#a story about going downstairs to get mail can be a ten minute story would you believe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years

Text

Safe And Sound? More Like Safe And Bred.

Masterlist

Warnings: Adult situations 18+ Smut, Attempted Rape, Breeding kink, swearing, A/B/O and all the posessive bs that goes with it 👍

A/n This was intended to be darker but sort of changed as I was writing? Yeah I'm very happy with it tho considering its my first A/B/O. As always enjoy😘

Clark has been driven wild by an omega's scent.

Safe And Sound? More Like Safe And Bred

There it was again. That fucking scent. Clark groaned and took a deep breath in unconsciously ,smelling it, tasting the air on his tongue, wanting to lap up the delicious scent. It tasted like maple syrup yet smelt completely different fresh and succulent like cool spring air. Young and new. Ripe. He shuddered at the thought. It was driving him wild like no other, normally he could block them out but not this one No,six weeks .Six. Fucking. Weeks he had been teased by it coming into the daily planet.

There was an omega here somewhere, he almost felt jealous of the others weaker senses, they had caught faint whiffs of it asking Perry about it who told them none to polity to 'back off' and that it shouldn't cause a problem due to where they was stationed no one should be able to smell them up here. But Clark did. He had to endure it constantly day in day out. The scent was always worse in the lobby where everyone entered the building. Each morning he came in scanning the people around him looking for a new face, more desperate each day to find the omega.

After enduring the scent for so long he was determined to find the culprit. To find his omega. He swore at that ,they wasn't his, he couldn't allow it.. . He couldn't claim them. Afraid of hurting them, it was true that alphas couldn't bare the thought of hurting an omega, actually against the law to cause any harm emotional or otherwise to an omega. It'd be to easy for him to accidentally harm them, one slip of concentration and that could be it.

So he had resigned himself to never claim one, tho he couldn't help his instincts that screamed for him to find them. To mount and breed them. so he still found himself searching the lobby everyday as he came and went. Sighing as he walked to the elevator not finding them once again disappointment ran through him he shook his head taking one last gulp of air trying to capture the scent he stepped in the elevator.

Just as he went to close the doors he smelt them. He saw her. Other alphas were sniffing around her as she walked past them through the lobby head down watching her feet as she scurried quickly across the space heading for a door that he knew lead to the mail room below she faltered quickly bringing her head up scanning the crowd before catching him looking at her. She gulped as she locked eyes on him then all but flung herself past the door out of sight. The doors closed but he stood frozen. She had seen him.

His chest swelled. His omega had looked at him. She wanted him, her alpha. For a second he stood shocked then quickly threw himself at the buttons smashing the open door button willing it to open and let him go and find her, alas it was to late he was already scaling the building to his floor. He took a breath closing his eyes picturing her She was gorgeous, around average height dark auburn nearly brown hair piled atop her hair in a messy bun she was slim. But not to slim and had and hourglass shape wide hips. Meant for breeding. Fuck. And her eyes a dark hazel freckles dusting her face. He clenched his hand around the briefcase he held, as images of mating her, knotting her took hold he grunted hearing a crunch as the hard plastic handle gave under the pressure.

He swore. No he couldn't risk it risk her. The doors opened revealing the office he panted a few breaths trying to compose himself he walked through the office to his desk dropping into his seat running his palms across his face smoothing his hair back before dropping them by his sides.

Lois approached him warily seeing him tensed and almost flighty. If she didn't know any better she'd have said he was entering a rut, but she wasn't going to suggest that to him. Hell no. Alphas became aggressive if another alpha brought it up. And she definitely didn't want to deal with a triggered alpha in the office. Especially him of all people. However he had let slip a week or so ago that the omega in the building had riled him, that he couldn't block it out like the others.

Fuck. His blood was burning in his veins, his reaction was unlike any other. It was instant and he knew somewhere deep down that he would not be concentrating today.

"Hey Clark you ok there?" he grunted then forced a smile kicking his briefcase under the desk. Out of sight out of mind. was the term that came to mind.

"Yes I'm fine" she didn't look convinced.

"Riiiight and who are you trying to convince me or you? if that omega downstairs is causing you problems you should talk to someone, she shouldn't even be here working if shes unmated" Clark growled at her. Of course Lois was right in a sense. It wasn't law that omegas couldn't work however as a general rule they didn't or if they did it was a part time job close to home and normally along side their alphas. Most were claimed by the time they left college alphas would claim an omega in the first or second heat that happened around 17-20 years old, it was very rare to have an unmated omega in the work force but companies couldn't discriminate. Lois took a step back at the warning, Clark squared his shoulders the thought of his omega leaving agitated him.

"And what would I say? I can scent her from nearly 11 stories up? how would I explain that exactly?" he growled the words through grit teeth not liking where this was going. It took a great amount of control not to flash his eyes at the alpha female in front of him. She backed up unconsciously but continued.

"Well its obviously effecting you, look at yourself ,you've been getting worked up since she got here. If shes your one claim her and get it over with. but don't sit there stewing over it. Do something about it or I will" she snapped back. He could hear what she was really getting at, she was hurt occasionally two alphas could find a way to be together but this didn't happen in there case and she was jealous of the omega and wanted her gone and would make it happen herself if need be. Clark was on his feet in front of her before she could register it bending down getting in her face. And snarled low and dangerous, what ever courage Lois had fled as he glared at her menacingly.

"Don't .You. Ever. Threaten. Her. Again." she shook at the dark look in his eyes stepping back a few steps. frightened. 'as she should be' Clark thought his instincts in over drive feeling as if he had done his omega proud ,scaring off what he precieved as a threat.

"What the hell is going on?" Perry called as he watched a pale Lois take her seat not looking at anyone

"Nothing its dealt with Perry." she said bitterly tho Clark couldn't tell if it was because she had backed off her instincts acknowledging him as a true alpha or if it was that he had defended another woman.

"It better be" he warned eyeing them both before heading to his office Clark sat back down before starting up his computer to begin his work. he stopped after about ten minutes as there was a spike in his omega's scent.. she was going into heat he got up fast, to fast he hoped no one had seen him he looked at the elevator swallowing dryly. Lois raised her head instantly worried forgetting her frustration for a moment more concerned about him.

"C-Clark?" he looked at her and she froze as his pupils grew until there was a slim ring of blue around them. She took a deep breath picking up on the signs. Quickly she got up and went to him. whispering

"Whats going on are you- is she ok?" he tore his eyes from her to the elevator.

"Shes-heat" he swallowed taking a deep breath trying again

"Shes going into heat downstairs, fuck" Lois looked confused

"What but surely she'd know and not come in? it must have caught her off guard-wait what did you do?"

"We- I saw her, she saw me... that couldn't have triggered it could it?" he asked uncertain scanning the other alphas in the room they hadn't noticed, not that he thought they could detect her from here. Lois gaped at him sometimes she forgot that they didn't necessarily teach everything about omegas in all schools, especially to alphas, in traditional communities alphas were just taught about their own anatomy next to nothing about omegas ,hell in some areas where most were betas nothing was taught at all forcing everything to happen naturally on instinct.

"Of course it can! if she isn't on suppressants hell some can't even take them! meeting her alpha could cause an instant heat ,fuck sake, you need to go get her, if she leaves now she could be hurt or worse go I will cover you just go now!" Lois growled at him, the thought of an omega in heat trying to navigate the city alone made her insides churn. He leaned over to retrieve his case but she spun him pushing him to the elevators.

"Leave that I will sort it just go!"

Mean while you was down stairs panicking. You'd found him. Your one true alpha. After years of denying all others waiting out your heats holed up in your apartment praying that you'd find your true alpha and not be caught by another and lose the chance at having your soul mate. You had tried suppressants over the years but they hadn't worked, sometimes when an omegas true alpha was to potent the suppressants didn't work they only muted the the symptoms slightly and ended up not being worth the side effects , nausea ,headaches ,bouts of depression and anxiety then the back pain that was caused by your body trying to counteract the cramps redirecting the spasms.

This was the case for you it wasn't worth it basically exchanging excruciating the internal cramps for crippling back pain, it was dangerous, with cramps you could push through it still move and run if you needed to ,but the back pain made you immobile. You took deep breaths once you reached your office. Sitting down unsteady on your feet.

He was magnificent tall broad dark hair and bright eyes tho at the distance you couldn't define the color, you tried to imagine his face with forest green or a deep azure irises. You gasped feeling yourself heating up. You'd been picking up on his scent since you arrived. It was different. Very strange normally scents had one or two underlying tones his was a mix of many all intertwining in to one deep clean airy scent. You panted cringing as you began to sweat lightly.

Fuck. This wasn't good. You couldn't drop now. Not when you'd seen him. That was probably the cause. You whined taking off you jumper revealing the short sleeved blouse underneath letting the air around you picking up the folder on your desk fanning yourself debating what you should do, you could try to slip out and get home there wasn't to many alpha's here you had done your research before applying there was forty most were on the top floors, but that was still forty alphas that would smell you as you tried to leave and then you'd have to navigate through the city home avoiding all others. you sighed knowing you had to make the decision fast. swearing loudly you picked up the phone calling your manager.

"Hi its y/n in the mailing department.. I'm sorry I have to leave now preferably....I've- my heat has come early and I cant stay-I'm sorry I don't know what to do" you lean over the desk crying softly thinking that you'd just lost the only job anyone had offered you. This was cut short as she replied understanding you, being an alpha with an omega daughter she knew what it was like you huffed in relief as she calmed you down reassuring you that it was fine she instructed you to stay where you was until she called you an uber to be safe and take all the time you needed, you nodded thanking her before hanging up.

Quickly you gathered your things and waited, she phoned back quickly informing you that the uber was outside waiting you just had to tell him the destination and the company was paying for it as this classed as 'emergency travel'. You thanked her again and headed out of the office scaling the stairs to the lobby scuttling out as fast as you could aiming to head home as quick as you could before you got any worse. You felt the stares you noted the few alphas scattered about taking deep drags of air into themselves, drinking in your scent before slowly heading in your direction. You whimpered as you raced through he main doors nearly staggering as you made your way down the road as you flushed hot and needy. Jumping into the uber telling the driver your address as he pulled out into the street. He looked at you threw the rare view mirror.

"You ok back there? you want me to call someone?... your alpha?" he asked innocently enough. You just leaned forward cupping your tummy as the first pulses began in your abdomen muscles twitching beginning the first twinges of pain, you cried out panicked, it was never this fast, a normal heat took at least 24hours to sink in and reach this point.

"No! no no I'm fine just drive!!" he grinned at your response but not that you saw from your almost fetal position in the back, he continued as he pulled off the main road cutting down a residential street as a short cut

"Ok are you sure? is your alpha aware of this? does he hurt you is that why you don't want to call him?" he pried by this point alarm bells would usually start but in your desperate state you didn't click you just shook your head

"no-don't have one just please hurry!!" he grinned doing a u turn at the T junction going left back towards the city. You groaned with your head between your knees crying as the pain came crashing over like waves. Flooding your system then draining away before returning ,gasping deep gulps of air so wrapped up in trying to halt your heat you didn't realize the type of danger you were in.

"H-how much longer?" you didn't register the car stopping he chuckled.

"Not long darling" your eyes snapped open freezing at the tone managing to prop yourself up wincing through the pain as you noticed you'd stopped moving. Dread filled when you saw you were still down town. Even with the traffic you should have been out in the residential area. Your apartment was only a 25 minute walk so should have been about a five to ten minute drive instead you was in the city center all be it parked In some sort of loading bay tucked behind some tall office buildings you didn't recognize. You gulped at the look on his face. Slowly reaching for the handle of the door only for it to be locked. You shivered.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he unclipped his seat belt

"I'm gonna take care of you, a pretty omega like you shouldn't be going through heats alone... You should have an alpha to help you... You will~ just relax this will be over soon" he said before squeezing himself between the front seats making to grab you.

You twisted screaming as loud as you could. Lifting your bag striking him as hard as you could, which wasn't that hard as your energy had been sapped away by your rapid heat. he held you firm digging his fingers into your wrist untill the bag dropped to the footwell, pushing your shoulders against the door you screamed again agonizing

"NOOO HELP SOMEONE HELP ME!" clawing at him scratching his face he swore as your nail scratched across his eye.

"YOU LITTLE BITCH!" he screamed you cowered at his anger he pulled back his hand slapping you hard across the face you grunted as your head smacked into the metal seat belt clip half way up the back seat.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP CUNT!" you kneed, twisted ,clawed and bit anything you could think of to get him off of you ,he overpowered you grabbing your head smashing it against the inner door panel, your vision went fuzzy at how hard your head had bounced off of it. weeping weakly kicking out despite all hope of escape was fading fast as the male tore open your blouse buttons scattering across the back seat and foot well.

"NOO NONO PLEASE!"you sobbed as you resigned yourself to being another statistic. Then the door behind your head was ripped clean off you car you yelped cringing as you heard the metal twist and tear just beside your head tumbling out of the car, being caught before touching the asphalt and sat on the roof of the car so quick it made you dizzy before you could even glance at who had saved you. You heard the screams of your would be rapist shouting panicked as he was dragged violently out of the car.

Crying you moved to cover yourself tugging the shirt around yourself looking forward you saw superman clutching the alphas neck hoisting up to his eye level eyes flashing a dangerous red, hinting to the power simmering just below the surface shoulders heaving with every breath and his jaw clenched boiling anger was written across his stance. The alpha pleaded with him. The kryptonian glanced at you before snarling in the other alphas face low and terrifying. you held your breath something was wrong.

"MINE!" was all the man of steel managed as he panted heavy , you saw the tremble in his arm as he tried holding back but still squeezed tighter on the throat he held causing the alpha to gasp and wheeze begging pleading much like you had been not two minutes ago. You gasped not entirely sure you heard him correctly but you was sure that you didn't want to be around either of them in this state.

You placed your hands on the metal below you sliding backwards making the decision to leave your bag that stuff could be replaced. Keeping both of them in your sight, gasping quietly as you dropped to your feet , buckling as another cramp clutched a your insides. You had to move get away you couldn't let either male near you, not when you'd just found your mate, when you was so close.

In your state of panic you forgot one of the most important things every omega should know. If your caught by an alpha in the middle of a heat Do. Not. Run an alpha that wants to pursue you, will chase, they relished in it the hunt. That's why there is so much emphasis on mateing young, once you are claimed alphas are less drawn to you and your heat cant do this whole surprise pop up act. Those who tried to hold out for their mates are usually picked off before their thirties, claimed forcefully and trapped in a unhappy pairings you never thought it'd be you.

You moved slow at first backing away from the car then as you made your way further from them once you got a good twenty feet you turned and ran down a small one way road leading in the direction of home. You hoped. Your footsteps caught Superman's attention snapping his head up dropping the male

"NOO! COME BACK!" he shouted making you more frightened speeding up, he sounded angry. He shot up instantly hovered above the small building before spying you diving down landing in front of you as you as you had reached a main street onlookers stopped as they saw him land hard on the ground, he crouched the asphalt below him cracking under the force he'd used. You skidded to a stop nearly running into him you screamed backing up as he moved to grab you his eyes. They were burning literally glowing seconds away from igniting your flesh.

"I-I No please I don't-" you tried speaking cutting yourself off as another cramp took hold you cried out curling grasping your stomach. He took the opportunity to quickly scoop you up taking off so fast the air was sucked from your lungs you couldnt breath instead puffing out desperate tiny breaths. He headed straight for home. You groaned weakly at him trying desperatly to breath, tapping him as you managed sharp breaths when you could smelling him, he smelt familiar and unique almost like your mate but not quite the same.

Before you knew it you was in an unfamilliar apartment gasping deep breaths trying to ease your burning lungs. Whimpering as a wave after wave of your mates scent hit you causing your body the begin preparing itself for him as you soaked your panties through at an alarming rate. You was deposited on a large bed confused uncomfortably wet and in pain as you curled on your side in the covers pressing your face into the cotton taking deep breaths. You heard footsteps leave your side moving around beyond the door.

He was building you a nest in his den, he was here helping you, you crawled towards him as he smoothed out the blanket to curl around you grabbing him trying to pull him up onto the bed with you. You whimpered as he pulled back standing to look at the nest wanting it to be perfect. In your heat addled mind you took it as a rejection when he moved out of your grasp.

"A-Alpha?" you called out looking for him, he was here he had to be here you needed him, this was his den, but where was he. You looked around trying to find him. Then you hear Superman return, well you thought it was Superman maybe you was so far gone you'd been hallucinating, you was sure the man of steel had brought you here, but it wasn't him who returned you looked at the door ecstatic as you spied your mate with arms full of pillows and a few blankets mumbling to himself about a nest, felt a burst of excitement as he placed the cushions and blankets around you.

"I-its ok, I'm here, I've found you omega, mine ,my omega" you looked up at the male before you tucking your nose into the crook of his neck breathing deep wanting to take him in as much as you could it was him. Yes. You've made it. you cried happy tears streaming down your face as you finally had him, Your one. Your soul mate. Years spent searching hoping, terrified that he'd given up hope and claimed another. But the years of loneliness and fear was worth it for this one moment.

"N-no! alpha come back" your voice was small but sincere, he quickly saw his mistake and climbed up with you letting you grab and pull at him.

"Wh-how? you was-" he climbed over you cageing you nuzzling your neck doing the same to you that you had done to him only he was not crying, he was growling deep in his chest, that you had only just noticed was uncovered he was bare as the day he was born.

"Later...Cant" he mumbled kissing at your neck quickly licking and nipping succumbing to his need to bury himself inside of you as soon as possible. You whined as he pulled the blankets around you creating a tighter cocoon. His instincts were all over the place wanting to mount and knot you and calm and cuddle you . It was hard for him to concentrate as he smelt your body prepare for him. Turning you looked at him your lips parted as you huffed becoming impossibly hot ,sweat forming on your brow your clothes constricting and sticky as you lifted a shaky hand to his cheek.

"Blue... I didn't see them earlier, there beautiful." he almost purred closing his eyes as you ran your hand up to his curled hair. His nostrils flaring ducking down to you kissing you groaning at the taste of your tongue he moved over you, desperate pressing you into the matress holding your waist sliding you up the bed wrestling with your clothes growling before opting to rip them of not patient enough to remove them with out damaging them. You whined at him making him stop inspecting you for injury , when he determined you was unharmed just vocal he continued moving down your body kissing and suckling marks onto you wanting to devour your slick as he smelt how wet you had become for him.

He tossed your legs over his shoulders breathing deep closing his eyes collecting him self 'slow and steady don't hurt her' he thought to himself then leaned forward sucking obscenely on your wet folds dipping his tongue between them. you screamed as he met your hot sensitive skin groaning into you gripping your hips forcing you to remain still and endure him as he worked on finding you bud then flicking quickly up and down then rolling it around sucking it between his teeth applying a gentle pressure.

You cried and shouted as he continued he looked up at you watching you try to twist and turn your breasts bouncing with every jerky movement and heaving breath. He groaned again imagining just how perfect they would look tight and full ready to feed his pups. He pulled back with long licks from back to front collecting as much slick as he could as he went. You panted teary eyed as he crawled above you. He grunted eyeing your neck then maintained eye contact snarling when you didn't immediately look away.

Your pussy wept below you at the sight. He was posturing. Waiting for you to present to him, for you to acknowledge him as your alpha. You tilted your head looking away eagerly willing your body to relax below him he keened low running his nose across your throat then latching onto it biting locking his jaw tightly, not enough for the final bite but he held you there tonguing your neck releasing then moving down biting repeating the same process searching for the least sensitive spot to deliver his bite.

Once he found a spot that didn't cause a large reaction or was on the artery he sucked a dark mark , pinpointing it for later once he was satisfied he released your neck with a parting kiss many would look for the most sensitive but he was worried about truly harming you.

He grabbed your shoulder rolling you on your front heaving up your hips presenting you to him your shoulders landing on the extra pillows and blankets he got for you taking your weight. He gasped leaning back to take a moment to calm himself, he would not risk killing you accidentally because he rushed, admittedly he was also enjoying the view, way your scent permeated the air leaving him feeling hazy almost drunk. You mewled lost in your heat impatient for him to claim you in the most sinful and depraved of ways. You rocked to and fro clenching your pussy for him then spread your knees so he could see. You heard him grunt then decided to push further.

"AAHH! FUCK" you yelped as he stretched you taught around him the resistance you put up against him was intoxicating as he moved steady not letting up as he was pushing deeper and deeper feeding himself into you. You tried to raise onto your hands but a swift hand caught you by the scruff pressing down with a snarl.

As ready as your slick had made you, you was still smaller than him he noted as he was poised at your opening, twitching and puffy from his earlier exploration, he could feel the heat radiating form you. As you tried to rock back feeing his cock just there he pulled you back onto him.

"No you will stay In position presenting" he grunted you whimpered in response as he held you there firm. Finally he grunted low quickly thrusting the last inch or so into you thighs pressed against your bottom tensing. You panted clawing at the pillows surrounding you is was nearly to much as he held still flexing making you jump and flutter around him.

"P-pleeeas alpha I cant wait please" your words were pitiful and breathy arching your back pushing your ass high and curling your toes. His breathing hitched un able to hold back he rose to his knees digging his tumbs into the back of your pelvis gripping tight designed to hold you still, to force you to take all of him weather you wanted to or not. You'd forfited that choice with your presented to him earlier. You was his and he wanted you to know that ,slowly falling prey to his most basic of primal needs. Mount. Fuck. Knot. Breed. There was no thoughts beyond these four goals. He held steady nudging your opening with his cock, hard and only just beading with precum, he had fought to hold back his need for release refuseing to waste a drop, but now it seemed he may need it.

"Good girl....soo good ... your such a good omega.....are you ready to be bred?" tears fell at the feeling of being so stuffed, you wasn't sure just how you were going to take his knot if this was him before that, it was uncomfortable pressed so deep it was bordering pain, a dull ache but your cramps were gone as if his skin alone had soothed your insides and that you was thankful for.

"ugh such a good female.... gonna fuck you full" he tilted his head back abdomen quivering and twitching with need he was trying to hold back, be gentle he had heard the whimpers as he opened you up for the first time, noting that you wasn't a virgin, tho many omegas now day's had toy's to replicate alpha couplings. He snarled pulling back a little then rocking into you the idea of anything other than himself inside you irked him, no more. He would dispose of yours at the first opportunity. You'd never resort to using a toy again. A rubber substitute, no he wouldn't allow it. You would come to him for relief or you'd suffer. Those were your options now.

"YES... fuck yes THATS IT...I'm your alpha now...no one else.... I'll kill them" he grunted teasing you with his cock you screeched as he growled and grunted using his hands to hold you still as he drove into you over and over, pulling out further each time, you was floating or was it drowning you couldn't tell, all you knew was that you hated the way you felt empty as he left you, your pussy was clamping and pulling at him, fighting to keep him sheathed inside you. You groaned cried and squealed unable to stop as his moans egged you on.

"aH! FUCKfuckfuck alPHAAA!" you shook your head rubbing your face into his heady scent your head swimming in it as it seeped through the blankets. You tried to fight his hold as he teased you with shallow thrusts making your pussy protest resulting in a loud sharp spank and you widened your legs for him.

"You ok baby?" he asked as you shook beneath him gasping, trying to calm your breathing you tried to turn to look at him hissing as it pulled on his knot

You cried panicked trying to wiggle from under him desperate to escape the painful stretch he quickly acted on auto pilot latching onto the mark he left on your neck biting breaking the skin, holding you still with a growl as he claimed you with his scent permanently. You cried tensing not sure if the pain was to much or not enough. He finallly released your neck tucking a hand below where you joined rubbing your hard bud forcing you to clench painfully around the knot that was cruley holding you in place spreading your lips apart revealing your clit to his wandering fingers as you was warpped tight around him ,you tried to drag yourself forward off of him tugging at your joining to no avail he was slow and frim with his teasing finger tips.

Quickly you found your abdoman spasming and you screeched as he tore your second orgasm from you, this time as you squirted nothing left you hitting his knot and returning back up into you the force of it sending ripples of pleasure against all of your nerves your walls massaged him from root to tip as a result making him finally release into you feeling him pulse and twitch as his hot load hit you hard and deep some had definatly make it past your cervix you summarised the only coherent through in the lusty haze that was now slowly lifting from you, he held still as he continued to pour into you, the overwhelming urge to breed you was to much as he rocked once ,twice slowly using his knot the amplify the pleasure.

You whimpered staying as still as you could panting completly washed out and wrecked. He looked down smug not taking his eyes of of where you were joined his knot was large, he was impressed at how well you took him. A slight panic, he'll admit but you had stayed still enough for him to fully mate you And nothing was escaping which boded well for breeding.

"Ah ah ah stay still... that's it stay still... good girl" he reassured knowing full well that you could be like this for a few more minutes maybe ten minutes or so, for him specifically he wasnt sure. Selfishly he wanted to remain there as long as possible but thought it'd be better for you if he wasnt attached to long.

"yes ...that's it omega open up for me... let me in" he chuckled slamming into you making your bones rattle keening with the force as he did it over again becoming desperate to bury himself inside deeper. You cried out as he dragged his hand from your neck leaning over you as he plowed you into an orgasm. You let out what was at first a silent scream as you clamped around him making him hiss you leaked over him cumming drenching his thighs with slick as he grunted holding still tightly pressing into you his knot forming in an instant stretching you until you yelped in pain trying to break free. No. It hurt. As he was pressing painfully deep almost pressing into your cervix opening.

"Are you ok? we could be like this for a while baby.. you have enough pillows"

"It's sore" you mumbled quietly unable to stop pulling forward it was only natural to try and avoid the pain he felt guilty but knew it was unavoidable.

"I know baby but your doing so well... soo good and just think with any luck we will have pups on the way! doesnt that sound nice baby. You can make a better nest, more suitable for pups." you clenched at his words the idea of pups making you perk up

"Pups?" you asked excited he laughed rubbing your back soothingly noticing how hot you was.

"Oh yes I'm going to breed you during this heat, that is if I haven't took root already" he said rolling his hip lightly making his point you groan again. He noted the sweat rolling down your sides. Debating on what to do, he knew he could help easily but was a little apprehensive. Finally he decided he would do it, your his mate now, bound to him permanently.

"Baby? are you hot?" you nodded

"Yeah and sticky..... I want a cold shower... can I have one when I'm free?" he frowned that would mean you standing up.... he would leak from you.... No. He shook his head

"No you may not, you will lie on your back once free.. I want you full." he said you pouted a little feeling scolded whimpering before you flinched as he blew a cool gust of air onto you. It was cold... Much colder than should have been possible.. And it wasn't to do with how heated your skin was. Clark continued blowing cooling your skin until it was no longer red. He felt himself finally softening once he was sure he could remove himself without any pulling he did sliding back quickly flipping you to your back pulling the pillows below your waist . You laid back wide eyed.. It took him seconds.. Literally seconds to pull out and re-position you... He moved you one handed...WHAT THE FUCK? you squeaked

"Wh-how did you do that? you really are? but your scent i-it was different you wasn't!" you were so confused. He looked down guilty stroking you slowly unable to keep for touching you now that you were bpnded ,he loved how you carried his scent, it was lingering just beneath yours coiling around it.

"I'm sorry, my suit it....changes my scent... I'm not sure why, it may be because its not made here on earth... " you paled as he explained you knew. Your mate was superman. The man of steel. You gasped bringing your hands to your face as you cried

"YOUR AN ASS! do you know how FUCKING SCARED I WAS!" you shouted moving to get up. He was faster pinning you down pushing into your neck.

"I thought you was going to burn me! Kill me!" You wailed into your palms.

"sshh sshh its ok now.. I'm sorry ...I'm so sorry I never intended to scare you, I was just scared...I tried to follow you but you already left....... Then I went looking for you ..... I heard screaming not want sure if it was you, I was so glad as I got closer and smelt you then I saw him..I had intended to just take you home..But seeing you there I knew I had no choice...I had to claim you to keep you safe... I was so close to killing him, I wanted to...You stopped me, if you hadnt run I would have ripped him limb from limb... All I knew in that moment was that I couldnt bare seeing you run from me.. I had to catch you." you settled down as he kissed your mark explaining between small pecks and licks then laid curling at you side. Pulling your hands away.

"I-if I'd known it was you I wouldnt have run from you I would have run to you" you explaind cupping his face lightly he leaned forward kissing him.

"But I cant call you superman or alpha all the time" you smirked he chuckled sliding higher around you leaning over you on his elbow.

"Clark kent" he offered with a kiss

"y/n y/l/n" he smiled before kissing deeply again you were interupted by a loud bannging form somwhere deeper in the apart ment he held out a hand

"Stay I want to give us the best chance for pups" he called out as he grabbed some boxers sliding them up as he walked to the front door opeing it revealing Lois holding out his damaged breifcase she scrunched her nose as the heady smell of there coupling hit her.

"Here I Covered for you, Perry thinks this morning was because your omega was going into heat and you didnt touch her and I told you to leave and 'be an alpha for once' in the end you took my advice and mated her... you have the week off for her heat." she explained then cleared her throat nodding behind him he growled when he spotted you up by the door peeping he pointed back to where you came growling.

"Back in your nest!" you scuttled back into the room with a squeak diving back into your nest of blankets. Placing your hips back on the raised pillows. Lois giggled.

"Don't be too hard on her she probably heard me and panicked... any way I'm off and try to be gentle with her she looks ....small" he nodded closing the door as she turned to leave. He padded into the bedroom spoting you tugging the blankets around you adjusting then readjusting them pouting. He smiled tugging it from you smoothing it around your hips.

"That was lois.. Shes and alpha and a friend nothing to worry about.." you nodded to him as he tucked himself around you again making you rest your head on his chest as he reached down cupping your tummy running his thumb acros the skin below your belly button

"Sleep baby it wont long before I'll mount you again" you blushed at his words but tried to relax anyway letting your mind drift as he wandering fingers pushed you into a deep satisfied slumber.

Taglist @havenoffandoms

#superman smut #superman x reader #superman x you #alpha superman #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x you #clark kent x reader #superman mate #alpha clark kent #superman imagine #clark kent imagine

2K notes · View notes

plainbrunettelbl · 4 years

Text

ABO (A) Store Owner Amajiki Tamaki x (O) Mail-Order Bride Reader Salt Water Taffy (Part One)

Word count: 2395

Warnings: None

Title: ABO (A) Store Owner Amajiki Tamaki x (O) Mail-Order Bride Reader Salt Water Taffy (Part One)

Summary: You go to a new town in hopes of meeting your future Alpha but things don’t go as planned.

(Gif not mine)

🐙-You thought it was the start of your new life. You traveled all the way from the north to the south but it was all in vain. You had been cosponsoring with an Alpha for three months now.

🐙-He had come off as sweet and charming in the letters he had written to you.

🐙-You were giddy every time you went to pick up the mail. Your parents didn’t know you were talking to an Alpha. They had all but forbidden you from coming into contact with one.

🐙-They thought you to be too delicate to mate with one.

🐙-They had set up courting dates with Beta’s. They were nice in their own way but each and every one of them failed to make your heart flutter. So you came up with the idea of finding your own mate.

🐙-You didn’t have to look far. Once you had seen the ad at the general store you heart was set.

🐙-His name was Sora, he was a kind Alpha. He had written that he was a carpenter in the town he lived in. He had sweetened you up with kind words and tall tales.

🐙-He wrote that his house was two stories with enough room to raise a whole lot of pups. That he was a worthy man wise enough to be on the town council and that his carpeting was flourishing.

🐙-The only thing that was a little odd of him was that he didn’t want to send you something he had scented. You had done so after the first month of talking but he said he wasn’t comfortable enough to send something back.

