determined. With a glance to Patton, his lips twitched in a barely-concealed smile. ‘I mean, we both just came out of the closet.’

The pure joy on Patton’s face, the shout of excitement, his constant stream of giggles, the way his eyes absolutely sparkled with pride - it made the whole ordeal worth it, in Virgil’s opinion. He would gladly be locked in a dozen closets if it meant he could see his best friend shine so brightly. Okay, maybe just two or three, but still.

‘Aw, yes! That’s my boy!’ Patton squealed in delight, using his signature Dad Friend Voice.

It made Virgil scoff and pretend he didn’t like it.

Then something wonderful happened. Patton’s soft, thick fingertips pressed gently into Virgil’s jaw and with one last breathy chuckle, Patton pressed a firm kiss to his cheek.

A dozen closets. Virgil would gladly be locked in a dozen closets for that. For the way his heart jumped and his cheeks warmed and his heart sang in the short moment Patton’s lips were pressed against his cheek.

‘You sure we didn’t walk in on something?’ Roman asked where he had turned back to them again. He looked and sounded a little wary.

‘Just bros being bros, Ro,’ Patton assured with utter sincerity, bumping against Virgil’s shoulder amiably.

Virgil did stumble a little to the side (Patton wasn’t all that aware of his own strength a lot of the time), though he giggled nonetheless. For the first time, he didn’t feel as though it was worth worrying about what others thought of him. What did it matter if Roman suspected Virgil and Patton were dating? They knew they weren’t. Perhaps Patton’s displays of affection were a little more pronounced with Virgil than they were with the others, but Virgil thought it must have been that Patton - being so intuitive when it came to emotions - could tell that Virgil needed it.

With a faint jolt in his stomach, Virgil leaned his head against Patton’s shoulder and sighed happily when Patton squeezed his fingers in return.

‘We’ll get them properly tomorrow,’ Patton whispered, voice laced with mischief and concealed giggles.

Virgil nodded, his cheek rubbing against Patton’s shoulder and offering endless comfort. He knew that intimacy didn’t work for every friendship, but it did for them. He enjoyed it and, going by Patton’s beaming smile, so did his best friend. And that was all that mattered.

oOo

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akasgisrightsactivist · 3 years

Text

Give Me A Hand

[Atsumu x fem!Reader] [Fluff] [Word count: 3.7k]

You asked him to give you his hand, he asked you to tell him the truth.

A/n: This is a reworked version of the Give Me A Hand fic I posted at ohmythatmiya months ago. I didn’t change the plot, but I edited and changed the wording of several parts. Minor changes, but I think the result is better. I also added a bonus that didn’t exist in the original.

“I need someone to hold the net. Give me a hand, (y/n)-chan?”

Atsumu’s melodic question danced around in the air waiting for your answer.

As the manager of the Inarizaki volleyball team, you were always eager to help the boys in any way they needed. It wasn’t the first time you helped the team hang the net, and the act itself posed no problem to you.

But you had an ongoing competition with Atsumu to see who made the worst joke. Extending your hand, you offered it to him.

You had to.

After a second of confused blinking, Atsumu burst into laughter.

“Ha! You laughed!” You pointed out smugly, another victory to tally up.

Atsumu cleaned a tear at the corner of his eye, sighing in contentment.

“So what? You always laugh at my jokes. I’m still winning the competition, (y/n)-chan.”

You pouted —he wasn’t wrong. So far this week, you’d made him laugh with two jokes, but he had succeeded in his puns at least five times —which Atsumu claimed to actually be six, but you refused to count that one time you almost choked trying to contain your laughter.

He slapped your hand playfully and said:

“Now help me out here, will ya?”

You nodded, hissing at the sting on your hand.

Atsumu had a hard time controlling his strength when it came to you. He was a huge guy and was used to slapping, high-fiving and sharing other physical gestures of victory and encouragement with Osamu and teammates. You knew that Atsumu didn’t intend to hurt you, and he was still trying to measure the difference between your strength, as an average student, and his, as an athletic guy aiming to be a pro player. One of the first times after he joined the volleyball club, he had slapped your back encouragingly only to leave you without breath.

But this time you didn’t say anything, the sting already fading —you knew he was trying to control himself while interacting with you, and also… you loved it when he treated you as another full member of the team, even if you didn’t play volleyball. Other guys were more careful with you, either out of respect because you were a third-year or because they considered you a delicate person when it came to physical strength. However, Atsumu wouldn’t shy away from high-fiving you too when he scored a really good point. Kita thought it was insolent of him to treat a senpai that way, but you secretly loved it, treasuring any attention and physical contact you got from him.

You swore to yourself that wanting his attention had nothing to do with your embarrassing crush on him.

But you’d hate to become one of those girls in the Miya Twins Fanclub who screamed hysterically during every match or who sought the twins’ attention in the corridors between classes. You hated that kind of behavior, maybe because you knew the real twins and their actual personalities instead of idealizing them, so you acted around Atsumu as if his presence in your life had no effect whatsoever, keeping your feelings inside.

You just wished he would see you in the same way you saw him, and you wondered how you could get more physical contact from him —not in the way his teammates did, but ideally in a softer way that didn’t leave the palms of your hands stinging.

You blushed thinking about it.

This was why you had started giving him your hand as a joke, in the hopes that he would somehow take it. But so far your plan had failed.

Your next attempt came at the end of that day’s practice. It was when you were putting the balls away that you asked Atsumu if he could give you a hand.

“Sure. …Why are you pouting, (y/n)-chan?”

He had completely forgotten about the joke, hadn’t he? You had expected him to replicate your joke and hold out his hand to you so that you could shamelessly take it, but he had simply agreed to help you. You didn’t even need any help! This was the first time you’d ever seen Atsumu agreeing to help anyone!

“…nothing,” you finally answered in a low grumble.

“Wha’? What did I do now?!”

“Nothing!”

You couldn’t help acting weird around him now, and he looked at you puzzled at your sudden change of behavior. You couldn’t blame him, but how could you admit your feelings to him? That’d be like losing a challenge! Unacceptable!

The following days you kept flinging the joke at any chance you got, which only made Atsumu increasingly more confused. You noticed how often he asked for your help (“hey, (y/n)-chan, can you hold my bag for a sec?”, “can you help me with this English lesson?”, “take care of my sweater, (y/n)-chan”) and you would force the joke (“yeah, let me give you a hand, Atsumu!”).

Until he had enough of it one day.

“The heck is wrong with you?” Atsumu asked, his lips pressed into a thin line, staring into your eyes in a vain quest for answers as he held a volleyball under his arm.

“Nothing, why?” You laughed nervously.

“You’ve been acting weird. You never repeat your jokes so much. They aren’t even funny anymore!”

“Uh…”

“Let me guess.” Atsumu rubbed his chin. “There’s a guy annoying you, right?”

“What.”

You couldn’t understand what kind of mental juggling had led him to that conclusion, but Atsumu was that way, often following unconventional mental paths.

“You’ve been acting so weird, you only do that when something’s bothering you.”

Since when did this guy notice your behavior with so much accuracy? You felt your stomach tighten.

If you said “yes” you’d be lying to him, but you couldn’t find a better excuse and, of course, telling the truth wasn’t an option.

“Who do I need to fight, (y/n)-chan?”

“There’s… there’s no need to fight anyone, Atsumu.”

Your hands fidgeted, wrinkling the hem of your shirt. You felt utterly ridiculous for taking the joke so far just to get his attention. What were you, five years old? Not even his fangirls would do this!

“You want me to walk you home, then?”

The seriousness in his face made you feel a pang in your chest. You could swear there was a hint of worry in his eyes.

You were so in love with him right now.

It hurt that you couldn’t be with him, that he wouldn’t like you in the same way, that you would never hold hands with him no matter how much you longed to do so… But the opportunity presented itself and you’d be the biggest idiot on earth if you let it pass, so you nodded.

“Yeah, that’d help, I think.”

“Fine,” he replied, and gave it no second thought as he returned to his practice.

You sighed in relief, thanking destiny for finding for you a credible excuse to justify your shitty joke. But immediately the thought of him walking you back home released a horde of butterflies in your stomach.

Don’t ruin this opportunity, you told yourself. Don’t make a fool of yourself.

When practice ended you waited by the gym door, wondering if Atsumu would remember his promise. It wouldn’t be the first time he totally forgot to do something after swearing so vehemently that he would never forget.

After a couple minutes Atsumu joined you at the door, wearing his tracksuit and carrying his heavy bag on the shoulder.

“Let’s not be late, don’t wanna miss my favorite TV show.”

The sun was setting already as the two of you crossed the school gates on your way home.

“Thank you for walking with me.”

“So who’s this guy who’s bothering you?”

Right to the point. You gulped.

“Uh… I’d rather not talk about it, Atsumu.”

“He trying to date you or something?”

You glanced at Atsumu and were shocked to see his eyebrows furrowed. He seemed upset.

“Atsumu?”

“Is he?”

“No, of course not! Who would want to date me anyway?” You laughed nervously, scratching the back of your neck.

Atsumu’s silence surprised you. By the way he pressed his lips, it was clear he was considering whether to say something or not. Right when you gave up on getting an answer from him, Atsumu said:

“There’s this guy in your class who keeps staring at you.”

“Wait, what.”

“Yeah, that idiot who sits by the door, what’s his name.”

“Wait. You’ve noticed him looking at me?” You asked out of pure curiosity. You’d never noticed your classmate staring at you before.

That was when a cough got stuck in Atsumu’s throat.

“I mean…! It’s not like I’m looking at who’s looking at you!”

You were taken aback by the way the underlying angry tone emphasized the hesitation in his voice. He was getting flustered and you couldn’t understand what was going on, but your own nerves didn’t help you deal with the situation either.

There was a long moment of silence in which both of you tried to find what to say next, opening your mouths only to close them again. You felt like you were digging a deeper hole each time you spoke and you were afraid that Atsumu would end up fighting that guy in your class when you hadn’t even noticed he was paying attention to you, so you came to the conclusion that it was better to remain in a careful silence.

Yet there was a voice in your mind calling you a coward for not ending this situation right now and letting it get worse.

“To be honest, Atsumu…” You finally said, bracing yourself for the worst. “I haven’t really noticed if that guy was staring at me,” you admitted, voice low, eyes fixed on the street ahead.

“Well, I have,” he muttered, still angry.

You two kept walking in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. You could swear he was pouting by the way he stomped his feet as he walked, hands hidden in his pockets.

Atsumu was so difficult to handle sometimes. He got upset at the pettiest things and sometimes it was impossible to find any logic behind his behavior. Right now you didn’t know what to say to calm him down.

“Then who’s bothering you,” he finally asked, so low you almost didn’t hear him.

“No one.”

“But something’s bothering you, (y/n)-chan, I know it.”

He wouldn’t drop the conversation, would he? You sighed heavily and replied:

“I just repeated that shitty joke because I wanted you to hold my hand! To complete the joke!”

Your cheeks burned, maybe from the childishness of your behavior, maybe from the embarrassment of admitting to Atsumu that you had wanted him to hold your hand.

“Duh.”

“I know, I’m lame.”

“No… there’s something bothering you. You looked sad earlier.”

“No way.”

“Yes, you did. When you think nobody’s looking at you, you stop smiling.”

You stopped on your tracks and he walked a couple more steps before noticing that you weren’t following him. He turned to you, his usual smirk missing from his face.

He was right, and that was what truly hurt you. In front of anyone you would be all smiles, all kindness, but when you were alone you’d drop the act. Lately, when you were at the gym supervising the guys’ practice, you would often focus on Atsumu and your brain would immediately get trapped in the loop of thinking how much you liked everything about him and how you couldn’t be with him. It made you so sad, but who would look at you anyway? All the club members were focused on training and the coaches were paying attention to the guys, not to you.

Of course, whenever Atsumu looked your way, you assumed it was a coincidence, that you were just in the way of something that was really catching his attention.

But apparently he was noticing you after all.

“Aww, you’re blushing, (y/n)-chan!”

You jolted, returning to reality. Of course this idiot would take any opportunity to mock you. Feet rushing ahead, you left him behind, but he quickly caught up with you –it wasn’t difficult considering how much longer the stride of his long legs was compared to yours.

“Let me see that sweet face! So cute! Did I make you blush? Are you blushing for me?” His voice got increasingly more teasing and you tried to walk faster, but it was pointless.

“Shut up, Atsumu!”

“Or what? Are you going to hit me? Nah, you’re too cute to do that, Cutie-chan.”

“Stop it!” You tried to hide your face with your hands.

You could never win with this guy, could you?

“At first I thought you were sad because you’d gotten bad grades, but your results have been good lately. So I thought that guy in your class was annoying you. But that isn’t the case either, so what? What’s making you so sad?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re in love. It has to be that.”

“Shut up!”

Atsumu knew you well. It was something you loved and hated from him at the same time. He was clever, and it didn’t help how predictable you were. Atsumu never had a problem guessing what was going on inside your mind, which could get troublesome at times.

“You always feel so down when you like someone. You’ll be like ‘he will never like me back! My life is a disgrace!’”

“That’s not true!” You argued. You’d been through a couple of short-lived crushes in the past two years and Atsumu had been a witness to your complaints, always giving you bad advice about what to do, being as inept as he was in matters of love.

“It doesn’t help that you’re so unlucky and never attract anyone.”

“That was a low blow, Atsumu…”

“So who’s the lucky guy?”

You glanced at him. Expecting a smirk, you instead found a soft smile. He raised his eyebrows to emphasize his question.

“It doesn’t matter.” You lowered your chin and hid your hands inside your coat’s pockets. “It’s not like it’s gonna happen.”

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that! You don’t know!”

“I will die alone and surrounded by cats,” you grunted, and now you were the one stomping.

“You want some advice?” Atsumu asked, stretching his arms over his head. His back cracked.

“Nah, your advice is the worst. You made me look ridiculous in front of my last crush, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He narrowed his eyes cunningly.

“That was on purpose.”

“The heck?!”

“I hated the guy. He wasn’t a good match for you.”

“Atsumu!”

He was painfully right, though. That last guy had seemed so nice at first, but you’d ruined your friendship with him after an embarrassing confession and you had realized how much of an idiot the guy was. Atsumu had warned you plenty of times that he didn’t like the guy for you but you had ignored him, blind from the love haze that had taken hold of your brain.

Now you understood why Atsumu had given you such bad advice, misleading you and causing the failed confession. And you, naïve as you were, had followed his indications without a second thought.

“You’re a—”

“—a fucking asshole, I know. So, who’s this guy? I’ll give you good advice if I actually like him for you.”

“No way. I’ll never tell you. You’ll ruin it.”

It was the best excuse you could think of to avoid saying the truth because you had always told him about your crushes before, and it would be suspicious if you didn’t tell him now.

“Is he handsome?”

“Very handsome,” you answered as casually as you could manage, when deep inside you just wanted to scream for hours about how much you liked every physical feature of his.

“Then you must be thinking you don’t stand a chance,” he teased you.

“I wouldn’t stand a chance anyway. He’s handsome and popular.”

“Ah, but that’s not the only thing you like about him. You’re always like ‘oh, I love his personality’,” he mocked your voiced.

“Nah, his personality is shitty.”

You couldn’t control yourself. You didn’t really believe that, but sometimes he got on your nerves.

Atsumu’s smirk widened.

“You should confess, (y/n)-chan.”

“Nah. I’m tired of confessing and looking ridiculous.”

“So you’re gonna let an opportunity pass just like that?”

“There’s no opportunity in the first place.”

“You’re the worst sometimes, (y/n)-chan,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?!”

“And now you’ll be so sappy, talking all the time about how much you want to be with him and kiss him and all that disgusting stuff,” he replied, his teasing tone back.

You groaned.

“I just wanna hold his hand, that’s all,” you mumbled, and immediately regretted saying it. What if he had heard you? What if he realized that the joke had always been about this?

What if he realized he was your crush?

But he didn’t say anything else. Silence returned to stay between you like a thick wall, and you walked with your head downcast and a feeling of regret and shame growing bigger inside you until it made your stomach hurt.

Worst case scenario, if Atsumu learned that you liked him, he would mock you to no end in front of everyone. He would have no shame to make you feel like shit in public just to get a good laugh. Or even worse, he would stop talking to you altogether. How would you even keep your role as manager in the team if he hated you? How would…?

