xoxo, Movie Knights
Enjoy these disturbing yet disgustingly fluffy (and angsty) John/Dave drabs.
1. restless;
john hated the night, he also hated having to sleep, or waking up from a nightmare. he really could do without sleeping for three straight days, thank you very much. all those times staying awake out of anxiety and fear for his friends' lives have put his senses into overdrive, and it's stayed with him even after they beat the game. he almost lost it the first time everything was back to normal and sleep wasn't something jade commanded him to do because he 'looked so tired, and so stressed out and you deserve it, john, please let me and davesprite watch over this time,' it was actually something he could do anytime now. he hated the idea of sleeping, because his dreams were always terrifying. visions of his friends dying because he couldn't save them, because he didn't lead them, 'but i'm not a leader,' he always told himself. maybe he shouldn't have been so selfish, because then, if he actually acted as a leader, then maybe the deaths they all had to face would've lessened, maybe. it was just wishful thinking after all.
a yawn broke his thoughts, 'go back to sleep, egbert.' he looked down and smiled at the figure wrapped in his arms and tightened his hold on them, 'i'm sorry. did i wake you up, dave?' another yawn left the strider's mouth, 'not really, you're forgetting i'm a light sleeper, and i just heard you gasp before waking up.' dave rubbed his eyes from underneath his shades, which made john chuckle. dave had a tendency to do everything while wearing those shades john gave him on his 13th birthday. even sleeping. dave could never be separated from those glasses, the same way john could never be separated from dave, ever. 'did you have the same nightmare?' dave asked, breaking his thoughts. john just nodded. soon dave's arms were wrapped around his neck, and the strider gave him a kiss on the forehead, 'go to sleep, egderp. you know i'll always be beside you.'
-
2. reflection;
he hated the face that looked back at him. pale skin, unruly blond hair, and those eyes. those red, red eyes. he'd been called a demon child so many times before, that he almost thought he really was a demon child. he didn't look normal. and he had no right to even think of himself as normal. he turned the tap on and splashed his face with the cool water. it was one of those nights again.
he couldn't sleep at all, because of those dreams, again. they were always about him. several copies of himself. each one from a doomed timeline, each one dead, each one with their eyes open and their empty red eyes staring blankly at him as he tried not to panic. each one a broken piece of his already broken reflection.
it was ironic, really. and not in the ironic way that he believed in. he always berated himself for not being a heroic sack of meat, and that he should always try harder. if more of him kept dying, then that meant he was doing something wrong. and then he found out later, always later. when those dead daves piled before him, a reflection of what a sorry excuse for a hero he was, staring back at him with those same red eyes that threatened him and made people stay away from him. he hated it.
arms wound around his waist, pulling him back against a strong chest, lips kissing the back of his neck, then a chin resting on his shoulder, warm blue eyes looked back at him from the mirror. and he couldn't help but smile.
-
3. consume;
he didn't even hear himself scream.
one moment, dave was holding him, and then the next, there he was. dead on the ground. he had saved him. he looked back at the man, he was crazy. laughing hysterically as he fired the gun with no more bullets, swinging the damn thing as if it were a toy. a toy that took away dave's life. a heroic death. he couldn't hear his breathing over the man's laughter and the blood roaring in his ears. he has never felt so angry.
the man didn't see it coming.
john wrapped his arms around the corpse of his beloved, tears streaming down his eyes as he placed a light kiss on dave's lips. the man that killed him was lying on the ground, alas he wasn't dead. just badly beat up. john had called the police, and they should be arriving soon.
he stayed beside his lover, waiting for the someone, anyone to come, as sadness and anxiety consumed him. this was supposed to be the night of their second anniversary together. why did it end like this?
1. restless;
john hated the night, he also hated having to sleep, or waking up from a nightmare. he really could do without sleeping for three straight days, thank you very much. all those times staying awake out of anxiety and fear for his friends' lives have put his senses into overdrive, and it's stayed with him even after they beat the game. he almost lost it the first time everything was back to normal and sleep wasn't something jade commanded him to do because he 'looked so tired, and so stressed out and you deserve it, john, please let me and davesprite watch over this time,' it was actually something he could do anytime now. he hated the idea of sleeping, because his dreams were always terrifying. visions of his friends dying because he couldn't save them, because he didn't lead them, 'but i'm not a leader,' he always told himself. maybe he shouldn't have been so selfish, because then, if he actually acted as a leader, then maybe the deaths they all had to face would've lessened, maybe. it was just wishful thinking after all.
a yawn broke his thoughts, 'go back to sleep, egbert.' he looked down and smiled at the figure wrapped in his arms and tightened his hold on them, 'i'm sorry. did i wake you up, dave?' another yawn left the strider's mouth, 'not really, you're forgetting i'm a light sleeper, and i just heard you gasp before waking up.' dave rubbed his eyes from underneath his shades, which made john chuckle. dave had a tendency to do everything while wearing those shades john gave him on his 13th birthday. even sleeping. dave could never be separated from those glasses, the same way john could never be separated from dave, ever. 'did you have the same nightmare?' dave asked, breaking his thoughts. john just nodded. soon dave's arms were wrapped around his neck, and the strider gave him a kiss on the forehead, 'go to sleep, egderp. you know i'll always be beside you.'
-
2. reflection;
he hated the face that looked back at him. pale skin, unruly blond hair, and those eyes. those red, red eyes. he'd been called a demon child so many times before, that he almost thought he really was a demon child. he didn't look normal. and he had no right to even think of himself as normal. he turned the tap on and splashed his face with the cool water. it was one of those nights again.
he couldn't sleep at all, because of those dreams, again. they were always about him. several copies of himself. each one from a doomed timeline, each one dead, each one with their eyes open and their empty red eyes staring blankly at him as he tried not to panic. each one a broken piece of his already broken reflection.
it was ironic, really. and not in the ironic way that he believed in. he always berated himself for not being a heroic sack of meat, and that he should always try harder. if more of him kept dying, then that meant he was doing something wrong. and then he found out later, always later. when those dead daves piled before him, a reflection of what a sorry excuse for a hero he was, staring back at him with those same red eyes that threatened him and made people stay away from him. he hated it.
arms wound around his waist, pulling him back against a strong chest, lips kissing the back of his neck, then a chin resting on his shoulder, warm blue eyes looked back at him from the mirror. and he couldn't help but smile.
-
3. consume;
he didn't even hear himself scream.
one moment, dave was holding him, and then the next, there he was. dead on the ground. he had saved him. he looked back at the man, he was crazy. laughing hysterically as he fired the gun with no more bullets, swinging the damn thing as if it were a toy. a toy that took away dave's life. a heroic death. he couldn't hear his breathing over the man's laughter and the blood roaring in his ears. he has never felt so angry.
the man didn't see it coming.
john wrapped his arms around the corpse of his beloved, tears streaming down his eyes as he placed a light kiss on dave's lips. the man that killed him was lying on the ground, alas he wasn't dead. just badly beat up. john had called the police, and they should be arriving soon.
he stayed beside his lover, waiting for the someone, anyone to come, as sadness and anxiety consumed him. this was supposed to be the night of their second anniversary together. why did it end like this?