🐙-You could understand that it was still a little scandalous about scenting something for a person you haven’t even met so you didn’t dwell on it. You wished you did now.

🐙-As soon as you walked off the train you knew something was off. A handful of people stood on the platform waiting to pick up family or other future brides. You had scented three Alpha’s as soon as you stepped off but before you could question which one was Sora they all had family or future mates walking up to them.

🐙-You thought he just might be a little late so you waited with your suitcase in hand by the platform. After ten minutes of him not showing up and receiving odd stares from the townspeople you walked you way down the street and into the general store.

🐙-The thought of something might have been wrong made your skin prickle. What if you bought the wrong train ticket? Did he regret asking for you? You didn’t allow yourself to think that way for long.

🐙-He was just running late.

🐙-Barely making it over the threshold your nose picked up a delightful scent. It reminded you of going outside after it just rained. The scent instantly comforted you a little.

🐙-Your Omega lifting her head in interest.

🐙-You quietly told her you had an Alpha and the one standing behind the counter wasn’t him. Even though his indigo hair and oddly pointy ears made your heart race.

🐙-You straightened your shoulders and walked up to the counter.

🐙-You didn’t notice but the Alpha was just as enthralled by your scent. This might have been the worst job for him to have but now seeing your pretty frame walk through the door made him change his mind.

🐙-“Hello.” You smiled at the Alpha.

🐙-“H-hello.” He quietly responded, in awe at your presence.

🐙-“I was wondering where I could find an Alpha named, Sora Tanaka?” You asked, putting down your suitcase because your arms were starting to hurt.

🐙- “Sora Tanaka? Are you sure you have the right name, Ma’am?” He was puzzled, why would you be asking for him.

🐙-“Yes?” You tilted your head, not liking his tone of voice. Was there something wrong with Sora?

🐙-“The only Sora that lives here is a Beta. I don’t mean to sound rude but he is kinda known as the town drunk.” He nervously replied, hoping he wasn’t someone important you and he hadn’t offended you.

🐙-“What?” Your face went white.

🐙-“Um, I am sure you can find him at the saloon right now. Would you like me to give you directions?” He shuffled on his feet, his Alpha not liking the distressed scent coming from you.

🐙-“At the saloon? At this hour?” You were breathless, the future you had in your mind was slowly crumbling.

🐙-“H-he pretty much lives there,” Tamaki stated, his eyes worriedly looking at your trembling frame.

🐙-“Are you sure?” You asked, still trying to delay the inevitable.

🐙-“I’m pretty sure. How do you know him, if I may ask?” His eyes shifting around not quite ready to meet your eyes. He knew once he did he would be a goner.

🐙-“I’m his mail-order bride.” You informed, the light in your eyes finally dying.

🐙-Tamaki’s Alpha whimpered, they wanted this beautiful Omega.

🐙-“At least I was.” You continued, your hands shaking.

🐙-His Alpha instantly quieted. Tamaki finally met your eyes. He was heartbroken to find them glistening with tears. He was also panicking. How did he calm down an Omega?

🐙-He hadn’t been around them much. Their mere presence would send him running to a corner to calm down. He wasn’t at all ready to court one. The only thing he knew about them was they liked sweets.

🐙-“Would you like a saltwater taffy?” He asked, pointing to the display behind you.

🐙-You sniffed before glancing back at the colorful treats behind you.

🐙-“I only have twenty cents to my name.” Your voice broke, the weight of the situation finally hits you.

🐙-“That’s fine. It’s on the house. Think of it as a welcome to town gift.” He sputtered, eager for your tears to dry up.

🐙-His Alpha was pacing around.

🐙-“Okay. Thank you.” Even if you wanted too you couldn’t turn down his kindness.

🐙-You Omega needed something to calm her down or else she would start chirping in distress. You sent him a wobbly smile before turning around plucking a navy colored one wrapped in wax paper. With unsteady hands, you unwrapped it and lifted it to your mouth.

🐙-Your dark thoughts were soothed by the sweet taste.

🐙-“Mmh! Is this currant flavor?” You looked up, chewing on the sweet candy.

🐙-“Yes. It was made by my friend Tai. He owns the local bakery in town. He made the currant flavor with me in mind.” He flushed, thinking of his cheery friend.

🐙-“Mhm. The color does remind me of you.” You peered at the indigo-colored treats stacked in a basket.

🐙-You wonder if you could make something like this at home. Home. What home did you have? You doubted the town drunk had a two-story house as he wrote in is his letters. Tear instantly flooded your eyes again.

🐙-You were homeless.

🐙-You sudden felt your knees weaken.

🐙-“Is there somewhere I can sit down?” You sniffled, looking into the Alpha’s worried eyes.

🐙-“Yes, of course. You can rest in my office.” He was quick to come from behind the counter and lead you to his office.

🐙-While leading you away he grabbed a handful of taffy.

🐙-He leads you to a plush chair behind his desk. He was quick to drop the taffy on the desk in front of you. He knew Omegas needed blankets and soft things for comfort.

🐙-“My apartment is upstairs. I can get you a blanket if you would like?” He offered, his heart pounding at the thought of this Omega wrapped in one of his blankets.

🐙-“Yes, please.” Your watery eyes looking up at him. He really was a godsend. Your Omega felt safe when he was around.

🐙-He was quick to nod and make his way upstairs. He grabbed one from his hall closet. He didn’t know how you would feel about one that had his scent on it. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

🐙-He dashed back downstairs.

🐙-“Here you go.” He handed it to you. You wrapped it around you in an instant. He thought he needed to sit down as well when he heard gentle purrs coming your way.

🐙-“I think I am gonna go talk to Sheriff Aizawa. He will know how to handle this.” He stated, his voice was strong this time.

🐙-He wanted to make sure this Omega would be okay. His Alpha had already taken her under his protection. Even the thought of bringing Sheriff Aizawa around put him on edge.

🐙-He just realized his Alpha didn’t like competition.

🐙-He pushed the taffy in your direction before giving you a timid smile and walking out of his office. Maybe if he gave her enough candy she would like him better? She seemed to enjoy the blanket so he clearly wasn’t repulsive to her.

🐙-His Alpha was set on winning over her heart, but first, he had to find out just what that Beta was thinking. Why did he pretend to be an Alpha just so he could bring an Omega here?

🐙-His brain was thinking up the possibilities while he made his way to the sheriff’s office.

***

🐙-“Sora, what’s this I hear about you pretending to be an Alpha?” Sheriff Aizawa glared at the drunken Beta.

🐙-Aizawa put his hands on his hips, ready to pull his gun if needed. Sora wasn’t known to be an aggressive drunk but luring an Omega here made his Alpha stand on guard.

🐙-What was Sora’s angle?

🐙-Sora was quick to belt out laughter slapping the bar in his delight.

🐙-“That dumb Omega actually came! I can’t believe it! I was sweet-talking her for three whole months.” He chortled, tickled by the news.

🐙-“Why did you send out a fake ad?” Aizawa growled, not pleased with the Beta’s behavior.

🐙-“It was just a joke. I didn’t think she would really come.” He laughed some more, taking a sip of his beer. “I didn’t even offer to pay for her ticket so I don’t know how she even got here.”

🐙-The sheriff growled, angered at the way he treated this Omega. He paused when he realized he wasn’t the only one growling. Tamaki was standing to his right glaring daggers at the Beta.

🐙-Aizawa was shocked at the Alphas booming growl. He known Tamaki all his life and never once heard him growl before. He was known to be a timid Alpha, one that wasn’t easily riled.

🐙-This Omega must have been something to get under his skin so quickly.

🐙-“That’s it. I am taking you to jail. Maybe a little sobriety will help you with your rethink your scheming ways.” He went to cuff Sora up.

🐙-“You tell me if you need help with that Omega. I’m gonna take this one down to the station and then go over to the post office so they can ban his ad and his letter privileges.” Aizawa tipped his black sheriff’s hat before walking out with the drunk.

🐙-Tamaki sent Sora one last glare before walking out of the saloon and making his way back to his store. He hoped the Omega took the news well.

***

🐙-“So it was just a prank?” You sniffed, chewing on a piece of taffy.

🐙-“Yes.” He hesitantly answered, hoping you wouldn’t start sobbing.

🐙-“What am I gonna do? I don’t have a home or a job.” You cried, taking the handkerchief Tamaki offered.

🐙-You dabbed your tears before blowing your nose.

🐙-“I was thinking, would you like to work here?” He asked, nervously twiddling his thumbs.

🐙-“Work here?” You echoed, looking up at him.

🐙-“Yes. I am not the best person to work the front desk. In all honesty, I hate it. The only reason I have been working in the front is that my parents moved away and left me with their store. They wanted to retire closer to our relatives.” He explained, trying to blush under your curious eyes.

🐙-“Are you sure? I wouldn’t be causing any trouble?” You asked, brightening at the idea of working with the kind Alpha.

🐙-“Not at all. I would be happy to work behind the scenes again. I am much too shy to be working the counter. Though I am sure the townspeople wouldn’t mind walking in and seeing you instead of me.” He muttered, surprised at his own words.

🐙-He hoped he didn’t come off as too bold.

🐙-Clearly, it was the right thing to say because he heard a bubbly laugh escape your lips. His Alpha wanted to purr at the sound. He was pleased he lifted your mood.

🐙-“What about where I am gonna live?” You questioned, tilting your head.

🐙-“Well the boarding house is under construction so they aren’t having an guests anytime soon. I would invite you to stay with me in my apartment but that would be improper.” He coughed, his Alpha getting riled up at the thought of living with the sweet Omega.

🐙-“Oh.” You slumped, deflated.

🐙-“B-but my parents left me their house so you can stay there.” He quickly offered, kicking himself for not saying that first.

🐙-“Your parents house? Are you sure they wouldn’t mind?” You wondered, your heart lightening at the thought of having somewhere to live.

🐙-“It is in my name so you don’t have to worry about them. They left it for me when I have a mate and pups.” He flushed, clearly embarrassed by the topic.

🐙-“Oh.” The thought of him with another Omega made your heart burn in envy.

🐙-“B-but since I don’t plan on courting anyone anytime soon you are free to stay there.” He corrected his heart racing.

🐙-“Are you sure?” You asked, still stunned by his generosity.

🐙-“I am sure.” He stated with certainty, a small bit of his Alpha peaking through.

🐙-“Then I look forward to working with you, Alpha.” You beamed up at him, clutching the handkerchief tighter in your hands. Your smile lit up the entire office. He could have sworn his heart stopped beating in his chest for a second.

🐙-Lord help him.

Man I love this so much! My little Tama is too cute in this one. What did y’all thinking about Sheriff Aizawa? Lol How do you guys like this AU so far? Thank you guys for the support! 💕💕

2K notes · View notes

kaibacorpintern · 4 years

Note

yuugi and kaiba... platonic... maybe a lil angst like kaiba doesnt know how to have friends and yuugi just accepts him as he is and kaiba can be a kid for once.. for the minific prompt pls? :) thank u.. luv ur blog btw

just thought you should know that when i read this prompt i instantly turned into this and wrote almost 5,000 words. it’s a little angsty and about friendship, but it’s also about loneliness and food and depression, with a few jokes peppered in here and there. DSOD didn’t happen but atem is alive, because i say so. i want kaiba and yuugi to be friends so freakin’ bad.

long story short: i went nuts. thanks for the prompt!!

***

Every day, little by little, Kaiba looked greyer. The lines of his shoulders slouched. The hollows under his eyes deepened, like holes being dug in the dirt, on hands and knees; a slow, miserable burying. To hear him speak was worse. Yuugi heard his voice from thousands of miles away, like he was on a different continent, a different planet, and the light of every thought was crossing the staggering empty silence of space. It terrified Yuugi, to think of Kaiba as fading, that someone who raged with all the thrill and fury of a storm could slow down like this. But he was fading.

“Hey. Are you alright? You seem down lately,” Yuugi tried, on one of the rare mornings where he caught him alone in the elevator, on his way up to the game design department. With no one else around, he usually felt emboldened to drop the act: not an employee with his boss, maintaining proper deference, but someone who’d known Kaiba for a very long time, and knew him like few others did.

The glass-walled elevator whirred as it rose. Kaiba stood there with his arms crossed, impassive, his back to Domino. The city streets unfurled below them.

“The elevator’s going up, Yuugi,” he said, after a full seven seconds of silence. A weak dismissal, by his standards, made even weaker by a toneless delivery.

“Sure. But - ”

With a polite ding, the elevator opened onto the game design floor.

“You’re running late,” Kaiba said, nodding him pointedly out the door.

“Bro, I’m fifteen minutes early,” Yuugi said.

“Don’t fucking ‘bro’ me, ” Kaiba snarled, with all the sudden, twitching ferocity of a nervous dog. Yuugi smiled and slowly backed out of the elevator, his palms turned out, long enough to make his point: he'd come in peace. Kaiba frowned at him, bristling, until the elevator doors started to close. The last Yuugi saw of him, before they touched together, were a pair of blue eyes, their fiery energy winking out like a popped spark, falling shut with a sigh.

At his desk, Yuugi toyed with his phone for a good ten minutes, ignoring emails and his coworkers’ good mornings, his thumb hovering over Mokuba’s contact info as he rehearsed in his head. Hey, how’s Stanford? You enjoying your classes so far? Making friends? Of course you are. Great. Well, so, I’m calling because I’m worried about your brother -

A call like that would put Mokuba on a plane within an hour, honestly. But maybe Mokuba would want to know. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe if he left his first quarter of college and returned to Japan, just because his brother had a few bad nights or something, Kaiba would punt Yuugi off the top of the building.

Maybe Atem? The only person Kaiba ever “talked” to about anything, if pummeling each other with card game holograms could be called a conversation. Which they did.

YUUGI What’s eating Kaiba? Is he alright?

He stared at his phone a while longer until remembering it was the middle of the night in Egypt. He put his phone away, put Kaiba out of mind, and got to work.

***

Atem texted back mid-afternoon.

ATEM I don’t know. Go find out

YUUGI Okay but i’m not you lol he won’t tell me. even with a duel

ATEM GO

ATEM FIND

ATEM OUT

YUUGI OKAY I'LL DO MY BEST

ATEM And tell that stuck-up bastard to answer his fucking phone one of these days

Odd. Kaiba never ignored Atem.

YUUGI I’m on it

He finished work late, packed up his things, and headed downstairs to the lobby, moving quickly to catch his train. He had most of a mind to save the Kaiba question for later, go home, and flop face-down on his bed until he roused himself enough to pick at leftovers. The elevated metro station was awash in a crisp dusk light, the navy purple night descending on the day’s final line of gold. His train was coming in three minutes; the next on the same line in thirty-four. He'd just made it.

If he stood at the far end of the platform, craning his neck, he could see the long strip of windows at the top of the KaibaCorp tower. Dark. Kaiba had gone home early. Yuugi frowned, biting his lip, as his train arrived.

He let it go, jostled and swaying in the flood of people flowing in and out of the carriages. The next train took him far from home, flying with sleek electric ease through the glittering glassy black monoliths of the city, and into the leafy, overgrown estates beyond the far edge of town.

***

Kaiba's estate was a brisk walk from the last station on the line, along the side of a road without sidewalks, and through a tunnel of trees that laced their branches together over the road. By the time Yuugi got to the gates, his feet aching in his sneakers, night had fallen. The trees were thick with shadow and wind, whispering to each other in fairy tale voices. It was the kind of night that urged people into their homes, with the doors locked, away from the ancient things that lurked in the undergrowth, wild and forgotten and stronger for it. He was relieved to reach the gates, on the edge of the illumination around Kaiba's mansion, held in the center of the light like a toy castle in a snow globe.

The gatehouse was empty. A security camera peered down at him from the top of a wall, nestled in a thick swell of vines. Ignoring its glossy little eye, Yuugi studied the door in the wall beside the gates, pushing more vines aside to find the keypad. If he called ahead, the chances of Kaiba buzzing him in were next to nothing. They were next to nothing on a good day.

YUUGI do you know the key code for the door?

ATEM 445241474F4E#

ATEM that took me literally years to get

ATEM go around the back. he won’t open the front door

YUUGI you're the best <3

He tapped in the code, carefully. What if he got it wrong? Would a trapdoor open up below his feet? With his back to the quiet road, and the dense, rustling woods on the other side, he swallowed his laugh.

The door opened with a faint click. Yuugi slipped through and began the long walk up the drive to the mansion, sneakers crunching the gravel underfoot. On either side of the drive, the lawns were pristine, every petal of every flower and every leaf on every hedge perfectly in place, holding the poses nature’s hand had fixed them in with effortless ease. Somewhere across the grass, shrouded in the night, came the distant murmur of a fountain.

The mansion itself was an ugly, graceless brick of a building, so rigid and square in its design that its position in the center of this wooded estate seemed an oppressive intrusion. Per Atem’s instructions, Yuugi skirted the front, with its twin dragon statues and Roman columns and imposing front door, and went around to the back, padding silently through the grass. Like the top of the tower, the windows were dark. Every glance through the glass, checking for life, made him feel like he was looking into the bottom of a well, deep and cold and watery, a tomb for hopeless wishing.

At the back of the house was a large patio, with a view of the sprawling grounds, which rolled downwards in a gentle slope, all the way to a line of trees. There, the grounds gave themselves back to the wild. Even on a shivering night like this, it was easy to imagine what the patio was like in the full splendor of high summer, drenched in sunlight and everything shimmering in golden-white heat.

A thin light cast a hazy cloud onto the patio through a pair of sliding glass doors. Yuugi stopped, halfway across the patio, questioning himself for the nth time that night. And if he was overreacting? So what if Kaiba was in a mood? Kaiba was always in a fucking mood. Yuugi had no doubt Kaiba would thunder at him for a while over the arrogance, the audacity of his presumptions or something, and then throw him out by the scruff of the neck. Oh, god. The embarrassment burned in his face already.

Yuugi firmly shoved his own feelings aside. He was a gamer - a gambler - by nature, and he’d learned enough over the years to bet on his own instincts. He gamed it out, in his head, shuddering into the warmth of his jacket as the breeze rolled through him:

He checks on Kaiba, and everything is fine: he goes home feeling awkward and Kaiba avoids him at work for the next three weeks. Acceptable outcome.

He does not check on Kaiba, and everything is fine: he goes home, and the whole night gets written off as a weird, secret little adventure. Acceptable outcome.

He checks on Kaiba, and everything is not fine: unacceptable, but now someone knows. Acceptable outcome.

He does not check on Kaiba, and everything is not fine: Unacceptable outcome.

He stole towards the sliding glass doors. They led into a glossy modern kitchen, as pristine as the grounds, and full of clean, gleaming surfaces. It was completely free of clutter like mail, or keys, or coffee mugs, or any of the other odds and ends that usually piled up over the course of normal days. A bowl of flowers sat on a kitchen table in a breakfast nook, starting to wilt. At the end of the kitchen island was a bowl of fruit. A still-life painting split in two.

Sitting at the island, perched on a bar stool, was Kaiba, his head resting in his folded arms atop the counter. His face was mostly hidden in the crook of his elbow; through the limp tangle of his bangs, Yuugi saw his eyes were closed. His black leather satchel leaned against the leg of the bar stool. The rise of his back as he breathed was slow and subtle, the only thing that convinced Yuugi Kaiba had not turned to stone in his seat. Asleep?

No.

A small blue light rose up from Kaiba's phone, lying on the counter. One hand slowly unfolded, silenced the call, and refolded itself. A gesture that made less than a ripple across the still water of this tableau.

Awake.

Lifelessly, doing nothing. Not even staring into space, but retreating into the space behind his eyelids, a space Yuugi knew intimately well: shallow and lukewarm and wordless, a space for letting hours and days drift by, uncounted. It had been a long time since he’d visited - not since he’d solved the Puzzle - but it was a space he never wanted to revisit. It was a space that stayed with you for the rest of your life, once you’d been there, and yet a space more distant than the farthest star in the universe, beyond the boundaries of both light and love. A place of perfect solitude.

Quietly, carefully, Yuugi tried the handle of the sliding glass door and found it unlocked. He slid it open.

Kaiba startled, pulling himself upright as though yanked by a puppet string on his neck. He turned to Yuugi, still and alert, not quite comprehending. As he understood who stood there, the pieces clicking into place, his eyes hardened in his pallid face, speechless, furious.

“Before you say anything,” Yuugi said, as Kaiba opened his mouth, “I have a story. Let me tell you, and then you can kick me out.”

“This is my fucking house. I can kick you out whenever I damn well please,” Kaiba snapped.

“It’s more of a puzzle, actually. I don’t think you’ve ever solved this one,” Yuugi said.

Kaiba looked at him sideways, now more confused and suspicious than alarmed.

“And if I solve it?” he said, because ah, yes, of course, stakes. Nothing ever for the joy of it.

“Bragging rights.”

“If I don’t?”

“Nothing happens,” Yuugi said.

They stared at each other. Yuugi ventured a smile. Did he dare walk in? He was still standing on the threshold.

“Fine,” Kaiba said, a word more like a sigh. “Come in and tell me your stupid puzzle.”

***

Every house has its own particular smell, its character, its self-contained story about those who call it home. Yuugi took off his shoes, setting them beside the glass door, and frowned. Kaiba's smelled like clean linens, a touch of dust, cool air. A muted smell with no character. He didn't know what he expected. Something else, something thick and wet and heady, like oncoming thunder, or concrete after rain.

On this side of the glass doors, the kitchen was even more exquisite, temptingly so. He knew, from his lusty late-night Internet searches, that the knives in the wooden block alone cost more than several thousand dollars. Untouched! He refused to let them go to waste. Such things were more beautiful when they were held and used and loved, doing what they were made for. And despite the marbled silence, the thin white lighting, this was a house, not a museum. Yuugi dropped his backpack on the floor next to an empty bar stool and turned to Kaiba, who was sitting upright, hands atop his thighs, watching him.

“Uh - do you have anything to eat? I haven’t eaten since lunch,” he said, slinging his jacket over his backpack.

“No. Every night I just plug in and recharge,” Kaiba said dryly. “I believe that’s called a fridge. Those have human food.”

Yuugi bit his tongue, hiding his smile as he went around to the other side of the island. At least Kaiba was still capable of snark. He opened the massive fridge - sparse offerings, sparsely touched - and rooted around, not quite sure what he was looking for between the limp carrots and slabs of smoked salmon. Only the cheese drawer yielded interesting spoils, unspoiled and exotically European.

“The pantry?” he said, nodding at the door next to the fridge.

“Presumably.”

Yuugi found a loaf of sourdough bread on a shelf in the walk-in pantry - a fucking walk-in pantry! - and returned to the counter with his haul: the bread, the butter, a wedge of Gruyere, and a brick of Emmental. “I’m making a grilled cheese. You want one?”

“If it makes you happy,” Kaiba muttered.

“It does, yeah,” Yuugi said, unsheathing one of those glorious, mirror-polished knives from the wooden block. He rolled up his sleeves and attacked the cheeses with relish. “So - the puzzle goes like this. You’re fifteen years old. You’re small for your age, underweight, painfully shy. You get shoved around a lot at school. Before school, after school. Whenever, honestly. No one really sticks up for you, although you try to stick up for them, when you can, and no one really talks to you, because you live in your own little world. Your head’s always in the clouds, and you get really excited over a lot of things no one else really cares about.”

As he spoke, he unearthed a frying pan and set it on the gas stove, slicing off several pats of butter. As they melted, soft and yellow-white, he carved several slices off the loaf, shuddering with secretive pleasure at the fresh crunch of the crust.

“Next time, just bring me your high school diary,” Kaiba said.

Yuugi snorted, buttering the slices and laying them carefully into the pan, where they began to sizzle. He draped the slices of cheese on top. “So you can read everything I wrote about you? No thanks. Anyway. You have one friend, but she’s not always around - her family travels a lot for work. So here you are, a bullied, lonely little oddball, and one day someone gives you a gift. A puzzle.”

“A puzzle in a puzzle.”

“Right,” Yuugi said, pressing down on the slices of bread with a spatula. The butter crackled and spat; a thick, warm smell wafted through the kitchen. “And if you make a wish on the puzzle, it grants your wish when you solve it. So you make your wish, and you solve your puzzle. You know the rest.”

He turned back to Kaiba. “Now I’m here in your kitchen, making you a grilled cheese. So. What did I wish for?”

To his credit, Kaiba was taking it seriously, offering no snide comments about magic or wishing, leaning forward with his arms folded again on the counter. Yuugi let him study him, eyes narrowed and thoughtful, knowing he was running back through all eight years of their shared history, doing the math.

“Well, no one shoves you around any more,” Kaiba said. “Not even me, judging by the fact that I can’t even get you to leave my house. I should’ve known better than to try.”

“Ooh, a compliment. Thanks, I’ll treasure it forever,” Yuugi said, grinning, flipping the sandwiches. Melted cheese oozed from the sides. The bottom slices had toasted to a golden brown. His mouth watered. “Plates?”

“Up and to your left.”

Yuugi opened the cabinets and, standing on tiptoe, eased out two matte black stoneware plates. Fancy.

“You wished for strength,” Kaiba said.

Yuugi slid the grilled cheeses onto the plates and severed them in half with the spatula.

“Nope,” he said, leaning across the island counter to set the steaming grilled cheese in front of Kaiba. The semantic point that his friends and his strength were one and the same seemed irrelevant. He was speaking to Kaiba. He needed to speak in Kaiba’s language. “Strength wouldn’t have solved anything for me.”

“You just said you were getting shoved around - ”

“I wished for friends, Kaiba,” Yuugi said. “Yeah, I was tired of getting shoved around. But I was even more tired of being alone.”

“I - “ Kaiba cut himself off, pressing a sigh through his nose with a tight, pinched expression. Within seconds his face soured. “You make a wish on your magical little trinket, and you get just what you always wanted. How fucking fantastic for you - ”

“Don’t do the aggressive-aggressive thing, it’s not cute,” Yuugi said. “And don’t test me, either. You and I are way past that. Just look me in the face and tell me, honestly, you want me to leave.”

Kaiba turned that ferocious blue gaze on him, silent.

Yuugi waited, holding his gaze.

Thin, languid tendrils of steam rose from their melting grilled cheeses and folded away.

“Don’t tell me you think of me as one of your magic wish friends?” Kaiba said.

“There’s nothing magical about our friendship, no,” Yuugi said, and to his delight Kaiba snorted with amusement. “Now eat, before it gets cold.”

***

They ate, the evening quiet of the kitchen magnifying every fried, crunchy bite. Yuugi had hoisted himself onto the bar stool next to Kaiba, congratulating himself on a well-made grilled cheese. He would’ve made it work even without the expensive knives.

"Don't tell Mokuba," Kaiba said, dabbing at crumbs on his plate with a greasy scrap of bread, "or Atem."

"Don't tell them what?" Yuugi said.

"How you found me. On hour six of staring at a wall.”

"I won't," Yuugi said.

"They don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself," Kaiba insisted.

"You can, but are you?" Yuugi said.

"Mmh," Kaiba murmured, resting his elbows on the counter and his chin atop his laced hands. “Don’t tell them that, either.”

His eyes rolled sideways, his gaze drifting around the kitchen, through the arched doorway, through the rest of the house, where all the lights were off. Yuugi slid off his stool and selected two pears from the fruit bowl, heavy with ripeness, rinsing them in the sink.

“Did... something happen? Did you get in a fight?” he ventured. “Atem says you’re not answering his calls.”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

The kitchen swelled with silence.

"They left," Kaiba said finally, as Yuugi considered how to cut the pears. A basic wedge cut was too childish. "And I told them to go, enjoy it, make the most of it. They have their own lives to live. Mokuba must've asked me a thousand times if I'd be fine without him if he went to California, and I said yes, go, because I don't need him around. I'm fine. And there's no point in getting angry with someone for leaving if you don't need them in the first place."

The effort must've been massive, Yuugi realized, slicing into the pears, to keep the anger at bay. To dig into the wound and wrench the thing out whole, raw and throbbing, without duels or rubbled islands, and without the help of the people who loved him the most. No wonder he looked so exhausted, so limp; no wonder he was again sinking towards the counter, arms folding, his head dropping like there was a hand on the back of his neck, guiding him down with animal docility.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Yuugi said.

“What the hell do you know about it?” Kaiba said, semi-muffled by his elbow.

“It feels like there’s this dark little pit in yourself that you can’t stop digging,” Yuugi said, “and when it’s deep enough, you’re gonna curl up and bury yourself at the bottom and sleep for a year. Right?”

Kaiba said nothing, heaving another sigh.

“Sit up. Eat this.” Yuugi thunked a plate of pear in front of Kaiba, each slice wafer-thin, almost translucent, dripping with light. Kaiba dutifully pulled himself up and removed several slices of pear, with jenga-like precision, careful not to damage Yuugi’s artful pinwheeling. “Well?”

“I always feel like this,” Kaiba said, a startling confession, all the more terrifying for the blithe, dismissive tone with which he confessed it. “So what if it’s a little worse than normal? I’ll find my way out of it.”

Yuugi leaned over the counter, hands clasped atop it, business-like.

“I have no doubt in your ability to get out of this,” he said. “But I don’t think you should do it alone. See, I don’t want you to leave, either.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah?” Yuugi said. “I challenge you to a duel. My deck’s in my backpack. I have some new strategies I’m dying to test, and you’re the only one who makes me really fight for it. How about it? Wanna duel?”

Kaiba exhaled, resting his elbow on the counter, his cheek against the back of his hand. He plucked out another pear slice, not eating it; instead just letting it dangle from his fingertips, watching a tiny pearl of water roll off the edge and break apart on the plate with monumental indifference.

Watching him, Yuugi allowed himself a brief, private moment of grief, for Kaiba, knowing he wouldn’t want it, and he’d be insulted if he knew. To have your heart broken by what you love was one thing; to swing from love to hate was another; but to stand still and feel your love go, leaving nothing in the hollow it left behind, was the worst.

With a light flick, Kaiba released the slice of pear, his gaze drifting again.

“No. I’m tired of fighting,” he said sullenly, so dull a sound that Yuugi sucked in a breath, two dueling thoughts colliding with concussive impact in his chest. Good, stop fighting, why don’t you finally get some rest, and the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and shout no! keep fighting! I know you’re in there!

Kaiba lifted his head, looking at Yuugi with an air of steeling himself. “Okay. What... what do you want from me?”

Yuugi almost laughed, but caught himself. No good things came from laughing in Kaiba’s face.

“Other way around,” he said, drawing a circle in the air with his finger. “This is about what you want from me. Whatever you need. Whatever you want.”

Kaiba frowned, thinking.

“Do you seriously believe the magic of the Millennium Puzzle helped you make friends?” he said.

"Um. Well, it was more like a domino effect, you know? A chaos theory, butterfly hurricane kind of thing - “

“Magic had nothing to do with it. It was all you,” Kaiba said, with more heat and passion than he’d shown in weeks. “But you have to understand I’ll never be your ‘bro’ - ” couching the word in air quotes, a disdainful pair of twin finger twitches - “and I’m not one of your little pals, like Jounouchi, or whatever. That’s not who I am. That’s not how I do it.”

“I know,” Yuugi said. “Listen - ”

“I don’t - ” Kaiba huffed and scowled at the counter, at his blurred, misty reflection. “I prefer to handle things on my own. I always have. I don’t - know how - ”

“Kaiba.”

Kaiba looked up, shoulders stiffening, his face tight and stricken.