“Waaaaait. Dude, is that drink new?” Atsumu said.

You were right in front of the convenience store in your neighborhood, and since Atsumu lived in a different direction, he didn’t frequent this particular store that was so well-known to you. He gaped at the window full of drinks and sweets and it dawned on you that the store nearest to Atsumu’s house was less visually attractive. Like a kid in front of a colorful screen, he admired the display, his mouth wide open.

“Come’ere, (y/n)-chan,” he said.

You were about to follow him unquestioningly when you noticed his fingers wrapping around your hand and gently pulling you in his direction.

On the outside, as you two went into the store, you seemed a perfectly calm and collected high-school third-year following his friend into the building to check out a drink.

On the inside, you had stopped being aware of your surroundings, and you were mentally screaming and feeling like a human version of a computer breaking down and going into full blue-screen-of-death mode. The only thing keeping you in touch with reality was Atsumu’s hand, warm and reassuring, even if the skin in his fingers felt somewhat dry and rough after being punished practice after practice.

But you loved it just like that. You loved his experienced and calloused hands, and how comforting they felt. This was a new experience that you committed to memory.

“It’s cherry flavored!”

His excited, almost childish voice brought you back to the sober and unromantic reality of a neighborhood convenience store. You were sure you had forgotten how to breathe in the last half minute.

“You… buy that… gonna. Buy,” you babbled, and it wasn’t physically possible for your cheeks to be even redder anymore.

Atsumu mocked your babble and you laughed hysterically.

“And that makes seven times you laugh at my jokes this week.”

“Shaddap,” you said, still speaking incoherently.

“You want one too?” He said, holding the can of soda in front of your eyes.

“No. Yes.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He walked you to the cash register and you noticed he was skillfully holding both cans with a single hand because he was still holding yours with the other. He found some money in his pocket and paid for the drinks, never mentioning that you should pay yours.

You took the can and Atsumu guided you outside the store and back to your house, not letting your hand go at any moment. You two didn’t talk, and you didn’t even bother to open the can to drink it, or that would mean letting go of his hand.

Two streets later you arrived to your house, and you had no choice but to stop holding his hand to find your keys, open the door and say goodbye. It took you two tries to fit the key inside the keyhole because your hands were shaking so much, and you heard the pop of Atsumu’s soda can opening behind you. When the door finally opened and you turned around to say goodbye to him, he was taking a sip but his eyes were fixed on you, analyzing you with curiosity.

“Thank you, Atsumu.”

“You already thanked me earlier, silly.”

“Yeah. Anyway. For the drink too.”

“Wait, aren’t you gonna pay for it?”

Flustered, your heat beating like mad from embarrassment, you immediately babbled an apology, but he burst into laughter.

“Just kidding, (y/n)-chan.”

You sighed in relief. A friendship with this guy was a constant rollercoaster, and you were sure you were training your heart like an athlete just from the many scares and embarrassing moments that this guy put you through.

At least you never got bored with him.

“Maybe one day you’ll hold hands with your crush. For now, you’re gonna have to do with just me.” He took another sip, this time only to pretend to be a cool guy.

You smiled fondly. When he lowered the drink from his lips, you noticed an upward curve on the corner of his mouth.

“Enjoy your drink, (y/n)-chan. See you tomorrow.”

“Rest well, Atsumu.”

His steps echoed as he walked away from your house and you forgot for a full minute that the door was already open next to you.

For now, you’re gonna have to do with just me.

You almost choked on a giggle. If only he knew.

BONUS

“Dude, ‘Samu, (y/n) has a crush on me.”

Atsumu kicked his socks away, falling in the messy pile of clothes that kept growing at the corner of their shared bedroom.

“You wished she did,” Osamu replied, words muddied by the snack he was munching.

“’Samu!”

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya #if you read the original you can skip this but if you can reblog/share i'd appreciate the boost a lot! (if you liked the original ofcourse)

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smileyjily · 3 years

Text

A Series of (In)Decent Proposals

Chapter 12: The One with the Strawberry Cake

Summary: Throughout the course of their lives, James would ask Lily to marry him many times. A 14-part series, consisting of 13 no’s and 1 very jubilant yes.

Set in The Bet universe, but works as a canon piece as well.

Word count: 1,515

ao3/ffnet

May 1, 1979

There was nothing extraordinary about the safehouse in Ipswich. Having sought safety in seven since the start of her career as an anti-revolutionary, Lily could attest that there was nothing remarkable in regards to its size – a three bedroom structure with an unfinished basement that let in the brisk night air – or its history – a pre-war structure that had survived the air raids unscathed. Nothing at all to distinguish it from the three dozen refuges the Order employed.

Except the inoffensive, even unassuming house remained Lily’s least favorite safehouse by far.

Conveniently located between London and Thetford Forest, where the North Suffolk werewolves collected, the Ipswich safehouse saw more traffic, and frantic, often screaming traffic at that, than any other. In the six days since Lily and James had taken up residence in the East-facing bedroom, Lily had not known a moment’s peace.

For the dozenth time that night, Lily rolled over in a bid to get comfortable. She deliberately mashed her ear into a pillow in the hopes to lessen the impact of the next, inevitable disruption. Beside her, James snored. Years of rooming with Sirius and his screaming nightmares had inoculated James against noise in the night. He would spring up in the morning, put on his glasses, and face the day as energetic as a kindergartner returning to school after Christmas Hols. Meanwhile, Lily wondered if there was a point at which dark circles became permanent.

Peck. Peck. Peck.

That would be an owl with no doubt urgent correspondence. Lily guessed it was outside the kitchen window. No need for her to react.

Eliza Clarke was on call that night, the only other semi-permanent resident of the safehouse. In the Order, it was common to stay at a safehouse for only a matter of nights before moving on, always some new emergency to circumvent. Jones had been settled in the house for a practically unheard of three months. Clarke was one of the best healers in the Order, and the third bedroom was essentially a sickroom for whoever had been cursed most recently. Lily and James would need to leave soon to make room for the next felled soldier. The full moon was around the corner, and Lily suspected it would be Remus.

Lily heard the creak of a bedroom door. As she expected, Clarke crept to the kitchen to answer the persistent owl. Slippers cloaked most of her footfalls, but there was no stopping the squeal of the bottom step.

Almost silence lingered in the room. Nothing to hear but James’ little breathy snores. Lily and James had shared a bed nearly a thousand times, so James’ sleep sounds made up the melody of Lily’s favorite lullaby. She drifted into a dose, no thought staying long enough at the front of her brain to fully formulate. It all just slipped away, and Lily was happy to follow.

Woosh!

“Anyone there? Present yourself?”

The floo. Mad-Eye.

Lily’s brain supplied the answers before her mind had finished asking the question. They were expecting Mad-Eye in the morning. He was to deliver their next assignment. If history served, it would be either to take advantage of Lily’s potioneering or James’ reckless disregard for his own life and limb. He made an unsettlingly good soldier.

With her sleep already out of reach, Lily sat up. Better to get it out of the way. With any luck, Mad-Eye’s orders would take her and James far from Ipswich.

Lily deftly ignored the bright panic that always accompanied new orders. They hadn’t separated James from her yet.

As suddenly as the voices downstairs had started up, they stopped. The floo roared and fell silent. If Lily strained, she could make out the familiar crackle of a hearth fire, nothing magical about it.

Lily flopped back onto her stack of pillows. Maybe Mad-Eye had stopped by to relay something unrelated to them, for Clarke’s ears only. Maybe he’d been pulled away by something innocent but pressing…a drunken colleague or a scandalous love confession. Alright, most likely someone was dead or maimed or cursed or about to be dead or maimed or cursed. Wasn’t that always the case?

Lily hadn’t heard word from Marlene in two months.

Any downstairs disturbance would have been preferable to where Lily’s mind went then. Staring up at the ceiling, Lily couldn’t see anything to distract her in the dark. The war had her yearning for a nightlight, those childhood promises of protection from monsters that turned out to be very very real.

“Soon. Soon.”

The words were spoken into her shoulder, half-slurred with sleep.

“What’s soon, James?”

Lily rolled onto her side to look at him. His eyes stayed shut, breathing even.

“I’ll take you home soon.”

“Where is home?”

Whispering the words broke her heart. She’d called Cokeworth home for eleven years, Hogwarts for another seven. The Potter Estate had been a home the first time she visited, but since the funeral, it had become a museum to the dead, a container for all of James’ grief that he couldn’t carry with him into the war if he didn’t want to end up joining his parents in death. Truthfully, when the parade of safehouses came to an end, Lily didn’t know where they would go.

“Home is…with you,” James murmured.

He then snored so loudly that he choked on it.

Honestly, the whole Order could have apparated into the room and James would have kept on dreaming. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken in his sleep. At times, James was capable of complex conversation, like coaching a pretend Quidditch match or firing off one of his prized puns. Normally, he just mumbled about the symbols that made up his dreamscape, something to the tune of, “Fish on bicycles grooming the manticores,” followed by more snoring.

Lily thought it was somehow sweeter that James was dreaming of a home with her, rather than actively trying to deliver reassurances. Her anxiety didn’t soften, but her heart did.

“My home is with you, too,” Lily said, even if he wouldn’t process the words in his sleep.

James smiled like maybe he did.

Lily took a moment to trace the lines of his face with her eyes. The shadows couldn’t conceal from her what she could recall so well from memory: the scar at his temple from a nasty fall down a moving staircase, the encroaching laugh lines earned early from a lifetime of hilarity, the supple lower lip that swelled when she sucked on it.

That very lip quivered as James started speaking again, “Going to marry you. Marry you in a wedding. There will be cake.”

Lily’s face broke into a smile. “Cake, huh? Let’s reach for the stars and have ice cream, too.”

“Yummy.”

He wouldn’t remember a minute of it come morning, one nondescript night of good sleep fading into the next. But she would. Most days, Lily felt like she had nothing left to give. But, like she was a wet rag, James could always wring just one last drop out of her. With a smile, a joke, a word of encouragement, somehow James would make her feel like the girl she once was, and that was all she needed to keep fighting. He was her safehouse.

“James, next time you ask me to marry you, I’m going to say yes. I’ll say yes and kiss you until we both can’t breathe. Until we both forget everything about this year from hell. Until it’s just me and you. Because it will always be me and you,” Lily murmured. “I honestly can’t wait.”

“Hmm, sounds nice,” James agreed.

Lily placed a kiss on the smooth skin of his brow, marveling at how little tension lay there when he slept. Where did he keep his worries? He was the most beautiful man she’d ever known.

“Lily?”

“Yes, love?”

“Can it be a strawberry cake?”

A bang from downstairs – the front door – was followed by a cacophony of shouting voices. From the din, Lily caught something about a raid on a Death Eater hold out in Colchester. Lily immediately flung off the duvet and prepared to race downstairs. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but she wouldn’t have time to hunt down a pair of slippers. She always slept in something decent now, too afraid of nighttime interruptions, so no need to throw on a robe.

Wondrously, a smatter of laughter rose from their new guests. That meant there’d be wounded – there were always wounded – but no dead. A good day.

Hand on the doorknob, Lily turned back to James, still sleeping on his side like nothing had changed. Lily wanted to give him every comfort that had been denied them the last year, including a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“Yes, James. You’ll feast on strawberry cake,” Lily promised before slipping out the door.

And the next day, even though Lily had stayed up all night helping Clarke tend to the wounded, she still found time to bake one perfect strawberry cake.

She was James’ refuge, too.

#james potter #lily evans #jily #jily fanfiction #mine #it has been a minute since i wrote something #please be kind 🙏

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leiasfanaccount648 · 3 years

Text

Have a Grande Day

Testuro Kuroo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Finals week is rough on all college students, especially before the holidays. What better way than trying to keep them all awake by offering free coffee and hot chocolate?

Warnings/Contains: Fluff, slight pining, lots of flirting and puns about coffee.

Word Count: 2,158

Monday

Everyone knows how tough college can make one person. Each class has a different schedule and due dates, and sometimes the professors change those things at the last minute. Of course, when it comes to finals week, they’re always at the top of their game.

Some classes are harder than others, especially depending on the major, and most of the time it is STEM majors that end up having a more difficult time. For Testuro Kuroo, however, he hasn’t had a moment to relax for the past three weeks due to studying whenever he didn’t have anything to do. And now, all that studying was about to (hopefully) pay off as finals week was finally upon him and everyone else at his college.

His first class was CHEM 255 at 8am, and he managed to pull himself out of bed early enough so he could get a coffee at the Starbucks on campus beforehand. He didn’t bother with his appearance, simply wearing jeans and an old hoodie from high school. If was going to get through the week, he was going to do so comfortably and with lots of caffeine.

He passed by a couple familiar faces he had seen around campus as well as his other classes as he made his way towards the building that held the Starbucks inside; however, something caught his eye. He squinted his eyes slightly as he tried to read the sign beside the plastic table that was set outside the building.

‘Better latte than never! Free Coffee & Hot Cocoa from the Student Council!’

Testuro smiled a little at the pun and made his way towards the table where some other students had already gathered to get in line. Why spend five dollars on a medium sized drink when he can get a large black coffee for free? As he got closer to the front of the line, he saw the group that was running the table, three girls and two guys. He assumed that they would trade out shifts since they surely had finals to go to themselves, but it was nice of them to help their fellow students out during this time.

Soon enough, it was his turn to get his drink. The girl at the front of the table smiled at him, almost making him laugh at the fact that she looked so happy during such a stressful week. “Hi! Would you like coffee or hot chocolate?”

“Coffee, please.”

The girl grabbed a large thermos that Testuro could only assume held the coffee to keep it warm while they were outside in the cold weather “What size?”

Testuro glanced to the side, not thinking much about his words. “Grande,” his eyes widened in realization, “sorry, I meant a medium.” He chuckled softly to try and dismiss his mistake. The girl laughed as well, shaking her head as she grabbed a to go coffee cup and began to fill it with the coffee.

“It’s okay. It’s 7:30 in the morning on a Monday, I totally get it.” She placed a lid on the cup before grabbing a sharpie and writing something on the cup. “Were you wanting any cream or sugar?”

Testuro nodded. “Uh, yeah, one of each please.”

The girl reached underneath the table and grabbed the items as well as a stir stick and stopper for the drink’s lid. She placed the stopper in the lid before handing it to him along with the creamer and sugar as well as the stir stick. “Here you go. Good luck with your finals.” She smiled, making Testuro do the same out of kindness.

“Thanks, you too.” With that, he walked away from the table, stopping by an outside eating area to set his drink down so he could add the cream and sugar. As he took the lid off, he noticed the writing on the side.

‘Have a grande day!’

Testuro let out a laugh, shaking his head at how much he liked the pun. He quickly added in his sweeteners, looking back at the table to see the girl writing on other people’s cups too. After he was done stirring his coffee and placed the lid back on, he saw the girl grab her backpack and wave to her friends before leaving the table, most likely heading to take one of her finals as well.

Testuro watched her walk away before he began walking in the opposite direction, sipping his coffee as he went to go take his final, sighing as he already felt more awake.

Tuesday

Testuro groaned as he woke up, dragging himself out of bed as he read the time on his phone; only one hour until his next final at 11:30am. At least this course, BIO 302, was one that he was confident in passing. Still, that didn’t mean that he could leave his dorm 10 minutes before class started.

He didn’t bother switching up his outfit, wearing the same pair of jeans and hoodie from the day before. He left his dorm about 20 minutes later, as the building he needed to go to was on the opposite end of campus.

He once again passed by the food court building and saw the same plastic table and sign advertising free coffee and hot chocolate. He noticed that the line was longer this time, and that there were two this time.

“If you’re only here for hot chocolate I can help you here!”

Testuro watched as a couple people from one line joined the other, but it was still pretty short compared to the one of people who were wanting caffeine in their systems. He checked his phone for the time before glancing back at the table, seeing the girl from yesterday now serving hot chocolate to people. He couldn’t deny that she was pretty, and she seemed to have a good sense of humor as well. Plus, he still had about 40 minutes before his class started.

He got in the line for the hot chocolate, placing his phone back in his pocket. Soon enough, he was at the front of the line. He smiled as the girl did the same. “Hello again.”

“Hi there.” She laughed softly, grabbing a different large thermos from yesterday, her eyes widening when she noticed how light it now felt in her hand. “Sorry, give me one second.” She gave him a sympathetic smile before turning around to grab another thermos and handing the previous one to one of the people she was working with so they could refill it.

“You’re good. I’m in no rush.”

“That’s good to hear.” She turned back around, opening up the container. “What size?”

“A small is fine.”

The girl nodded, grabbing the cup and pouring the drink into it. “Whipped cream and marshmallows?”

“Yes, please.” Testuro watched as she grabbed a can of whipped cream along with a bag of mini marshmallows. “By the way, the coffee was great yesterday.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m glad to hear.” The girl smiled as she put on a plastic glove to put the whipped cream atop the liquid along with a small handful of marshmallows.

“Well, it’s not every day that you get delicious coffee from someone so brew-tiful.” Testuro smirked slightly, hoping that she would like his pun.

The girl hesitated for a moment as she reached for a lid to put on the cup. It was obvious that she was taking in what he just said; she chuckled, her cheeks now a shade of pink as she grabbed a lid and put it on the drink. Her smile was still prominent on her face as she grabbed the sharpie from the table and began writing on his cup. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

The girl handed him the cup, meeting his gaze one last time before he walked away and she went to help the next person in line. Testuro looked at the side of his cup to see what she wrote as he continued on his way to class.

‘You’re smoking hot!’

Testuro grinned, glancing over his shoulder to look back at the girl before taking a sip of his drink.

Friday

Testuro had managed to get through his finals for the semester, some of course being tougher than others. And every day he managed to stop by the table on his way to class to see the girl and get a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. However, as he was now finished with all of his classes, he didn’t even have to leave his dorm if he felt like it; but he still wanted to see the girl before she possibly left campus for winter break. He didn’t even know her name, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get to know her better during their brief meetings every day.

On Wednesday, he stopped by later in the afternoon, since he stayed up late the night before playing video games with Koutarou and Kenma and his final that day was his night class at 7pm. The girl was there and the two of them talked about their finals since not many people were getting drinks. That day his cup read ‘you’re cool beans!’

On Thursday, he had his last three finals, so he didn’t have time to stop by the table until the evening when the people who were there were packing things up. The girl was there thankfully, and she offered him a cup of hot chocolate that they had left over; the cup read ‘you’ve bean on my mind a latte.’

Today, however, he dropped by during the middle of the day when most people were most likely in classes or had possibly already left for winter break. Part of him was afraid that the girl had already left as well, but he was hopeful nonetheless. When he got there, he saw her about to leave the table. He quickened his stride to catch up to her. “Hey!”

The girl finished putting her backpack on before looking up, recognizing the voice. She smiled. “Hey there.” She grabbed her phone from off the table. “I wish I could talk more but I have to head back to my dorm to finish packing before I leave campus this evening.”

Testuro mentally sighed, having a feeling that she was in fact leaving for the break today. “You’re fine. I mean,” he laughed, “If you want I can walk you back and we can talk on the way.” Testuro realized how cheesy and weird he idea was, but it was too late to back out now.

The girl giggled, sensing his awkwardness. “I’d like that actually.” She began walking. “Maybe now you can tell me your name.”

Testuro smiled, catching up and walking side by side with her. “I’m Testuro, and you?”

“(Y/N).” She placed her phone in her pocket after texting her roommate saying that she was on her way back. “How did your finals go?”

Testuro shrugged, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “Pretty good actually,” he paused briefly, “but I did have a hard time concentrating during some of them. You just mocha me crazy.”

(Y/N) stopped walking, making Testuro do the same. Part of him was afraid that he had overstepped a boundary of some sort, but he turned to see her holding back a grin. “I mean if you had me on your mind while you were taking your tests, that’s on you.” She laughed. “That was a good pun though. Maybe that means we’re meant to bean together.” She smiled cheekily, continuing to walk down the sidewalk towards her dorm building.

Testuro once again caught up to her. “I mean, if you’ll let me take you out on a date after the break, I would love to get to know you over the holidays.”

(Y/N) pulled out her phone again as she stopped in front of her building. “Mind if I have your number then?”

Testuro grinned, pulling out his phone as well. After exchanging numbers, he held his phone up to her. “Smile.”

(Y/N) did so, holding a peace sign by her cheek for good measure. She giggled, opening the camera app on her phone. “Alright, your turn.”

Testuro gave her a sly smile, much like the ones he would give Koutarou after beating him in a video game. “I’ll text you later tonight.”

“I look forward to it.”

With that, (Y/N) turned to walk into her building, causing Testuro to start heading back to his own; but he stopped and turned back around as she spoke up again.

“Don’t get caught up in a cold brew of a storm during your travels over break.” She laughed at his expression as he held back a grin and walked into her building, leaving Testuro to watch her walk through the lobby and to the elevator from outside.

“This girl’s seriously got me grounded.”

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#Ficmas 2020 #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo testuro x reader #kuroo testuro #haikyuu imagine #kuroo x female reader #kuroo x fem!reader #My writing #my work #my post

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thdorkmagnet · 3 years

Text

Trust, Promises, and Resets

Welcome all to my first Undertale fanfic! This one took a bit to finish but I’m really, really happy it’s done and ready to be shared with the world! Just a short and sweet one-shot about Frisk and Sans dealing with resets and all the baggage that comes with them. Wanted to put my own personal spin on a very classic concept for the Undertale fanbase. This was also some much needed practice at writing these characters, hopefully I nailed them.

Anyways enjoy!

Disclaimer: Undertale and all its characters belong to Toby Fox. All Rights go to him.

The glow from the screen was starting to hurt Frisk’s eyes, the neon pop of orange color starting to burn into their retina, still they refused to turn on any lights, forcing themselves to remain sitting in the dark. They couldn't let anyone see them while they did this, not mom, not dad, not Undyne, not Alphys, not Papyrus, and not Sans. Definitely not Sans. Frisk had worked so hard to gain his trust, they would hate to ruin all the progress they had made with the skeleton.

Frisk let out a long sigh, staring at the word and trying not to lose their cool. 'Reset'. The word taunted them, a constant nagging at the back of Frisk’s mind, the power and hurt contained in such a simple word. Five letters that could make or break the world, that had the power to uproot so many lives. And Frisk alone held this power.

They let out a slow, shaky breath, trying to keep their calm. It's okay, it'll all be over soon and this temptation won’t haunt me any longer. They thought, though the reassurance felt hollow.

Slowly they raised up trembling fingers, reaching out towards the button. Time seemed to slow, a steady ringing in Frisk's ear, the room around them shuddering as if the fabric of the world was unraveling. The button seemed to be gleaming back at them, the cursed words beckoning them to press it and redo it all over again. To finally satiate the curiosity they were plagued by. Just let this be over, Frisk thought, the words desperate in their head. Just let it finally end!

Knock, knock.

The steady rapping of the wood outside Frisk’s door startled them, causing them to jump in place, looking towards the closed door in panic. They racked their brain, trying to match a friend to the sound, each Monster having their own unique knocking style. Toriel’s was steady and calm, more like a melody than a knock really. Asgore was strong and powerful, often making the walls around it shake with every rap of his knuckles; it definitely didn’t fit the goofy but lovable Monster Frisk had grown to know and love. Alphys was always so gentle Frisk could barely hear it and most times wouldn’t even hear the even quieter call after from the shy scientist. Undyne forgoed knocking altogether, prefering to kick the door open with no warning (Frisk still remembered the incident where poor Blooky had been on the other side). Papyrus often did the same but when he did knock it was rapid and enthusiastic, like he was just beyond excited and couldn’t wait to enter. None of those matched up with this particular knock so that just left…

"heh, you're supposed to say 'who's there', kiddo."

Frisk choked on a gasp. No! Not Sans! Anyone but him!

Frisk moved to press the 'continue' button, hoping to hide the evidence before it was too late but to their surprise the door swung open way too quickly and they wanted to slap themselves for forgetting the improvements the lazy skeleton had made on himself. At first, old habits had persisted, his movements slow and tired as if he hadn’t slept in years rather than constantly. But as he and Frisk grew closer, slowly and surely they had watched the life return to the small skeleton. Not to say he didn’t have his moments of laziness. He was still the same Sans he always was, able to nap at any time or place (usually on the job), preferring to be carried around by Papyrus rather than walk, and cracking puns whenever the opportunity presented itself. But he was more energetic, Frisk might even go as far as to say happy. The smile permanently plastered on his face didn't seem forced anymore. It felt natural and real.

In fact, just the other day Papyrus had been praising Sans on his much needed enthusiasm and Frisk had been right there with him, proud to see their friend truly happy and at peace.

But in this moment, so close to getting caught, Frisk selfishly wished for the old Sans back, if only to prevent the catastrophe that was coming as Sans stepped into the dark room.

"heya, kiddo. what'cha doin' sitting in the dark? don't tell me we’re both going knock-turnal, heh." Sans froze as he finally took in the scene, his eye sockets widening in what Frisk could only assume was fear. They knew how it must look, sitting in the dark in front of the screen that could undo years of Sans’ life. It was an incriminating scene to walk in on and Frisk cursed themselves for not locking the door, barricading it with anything and everything they had on hand to avoid this outcome. They had been careless. They had thought the house was empty while Toriel went out for groceries but clearly they were wrong. And now Sans would pay the price.

Sans’ eye sockets, which had only a second ago shined with life and the promise of hope, dimmed till they were void, empty spaces, no light able to seep through the blackness. Frisk had seen that look enough times to know exactly what it meant. It meant they messed up. And the consequences were that vacant expression. How many times had Frisk seen it before? They had lost count. And all the hope and trust they had built up in Sans shattered and died in an instant. Just like that. “oh,” was the only word that escaped Sans’ mouth and it sounded forced and choked at that, as empty and hollow as the black voids his eyes had become. What had Frisk done?

“Sans, it’s not what it looks like.” Frisk hoped that Sans would listen to them, let them explain and maybe make things right again. But they knew that wasn’t the case, Sans’ broken mind had already jumped to the worst possible conclusion, just like it always did. Frisk wasn’t entirely sure this was fixable but they had to at least try. “I wasn’t going to-”

“heh, it’s okay, kiddo. i get it. knew it was a matter of time, guess i just wasn’t prepared for it to be today.” There was nothing in the skeleton’s voice. No laughter, no emotion. It was just hollow. How long had it been since Frisk had seen Sans this bad. This empty. It was as if the skeleton wasn’t even there at all, just a shell made of bones pretending to be him. He looked so fragile and tired, a gust of wind could probably blow him away.

His bony fingers rubbed at his eyes for a few seconds and… oh gosh, were those tears? Frisk had really screwed up this time. Sans’s hands were back in his pockets and he tried to look casual, normal, and if not for the emptiness in his sockets Frisk might have believed it. And there was that smile, that dead smile that Frisk had worked so hard to wipe away. It was instinct for Sans, a defense mechanism against the emptiness in his soul. Just smile and joke it off as if nothing was wrong. Oh man, what was Papyrus gonna say when he saw that look was back? He had confided in Frisk once about how much it hurt him to see Sans that way. Miserable but closed off. It must have been torture watching from a distance as his brother slowly tore himself apart.

“just, uh… do me a favor, okay kiddo?” Sans continued. “as your pal, just let me have one last trip to grillby’s before you… y’know. let me ketchup one last time before it all goes back.” The pun was painful for Frisk to hear. Normally they would laugh at how bad it was and then would follow up with something like, “Well I know those guys relish your company,” and then Sans would chuckle and say something equally as terrible and on and on it would go. But Frisk didn’t even smile at the joke, they just watched the skeleton sadly, feeling their soul shudder in pain, their sins crawling on their back.

Before Frisk could give their answer, Sans had turned and left the room, the skeleton surprising Frisk again with his speed. Frisk was in the hallway a second later, chasing after their friend, desperate to make things right. "Sans, please wait!"

A formation of bones appeared between the two and Frisk jumped, for a moment terror flooded through their soul. In a flash they were back in that dreaded room of yellow, the empty echoing halls torn and destroyed as thousands of bones jutted out of every crevice, breaking the once fancy hall apart. They could smell the blood in the air, could feel the bone lodged deep in their chest. The pain was unbearable as their soul was ripped apart and scattered to the wind and the last thing they saw before it all went to black was the glowing angry blue in their opponent's eyes, the words, 'dirty brother killer' echoing in their head.

Frisk shuddered as they forced the memory back, burying it deep inside themselves. This wasn't the time for relieving the past, Sans needed them in the present. The bones protruding through the middle of the hallway and separating Frisk from Sans were a light blue, passing through them wasn't an option. That just left reasoning then. Darn, Sans was impossible to reason with in this state. But what choice did Frisk have?

"Sans, please just let me explain." They had to make him see. Show him they weren't doing what he thought.

"seeya 'round, kiddo," Sans said, looking back over his shoulder, giving his typical teasing wink, only now it wasn't playful. It was wrong. This was all so wrong.

Frisk blinked and suddenly Sans was no longer in the hallway. They had been expecting him to use a shortcut but it still shook them to be alone. To suddenly be standing in the middle of their house, wracked with guilt and with no one to help provide any sort of comfort. Not that they deserved it.

Why? Why hadn't they taken more precautions? Why hadn't they made sure there was no chance of someone coming in on them? Looking back on it, Frisk felt stupid. Of course they would get caught! They had practically been begging for it. They hadn't even bothered to lock their door. Clearly Frisk had wanted this to happen!

For a few moments Frisk just stood alone in the hallway, clenching and unclenching their fists, trying to think of a way to make things up to Sans while simultaneously cursing themselves for creating this mess in the first place. Just when Frisk was ready to slam their head into the nearest wall to try and release the image of Sans’ empty expression that circled their head, a loud voice rang throughout the quiet household. “HUMAN! SANS! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAVE RETURNED!"

Papyrus walked in through the front door (thankfully not breaking it down in his excitement) a proud, friendly smile permanently plastered on his face. Normally Frisk would be overjoyed to see him but right now, his undaunted kindness only made them feel worse and even more scummy. They didn't deserve a cool friend like Papyrus after what they had done to his brother.

The skeleton froze when he spotted the state of the hallway and the dozen or so bones jutting out of the floor. "WHAT HAPPENED HERE? DON'T TELL ME YOU ASKED MY LAZYBONES BROTHER TO SPAR WITH YOU?! BECAUSE WHILE I APPRECIATE YOU TRYING TO HELP HIM GET IN SOME MUCH NEEDED EXERCISE, I'M NOT SURE TORIEL WOULD APPRECIATE YOU DOING IT IN HER HOUSE!" Papyrus paused, a frown briefly flashing across his face as he added, "TRUST ME, I WOULD KNOW."

Frisk said nothing, keeping their head lowered in shame. They didn't want to admit what they had done, not to Papyrus. They had already promised Sans not to breathe a word about 'resets' to his brother, the least Frisk could do was not betray Sans' trust anymore than they already had.

Papyrus took notice of his friend's sad demeanor and immediately took it upon himself to cheer them up. The skeleton swept his scarf behind himself dramatically before loudly declaring, "BUT NOT TO WORRY TINY HUMAN, FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHALL HELP YOU CLEAN UP BEFORE THE LADY TORIEL RETURNS FROM THEIR SHOPPING QUEST!!"

Frisk gave them the bare minimum of a smile, more of a grimace than a full on grin. "Thanks, Paps," was all they could think to say and they nearly flinched at their own sorrowful tone. Geez, since when had they gotten so bad at lying? Back in the Underground they had had the ultimate poker face, only Sans couldn't see through their blank expression. Now they'd be lucky to fool a blind bat with how obvious they were being. Then again, Frisk would hardly consider themselves to be emotional at all back then, feelings besides determination had been hard to come by. Frisk wondered if maybe the Monsters had been helping them this whole time and they hadn't even noticed.

Papyrus, seeing how distressed their dear friend still was, took a better look at the situation, hoping to piece together what exactly had happened to trouble Frisk so greatly. A quick glance around and Papyrus noticed something off. "WHERE IS SANS?"

Frisk bit their lip but hesitantly explained, "He went to Grillby's."