“I know,” Yuugi said. He let that hang between them until Kaiba’s shoulders had eased out of their anxious coils. “Don’t worry. I’m not adding you to the group chat or anything. I don’t expect anything from you except the occasional bitchy comment, and maybe a good, boisterous laugh, from way deep down in your chest, like when you draw Blue-eyes in a duel. You know, the ‘I got you now, fucker’ laugh.”

Kaiba laughed - a laugh at half-power, lacking his usual trumpet blare of triumph, but a laugh nonetheless. “You are an oddball.”

“Birds of a feather,” Yuugi said smugly, and checked his phone. It was getting late. “Okay. I think I’ve bothered you enough for the night - ”

“You’re not bothering me. Are you taking the train back into the city?”

“Yeah.”

“What line?”

“Red line,” Yuugi said, and was struck by an idea. "Why? Somewhere you wanna go?"

"I'm in the mood to get out of the house for a while," Kaiba said. "It's too fucking quiet in here without Mokuba."

Yuugi fixed him with a look. "Yeah, so one of the interns was telling me about a new arcade that just opened off the Ishibashi station. I was gonna go after work with the guys to check it out some time, but..."

He didn't even need to finish the thought. Despite his best effort to hide it, something hopeful had bloomed across Kaiba's face, rich and warm. It made Yuugi ache to see that look, and to wonder what he would've wished for at fifteen, freshly cast from the forge and still hard and brittle and white-hot with rage, burning everyone who touched him.

"Get your coat, let's go," Yuugi said, and Kaiba almost sprang off his bar stool. "Wait - finish the pear. I cut it fancy for you and everything."

Kaiba rapidly ate the pear. "The grilled cheese was excellent, by the way."

"Really?"

"Yes. If you come back and make me another, I'll make all the bitchy comments you want."

Yuugi laughed. "Deal."

***

ATEM did you talk to him?

Yuugi leaned against the polished wooden edge of the pool table, his thoughts whirling in his head lazy and kaleidoscopic. He was halfway through his third beer. They'd gone through air hockey. The racing games. The shooting games. Foosball. Kaiba had spent fifteen minutes at the claw machine, winning a plush Kuriboh for a middle schooler and pressing it into her hands with a firm explanation of how the machines were rigged against her.

Then they'd found the pool tables, in a dim little corner, the green felts shining like tropical islands in a shadowy red-brown sea under the hanging lights. Yuugi was still smarting from the whipping, which Kaiba had delivered with almost careless ease, drink in hand.

"Yuugi. Look," he said, leaning over the table, aiming the pool cue at some bizarre constellation of pool balls, his long shadow falling across the felt.

"Give me a sec," Yuugi said, and swiftly rescued Kaiba's sweating old-fashioned from the edge of the table.

YUUGI ya. now he's showing off

YUUGI trick shots at the pool table

ATEM so he's fine?

"You're not looking," Kaiba said, lifting his head. "Look."

"I'm looking," Yuugi said.

The cue moved smoothly between Kaiba's fingertips as he aligned his shot - sleek, frictionless, silent - with a quick, sharp thrust he sent the pool balls smashing into each other, cracking like lightning across the table and vanishing into the pockets. The last ball rolled towards the last pocket with slow, melodramatic flair, teetering over the lip, like it knew exactly who had struck it, and what kind of show it needed to put on.

It dropped in, clattering into its fellows at the bottom of the pocket.

Kaiba laughed, triumphant, glowing with youthful glory, catching the victory by his hip with a yank of his fist.

YUUGI he will be

"Did you see?" Kaiba said, turning to Yuugi. The lines under his eyes were still there; the seams that held him together, pulling apart. Those would take some time to repair.

But for the moment he was radiating with energy, beaming, star-like in the dim electric gloom of the arcade. Not hidden in the blackness of space, but brighter for it. Despite it.

"I saw," Yuugi said.

#shark-platinum #fanfiction #rivalshipping #it's not romantic but it gets the tag because *ben wyatt voice* its about the dynamic

151 notes · View notes

hotpinkhoshi · 4 years

Text

kiss it better | one

pairing: mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)

warnings: age gap (nine years), cursing, explicit sex, slow burn

summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…

*a/n*: hiiiiii! so here we go. i don’t have much to say except that you’ll probably notice this chapter is a bit shorter than they usually are for my fics. with this story, chapters may or may not be shorter in length. this is just easier on me, and helps me to keep a regular posting schedule. now, i’m not going to say i won’t post longer chapters, but i just wanted to get it out there. i have a tentative posting schedule in mind, which i’ll make a post about later, but i’d say you can probably expect a new chapter every two weeks.

also, just want to say- i hope everyone is staying safe and healthy right now. stay home, wash your hands, avoid contact with your face, and if you have to order food tip your delivery drivers a lil extra! and to those that don’t get to stay home and still have to work, i’m right there with you. we’ll get through this and all we can do is take it day by day ❤️

✩ index here ✩

make sure you read the prologue first!

Today had started just like any other day. Mark got up and went about his morning, brushing his teeth, eating his breakfast, and taking his usual ten minutes to sketch the ideas in his brain before heading off to work.

It’d been slow, but Mark wasn’t worried. There were enough appointments on Saturday and Sunday to make up for a slow Friday. The temperature had reached an uncomfortable high, so he’d dressed himself in a black muscle tee to offer some relief from the sticky air.

The early afternoon went smoothly. Mark took the opportunity to work on some new designs and do some organizing in his tattoo room, while the other guys opted to sit around showing each other funny videos on their phones.

By the time lunch rolled around, he decided to sit outside with his iced coffee, scrolling through social media on his phone while relaxing in the shade of the awning. He glanced up mindlessly, his eyes drawn to a figure standing across the street.

A girl holding an ice cream cone. Mark’s breath caught in his throat because, no, it wouldn’t be you. You’d be back home, attending some tiny college where your parents could keep a watchful eye on your every move, not here in the great big city.

Then the girl dropped her ice cream cone, her whine audible even from where Mark sat. He couldn’t help the laugh that fell from his lips. He shook his head, just as there was a knock behind him on the glass of the door.

Dahyun popped her head out. “Youngjae needs help grabbing some boxes from the back, can you help? Jackson and Yugyeom are being assholes.”

Mark nodded, one last glance across the street before he stood up, heading back inside.

-----

You took in a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut as Mark pressed the tip of his tattoo gun to your skin. Just the constant buzzing of the tool was enough to set your nerves on edge.

Once you felt it, though, it wasn’t so bad. It hurt, but you’d been through worse. It was comparable to a thousand tiny kittens scratching you with their claws, over and over again.

“You doing alright?” Mark asked, once one long minute had passed.

You nodded, your arms squeezing the back of the chair you were straddling. It was an uncomfortable position, but it was the only way Mark would be able to access the back of your shoulder. You’d also had to strip down to just your bra, so at least you were given some modesty.

“Yeah. Just... how long will it take?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed how hard he was concentrating. His tongue was stuck between his lips, peeking out the corner. He was entirely focused on the art that he was tracing onto your skin.

“Not long. The shading is what will take the longest, but it’s small, so I should have you out of here within the hour.”

You exhaled slowly and pressed your forehead into the cushioned back of the chair as he went over the same area a few times. Though he muttered a ‘sorry’, you found yourself wincing from the pain.

Yerin had left to get ready for work, as the stenciling and position process had gone on longer than either of you had thought. You’d made Mark move the stencil several times until you liked the positioning. Admittedly, it had been a stalling tactic to delay the inevitable pain that was coming.

“How’s Taehyung?” Mark asked, just as he took a break from tracing onto your skin. You opened your eyes to see him reaching for a cloth to wipe across your skin.

The question caught you off guard. Just the name of your brother was enough to rub salt into the wound you’d been holding closed for the last two months. You gulped, turning your face to press your other cheek into the chair, hiding your expression.

“He’s good. He’s been in Japan for two years now, I think. He’s happy there.”

You barely even noticed Mark returning to your tattoo, the pain less noticeable while your mind was occupied.

“That’s good. I saw on Facebook he has a girlfriend now?”

You nodded. “Mhm. Her name’s Jennie--she seems nice.”

Mark didn’t need to know that you hadn’t spoken to your brother since the week before you moved to Seoul. He didn’t need to know you’d been avoiding his calls, texts, and e-mails. Most of them you deleted without even opening.

From what you knew, Taehyung and Mark had simply drifted once they both moved out of your tiny town and started creating a life for themselves. Taehyung spent his years after college roaming the world, taking photos and putting on exhibits until he secured a steady photography job for a Japanese magazine.

Mark moved before that, though you hadn’t known he’d moved to the city until today. You hadn’t ever been close to him besides the casual greeting when he’d be downstairs playing video games with Taehyung while you were doing homework.

When you were younger, you’d had an innocent crush on him, only because he was one of the few boys that paid you any attention. You’d only ever had a handful of conversations, but he was always polite and even helped you with your math homework once or twice. It really hadn’t taken much to impress you back then.

“So, how long have you been in the city?” Mark asked.

You were grateful for the slight change in subject. It was only a matter of time before he started asking about your parents, and you wouldn’t have been able to pretend any longer.

“A couple of months. I just… wanted a change,” you told him honestly.

Maybe you’d gotten more than you’d bargained for… but regardless, you were grateful for your newfound independence.

“I get it,” Mark replied. “Alright, outline is done. Now we’ll just have to shade. I’ll give you a few minutes, okay?”

You lifted your face from the back of the chair and sat up straight. “Can I see it?” you asked.

It took a moment for you to realize Mark’s ears were turning red because without the shield of the chair, your entire bra-clad chest was now on display for him. It didn’t help that you’d chosen a pink, lacy bra just because it was the first one you’d grabbed out of your laundry bag.

Quickly, you leaned forward again to cover yourself with the chair, biting forcefully onto your lip. You could feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Sorry…” you said.

Mark cleared his throat and turned around, reaching for a handheld mirror on the table behind him. “It’s okay… I’ve definitely seen worse. Not that it was bad, or, well-”

It was obvious he’d put his foot in his mouth. You found yourself giggling, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth. Mark looked as if he was desperate for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head at himself as he turned back around. “Here,” he said chuckling softly as he held up the mirror behind you so that you could see the work he’d already done.

You managed to stifle your giggles as you turned your head. It was no wonder Mark was known for pieces like this--his lines were crisp and clear, flowing in such a way that it looked as if your skin was born with this intricate design. You couldn’t wait to see how it looked when it was complete.

“Good?” he asked.

“I love it,” you said, smiling wide. “Makes the pain worth it.”

Mark looked pleased with your answer. He set the mirror down and got up, switching out the ink on his pen for the color he was going to use for the petals, a soft cool toned purple.

You resumed your position against the chair after a few more minutes, fists clenched as you prepared for the pain.

-----

It turned out not to be so bad. Mark kept you distracted, asking you questions about your experience in the city so far. When he sensed you avoiding the topic of home or your parents, he didn’t push.

Once he got your tattoo bandaged up, you sat around talking for another half an hour while he showed you photos of his drawings, as per your request. You’d never known that he was so talented.

“I guess I should be going,” you said after a lull in conversation. If you wanted to get back to your room before your roommate began their daily music blasting and loud video game routine, you’d need to head back.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, pulling off his gloves and washing his hands in the miniature sink against the wall.

“Just… this little place,” you answered. Little was an understatement.

When you’d moved out, you’d only had a suitcase and a finite amount of cash. It hadn’t exactly been planned, so your options were limited. You stayed in the first hostel you could find, and you were disappointed to find that the wages you received from serving couldn’t provide you with anything better.

You shared a room, currently with a Russian girl a few years older than you that seemed to only be staying in Seoul to play shooting games and blast ear-piercing rock metal. Your last roommate hadn’t been nearly as bad, but you weren’t having great luck.

“Here, I’m just finishing up for the day. Why don’t we grab a bite to eat, then I’ll take you home.”

Your efforts to refuse his offer were basically ignored. He gave you no choice as he led you out to the front room to pay for your tattoo, whispering something lowly to Dahyun as she wrote up your bill.

“Mark,” you said in protest once you saw the total. You didn’t know much about tattoo pricing, but you were sure this was significantly lower than it should have been.

“What? It’s a family and friends discount.”

You sighed. As much as you wanted to refuse his help, you had to admit you could take whatever discounts you could get. Tattoos were expensive and you certainly didn’t have the budget to get one as impulsively as you had today.

“I’ll get my stuff ready, then I’ll meet you outside, okay?” Mark asked and you nodded, watching as he walked off to his room.

“Family and friends, huh?” Dahyun asked, eyebrows raised as she watched you sign your receipt. “You must have gotten really close back there.”

You laughed, sliding the receipt back over the table. “It turns out, he used to be best friends with my older brother. So… family, I guess,” you said, though you never really saw him as such. No matter how many times your mother acted like he was her second son.

“Wow, small world,” Dahyun said as she handed over a sheet of paper with a list of bullet points on it. She went over the aftercare process, recommending the creams and ointments that she preferred, and ways to help it heal faster.

After thanking Dahyun over and over for her kindness, you gathered your things and waited outside of the front door for Mark.

When your day began, you never would have thought you’d be having dinner with your brother’s old best friend, bringing back memories you hadn’t quite been ready to revisit. But he was so sweet to you, so easy to talk to, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. You didn’t want to say no.

You’d always admired Mark’s choice to move to Seoul straight out of school, with no plan and no connections to the city. And he only came back for holidays and special occasions. While you were hastily packing your clothes into a duffel bag, you remembered thinking briefly of him.

“Ready?” Mark asked from behind you as he exited the shop. The sunlight hit his skin, bringing your attention to the swirling designs upon his shoulder. The way his shirt was cut allowed you a peek of his ribs—you could see loopy cursive etched on his skin but you were unable to make it out.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you replied with a smile, tearing your eyes from his bare skin.

#writing #fanfic #got7 fanfic #mark tuan #mark tuan fanfic #mark fanfic #mark smut #mark angst #mark tuan smut #got7 scenario #got7 smut #got7 angst

554 notes · View notes

nightfayre · 4 years

Text

a donation drabble request for the ever kind and supportive Ayobami @tps31! thank you SO MUCH for your donation and support!! you’ll never know how much it means to me <3

prompt: tianshan quarantine fluff, aka “why the hell am I stuck in a house with you all day every day?”

(a/n: this is just a random thought but I honestly don’t think I’ve written a fic about the boys still in middle school like, ever, so thank you so much for this prompt! it was so refreshing to write them as the flustered, airheaded, and teasing boys they are!) <3

tianshan, 3600 words, rated T

* * *

Guan Shan hates this.

The laundry basket next to his. The pair of shoes at the front door. The extra toothbrush in his bathroom, and the second phone charger plugged in next to his bed. There’s a gray duffel bag taking up the corner of his bedroom and a black jacket draped over the back of his desk chair. None of it takes up too much space, carefully put into their respective places and never crossing the boundary, but—

Guan Shan hates it.

And, what’s worse: he never asked for this. He was stupid enough to mention He Tian’s name at the dinner table one night; a passing comment he hadn’t really thought about. But then his mother had paused with a spoonful of miso soup at her lips, pensive.

“He Tian,” she’d echoed, as if the name felt foreign but sweet on her tongue. “Isn’t that the one who lives near the center of the city? The one who lives alone? The tall and polite and handsome one of your friends?”

“Uh,” Guan Shan had said, smirking with distaste. “Yeah. Sure. That one.”

“Poor thing. Alone throughout all of this mess.” She sighed. “Why does he not live with his family?”

And Guan Shan had thought about it for a moment, sifting through his mind like pressing rewind on a VHS. “I don’t know,” he’d admitted, reaching for the soy sauce. “Never asked.”

She nodded, thinking. “Well, you should invite him over, then.”

Guan Shan choked.

Oblivious, his mother had continued: “Have him stay a few nights. No one should be left alone throughout this entire period. Who knows how long this will last, what with how many cases that have been reported. He’ll go stir crazy by himself, poor soul.”

“He’s already stir crazy,” Guan Shan said, eyes watering from a dislodged grain of rice. “I don’t want him here, ma. I’ll literally do anythin’ else. Seriously.”

She’d given him a disappointed look. “Ah-Shan, I thought I raised you to have a little more compassion than that.”

“Trust me, a person like him doesn’t need compassion.”

“Now, you don’t know that,” she reprimanded. She tapped her chopsticks against her bowl, succinct. “After we finish dinner, you should reach out to him and invite him to spend the week with us.”

“A week?”

“Well, now that school is postponed and I’m working from home, wouldn’t it be nice to have company for a bit?”

“Ma, please—“

“You will text him, Ah-Shan. No excuses. The world needs kindness right now, and we will do whatever we can to contribute to it.”

And that, unfortunately, was that.

That night, Guan Shan deleted the message immediately after he sent it, as if that would erase it out of his memory, too. But it was hard to forget the string of skeptical yet blaringly enthusiastic string of response texts that followed the invite, and even harder to forget the sight of He Tian at their front door half an hour later, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and smile bright as he greeted Guan Shan’s mother with practiced sweetness and feigned gratitude.

Guan Shan hated it.

But as his mother shot him a warning look, Guan Shan couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t just ignore him like he did, sometimes, at school.

And now, five days in, there’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“Little Mo, are you naked?”

Running a towel over his hair, Guan Shan scowls at his reflection in the mirror, still foggy from the steam. “Fuck off, chickenshit.”

“I’m kidding.” He can hear the smile in He Tian’s voice. “I just need to brush my teeth.”

“Then you can wait.”

“It’s been twenty minutes, sweetheart. Are your showers usually this long?”

“That’s an average fuckin’ time for showers!”

A hum, muffled by the closed door. “Really? Mine only take ten, and that’s generous considering the precious amount of time I spend washing my—”

The thunk of the lotion bottle against the door rattles its hinges. “Fuck off!”

He waits until he hears He Tian’s footsteps recede. Guan Shan hates that he knows He Tian is walking away with that smug-as-all-hell smile, satisfied.

He dresses quickly after that, doing his best to ignore the citrus-scented face wash by the faucet and the contact lens case by the hand soap. The first time he’d seen all of He Tian’s things laid out like this on his bathroom counter was something like a revelation. It was like some things clicked into place, unbidden. Now it makes sense why Guan Shan sometimes thinks he catches a whiff of lemonade every time He Tian gets too close, and why He Tian looks like he’s scowling whenever he reads but, really, it’s just because he’s blind as a fucking bat and has to squint to see fine print.

If nothing else, Guan Shan suspects at least something valuable might come out of all this time he’s forced to spend together with He Tian — (read: blackmail) — but then again, He Tian hasn’t commented on the old, stained state of Guan Shan’s pillow like Guan Shan thought he would because he’s used it since he was four and can’t really sleep well if he’s not using that specific pillow. And he also hasn’t said anything about the way Guan Shan jumps, sometimes, when the toaster springs up his toast in the mornings because he never fucking sees it coming and it — sometimes — causes him to drop his jam knife.

A stalemate, Guan Shan supposes as he pulls his shirt over his head. Except, deep down, he knows that He Tian probably isn’t even aware that such a concept exists. After all, what would He Tian be if not someone to fight ‘til a broken victor is left standing?

By the time Guan Shan walks out into the living room, it’s ten o’clock. His mother, having finished washing the dishes because Guan Shan made dinner, is nowhere in sight, likely huddled up in her bedroom with a book like she always does before bed. That leaves He Tian alone on the couch, casually flipping through TV stations in a t-shirt and sweats, and he doesn’t see Guan Shan at first when the latter turns the corner.

“Bathroom’s open, dipshit,” Guan Shan mutters. He Tian looks up as Guan Shan approaches, settling on the opposite end of the couch.

“About time.” He Tian tosses Guan Shan the remote, and he barely catches it before it smacks against his chest. Standing, He Tian smiles and says, “Find something good to watch by the time I get back, okay?”

“I don’t work at your beck and call,” Guan Shan seethes. But despite his retorts, his fingers find the remote buttons as He Tian saunters back to the bathroom, hands in pockets and steps quiet against the creaky floors.

For a while, there really is nothing interesting on any of the channels. Guan Shan flies past a romcom, an old horror film, a few cartoons, the dreaded news. Nothing catches his attention — and he feels exhaustion coming on quick. He thinks, maybe, of just going to bed. But behind the apartment’s thin walls, he can hear the water running from the faucet. Despite himself, he frowns.

It’s odd, really. He never thought he could get used to the image of He Tian’s broad frame hunched over his sink in the mornings, or the way He Tian can reach the bowls at the top of the cupboards without going on his toes, or the sight of He Tian’s nape pressed against the twin-sized air mattress on the floor of Guan Shan’s bedroom. He never thought anyone could make his mother laugh as much as he can, or finish puzzles as fast as he can, and he certainly never thought that his mother would spill Guan Shan’s childhood stories to someone she’d only met... once? Twice? He doesn’t keep track. He never had to before.

Nevertheless, it’s not nearly enough time to warrant such trust. Such comfort.

Guan Shan hates it.

But in the midst of his lamenting, the faucet shuts off. A few moments later He Tian returns. And when he plops back onto the couch — too close — he smells of mint and vanilla-scented chapstick.

Too aware of his presence and the way his knee almost touches Guan Shan’s, Guan Shan takes a long second to snap back to reality when He Tian asks, “What’s this?”

Guan Shan blinks. On the TV, there’s some kind of documentary playing. A narrator drones over the images of a complex space aircraft, and the camera pans out to show footage of the stars it swims in. As the screen switches to an interview of someone very important-looking in a suit, Guan Shan scowls.

“I don’t know. Nothin’s on.”

He Tian stretches his arms above his head, long and lithe. “Well,” he says, drawn with a sigh, “if you’re trying to put me to sleep, it might actually work.”

“Fuck off, I don’t control the damn stations,” Guan Shan bites. “And you shouldn’t be tired to begin with. You did jack shit today, just like every other day.”

He Tian looks at him, the corners of his eyes softened with drowsiness in a way that Guan Shan has become used to seeing.

“That’s not true,” He Tian says. “I went with you to pick up supplies so your mom can sew masks. And we went to get the mail downstairs. And I helped you go grocery shopping—“

“You fuckin’ stood there with the cart and didn’t help at all—“

“—and I chopped the onions and peppers for dinner. That’s a lot. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s a normal person’s life,” Guan Shan says, exasperated. “Honestly, what the hell did you do all your life until quarantine?”

He Tian seems to take a moment to genuinely think about his answer. “Homework,” he offers, brows a bit pulled. “Basketball. School, obviously. I usually go to the convenience store for dinner, but sometimes I’ll get takeout. And I don’t get mail, but my groceries get delivered to me, so.”

And then he looks at Guan Shan, almost as if expecting some kind of praising reaction — but Guan Shan can only stare.

“That’s ridiculous,” Guan Shan says after a long moment. “That’s ridiculous and fuckin’ miserable. You live like a robot, and a broken one at that.”

Silence. Then He Tian sits up a little straighter, as if a puppetmaster had pulled on his strings.

“I mean, I used to take piano lessons,” he says, frowning as he rubs at his neck. “And Cheng took me to shooting ranges. And…” A pause. “Camping. Yeah, we went camping some weekends. Went to rivers and fished together all day. I caught a few sometimes.”

Guan Shan blinks. “What, are you tryin’ to prove somethin’ to me right now?”

And He Tian shrugs. “Maybe.”

The answer takes Guan Shan by surprise. But He Tian’s face is neutral — expression always so put together — and Guan Shan wonders if maybe He Tian is lying to him. Building up some kind of persona again just to tear it down later. Because, surely, with that much fucking money and privilege, the guy doesn’t just sit there in that empty apartment all day and twiddle his thumbs. Surely, with his reputation, he has a regular posse of socialites always seeking him out and inviting him to some kind of get-together or event. Surely, considering all that he is, He Tian doesn’t waste his time looking for, or teasing, or protecting, or calling up—

“Guan Shan?” He Tian says, mouth a little twisted. “You still awake?”

The low rambling of the space documentary suddenly seems louder. Guan Shan swallows, once, then forces himself to look away.

“You make no fuckin’ sense to me,” Guan Shan mutters. Then: “When are you leavin’?”

“Ouch,” He Tian remarks in an empty but unsurprised tone, shifting back on the couch. After a moment, he shrugs and responds, “Depends. Your text said a week but your mom says forever.”

A scowl. “She didn’t fuckin’ say that.”

He Tian smiles. “No, she didn’t. But she did say as long as I wanted — which, really, isn’t that much different from forever.”

Guan Shan swallows; feels inexplicable heat crawl up his neck like a spider, and he clenches his jaw against it.

“You should go live with your own family,” he says, staring ahead. “I’m sure they’ve got all the time in the world to shower you with attention.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees He Tian smirk.

“If I didn’t want to live with them at the best of times, what makes you think I would want to live with them at the worst of times?”

Guan Shan considers that. “This… isn’t the worst of times.”

“There’s a pandemic with no cure killing hundreds of people every day,” He Tian says, bland. “School is practically cancelled. People aren’t going to work. You invited me over to your home, unprompted. Even I know, with all things considered, that these are pretty bad times.”

Guan Shan can’t argue that. Instead he stares at the television, watching an astronomer point out weird symbols on some kind of map. It takes a lot of concentration to focus on nothing. After all, if he shifts his gaze any more to the right, he’ll see He Tian. If he lets his eyes slide down any further, he’ll see the way He Tian’s knee is still too close to his own. Both are dangerous territories for dangerous thoughts, and he doesn’t want anything to do with either.

After a moment of silence, Guan Shan says, “You know, you should get friends. Real friends, and not your fuckin’ fangirl group.”

He Tian raises a brow. “I have you and Jian Yi and Zhan Zheng Xi.”

“That’s not—” And then Guan Shan stops, frowning, because he’s not actually sure what their ragtag mess of a group isn’t. Instead, he swallows and pathetically hides behind: “I’m not your fuckin’ friend.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Or, maybe, it’s exactly what He Tian thought what he’d say. Guan Shan isn’t sure; he’s never fuckin’ sure when it comes to him. But it doesn’t stop him from tensing up when He Tian turns to face him, fully. Wholly. It leaves no escape, and Guan Shan realizes with a sour kind of reluctance that he has no choice but to look back.

“No?” He Tian asks, meeting his gaze. “Then, what are you to me?”

The way the television’s screen lights up He Tian’s face — it’s like looking at a painting, alone in the museum, at the dusk of day. Blue hues shine through his hair, dim, and his eyes are only bright enough to reflect the silhouette of Guan Shan sitting in front of him. It’s eerie, how the both of them are so undefined in this moment. Maybe, in a way, that’s easier.

Guan Shan’s voice feels thick when he says, “I’m not answerin’ that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t— need to.”

“Why?” And then: “Overthinking it?”

Guan Shan flares. “What? What the fuck does that— No, I just— I don’t need to answer fuckin’ anything, asshole. I… I owe you jack shit.”

Silence responds to him. He Tian watches him; studies him. Guan Shan feels like a specimen under his gaze, split apart layer by layer under the microscope. He feels like, somewhere, something in him is splintering. And He Tian is watching it happen.

“I don’t have a fuckin’ answer,” Guan Shan admits, sudden, like a sinner in a confession booth, heavy and quiet and raspy. “Okay? I told you, you don’t make any goddamn sense to me. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my ma.”

He Tian soaks that in, almost as thoroughly as he takes in the sight of Guan Shan’s flushed scowl.

“You didn’t want me here?” he says, teasing.

“No, dipshit. Every time you’ve been here hasn’t been because I asked you to be.”

He Tian smirks. “Ouch,” he says again, except this time it’s said in a way that pricks Guan Shan like a rose thorn.

Guan Shan pushes down the heavy feeling in his throat. “I don’t know what you were expectin’,” he says, truthfully.

And then He Tian looks away, rolling his head. There’s a kind of empty look in his eyes that Guan Shan thinks he recognizes, and after a moment he realizes it’s the same look he’s seen in He Cheng’s eyes in the few rare times they’d crossed paths.

“I wasn’t expecting a pandemic,” He Tian says. His voice sounds loud in the small room. “I wasn’t expecting school break to get extended. I wasn’t expecting all the restaurants to close, and for all the store’s shelves to be wiped clean.” He runs his tongue along his teeth. “But I guess, for some reason, I was expecting a text from you after weeks of nothing.”

It hits Guan Shan, hard and heavy, like a ring-laden fist against his cheek. The last time he’d seen He Tian before all of this mess was a month ago — more — and at the time, none of them had known that this is how it would turn out. How could they? It’d only taken a week for things to turn south, and Guan Shan was too busy worrying of how he and his mom were going to file for unemployment to think of the way his phone had been silent for longer than he’s been used to.

He wants to pull it out right now; check his recent messages. It would be with a sort of disbelief when he would find the timestamp on He Tian’s contact, he already knows. But the shock wouldn’t come from his own lack of outreach. No, his perplexity would stem from He Tian, the same person who couldn’t go a single weekend without a conversation about nothing over Facetime back when things were normal. The same person who, apparently, hadn’t messaged him once until Guan Shan texted him that dreadful night five days ago.

Had he been— testing Guan Shan?

“I didn’t reach out to anybody else,” Guan Shan hears himself saying. The words taste bitter as they leave his mouth. What is he doing? What does he have to justify? “I... It was weird, those first few days of the lockdown order, and my ma and I— we had a lot goin’ on. It wasn’t— I mean, I haven’t talked to Zheng Xi or Jian Yi this whole time either. I just... don’t have time. Or, I did, but it wasn’t urgent. I— yeah, I barely use my phone anymore, anyway. I’m always at home now so I just... don’t need it.”

He stops, his tongue feeling thick. He Tian isn’t looking at him, but he knows he’s listening. Somehow, the thought makes it even worse.

“What,” He Tian suddenly says, and there’s a curl to his mouth that he can’t seem to help, “are you trying to prove something to me right now?”

“I—“ Guan Shan flares, teeth clenched and ears hot. “Fuck you. No, I’m not, asshole. I’m actually rescuin’ your damn pride, but apparently you’ve got too fuckin’ much.”

“Hey, hey,” He Tian says, wrapping his fingers around Guan Shan’s wrist when he makes to get up. “Come on. Don’t make me finish this documentary by myself.”

Guan Shan scowls. “I’m tired. Let go.”

“Then we can sleep on the couch,” He Tian replies — and then almost as if it were an afterthought: “again.”

Guan Shan warms at the implication of it. “Why the fuck would I do that when my room is around the corner?” he hisses.

He Tian tugs his arm. “Because I’ll follow you anyway since I’ve only got two days left with you and I’m not letting today end like this.” He smiles. “We’re not sleeping yet. I’m selfish.”

“I could’ve fuckin’ told you that,” Guan Shan mutters, dry. But he relaxes, settling back on the couch, and eventually He Tian lets him go. The skin he had touched feels electric in his absence.

“Let’s make popcorn and ride this out,” He Tian says, settling against a throw pillow. His eyes, no longer empty, are content as they drift back to the screen.

Hand in chin, Guan Shan smirks. “We both brushed our teeth already. I’m not doin’ it again.”

“Tomorrow, then.” He Tian gestures to the TV. “Popcorn and something more interesting than this.”

“If you think this is so damn boring, then why are you still here?”

“When else will I find an opportunity to spend time with you like this after I leave?”

Guan Shan doesn’t respond. After a moment, He Tian huffs.

“That’s when you’re supposed to invite me back over in the future, little Mo,” he says, amused. Guan Shan shoots him a warning look as the documentary goes to a commercial break.

“Don’t push your luck,” he snaps. “And don’t try to convince my ma, either.”

He Tian hums, shifting, and Guan Shan suppresses a flinch when his knee presses up against his. Warm. “I hadn’t even thought about that. That might be the agenda for tomorrow, now.”