Papyrus let out a long sigh, shaking his skull despite the situation. "THAT LAZYBONES. HOW TYPICAL OF HIM TO MAKE A MESS AND LEAVE ME TO PICK IT UP. HE'S LUCKY HE'S GOT SUCH A COOL YOUNGER BROTHER LOOKING OUT FOR HIM," the skelebro added boastfully.

Frisk shook their head, trying desperately to find some way out of this conversation without admitting to Papyrus what they had done. But no matter what scenario they thought up, they just couldn't come up with anything but the truth. So finally, the young human admitted reluctantly, "Actually me and Sans… had a fight."

"oh," Papyrus replied, for just a moment losing his loud, boisterous attitude. But then, in the blink of an eye, it was back as the skeleton was able to leap high into the air, doing a ridiculous spin as he went, which would normally get a chuckle out of Frisk. He was somehow able to completely clear the railing for the second floor, landing perfectly on his feet in front of his human friend. "NYEH HEH HEH, DO NOT FRET, HUMAN, FOR YOUR GREAT AND COOL FRIEND KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT TO DO TO FIX THIS PROBLEM!"

"You do?" Frisk asked.

"BUT OF COURSE," Papyrus continued, taking on a heroic pose. "IT IS THE DUTY OF ALL ROYAL GUARDS TO HELP OUT OTHERS IN NEED! ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY ARE SUCH DEAR AND IMPORTANT FRIENDS SUCH AS YOU!"

"Papyrus I don't-" Frisk started to interrupt but their skeletal friend was already lost deep in his rant. They were past the point of no return, Frisk often wondered at times like this if even a reset had the power to stop Papyrus.

"I CAN DIVIDE UP OUR PLAN INTO THREE EASY STEPS: STEP 1. LOCATE SANS, STEP 2. PERSUADE HIM TO TALK USING MY WORLD FAMOUS APOLOGY SPAGHETTI (WHICH I WILL GRACIOUSLY LOAN TO YOU), AND FINALLY, STEP 3. AND THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE, YOU BOTH APOLOGIZE AND AGREE TO BE FRIENDS AGAIN."

Frisk shook their head, feeling annoyance bubbling up in their chest, but not at Papyrus. Never at him. "That's not gonna work, Paps! Sans is really upset at me and I deserve that! I really messed up! I wouldn't blame him if he never spoke to me again." The young human hung their head, letting the shame of their actions wash over them.

But Papyrus being Papyrus didn't let this stand, aggressively putting a comforting hand on their shoulder and declaring, "I WILL NOT ALLOW SUCH TALK, FRISK! AS YOUR COOL BEST FRIEND AND SANS' BROTHER I ASSURE YOU WHATEVER YOU DID IS NOT ENOUGH TO RUIN YOUR FRIENDSHIP WITH HIM."

"But how do you-"

"HOW DO I KNOW? WELL IT'S VERY SIMPLE HUMAN, BECAUSE YOU TWO CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER!! I KNOW YOU TWO LIKE I KNOW MY VERY OWN COOL MIND, NYEH, AND I CAN SEE HOW HAPPY YOU TWO ARE TOGETHER!" Papyrus knelt down so he was level with Frisk, giving them a reassuring grin, his eyelights dancing. "YOU'RE OUR VERY DEAR HUMAN, AFTER ALL, AND I KNOW THAT'S HOW SANS FEELS TOO! SO YOU SEE, YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR!"

Frisk took a moment to let that sink in, their guilt ridden mind tossing around this idea with skepticism, while their heavy soul flooded with hopeful optimism. They were torn between both and their body couldn't seem to decide which one to listen to more. "You really think he'll listen to me?"

Papyrus nodded energetically. "OF COURSE!! I'D BET IT ON MY GREAT AND POWERFUL NAME, NYEH HEH HEH!"

Frisk couldn't help but smile, a common side effect from being around the enthusiastic skeleton for too long. It was just what Frisk needed, to smile despite the uncertainty and anxiousness of the situation. It made them feel stronger. It made them feel determined.

Once that feeling took hold, drowning out all the negative fears and worries, Frisk knew what they had to do. It wouldn't be an easy option, in fact, it would most likely be terrible but they were determined to make it up to Sans. To regain one of the most important friendships they had. Papyrus was right, they needed Sans just as much as he needed them.

So, after taking in a long breath for courage, Frisk looked up to their skeletal friend and simply asked, "Can you give me a ride?"

…

Grillby couldn't think of the last time he had seen Sans so miserable. The bartender had seen every single side of his friend over the years, both good and bad, even the parts he was quick to hide from everyone else. But even someone as mysterious and secretive as Sans had to break sometimes and, well, it was always in Grillby's company. The flame Monster had debated with himself many times why that was, maybe because Papyrus never came into his bar so Sans didn't feel the need to keep up the act, maybe it was the copious (and to be honest disgusting) amounts of ketchup Sans consumed that helped loosen his metaphorical lips, or maybe the skelebro just found Grillby's presence comforting. Whatever the reason, Grillby was always happy to be there for Sans, for both the good and bad days.

And today was one of his worst. If memory served, the last time Sans had been this depressed was when they were still living underground. To everyone else he probably seemed like his normal, comedic self, greeting the regular patrons both monster and human with his typical lazy wave hello. But Grillby had seen something off immediately in his old friend. He could tell something was eating the skeleton alive and whatever it was was leaving a heavy toll on poor Sans.

The skeletons' eye sockets were shrunken with whatever terrible emotion was plaguing him, his cheekbones stained with dried tears he had hastily tried to rub away. His smiling mouth was twitching which Grillby knew from past experiences was Sans desperately wanting to frown but his unique body structure making it impossible to do so.

Sans looked small, even more than usual, slumping forward as if it was everything he could do to stay upright. To see his dear friend in such a pitiful state made Grillby's soul feel like it was splitting in half.

Of course, asking Sans what was wrong did nothing, the skeleton was a natural born liar. He had quickly shrugged the series of questions off, his smile so believable that anyone who didn't know Sans as well as Grillby did would have believed it. "you know me, i'm always bone-tired, heh."

The other monsters and humans accepted this answer immediately, some even laughing at the poor excuse for a joke, but Grillby wasn't so easy to convince. But he hadn't bothered to push the subject, since it was clear Sans was not in a sharing mood. Instead he just patiently took his order (ketchup as usual) making a mental note to keep an eye on his friend. Today was a busier day at the bar though, so Grillby was sadly not able to watch over Sans as closely as he wanted. Still, at the very least, Sans didn't seem to be getting any worse. But he also didn't seem to be getting any better, either.

Grillby had just made up his mind to try and talk to Sans after closing time, when the pleasant sound of ringing filled his ears thanks to the bell that hung above the door, alerting him a new customer had entered. Grillby glanced over at them quickly, trying not to take too much attention off of the customer who was ordering, but he couldn't help but take note who had entered his humble bar.

The human called Frisk had stepped into Grillby's establishment, looking unsure and nervous, a rarity for the determined young child. He could tell Fisk didn't want to be in there and Grillby could only assume it had less to do with his bar and more of Sans himself. After all, Frisk always seemed right at home there, Sans would often bring them along during his regular visits and Frisk would have a smile on their face from the moment they walked in, until they left with Sans.

Now things were starting to come together. The reason for Sans' terrible mood had to be related to Frisk. The skeleton always seemed happier when the kid was with him, so the fact they had both come in separately… it was clear to Grillby the two had to be fighting, although over what was anyone's guess. Sans and Frisk always seemed to get along swimmingly, Grillby hadn't even seen the two raise their voices at each other. Sometimes Grillby could swear Sans saw himself as Frisk's dad the way he would indiscreetly fuss over them. It was hard to imagine the two weren't on speaking terms.

Frisk glanced around at the crowded bar clutching a large plate wrapped with tin foil against their chest, clearly searching for someone when their eyes met Grillby's. The human gave him a questioning look, which the fire monster returned with a pointed finger towards the front, where Sans sat, still looking small and miserable.

Frisk gave them a halfhearted nod of thanks before slowly pushing their way towards the skeleton. Grillby watched them until an impatient customer grabbed his attention and he was forced to resume focus on his job, though he still cast an occasional glance towards the pair to see how things developed.

When Frisk reached Sans, they hesitated, taking in the sorry sight of their skeleton friend. Sans was slumped onto the bar, his face resting in his boney arms, which meant Frisk's presence had gone unnoticed so far. Normally, anyone would assume the skelebro was asleep, drinking himself to exhaustion but Frisk saw through that. For one thing, he wasn't snoring, which was a telltale sign of Sans lost in dreamland. And Frisk could also see his body shaking, ever so slightly, almost invisible to the naked eye. Sans wasn't sleeping, he was crying, and making it look like his typical lazy demeanor.

Frisk spotted the bottle of ketchup beside him and nearly gasped as they saw it was unopened. Not a drop was missing from Sans' favorite drink and that was a very bad sign. This situation was more serious than Frisk had initially thought. Normally the skeleton would get drunk to hide the terrible feelings welling up inside him, but if he was ignoring the monster-equivalent of alcohol then he must be in a really, really bad place and Frisk wasn't completely sure they could pull him out of it.

Well that thought faded as quickly as it came, replaced with 'determination' and Frisk thought of Papyrus who was waiting outside. He believed Frisk could make this right and so they wanted to believe it too. And if they couldn't… well, Papyrus had mentioned as Frisk hopped out of his car that if they took longer than thirty minutes, he would come in after them.

Having the enthusiastic skeleton for backup allowed Frisk to finally take action, they set the plate of apology spaghetti down on the bar before climbing up onto the stool next to Sans. The skeleton didn't acknowledge them at first, still pretending to sleep. "Sans," Frisk whispered, causing their friend to flinch. Frisk wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't been expecting someone to call his name or because it came from Frisk themself but it hurt either way.

The skeleton slowly raised his head as if it drained him to do so. "oh heya, kiddo, heh, wasn't expecting to see you here." He tried to sound natural but it was clear by the grating edge to his tone, Frisk had been right, Sans had been crying. "guess you were really fired up for some of grillbz cooking, huh? or maybe something was burger-ing you?'' Sans let out a few halfhearted chuckles, his eye sockets glued to the countertop.

"Sans," Frisk began, keeping their voice steady. "I came cause I needed to tell you something about earlier."

"oh, heh, you're ready to reset already. Guess that's fair, i couldn't bring myself to get that last final drink but… seems like I'm just delaying the inevitable. thanks for waiting on me, kid. i'm… ready when you are."

"Sans, no! That's not what I mean!" Frisk exclaimed, growing frustrated, but not at Sans, at themselves for causing this whole stupid mess. "You're not listening to me! I'm not resetting!" They hadn't meant to raise their voice, they really hadn't but it seemed to be the only way to get through Sans' thick skull.

Sans stared at them long and hard, his piercing black sockets trying to read Frisk like a book and the human did their best to portray trustworthiness in their body language, making a point to keep their eyes locked with Sans' sockets. After a few endless minutes of judgement, Sans finally asked, "and your really bein' honest with me? because you can tell me if not, i promise i can take it."

Frisk shook their head, their small hands clenched into fists on their lap, wrinkling the pant leg in their strong grip. "I'm telling the truth. I don't want to go back, I don't ever want to go back! I couldn't ask for a better ending. Everyone's happy and finally getting to live life thanks to me. Papyrus gets to drive his car every day, even though he's really slow and keeps getting tickets." Frisk smiled warmly as they thought of the hyperactive skeleton, tears beginning to form at the corners of their eyes as they thought of what all would be lost if they ever gave in. "Undyne finally has the freedom to do more than fight all the time and can watch as many stupid awesome animes they want. And Alphys is so confident she doesn't stutter or talk bad about herself anymore. Mettaton's more famous then he ever was Underground and it's even better because now he gets to share that popularity with Blooky and Shyren. And every day, mom and dad look so happy just getting to garden or teach instead of trying to carry everyone's burdens on their shoulders. And Papyrus and I can both see how much better you are since coming to the surface and I would never want to take that away from you or anyone."

Frisk sniffed, wiping their eyes on the back of their sleeve, trying to recover enough to continue. Sans just watched them with growing concern, petrified by their tears since the skeleton had never once seen them cry in the entire time he knew them, which was probably more than anyone else, human or monster. So the fact he was seeing this now left him completely off-guard and clueless as to how to react. He made several moves to comfort them but talked himself out of it at the last second, not wanting to make things worse.

Still the fact he noticeably cared was enough to provide a small sense of comfort to Frisk and they were grateful for it. "But it's not just the monsters," Frisk continued as soon as they got their voice back. "This is the happiest I've ever been in my life! I have a real family and friends that love me and take care of me and I don't ever want any of that to go away!"

Frisk continued to sniffle, trying to keep the sobs buried at the back of their throat, the sadness returning faster than they could stop it, this time stronger than before. Tears ran down their cheeks and they hiccuped out the rest of what they had to say. "B-But no matter what I do or how much I say I won't, you always think I'm gonna reset everything. I can't convince you! Am I really that bad a person that you can't ever trust me?!" With that, the floodgates burst open and Frisk began to sob uncontrollably, doubling over in their seat and weeping pitifully into their hands.

The moment their sobs began, Sans knew he could no longer just sit and watch, now was the time to act. Without a word the skelebro reached over and swooped Frisk into his arms, holding them in a tight but loving hug against his chest. He cooed soothing words into their ear while rocking them back and forth in his seat. He had an arm protectively around their frame, while the other he ran through their short, brown hair. Sans didn't even care that his favorite jacket was now soaked in the kid's tears, all that mattered was comforting his kiddo.

It randomly occured to Sans that this had to be quite the sight for the other patrons of the bar, a small human child sobbing into a forever-grinning skeleton monster. Not that he particularly cared what anyone thought of his and Frisk’s friendship. Still he did take a quick glance around the bar to see if anyone had noticed the situation. Sure enough, the outburst had attracted the attention of every monster and human inside, a few of them seemed putoff by the sight like Sans expected but most just looked concerned, especially the regulars. The dogs had all started whining in concern, Lesser Dog's neck stretching out towards Frisk. Even Grillby had stopped what he was doing to watch the scene play out, Sans reading the worry from his flaming face.

The skeleton quickly returned his attention back to Frisk as they began to shake and hiccup, their sobs slowly dying down in strength. Sans listened to their choked breaths before he decided to try and risk a joke, hoping it would lighten the mood and lift the kid’s spirits a little. “well, call me a half-eaten plate of cookies because now I feel pretty crumby.” Between their sobs, Frisk let out a little laugh, small and halfhearted but it was music to Sans’ ears. He would take any form of joy over listening to them cry a moment longer. Heck, he would prefer a reset over the soul-breaking sobs bursting from his poor kid, especially since he was part of the cause of their tears.

He waited until they had recovered enough to listen, saying in a soft, gentle tone, “listen frisk, i’m so sorry i made you feel that way… that i didn’t trust you. I know you may not believe it but i probably trust you more than myself, heh.” Sans gave Frisk a little squeeze for reassurance. “so please don’t blame yourself for this dumb comedian’s mistake, babybones.”

“You aren’t dumb,” Frisk spoke up, their voice muffled by Sans’ jacket.

“and you aren’t a bad person,” the skeleton monster countered.

Frisk finally pulled their face out of Sans’ jacket, staring up at him with tear-stained vision. “So… you aren’t mad at me?”

Sans almost laughed out loud at the question, the ridiculousness of it all astounding to him. Here he was trying to comfort Frisk after causing them to cry, all because he couldn’t accept that his time in the underground was finally over, that Frisk really wouldn’t reset and trap them all down there again. If anything they should be mad at him, not the other way around.

“of course i’m not mad, kiddo,” Sans finally replied, rubbing a hand up and down Frisk's back in a soothing motion. “ i just got a little too sans-itive back there.” The two both chuckled at the joke, a real, genuine smile returning to Frisk’s face. That’s better, Sans thought with relief. He did a quick scan around the rest of the bar and saw that everyone else had visibly relaxed too, now that Frisk had finally stopped crying.

Since he got the kid calm he figured now was as good a time as any to get some answers so he set them back in their own seat while asking, “so, uh, if you don’t mind me askin’ what were you doing before, if you weren’t trying to reset?"

Frisk tensed, biting their lip and looking down at their lap but thankfully there were no more tears like Sans worried there might be. The human child took a long moment, building up the courage to say, shifting uncomfortably in their seat and not meeting Sans’ eye. Clearly it was something they didn’t want to discuss. Sans was about to change the subject and be done with it but Frisk spoke up just in time. “I was… trying to find a way to destroy the ‘reset’ button,” they admitted sadly.

Sans blinked, the only shock and surprise he let show on his face. He wasn’t expecting that. “uhhh, okay seems a bit weird since you yourself said you never wanted to reset again,” the skeleton responded finally.

“Yeah, but…” Frisk paused, their eyes flooding with fear while their small fingers fiddled with the front of Sans’ jacket, clenching and unclenching the fabric in their grip. All at once they seemed so very far away, lost in their own world and Sans feared he wouldn’t be able to reach them from where he was, he feared it was a path Frisk was trying to walk alone.

“kid?” Sans whispered worriedly, cupping their cheek in his skeletal palm. Frisk’s eyes refocused, snapping them out of whatever horrible vision they had just been shown and they hesitantly met Sans’ gaze. “c’mon, tell me what’s wrong.”

Frisk took in a deep breath, in and out, before admitting, “I-I’m afraid of m-myself.”

Again this was not what Sans was expecting but he made sure not to let his surprise show on his face, knowing Frisk needed unflinching support at this time. “what, a nice kid like you? What could you possibly have to fear about yourself?”

“T-That I’ll reset anyways. That I’m not determined enough to keep this happy ending. That’ll I’ll… ruin everything,” Frisk said, their eyes filling with shame.

Sans gave them a small pat on the head. “but i thought you were determined not to reset? that you’re happy the way things are.”

“But what if it doesn’t last?” Frisk asked, clutching Sans’ jacket so tightly their knuckles turned white, their eyes pleading and desperate as they looked to their skeletal friend for answers. “What if something goes wrong a-and I stop being happy? And then the temptation comes back and I can’t stop myself from-from going back there.” Frisk was starting to hyperventilate and Sans started rubbing circles on their back again, trying to keep them breathing regularly. At this rate he wouldn’t be surprised if the kid passed out on him. “I don’t want this to end Sans, I don’t want to disappoint you or break our promise but the fact that I don’t know for sure terrifies me!”

Sans took a minute to respond to that, keeping a blank expression while inwardly battling with the turmoil that was threatening to crush him. On one hand, he was afraid of the exact same thing, too. Afraid of waking up back underground, powerless to stop it, completely at the whim of an unpredictable human. And yet, Sans could tell Frisk needed comfort, reassurance, and he was the only one who could provide it, the only one who understood what they were going though. It had never once occurred to Sans that Frisk might be going through the same fears he was and he wanted to slap himself for being so self-centered he hadn’t even noticed the struggles his dear friend was going through on their own.

And despite his fears, what he said to them before rang true. He believed in Frisk. Sure they had messed up before (heck wasn’t like he was exactly Mr. Perfect either) but they had worked so hard to make up for past mistakes and then some. Without them, Sans wouldn’t be free, his family and friends would still be trapped underground, slowly losing their hope of ever seeing freedom for themselves. Sans had judged Frisk more times then he could count, but that last time, before they broke the barrier and declared they would never reset again, he could see they were determined to do right. There had been resolve in their eyes that day at the Judgement Hall, filled with the strength to do good. They held themselves taller than they ever had before and the way the light reflected off their skin and clothes, they looked like a real hero, like… an angel. That was the moment Sans knew things would be different this time, the first time in a long line of resets he allowed himself to hope. Small and fragile, yes, but it was what started him down the right path to fixing himself and he had needed that more than he even knew at the time.

So if he wasn’t willing to return the favor, then he’d be a real, bone-ified jerk. Heh. Not to mention a massive hypocrite. Besides he was positive if Frisk started crying again then he would start weeping some very unmanly tears, too, and he did not want to explain to the other patrons of the bar what caused his own water works, especially Grillby. He was already pushing it by coming there in such a depressed state, if the bar owner caught sight of him crying… well, he might just have to find a new place to drink his favorite brand of ketchup just to get him off his back.

Sans wasn’t exactly the most experienced when it came to cheering people up, despite his jokes and pour sense of humor he was too much of a cynic to do much of that, but he had a pretty good idea what to say to the kid to ease their mind a little. So, one deep breath later, he gave their hair a good, long ruffle, not enough to hurt them but still strong enough that they were tipped slightly forward by the action.

When he was finished, Frisk seemed taken aback by his response, their hair standing up at odd angles and their eyes wide with confusion but Sans’ plan had worked, he had successfully drawn their attention away from their own troubling thoughts and that was a win in his mind. “c'mon, kiddo,” Sans began, giving them a fake scolding look (which wasn’t easy to do when you are always smiling). “what kinda talk is that? thought you were supposed to be the ‘most determined’ or whatever. you seriously trying to tell me you're afraid of some button after literally coming back from death itself dozens of times?”

Frisk didn’t respond, just staring at the skeleton blankly, so he decided to continue on with his speech, making sure the message sunk in deep. nah, sorry not buyin’ it.” He shook his head before putting on a warm smile, one he knew Frisk would recognize. “the frisk i know is way too stubborn for that. so stop tellin’ yourself otherwise.”

“But Sans, what if something happens? What if things go wrong and ‘resetting’ might be easier?” Frisk asked, fear flooding their vision for a moment as they gripped his jacket fearfully.

But Sans just shrugged it off, reassuring his kid, “then we’ll deal with it. i’m sure between the two us, we numbskulls can come up with some kind of solution that doesn’t involve resetting.”

Frisk smiled a little at the pun but they were too focused on the rest of that sentence to comment on it. “‘We’?” they repeated in a small voice as if uncertain they had heard Sans' right.

The skeleton just nodded his head, winking down at his human friend. “that’s right, kiddo. no matter what happens or if things go terribly right or terribly wrong, i'll be right there by your side, so that we can face it together.”

“You mean it?” Frisk asked hopefully. They wanted to believe that. They wanted so badly to believe they weren’t be alone in dealing with this anymore. But after everything they had done to Sans, even if he didn’t blame them, Frisk just couldn’t accept that as the truth.

“of course i meant it. What kind of dunkle would i be if i wasn’t there to help my kid through a crisis?” he winked playfully at his kiddo but it still didn't quite get through Frisk's barrier.

They at least gave a small halfhearted smile at the nickname they had made up for Sans but they just weren't convinced. After all, Sans had proven he was a pretty good liar. How could they know for sure he was telling the truth? That he wasn't just saying what they wanted to hear like adults tended to do.

The skelebro could see the doubt on their face and so swept them up into another tight hug before saying, "i'll be here for you, kiddo. no matter what. i promise."

Frisk’s mouth dropped open at the word ‘promise’. Sans hated making promises. He avoided committing himself to pretty much anything just to avoid the responsibility and consequences promises brought with them. Despite that, it was obvious promises were something Sans regarded highly, because when he did make them, he did not take them lightly. They were the only reason he hadn’t just disposed of Frisk the first time they met. In all the resets and all the different outcomes Sans had never once spoken those words to them and Frisk had honestly believed he never would. So for him to say those words without force or question or any kind of convincing blew Frisk's mind!

Frisk pulled out of the hug, so they could show Sans their disbelief, giving him a look resembling a gapping fish. The skeleton couldn't help but chuckle at the odd expression (not that he blamed them) before giving their hair another good ruffle. "yeah, yeah, i know. 'i hate makin' promises','' he shrugged as he repeated his old words back to himself. "But if it helps ease your mind and keeps this from happening again…" Sans gestured around the bar, stopping at the unopened bottle of ketchup. "...then i guess it's worth it."

Frisk let out a long puff of air, their face relaxing for the first time in an hour. "So I guess you really condi-meant it," they replied and the two burst into laughter. Sans' laugh roared around the fairly-sized bar, drawing many questioning eyes onto the pair but neither noticed nor cared. All the stress and tension that had built up within them was finally able to be let out, a normal, pleasant calm falling over the pair.

From where he stood cleaning out empty shot glasses, Grillby smiled to himself, happy to hear Sans' laughter in his bar again. The place always felt empty without it, even if the skeleton was a bit of a handful.

"you have no idea how much I pro-missed hearing that laugh of yours, buddy, heh," Sans admitted jokingly, winking down at the giggling Frisk. This only made them laugh harder until there were tears in their eyes.

Seeing that now was the right moment for it, Sans offered the kid his hand to shake. "so how's about it, frisk, partners against time?"

Frisk smiled and nodded vigorously, taking the skeleton's outstretched hand. A loud fart noise echoed through the bar, any newcomers there stopping what they were doing with a look of disgust. Grillby's happy smile turned to an annoyed frown, facepalming in utter frustration and disappointment. He made a mental note to talk to Sans on a day he was doing better because at this rate he was gonna scare away all of his business.

Frisk and Sans, on the other hand, both snorted, trying to hold in their laughter. But when Sans flipped over his hand revealing the whoopie cushion taped onto his palm the two lost it, laughing uncontrollably at the prank, Frisk holding their stomach from lack of oxygen.

Finally, their roars of laughter died down to a low rumble, then a scattering of chortles. Once Frisk and Sans had worn themselves out, they both just took a moment to catch their breath, panting heavily and grinning ear to ear (or non-ears in Sans' case). Once the skeleton could speak again, he lazily stated, "welp, better get back home before pap freaks out and goes lookin' for us." Sans quickly swiped up the ketchup bottle off the counter, popping the lid off and finally taking a massive gulp from the bottle before sliding it away into his jacket for later. No use letting it go to waste, after all.

“Ummmm,” Frisk mumbled, looking over at the clock on the wall, quickly reading the time. It was only a few seconds till 7:30, right when Paps had said he would come in. “About that-”

Just as the clock switched over from 7:29 to 7:30, the door to the bar busted open, the loud noise startling human and monster alike, a silence falling over the place as all turned to see who had so hastily entered their place of relaxation. Papyrus stood proudly in the doorway his scarf waving in the wind somehow, despite there not being any wind to speak of. The door itself was now nothing but splintered wood from where Papyrus had kicked it open and Grillby hung his head in defeat, already dreading another phone call to the very frustrated door repair man. The skelebro ignored all the confused and judging stares from around the bar, his focus on his brother and friends spotting them near the back. “SANS! HUMAN! DO NOT FEAR FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM HERE TO HELP YOU SOLVE YOUR DIFFERENCES AND BECOME BEST FRIENDS AGAIN!” the skeleton declared loudly.

“bro?” Sans asked in confusion, an eyebrow slowly raising. He glanced over at Frisk, who offered a sheepish expression as the only means of explanation. “so, you got my bro in on this too, huh?” Sans commented before passing it off with a shrug. “heh, guess i can’t blame you, he is too cool to go without.”

“OF COURSE I AM!” Papyrus agreed, putting a hand to his chest. He quickly snapped out of his self-congratulatory praise though and returned focus to things almost as important as he was. “BUT DON’T CHANGE THE SUBJECT!" he scolded, moving his gloved hands to his protruding hips. "SANS, I DON’T KNOW ENTIRELY WHAT THE TINY HUMAN DID TO UPSET YOU BUT I��M SURE WHATEVER IT WAS IS NOT ENOUGH TO STOP BEING THEIR FRIEND. IF YOU DID STOP BEING THEIR FRIEND YOU WOULD FEEL BAD AND WHEN I WAS OUT HANGING OUT WITH FRISK YOU WOULD PROBABLY LAZE AROUND AT HOME AND I DON’T NEED ANY MORE EXCUSES FOR YOU TO BE LAZY.”

bro, it’s fine,” Sans spoke up, trying to sound as reassuring as he could. “frisk and i already worked things out.”

“OH.” Papyrus paused for a second or two, letting that process, before he stuck a dramatic pose and proudly declared, “WOWIE! I’M EVEN BETTER AT THIS THEN I THOUGHT! NYEH HEH HEH!”

“you sure are, bro,” Sans agreed, pulling the bottle of ketchup out and taking a small sip.

“You’re the greatest, Papyrus!” Frisk added, smiling up at the tall skeleton.

“WELL YES I AM, THANK YOU FOR NOTICING, TINY HUMAN FRISK!” Papyrus picked Frisk and Sans up and pulled them into a loving hug. “AND YOU AND MY BROTHER, even though he is very lazy, ARE VERY GREAT AS WELL, NYEH HEH HEH!”

Frisk hugged the skelebro back while Sans just hung loosely from his arm, already fighting sleep, but still smiled nonetheless. “we’re only cool cause we hang out with you, bro,” Sans said, his words already starting to slur.

“SANS ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO SLEEP RIGHT NOW? YOU JUST MADE UP WITH FRISK! WE MUST CELEBRATE ANOTHER VICTORY FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS.”

“you know me, bro. I’m… the best at being la….zzzzy,” Sans began to snore loudly and Papyrus let out an over dramatic sigh. Frisk covered their mouth to keep their giggles from escaping, finding the two skeletons immensely funny and entertaining. There was never a dull moment with them around.

Papyrus put a gloved hand to his forehead, before commenting bitterly, “I CAN’T TELL IF THAT WAS MEANT TO BE A PUN OR YOU ARE JUST REALLY THAT LAZY.”

“bit of both,” Sans muttered in his sleep.

“OKAY, YOU LAZY BONES, IT’S TIME TO GO HOME AND PUT YOU IN YOUR PROPER BED, SINCE MY ARM DOES NOT COUNT AS ONE,” Papyrus declared, already stomping towards the door.

“Wait, Papyrus, can’t we at least get something to eat first?” Frisk asked, sheepishly, rubbing their stomach. “I’m really hungry.”

“NOT TO WORRY, HUMAN. FOR TGE GREAT PAPYRUS ALWAYS PLANS AHEAD, NYEH HEH HEH! YOU CAN EAT MY APOLOGY SPAGHETTI ON THE WAY HOME."

Frisk made a face, trying their hardest not to let their disgust show. Although Paps’ cooking had gotten better since getting to the surface, it was still mostly inedible. And the smell of burgers and fries had already filled their nostrils, making their stomach growl in want.

Luckily, Sans already had a solution to this dilemma, his right eye lighting up blue, unseen by Papyrus, thanks to how he was draped over his bro's arm. The plate of unopened spaghetti then also turned the pale color to match the skeleton's eye, before it suddenly scooted itself across the bar and onto the floor below. There was a shattering sound heard from Grillby's side of the table, said monster watching the plate fall before whipping his head in the direction of Sans, fuming with anger.

Sans shrugged to the fire monster, hoping he would take that as an apology, while telling Papyrus, "sorry, bro. already are it all. you know apology spaghetti is my favorite spaghetti. you can taste the remorse in every bite."

Papyrus gasped, setting the human down so he could hold Sans at arms length (startling the older brother) his eyelights somehow sparkling with joy to convey just how happy he was to his brother. "OH SANS, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME TO HEAR YOU SAY THAT, NYEH HEH HEH! I ALMOST FORGOT HOW MUCH YOU ENJOYED MY COOKING! YOU ARE THE BEST BROTHER I EVER HAD!"

"heh, pretty sure i'm your only brother, too," Sans mentioned.

Papyrus began spinning them in a circle, which Sans' body instantly disliked, the place where his stomach would be groaning in protest. "OH BUT IT'S TRUE! I'M CONFIDENT EVEN IF YOU WEREN'T MY ONLY BROTHER YOU WOULD STILL BE THE GREATEST BECAUSE ONLY THE BEST BROTHER WOULD LOVE MY SPAGHETTI SO MUCH!"

Sans put a hand over his smiling mouth, trying to keep his dinner down. "paps, ya think you could stop with all the spinning before this spaghetti turns into seafood?" The skelebro asked miserably.

Papyrus did stop, looking at his brother in confusion. "WAIT, HOW WOULD IT DO THAT?"

Sans shrugged nonchalantly, despite his pale complexion, his face beading with sweat, and his groaning insides. "because, uh, y'know cause i was gonna throw it up."

Papyrus frowned at his brother muttering, "FIRST OF ALL, SANS, THAT IS DISGUSTING. SECONDLY, WE ARE SKELETON MONSTERS, FOOD JUST TURNS INTO MAGIC. WE PHYSICALLY CANNOT THROW UP."