“I’m sick of you,” Guan Shan growls. And He Tian laughs, like it’s the funniest thing ever, how easily he can get under Guan Shan’s skin and force him to worry about nothing and get him to stay with him to watch shitty television all within the span of twenty minutes. How Guan Shan has managed to survive more than three days is an incredible feat. How he’s unable to chase away the thought of inviting He Tian over for dinner after he leaves, sometimes, is an inexplicable one.

And when the documentary comes back on with a cheap intro jingle and the streaming quality of a disposable camera, Guan Shan feels He Tian’s foot hook against his and tries to convince himself, over and over:

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

* * *

thank you for reading! likes/reblogs would be greatly appreciated, as this fic is dedicated to the Black Lives Matter movement. if you would like a fic/drabble written for you (and you want to support the BLM cause!), please see this post!

have an incredible week! <3

#19 days #tianshan #:)))#please reblog! it would mean the world!

153 notes · View notes

andersunmenschlich · 4 years

Text

Episode 18: The Man Upstairs

All right—let’s see how long this one takes me. Listening, writing, listening, writing....

[August 8, 2020: begin!]

This statement was given in December 2008 by someone named Kristoff Rudenko, and has to do with (as the episode title might suggest) a man who lived in the apartment above the one our statement-giver moved into sometime in 2002, later in the year. Apparently the place was called Welbeck House.

I have some experience with people living above me. The apartments I choose as a photosensitive tend to have people upstairs of them. What can I say? Basements are nice when light hates you.

Kristoff saw the man for the first time the day he moved in.

According to our statement-giver, the man was leaning out of his window, smoking... while wearing a hooded jacket pulled up so tight it obscured most of his face. Now, I don’t smoke, but that seems like a rather odd way of doing it to me. Surely it can’t be that convenient to stick something into your mouth while you’ve got your face all wrapped up? At least I’ve never seen anyone doing it that way. Even in quite cold weather people seem to prefer to leave their faces mostly exposed while smoking.

The weather on this particular day, Kristoff says, was gray and overcast with the possibility of rain later. Hmm. Is this the type of weather in which one would wear a coat while still technically indoors? This is a genuine question: I’m a cold person in many ways, and often wear jackets when others wouldn’t.

Well, perhaps it is that cold, or perhaps the man upstairs also possesses an unnaturally low body temperature.

He certainly possesses an unusual odor. Our statement-giver describes it as “halfway between the smell of a pavement after rain on a hot day and chicken that’s starting to turn,” which is difficult for me to imagine.

The man, leaning out his upstairs window, watches Kristoff move in for a while. Then, between one trip and another, he vanishes. Presumably he finished whatever the heck it was that he was smoking. One wonders: did the smell come from him, or from his unhealthy little treat? Our statement-giver doesn’t tell us what it was the man was smoking, forcing us to make do with the vague conclusion that it must have been something common for the time and location.

Wandsworth near London, later in the year 2002... a cigarette?

It could, of course, have been a cigar, a pipe, a marijuana roll-up, a hookah, or almost anything else, since we’re not told—but I assign higher probability to a cigarette than to any other possibility.

...Ha. Why, yes: I do have a certain fondness for precise and detailed information. However could you tell.

Speaking of precise and detailed information, Kristoff admits he had no idea whether the man upstairs was a man, he just decided to assume—which is an admission I like, because frankly I think admitting you’re making an assumption is a step up from making the assumption and apparently never even noticing that it is an assumption, and might be incorrect.

Kristoff also gives us more information about his own internal workings by letting us know that, despite not knowing why, he was “slightly spooked” by the encounter. Something in this other tenant’s manner, he says, shook him.

Well, being stared at by someone for the better part of half an hour might be a bit unsettling, don’t you think? Smell or no smell.

The man upstairs is apparently reclusive and stays quietly in his own place most of the time, with only his smell wandering around bothering people. Kristoff has another go at describing it and comes up with “rotten and earthy,” but also notes that it stays out of his place—which I think is interesting, don’t you? In my experience living downstairs from people, scents come right on down, floors and ceilings no obstacle to their passage.

Despite this, Kristoff gets in the habit of burning scented candles. Of course, all candles have a scent. I have a habit of using candles and lamps for lighting, and I’m familiar with the various odors—but specially scented candles are, I think, nice when you’re in the mood for them.

Returning to Kristoff Rudenko: Things were pretty all right for the first two years.

In 2004, however, the banging started.

It’s the day before our statement-giver’s 37th birthday, and he’s clearly planning one of the many sorts of party that I don’t enjoy, since he’s unpacking a whole crate of beer when the noise begins.

Ten minutes of banging, which seems to start on one of the walls in the apartment above, but then moves to the floor, and is vigorous enough to make our story-teller’s light sway with the force of it. This hammering carries on (presumably moving the whole time) for nearly a full hour. Kristoff, despite being the social, party-throwing type, apparently has enough normalcy in him that he does not want to interact with the tenant in the flat above him, and so he simply puts up with the noise until it stops.

This reminds me, for no particular reason, of the time Walmart was selling coconuts for fifty cents.

I bought one. I brought it home. And then I spent far too long trying to get the confounded thing open. Really I should have given up the instant I tasted the milk after holing and draining it—that liquid did not taste right—but I’ve never liked coconut milk and so I thought perhaps that was the problem.

When, after what felt like a small eternity of increasingly vigorous abuse, the coconut finally cracked open, I was delighted. The people upstairs from me were probably also pleased, though I really couldn’t say for certain.

In any case, the coconut was exactly what I should have expected for 50¢.

Kristoff Rudenko has his party, and manages to annoy the family across the hall so much that they actually come and ask him to turn his music down. He, meanwhile, is pleased that the man upstairs is apparently back to being a thoughtful neighbor. I wonder how many people are actually aware of their own hypocrisy? “Boy, I’m sure glad that one neighbor isn’t annoying me! This way I can focus on annoying my other neighbors. Whew. Big relief.”

The man upstairs is quiet for another two weeks—then, apparently, it’s hammer time again. Walls first, then floor, and after about an hour, silence again.

Every two weeks.

Must say, that would aggravate me, too... and I’ve been putting up with random banging and unannounced water shut-offs since I moved into this new place at the very end of May. Sharing space with other living things? Not, in my experience, an excellent idea.

Furthermore, buying an apartment in Welbeck House is essentially the same as buying a very small house built right up against your neighbors’ houses, so....

No landlord. No housing association, even.

Kristoff Rudenko carries on not talking to his upstairs neighbor about this regular percussive behavior, and simply stews for about six months, at which point the mail service accidentally delivers a package meant for his neighbor to him instead. It’s not a box package, mind you. It’s one of those shipping envelopes for smaller packages, and is apparently simply stuffed with padding (not a bad idea when sending anything even slightly breakable through the mail).

Finally, Kristoff goes upstairs and knocks on the door of the flat above his own, taking along the package addressed to that flat—a package meant for someone named Mr. Toby Carlisle. It’s an excuse, you see. Now he’s not just there to complain, he’s making a delivery and incidentally mentioning that Mr. Carlisle’s banging and thumping is bothering him.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, how difficult people sometimes find it to complain about perfectly complainable things? And yet at other times they’ll throw a completely unwarranted tantrum over something as silly as a store being out of pennies.

Truly, humans are fascinating.

[August 9, 2020: continuing]

Mr. Toby Carlisle seems to have had an effect on the place where he lives. The wooden door looks older and more beat up than any of the other apartment doors in Welbeck House (which, according to Kristoff Rudenko, all seem to have been replaced fairly recently), and the carpet directly in front of the door is a bit stained, like something’s leaked out from Mr. Carlisle’s flat. Also, there’s no apartment number, no nameplate, nothing to identify the place or show who lives there.

I suppose that might explain the misdelivery. Bit difficult to get packages to a place with no address or name on it, isn’t it?

Kristoff knocks on the door.

No one answers.

He knocks again.

This time he can hear someone coming towards the door—but the possibly carpet-muffled footsteps stop on the other side of the door and then there’s just nothing for a while. Total silence. Our statement-giver is about to knock again when, unexpectedly, the door opens.

It doesn’t open much. Just a crack. But it’s enough for Kristoff to A) see that there don’t seem to be any lights on in the place, B) get hit by a whole lot of horrible smell, and C) tell that there’s someone standing there.

“What do you want?” apparently-Toby-Carlisle asks.

Kristoff Rudenko does the package thing. You know: “Uh, I got a package for—are you—?” and so on.

Silence again. Then, suddenly, a thin and pale hand with long and dirty yellow fingernails and a dark red mark that might be an injury of some kind on the back of it shoots out and snatches the package. The door slams.

Well, it’s not a terribly polite way of receiving packages, is it?

Adding lack of proper cleanliness to the other charges, this Toby Carlisle left a disgusting smear of some sort of thick, off-white liquid on Kristoff Rudenko’s jacket sleeve when he so rudely grabbed the package from him, and the stuff smells terrible. In fact our statement-giver says he had to throw the jacket away because the unbearable smell would not come out.

Really now. Is it so difficult to maintain a level of hygiene such that you don’t leave rotting goop on everything you touch?

Kristoff Rudenko, it seems, decided not to knock on the door again and broach the subject of the fortnightly banging. Frankly I can understand his desire to go away and not come back, but it seems to me that he’s unlikely to get a better opportunity.

“Yes, one more thing,” he could say. “That hammering you do every two weeks; what on earth are you doing? And is there no way to do it a little more quietly?”

He’s right there at the door, after all. It’s a very convenient location.

Instead, Kristoff goes away and doesn’t try again. “That was it for a long time,” he says. “The man upstairs was named Toby and he was a disgusting shut-in who smelled rancid and occasionally made hammering noises. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something I could understand and live with. Two years passed like this, and I had almost forgotten about him, to be honest. He had become just another part of my life, and could be lived around.”

I find that remarkable. How does one forget about continual eruptions of horrible noise? Even “almost”? It seems like the kind of thing which would drive me absolutely bonkers.

And I speak from current as well as past experience, because the “temporary maintenance issue” that’s still, after more than two months, waking me up in the middle of the day and shutting my water off at inconvenient moments... this isn’t a thing I’m likely to forget about, nor even almost forget about.

It’s very annoying.

But Kristoff Rudenko, it would seem, has managed this apparently impossible thing, and so he didn’t really think about Toby Carlisle until late 2007.

[August 13, 2020: back from work]

At this point, our statement-giver has decided to move to Sheffield to be closer to his ailing mother, and so he’s trying to sell his place. This is difficult, because eventually every prospective buyer asks the looming question: “What’s that smell?” The third set of viewers even points out a stain on the living room ceiling, which they assume is the result of a leaky pipe.

I’m pretty sure it’s not a leaky pipe.

Kristoff tries to get hold of a plumber, but for some reason they can’t get to him before next week. So he has to wait, and in the meantime the smell gets worse and the stain gets... stainier.

“As it grew, it started to turn a dark yellow in color, and glistened ever so slightly when the light hit it.”

Doesn’t sound much like anything you’d expect to come out of domestic piping. I’m reminded of blood plasma, or melted fat—both of which I’d expect to smell rather worse than simply “rotten and earthy,” though I suppose the second one might smell a bit like “chicken that’s starting to turn.” Hmm.

In any case, Toby Carlisle isn’t answering his door anymore.

When the male plumber turns up, he touches the ceiling and it just... collapses. Kristoff Rudenko describes it as “buckling and tearing like wet cardboard.”

Disgusting gunk comes out of it, too. Sickly yellow fluid with viscous white lumps, you say? No, that doesn’t sound like anything I’d expect to find in a ceiling (nor in a floor, come to that).

Kristoff Rudenko throws up.

The plumber, presumably due to lots of experience with gross things, only looks like he’s about to throw up, and excuses himself.

[August 15, 2020: continuing]

Once he finishes vomiting, Kristoff Rudenko is furious with the man upstairs. Understandably. What sort of horrible neighbor does a thing like that to someone else’s ceiling? Come to that, what kind of person would do something so repulsive to their own floor? Whatever type of individual this is, they’re clearly one in need of punishment.

You see, it’s not a good idea to let people do things which inconvenience others too greatly. Even if they’re not harming you at the moment, they may in future—or others, following their example, may. Deviation from standard social behavior is only acceptable to a point.

Storming upstairs to pound on your neighbor’s door, you may say, seems like a bit of a deviation from standard social behavior.

This is true.

When punishing someone for deviant behavior, it’s acceptable to deviate a bit yourself. This is part of what makes it so satisfying, I think: when punishing someone else for hurting you, you’re allowed to hurt them. Allowed, you understand? So long as you don’t seem to harm the person in question more than those around believe they harmed you, you have a free pass.

Since this Toby Carlisle has actually damaged a place in which multiple people live, Kristoff Rudenko is free to tell him off considerably. Maybe even hit him, if he seems belligerent or particularly unrepentant.

It’s a very good situation for Kristoff.

When he begins to bang on the door and shout for the man upstairs to come out or he’ll call the police to fetch him out, the door swings open slightly.

It isn’t locked. I wonder how long it hasn’t been locked? I wonder how heavy the door is, that normal knocking wouldn’t push it open (and pounding only moves it slightly). Maybe the carpet’s especially thick, because Kristoff Rudenko has trouble opening it. He manages to get it open enough to allow passage, but for some reason can’t open it all the way.

He fumbles for a light switch, and finds one. There’s something on the wall beside the switch, though: something soft and wet.

The light comes on.

Someone’s been redecorating. Now, personally, I don’t understand the urge. I only started putting things on my walls after a visitor commented on their utter blankness—something about how it didn’t look like a human lived there.

I am, of course, human. Human, human, human. Just look at my neck!

That said, it seemed to me that it might be a good idea to decorate a bit more, and so I put up a few reproductions of classic paintings.

...I was later informed that this, too, was somehow suspicious. Really, I don’t know what anyone expects from a normal apartment. Mine has floors. It has walls. It has ceilings. I’ve put towels and washcloths in the bathroom and kitchen, a jacket in the closet by the door, clothing in the closet in the bedroom; I’ve got a toothbrush, toothpaste, a sleeping bag, and even some food in the fridge—and perhaps most importantly, I have not plastered any of the surfaces in my apartment with meat, either raw or cooked. What could be more normal?

At the very least, I think it’s fair to say that Toby Carlisle’s apartment is considerably more abnormal than mine.

“The light that came on was weak and tinged with red, but it was enough to see by. I looked around, and saw that every surface, the walls, the floor, the tables, everything except the curtained windows, was covered in meat.

“Steaks, chunks of chicken, even a whole leg of what I assume was once lamb, had been nailed everywhere. There were layers of it, the newest additions simply stuck on top of the old, and a putrid yellow-white rot could be seen where the oldest pieces had long since turned to liquid. Flies buzzed thick in the air, and maggots carpeted the place. Looking up, I saw the light too, had been smeared with meat, causing the place to be bathed in that dull red light.”

Now, I have no objection to red light, particularly when it’s not especially bright. In fact I prefer it. But this method of obtaining it doesn’t seem sanitary.

Our statement-giver doesn’t tell us whether the meat in question is cooked or uncooked. Perhaps he can’t tell. Once piece of it, however, is probably uncooked: the body of Toby Carlisle, lying in the hallway. The face is no longer hidden, and apparently it’s so riddled with holes that Kristoff can’t tell where the eyes used to be.

This seems unlikely, since eyes tend to be in roughly the same place on every human body, and usually they’re fairly symmetrical. So are there a lot of “puckered, septic lesions and holes” in the same places on the right and left of Toby’s face above the nose?

If so... well, I do appreciate symmetry.

Moving apparently on instinct, Kristoff Rudenko calls the police.

And then, with the phone in his hand, his eyes fall on the thing in the kitchen. Toby Carlisle’s been doing a craft project!

“There, in the center of the floor, was a pile of discarded meat and bone, stacked almost as high as a person. It seemed less decayed than the rest of it, though that foul yellow fluid oozed from it, and ... when I looked at that heaped pile of meat, it moved. I don’t know how—I don’t know quite how to explain it, other than to tell you that it opened its eyes. It opened all its eyes.”

Now, that’s interesting.

A thing built out of meat and bone from... where? The supermarket, probably, given the location. So—dead things from which the life’s long since departed. But there’s life in it, isn’t there? And what, I wonder, has happened to the life of Toby Carlisle?

Personally, if I were going to give a craft project life, I wouldn’t give it my own.

Do you think Toby Carlisle meant to sacrifice himself to this? Or was it an accident? And where did the other eyes come from? I don’t know how things are in your supermarkets, but where I shop most meat doesn’t come with eyes. Surely the only available eyes would be the ones Toby Carlisle once had? Also, what is it with The Magnus Archives and eyes? I’m certain I’m not imagining it now: there are eyes everywhere in this show.

“The next thing I remember,” our statement-giver says, “is the police’s arrival, and a lot of questions from officers trying to hide the fact that they had just finished vomiting. The pile of meat was gone, though the bits that had been nailed to the walls and floors remained.”

So... Frankenstein’s monster left.

But let’s pause and have a think about this. In late 2002, Toby Carlisle already smelled funny—yet he was quiet and the smell wasn’t overly intrusive: just a few whiffs here and there. In July 2004, he starts banging.

I think we can assume this is when the carnal redecoration began. Walls first, then floors, yes? Kristoff Rudenko never mentions the ceiling of Toby’s apartment aside from a note regarding a light fixture. Is rotting flesh nailed there too? Did our crazed meat-painter smear the ceiling with blood and fat? Or did he leave the ceiling itself untouched? These are the kinds of details I’d like to know, and Kristoff Rudenko is not being particularly helpful!

Six months of an apartment papered and carpeted in beef and chicken and lamb and so on and then, in early 2005, Toby Carlisle receives a package.

...A “thick and soft” envelope.

Now, you can have meat shipped to you through the mail, but that is not the right way to do it. There are regulations for the shipping of meat in, I think, every country on Earth. You can’t simply pack meat into an envelope and send it off, that’s a biological hazard!

And yet it’s only in late 2007, after three years of rotting meat, that Kristoff Rudenko says “the smell had begun to pervade my whole flat.”

I would have expected the odor to become a problem long before that! Perhaps our statement-giver has an unusually poor nose... or maybe Welbeck House was built to a truly enviable standard of insulation.

In any case, a hazmat team has to be called in to clean the place up.

Kristoff Rudenko does not mention how the police responded to the dead body. He says nothing about an investigation into either murder or suicide. Does this mean Carlisle’s monster took his old body with it? Does it mean that the police went with either “suicide” or “natural causes” as an explanation for death? Or does it mean that they simply didn’t do anything with it at all, officially—cleaned everything up and pretended it never happened?

Information! Why are we missing so much information? Ahh, well... I suppose these episodes would never end if everything was gone into in as much detail as I’d like. All things considered, this is fine.

Kristoff Rudenko moves in with some friends in Clapham:

“People who are very clean, and don’t mind the fact that I have recently become a vegetarian.”

As someone who has occasionally felt tempted to partake when passing roadkill, I can’t say I understand this reaction. It’s true that I like my meat closer to living than to decomposing, but that is the natural progression—for all living things, vegetables included. First they live and grow. Then they die. Then they rot. We all know this, yes? So why should seeing things at the end of that process put you off eating them at an earlier point?

Well.

Jonathan Sims says, “Looking into this one has proven a bit tricky, as police, hospital and even fire department records give wildly conflicting reports.”

So! I take this to mean that each department wrote up reports it thought worked as plausible explanations—without consulting with one another. In short: they cleaned everything up and pretended the event itself never happened. It’s the gas leak by the Mion River, handled by a bunch of people who aren’t with a single organization (like the Holy Church).

We’ve got a date for the discovery, though: October 22, 2007.

Ah, and Carlisle’s monster didn’t take the body. “The cause of death was listed as gangrene,” which doesn’t seem terribly believable to me. Who dies of gangrene these days? With antibiotics available everywhere?

But then Toby Carlisle, even aside from rituals involving bringing unnatural life to monsters of flesh and bone, wasn’t exactly usual.

Who knows? Maybe he did cut himself on something, and elected to leave the infection entirely untreated. It isn’t as though he’d have to visit the hospital for a little cut—recluse that I am, I’ve treated enough of my own injuries to know what can and can’t be handled at home. A little soap and water, hydrogen peroxide or rubbing alcohol, a tube of triple antibiotic ointment, a sterile bandage... unless you’ve actually cut your arm open and gotten something unusually nasty in the wound... and even then! gauze and a packet of sutures should take care of the worst you’re likely to get at home.

Was Toby Carlisle the type to simply let his injuries, small or large, fester? I suppose he might have been. He certainly doesn’t seem to have cared about keeping his living space clean and healthful.

Kristoff Rudenko hasn’t died yet.

And Incredibly-Competent-Assistant Sasha has turned up Toby Carlisle’s financial records, which seem to suggest that he was making money somehow, but it was all going to pay for his place—and where was he getting the meat? There are no records of purchases made in person or online.

Assistant Tim, despite asking everywhere, hasn’t been able to figure it out.

Assistant Martin is still having stomach problems, it seems.

[August 16, 2020: concluding]

And Head Archivist Jon, like me, is bothered by not knowing where the meat was coming from. Given that it obviously wasn’t coming from any of the more conventional sources, though... well, maybe some of those cold cuts came with eyeballs after all.

Still, I’d very much like to know whether any of the eyes that thing opened were (or had been) human.

#The Magnus Archives #episode 18 #commentary #late to the party

4 notes · View notes

shit-she-wrote · 4 years

Photo

Genre: Crime

Summary: An elder woman enjoys a splendid morning in her house. Her husband, however, is unusually quiet.

Word count: 1954

Content warning: murder, blood, death

Author’s note: Another prompt-fill for a Reedsy contest (with Agatha Christie inspired prompts, I really couldn’t resist!) a while ago and y’all, I had so much fun writing this!!! Also a big shoutout to all the lovely fellow writers on my favorite writing discord that were cheering me on – if you see this, y’all really motivated me to write this, thank you so much!!! Enjoy reading this! :D

(also, if anyone would be so kind as to by me a coffee on kofi for my work, it would be greatly appreciated 😅💗)

Barely Alive

a short story

For the first time in quite a while, Mrs. Merlyn Marble wakes up with a smile on her face. What a beautiful morning, she thinks, quiet and peaceful and fresh. A breeze of morning air is coming through her open window and she half sits up, regarding the curtains in their slow morning dance against it. Getting up, she crosses the room to catch a glimpse of the view from her bedroom, for the day outside was truly something to behold. Her garden blooming with spring flowers, her grass greener than green, and the slow-paced stream of the River Eye right beneath her window alight with a silver sparkle of the grey skies.

She puts on a morning robe and ties her gray curls into a low bun before heading downstairs. She stops in the living room for a second, determined to tidy it up a bit, just to make it as pleasant as she feels. She rearranges the pillows on the sofa, places the remote control by the television, pushes the big vase on the cupboard just a little to the left to have it right in the center. To top it all off, she even turns on the old gramophone, switching her husband’s favorite record for her own, and she hums along to the evergreen songs of Ella Fitzgerald as she is finally satisfied with the way her living room looks. Her husband isn’t going to like it one bit, especially not the new pillow arrangement and the fact that he will have to get up to get the remote, but today Merlyn hardly cares about his possible complaints.

Speaking of her husband, she finds him in the dining room, still sat at the same spot as last night.

“Good Heavens, Joseph,” she playfully berates him. “Did you even move since last night? You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

Joseph Marble very pointedly doesn’t answer her. Alright, so maybe he is still a bit sour about their fight at dinner. Nonetheless, Merlyn isn’t going to let him spoil her pleasant mood with his stubborn antics.

Putting on the kettle, she hums along to the sweet music coming from the living room, as she rearranges the boxes of tea before picking a bag from her favorite brand, then a bag of her husband’s favorite for him. Maybe they have had some disagreements last night, but she isn’t going to be too petty to make him a cuppa because of it.

Glancing out of the window, she notices the postman approaching their house. Oh, Charles! He is always so delightful when it comes to exchanging pleasantries. She rushes to the door to greet him, smiling brightly.

“Oh, Mrs. Marble, good morning!” he calls to her when he sees her stepping outside and carries the mail straight to her instead of placing it into the mailbox.

“Merlyn, Charles, please. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yes, yes, of course, apologies. How are you doing today?”

“Oh, quite well, thank you! It’s such a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” Merlyn exclaims. “Joseph and I were just fixing to start breakfast. Care to join us? For a cup of tea at least.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Charles chuckles and starts rummaging around his satchel. “Besides, the new issue of Lower Slaughter Gazette came today. Joseph was telling me just last week how you keep your nose buried inside their crossword puzzle section whenever you get your hands on it.”

“And the day gets better!” Merlyn cries gleefully as she accepts the local newspaper. “Thank you, Charles. Have a nice day.”

He leaves just as she hears the kettle whistling. Of course, Joseph doesn’t care to take it off the stove, she has to do everything herself.

“One or two sugars, darling?” she calls out to him. No answer. Very well. One sugar, then. He has to watch his blood pressure, anyway. She sets his cup of tea in front of him and hers by the newspaper. She cuts up a few loaves of bread and sets it on the table along with some butter and her cousin’s homemade strawberry jam, which she usually saves for truly outstanding days.

“Oh, the Mill Museum is getting renewed, that’s nice,” she mutters around her cup of tea. “Don’t you think it’s nice, dear?”

She flips through the pages, glancing idly at the titles, and stops at the obituaries.

“Oh, dear,” she says remorsefully. “Gilbert Blight has passed away two days ago. What a shame. He’s always reminded me of you, you know? A bit rough around the edges, but quite sweet when he wanted to be. And now he’s dead, just like that. We’ll have to attend the funeral, of course. Tomorrow afternoon, at three o’clock. Oh, and those poor children of his! I’ll have to ask if there is anything I can do.”

She puts the newspaper down to spread butter and jam on her slice of bread.

“I’m surprised how long you’re keeping up with the silent treatment, Joseph. I’m just talking to myself at this point. You usually have a snide remark to go with everything I am saying. Am I not rambling on too much today?” She pauses, waiting for an answer as she bites into her breakfast. “Well? Nothing? Hm. You know, this just proves my exact point last night. But I’m not getting back into that. Let’s just have a nice, silent breakfast.”

And silent it is, for the next ten minutes. Joseph doesn’t touch his food, nor does he drink the tea before it gets cold, but Merlyn lets him sulk in peace. They have said everything that needed to be said last night, no need to drag it all on forever. At least she can look past her anger to have a lovely breakfast and enjoy a morning as nice as this one.

She flips over to the end of the newspaper where her beloved crossword puzzle is waiting, gloriously blank and absolutely perfect for a morning such as this one. Ella Fitzgerald is still playing in the background – it’s almost odd to hear it, having grown used to the perfect silence that Joseph has always demanded at breakfast. But Joseph doesn’t seem to mind it this morning and it makes Merlyn happy to finally enjoy this simple pleasure.

“Hm, what was that actor’s name again? Grant something, four letters … Hugh!” Victoriously, she writes the name down. “Oh, and that makes for a … murder … of crows, across.”

Usually, Joseph would already start complaining about her annoying habit of thinking out loud. Just as he would complain about the music and the rearrangements in the living room, and about his tea not being sweet enough.

“You know,” Merlyn ponders aloud, “I quite like this new you. The strong and silent type, who opts to suffer in silence rather than just complain about everything that’s bothering him. This silent treatment isn’t so bad. In fact, I’m wondering why we haven’t had last night’s argument sooner.”

She takes another sip of her tea and adds another word to the crossword.

“Well, I suppose this is not even that different from any other time. You never really enjoyed talking to me, did you?” She discloses the statement in a half-whisper as if it were an unspoken secret between them. “It makes me wonder sometimes, why you even married me at all, a chatterbox you didn’t care for. Because you never actually cared for me, did you? Not enough for us to have any children that I have always wanted, anyway. Not enough for you to even notice when I’ve dyed my hair a different color. At some point, I even stopped dying my hair altogether and your only comment was that I suddenly looked older than before.”

Even after such an earnest speech, not a single word of protest comes from Joseph. She is almost delighted to be finally saying this to his face, even if thirty-four years too late.

“I don’t even think you noticed how miserable I was, not really. You were too wrapped in your own misery to think of my own, weren’t you?” Turning her attention back to the crossword, she almost laughed at the irony of the next clue. “Would you look at that, Joseph. End of marriage, seven letters across. Do you have any guesses? Of course you don’t. Had you ever thought of the word divorce, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. It’s kind of lucky I thought of another word that is just as effective, wouldn’t you agree?”

Still smiling, she looks up at him and beams at what she sees. Her dear husband, Joseph Marble, whom she had promised to love until death did them part, is half crouched in his chair, sickly pale and unmoving. His glassy eyes are staring into empty space before him and he no longer needs to blink, nor close his hung-open jaw. His shirt is painted red-brown with the dried stain of blood that spread from the wound in his chest, right where Merlyn had rammed the kitchen knife into his chest last night and left it there. She is going to need to take it back and clean it by lunchtime, of course, it would be a nightmare cutting up the vegetables with any other knife. But for now, it looked quite nice with the blade stuck inside of Joseph’s torso.

“So? You’re still not going to say anything?” she taunts him, almost mercilessly. “Well, you can’t really be this bitter about me killing you. Let’s be honest, you’ve barely been alive for most of our marriage, anyways.”

Sighing, she regards him for a moment. He looks unreal, like a disgusting puppet set up clumsily in a chair. Some of the blood has sprayed the table, she will have to clean that up. She always had to clean up after his own messes. But it’s not like he can lift a finger to help her with household chores now. What a perfect excuse to sit around all day death has given him.

“So, what am I going to do with you now?” she asks him, leaning her head a little to the side to catch his empty stare. “I can’t just bury you out there in the garden. Whatever will the neighbors think? And I can’t move you to the basement, you’re far too heavy and I am no longer as young and spry as I once was. I must say, this is the one consequence of mariticide I hadn’t thought of.”

Joseph, bless his soul, remains compassionately silent. She really doesn’t need him telling her how stupid she is for not planning ahead.

“Well, I suppose you can stay here for a few more days until I think of something,” she decides after a brief consideration. “It’s not like we’re expecting any company soon. And I can open up some windows when you start to smell.”

She sets the crossword down for a moment to clean the table after breakfast and pours herself some more tea. Sitting back down, she looks at the deadman across from her and helplessly allows another giddy smile to spread across her face.

“So, do you have any plans for today? Anything that needs doing?” She is met by blessed silence. “No? Well, then I am sure you’ll be more than excited to hear all about my plans for today and for the rest of the week. Just stop me if you feel like I’m talking too much.”

Joseph simply sits there, eyes open and unblinking, chest bloody and unmoving. He has never been such a great listener as he is now.

12 notes · View notes

nothingeverlost · 4 years

Text

Fic: Nature and Nurture (4/?)

Summary: When Emma put her son up for adoption it was to give him his best chance at a family. When Henry comes looking for her ten years later it might be that he’s giving Emma her best chance at family too.

From the prompt: Emma had done precisely two good things: she’d given birth to a beautiful amazing son and she’d given him of before she could ruin him. Or the one where Belle adopts Henry and we get adoptive mom/bio mom love story that’s healthy.

A/N: This is the one where the shit gets real. I’m really really happy with this chapter.

____________

The apartment was too quiet. She turned on the tv, but after a minute of flipping channels she turned it off in disgust, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. She was restless, the job she’d come home for being over too easily. She just needed another job to burn some energy and feel more settled, but it was late and nothing would happen until morning, and only then if she was lucky. Weekends were slow usually if she didn’t have a case already going.