"i hear ya, bro, but the rest of me just can't stomach it," Sans replied simply.

Papyrus stared at him blankly before shouting, "OH MY GOSH, SANS! THAT ONE WASN'T EVEN CLEVER!"

"hey, you can't blame me for the bad puns, bro," Sans pleaded, although there was not a hint of remorse or regret on his face. "i'm just too excited to get to spin more time with the great papyrus."

Papyrus smiled, saying brightly, "WHY THANK YOU SANS, I KNOW I'M VERY GREAT-" However, he froze upon realizing the pun his older brother had just made. "SANS! WHY MUST YOU RUIN OUR MOMENTS WITH YOUR INFERNAL PUNS!" Papyrus stomped his foot once in anger, while Sans just rolled with laughter. He was soon having to clutch his front, his rib bones aching from the uncontrollable laughing fit.

Papyrus just rolled his eyes, knowing there was not much more he could do about his brother's obsession with terrible puns. In all honesty though, Papyrus would happily endure as many terrible jokes as it took if it meant getting to see his brother this happy. Not that he would ever, ever admit it to him.

Papyrus felt a small tug on his scarf and looked down to see Frisk staring up at him with a hopeful expression. “Soooo, does that mean I can have something to eat here?” They put their hands together in a pleading motion, begging with their eyes to try and break through the skeleton’s barriers. Papyrus avoided their eye for a moment, seeming to think it over.

From behind the three, Grillby crossed his arms, staring at Papyrus long and hard as he waited for the skeleton’s answer, the flames around his head burning a little stronger than normal. The least Papyrus could do after breaking his door (again) was buy something so that Grillby could afford to replace it. Still he didn’t voice this out loud because Papyrus was Papyrus and he really couldn’t stay mad at him for long. He was as charming and naive as he was destructive. With a combo like that, Grillby figured he would be paying for a lot of repairs if it meant having the skelebros around.

Sans, however, would be getting a firm lecture from him once they were alone because his bar was not a trash can, nor should it be treated that way. Although even Sans was difficult to punish, if Grillby had a right mind he would have banned them both ages ago, but he had a soft spot for the skeletons so he tolerated all their strange antics and pranks even if he probably shouldn’t.

Finally, Papyrus seemed to reach a decision as he said in a halfhearted tone, “VERY WELL, SINCE I KNOW YOU TWO LOVE THIS PLACE, for reasons i don’t quite understand, WE MAY EAT SOMETHING HERE BEFORE GOING HOME TO MY SPAGHETTI.”

Frisk hugged Papyrus’ leg, saying excitedly, “Thanks, Papy! You're the best!”

“I KNOW, NYEH HEH HEH,” Papyrus replied warmly, giving them a loving pat on the head before sending them off to order.

Sans finally stopped laughing long enough to call over to the kid, “hey, frisk, buy me a burger would ya?”

“I THOUGHT YOU ALREADY ATE MY SPAGHETTI?” Papyrus questioned his brother in confusion.

A few drops of sweat ran down his skull as Sans tried to think up a response to that, finally settling on, “i got a ton of room left, bro.”

“SANNSSSS….” Papyrus growled in a warning tone.

But this didn’t stop Sans at all as he finished his joke with his signature wink, “a skele-ton.”

“UGH, WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER?!” Papyrus shouted out of annoyance for his lazy brother.

“c’mon you can’t stay mad at me, bro. we both know you love my puns,” Sans said, giving his brother a little pat on the shoulder.

Papyrus sighed dramatically. “I SWEAR SANS I WILL DROP YOU AND THEN YOU WILL HAVE TO WALK YOURSELF HOME,” the skeleton threatened, though they both knew it was just a bluff. Papyrus would never drop his one HP brother for any reason, especially over a couple of bad puns. And even if he did, Sans had his shortcuts. But the older skeleton bro knew the real reason such a threat would never come to pass.

“no, you won’t. you love carrying me around,” Sans pointed out in a nearly teasing tone.

“I ADMIT NO SUCH THING,” the tall skeleton stubbornly responded, even though they both knew the truth.

“thanks for being there for me and the kid, bro,” Sans suddenly said, his tone switching from joking to serious in an instant. “it really means a lot to me.”

“YOU ARE WELCOME, BROTHER,” Papyrus replied sweetly. But his jovial tone turned bittersweet as he added a bit sadly, “I’M JUST GLAD YOU AND THE HUMAN AREN’T FIGHTING ANYMORE. I KNOW YOU TWO ARE VERY CLOSE SO SEEING YOU UPSET AT ONE ANOTHER IS VERY DIFFICULT TO WATCH.”

Sans didn’t respond to that, just watching as Frisk cheerfully spoke to Grillby, who was busy preparing the food, their light smile and happy laugh making Sans feel hopeful again. It was strange, all the years of darkness and despair, of endless resets and depression and death, they felt so far away when Frisk smiled. It made him want to smile too and keep smiling forever. There was still a lot to do to put himself back together but it no longer felt impossible. And it was all thanks to his kid, Frisk.

“UM, I KNOW YOU DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED,” Papyrus reluctantly spoke up, cutting through Sans’ thoughts. “BUT DO YOU THINK YOU TWO WILL FIGHT OVER WHATEVER IT WAS AGAIN? BECAUSE IF SO THEN I SHOULD KEEP SOME APOLOGY SPAGHETTI READY FOR IF OR WHEN THAT HAPPENS.”

Sans thought that over for a moment, looking up at Frisk again. Grillby had just finished with their order consisting of two burgers, some fries, and a vanilla milkshake for Papyrus. The human child must have felt their eye sockets on them because Frisk turned and waved over to the pair, smiling truly and genuinely at their very dear friends. And that look was all it took to give Sans his answer. “nah, bro. i think me and frisk are done doing the same thing over and over again. it’s time to start doing somethin’ new. and i for one am really set to start livin, heh.”

A/N: Yes the last line was sorta a pun. More of an inside joke though XD

#Undertale #My writing #Sans #Frisk #Papyrus #Dunkle Sans

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autumnslance · 3 years

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((Shadowbringers 5.3-5.4. I wanted to have this done by the 15th of January but didn’t quite manage it because these two idiots are wordy as heck, and I initially started in the wrong place and POV. I wrote roughly 8000 words total and only ended up using half of them. There are letters and pining and admitting things happening here.

Below the cut as usual for those who prefer Tumblr to Ao3, but the formatting may work better on that site.))

Aeryn stepped through the mirror and into the familiar space of the Ocular, taking a moment to reorient herself after the rush of journeying between worlds. Once the vertigo had passed she left the Tower, the Crystarium guards greeting her as she crossed the Exedra. It took some questioning before she was finally pointed to where Ryne was currently; training with Captain Lyna just outside the city gates.

She simply watched for a time as Lyna tried to keep her distance while Ryne tried to close in. Aeryn did not announce herself, simply noting how Ryne’s bladework had improved, at least one new trick learned since the last time Aeryn had watched her fight.

“That is enough for now,” Lyna said as they reached a breakpoint in their dance. “And the Warrior of Darkness has waited long enough,” she continued with a wry smile in Aeryn’s direction.

Ryne started, then turned with a grin, hurrying over to give Aeryn a hug. “It’s good to see you! Oh sorry, I’m all sweaty…”

Aeryn laughed, brushing damp strands of hair from Ryne’s reddened face. It was still winter in Eorzea, but in Norvrandt spring was on the horizon and the morning was warm. “Not to worry. Hope you don’t mind the interruption.”

Lyna waved them off. “Go on; we can catch up later.”

Aeryn nodded, knowing the captain wanted word of her grandfather, and G’raha had given Aeryn a small package to deliver, but that would wait until Lyna was off duty and had readied herself. There was an order to such things with the stoic woman.

Instead, Aeryn turned back to Ryne and smiled. Had she gotten taller? “I have a question, if you’ll indulge me.”

“Of course!” Ryne answered as they walked across the bridge into the city. “What is it you need?”

“I have a note from Thancred; he and Urianger are currently on a mission, but he left me instructions for tod--well. The day it is back on the Source.”

“I see. What are the instructions?”

“I’m to ask you about the black willow box he kept in his room here.”

Ryne paused, a little sharp breath escaping. “Ryne?” Aeryn asked.

“Sorry! It’s just I was under strict instruction never to open the box, though I have the key now, of course; I still didn’t dare. It’s where he kept,” she hesitated.

“Kept what?”

“I’ll show you; it’s a good thing--I think--that he wants you to see. Come on!” Ryne dashed toward her apartment as if she hadn’t just completed a long practice session with the captain of the guard. Aeryn picked up her own pace to follow along after.

It did not take long for them to reach the apartment Ryne used to share with Thancred. As the girl opened the door, Aeryn realized it was the first time she had returned to these rooms since the Scions’ departure from the First. It was much as she remembered, though lacking Thancred’s continued presence. Evidence of Gaia’s frequent visits were visible instead, from lipstick-stained coffee mugs at the sink to dark ribbons left on an end table to a book that did not seem to be to Ryne’s taste on a sofa cushion.

Ryne paused in front of the door that had led to Thancred’s small room. “I haven’t been in here since,” she trailed off, shaking her head. “Gaia and Taynor sorted most of it, actually, so only a few personal things remain. I should probably move to a smaller suite to let someone else use the space…”

“Maybe you need a roommate,” Aeryn suggested. “Perhaps Gaia could stay with you.”

Ryne reddened. “We’ve considered it, but I’m just…” She gave a helpless little laugh as she shrugged, looking up at Aeryn apologetically. “I’m just not quite ready, I think. It’s silly, but there’s a part of me that keeps hoping they’ll find a way--a safe way--to return. Even just for a little while.”

Aeryn squeezed Ryne’s shoulder. “It’s not silly,” she said quietly. “And I keep hoping that, too. Fairly certain Y’shtola has it at the top of her projects list.”

Ryne laughed, truly this time. “She would!” She looked at the door again. “The box should be on the shelf above the writing desk,” she offered Aeryn a small key. “I’ll let you see for yourself.”

Aeryn nodded, taking the little key and entering the room.

It was familiar, yet unfamiliar. Always small, it had kept from being cramped mainly by virtue of Thancred’s own minimalist tendencies with his added reluctance of accumulating things on the First that he would have to leave behind in the end. Even so, the room felt barren, many necessities and items missing, given away to be used by others in need among the Crystarium’s residents; naught went to waste while still usable.

The bed was neatly made; her eyes lingered for a moment, recalling a handful of pleasant times curled up together in it. They had often met in her own chambers for privacy, especially when feeling the need for more than simple closeness. There was a bench under the shuttered window; he used to clean his gunblade there, storing materials and parts in a chest beneath the bench. Nothing remained but the seat.

The writing desk was really a tall square table, a stool for the chair, in a corner of the room. Two simple shelves hung on the wall above it, some of Thancred’s personal effects that remained neatly placed upon them. The black willow box was a simple but lovely piece of old Nabaath make. It was familiar only in that it was a part of the room, always upon the shelf above the desk, a background decoration.

She had to stretch a little to pull the small box down. She unlocked it, pondering what it could contain for one last moment before opening the lid to find out.

Neatly folded pages, Thancred’s familiar handwriting covering them, five different bundles marked by Vrandtic dates in Eorzean lettering. The earliest one was dated five--no, six years ago now, in the midst of Thancred’s first year in this world, just after the Vrandtic new year. The second bundle was dated a year later. Then the third, then a fourth. The final bundle broke the date pattern, written...She shivered. The dates would have been the time after they assaulted Mt Gulg and before seeking Emet-Selch and the Exarch in the Tempest, when she had lain in a Light-induced fever for days in between.

All of the letters, long and detailed, were addressed to her.

Aeryn carried the box to the window and opened the shutters, letting in the natural light of day. She sat at the bench, picked up the first letter, and began to read, brows already rising at the first line.

My Dear Aeryn,

It’s been roughly half a year, to me, since I arrived in this world. We search for a means to send me back, but given the dangers, it’s difficult to say if we shall ever be successful. I hold onto hope, given we have made the impossible happen more than once—particularly when you are involved.

I know so much less time is passing for you, even as time is difficult to track beneath the eternal Light, but the people still mark the hours and days as best they can--perhaps better than we do in the Source, reliant as we are upon the sun and stars. So as the calendar year turns to a new page, I find myself confronted by reminders of you at every turn, my own mind noting the dates, as if counting down to your nameday in truth.

Violas grown in the Hortorium call to mind your favored hair decoration and your scents carried with it. The heather meadows and clear mountain springs of Il Mheg make me think of the taste of your magic. Treasure hunters in Mord Souq unearth duelist rapiers reminiscent of your combat style. The grey waters of a lake, shifting in color and tone under the burning sky, remind me of your eyes and ever-shifting moods.

I think of our new situation, how fragile it all still seems, our duties as Scions, the distance between Ala Mhigo and Doma keeping us apart more often than I liked. Especially after already having denied my own interests for far longer than I care to admit.

I fear now, not knowing when I may return to your side--in whatever capacity--that I am forgetting important things, and I very much do not want to. So indulge me as I list your various qualities that I admire, to remind myself why I allowed myself to maintain my impossible infatuation for so long, even as you became one of my dearest friends...

Aeryn eyes widened as she turned to the next page, then quickly checked the several pages following; Thancred had indulged his bardic habits, writing in verse and engaging in wordplay. Even the most innocent descriptions and memories of moments together, professional and extremely personal, were laden with puns and innuendo--not entirely unexpected from him.

She was mostly through the verses, trying to parse every dedicated line, when a knock at the door startled her.

“Aeryn?” Gaia called. “Everything all right?”

She cleared her throat. “Fine; I’ve quite a bit of reading to do, though; I may need some water.”

The door opened, Gaia appearing with a tray already in hand. “Ryne thought you might--are you all right? You’re redder than I have ever seen, and that’s saying something.”

Aeryn pressed a hand to her warm cheeks. “I’m fine. Just...wasn’t expecting some of what I found so far.”

“Is that good or bad?” The girl asked, setting the tray on the nearby side table in easy reach. There was a small tea service and also ice water, bless them.

“It’s...Better than good,” Aeryn replied. “I may be awhile, though.”

Gaia shrugged in her nonchalant, pretending-not-to-care way. “Doesn't matter to me, but I was going to drag Ryne out for a while, just so you know. You’ll be fine here by yourself--won’t you?” A little genuine care came through in the last two words, despite her attempts to seem otherwise.

Aeryn nodded.

“All right. Enjoy your reading, and we’ll see you later.” Gaia gave a little wave before leaving, quietly closing the door behind her.

Aeryn cleared her throat again, sipping the cup of minty green tea--bless those girls again--and set the first letter aside for now. She would get back to that later; alone in her own room, where she could bury her face in a pillow and shriek like a schoolgirl when overwhelmed by his words, godsdamn him. For now, the second bundle had her curious.

My Dearest Aeryn,

I almost let the date slip by, I am ashamed to say. So much has happened in recent weeks...

She read through two pages of his recounting Minfilia’s story and the reincarnations that had followed, offering a small hope to Norvrandt; of Urianger and Y’shtola’s arrival, his anger at the spell’s failure and yet relief at seeing Urianger again; and their shift in focus upon learning of the Eighth Umbral Calamity.

...Urianger’s vision of the Calamity, of our deaths, is a sobering thought. The idea of you fallen especially freezes my blood. I cannot bear the thought.

So I redoubled my efforts to rescue the girl bearing Minfilia’s name and appearance. She sleeps now on a cot in this Mord town as I write. She can’t be more than twelve or thirteen summers; a frail little thing with no skills aside from reading books thicker than she is, and asking innumerable questions. They taught her nothing, simply locked her in a windowless cell under the waterline. For at least ten years, that is all the child’s known. If the fate Urianger saw for us makes my blood freeze, her situation makes it boil again. Should I chance to meet Eulmore’s General--the man responsible for her “care”--I will let him know exactly what I think.

Tomorrow Minfilia and I shall attempt to reach Nabaath Areng, the site of the Flood’s halting; the girl says she must go there, as if pulled. I have a hope I dare not voice yet. The Blessing of Light does work in such interesting ways.

But that is on the morrow; tonight, though a day late, I wished to write to you as I did last year. With the date in mind you have also been in my thoughts--when I’ve had a moment to think, at least--and I find myself recalling more and more often the little things. Simple things. Things I fear I may forget, having been here for years now, years without the way you tilt your head when you have a question. It initially annoyed me actually, you were so quiet but now, gods I would give much to be in your silence again, to see that quizzical look. Anything to see the little furrow between your brows when you’re thinking. When you prop your chin on your hands as you stare out a window, tea forgotten in your hand. How you unconsciously wriggle and make faces as you read, reacting to the pages, lips silently moving as you devour each word...

“Oh I do not,” Aeryn muttered--realizing in the same moment that she was doing that now. She sipped her tea and kept reading, noting how he wrote, as much as what; the moments where he had scratched out words, or underlined others. The splots where the pen had sat on the page a moment longer than normal as he thought of what he wanted to admit to. The way the letters slanted in places where he was eager. There was no poetry this time, fewer puns and word play. He had written when tired and possibly injured, given the shakiness of some lettering.

There were places where he couldn’t remember clearly--what perfume had she worn on the day of a particular memory? Was she wearing her red coat, or a blue dress in another? He wasn’t certain.

The letter wrapped up several pages later.

...I must get some sleep, given the long trek across the Amber Hills awaiting. I don’t know what will happen when we arrive, but whatever it is, I’ll keep the girl safe. Taking care of her is the only thing I can do, lacking the skills of the Exarch and our colleagues. Particularly now that we have abandoned the idea of going home--yet. I still don’t know how I feel about that, having struggled to find a way back for so long now, but there must be a home to return to. To save ourselves, we must save this realm. Forgive me; as much as I yearn to see you again, I wish for you to live far more. Despite everything, I still remain

Yours, Thancred.

Aeryn drew in a sharp breath; the previous letter’s signature had been much simpler, after all the floweriness of the verses. This simpler, newsy, reminiscent letter had such a different feel to it, so much changing for him in that year. Her eyes kept drifting to that closing.

It took a few moments before she was able to refold that bundle and open the next.

His next year in the First; this one another detailed description of events he survived, and quite a lot about Ryne, still only known as Minfilia at the time.

...I actually began this letter yesterday, as we rested in a small inn at the edge of the Greatwood. I thought of seeking out Y’shtola, but am unfamiliar with those dark and twisting paths, and was low on ammunition. Minfilia was exhausted, unable to fight or imbue cartridges, and I won’t risk her more than our constant travels already do.

It was she who reminded me that I had been writing, before she made me take my rest as well. I’ve never told her about these letters, but she’s a bright girl and I have told her of you. Sometimes it’s simply because she is curious about you, and the hope that you’ll come here and save yourself, as well as the rest of us. Many times though I don’t mean to say anything, but the stories simply come, like a slumbering spring awoken by new rains, bubbling up and overflowing the riverbanks.

It’s something about her, I suppose, that makes me remember, and so I must speak before the memories fade back into the dustier corridors of my mind. Perhaps an effect of her unique Blessing? Or perhaps simply her childish curiosity drawing it out of me.

There’s a selfish part of me that wants you to meet her. It would mean that you’re here, for one, but also I think you two would get along. She’s a good girl--with her moments of petulance and stubbornness, as many youths are wont, but she’s come such a long way already, has learned so quickly.

I fear influencing her. The choice she must make is so important, and it must be hers. You would be a much better role model; you inspire others to do what’s best simply by your presence. I’ve felt the lack of you more keenly this last year than ever before...

Aeryn read through, noting he wrote it more like a conversation she had yet to answer. Memories of their adventures and companionship were woven through the words more naturally as he spoke to her. She smiled as he spent a good chunk of the letter not even realizing how he had gushed about Ryne and all she had learned and how she had grown in that first year they spent together, as if he were trying to ensure Aeryn would love the child as much as he so obviously did--even if the foolish man hadn’t been able to tell the girl so until it had almost been too late.

But then, that was Thancred; locking his thoughts and feelings behind stoicism, snark, and literally in a box on a shelf.

She traced her nail along the letters of his name--again signed “Yours”--before tucking that bundle away and picking up the fourth.

By this time the twins were somewhere in Norvrandt, though Thancred had no opportunity to see them as Eulmore’s hunters were ever close. He wrote to Aeryn of his frustration with how many Scions had come to the First but she was still so far away and still in so much danger, alongside the rest of the Source and this shard itself. If she couldn’t come to Norvrandt to break the Light’s hold over the realm then the girl would have to make her choice sooner rather than later--and perhaps face the same fate as all of her predecessors.

He admitted that he feared both of those outcomes. He seemed to have begun to cross out that line, but had stopped himself.

...A nasty part of me believes you will never receive these nameday letters. That these are simply my way of remembering yet another important woman in my life I will never see again. I try not to dwell on such thoughts, try to keep busy, but you know me. Perhaps better than anyone since our Minfilia. How I wish I could speak with you again; patrolling through Mor Dhona, lunch at Rowena’s cafe, stargazing on the roofs of Ala Mhigo, reading in the Waking Sands’ dusty library. Simply holding you until we fall asleep, those few, rare moments we had. You always made me say more than I ever meant to; you’ve a way of drawing me out despite myself—and failing that, of simply being there as a brilliant, warm presence.

There are places here I want to show you, things I want to share. Yet I fear your coming, what it will mean. What changes I’ve experienced. What we had was...comfortable, and felt right, after so long, and yet it was still so new and fragile. I used to be confident in my ability to be delicate, but these last few years with this girl have made me feel boorish and clumsy. And I know I have changed, not just because of her, but everything in this hard world. Will you recognize me when we meet? Will you still want me, when you were already so uncertain before?

I suppose I shan’t know until you’re here, or we find a way home. Given the Exarch’s record, the former seems more likely. And it still worries me, much as I know it’s the better course to preserve all we hold dear...

Aeryn stared out the window for a long moment; she had known of his doubts, his fears; when she had arrived and finally found him again, it had been difficult. Yet despite everything, they had gotten past it.

She eyed the final bundle, slimmer than the rest, those dates seeming so heavy though she had no conscious recollection of them, given her state at the time. Having finished the tea, she poured a glass of water and began to read.

Aeryn,

Ryne assures us you will still be Aeryn when you wake; her wards hold for now. I pray long enough to find a cure for what those bastards did to you. What we did to you, unknowing. Will you be pleased to know I have not struck Urianger for his part? I was too tired and injured as we returned, and occupied with carrying you besides. Now I simply am too weary in heart and mind to conjure that initial anger, and he has had time to explain how the Exarch coerced him into his confidence.

I am still not happy about it.

For five years I waited to see you again, thought about you through many days and most nights--such as they are, here. It’s funny what one can become accustomed to in time. Finally seeing you again was a jolt to every one of my senses as the missing you had long since become more real to me, much as I longed for your presence.

And as I feared, you hesitated. I don’t blame you; I know this place changed me. What we had back home was still so new, despite the prior years we had known each other. So I tried to be content to merely be in your company once more. We had rebuilt our friendship once, we could do it again. I had been a fool to think I deserved more.

Then you sought me out in Rak’tika. Do I need to tell you how you intoxicated me that day? I hope I was a comfort, both in words and in the release you needed. The distance still felt too great, but this much, at least, I could give. I thought it would be enough, to simply be what you needed in the moment.

I know now that I was once again fooling myself.

These last few months traveling and fighting and just being together have been a strange mix of stress and relief; our mission had been dangerous and difficult in so many ways, and yet working together, it was hard not to get caught up in the optimism, in the feeling that things would turn out, that we would find a way.

And you were here; your quizzical headtilts, your faces when you read, the white flowers in your hair. Your silences, your laughter, your strength in combat and your helping with every common chore in the vicinity. I thought I could simply be happy to bask in your steady light.

But now, seeing it tear you apart, it is not enough; it never was, and never will be. I can live with it, should that be your wish. My wish, however, is to continue what we had once begun. To hold you close not only occasionally but always.

Aeryn felt a hard lump in her throat; there was a decent space between the lines, the ink thick where he had hesitated, the initial letters shaky. Still he had written them:

I am in love with you, Aeryn.

It’s taken me time to collect myself after rereading what I just wrote and fighting the urge to burn the whole page. A part of me fears that you will scoff, though the greater part of me knows--hopes--better of you.

And the gods know you deserve better than me, but if you’ll have me, I certainly won’t complain.

I know after everything with Ryne I ought to say it to you aloud. That it may already be too late to do so. I pray that isn’t the case. I pray I find the courage and the words both to say what you deserve to hear. Even should you never reciprocate; if that should be the case, you shall never hear another whisper from me on the matter.

But I hold out a small hope, that you will, that you do. That we will have the chance to discuss the matter further. That you survive.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I only know I’ll be at your side until the end; there’s nowhere else I can be.

Ryne is calling; hold on just a little while longer, darling.

Yours always, Thancred.

She covered her face with her hands, emotions and memories flooding over her. There were words before finally confronting Emet-Selch in his memory of Amaurot. More than words on returning to the Crystarium, bodies twined together in relief and comfort.

Then she had returned to the Source to report their success. She came back to the First as quickly as she could, though; not only was there still much work to do, but he was here, and things were...not exactly different, but not quite the same, either.

As she reread the last page, she noticed a swiftly written addendum on the back. She turned it over.

I carried these letters all the way to the Tempest, thinking if I failed to say anything I might at least give them to you--they are yours, after all. But of course no time seemed right, and with a screwing of my courage (and pointed prodding from Urianger), at the last I was able to say what I wished. Miraculously, you said it too.

And now here we are, you peacefully asleep while the night sky wheels overhead and I still hear the celebrations outside despite the ungodly hour. I’ll rejoin you in a moment, but I needed some time to attempt to process the last few days. What happened in the Tempest. The fact you’re alive, and healthy, and claim to love me in return.

I’m not entirely certain why, but I won’t complain, either.

Rereading these letters, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to hand them over yet. They’ll return to their box for now, and perhaps in a few days I’ll be ready to show you.

Aeryn laughed lightly; of course he had hesitated to share them. The letters showed all his vulnerabilities behind the serious, confident facade he had developed. And with everything in the Empty, and then Elidibus, it was no wonder the letters had fallen to the wayside.

Until her actual nameday on the Source had come around, his note delivered with her breakfast by Tataru per Thancred’s instructions while he was on his latest reconnaissance. It wasn’t as if he could have brought the letters with him, after all--nor given them to her in front of the rest of the Scions in the Ocular, nevermind how public their relationship was now.

She rubbed her face--she had cried more than a few times while reading--and replaced the letters in the box. She locked it, and pocketed the key.

The girls were still out so it was no trouble to take the tea service to the sink and clean it, along with the other dishes, giving her time and activity to settle. She finished by washing her own face, removing some evidence of her emotion.

Since the first year she had joined the Scions, they had given each other gifts; she had discovered his nameday from Minfilia, gifting him the orchestrion roll of a song she knew he liked from a favorite minstrel. Her own first nameday as a Scion had been missed due to Lahabrea and Baelsar’s schemes, but Thancred was certain to make up for it. Sometimes they were late, or even early, but they always managed a little something, even as friends.

Aeryn took the box with her as she left Ryne’s apartment. She still had a few people to see while here on the First--starting with Lyna and the messages from G’raha--but then she would retire to her own suite in the Pendants and do a bit of rereading.

And maybe a bit more once she returned home, too; after all, if she timed it right, it would still be her nameday, and the best time to reread her present.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Shadowbringers #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #Shippy Nonsense #Aeryn Striker #Pining

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

Detours on the Road so Far - Ch 1

Detours on the Road so Far

- Or -

Why Sam and Dean Need Actual Adult Supervision

Summary: Shenanigans. Lots of them. Crack. Probably some pie. (SERIES SUMMARY)

Warning: Shenanigans. Unintentional drug use. Crackfic.

Rating: Let’s call this one at least Teen, if not Mature. See Warning above.

Word Count: 1700-ish

Author’s Note: THIS IS CRACK: unapologetically, unequivocally, utterly crack. Some of it makes little sense. Some of it makes fun of our favorite characters. I love these guys; this is just for fun. The stories are not in any particular order. Time frames will be referenced at the beginning of each chapter. Also, I was having some formatting issues, so if this ends up looking really wonky, please let me know, and I’ll do what I can.

This story is dedicated to a wonderful friend who let me behind the scenes into their writing process and watch the development of a wonderful story, a friend who fiercely has their folks’ backs and is the first on the scene if support and flails are needed. To a writer who can write action, romance, intrigue, and brothers being brothers. @stunudo , I am so glad I met you, and even gladder you didn’t absolutely fire me for all the awful puns.

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 1: Everything is Awesome (set sometime in season 8...ish)

Sam yawns as he shuffles down the hall, scratching the back of his head and grinning to himself. It still amazes him, even after the months they’ve been here, to have an actual home and comfortable bed to come back to after their days and weeks on the road. Even the hours crammed in the car with his brother and his painfully slow evolution of music is more bearable, knowing there are clean sheets, peace (relative peace, anyway) and quiet, and their very own refrigerator waiting for them at the other end.

He pauses as a new sound drifts towards him from the kitchen, and he frowns. It’s not a bad sound, exactly; he knows exactly what it is. But Dean doesn’t tend to sing this early in the morning, and not ever in the kitchen. It’s not the most wrong thing Sam has ever heard, but it’s strange enough for him to take notice.

Well, he can’t be possessed, so...hex bag, maybe? Their last case in Colorado didn’t involve witches, but there was always the chance they’d run across one without realizing and pissed him or her off somehow.

Dammit.

He cautiously enters the kitchen, hoping that he’s just assuming worst case scenario. He is greeted by the sight of Dean seated at the table, staring intently at a large, clear glass coffee mug as he adds creamer to the steaming brew.

“Morning,” Sam says, stretching. Dean waves distractedly, his concentration focused entirely on his coffee. At least that part is normal. He doesn’t usually add creamer, but it’s not unheard of, so Sam simply shrugs as he turns to the fridge.

At least the singing stopped, or (better yet) maybe he just imagined it in the first place. Maybe he just hadn’t been fully awake yet. Sam opens the refrigerator, his eyes already moving over the contents to find something for breakfast that won’t add to Dean’s cholesterol issues his older brother tacitly refuses to acknowledge.

Except there aren’t any contents to peruse. The entire refrigerator is completely empty. Not even a wrapper.

He turns back to Dean, the questions dying on his tongue as he watches his brother continue to add creamer to his coffee, dark brown and beige swirling in the clear mug. Dean finally sets the creamer down, watching the coffee cup as if he’s been interrogating it and it’s finally about to break.

“Sammy,” he says, his eyes glued to the mug, “we are never using anything but clear coffee cups again. This shit is magic.”

What?

“Seriously, Sam,” he continues, his eyes lit with pure, childlike innocence and curiosity. “It just...it mixes itself. Food doesn’t do things to itself, Sam. I mean, yeah, Jell-O moves by itself, but no other food does that. But Jell-O is evil, anyway, so yeah. Wait, except for Jell-O shots. Jell-O shots are awesome. But otherwise, Jell-O is a slime creature sent by Eve to torment small children into thinking they’re getting a real dessert when it’s really just ectoplasm’s third cousin. Twice removed.”

And then Dean giggles.

Sam stares at his brother, his jaw hanging down, absolutely clueless as to how to proceed. First, Dean has never said that many words together in his entire life. Second, what the fuck? Third, what. The. Ever. Living. Fuck.

Dean adds more creamer.

“I think...I think that’s enough, Dean. You’re going to spill your coffee.”

Horror washes over Dean’s face, and he slams the creamer container on the table, dropping down to eye his coffee along the top edge. “Sacrilege! I wouldn’t do that, Sam, you know I’d never waste coffee like that!”

Sam knows he needs to close his mouth at some point, but it’s just too damned early to go with the flow on this shit.

“Dean, are you feeling okay? I know we got back pretty late last night, but you’re acting a little off.” But his brother isn’t acting tired, not exactly. Sam realizes that his brother is also still wearing yesterday’s traveling clothes.

“Dean, did you sleep in your clothes?”

Dean reaches out a finger and slowly pokes his coffee mug. The cream swirls lightly through the dark liquid, further mixing the two, and Dean...giggles.

Again.