Emma turned on the radio but that annoyed her too, and she turned it off again when the song faded and a commercial began. It wasn’t the sound she was hoping for.

“Crap.” She had only been in Maine for a couple of days. It barely counted as a vacation even, and a forced vacation at that, after being pseudo-kidnapped by her own kid. It didn’t change anything. Sure, she knew Henry’s address now. His name. His favorite food and the type of books he liked to read. She knew what his mom looked like and how she smiled. And how her eyes got darker when she didn’t think anyone was looking and she was trying to hide things.

Nothing had changed, though.

What she needed was something to distract herself. She changed her top and pulled on her jacket. At least she could head for the bar down the street and have a drink or three. Maybe it would help her sleep. Her phone started ringing just as she was about to turn out the lights. Emma almost decided to ignore it, but she hoped that maybe it was an after-hours job.

“Emma Swan,” she answered tersely.

“My mom’s crying.”

“Henry?” There was no reason to question who it was; she would have known his voice anywhere.

“She doesn’t know I can hear her, I’m supposed to be asleep, but I know she’s crying. Something’s wrong.” He sounded like he was crying too, or at least fighting off tears. Emma could almost feel and echo of his arms around her waist and his face buried against her when he worried that his mom was sick.

“Maybe it’s just been a long day.” Everyone had a bad day sometimes, it didn’t have to mean anything. After all, she was raising a kid and working a job, and things had to get overwhelming sometimes.

“Ariel picked me up from school because mom had a doctor’s appointment. She hardly said anything at dinner, not even when I left all my vegetables on my plate. And she said she was too tired to read to me. She always reads to me at bedtime.”

Shit. Emma covered her mouth, taking a deep breath through her nose to try and quell the acid rising in the back of her throat.

“I’m scared,” Henry whispered. Emma wondered if it was her imagination or if she really could hear sobbing in the background. She looked at the time on her cell; it was almost ten o’clock.

“I can’t make it there until almost morning, kid.”

“But you’ll come?” His voice trembled, but under the sadness she could hear the hope.

“I’ll come,” she promised.

It took her almost five hours, thanks to a never-ending construction project in the middle of town. Last time she’d only had the bag she kept in the trunk of the car. This time she’d stopped and packed a duffle with enough for a few days, just in case. It was three-thirty when she pulled up in front of the salmon-colored house she’d only left a few days before. All of the lights were off. After a moment’s consideration, Emma shrugged and leaned back her seat as far as it would go, turned over onto her side and pulled her jacket over herself as a blanket. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d slept in her car. Hell, it wouldn’t be the hundredth time.

“Emma?” She woke to the gentle tapping on her car window and Belle standing over her, wrapped in a robe that had seen better days. She took a moment to stretch before opening up her car door, waiting for Belle to take a step back. “I thought you went back to Boston.”

“I did. I was in Boston, and then New York for a night and back to Boston.” She closed the car door behind her, not worried about making sure it was locked. After all, this was a tiny town in Maine, not the city. She leaned against the car and took a better look at Belle. Her eyes were puffy, her skin so pale it was almost translucent just below her eyes. “You’re upset.”

“I’m fine.” Belle wiped a hand over her face as if that would magically change anything. Even as she tried to square her shoulders and smile a little Emma could see how tired she was. She suspected the woman hadn’t slept much the night before.

“For a librarian your definition of fine seems to be pretty off-kilter.” Emma crossed her arms in front of her, avoiding the temptation to reach out and use her cold fingers to try and soothe the skin that looked so sore from crying. “You could talk to me, you know. It’s not like I have anyone to tell.”

“Let’s go inside before someone calls Graham to report the stranger sleeping in her car.” It wasn’t a promise to talk, but at least Belle was inviting her in rather than being mad she’d shown up. It wasn’t yet eight, and a Saturday morning. Henry, it seemed, was still asleep. Belle led them to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I can make it.” She knew enough about the kitchen to know that there was a jar of instant coffee in the cabinet. Not her favorite but since Belle apparently was a committed tea drinker she was glad to find that much. The important thing was that it contained caffeine. “You want some tea?”

“I already have some.” She refilled the kettle with water, though, and turned on the stove even though microwaved water would have been fine. Once that was done there was a pile of mail on the corner of the counter that she straightened by a fraction of an inch and a drawing hanging on the fridge that she moved to the side a little. Her teacup was on the table and she raised it to her mouth and then put it down again without drinking.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” When the teakettle started whistling Emma turned off the burner so it stopped making noise.

Belle pulled her robe tighter around her. She looked down, and for a moment Emma thought maybe she’d forgotten the question or wasn’t going to answer. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t know how to stop moving.”

“Yeah, I know.” She’d been there before, pacing rooms, afraid that stopping meant she’d never be able to start again. She took one of Belle’s hands in her own. “Come on, it’s still early.”

Belle followed her up the stairs, though they paused halfway through so she could take a few breaths. Emma wished she could put it down to exhaustion. Henry’s bedroom door was closed and silent within. Belle’s door was open. The bed was still made, as if she hadn’t even tried to sleep properly. Two photo albums were open on the bed, a handful of loose photos scattered on top of the quilt. There were books too, all looking well worn; Emma was amused to see one was a romance entitled Her Handsome Hero. There were some papers too, with small typewritten font in a start black against the white. Emma didn’t try to read them. She did notice the logo of the Storybrooke hospital.

“So the first secret of sleeping in a bed is having enough room to sleep.” She moved everything while Belle shifted her weight from foot to foot but didn’t leave. The photo albums from her quick look before closing them seemed to show a younger Henry and a Belle that looked very much the same. The man she’d seen in one picture downstairs already; Finn Gold.

“Why are you here?” Belle asked, not meeting her eyes.

“Because I am.” She turned down the covers, at the same time kicking off her shoes. She couldn’t remember if her jacket was still in the car or in the kitchen, but the quilt on the bed seemed like a far better blanket and the four hours of sleep she’d gotten didn’t feel like enough. She contemplated taking the robe off Belle but decided it wasn’t that important, and steered her into the bed. She went easily enough; the question was if she’d stay.

“Emma…”

“It can wait, okay?” She didn’t know if Belle wanted to tell her what was wrong, or ask her to leave, or thank her or staying. She wasn’t ready for any of them. Emma pulled the blankets over them. “Just close your eyes for a couple of minutes. I’ll be right here.”

Belle bit her lower lip but she nodded. “Just for a minute.”

It was noon before they woke up.

Belle woke up slowly, her limbs feeling heavy and her eyes not wanting to focus. It felt as if she’d rubbed her eyelids with sandpaper and used cotton balls to absorb any last bit of moisture. When she moved even enough to try and look at the clock her head pounded. It was almost 12:30 and from the light streaming into the windows that didn’t mean midnight.

“Henry.” She tried to sit up but her thudding head had her back on her pillow.

“He said something about a sandwich and cake.” Emma’s voice was scratchy and dry. The bed moved a little as she shifted.

Wait, Emma was in her bed? Emma was in Storybrooke? Belle pressed the flat of one palm to her forehead and tried to focus. She knew Emma was here, had looked out the window while making her tea and seen the yellow bug that only meant one thing. Emma had been asleep in the front seat despite the fact that she’d left for Boston days ago. Emma had helped her into her bed and stayed.

No one had shared her bed for five years.

“I don’t understand.” She took a breath and rolled over, giving herself just a moment before daring to open her eyes. Emma was looking back at her.

“That makes two of us. Three, if you count the kid downstairs.” Emma frowned, but she didn’t sound angry. She didn’t even sound frustrated. She looked worried, but not in the clinical way her doctor had looked at her. Like a friend. “You might find it easier to talk to me first. Henry’s going to need to ask questions and I don’t know if that’s the first time you want to say things.”

“I wish I didn’t have to say anything.” Saying things out loud made them more real. You couldn’t ignore them, once they were spoken. She remembered her father shaking as he told her that her mother had died. She’d been the one shaking when she’d held Henry and told him that Finn was never coming home. Words had power; something that usually meant good but now felt more like a dagger.

“But there’s something to say.”

“Yeah.” Belle sat up, wincing at the throbbing in her head. She needed to take an aspirin. Could she? She couldn’t remember if they were on the list of things to take or the one to never take. There were papers somewhere, but she would find them later. For now she’d just drink some water. Slipping out of the bed she went into the bathroom and filled a glass with water, then drained it. She filled it again and drank half of it in a single gulp. Leaning against the counter she stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like crap.

“You okay?” Emma leaned against the door frame. In the reflection, Belle could see her watching.

“Okay?” Belle burst out laughing. She almost couldn’t catch her breath, a laugh that had nothing to do with humor swelling and getting caught in her throat. “I don’t remember what okay means.”

“Henry called me. You were crying.”

“I thought I held it in until he went to bed.” Damn it, she hadn’t wanted to scare him, and he’d been so worried he’d called Emma. He couldn’t even ask his mom for help; what kind of parent was she?

“You went to the doctor yesterday.” Gently Emma gave her an opening.

“It’s called cardiomyopathy. Restrictive cardiomyopathy, if you want to be specific.” She would never be able to say it all if she didn’t start with the hardest part. “It’s my heart. It’s not working very well.”

There was something poetic about the fact that her heart was, quite literally, hardening. When had it started? Whale hadn’t had an answer to give to her. Last night she had looked at pictures of Finn and had remembered how numb she’d been in the months after he’d died. Logically she knew the heart was a muscle that didn’t actually have anything to do with the ability to love, but at three o’clock in the morning it seemed more reasonable than anything else she’d learned.

“So how do they fix it?” Emma took a step closer, her eyes not leaving Belle’s in the mirror. She sounded so certain that there was an answer. Belle shook her head.

“They might be able to keep it from getting worse. Diet, exercise, medications. They might need to do surgery.” Without noticing what she was doing Belle’s right hand moved to cover her heart. It felt fine this morning.

“What happens if it gets worse?” Emma mimicked her gesture, perhaps just as unconsciously. Her hand rested on her chest, shielding her heart.

“I might be a candidate for a heart transplant.” Belle looked down, breaking eye contact with Emma. A new heart meant someone else dying. If things got that far it meant her life depending on someone else. It meant a piece of her being cut out and discarded. Failure to get a new heart, if it came to that, meant her son growing up without her.

She could feel Emma’s hand on her shoulder before she looked up to see it. Tears might have threatened to form if she hadn’t been so dehydrated. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I know you can.” Emma’s hand tightened on her shoulder. Belle closed her eyes but leaned back a little, into the touch and the warmth. She was so cold. “Henry needs you.”

“I have to tell him.” He’d been so worried that he’d run away to Boston, and she was going to have to confirm his fears. After months of dismissing everything as ‘fine’ she was going to have to admit that things were a long way from fine. She was going to hurt him.

“I can stay, if you want me,” Emma offered.

Belle took three deep breaths before she nodded. “Please.”

#swan beauty #swan believer #bookbeliever #fic: nature and nurture #verse: nature and nurture #my fic #emma swan #belle french #henry gold #henry mills #emma x belle #belle x emma

6 notes · View notes

damien-ward · 5 years

Text

Becoming a Ward II

[ Becoming a Ward I ]

(Mood music)

Dardillien sat at his desk opening his mail, one envelope catching his eye, it was from Matron Nightingale at the Stormwind Orphanage. With his curiosity piqued he opened it and began to read:

Dear Dardillien,

I hope this letter finds you and that you are doing well, I am sure you are wondering why I have written you out of the blue. It is in regards to one of our children here, Jason, he seems to have taken a liking to you and mentions you a lot. He always talks about wanting to hangout with you, it seems you left quite the impression on him showing him around the Stormwind Embassy. Of course we cannot allow the children to just wander the city visiting friends, however it was brought to my attention by one of the other children that Jason has talked about sneaking out to see if he can find you to hangout. This is obviously an issue, as it potentially could put him in danger, so I write to you asking if you have the time to stop by the orphanage to talk with Jason. We could greatly appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Matron Nightingale

He sat back in his chair, a smirk on his lips, as he shook his head, “Jason. Why am I not surprised?” He leaned forward and stood from his chair before grabbing his coat and heading downstairs and then out the front door to make his way to the orphanage, he had nothing else going on for the day so he might as well. Within the hour Dardillien had found himself at the orphanage, talking with Jason, and eventually agreeing to spend the day with him if he promised not to attempt to sneak out to which he agreed, the two then found themselves sitting in the Blue Recluse to have some lunch.

Jason shoved his mash potatoes into his mouth as he looked around at the tavern, “I have never been here or the Mage Quarter. This is cool!” He took another bite of his potatoes with a big grin on his face, “So what have you been up to? Did you leave town or get married or something?”

“I have left Stormwind a few times since we last saw each other, business and such, but no I didn’t get married or anything like that.” Dardillien answered picking up his mug to drink some of his Moonberry juice.

“Why not? I mean you aren’t getting any younger. Aren’t you like forty?”

Dardillien nearly choked on his drink, clearing his throat and setting his mug down, “Forty? I am only thirty.”

“Oh. Huh, I would have guessed you were like fifty or something.” Jason took a big bite of his steak as he watched Dardillien, who only had a look confusion and concern on his face as he wondered if he looked older than he was.

“Anyways, what do you want to do once we are done here?” He sat back in his chair crossing his arms.

“Can we walk through the park?” Jason lit up with excitement, “I have never been there either!”

The Gilnean gave him a nod, “As soon as you are done we will head there.”

They made their way into Lion’s Rest, people here and there enjoying there day as they strolled through the park, Jason ran ahead looking around, taking everything in. Dardillien picked up his pace to keep up with the boy, much to his discomfort from a recent injury to his side, but eventually he caught up to him when Jason stopped to sit on a bench. He let out a sigh as he sat down. “So what do you think?”

“It’s cool! Bigger than I thought it would be.”

Dardillien took a few deep breaths, and began watching people as they passed through the park, asking Jason questions, it took a few minutes before he realized that the boy was giving him quick short answers as if he wasn’t paying attention causing him to turn to look at Jason. He had turned around on the bench and was peering over the bench and bushes. Raising an eyebrow Dardillien turned around to see what had caught the attention of the rambunctious youth, he quickly noticed a Kaldorei woman sitting on the grass reading a book, his gaze went between the two before finally speaking up to catch Jason off guard, “She’s pretty.”

“Yeah.” He said as if enamored before quickly perking up at the realization of what was just said, “I mean no! I mean I wasn’t looking at her I was watching the waterfall...” An obvious lie as his cheeks began to turn red.

Dardillien stifled a laugh, “Do you know her?”

Jason remained silent for a moment, looking down at the bench clearly embarrassed, “Yes.. We have seen her around the orphanage, and she has stopped to talk to us a few times, she tells us really cool stories and is really nice to us.”

“Why don’t you go talk to her?”

Disheveled blonde hair whipped across his face as Jason turned to look at Dardillien, “And say what?? I’m ten remember? It’s not like I have anything to fun to talk about. I would probably just annoy her.”

“You won’t annoy her, I promise you. Just go say hi and ask her what book she is reading then go from there. I bet she wouldn’t mind talking to you.” He smiled and gave him a nod.

Jason shook his head, “No. I can’t. Can we just go?”

Dardillien eyed him up and down, he thought back on when he had his first crush and how stressful it could be, he understood and didn’t want to cause Jason anymore grief, “Okay.” He stood up from the bench, “Maybe another time then, and maybe next time I will help you pick out a gift you can give her, that way you have a reason to talk to her.”

“Really?” Jason jumped down off the bench, “You would do that?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, Dardillien! Come on I’ll race you to the docks!” Once again he took off running without a care in the world. All the Gilnean could do was try to keep up.

#World of Warcraft #Wrymrest Accord #gilnean #Just random writing #fc #likeness #Becoming a Ward

18 notes · View notes

barefoot-joker · 5 years

Text

Yandere!Jeremiah Valeska X Reader One Shot Pt 7 (Pt 1)

Hey, guys! Welcome back to Part 1 of the finale of my Yandere!Jeremiah story! Things are going down so be prepared! :) As always feedback is appreciated so comment below any thoughts or ideas. I will see you in the next installment of Yandere!Jeremiah!

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182328341418/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182409053588/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-2

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182862984808/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-3

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183226748438/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-4

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183462856853/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-5

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183601483818/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-6

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184513626468/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184712916978/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/185001873563/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/186623351048/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beep.

Tremble.

My body shook as I quickly sat up in bed, my heart beating fast and sweat decorating my flesh. I had just woken up from another nightmare, the seventh one in a row. I raked my fingers through my hair and gulped before taking in a deep breath and putting my head in my hands. Deciding I wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon I slowly got out of bed, put on my silky robe and made my way down to Jeremiah's study and our shared library. Whenever I couldn't sleep I would go there, the words seemingly bringing me out of my prison for a little bit.

Upon entering the room the only light source was the moon, the only sounds being my bare feet upon the creaky floorboards and the grandfather clock ticking away. Stopping by the leather armchair near the corner I turned on the lamp before walking to Jeremiah's desk and turning on that light. Just as I was about to look for a book a cream envelope on my husband's desk caught my eye. Picking it up I saw my name as the addressee, the information being written in a familiar hand. There was no return address on it but my curiosity got the better of me. Why in the world did Jeremiah have my mail on his desk?

Silently I sat in his black leather chair before opening it and reading.

Y/n, You haven't been replying to any of my letters so I'm going to assume Jeremiah has hidden them from you. If this is your first time reading just know I'm coming and I haven't abandoned you. Alfred, Jim and I have been gathering tools and skills to take your "husband" down. Help is on the way I promise. Expect to be out of there soon and enjoying life, not hating it. Together we'll overcome whatever he's done to you. Anyway I love you and stay strong, dear. Soon you'll be free. Sincerely, Bruce Wayne

My lips parted and I had to cover my mouth before I let out any kind of sound. My eyes scanned the page again and again, rereading every detail to make sure it was correct. I couldn't believe it. Bruce didn't forget me and he was coming. I could feel a shiver of happiness come over me as I realized my chains would soon be off and I'd be able to fly once more. I almost jumped in joy but my mind went to finding those others letters that Bruce mentioned. Quietly I dug through my husband's desk before coming upon a stack of the same opened cream envelope in the same handwriting at the very bottom of the last drawer to the right. No wonder I thought my friend forgot me, the stack was at least ten envelopes. Silently I read through them all, interested in the news Bruce gave me. By the time I finished it was 3:30 in the morning and I could feel my lids grow heavier. Placing the envelopes back where they were I turned off each lamp and then headed back to bed, my sleep filled with dreams for once in a lifetime.

I yawned as I sat up, my back cracking as I stretched. I smiled as I actually had gotten a decent amount of rest. However that moment was ruined when I felt hands rubbing my shoulders. "Good morning, dearest. How did you sleep?"

"Fine. You?"

"Wonderful~"

His lips gave a peck to my cheek and forehead before he nuzzled my neck. I dared not turn my head away in fear of what he would do if I would, so I remained still. "I'm sorry I'm leaving you but important business has come up recently. I promise I'll make it up to you though."

“There’s no need-”

“Yes there is.”

He trailed his lips up to my ear and nipped the shell before he gave a low laugh. Uncomfortable, I slowly got out of bed but had to sit back down as a wave of exhaustion hit me head on. Jeremiah was used to these things as lately it’s been occurring more, the doctor telling him just to make me rest and relax (that is before he murdered the poor soul for touching me). Getting up he went into the closet and pulled out one of his three piece suits and a simple green dress with a floral pattern on it for me. “Do you need help getting dressed, dear?”

“N-no. I think I can manage.”

“Alright. Holler if you need me.”

I nodded and he headed into the bathroom, leaving the door open a smidge in case he needed to come out and aid me. Grunting I stood back up and slid off my nightgown, took a minute to breathe and then pulled on the roomy green daywear. Silently I walked to the door but stopped to look at myself in the full length mirror. My eyes immediately went to my bulging stomach, my branded hand coming up to rub it. Inside I was conflicted. True, I hated the fact that my enemy was the one who gave me this child but on the other end my motherly instincts loved that I was going to be giving the gift of life. I sighed and slowly made my way downstairs to the kitchen, Ecco already in there making breakfast. “Good morning, puddin! How’re you feeling?”

“Exhausted and sore.”

“Then sit, sweetie! We don’t need you or the baby hurting.”

I did as she commanded and silently watched her fry some sausages, my thoughts going to the letters I found in my husband’s desk. I needed to send Bruce some kind of sign that I did in fact receive his message, the only problem being Jeremiah and Ecco intercepting it. “Here you go. Extra strength on a plate!”

I blinked and looked down, the eggs and sausages made to look like a happy face. “Something wrong, puddin?”

Yes. This whole situation is wrong!

“I-I’m fine.”

I picked up my fork and dug in, Jeremiah coming in as soon as I was done. “No breakfast for me today, Ecco. I’m in a rush. You’ll run those documents and make sure the employees are up to date?”

“Yes, boss.”

He hummed and gave my cheek a peck. “I’ll call later to see how you’re doing, darling. Rest if you need to. I love you.”

I didn’t respond.

Even though I had been forced to do things in the name of “love” with Jeremiah I could never allow those words to be spilt out for him. No, they were only reserved for people who truly deserved them. The greenette sighed before he left, the front door slamming shut behind him. “I think I’ll go take a walk.”

“Alright, hon. If you need anything-”

“I know.”

Slowly I got up from my perch and made my way to the back of the house, I passing a few guards on the way. It always made me sick to my stomach the way they bowed to me as if I was some sort of goddess, their expressions too happy for me. I knew my husband had ordered them to be this way as he considered us deities that needed to be worshiped. I just continued my way to the back door and out into the small garden of flowers and food. To most this would have been an escape from reality as it was outside and nature surrounded the area but it was still part of my prison. Walls blocked the rest of the city from us, the sounds of honking cars and daily conversation the only things I could hear. Silently I walked along the wall, humming a bit to myself when a whisper brought me out. Confused I looked around but saw no one, I blaming it on my imagination. Just as I took another step I heard it again except this time it uttered my name. That voice. No...it couldn’t be!

“Bruce? Is that you?”

“Yes. It’s me, Y/n!”

My heart danced with excitement as I placed my palms against the wall, wishing it were transparent so I could see my dark haired friend. “Oh my god, I thought I’d never hear from you again!”

“Haven’t you been getting my letters?”

“No. Jeremiah has been intercepting them. I only found out last night as one was on his desk.”

“I thought so. Y/n, you sound...different. Is everything okay?”

I didn’t reply immediately. How in the world was I supposed to tell my loved one what has happened?

“A lot has been going on Bruce, but I don’t have time to explain.”

“Neither do I. I just came to reassure you I’m still alive and am going to get you out. Soon we’ll be together again.”

“Bruce.”

“Yes?”

“Whatever Jeremiah does to me...promise you won’t leave.”

“I would never! None of this is your fault, dearest. I know that.”

“Y/N!”

“Look Bruce, I have to go. Stay here okay?”

“Okay.”

I heard the sound of him giving an air kiss and the crunching of cold grass beneath his feet. Though our encounter was small I was filled with new found hope because of my friend. “Y/N! Where are you?”

“Coming!”

Quickly I looked back at the stone wall and smiled before waddling up to the back door where Ecco stood. “There you are! I ‘ve been calling you for quite a while.”

“Sorry, is there something you needed?”

“I need to go out and do some things for the boss man so you’ll be here alone with some guards. The doors will be locked and so are all the windows so you should be safe. I’ll have a cell phone on me so call the number next to the phone if you need anything, alright.”

“When do you think you’ll be back?”

“This shouldn’t take more than an hour but I’ll call to tell you if I’ll be later.”

“Alright.”

“Stay safe.”

She gave the top of my head a kiss before heading out and locking the door behind her, I running back to the wall in need of talking to my friend. “Bruce? Are you still there?”

“I’m here, Y/n.”

I sighed in relief. “Ecco’s gone now and the guards are off upstairs by now. Can you come around front? I’ll let you in.”

I heard the sound of his footsteps receding away so I quickly rushed to the front and unlocked the door, Bruce standing there with a smile on his face. “Y/n!”

He grabbed me in a tight embrace and I quickly reached up did the same, tears coming. Standing on my toes I gave him a great big kiss and laughed as he peppered my face with his version of light kisses. “Come on, let’s get you sitting down.”

I gently grabbed his hand and led him into the living room, both of us snuggling on the couch. Bruce leaned in to give me another kiss but I felt his hand halt on my stomach, sadness written in his eyes as he slowly peeled away and looked down. “Y/n, did he do this to you?”

I gulped but nodded, too afraid of what he’d do. Bruce sighed and pulled me in close, his voice next to my ear, “I knew I should have come sooner. None of this would have happened if I-”

“Bruce, this isn’t your fault.”

“Yes it is! If I had protected you then you wouldn’t be stuck pregnant and married to the most evil villain in all of Gotham!”

The room went dead quiet as I pulled away to look into my love’s eyes. In his dark orbs I could see what I constantly felt: sadness, anger, disappointment and fear. “You’re doing the best you can do, Bruce. I’ve been surviving so far.”

He sighed and caressed my cheek. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I just think about you and my friends.”

With that I leaned up and gave him a kiss, my pent up passion letting loose. Bruce let his hands rummage through my hair, our hearts connecting as one once again. Our moment seemed to last forever but as we pulled away with half lidded eyes I realized it was only a few minutes. Just as I was about to say something the phone rang in the hallway so I begrudgingly got up and answered it. “Hello?”

“Y/n, it’s me.”

“...Hello, Jeremiah.”

“How are you doing, honey?”

“Fine. Is there something you needed?”

“I just wanted to see how you were and that I’ll be home in just a few minutes.”

“Alright. Goodbye.”

“See you soon, dearest. I love you.”

I slammed the phone down to hang it up. No way was I telling him that phrase when my true love was in the other room. Silently I walked back into the living room to find Bruce standing and looking at our “family” pictures, a grimace on his face. “You’d better get going, love. Jeremiah will be here any minute and I don’t want you getting caught.”

“I understand.”

He turned to me before embracing me close, his scent of peppermint wafting into my nose. “I’ll get you out of here, dearest. Soon.”

I smiled as his lips gave me a quick peck to the cheek before he quickly went out the door. And just as soon as my fantasies left, my hell entered. “Y/n, I’m home!”

I didn’t turn around as I knew he would find me right away. Sure enough I felt his arms wrap around me within a few seconds, his scent of spice overpowering Bruce’s. “I trust things were fine while I was gone.”

“Yes. Ecco left a little bit ago. She said she would return within the hour.”

He hummed in response before twirling me to face him. “Then we’ll have some alone time before she gets back~”

His gloved hands trailed down to my hips but I silently pushed away, not in the mood. I heard him growl in response but override it with a sigh. His dress shoes scuffed the floor as glasses clinked and liquid was poured, him returning to my side with two wine glasses in his hands. He held it forward for me to take so reluctantly I did, a smile coming to those red lips of his. As I looked down at the glass I was surprised to see it was white wine instead of red, his attempt of lightening up the mood small smile worthy. “I told you I was going to make it up to you.”

He took a sip and gestured for me to do the same. “Isn’t it a bit too early for alcohol?”

“Oh come on, Y/n.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Not even one little sip?”

“I said no, Jeremiah.”

“It’ll be fun~”

“I don’t want to.”

“JUST TAKE ONE DAMN SIP, Y/N!”

I closed my eyes and flinched, my experience with his temper not a great one. In an act of comfort his hand touched my shoulder but the texture of the leather from his glove made it seem unholy. “I apologize for yelling, dearest. Work was just stressful for me today.”

I didn’t reply. There was no need for me to. However my husband was not in that mood for he gently turned my head towards him by my chin and gave me a smile. “Dance with me, honey?”

I nodded once and was immediately pulled to his chest, our arms entangled as we began a slow waltz. While we danced my mind went back to the good old days, the times when Jeremiah wasn’t the monster that he was now.

{Flashback}

I nervously tapped my fingers together as I looked around the room. Jeremiah promised he would take me out dancing tonight but he was nowhere to be found. I bit my lip and hugged my shawl closer as I waited, the stares from the other men unnerving. In my mind I thought I should leave the party but just as thought entered it left when a warm hand met my bare shoulder. My eyes caught sight of Jeremiah’s ginger hair and black glasses, the disappointment leaving. “For a second I thought you weren’t coming and that I got dressed up for nothing.”

“And why would I leave a beautiful woman like you alone?”

I smiled as he took my hand and led us to the floor, our hands going to the right places for the waltz music playing. Slowly the ginger started us and my nerves past as I got the hang of it. “You look lovely tonight, you know that.”

I blushed. “You do as well.”

I laughed as he spun me and in the moment everything seemed to fade away, just like the end of Sleeping Beauty. I felt the two of us on clouds, it seeming like a dream.

{End Flashback}

My lip tugged upwards as the happy memory stayed with me, the slow rhythm of us dancing lulling me into sleepiness. I could feel my husband’s chest rumble with light laughter as my grip loosened and my body began to slip. My heart and mind screamed at me to stay awake, to not be left in such a vulnerable position but my body hushed back ‘what was the point’. As the three fought for dominance my eyes closed and for once a fuzzy feeling burned inside my chest.

That fuzzy feeling reserved for Jeremiah Valeska.

146 notes · View notes

bubble-tea-bunny · 6 years

Text

andromeda

[peter parker x reader]

author’s note: been working on this over the past week as time allowed. haven’t written in third person in a long ass time but the style of this story kind of necessitated it. it was an interesting change of pace but i am excited to go back to second person haha. i hope you enjoy!

word count: 11,687

[Name] used to joke Jameson was crazy enough to have a guillotine hiding somewhere in his office, and today, her speculations just might be confirmed, because he’s going to have her head.

The discordant beeping of the alarm clock starts far away, at the other end of some tunnel, and she’s moving slowly towards it, at a pace like walking, then like running, then like she’s got a train at her back and it’s pushing her forward at full speed. When the volume becomes clear and loud—and oh Christ is it loud—her eyes open suddenly, jarred to consciousness.

How long had it been going off? She doesn’t remember hitting snooze. Maybe she had, and she’d done it without fully waking up, or maybe she hadn’t, and she’d slept straight through it. Neither is good, so she figures it’s not worth trying to decide which it was. She props herself up on her elbow to look over at the clock on the nightstand, and her heart rate picks up at seeing the time. Shit.

Adrenaline courses through her veins and prompts her to stand up, kicking the blankets away. She nearly trips over herself in her haste, rummaging through her dresser for a clean button-up and skirt. Once she’s dressed, she brushes your teeth and combs through her hair, trying not to tug too hard on the knots. She hisses in pain when she pulls a little aggressively. Of all days to have nasty tangles. Eventually she gives up trying to get all of them out and ties her hair up in a ponytail.

There’s nothing prepared in the kitchen since she usually leaves herself more than enough time to make something in the morning, so instead she snatches an apple from the fruit basket. Her teeth sink into it to hold it in place as she slips on her shoes and grabs her jacket and purse. She’s out of the apartment in record time, and a glance at her watch tells her that if the trains aren’t running late today, and she walks at a brisk pace, she’ll make it.

She throws the apple core in the trash can before traipsing down the stairs of the subway station at the end of her building’s block. It’s at this moment that she realizes she left her water bottle on the kitchen counter, and she deflates slightly. She’ll just have to get water from the water cooler at work. She hopes no one tries to make smalltalk when she does. As much as [Name] likes Helen, she doesn’t really care about her son’s little league games (and their striking—no pun intended—zero loss season). Their season record is the same every year anyway.