“It’s kinda sad when they finally get all mixed together,” he says, frowning a little. Then his face brightens as he grabs the mug. “But now I can drink it, so that's less sad, right? I mean, you can’t really be sad drinking coffee, Sam. You should drink more coffee; you’ll be less sad all the time.”

Sam’s jaw clenches involuntarily as he watches Dean alternate between sips and sloshing the cup around to watch the contents. His brother is obviously not in any distress, but spells have started out like this before, seemingly harmless and then, before you know it, hearts are exploding or organs disintegrate or something else equally nasty.

“I can hear the colors, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, tapping the mug gently. “I think...what, would you say? Beige? Ecru? Does it sound like ecru to you?”

Sam was unaware Dean even knew those colors existed, much less how to pronounce them. Luckily, since Dean is wearing yesterday’s clothes, it makes looking for the hex bag easier. After two unsuccessful attempts to get Dean to go through his own pockets (“But the coffee isn’t in my pockets, Sam, it’s in my hands. Why the hell would I put down the coffee to look through my pockets?”) Sam gives up with a sigh that holds the burdens of the world in it and searches his brother’s clothes himself.

“Knock if off! That tickles; you’re gonna make me spill the coffee!”

For fuck’s sake.

His search proves frustratingly fruitless. But if the hex bag isn’t on Dean, then what? A spell? A curse? What the hell is going on?

Sam’s stomach growls, adding another question to the long list. Where the hell is all the food? Well, that, at least, he can ask Dean and maybe get a straight answer.

“Dean, do you know why the fridge is empty? It was pretty stocked when we left. Where’d all the food go?”

Dean grins and points down at the stomach of his shirt, which is a bit rounder than normal. “In mah belleh.”

When Sam’s face finally emerges from his palms, he finds Dean staring at him with alarming concern.

“Are you hungry, Sam? We can go to town and get breakfast! That would be awesome, breakfast is awesome! Do you want pancakes or waffles? Nevermind, you’re huge, you should eat both. You need to eat more, Sam, you’re too skinny.”

“Seriously, dude, are you feeling okay? You’re acting...weird.”

“You know what’s weird, Sammy? I ate two pies, a block of cheese, and all those protein bar things you hide in the back of the pantry. And by the way, you don’t need to hide those things from me anymore, they are absolutely vile. But then I had those bags of chips, and...what else. Oh, yeah, there was some bologna, I think, and I ate the bacon, and whatever was in the vegetable drawer, which actually ended up not being horrible. But I’m still kinda hungry.”

Sam is speechless. It doesn’t happen often, but apparently it can still happen, even after all these decades of living with his brother. He just can’t wrap his head around-

Wait, what pie?

“Dean, we didn’t have any pie before we left, and we didn’t stop on the way home yesterday. What pie did you eat?”

“Sarah gave me two pies as a thank you. It would have been rude not to eat them. I had a piece last night after you crashed, and it was -awesome- so I had another piece, and then I had to try the other pie, and it was friggin delicious, and then I looked up and some asshole had eaten the rest of both the pies.” He eyes Sam suspiciously for a minute, clutching his coffee mug a little closer to himself.

“And then I got hungry, so I had a snack.”

“What was in the pies, Dean?”

“Dunno,” he says, slurping coffee obnoxiously loudly. “Deliciousness. Sarah didn't say what kind they were, just said they were her way of saying thanks for getting rid of the ghost. Called it her ‘University of Colorado Specials’ or something like that. But those pies were made of magic, Sam, delicious, delicious magic.”

“What else did Sarah say, Dean?”

The elder Winchester thinks long and hard for a moment, frowning. “She didn’t. She winked a lot, though. Do you think she had something stuck in her eye?”

Sam leans on his hands to keep from using them on his brother. He takes a deep, steadying breath and tries again.

“Can you tell me anything else about the pies, Dean? Anything at all?”

He thinks for a long moment, then his face melts into a dreamy expression Sam is pretty sure he’s never seen on his brother’s face before. “One of ‘em was this lemon thing that was like a citrus tree starred in a porn. The flavor just explodes in your mouth like-”

“I don’t need to know!”

But Dean is still going.

“A firecracker, Sam, a Roman Candle of delicious. And the other was this...chocolatey, coffee, creamy thing. Coffee, Sam! Coffee and chocolate in a pie! They can do that now! What’ll these crazy college kids think of next?”

He grins at Sam, taking another long slurp of coffee. Sam bites his lip, considering Dean for a long silent moment. He’s pretty sure now that Dean will be just fine and more than likely back to normal by the end of the day...maybe.

“I’m gonna go check in with Sarah. Just make sure she hasn’t...erm...seen anything else weird.”

“But, Sam, we ghosted that ghost!” Dean stops, thinks about what he just said, and giggles.

Again.

“I just want to see...how much...we ghosted that ghost. And maybe get the recipes for those pies. I’m sure everything’s fine. You know me, I just like to be sure.”

“That’s awesome, Sam, you’re so awesome! We could make the pies together! And you could even eat some! You still need to eat more. Can we go get breakfast now?”

Sigh.

“Yeah, Dean. We’ll go get breakfast. I’ll call Sarah on the way.”

Dean grins, his whole face lighting up, and Sam allows himself to see at least a little humor in the situation.

And then Dean starts singing that song from the damned Lego movie, and Sam.

Just.

Can’t.

#SPN #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural Fan Fiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #crack #crack fanfic #crack fic #shenanigans #hijinks #goofy #unintentional drug use #no funny tags this time sorry

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barnesandco · 4 years

Text

The Greater Good

Carrying the shield isn’t an easy job; it often requires a great deal of sacrifice, and that can be difficult for Bucky to come to terms with.

Based on the “Where’s my supersuit?” scene from The Incredibles.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2020. Word count: 2044. Square filled: “Free Space”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Mentions of injury, wounds, blood. Mentions of drinking alcohol. Mild angst, slight separation anxiety.

A/N: Idk what to say, y’all. I wish I had the decency to apologize for writing a fic I’ll probably regret posting instead of working on my WIPs, one of which is on hiatus bc I’m a lazy jerk, but such is life. Blame The Incredibles (which I’ve never seen -- I’m not sorry) and @samingtonwilson 's anon. Also, while you're there, go check out Taal's masterlist because she's an incredibly (pun intended) talented, amazing, fantastic writer and every. single. one. of her stories is a must-read.

Honeysuckle and mango, the scented candles on each bedside table flicker in the light breeze drifting through the open window, a sea of dark ink dotted with stars visible beyond. Late summer is cooling into autumn, and the leaves of the tree that shades their bedroom on hot days is slowly turning into an early shade of yellow-orange, that glints in the glow of streetlights to remind Bucky of the specks of gold that set Sam’s eyes alight like a September sunset. It’s been two weeks since Bucky’s seen those eyes, two weeks he's been awake before dawn with more worry than he knows how to run off.

He’s due back today, his husband, after a fortnight of radio silence thanks to a stake-out in the Canadian wilderness, in wait for a lucrative arms deal to occur, and for the team of Avengers to prevent. The mission had been called a day after Bucky broke -- no, shattered -- his arm during a drug bust in California, thereby disqualifying him from participation, and sentencing him to this torturous wait. A wait that has now, finally, come to an end. Almost.

Bucky lets out a quiet sigh on his way back to the kitchen. Placing a second plate of homemade ravioli and the necessary utensils on a tray table, he returns to the bedroom, putting his food next to where Sam’s waits patiently. Wrings both hands, one made of metal, and the other with a cast on it. Any minute now, he thinks, pulling out the first aid kit from under the bed and putting it on the dresser, ready to use under the bright glow of the lamp next to it. The room is filled with soft light, the smell of pasta, and the ache of Bucky’s heart as he tries to quell the unreasonable nerves that tug at his diaphragm.

Nearly a year of falling asleep with the feel of Sam’s wedding band under the stroking of his thumb, nearly two of being intimately familiar with the texture of his lips, and nearly three of being perfect partners in combat and good friends out of it, yet Sam still makes him nervous. A good nervous, the flutter of nerves in his belly, Bucky determines as he paces the hallway, stopping in front of the mirror to push his hair back. Maybe he’ll ask Sam to cut it tomorrow, once he’s recovered. From his wounds and Bucky’s... affections.

The thought has only just crossed Bucky’s mind when the tap of boots alerts him to someone’s presence at the door. Keys jingle, but he’s too quick, already unlocking the door and throwing it open as Sam lifts his hand to the lock, where it, and the rest of him, freezes at the sight of Bucky, cheeks dusted with a rosy pink already.

Words stay unspoken, and the sentiment of longing, of unimaginable relief is transferred directly from Bucky’s mouth to Sam’s. His metal arm rises to grip Sam’s suit-clad waist, and Sam’s gloved hands cradle Bucky’s head gently, so at odds with the pressure with which he seeks to draw forth pleasure. Soon, the kiss turns to open mouths, just resting over each other, elevated breaths colliding in the margin of air between them. Bucky breaks away with a sigh, arms around Sam, and forehead against his, eyes closed.

“I missed you, too, Bucky.” Sam smiles, split lip rasping over over Bucky’s, and he pulls back to look at him. Keeps ahold of his hand as he leads him to their room -- taking note of his limp -- and silently begins to peel the suit off his husband’s tired, burdened shoulders. Sam’s sees the trays on the bed and raises an eyebrow at him in question, but Bucky’s spotted the gauze covering the lower left side of his ribs.

“You were shot,” Bucky says lowly, kneeling, and bringing the first aid kit with him to the floor, unfortunately too used to this sort of thing to really be fazed by it. Besides, he doesn’t want to waste any time chewing Sam out for getting hurt, not when he can be sitting next to him with good food and even better laughter, something sorely needed after ages of quiet. He’ll allow the delay in those plans for their evening just enough to redress the wound that has started to bleed through the bandages.

Sam shrugs with the confident nonchalance of someone who knows he isn’t getting told off. “It happens,” he says with a grin. “What’s with dinner in bed?”

“Thought you’d be more comfortable,” Bucky answers. “And we can get down to business quicker,” he quips, ignoring the scoff elicited, as they’re both well aware that Sam’s in no condition for such at the moment.

While Bucky starts cleaning the blood that has seeped out through his staples, Sam takes off the light chain that carries his wedding band, and puts the ring back in its rightful place, on his fourth finger. By the time he’s reached for a shirt in the dresser next to him, Bucky’s done, and he stands so Sam can lean on him while he puts on his favorite pair of sweatpants.

“Hurry up, old man, the food’s goin’ cold and I worked real hard on it,” Bucky says, getting Sam settled in so he’s leaning on the pillows against the headboard, and pours him wine.

Sam’s eyes widen, shocked. “Old? You’re one to talk.”

“At least I can walk straight,” Bucky retorts, and Sam gestures towards his stomach.

“I was shot.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bucky jokes, and Sam’s mouth snaps shut, his shoulders shudder to contain the building amusement, until they both burst into laughter. Bucky watches Sam’s eyes scrunch tightly shut as he laughs, and he lets the sound spill into his soul like an essence of life. It’s been a while since he heard it, and it sounds just as sweet, as effulgent, as he recalls.

Recovering from the outburst, Sam breathes slowly, trying not to laugh again. “Okay, alright, I’m sorry. You’re not old, you’re just--” he bites his lip, and Bucky tries not to wince in anticipation of the wound on his lip reopening. “-- mature.” He smirks at him, and Bucky rolls his eyes, putting another piece of ravioli in his mouth. The room goes quiet, and they relish the food and each other’s company. Bucky drinks in the content, relaxed features of Sam’s face. He’s radiating goodness, and that energy that can only be described as unapologetically Sam.

The golden, shining bubble of a moment is burst by Sam’s phone ringing outside, from the chest of drawers in the entrance, and Sam gives him a look, before going to retrieve it. Bucky recognizes the Captain-voice Sam’s using on the phone, making the gears start to turn in his head, a process that results in him going to pick up the shield lying next to the bed, and hiding it behind their tuxedos, the ones they wore to their wedding, in the closet. Luckily for him, Sam’s call ends just as he’s gotten back to bed, half-eaten plate of pasta in front of him like he never moved.

Bucky’s gut instinct was right. Nobody could have any reason for calling Sam at this hour with the exception of Nick Fury. “Robbery on 9th ave. They’re using Chitauri energy cores,” he says, pulling off the loungewear and putting the suit back on. Zip, boots, gloves, and then--

“Where’s my shield?” He asks, turning to look around the room. “I put it right here.” Sam looks at Bucky and he averts his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he says, entirely unconvincingly, and Sam clenches his jaw in understanding, putting his hands on his hips in wait.

“Bucky.”

Bucky traces the gold veins running along his metal arm. “What?”

“I need my shield,” Sam says softly, stepping forward.

“Why?” It’s Bucky’s turn to put his hands on his hips, and Sam throws his in the air in frustration. Bucky tries to avoid thinking about the veins that protrude along his neck at the movement. This is not the time, Barnes, focus.

“Why? What do you mean, why?”

“Ask them to send someone else! I've been waiting to see you for two weeks. You can't just leave again.” But Sam’s already on his way to the closet, rummaging, searching first through an unhealthy amount of running shoes -- Bucky’s new vice -- and then his outrageous collection of compression t-shirts.

“The public is in danger, Bucky,” he says, voice muffled from the closet.

"My evening is in danger," he replies, crosses his arms and leans in the doorway.

“Come on, man. I have to go. For the greater good and all.” He looks up from the underwear drawer to send a pleading expression Bucky’s way, and Bucky fixes his glare on a spot on the wall above Sam’s head. Aims his next words at that spot, too.

"”I'm your husband. I'm the greatest good you're ever going to get,” Bucky responds sharply, but Sam continues searching, and soon, Bucky drops the act. “You're injured, Sammy. You're not well enough to go,” he says, pushing off where he’s leaning and stepping forward. Somehow, he lets his arms uncross and clench slowly at his sides, fists that he works to reopen, feeling the stretch of tendons accompany the strain in his voice. Sam helps, taking a hand in each of his, thumb sliding over the base of each of his fingers. The knuckles of his broken arm are covered in plaster, and the metal one whirrs, almost purring.

“Bucky, look,” Sam says, voice so quiet it’s like he’s relaying a secret in a crowded room, rather than an explanation in an empty one. “I know it's hard, and I'm sorry, but you know that this is what the job takes.” Bucky watches Sam press his mouth thinly together, tries to ignore the logic he knows is present in his partner’s words, but Bucky was never one for ignorant bliss. He’s making an ineffectual effort to suppress the natural conscious that’s telling him to send Sam off, and it isn’t sustainable. “I'll be back before you know it.” Sam’s smooth, low timbre pierces the conflict Bucky is striving to resolve, and the turmoil, the unreasonable bid to restrain Sam from leaving settles like dust after a sandstorm.

Sam’s hands tighten around Bucky’s and he can feel the pulse in them, in the safe, warm skin the touch of which is his home, the surface that brings him back to Earth no matter where his head is going. However, now, Bucky lets go, and retrieves Sam shield. Gives it to him without another word, and accepts the grateful nod of thanks.

He’s almost to the door, Bucky trailing a few steps behind -- resolutely brushing aside the analogy of lost puppies -- when he stops and turns. Gives Bucky a look that would be abstruse if not for years of conversation, of moments that enable Bucky to tell that Sam’s frown, the shine of his eyes, that anxious hand running along the edge of his shield, means only that he’s reluctant. Bucky’s hunch is proven right when Sam comes forward to stand toe-to-toe with him, eyes locked on his.

“Thank you. I’ll be home soon,” he says, leaning to place a kiss on his forehead. Just a touch, a whisper of reassuring force, before he’s moving away again, eye contact only broken when he leaves the threshold of their house, stepping outside.

Bucky holds the back door and watches him deploy his wings. Sam traces a flight path on his arm panel as Bucky looks on, watching the lights shine on his skin like shimmering topaz, beautiful, glowing, alive, and prays that he’ll return to him that way. Again.

Once he’s done reading mission details and ready to go, Sam looks up again, eyes dancing with mirth and adoration, the former of which he voices in a joke that is meant to disguise his concern for Bucky, even though he’s the one leaving for battle. “Don’t wait up for me. You need your rest, grandpa,” Sam calls, laughter trembling in his throat, taking off in a flash of red, white, and blue.

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