As the train makes its stops, she can’t stop staring at her watch. For some reason it feels like the subway is lagging today, taking too long to open the doors and close them again. She wonders if the anxiety is visible on her face, because she feels like it’s obvious. Everyone else in her car looks some combination of bored and tired despite the fact it’s only 8:45 (Holy shit it’s 8:45 I am going to be so late—!) on a Monday morning. Or perhaps it’s because it’s 8:45 on a Monday morning. No one is ever ready or looking forward to heading into work for the next eight or however many hours.

She practically runs out of the train when she arrives at her stop, and skip steps going up to ground level. Good thing she wore flats today. She can see her place of work from the corner where this subway station exit leads to. There’s only one crosswalk to wait for, and then it’s a straight line to the Daily Bugle. She could do this. No problem.

The breeze kicked up by the motion of her pushing the door back to enter ruffles her ponytail. She doesn’t even give herself a chance to look at her watch again. There’s no time, and she's already so close. She yells for the man in the elevator to hold the door for her and thankfully he does. Inside, she presses the button for her floor, and grows a little annoyed that the other occupant has to get out a couple of floors below hers. Great. More waiting.

She tries to distract herself by staring at the numbers counting off the floors. When the man gets to his floor, he says Have a good day, but she’s only half-paying attention and mutters something incomprehensible that was meant to sound like You too. Once on her floor, she barely waits for the metal doors to slide apart before she squeezes between them and makes it into the office. She catches a glimpse of the clock hanging on the far wall. The hour hand is on 9 and the minute hand is on 12. Yes! She made it!

Or at least, she thought she did. She’s halted on the walk to her desk by a harsh voice calling out her last name. She closes her eyes and sighs heavily, then opens them again as she turns around to sheepishly face the one who addressed her.

“You’re thirty seconds late,” Jameson states. He doesn’t voice it but [Name] knows there’s an implied question tacked on to the end of it—Why?

“I know. I’m sorry, sir.” She doesn’t bother trying to give a reason because he wouldn’t hear any of it. There’s no excuse to be presented to a man like Jameson. “It won’t happen again.”

He crosses his arms, disapproval apparent in his eyes, and it stings. He’s already intimidating, more so when he’s angry. “It better not.” She doesn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until he returns to his office, and at the sound of the door clicking back into place, she exhales.

There are some people who glance her way at the confrontation but most people don’t. Jameson chewing someone out is far from new. One of the onlookers, however, is the boy sitting across her desk, and he’s leaning back and tinkering with a pen, smiling sympathetically as she plops down in her chair,.

“Sleep past your alarm?” Liam asks.

She sets her purse under her desk and turns on her computer. “Yeah… How’d you know?”

“My super mystical powers.” Liam uses his free hand to wiggle his fingers. [Name] raises a brow, thoroughly unconvinced and unamused (though could she be blamed? It hasn’t been the greatest morning), and then he just shrugs, giving her the real answer. “You are never late for work. Never. The only way you would be is if you woke up late.”

“Well, it was a late night,” she mutters, logging in. The clack of the keyboard fills the next few moments of silence as Liam thinks about her words.

“Was it…”

“No. It wasn’t that.” She shakes her head. “I was finishing up my preliminary research for that article I’m writing. I conduct the interview today.”

“Oh, managed to get in talks with the doctor himself, did you?”

“More like with his assistant, which is the next best thing. He said in the e-mail I could stop by after lunch.” Liam nods, and [Name] changes the subject. “How’s your article going?”

“It’s… going,” he responds off-handedly. “Zero pizazz to it, honestly, but there really isn’t anything exciting about little leagues, even if one of the teams has gone 12-0 this season.”

[Name] laughs. “Try telling that to Helen.” At this, Liam laughs too.

———

Lunch is a hot dog and can of cola from the food truck that sets up shop right outside the Daily Bugle offices. One-third of the reason [Name] comes here is that it’s quick and convenient; another one-third is that it’s cheap; and the last one-third is that street dogs are just good as hell. She eats at her desk, scarfing the hot dog down as she reads the follow-up e-mail from Doctor Octavius’s assistant to remind her that he’ll be in the lab until four o’clock. He gives her his phone number at the end so she can contact him directly once she’s outside the building.

Liam watches as she takes a big bite before she brushes the crumbs off her hands and types out her reply. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you hadn’t eaten in days.”

She rolls her eyes. “I only had an apple this morning, and admittedly, I’m really nervous for the interview. This is a huge deal.”

“You’ll do fine.” Liam waves a hand dismissively. “You always do.”

His words settle in the back of [Name]’s mind when she’s on the subway again, making her way to Octavius Industries. They’re comforting, and help a little in alleviating her worries, but those concerns become more difficult to push aside as she gets closer to her destination. She wonders if this assistant will be nice, and she hopes that he is. The technology that he and Doctor Octavius are developing is too advanced for her to understand, and despite the extra research she’s done to prepare for this, she doesn’t feel like any of it has helped much. He’ll need to slow things down for her. A lot. Fingers crossed he’s patient.

There are no indications on the exterior of the brick building that let her know she’s arrived at the correct place. She double checks the address and compares it to her location on her phone’s GPS, only to see that they indeed match. With a sigh, she peers up once more at the structure before opening up her messaging app.

I’m downstairs!

[Name] hits send, and barely ten seconds has gone by when she sees three little bubbles pop up at the bottom of the chat, and then she gets her response: Great! Heading down right now!

She readjusts her bag’s strap on her shoulder, a nervous tic she’s developed over time. In the other hand she holds her phone, and she absentmindedly stares at their two-message conversation, not bothering to tap her finger on the screen to keep it lit up as it switches off, and she’s left staring at herself reflected back.

The sound of the front door opening grabs her attention and she lowers her phone to her side, looking at the boy who comes out and meets her on the sidewalk. He’s wearing a lab coat over his jeans and plaid button-up, and he grins amicably. “Hey,” he greets brightly. “I’m Peter. Doctor Octavius’s assistant.”

“I’m [Name].” [Name] smiles and shakes his outstretched hand. It’s warm. He motions towards the door and asks Shall we? and she nods, falling in step behind him as he leads her inside and in the direction of the elevator.

Octavius Industries occupies the top floor, and there’s a sign hanging to the left of the door bearing this name. It’s ordinary, and most certainly not eye-catching, which [Name] considers to be strange because she knows the scope of what Peter and Doctor Octavius are working on, if not the finer details then just the fact that it’s big, and it’s revolutionary. She figured the lab would’ve appeared more grand, at least on the outside. But she’s still awed as Peter opens the door to allow her through, and her eyes widen as she finds herself surrounded by terminals and workbenches full of tools and prosthetics in the making.

“Sorry it’s a little messy,” Peter begins, closing the door behind him and rounding [Name] to try to clean up the nearest workbench, pushing equipment to the side but stopping when he comes to the conclusion there’s too much clutter to make a difference in just a few seconds. “And it’s just me in the lab today. Doc’s been feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Hope he feels better soon.” [Name] smiles sympathetically as she grabs her notebook and a pen from her bag. She flips through for the first empty page, and as she does, Peter can see each page as they pass, and he grins a little to himself when he sees all the doodles dotted among the hastily written notes.

He listens intently as she asks her questions, and he answers them to the best of his ability while making them easy to understand. And she’s grateful because it means she can follow along, and it also means that her audience will be able to follow along too. It didn’t matter if she understood this stuff just as well as he did. Her readers most likely wouldn’t.

He leads her to one of the prosthetics resting on a table and picks up the tablet resting near by, pulling up the circuits on the screen to show her. Neuroprosthetics is certainly a difficult and still growing field, he explains, but we really feel like we’re making leaps and bounds here. [Name] can hear the passion laced in his voice when he says this, and the corner of her lips lifts into a lopsided smile.

“Does it ever feel… cramped, to work in a space like this?” She asks gently so as not to offend, motioning to the space around her. But luckily, Peter doesn’t take it badly. Instead, as soon as this gets brought up, his shoulders sag and he relaxes and he doesn’t try to hide his worries.

“It does feel like that sometimes. The funding for this project hasn’t been the greatest,” he admits solemnly. “Our funders want results before giving any more grant money, but it’s been slow. Lots of bumps to smooth out, and I know we’re on the cusp of a breakthrough. It’s just that… there hasn’t been enough time, and not enough money.”

[Name] sighs and click her pen, retracting the nib. There’s no doubt that what Peter and Doctor Octavius are working on here in this one room, this one unassuming room in some unassuming building here in New York, with the likes of Oscorp or the Avengers Tower just several subway stops away, is an incredible innovation, and another step forward into the future. How many projects have suffered the same fate, she wonders? Inventions with the potential to shift the paradigm of the world as it’s currently known, only to be stifled by a lack of funding. It all comes back to money. And it’s why she’s writing this article in the first place.

“That’s what I’m hoping to change with this article,” she tells Peter. “Maybe it’ll garner the attention of the right individuals, and you’ll get that grant money.”

Peter smiles and tucks his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. “Thanks for writing this. Funding aside, I think what we’re doing is important, and it’ll be good for more people to see that.”

“Of course.”

[Name] takes her final notes on any closing remarks Peter might want to make, and when those are done, he walks her back out. She thanks him for agreeing to the interview, and he shrugs casually and says it’s no problem. Felt nice to share this project with someone else. The remark makes her smile and she thinks distantly that maybe the two of them could be friends. It certainly felt as though she’d been talking with one for the past hour. Once they’re outside, she turns to him.

“I’m aiming to have the article published sometime this week. It’s the only thing on my plate right now, so I can really focus on it.”

“I look forward to reading it!” Peter’s smile is soft and it makes her stomach flip. He probably flashes that smile at everyone, she tries to reason. That tender nature seems to just be part of him. There’s nothing between the lines to read. So don’t bother, [Name]. But still, she pretends for a moment like he doesn’t flash that grin at just anybody, and that maybe it does mean something.

Peter stays glued to his spot on the concrete walkway as he watches [Name] walk away, and only retreats back inside after she turns the corner. Someone is in the elevator when it reaches the ground floor and he stands to the side to allow them through. Back in the lab, he shrugs off the white coat and hangs it on the hook by the door. It’s just past four o’clock. Sometimes he chooses to stay later to keep working, especially if Doc is out sick, but he’s still riding a bit of a high from that interview, and he’d like to carry that with him for as long as he’s able.

The last task he carries out before leaving for the day is sending a quick e-mail to Doc about how the interview went. It’s short and simple, with comments like It went great and Get well soon. The loading bar races across the screen, and a quiet ding signals that the e-mail has been sent. After that’s done, he’s ready to go.

He opens the door, ready to lock up, and stands in the frame, hand braced on the light switch as he gives the lab a once-over. He’s thinking back to the way [Name]’s face lit up as she walked in here, into a space that he considers less than magnificent and hardly roomy enough. Yet that hardly mattered to her, and the wonder in her gaze made her look like she’d stepped into a whole other world. The thought makes him smile. She had been so sweet, he was bummed when the hour was over.

His duffel bag is hidden on the roof, and he goes to retrieve it. It’s a little earlier than usual to begin his daily patrol, but there’s no harm in that—just more time to catch criminals. He trades his regular clothes for his suit, sliding into it with practiced precision. The material hugs his form, becoming like a second skin, and he slips on the mask, allowing the eyepieces to calibrate. He perches on the ledge while it does, watching as various readouts of the HUD pop up on the periphery of his vision.

“All right then…” he murmurs, taking in the expanse of the city in front of him. He would never get tired of this. New York pulses with energy, full of life, a universe of its own, and from the tops of the highest buildings he feels like he’s walking past a display in a museum, looking down, looking in, at all the people and the cars that look like ants from so far up. And every single time, it hits him. He’s protecting a whole city, and it’s a city he loves very much.

He zips his way between buildings, police radio filtering into one of his ears. Whenever he picks up a dispatch in the area, he’s quick to make his way over. He stops a car jacking and right after helps a lady get her cat out of a tree. The latter he hadn’t heard from the radio. She’d seen him swinging by and called him over. He retrieved the feline easily; its name was Percy. Cute cat! he’d complimented, and then he was away again.

His stomach had started to grumble and he stopped by a hot dog stand to grab some food. The vendor had given it to him for free, and Peter smiled before realizing the man wouldn’t be able to see it, so he gave an audible thanks. He swings his way along to some rooftop with one hand, the other busy holding his dinner, and when he’s sitting comfortably on the edge, he rolls his mask up to just beneath his nose so he can eat.

He watches the sun set, the sky fading from orange to purple to black. The city is awash with lights, bouncing off slightly wet roads from the light drizzle that has started. He can already imagine the distinct smell of wet asphalt and it almost seems to reach his nose despite the fact he’s way off the ground. Some people have their umbrellas out, black nylon dots moving to and fro on the sidewalk and the zebra crossings.

A new dispatch comes through of a robbery just a few streets away, and Peter stands up, rolling his mask back down. He takes a few steps back and gets a running start as he jumps off the building, building up speed on the descent before slinging a new web. A couple of units respond to the call but he knows he’ll beat them there. It’s not far now.

He turns the corner and sees the canvas overhang bearing the name of the jewelry store, and he hides in the shadows to survey the criminals, counting five, dressed in black, of considerable stature and build. They’re armed to the teeth with guns, yelling at the employees to stand against the wall while they smash glass cases and stuff the valuables into bags. When he sees them making their way towards the door, he braces himself to head in, but he’s beaten to the punch.

A swift form darts down, catching them off guard as it kicks away their guns and dodges any bullets they manage to fire in their shock. Peter watches in a similar state of surprise as this figure he doesn’t recognize takes down all five of the robbers with increasing ease. He zooms in his HUD for a better view of the scene.

A mask obscures the lower half of the girl’s face, and her hair is tied in a braid to keep it out of her way. It’s hard to analyze her fully since she’s moving so quickly, and he only has a few seconds to get a good look after she takes out the final criminal. She stands in the midst of the chaos, of the bodies and the shattered glass and the shop alarms, and scans the canvas bags full of jewelry now laying out on the sidewalk, seeming to take count and make sure they’re all there. Her eyes narrow, and they look… weird. Different. Peter can’t quite describe them but he’s never seen eyes like that, and he’s still stuck on the thought of them even after she retreats and disappears in the darkness.

Pedestrians had stopped to see what was going on, and remain there, muttering to each other as the cops arrive, all loud sirens and blinking red and blue lights. Who was that? Peter can hear them saying, and he’s wondering the same thing.

He doesn’t run into her again for the remainder of the evening, but with every swing around a block, and with every crime he swoops in to stop, there’s a part of him deep down that kept hoping he would.

———

It’s another bright and beautiful day in New York and [Name] is at the office with five minutes to spare. By the time Liam arrives and shrugs off his messenger bag, taking a seat in his desk across from her, she’s three sentences into her first rough draft.

“You beat me here today,” Liam remarks playfully.

[Name] chuckles. “Didn’t want Jameson scolding me again.”

“No staying up late to do research then?”

“Staying up late doing other things, but don’t worry, I made sure to be home before midnight.”

There’s a flash in [Name]’s gaze, and Liam takes a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. She isn’t looking at him, too busy typing away, and he studies her closely as he repeatedly clicks the pen he has in his hand. When he responds, his voice is hushed. “Keep that up, and people will start asking questions.”

The statement is vague, but [Name] doesn’t need it to be clarified. She knows exactly what he’s talking about, and upon hearing it, her attention is pulled away from her word document. Her hands slides off the keyboard and drop into her lap as she stares at her friend. “Then let them,” she tells him matter-of-factly, voice equally quiet, and she shrugs.

She doesn’t let herself be distracted for too long, for she returns to writing without waiting for what Liam has to say in return. She’s determined to have this article edited and published before the end of the week. It’s what she had told Peter she would try to do, and if she’s being honest with herself, she’s excited to know what he thinks of the article when he finally reads it. As she writes, she’s brainstorming in the back of her mind supplemental questions to ask him that would lend more details to her article. And the rationalization makes perfect sense, one that hardly merits suspicion, but she’s her and she knows herself best, and she knows she’s only looking for excuses to talk to him again.

The first draft is completed by later in the day, and she looks it over while sipping at her soda. Her lips rest absentmindedly around the straw, fingers of one hand curled around the cold aluminum can and her other hand correcting any typos she comes across. Now, the offices are hardly ever completely silent. It’s an impossible demand to have, considering that at any moment there was typing, or a ringing telephone, or the chatter of some coworkers a few desks away. But considering [Name]’s proximity to him, Liam finds it difficult to block out the noise of her slurping as the last of the carbonated liquid is consumed and she’s sucking up nothing but air. He pauses in his writing, eyes sliding over to her. She seems not to have noticed.

He opens his mouth, about to ask her to stop because it’s really distracting, but he catches her eyes flickering over to her phone, which is sitting face up on her desk, before going back to the computer screen. That’s not the first time he’d witnessed her doing that within the past hour. And he closes his mouth and furrows his brows as he wonders what that could possibly mean.

“You keep looking at your phone,” he says finally.

[Name] sits up straight, lowering the can of soda from her mouth, and the surprise on her face makes her look like a deer in headlights. “What?”

“Are you expecting a call?”

“No…” [Name] trails off, glancing down at her phone. The embarrassment at being caught makes it hard to maintain eye contact. She thought she was being so subtle too! Perhaps it’d do her good to remember who she’s dealing with here. Liam is nothing if not observant.

He’s looking at her silently now, brow raised, clearly waiting for an explanation. She almost doesn’t give one, not willing to divulge her humiliating infatuation. It just seems so elementary to have a crush the way she does currently, and “crushes” are something she considered herself to be above. But in the few seconds of the tense stare-off, it occurs to her that maybe it’s because she’s never met someone whose smile made her feel like it was summer in the middle of January. And so she cracks. Liam’s whole keep-quiet-and-they’ll-keep-talking strategy is way too effective.

“Okay!” she exclaims quietly, not wanting to draw attention. She sets her can down on the desk and holds up both hands, palms out. “I keep trying to think of questions to ask Peter Parker, the one I went to interview yesterday, but honestly the article is as detailed as it can get without being redundant and I’m this”—she brings her thumb and index finger close together, leaving a small gap between them—“close to just making up something random so I can talk to him.”

There’s a flush to her cheeks and it’s endearing, it is, but she’s so mortified at the confession that Liam can’t help chuckling. “[Name] [Last Name] flustered?” he questions playfully. “He must be special.”

She groans, burying her face in her hands. “Is it bad if I say yeah, he is despite the fact I’ve only had one conversation with him and it was about his work?”

“No.” Liam shakes his head. “If you like him, you like him. Give him a call.”

[Name] peeks between her fingers to look at her friend. His grin is encouraging, and she sits up and grabs her phone. Her thumb hovers over the screen, poised to navigate to her contacts list, but she can’t bring herself to go through with it. What would she even talk about? It’s an internal battle, one that she really does not want to be having right now at work. Eventually she sighs and sets her phone back down. “I will, just… not now.”

Liam nods in understanding. “Fair enough.” And that signals the end of it. She’ll always be grateful he never pushes the envelope on things. That’s not pressure she needs.

———

As soon as the article is cleared for publishing, [Name] takes a look at all the other articles that will be going into tomorrow’s paper alongside it. She has a plan for her piece that she’s hoping she’ll be able to carry out, and the ease with which she can argue her case with Jameson all depends on what else is going to be published. For most of it, she’s in the clear, and with every headline she scans, her assurance grows. But the final one at the bottom stops her short, and she heaves a sigh.

Liam hears it and asks if she’s okay, taking a second to spare a glance at her while writing in his notebook, and she shrugs and says I don’t know. No, she can’t just roll over that easily. She might be walking into an argument with a significant disadvantage, but she’s practiced for this! All those years of college writing and debate got her ready. A burst of confidence shoots through her and she stands, but bit by bit that confidence whittles away the closer she gets to the lion’s den. Now that she thinks about it, she’s not so sure that preparation counts for anything considering who she’s up against…

She knocks on the door, three curt raps—any fewer and he wouldn’t hear, any more and he’d complain she was making an unnecessary racket. “Mister Jameson?”

There’s a grunt, her cue to enter, and she twists the knob, pushing the door open. She steps into the office and closes it behind her, and the noises from outside with all the other employees is silenced. Jameson is sitting in his chair, papers littered across his desk and a cigar sitting in his mouth.

“What is it?” he questions gruffly. He never tries to hide his impatience, and it’s whipped everyone into shape. Always prompt, all the time.

“I was wondering if my piece on Octavius Industries could headline tomorrow’s edition.” [Name] comes right out with it, and she rushes to explain herself before Jameson can shoot her down. “It’s just that I think it’s a really important article, and eye-catching too. So I figured it’d make a good… page one spread…” Her initial firm tone fades to one of timidity as she trails off at the end. Jameson doesn’t appear convinced in the slightest, and now she’s wondering if she’d been a fool to bring this up.

He grasps his cigar between his index and middle fingers and blows a puff of smoke. It floats in the air between them briefly before dissipating. “No can do. There’s a new piece on Spider-Man ready to go. Spider-Man: Super-Hero or Super-Zero?” As he quotes the article title, he sits back in his chair, sweeping his hand from left to right, envisioning the way it would look in print.

[Name] purses her lips and while Jameson takes those few moments to get lost in his thoughts (and distaste for the red and blue vigilante), she contemplates if she should keep trying. Is it worth the effort at this point? Well, she is already in here. Go big or go home, right? “Don’t you think it’d be nice to have something different on the front page this time? Something fresh.”

“What do you mean? We had Fisk on the front page last week!”

“I guess what I mean to say is… maybe it would do the paper good to take a step back from having vigilantes and criminals making page one. At least once.”

It’s quiet again and Jameson stares at her, the cigar replaced between his lips. She can’t tell what’s going through his mind, and a part of her is nervous he’s going to explode. When he gets really mad, it’s easy to hear his yells from outside his office. And whoever has been chewed out always looks humiliated and like they’re five seconds away from crying (or at least shedding a tear or two). She forces a polite smile onto her face as she waits.

“You know,” he starts, and she flinches ever so slightly, for she’d been so sure she was about to be yelled at (she hopes he hadn’t noticed but if he did, he doesn’t say anything), “I like you, [Name]. You’re a hard worker. So I’ll tell you what: your piece can take page two.”

This is the stopping point. She’s not about to argue any farther, lest her article get pushed back more. So she nods. “That sounds great! Page 2 is just as fantastic. Thank you, sir.”

Jameson grunts, grabs his cigar again. There’s another plume of smoke. “Now if that’s all…” He makes a shooing motion with his hand. She’s dismissed.

Liam looks up at [Name] as she sits back down at her desk, and he tilts his head as he analyzes her distraught expression. “I can’t tell if your talk with Jameson was successful or not.”

“It went fine, but it could’ve gone better. Jameson’s not pushing the Spider-Man article for tomorrow. So I have page two.” She huffs.

“Page two is still good!”

“But come on, Liam! Another Spider-Man article?” The exasperation in her voice is apparent, and as she continues, her voice lowers to ensure no one can overhear. “I don’t understand why he’s so set on this smear campaign…”

Liam smiles sympathetically. Reasons for her disagreement with Jameson’s stance on Spider-Man run deeper than they do for the average New Yorker. Spider-Man’s a vigilante, but he does a lot of good, she’d said once when looking at one of the many Daily Bugle front page spreads on the web slinger—a negative one, as always. She wished Jameson and people like him would understand that. He’s not the bad guy.

“Well who knows,” Liam speculates. “Maybe something will come along eventually that’ll grab Jameson’s attention enough to make it page one instead of good ol’ Spidey.”

[Name] lets out a breath as she laughs, and it toes the line of disbelief. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Even if her conversation with Jameson hadn’t been as successful as she was hoping, her spirits are lifted again because now that her article is about to come out, she can finally talk to Peter again. Not that she hadn’t been able to before, but this is a perfectly legitimate reason. She won’t be left a stuttering mess trying to scramble for topics that aren’t about the weather.

But for all that excitement, she struggles to actually make the call. She spends most of the commute home switching between staring at his contact on her phone and shoving her phone back in her bag. It’s not until she’s gotten off the subway at her stop and is on her street that she finally gets the nerve to call him.

It rings three times, and then she hears him. “Hello?”

“Hey, Peter!” she greets. “It’s [Name].”

“Hey, yourself! What’s up?”

“I was just calling to tell you my article’s been cleared for publishing. It’s going up tomorrow.”

“What? That’s great! I can’t wait to read it.”

She can sense his excitement, and it’s entirely genuine. It makes her cheeks warm and her smile wide. A gust of wind kicked up by a passing public transport bus blows her hair around and she runs a hand through it to tame it. “Not quite front page though I’m afraid. I tried, but I was competing with a Spider-Man article, and you know how Jameson is.”

Peter chuckles. “I do. But to be honest, that doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is that you wrote that piece at all. You’re getting the word out.”

He’s right, she realizes. Her motivation from the start had been to draw attention to Octavius Industries. She’d been hoping to have the front page for maximum exposure, but in her talk with Jameson today her motivations had blurred together, and it turned into wanting to have the main headline for the sake of avoiding an over-saturation of Spider-Man articles (though it is a little late for that). She sympathizes with Spider-Man a lot more than other people do, relates to him a lot more they they do, and Jameson’s smear campaigns never sat well with her because of that. But when looking at the situation from her original purpose, to show what Peter and Doctor Octavius are doing, page two isn’t bad. Not by a long shot.

“I’m really glad I decided to write this piece, and I hope you like it,” [Name] states.

“I already know I will.”

The remark and the ease with which he says it makes butterflies flutter in her stomach. She feels like she could take off with wings of her own and she’s trying to pull herself back down to earth. Neither of them speaks for a few beats, and [Name] wonders if this is the point where she says goodbye. But she doesn’t want to, she wants to keep talking to him and hear his voice, and she wracks her brain for something else to talk about. What the hell! She hadn’t planned this far.

But Peter beats her to to it, and not quite in a way she expected. “You know, not that I’m annoyed by it or anything, because I’m not, but you could’ve texted me this too. Is there any particular reason you decided to call instead?”

She sputters, and Peter laughs. Her face feels hot as she enters her apartment building and makes a beeline for the elevator. This is so embarrassing! (In the midst of this embarrassment she notes his laugh is really cute.) “W-Well, I just—” She groans in frustration at her sudden inability to piece together a sentence, so she takes a deep breath and starts over.

“You were so easy to talk to the other day when I was at the lab, and I don’t know… I just wanted to do it again. I like talking to you,” she admits shyly.

When Peter doesn’t respond right away, she automatically assumes the worst. Oh no. Had she moved too quickly? Did he not feel the same way? Her eyes slide closed as she mentally prepares herself for rejection. Nice job, [Name], just assuming this could go anywhere. It was just one interview, and it only lasted one hour—

“How about we talk in person then?” Peter’s suggestion interrupts her train of thought. “Maybe over some pizza?”

[Name]’s eyes open just as the elevator dings, and she gets out, walking down the hall toward her flat. “Yeah…” she replies quietly, but then she clears her throat and speaks up. “Yeah, I’d like that.” With every word her lips curve into a smile, and she bites at her lip lest she smile so big her face cracks.

They agree to meet at New Park Pizza tomorrow, and Peter’s grinning from ear to ear as he says goodbye and hangs up. The corner of his HUD reads Call ended and he misses [Name]’s voice already. He’s crouched on the ledge of some skyscraper in Manhattan where the air is cool and crisp. Up here, the birds are his company, weaving their way through buildings. One flies above his head and he swears he could run the tip of his suited fingers along its soft down if he were to extend his arm above him.

He stands slowly, toes hanging off the edge, surveying the streets below. There’s the familiar blinking of police sirens that are nothing but blips at this distance, and he’s too far to hear them. But what he does hear is the dispatch coming in through the radio. It’s nowhere near as pleasant to listen to as [Name] had been.

Peter’s eyes narrow, his suit’s eyepieces narrowing in turn. That police car must be on its way to the scene. A couple of birds stretch their wings from their perch not much farther down the ledge from him, and they take flight, swooping down and finding their path flittering among the towers. He follows suit, jumping off the edge, and there’s the familiar sensation of his stomach dropping as he seems to float in the air for a few seconds in silence. And then he’s diving, speed building, wind roaring in his ears, and the blare of the sirens and the honks of the yellow cabs grow clearer with every foot he falls. Adrenaline fills his veins and it’s nothing new, but the novelty won’t ever be lost on him. He shoots a web to pull himself forward, and another, and another. He’ll get there before that police cruiser does.

It turns out to be a drug bust down by the docks. Apparently a big one too, since as Peter gets closer, he can see the guns blazing. The police are using their open car doors to shield themselves from the bullets, but he gets right in the middle of the action. He releases two webs so he can slingshot himself into the first man, feet hitting his chest at full speed and knocking him down to the ground.

“Having a party without me?” he asks, hand going to his chest in feigned offense as he looks at the rest of the criminals. “I have to admit, I’m a little hurt, you guys.” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response (though he doubts they would have any except to shoot at him) before he’s on them, maneuvering and avoiding the bullets with a precision and fluidity that’d be otherwise absent without his Spidey senses.

Cover Spider-Man! Peter can hear one of the officers yelling. The job is done quickly. Disarming the criminals came first, and then webbing them to the ground or telephone poles or what have you was a piece of cake. At the end of it, he stands in the center to observe his work, hands poised on his hips. He nods in approval. He did clean up nicely.

He freezes when another dispatch comes in. It’s for a mugging in the vicinity. He wastes no time in shooting another web and pulling himself up and away, back towards the streets, and he frees up a hand to wave as some of the police yell out a thanks for the assist.

Rounding a corner, he spots another police car pulled over on the curb. The lights flash colors to match his suit, but the siren is off. From the looks of it, the mugger’s already been caught, and the lady he’d stolen from is clutching her bag against her chest. Rather than swinging right by or turning around in search of another crime that needs stopping, he swings along until he can settle on top of the building the cruiser is parked in front of. He’s thirty feet off the ground but as he listens in, the voices are clear as day.

“I’m telling you, it was crazy!” the mugger exclaims. Peter tilts his head in confusion. Obviously he had begun to eavesdrop on an already ongoing conversation. “Her eyes looked like stars! A sky full of them!”

“Sure. Okay.” The police offer doesn’t believe a word of it, shaking his head and guiding the suspect into the back of his car.

But it does grab Peter’s attention. That description is familiar. He lifts his gaze and surveys the tops of what buildings he can see from his vantage point, as though he’ll catch a glimpse of her somewhere. She’s out there tonight, patrolling the streets like he is. She stopped this mugging before he could get here. Surely she couldn’t have gone far. If there are any more dispatches from this area, he’s willing to bet she’ll be at the scene.

As if on cue, another call comes through: bank robbery on 14th. Only a few blocks away. Peter heads in that direction, hoping his assumption had been correct.

It seems the bank has been cleared of civilians by now. Only the robbers remain inside, and they open fire on any officers who try to come inside. The windows are shattered and the alarm is shrill and grating. The noise makes Peter’s ears ring, and he can hardly hear himself think in the ensuing chaos. There’s a flash of movement inside, and suddenly one of the robbers falls to the ground in a crumpled heap, fingers loosely grasping his weapon. Peter inhales sharply. That had to be her.

He wastes no time entering the building, colliding with one of the men and kicking him back into a wall, effectively knocking him out. One down. Peter turns his attention to the rest of his surroundings and his impromptu partner for the ordeal. She moves swiftly from one criminal to another, all of whom look so brutish in comparison with clunky armor and big guns. Her movements make her hard to catch, and she’s too close range to be shot at. He can tell she’s trying to separate them to prevent them from teaming up, and he does the same, making sure they’re spread out so he can take them down safely without risking getting caught from behind.

With two of them, subduing all the robbers goes by fast, and they mostly stay out of each other’s way. Peter’s fine with that. The girl looks perfectly capable of taking down her share. Besides, she has her methods, and he doesn’t want to interrupt. He knocks one of the few left down to the ground and webs him, and suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stand, his senses beginning to buzz.

He whips around in time to see the final criminal, tall and all muscle, seconds away from barreling into him with a tackle, but there’s no contact, and instead a lithe leg sweeps across his knees and forces him to the cold tiled floors. The girl seems to fly into his space before he can react, hand flying to his pressure point and squeezing. And then he’s out like a light.

Peter won’t lie: he’s impressed. He’d watched her in action the other night, but it’s an entirely different experience up close, especially as he’s working alongside her this time. As she stands straighter, he can finally get a good, proper look at her. He’s drawn to her eyes, no longer viewing them from a zoomed in HUD, and he understands why the mugger had pointed them out, and why the officer wasn’t convinced what the mugger was saying was even real.

Instead of a sclera with iris and pupil, her lashes frame deep pools of black. No, a sky of black. That mugger had been more accurate. Flecks of white dot the expanse like stars. Peter’s reminded of little marbles that seem to hold the galaxy in them, and it’s hard to look away.

“Thanks,” he says, motioning to the unconscious robber laying between them, but he quiets down immediately when she holds a finger up to her masked mouth. She’s noticed something he hadn’t, and he wonders what, because they’re the only two still standing in the lobby. Her head turns in the direction of the open door behind the counter, and he follows her line of sight.

She starts walking in that direction, and he trails behind. They step over bodies and discarded weapons and wads of cash, footfalls completely silent. Through the door and down the stairs is the vault, which is slightly opened. From where they are, they can’t see inside. Peter catches on: there’s someone inside. She looks at him and he nods before setting his hands on the heavy vault door and waiting for her to get in position. Their exchange is wordless as he raises a hand to count off: three, two, one.

Peter yanks the door back with an ease that comes from his superhuman strength, and the girl braces herself to pounce on whoever is in there. But her stance relaxes as they both take in the bank teller cowering in the corner, tears streaming down her face. She’d tucked her face into her drawn up knees as the door opened, prepared for the worst, and she peeks up to see who had found her. She lets out a breath of relief at spotting her saviors standing at the entrance.

“It’s okay,” Peter starts, approaching slowly. She’s in shock, and he doesn’t want to make it worse. He has his palms out, and when directly in front of her, he bends down to gently pick her up, one arm behind her back and the other at the bend of her knees. The girl had known the bank teller was in here. But how? Did it have something to do with her eyes?

He wants to ask but figures questions like that are a little too on the nose considering they hardly know each other. Perhaps later down the road. He turns back toward the vault exit—she’s not standing there anymore. Not wanting to jostle the lady in his arms, he walks briskly rather than run out of the vault, and he looks left and right for any sign of her. He sees her at the emergency exit, one he knows leads to the alley between this building and the one next door, but he calls out to her before she can leave.

“Hey, wait!”

She halts and slowly her gaze turns to him, waiting for what he has to say. But then Peter realizes he has no idea where to start. He hadn’t actually expected her to stop. Does he say thanks? Does he ask who she is? Does he ask Why now? Because he has never seen her around until now but she seems to know this city just as well he does, so surely she’s been in New York for a long while.

All the questions are good, but it’s a matter of deciding which to ask first. However, all this debating back and forth within himself causes him to run out of what little time she’d allotted for him to speak to her, and he’s forced to watch as she leans back on the push bar and slips through the gap, there one second, and gone the very next.

He sighs in disappointment at coming away with no answers, but doesn’t dwell on it too long. The police are sure to be inside already, cuffing all the perps. He carries the woman back upstairs, and as she does, she asks who that was just now. I don’t know, he responds truthfully. But he wishes he did.

———

He’s running late.

Upon this realization, he’d groaned, but it’s not exactly like he could ignore the stolen armored truck plowing down Canal Street. He slings a web onto its roof, pulling himself atop it, and the drive starts to zig zag back and forth even more than he had been before in an effort to knock him off, but Peter sticks to the vehicle easily. He crawls along the side, making sure to stay out of view of the passenger-side window.

“So I’ve got a date,” he announces, shouting to be heard over the noise of cars honking and veering out of the way, “and I really don’t appreciate that you guys are gonna make me late!”

The man in the passenger seat sticks his gun out the window, but Peter is quick to grab it and tug it out of his grip. He webs it into place against the side of the truck before pulling the man out as well, who he drops on the sidewalk to be picked up by one of the police cars speeding after the rogue vehicle.

“She’s the sweetest girl too. I need this date to go perfectly!” Peter crawls to the driver’s side now, and when the man frees up a hand to shoot him, he webs that hand so he can’t pull the trigger. Then he yanks him out of the seat, leaving him similarly abandoned on the ground, and climbs into the cabin, taking control of the wheel. He maneuvers the huge truck around other cars and slows it down, bit by bit until he comes to a complete stop right before a stoplight. It turns red when he puts the truck in park.

He crawls out, standing on the roof again, and looks down the street behind him. Traffic has all but stopped. Cars have swerved to the sides of the road and crowds of people have gathered on the sidewalk to ogle at the aftermath. Some of them take out their phones to take pictures. A stream of police cars come to a stop, and now that they’re there, Peter takes his leave. The time is displayed on the lower left corner of his HUD. If he’s fast, he wouldn’t be too late. Maybe five minutes tops. He’s got this.

———

[Name] sits in the corner booth of New Park Pizza and stares out the window, head resting on her propped up hand. Two glasses of water are on the table and the laminated menus sit undisturbed in the center. It’s three minutes past the agreed upon meeting time, and she wonders if her concern at Peter’s distinct absence is an overreaction. She’s almost inclined to text Liam and ask what he thinks, but it’s mostly because she’s getting antsy and needs a distraction.

No, don’t freak out, she tells herself. Maybe the trains are running a little behind. Yeah, that’s it. He’d be here. Peter doesn’t seem like the type to just bail. Still, even with this assurance, she’s jittery, and she starts to dig through her bag for her phone. Talking to Liam would be the only way to calm her down. Whenever he assures her of things, she always believes him.

The bell above the door jingles as a patron enters, and [Name] glances up to find Peter standing there, looking around for her. When he spots her, he smiles and it’s apologetic. Her hand slips out of her bag and she smiles back, sitting up as he slides into the shiny vinyl booth across from her.

“I”m sorry I’m late,” he says right out the gate. “I just got held up with some things and—”

“Don’t worry about it,” [Name] responds, waving a hand.

Peter’s smile shifts to one of thanks at the reassurance, and, more at ease now, he slides one of the menus toward himself and changes the topic to what would have been his original conversation starter, if he hadn’t come in late. “I read your article this morning.”

[Name]’s head snaps up from looking at her own menu, and she watches him in equal parts eagerness and nervousness, waiting for what he has to say. She doesn’t say it out loud, but the question is apparent in her eyes: And? What’d you think? Peter almost doesn’t want to answer right away, skirt around the subject, prolong his final opinion, if only to witness that overwhelming sense of curiosity written on her face. She’s hanging on every word, or will, anyway, once they leave his mouth.

“I thought it was great.” That’s not the full extent of his response, but it’s enough to make her eyes light up and her face break out into a toothy grin, unable to contain her joy. As much as he likes to see her curious gaze filled to the brim with interest, he likes seeing her smile more. It makes his heart twist a little—a minute and diminutive but not at all insignificant tightening of his chest, there to point his brain in the right direction.

“You explained our work really clearly,” he continues on, giving more detailed feedback because he knows it’s helpful to her as a journalist. “You made a good case for Octavius Industries. I can’t ever thank you enough for deciding to write this.”

[Name] takes a deep breath, shoulders lifting as her whole body puffs up, and she exhales and relaxes steadily. She’s putting together the words. “It felt… right to me, to do it. Sometimes the little guys get pushed under the rug, but they deserve a chance just as much as anyone else.”

Peter smiles softly. He thinks he can see the compassion that flows through her veins, can hear it pounding in his ears like it courses through his own. There’s care in everything she says, written and verbal, and he’s wondering where she’s been all his life. “And,” he adds on quietly, “if not for this article, we wouldn’t have met.”

She picks at the corner of her menu as she stares at him, fully processing his words, and the graceful curve of her lips is enough to turn him into ice cream on a hot summer day. Neither of them says anything, watching one another with the mutual realization that this is turning out to be more than shallow infatuation. The tips of Peter’s fingers twitch like there’s a current of electricity flittering between them both, like they’re two magnets slowly pulling together, and then colliding all at once. It’s a sense of connection almost scary in its strength, but he doesn’t fight it because she doesn’t either.

“Are you ready to order?”

Peter and [Name] are pulled back to reality as the waiter approaches, notepad out and pencil in hand. They stammer as they actually take a good look at their menus for the first time since they got to talking, and hastily decide upon a pepperoni pizza. The waiter writes the order down with a nod and collects the menus, then gives them one final smile before returning to the kitchen.

Asking for more time wouldn’t have been an issue, but they were so flustered from being interrupted that it hadn’t crossed their minds. They glance at each other again, little smirks on their faces, and then they can’t contain their laughs.

Pepperoni pizza might be a little lowbrow considering how many other options New Park Pizza offers, but it’s perfect to them. They grab slices off the tray, watching in awe the strings of cheese that stretch as they pull. Conversations are easy and laid-back and wonderful. [Name]’s eyes glimmer in the light of the setting sun outside New Park Pizza’s windows, and Peter feels like he’s known her for forever.

———

[Name] sits back in her chair, flipping through her notes. They’re messier than usual this time. The man she’d interviewed spoke a mile a minute and she was half-expecting her hand to spontaneously combust in its efforts to keep up. Her head tilts as she tries to decipher one word that looks like nothing more than chicken scratch. She’s about to lean across to Liam to ask if he can figure it out, but movement in her peripherals grabs her attention.

A man she doesn’t recognize is being led by the secretary to Jameson’s office. He’s gripping a manila folder and nods to her in thanks when she lets him in. The moment the door clicks shut, she turns to look at Liam, who’s already looking at her, similarly confused.

“Who was that?” she asks.

Liam shrugs. “Beats me.”

[Name]’s brows furrow. She gives one last glance at Jameson’s door before forcing herself to return to her work.

It’s not much longer until the man emerges again and takes his leave. [Name] finds herself distracted once more as she follows his retreating form. Just to take a break from staring at her ugly scrawling, she reasons, but it’s more than that. She glances at his hands: no more folder. Did he have something to offer Jameson? But what? Clearly it had piqued his interest. She’s itching to know more, and briefly wonders if Jameson would tell her if she asked.

However, it seems bringing it up herself wouldn’t be necessary, because said man opens his door wide enough to stand in the gap. “[Name],” he calls so he can be heard across the room. “Come in here.”

[Name] uncrosses her legs and sits straight, dropping her notebook on her desk with a quiet thwack! Her eyes slide over to Liam. It seems like they’ll be learning what that was all about. He smiles encouragingly and nods his head in the direction of Jameson’s still slightly ajar door. She walks over, slipping through the gap and shutting it behind her. Jameson is standing on the other side of his desk, leaning forward with his hands braced on the wooden surface.

He cuts to the chase. “What are you working on right now?”

“I’m writing about that new exhibit down at the Met.”

“Well you can forget about it.”

“Sir?” [Name] is even more lost now.

“Take a seat.” Jameson points at one of the two chairs opposite his desk, and she does as he instructs. “The gentleman you no doubt saw come in here just now had some fascinating photos to show me.”

Great. More photos of Spider-Man. [Name] represses a sigh, and though she really doesn’t care to, when Jameson twists the folder around and slides it closer to her, she picks it up and opens it to examine the contents inside. Except it’s not pictures of Spider-Man. It’s not pictures of anything she could’ve begun to expect when she saw that man come in with this folder in his possession.

The figure in the photographs seems to almost disappear in its dark suit against a dark sky. A mask conceals the bottom half of its face and darker still than its outfit or the nighttime backdrop of every snapshot are its eyes, black ink with white specks like stars. One shot is slightly closer, albeit grainy, but that vigilant gaze is nonetheless more pronounced and seems to be a more accurate representation of outer space than the sky looming in the back, nothing but a plain canvas, its details obscured by the plethora of city lights.

[Name]’s heart rate picks up as she goes through the photos. There aren’t many, and some are too far or too blurry to be usable, but it’s the fact these had been taken at all. She desperately tries to hide her shock. To be surprised at viewing these wouldn’t be out of the ordinary— since these are, of course, what just might be the first exclusive look at New York’s most recent night crawler, whose existence was making rounds purely by word of mouth considering its elusiveness, and its propensity for the shadows. But the level of shock [Name] is doing her best to hide goes beyond that, and would warrant suspicion, perhaps even leading to questions she would rather not answer.

She inhales deeply, willing her heartbeat to slow, and she forces her eyes away from the pictures in her hands to look at Jameson. “But what does this have to do with me dropping my current article?” Her voice doesn’t shake. Good.

“Because I want you to write this piece,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You weren’t able to land page one with your last article, so here’s your chance to do it.”

[Name]’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Holy shit. Holy shit. “Wow, uh, thank you, sir!” she forces herself to speak. Her breathlessness as her brain tries to make sense of this situation makes her feel like she’s just run a mile or three.

Jameson nods and motions to the photos, and she gives them back. He spreads them out on the desk, facing him, and he pores over them silently. She wrenches her hands in her lap and her gaze switches back and forth between the glossy pictures and Jameson’s face. His expression is unreadable, and she can’t begin to guess what he might be thinking.

“First, she needs a name,” he declares. [Name] isn’t sure if he wants any input but plays it safe and keeps her mouth shut. It’s quiet again, and her eyes narrow the longer she sits there, curious as to what sorts of names Jameson is going through in his head. Suddenly he snaps his fingers and looks at her, and she jumps a little in surprise at the quick movement.

“I got it.” He stands up straight.

[Name] exits his office with the manila folder tucked under her arm. Liam glances up, looking at her expectantly, but she doesn’t return to her desk. Continuing to walk past, she nudges her head in the direction of the break room, and he stands immediately and follows after her. Luckily there’s no one in there, and she leans against the counter. Her eyes don’t give anything away.

“So?” he inquires.

[Name] almost can’t answer, still feeling the effects of being caught off guard as hard as she had been. It’s like she took a nasty punch to the temple. She’s reeling. She looks down at the folder in her hand, and Liam follows her gaze, and finally she settles for simply holding it out to him. He takes it and opens it, and his eyes widen, much like hers had when she first saw those photographs.

“Someone managed to take a few shots,” she explains. “Jameson wants it on the front page and he wants me to write the article.”

“Oh my god.” It’s the only thing Liam can think to say. He’s too engrossed looking at the pictures.

“You were right, Li. People are asking questions, and it only makes sense they want answers.”

Liam sighs and closes the folder. “The irony of this whole scenario is palpable.”

[Name] hums, one of agreement and disbelief at the predicament she finds herself in, so ridiculous it’s almost silly. “Jameson even gave me a name to use, to help frame a narrative.”

Liam tilts his head, and she reaches in her pocket for the small piece of paper. He unfolds it and a grin overtakes his face as he reads what’s written there, in all capital letters. It mirrors [Name]’s when he looks at her.

———

“Andromeda, huh?”

Peter holds up the newest edition of The Daily Bugle and surveys the large headline on the front, reading Andromeda Emerges from the Shadows! It’s accompanied by a photo of said vigilante.

“Yep.” [Name] walks into the living room after having set her purse in the bedroom. “Jameson came up with it. Said it was because of the way her eyes look. Reminded him of constellations.”

“I have to admit, it’s pretty creative.”

[Name] nods in agreement. “It is. I doubt I could’ve thought of anything that good.” She takes a seat next to him, also observing the front page spread. “Do you think she and Spider-Man would be friends?”

The question is aimless musing, hanging in the air as [Name] leans her head on his shoulder. But it makes Peter think, makes him wonder. Would they be? This Andromeda hadn’t exactly been the talkative type. Perhaps over time she would be. They had already stopped multiple crimes together. Ever since the bank heist, they’d run into each other now and again, and the whole duration of their encounters remained wordless. But there was a sense of respect between the two, and Peter considers it progress.

“Maybe,” he replies, turning his head to lay a quick kiss on [Name]’s head.

Her stomach growls then, and she stands up. “Can we start dinner now?”

Peter chuckles and drops the newspaper onto the coffee table. “Yeah.” He trails behind her, and as they enter the kitchen, he widens his strides until he’s close enough to reach out his arm and wrap it around her waist, pulling her into him.

She lets out a quiet oof! as her back collides with his chest, and she sets one hand on the arm securing her in place. He kisses a trail from her cheek to her neck to her shoulder and she’s giggly and squirmy but with his grip, she isn’t going anywhere.

“Stop!” she breathes out, and it’s interspersed with laughs. He doesn’t stop, grinning against her skin. “I’m hungry!” The last word comes out like a whine when his lips pass over a particularly sensitive patch and she’s caught between laughing and gasping in delight.

Peter finally lets up, and he’s laughing as his arm loosens, allowing her to pull away. She turns to him and shakes her head playfully, gradually regaining her breath. “You’re about to have the best curry of your life,” he states as he walks up to the counter where all the ingredients are laid out.

[Name] stands next to him, assuming the role of assistant chef tonight. “Show me how it’s done then!”

The next time he runs into Andromeda, Peter decides he’ll mention the Daily Bugle article. Maybe then she’ll talk. Even if they don’t become friends, at the very least, they could be partners. Two is better than one. But he doesn’t dwell on these thoughts for long, as another one of [Name]’s laughs fills the kitchen. It makes him smile fondly. There are more important things to focus on right now.

#ps4 peter parker x reader #ps4 spider-man x reader #peter parker x reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man imagine #peter parker imagine #ps4 peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

856 notes · View notes

starryknight09 · 5 years

Text

Whatever It Takes Ch. 17/18

Summary: Peter��s struggling to cope after the loss of Mr. Stark. Everyone keeps telling him it’ll get better and that he needs to move on, but Peter doesn’t want to. He can’t envision a life without his mentor. So when an idea comes to him, he doesn’t hesitate, no matter how crazy it is. He’s going to get Mr. Stark back.

“What exactly are we going to do?” Ned asked.

“Whatever it takes.” Peter answered.

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“And we have amazing news this morning, although you might’ve already heard it since it’s all anyone has been talking about ever since Pepper Potts—”

“Pepper Stark.” Tony mumbled the correction to himself as he sat on the couch, coffee in hand, watching the network newsperson speak.

“—CEO of Stark Industries, revealed in a press conference last night that Tony Stark is in fact alive. It bears repeating, so let me repeat it. Tony Stark, Ironman, the hero who orchestrated the return of all those who had been dusted, myself included, and subsequently prevented the world’s destruction—”

“The universe’s.” Tony corrected again. They really needed to check their facts.

“—is miraculously alive today after the world has spent the last seven months believing he was dead. As revealed at the press conference last night, Tony Stark had in fact been in a coma in Wakanda, thought unlikely to recover, until those assumptions were proven incorrect last week. Mr. Stark has in fact awoken and is currently at home recovering here in New York. No word yet on if or when he will be addressing the public. But I’m sure I speak for all of us here in New York and around the globe when I say, thank you Mr. Stark from the bottom of our hearts.”

Tony’s lip twisted in a part smile, part grimace. He always hated being thanked for things, especially when it was something he actually deserved to be thanked for. And he knew he should be thinking about when he was going to return to the public eye and give his own press conference, because he’d have to eventually, but right now all he could think about, could worry about, was his kid.

Peter had been making progress in therapy, at least according to his therapist. The kid himself remained completely mum when it came to the subject. He never talked to Tony about what they discussed in therapy even when Tony tried to gently prod. And even though he thought it might help the kid to share with him, he respected Peter’s wishes and his privacy. Well, Tony respected his privacy as much as he could, given that the therapist shared information with him and then he, in turn, shared it with May. He wasn’t quite sure if Peter knew that part or if he thought May and Tony were completely out of the loop, but he didn’t want to risk the possibility of rocking the boat to find out.

Tony sighed and checked his watch. It was almost ten in the morning. He glanced over his shoulder down the empty hallway. No sign of Peter. Tony was surprised he was still asleep. Pepper and Morgan had left hours ago, although they didn’t have to leave as early as they used to when they’d been commuting from the lake house. That was one thing Morgan loved about their new penthouse apartment. No long car rides. But it was one of only a few things. Leaving the solitude of the countryside had been a rougher adjustment for her than he and Pepper had anticipated, but they were making progress. Tony, for one, loved the new digs. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed living in the city until he was back.

And they had found the perfect place. The location was ideal and the layout was nearly a mirror image of their old penthouse at the top of Stark Tower except homier and sans bar. Peter had spent his first fifteen minutes in the apartment staring out the floor to ceiling windows at the city. Tony had almost forgotten that Peter had never been to the Tower before it’d been sold, and even though the compound had a nice view of nature, it was nothing compared to this.

The change in location had done nothing to stop Peter’s nightmares though. Whether at the lake house last week or here in the penthouse this week, Tony had spent every night in Peter’s room, comforting him from nightmares. He liked to think maybe they were getting less severe, but he was probably deluding himself. Still, Peter had to be doing somewhat better since his therapist had given him the ok to re-start school on Monday. Which meant Tony had five more full days with his kid. And he planned to take advantage of them. If his kid would ever wake up…

“Hey Tony.” Peter’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Speak of the devil.

“Hey kid.” He said back, craning his head around so he could see him. Peter still had his pajamas on and his hair was sleep mussed, but he looked well rested for once. Good.

“You hungry?” Tony asked as he turned off the TV and stood, planning to make his kid breakfast or lunch or whatever he wanted.

“Yeah but I just want some cereal.” Peter flashed him a smile.

“You sure? I can whip something up or we can order something. Whatever sounds good.”

“Cereal sounds good.” Peter said as he grabbed a box of Lucky Charms out of the pantry.

“You know there’s more sugar than nutrition in that, right?” Tony pointed to the box as he sat back down on the couch.

“Tastes better than the old man cereal you eat.” Peter said, pouring half the box into a mixing bowl.

“Hey who are you calling old? And oatmeal squares are not old man cereal.”

“Next thing you know you’ll be eating Grape Nuts.”

“What’s wrong with Grapes Nuts?”

“Oh god! You’re hopeless.” Peter said dramatically with a grin as he finished pouring milk over his cereal.

“Hmm, maybe, but keep it up and I’m going to buy only Grape Nuts from now on.” Tony teased.

“I have four words for you.” Peter glared. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”

“I prefer to call it creative.” Tony smirked.

Peter rolled his eyes as he crossed the distance between them and plopped down on the couch at Tony’s side.

“What were you watching?” Peter asked around a mouth full of cereal, nodding toward the now black TV screen.

“News drivel.”

“Anything good?”

“They’re celebrating the fact that reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “That’s right. Pepper told everyone you’re alive last night.”

“She did.” Tony nodded and watched with a smirk as Peter continued to eat his cereal from the ridiculously oversized bowl in his lap.

“So…” Peter frowned and paused to finish chewing. “What’s the cover story again?”

“Um something about being in a coma in Wakanda that I somehow miraculously woke up from. Or whatever. I don’t know.” Tony waved a hand.

“Shouldn’t you probably know the details?” Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

“I will when I have to. I’m sure I’ll have to do a press conference at some point, but since I’m still recovering,” Tony sank back further into the couch, “I get a temporary stay of execution. No public appearances for me in the near future.”

“I think it’ll probably be sooner than you think if Pepper has any say.” Peter joked.

“Maybe.” Tony scrunched his nose. “She did say something this morning about needing to get me out of the house because I was starting to get underfoot. But in my defense, this place is a little more cramped than the lake house.”

Peter snorted.

“Hopefully she’ll be happier now that I finally got all the wiring done for the downstairs workshop last night.” Tony smiled. They not only had the entire top floor, they had the floor below it as well for Tony to use as his personal workshop, or as Pepper liked to call it, his tinker space.

“Awesome.” Peter said, smiling around a mouth full of Lucky Charms.

“Yep, so what do you say we head down there when you’re done with breakfast.”

“Sounds good.” Peter nodded and finished munching on the rest of his cereal in silence while Tony looked over a couple e-mails on his phone.

“Um actually there was something I wanted to run by you.” Peter said with a slight furrow of his brow once he swallowed his last bite.

“Ok. Hit me.” Tony said. He slid his phone back in his pocket and then frowned when Peter got up and started walking away toward the kitchen.

Tony automatically stood and followed. He waited, leaning against the kitchen countertop as Peter rinsed off the spoon and bowl before putting them in the dishwasher.

Peter turned and held his hands up, keeping the kitchen island between them as he said, “Ok so hear me out.”

“I’m already sensing I’m not going to like this.” He said, raising his eyebrows.

“Tony.” Peter gave him a frustrated look that was so uncannily similar to the ones Pepper gave him that he almost laughed. He and Pepper definitely hadn’t donated any genetic material to Peter like they had for Morgan, but they’d been parenting him all the same, and he’d been hanging around with them so much lately that it was starting to show. He was starting to pick up some of their nuances and mannerisms. It was freaking adorable.

“Ok I’m listening.” He said, crossing his arms but unable to hold back a smile at the love swelling in his chest at the adorableness that was Peter Parker, thinking nothing could put a hinderance on his good mood.

“I want to go out as Spiderman tonight.” Peter said in a rush.

Ok. So almost nothing.

“No.” The denial passed his lips without a thought. It was instant and automatic.

“Tony—” Peter started, borderline whining.

“No Peter.” He repeated, more firmly this time since it seemed like his kid actually had the audacity to argue about this.

“But—”

“You’re not allowed to go to school right now, why in the world would you think I’d let you go out as Spiderman?” Tony interrupted again, frowning.

“But Spiderman’s different than school.” Peter argued.

“It is. It’s more dangerous.”

“I can handle it. I just-I need the distraction. I think it would help with…everything.”

“Like it helped last time?” He asked. Didn’t Peter get what he was asking?

“That’s not fair.”

Tony could say a lot of things in response to that like how it also wasn’t fair to have to watch your kid almost become a pancake on the ground, but he knew that was the wrong thing to say, so he held back. He was angry, but he didn’t want to hurt Peter.

So instead, he took a deep breath and tried a different approach. “Why do you want to go out as Spiderman?”

He tried to ignore the hopeful expression on Peter’s face as he answered, “It helps me get out of my head. It helps me process things. And I feel…more alive I guess, more like myself when I’m Spiderman. And I-I just want to feel like myself again Tony. Please.”

“The answer’s still no.” He said, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

Anger darkened Peter’s countenance. “Why’d you even ask if you weren’t going to change your mind?”

“Because I wanted to know.” Tony answered and the bluntness seemed to piss Peter off more.

Peter opened his mouth, probably to yell at him or spew some other deluded rationalization, but Tony held a hand up to stop him before he could.

“Listen kid.” Tony said, keeping his tone even, not letting any of his own frustration bleed in. “I get what you’re saying. I do. But listen. Rule numero uno of superheroing is you don’t go out and risk your life unless you have all your ducks in a row. That means you’re completely physically and emotionallywell.”

Peter frowned “But—”

Tony could guess what he was going to say. Tony and every member of the Avengers had personally broken that rule numerous times, so he cut him off before he could. He held up a finger. “Let me finish.”

Peter stopped but with a frustrated huff.

“The only time you can break that rule is if it’s truly life or death or if there’s a real possibility of the world ending. Do get what I’m saying?”

“But people in Queens are dying all the time.” Peter argued. “They need Spiderman.”

“It’s not the same.” Tony shook his head.

“How is it not?” Peter asked, and Tony could tell he genuinely wanted to know, he wasn’t just trying to be difficult.

“The theoretical possibility of maybe saving one person’s life is not worth yours.” Tony explained.

Peter frowned but seemed to be thinking about Tony’s words.

“If Thanos,” Tony paused to wince, “appeared right now. I’d say, fine. You’re in. Because that’s an all hands on deck kind of situation. Going out on a routine patrol as Spiderman is not the same as that.”

Peter’s face twisted, but he didn’t argue. Tony skirted around the island and grasped Peter’s shoulders as he looked into his stormy eyes.

“Listen, there are responsibilities we take on as heroes. One of them is accepting that there are going to be things we need to risk our lives for. Sometimes there are things bigger than us worth dying for. That’s part of the gig.” It hurt Tony to say it because he never wanted to envision his own kid in that type of situation. “And…some things are worth that sacrifice.”

Peter paled. No doubt he was thinking of Tony’s own sacrifice.

“But most things are not. Patrolling as Spiderman is not.” Tony continued, not keeping the harshness out of the words. “Risking your life when you’re not completely ok isn’t brave. It’s stupid. Do you understand?”

Peter nodded reluctantly.

“Good.” Tony nodded.

“When you’re not on your A game you’re not focusing as well.” Tony said, wanting to hammer the point home.

“And all it takes is one second of distraction and just like that,” He snapped his fingers, “a knife or a bullet slips through and suddenly you’re bleeding out on the ground.”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he jerked backwards, out of Tony’s grasp.

“Pete?” Tony blinked. He didn’t think his description had been that gruesome, not enough to garner that type of reaction.

He watched as his kid took a few staggering steps back before his feet caught together and he crashed to the ground.

“Pete!” Tony crossed the distance and knelt down beside him in an instant. He went to grab his shoulder but his kid kept flailing his legs out to propel himself backward and out of reach, as if trying to escape some terrifying threat.

Tony didn’t think he was trying to escape him but the fear was still unsettling to witness. Peter ran out of space a few seconds later. His back slammed against the bottom of the kitchen cabinets, and then his head cracked against them when he tried to throw himself further away even though there was nowhere to go. Tony winced at the sound of it.

“Jesus.” Tony mumbled and moved to Peter’s side. He put a hand up between his kid’s skull and the cabinets in case he tried to do it again.

“Hey Pete. Peter. Look at me.” He ordered, and palmed Peter’s cheek, trying to direct his gaze toward him. It didn’t work. Peter kept staring straight ahead, eyes wide with terror as his breaths came out in short, rapid pants.

“Oh shit.” Tony swore as he finally realized what was going on. Some type of flashback or panic attack. Maybe both. He couldn’t believe it’d taken him so long to recognize it given his own experience with them. He hated the thought of Peter suffering like he had, but he put that emotion on the backburner for now and focused on trying to help his kid.

When Peter didn’t seem to be at risk of cracking his head open anymore, Tony shifted so he was kneeling directly in front of him, face at eye level. He cradled his kid’s face in his hands and spoke, keeping his tone soft and soothing, “Hey kiddo. You’re safe. You’re here with me. You’re not there. You’re in New York in this awesome penthouse Pepper found us. And I’m here with you. Do you hear me Pete? Peter?”

The glazed over look in Peter’s eyes slowly started to fade, and after another handful of seconds, he blinked and refocused on Tony’s face in front of him.

“Tony?” He whispered, sounding scared but hopeful at the same time.

“Yeah.” Tony gave him a wan smile. “Are you with me?”

Peter glanced around in confusion, taking in his place on the kitchen floor, before meeting Tony’s eyes again. “I think so?”

He looked a little more with it but his breath was still coming out in pants.

“Ok.” Tony dropped one of his hands from Peter’s cheek to grab his kid’s hand and bring to his chest. “You’re still breathing a little fast there buddy. Can you feel my breathing and try to match it to yours?”

Peter nodded and Tony brushed his hair back with his other hand and then left it planted at the base of his neck.

“Ok. In…and out. Good. Deep breath in…and out. You got it kiddo. Good job. In. Out. In. Out.” Tony coached him, ignoring the pain in his knees from the position.

“There.” Tony said once Peter’s breathing had finally gotten back to normal. “Better?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Tony said seriously before asking, “Do you know what happened?”

“Yeah. I-I kind of freaked out.”

Tony hummed.

“This time was a lot worse than last time.”

“Last time? What do you mean last time? When was there a last time?” Tony frowned, unable to keep the alarm out of the questions.

“Remember that time I texted you from the bathroom at school?”

“You mean the time you said you were fine. That was after something like this happened?”

“Um…yeah?”

“Jesus.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you mad?” Peter asked anxiously.

“No. I’m not—” He paused to take a deep breath himself. “I’m not mad. I’m just…this is the kind of thing you need to tell me about.”

“I texted you.”

Tony shook his head in disbelief.

“And like I said, it wasn’t this bad.” Peter added.

“I told you I’d pick you up.”

“I didn’t need you too.”

“Peter,” Tony said with exasperation, “you had a panic attack and you stayed in school. That’s the sort of thing you take the rest of the day off for.”

Peter’s face pinched with skepticism, which almost would’ve been cute if the topic hadn’t been so serious. “A panic attack?”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded and brushed a hand through Peter’s hair again. “That’s what that was kid.”

Peter blinked and looked at him with wide eyes. “How do you know?”

“Used to get them myself.”

“Really? You did?”

“Yeah. After New York.” He didn’t bother specifying since he knew Peter would understand what he meant. “And then again later…after Thanos. After losing you.”

Peter sucked in a breath of air. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Tony gave him a tight smile and held out a hand. “But what do you say we get off the floor?”

“Ok.” Peter took his hand.

Tony grasped it and stood, pulling Peter up with him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Let’s sit down and talk.” Tony said, guiding them back toward the couch.

“But the workshop.” Peter protested half-heartedly.

“The workshop can wait. This is more important.”

They sat down and Tony kept an arm draped around his kid. Peter leaned into his hold. They’d gone from arguing to practically cuddling in the span of under ten minutes. It was enough to give Tony emotional whiplash.

“How many of these have you had?” Tony asked quietly.

“Just the two.” Peter snorted, unamused. “Isn’t that enough?”

Tony hummed in response, and after a few seconds of silence he asked, “Does Ruth know about the other one?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think of it.” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Tony took another calming breath. He didn’t know how his kid could have a panic attack and then label it in his mind as not a big deal even if he hadn’t known what it was at the time.

“Do you want to tell Ruth about it or should I?” Tony asked. Peter’s therapist was coming over later that afternoon.

“Um…can you do it?”

“Sure kid. Do you know what set it off?” He asked. He knew Ruth would want to know and he wanted to know himself.

Peter nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah, um, it was the same thing both times.”

Tony frowned as he tried to figure out what he could’ve said or done to trigger that kind of reaction.

Before he could ask him, Peter asked hesitantly, “Can you maybe try not to snap your fingers around me anymore? At least for a little while?”

Tony’s breath caught in his throat and he stiffened. Peter sensed it and turned wide eyes on him.

“Um is that ok?” He asked anxiously.

“Yeah. Of course it’s ok.” Tony answered quickly and then shook his head in frustration at himself. “Shit kid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Peter mumbled.

But it wasn’t. Tony should’ve thought of that, but it hadn’t even been on his radar. Probably because even though he’d watched the video playback, he hadn’t actually been the one to do it. Other Tony had, or his later past self, or whatever. Regardless, the last time Peter had seen him snap his fingers, he’d ended up subsequently dying from it.

“That’s what happened at school too? Someone snapped their fingers?”

Peter nodded. “My teacher. And I know it’s stupid. I know it shouldn’t bother me so much, and it’s completely irrational, but when it happens it’s like everything disappears and all I can see is you. Snapping. And…dying.”

Tony could tell just talking about it was getting Peter worked up again, so he shushed him and ran a hand down the back of his head. “It’s not stupid.”

“Sure feels like it.” Peter mumbled.

“Well it’s not. Shit kid, after the alien thing in New York, if someone just said the word space or wormhole around me, I’d freak out.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Tony kept running fingers through Peter’s hair.

“How’d you get better?”

“Time. Therapy. Lots of therapy.”

Peter snorted.

“But it gets better kid. I promise. Hey, I ended up in space with you, and I completely held it together, remember?”

“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that.” Peter teased, obviously feeling better.

“Well no panic attacks at least.” At least none that the kid had seen. There’d been a couple close calls and one definite breakdown when he’d been stuck on that ship with Nebula on their way back to Earth.

“Yeah.” Peter sighed and Tony could hear the desolation in it.

“Hey.” Tony tapped Peter’s chin with his finger. “Chin up Underoos. It’ll get better. Just give it some time.”

“Seems like it’s taking forever.”

“It’s only been a couple weeks Pete.”

“Yeah weeks.” Peter complained.

Tony smiled. “Give it a few months and then see where you’re at. I bet how you feel now compared to how you’ll feel then will be a lot different.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

Peter sighed again but instead of continuing the conversation, he changed the subject and asked, “Can we go down to the workshop now?”

“You sure you’re feeling up to it?”

Peter nodded.

“All right. Whatever you want kid.” Tony said as he stood.

That got a small smile out of Peter as he followed a step behind him while they walked to the elevator doors.

“I’m going to ask one more thing and then we don’t have to talk about it anymore, ok?” Tony said once they stepped into the elevator.

“Ok.” Peter agreed begrudgingly.

“Do you understand why I don’t think you’re ready to go out as Spiderman yet?” He asked, reaching over to squeeze Peter shoulder so it wouldn’t feel like he was asking to be mean spirited.

“Yeah.” Peter mumbled, staring down at the elevator floor as the doors closed behind them.

Peter mouth twisted. “I guess it’d be pretty embarrassing if Spiderman died because he was too busy having a meltdown from some bad guy snapping his fingers to defend himself from getting shot.”

Tony’s chest clenched in fear at the visual of that exact situation before he had the wherewithal to chastise Peter. “Hey. Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

“Sorry.” Peter said, not sounding sorry at all.

Tony squeezed his shoulder again. “Remember what I said. It’ll get better. Give it time. You’ll be out swinging again in no time.”

“Yeah.” Peter didn’t seem so sure.

“You will. I promise.” Tony said and patted Peter between the shoulder blades as the elevator doors opened to the workshop. “Now come on. You can help me with some suit upgrades I’ve been thinking about.”

“Really?” Peter asked with hopeful eyes. He and Peter had worked together in the workshop all the time before Thanos but he’d rarely let him help with the Ironman suit.

“Yeah.” Tony said as they walked out of the elevator.

“Ok.” Peter grinned, eager excitement lighting up his face.

In that moment, he looked exactly like the old Peter that Tony remembered. Tony smiled back. Yeah. His kid was going to get better. He just needed a little more time and some TLC. And Tony had plenty of both to give now.

#my fic

3 notes · View notes

phanburnhamizzard · 5 years

Text

New Year’s Eve

This is my story for the @Phandomreversebang! It was beta’d by @deferredmomentum and based on artwork by @catzoomies!

Isn’t that beautiful????!!!! What great art!

Type: One shot, established relationship, humor

Words: 4897

Triggers: Getting lost

Summary: New Year’s Eve is a time of reflection for Dan and Phil, who sneak out of their hotel to watch the ball drop in Time’s Square in New York City.

A/N: Special thanks to my amazing amazing beta @deferredmomentum for shaping this story and helping to keep me on track. I hope you enjoy it!

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

“Phil, you’re standing on my foot, you clod!” Daniel Howell yelped as the Interactive Introverts tour bus turned down the corner of 42nd street in New York City.

“Sorry!” Phil Lester replied as he quickly shifted his weight off of Dan’s foot and onto the second bus step.

Both young men peered excitedly out the front window at the bright lights of Broadway as the bus driver warned them for the dozenth time to stand back of the white line. Although they immediately apologized, neither one moved from their spot as their eyes took in the glitter and glamour of the blinking lights and neon signs of the historic district.

“I wish we had enough time to watch a Broadway show,” Dan pined. As a theater kid and aspiring actor, seeing a Broadway play had always been high on his bucket list.

“We’ll come back,” Phil assured Dan, “We’ll make it happen.”

Dan sighed, “Yeah. One day.”

Forty minutes later, the bus finally made it to the Plaza Hotel where Marianne had secured them reservations for a suite of rooms for New Year’s Eve. Phil was first off the bus and was immediately surrounded by screaming fans.

“Hi!” Phil said warmly, waving to the crowd. Dan jumped off the bus theatrically with jazz hands and Phil rolled his eyes as everyone else laughed.

“Hello everyone!” Dan exclaimed, his “Danisnotonfire” character surfacing and hiding his trepidation at being surrounded by dozens of hyperventilating fans.

Marianne stepped into action and announced that they young men simply could not stop to take pictures with everyone and must get into the hotel. Dan and Phil shrugged and apologized, waving and making a point to high-five everyone they could as they transitioned from the freezing curbside to the toasty hotel lobby.

“Holy titballs,” Dan said as they took in the beauty of the vast lobby of the Plaza Hotel.

“This is amazing!” Phil exclaimed as he noted the vaulted ceilings above and expensive carpet beneath their feet.

Marianne took the lead and led them to the front desk to check in.

“That will be the suite with a view of Time Square for the gentlemen,” the clerk said formally.

“Thank you,” Dan and Phil said in unison, then looked at each other and inwardly moaned. Could they be any more in sync? Phil smirked and Dan stifled a laugh.

They took the special elevator up to their room. The elevator had a glass bottom center, and Dan dared Phil to jump. Phil hugged the side and refused to even place a foot on the glass. Dan stood squarely in the center and jumped, causing the elevator to lurch and Phil to scream, “Oh my God! Dan, you’re going to kill us all!” Dan just laughed and looked down at the scenic mezzanines whizzing by below them. “Look at all the plant life!” he said, “Phil, you would kill all of those in about a week.”

“I would not! It would be two weeks!” Phil retorted with a laugh.

“Yeah, I’ll give you two,” Dan said, giggling.

The elevator came to a soft stop and the doors opened to reveal the door to their personal suite right in front of them.

Phil swiped the card in the door and opened it into a vast suite with three bed rooms, a living area, and a kitchenette.

“This is bigger than our flat!” Phil enthused as he ran around the room touching everything and opening all the doors.

“Phil, that’s expensive! Don’t touch it!” Dan exclaimed as Phil picked up a miniature abstract sculpture. “It’s probably by Banksy or something, put it down!”

Marianne crossed the room and opened the curtains onto their sprawling view of where the New Year’s Eve ball would drop later that evening.

“Oh my God!” Dan exclaimed as he jogged to the window. “We’re never leaving. This is amazing!”

Phil nearly dropped the sculpture as he took in the fantastic scene below. “This is perfect! We can see everything!”

“And,” Marianne interjected, “you’ll be safe and warm instead of standing out in the middle of the murderous streets of New York City!”

Dan and Phil gave each other a quick look then said, “Yes! It’s perfect!”

Marianne, not one to miss out on anything said, “And what was that glance about?”

“What glance?” Phil said, innocently.

“You are not going downstairs and into the streets by yourselves. It’s not happening.”

“Of course not!” Dan re-assured Marianne.

There was a long pause as Marianne eyed them up and down. “Do I have to bring up the incident in Paris when you both wandered off and I couldn’t find you for hours?

“No,” they answered in unison.

___________

Two years prior, during The Amazing Tour is Not On Fire:

“Now, promise me you won’t get lost.” Marianne was wagging a finger at them, her 5’1” figure doing its best to fill the doorframe of their hotel room. She wasn’t very keen on the idea of her charges going out alone in a country whose language they didn’t speak.

Phil laughed. “Dear god, Marianne. We aren’t twelve years old, you know! And I do speak French: ‘J’aime manger les petits enfants.’” He stuck his chin out proudly.

Marianne rolled her eyes. “You like to eat small children, huh?”

Phil rolled his eyes, though the two tall men made no move to force their way past the tiny woman blocking their way. Their personal assistant was the scariest person they knew.

Continuing in the same vein, Phil protested “But we can’t leave Paris without sightseeing and shopping! We have to home tomorrow.”

Dan decided to take a different tactic. “Please, Marianne? We promise we’ll be back in plenty of time for the show. Paris is laid out in perfect grids, and it’s not like we won’t have our phones. We made sure to upgrade to a better international plan and we need to get our money’s worth.”

Dan could see the gears start to turn in Marianne’s head at the thought of saving money. “Well, in that case. . .” She stepped out of the doorway a little. “But you’d better not be late!” she called at their backs. The glamourous streets of Paris drew them deeper and deeper into the city as the hours flew by. Tiny shops filled with trinkets lured them in and soon, Phil was holding three bags of souvenirs that they did not have room for in their luggage.

“We could always mail them home I guess,” Dan laughed as he took one of the bags from Phil.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Phil said excitedly, “I’ve been holding back! Let’s go find that board game PJ showed us and buy it!”

“It’s getting close to the meet and greet time,” Dan said, “We should probably start to head back to the hotel.”

“Oh, alright,” Phil said. “Let’s get going.”

Dan started walking and Phil called out, “Hey! That’s the wrong way!”

“No it isn’t!” Dan said.

“Yes it is,” Phil argued, “we came from the other direction.”

Dan held his ground and pulled out his phone, “Look, I’ll load up google maps and show you.”

Phil jogged over to Dan and peered over his shoulder at the phone.

Dan held the phone up towards the darkening sky to try to get a signal.

“You have no bars,” Phil said with some concern.

“It’s fine!” Dan said, “Let’s just walk a bit until we get a signal. Um, let’s go towards that big building. There is probably a cell tower there.”

The two young men walked briskly towards the highest building three blocks away, each feeling a sense of urgency as the sky started to fade from blue to pink and purple.

When they arrived at the building, Dan pulled out his phone and tried to load Google Maps.

“Dammit,” he said under his breath.

Phil tried his phone and tried as well, but there was no use. There were no bars and the app would not load. “The tall buildings and narrow streets must be blocking the signal.”

“What are we going to do?” Phil said in a panic, “We can’t miss the show!”

“We’re not going to miss the show, just calm down,” Dan said, trying to project an air of calm and control that he did not feel. “Let’s just head back to where we were and retrace our steps. I remember the shops we visited, so we’ll just use them as landmarks.”

“Alright,” Phil said, and they started back towards the shops.

They navigated their way away from the building and back towards the shops. As the minutes ticked past, the shops grew farther and farther apart, and the roads got more and more narrow.

Ten minutes later, Dan admitted what Phil was trying to pretend wasn’t happening.

“We’re lost.”

“Jesus!” Phil said, now in a full panic, “What are we going to do?”

“Okay, I don’t recognize any of these shops, do you?”

“No!”

“And I can’t see the tall building any more,” Dan said, scanning the horizon.

“Neither can I!”

“How long until the meet and greet?”

“Thirty minutes!” Phil said, nervously pacing.

“Okay, we’re going to ask for directions.”

“How? We don’t speak French!” Phil said.

“People here speak English, Phil. Some of them do. We can mime if we have to.”

“Oh, God!” Phil said. “Maybe in the city they do, but we’ve wandered out of the city and into a whatever this place is.”

“Settle down, I’ll take care of it!” Dan soothed, though inside, he was not at all calm.

They picked a small restaurant at random and walked in. Dan stepped right up to the hostess, “Hello, do you speak English?”

“Non,” the hostess said, shaking her head.

“Okay, merci beaucoup,” Dan said with disappointment.

They walked across the street and into a store that appeared to sell only dolls.

“Hello,” Dan smiled, “Do you speak English?”

“Je ne parle pas anglais,” came the quick reply.

“Does anyone here speak English?”

The kind woman tilted her head, obviously not understanding, and repeated with a soft smile, “Je ne parle pas anglais.”

“Oh! Ask if we can use her phone!” Phil suggested.

Dan held up his iPhone and pointed to the landline on the counter, and then back to himself.

“Oui!” the woman said, and turned the phone to face Dan.

Dan dialed Marianne’s iPhone and it rang until it went to voicemail.

“Uh, Hi. We are at a store and we’re lost. We, um, we can’t use our cell phones because we can’t get any reception.”

“And I have to pee!” Phil yelled into the phone.

“Phil!” Dan said sternly, then turned back to the phone, “I, um, I don’t know the number here and I don’t know the address. So, um, I wish you would have picked up. I guess I’ll just keep calling you until you do? Okay, bye.”

“We’ve got to get the phone number here, or the address,” Phil prompted, “so we can tell Marianne how to find us.”

“How do you suggest we do that?” Dan said, becoming exasperated.

“Bonjour. Je suis Phillipe.”

The woman nodded and said, “Bonjour, Phillipe!”

Phil mimed a pencil and paper and the woman quickly obliged. He then drew a phone with blanks underneath and ended the blanks with a question mark. He handed the drawing back to her and pointed at her landline.

She smiled brightly with recognition, took the pencil from Phil, and wrote down the digits to the shops landline.

“Phil! You’re a genius!” Dan said, clapping him on the back.

Just then, the landline began to ring. The kind woman answered the phone and said, “Bonjour, voici Clair, comment puis-je vous aider?”

Her nose crinkled and she said, “Non, Je ne parle pas anglais.”

Dan’s eyes widened. “Oh my God!”

“Uh, merci beaucoup, s'il vous plaît?” Dan said and gestured for her to pass him the phone. She obliged and Dan heard Marianne’s voice on the line saying, “Two men, tall, are they there?”

“Yes!” Dan screamed. “Marianne! How did you find us?”

“Caller ID,” she said, flatly.

“Oh,” Dan said as he mouthed, “caller ID” to Phil, who slapped his forehead.

“Now,” Marianne said, “You’ve missed the meet and greet and we’ll have to do it after the show. I am going to send a car for you. Put me back on the line with the woman who answered. I’ve got google translate open and I’m going to get the address.”

“Okay,” Dan said, and handed the phone back to Clair.

“Quelle est l'adresse de l'heure, s'il vous plaît?” Marianne asked.

Clair slowly gave the street name and building number and then handed the phone back to Dan.

“The car will be on it’s way shortly. It will take you directly to the venue. We will talk about this later.”

“Okay. Thank you!” Dan answered, genuinely relieved.

Marianne hung up.

“She’s mad,” Dan said as he swiped to end the call.

“Is she sending someone to get us?”

“Oh, yes, that too,” Dan said, laughing.

The sky was dark by the time the car pulled up in front of the little shop. Dan and Phil thanked Clair with a dozen Merci beaucoups and then climbed into the car.

Marianne met them with a cold look.

Dan took the lead as the car sped off toward the venue, “Look, we’re sorry. We didn’t get lost on purpose. We just got confused and ….”

“And had me worried sick, “ Marianne finished. “Do you know that you could have gotten robbed or even worse? Not to mention you missed your own meet up!”

“You’re right,” Dan said. “We should have kept better track of time and--”

“--and stayed closer to the hotel! I had no idea where you were, your phones went straight to voicemail, and they needed you to do a technical run through hours ago.“

“Look,” said Marianne, cooling down a bit, “I know you are grown men, but you have to understand that people are counting on you and that your safety is my responsibility. If something happened to you, it would be my job to call your families. “

“You’re right,” Phil said. “It’s my fault. I got to shopping and we wandered away from the hotel and I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright now,” Marianne said, patting Phil on the leg. “Just promise me that you’ll never sneak out again, okay?”

“Absolutely,” they said in unison.

They had behaved for months afterwards, always notifying her of where they were going and what time they would be back. When they sat down and discussed going out for the ball drop, Marianne had put her foot down. It was “too risky” and they “would get mobbed” and “we don’t have enough security”.

After the meeting, Dan and Phil simply looked at each other. Then they smiled.

_________

Times Square, New Year’s Eve:

Dan claimed the bedroom to the left of the living area, and Phil and Marianne took the two rooms to the right. Phil ordered room service for everyone, with champagne for the big moment at midnight.

“Waffles, sir?” the polite yet slightly indignant man on the other end of the line asked Phil.

“Yes, please. Waffles with maple syrup and lots of butter.”

“We typically only serve waffles during breakfast, sir, but we will be happy to make an exception...for you,” the man said, clearly looking at the phone to see that the call was coming from an expensive room.

“Thank you!” Phil said as he hung up.

“You spork. You ordered waffles at 10pm?” Dan giggled as he punched Phil in the shoulder.

“I’m hungry and there isn’t an IHOP nearby!” Phil said, laughing.

Dan rolled his eyes.

They met back in the living area and moved the couch so they could sit on it and take in their view.

They could see the set ups from the major networks below them, and could make out Anderson Cooper’s crisp white hair on the CNN platform below.

“What channel should we watch?” Marianne asked as she came out of her room.

“Um, I don’t know,” Dan said. “I guess CNN since we can see them from here anyway?”

Marianne picked up the channel guide and quickly sorted the television, which was just to the side of the window.

Soon after, the room service came and Dan and Marianne had pizza while Phil devoured his waffles and maple syrup.

Marianne was exhausted and decided that even though the view was spectacular, she was going to turn in early. They popped the champagne early and toasted the 11 o’clock hour with her, then wished her a good night as she closed her bedroom door.

Dan and Phil stole a glance at each other and silently grabbed their coats and headed out to their private elevator.

The plan all along had been to sneak out and see the ball drop live. Marianne going to bed early was the last hurdle between them and the magical streets of New York.

As they crossed the hotel lobby, Dan whipped out his phone and got walking directions to the ball drop site.

“We’re not going to be able to get close,” Dan said, “but we can get close enough to see it.”

“That’s fine,” Phil said, “I just want to say I’ve been here and stood in Time Square!”

They made their way down the street and found themselves in the midst of what the television told them was hundreds of thousands of people. Phil tucked himself closer to Dan. Dan reached out and put a hand on Phil’s space coat so they wouldn’t get seperated.

Together, they gently made their way through the throngs of half-drunk, half-freezing tourists and got closer to the drop site. When they could no longer make any progress forward, they stopped and glanced up at the Plaza, which, surprisingly, was still in plain view after twenty minutes of walking.

“We made it all of 100 yards!” Dan laughed.

“Well, at least we’re that much closer!” Phil yelled to be heard above the crowd.

Dan glanced down at his iPhone, “It’s 11:38! Perfect timing!”

The crowd was growing excited, jumping up and down, and beginning to let out yelps of joy.

“Yeet!” Phil joined in.

“Yeet?” Dan asked, rolling his eyes.

“Come on!” Phil urged. .

“Oh, alright,” Dan gave in, “Yeet!”

Phil laughed loudly and patted Dan on the back. “There you go! That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dan laughed and turned towards their room above to take a picture of it from the street. “Which one is ours?”

“The one with the light on?” Phil suggested.

“Phil,” Dan began patiently, “most of them have their lights on…”

“I’m joking! It’s that one, there!” Phil said, pointing, “I left my suitcase in the window so we could find it!”

“Oh, yeah!” Dan said, snapping a picture with his phone. “Wow, it’s so cold, my phone didn’t want to recognize my fingerprint!”

“Put your gloves back on before I have to amputate a finger or something,” Phil joked.

“Alright, Mum,” Dan laughed as he slipped his iPhone into his jacket pocket, then reached back in to pull out his glove.

“Oh look, I can see the ball!” Dan said excitedly.

“Where?!” Phil asked.

Dan pointed to a point about 100 yards behind the CNN setup. “Oh yeah! I see it, I see it!” Phil said, taking out his camera and using the volume button to capture the picture.

“Let’s see if we can get closer!” Dan suggested, and the two started taking tiny steps towards the twinkling ball ahead of them.

A few moments later, they were just even with the CNN podium and it was clear they would not be able to advance any farther forward.

“This seems like a good spot,” Phil said as they met up with the tightly packed crowd ahead.

“Looks great to me!” Dan enthused.

“Four more minutes!” Phil yelled as the voices around them suddenly increased in volume.

“What’s happening?!” Dan yelled at Phil.

They watched the crowd and saw that Kathy Griffin was raining dollar bills down on the crowd wearing nothing but a bikini top and shorts in the biting wind. Anderson Cooper looked nonplussed, but everyone else was laughing hysterically and grabbing for the money.

A bill floated down in an air current above them, and Dan jumped and grabbed it.

“A souvenir!” he mouthed to Phil.

Phil rolled his eyes and laughed.

Suddenly, the crowd turned in unison and faced the ball, which had started to drop.

“Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven!” the crowd chanted loudly in unison.

Dan and Phil were beaming as they joined in, yelling along as loudly as they could.

Phil slipped his right hand into Dan’s left and Dan gave him firm squeeze and did not let go.

It had been quite a year for the two of them, touring across not just England or America, but the entire world. They had met thousands of people, performed for tens of thousands of fans, and had had countless experiences that they never could have imagined having even a few years ago.

The tour had had its taxing moments as well, with Phil’s illness and brief hospitalization from the flu and exhaustion, and Dan’s constant struggle with his depression. For two introverts, having to be “on” all the time in front of the crew had been fun, yet also exhausting. Most importantly, they had also missed their alone time together. Slipping away had been difficult, especially while keeping up the “we are just best friends” ruse in front of the any fans who might be around.

Phil squeezed Dan’s hand back and continued counting down.

“Thirty-four! Thirty-three! Thirty-two!”

The rehearsals had bonded them even closer than they had already been, and that was something neither had thought was possible. As perfectionists, they had rehearsed past the point of exhaustion day after day for weeks at a time. Downtime between shows was spent rehearsing small bits from the show and tweaking them to make them better. They were looking forward to their final shows, and yet, at the same time, yearned for the day when it was all over, and it was just the two of them sitting on the sofa and browsing the internet in silence.

“Fourteen! Thirteen! Twelve!”

Neither let go of the other’s hand to grab their phone. They wanted to live the moment in real time. They stole a glance at each other and smiled, then turned back and counted down the final seconds with the rest of the crowd, all joined together for this precious moment of reflection, unity, and hope.

“Three! Two! One!”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Dan and Phil shouted, and then, without a thought, Phil turned to Dan and kissed him on the lips.

Dan returned the kiss and then pulled back and smiled.

“Are you crying?” Phil mouthed.

“Yeah,” Dan mouthed, laughing and wiping the tear from his cheek.

“We did it!” Phil yelled into Dan’s ear.

“We did it!” Dan returned, but softly, to himself, and as if he could not believe it.

The year behind them had been an adventure, but also a challenge, especially for Dan. Going for months without therapy had been difficult. He still had episodes of depression and without the therapist to help talk him through them, he had had to rely on Phil to be his confidant when he felt down.

They had shared long talks in the gameroom in the back of the bus, with Dan pouring out his feelings and sharing his fears. Phil listened and empathized, stroking Dan’s back and offering words of encouragement. Other than situational depressive episodes, Phil had never experienced full blown clinical depression, and it was hard for him to know what to say. Nevertheless, he did his best and Dan was grateful to him for his kindness and comfort.

The journey had not been an easy one for Phil either. With the carsickness, headaches, and stage fright, he was often exhausted and nauseous. The meet and greets, though he enjoyed them, took a lot out of him. For an introvert, having to act like an extrovert drained much of his resources. Fortunately, Dan was always there beside him to energize him with jokes and good-natured ribbing. They were each other’s support system, and even though Dan did not believe in soulmates, he believed Phil was a gift to him from the universe.

Phil was jumping up and down to see the ball and Dan looked at him and smiled. This six-foot, two-inch tall man in this thirties was acting like a young child on Christmas morning and Dan just leaned back a bit and took in every moment of it with a warm grin.

It was then that Dan reached into his pocket for his phone to capture the moment and found it was not there.

“Shit!’ he mumbled. He let go of Phil’s hand and reached into his other pockets and found nothing. “Shit, shit, shit!”

Phil turned around and saw the look of concern on Dan’s face.

“What?” he mouthed.

“My phone!” Dan mouthed back, holding his hand up to his face to mimic the missing device.

“Oh, no!” Phil said. “Don’t move!”

Phil somehow squeezed down and made space to kneel and began searching the confetti filled street near Dan’s feet for the missing iPhone.

Suddenly, Dan remembered putting the phone in his pocket and then removing the glove. It must have fallen out then. There. There back a hundred yards and a hundred thousand people away.

Dan pulled Phil up by the hood of his coat and leaned over to shout in his ear, “I dropped it back there!” he yelled, indicating the direction of the hotel.

Phil’s mouth dropped open.

Dan just stared.

This was bad.

“Maybe the confetti is cushioning it?” Phil suggested, hopefully into Dan’s left ear.

Dan got quiet and very still. Phil knew from experience that his best friend’s mood was dropping quickly and that he had to act fast.

“I'll find it!” Phil said, grabbing Dan’s hand and pulling him roughly through the throng towards the hotel.

Dan followed along numbly, both emotionally and physically as he bumped into celebrating people.

“What a way to begin the new year,” Dan said to himself. “I deserve this. This is just what should have happened.”

Phil kept pulling as Dan sluggishly followed along, half-heartedly shrugging apologies at those who gave him dirty looks.

Dan stopped at the approximate spot where the they had stood to look up at the hotel room and refused to be pulled further forward. Phil stopped and turned around, looked at Dan’s face, and then dropped to his knees to search the filthy street.

Dan looked around and then knelt down, feeling hopeless and depressed.

He saw Phil whip out his phone and make a call.

“Phil,” Dan yelled, we won’t be able to hear it. It’s gone. Just forget about it.”

Suddenly, a light appeared about three feet to the right of Dan’s left foot. His jaw dropped and he swooped down and brushed the confetti and trash off his intact iPhone.

“Oh my God!” he said, standing up too quickly and getting dizzy. “Oh my God! Phil Lester! You found it! In New York!”

Phil grabbed Dan by the shoulders and shook him as he jumped up and down with joy. “Yeet!”

“Yeet!” Dan joined in as he jumped up and down in sync with Phil.

Phil dragged Dan back to the hotel, hand in hand, and they took their private elevator back to their suite. When the silently opened the door, Marianne was sitting on the sofa looking out the window.

They boys froze.

“So,” she said, speaking to their reflection in the window, “You decided it would be a good idea to sneak out anyway.”

Dan and Phil glanced at each other.

“Uh, yeah, we just went downstairs for a, uh, for …”

“To watch the ball drop in the middle of New York City,” Marianne finished for Dan.

“Yes,” Phil said. “Look, we’re sorry if we worried you, but this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and everything was fine!”

“It was Phil’s idea,” Dan said, pushing Phil forward towards the sofa.

“What?! No!” Phil exclaimed.

Marianne laughed. “Oh boys,” she sighed, “I’m just glad you’re alright. You could have been mobbed or trampled or robbed out there and,” she said as she stood and looked around, “and you’re soaked! Get out of those wet clothes and into a warm shower! You’ll catch your death of cold!”

Happy to have dodged the lecture they deserved, they bolted to their separate rooms and shed their snow and confetti-covered clothes. Dan stepped into his shower and let the whole room steam up as the hot water trickled down his chest. Suddenly, he felt a cool breeze and before he could turn, he felt two arms embrace him.

“Mmm,” Dan said, turning around to return the embrace.

“Happy New Year’s Day, Bear!” Phil said as he kissed Dan on the cheek.

“Happy New Year, Philly!” Dan replied as he snuggled his head down on Phil’s shoulder.

The steam rose around them as they shared another, deep, romantic kiss.

It would be a wonderful new year as long as they were together.

They both just knew it.

#phandomreversebang #phanfiction #phan #new year's eve fiction

33 notes · View notes